#so it might not work for everybody's settings

[sparks-and-smoke]

Chapter 3: Helping Hands

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (refered to as Petal) Word Count: 3385 Summary: Steve asks Sam if he can volunteer at his work. Getting his shoe in the door with someone special. This is a soulmate AU, just so we are all aware. Warnings/tropes: smut, oral (male receiving), grief, loss, angst, mental health, PTSD, conspiracy theories, stalking if you squint. Soulmate AU. A/N: Fun Fact, readers last name is Darnell in this because it mean "unknown or secret" This went through a couple different variasons so if tense is weird I'm sorry. English IS my first language. I just suck at it. Beta read by the ever lovely. @voice-of-velhart

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The guilt he felt asking Sam to help him was second only to his driving need to see you. He might have given the parameters of what he was doing more thought if it didn't seem like a necessary evil. To lie to one of his only friends. To manipulate him into getting Steve into your personal space. It was verging on vile and he knew it. His conscious was eating him alive, but he didn't know what else to do.

"I'm honestly surprised you even have time to volunteer man. Doesn't all that SHIELD shit keep you pretty busy?" Sam had been talking but Steve wasn't listening. Preoccupied with the sweat forming on his palms and the shake in his fingers. Every step they took brought him closer to you. Closer to either setting things right or ruining his life.

"Ah, yeah well. Everybody needs a sense of community right? I'm just trying to find mine. You try making friends with a bunch of spies and secret agents. Not exactly confidant material." He kept his tone light, his usual polite air covering his intentions. In all truth he was only half lying. He really wouldn't mind spending time with other combat vets. Though his faith in the VA as an institution was weak at best. "Besides you're the one that encouraged me to come."

Sam scoffed, giving his friend the side eye. "I suggested group sessions. Not volunteering in the housing division."

But she is in the housing division. It's an easy in. Steve only shrugged, "I find peace in helping others."

They made their way across the campus. Being greeted by the occasional coworker, or passersby. Voices murmuring as they trailed off to the building on the far end of the green. It was sinking in that there was a high likelihood he couldn't do this unrecognized. There was really no avoiding that, but… How would his sweet girl react to meeting someone the way he was now.

You had always been fiery and confident in their day, something that drew his pensive personality to you like a month to a flame. But had time changed that.. What if being near someone who had been genetically modified scared you or made you uncomfortable. He couldn't handle a rejection before this even began. He couldn’t begin to know what he would say or how he should act. Should he charm you, or should he stand off and let her come to him? Did he even have the restraint?

How had he done it the first time? That was the problem wasn't it. Because the first time around you had picked him. Sure he was bigger now, conventionally more attractive but he was still the same introverted knot-head he had always been. You had been the one to approach him then, you were the one asking questions and making his ears burn when you called him handsome. He had no clue how you found it charming then, he highly doubted it would be charming now. He needed to be smooth, he needed to be charming and friendly and not like the nervous desperate fool he felt like right now.

They made it to the large red brick building on the far side of campus and Steve was starting to feel exposed. Like this was a bad idea. He found himself fidgeting, smoothing back his hair and adjusting his jacket. Petal had always like him in brown leather. Hopefully that was still true now..

"Are you good? You got somewhere to be?"

Sam's retort pulled him from his grooming. "Yeah maybe. Who knows. I've always had a thing for a cute nurse."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah sure. Says the man that has turned down every opportunity I have shot your way for months now."

"Maybe you just don't know my type." Sam just rolled his eyes as he help open the door. They went about their tour. Meeting the orderly and getting the weekly schedule and where they could use help with activities and outings. Steve payed the closest attention to Monday-Thursday when he knew you were working. He did his best to remain respectful and give the orderly his full attention as he spoke up his eyes were constantly roaming looking for that distinctive head of hair…

As they walked Sam held most of the conversation to make up for Steve's apparent daze. They walked into a small hallway with a few doors, each leading to different departments. Nursing, mental health, physical therapy. They passed a door that led to a small garden where veterans sat, chatting on benches, and another one that looked like a rec room. A massive almost gymnasium like structure with open sky lights and an open floor. Clearly, most of the building funding had gone toward places like this.

Steve gave a low whistle hand in his pockets as he looked around, his body spinning slowly as his gaze wondered. "They didn't look like this when I was serving…" He stopped in his tracks. There you were. Off at one of the tables talking to an elderly man in a wheelchair. Your hair pushed back with a headband.

The world melted away. Not only was it you, and you were gorgeous as ever, but you looked so much happier than he left you in the 40's. You were healthier, more relaxed and calm in conversation with the man. You were happy here; without him. His heart squeezed painfully, but it was OK. You were happy.

He had the sudden urge to leave, to tell Sam to go and that he would come back another day… and then he heard you laugh. A real laugh for the first time in seventy years. He whipped back around, his eyes wide and locked onto you. All other thoughts faded, all he could see was you.

Steve was frozen, it was like his very being had short circuited. Finally your eyes caught his and his heart stopped. It was like a shock of electricity through his body. In that moment it was as if the war never happened, as if you had never lost each other at all. But just like that your gaze passed over him and you returned to the man, as if you hadn’t even seen him. Maybe you didn’t. But Steve knew he couldn’t move, was completely frozen watching you.

Sam gave him a nudge, “You OK brother?”

But Steve didn’t answer. His soul hurt so much he felt unable.

You could feel eyes on you, they were impossible to ignore. Glancing over to the doors you could see Sam Wilson and your head nurse talking to another tall man that seemed roughly familiar but you couldn't really place, maybe he was a family member or a vet here? Or a vet himself just here to provide company which was encouraged in the therapy sessions…

Either way it didn’t seem like the blonde was listening. Because he was staring out into the room with a look that could only be deceived as heartbreaking. Somewhere between hope and devastation.

His gaze locked on yours and you gave an encouraging smile. Trying to be warm as the man's face drained of color. Was he looking for someone? had he just been given bad news? You rose to her feet deciding to check on him when Lt. Nelson tapped your hip.

Leaning down you listened to what he had to say. "I served with him. That's Captain Steven Rogers, I would know him anywhere. I haven't seen him since Italy…"

“Do you think so?” You knew the name. Hell, everyone knew the name between the Smithsonian exhibit and the coverage in the news and tabloids it was a household name. Steve Rogers, Captain America, The world mightiest hero. It wasn't the craziest thing you had heard from a resident today. But, it wouldn't be the first time the Lieutenant had mistaken a visitor for someone from his glory days, and while you would never correct him. You tried not to encourage it either.

Superhero’s don’t come here, was you're first thought, but you didn't have the heart to say that, instead you told him. “Well why don’t I go say hello, and maybe you're right.” Rubbing Mr. Nelson’s shoulder warmly before watching over to Sam and the stranger.

You came closer and closer until Steve could see you clearly. All the details he had forgotten were there, the way your nose scrunched when you smiled and the way your eyes would sparkle with happiness or mischief. It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and beg her to remember him.

But then you were in front of them, you eyes on Sam, a soft smile and he felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under him again. “Sam! Long time no see, whose you're friend?"

Sam slung an arm around Petal, giving you a warm hug. Which you returned with a gusto that Steve knew all too well. Those hugs were warm, and snug, and you always lingered just long enough to make you feel important and safe..

"This is my friend Steve. He was hoping to come hang out with you and the old dogs a few times a month, ain't that right Cap?"

Steve shoved down the green monster rising in his gut at the hug and plastered a lopsided smile on his face. "That's right." he stated dumbly, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth.

"Oh, well that's nice of you. Were you in the service sir?" Their it was again. Sir. Not Steve or Stevie, but sir. The title you give to a respected stranger. Felt like fish hook in the gut. You were trying to be polite but all it did was make him want to evacuate his stomach on the checkered tiles.

He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat with a smile. "Yes, a captain in the army."

”Nice to meet you Captain,” you held out your hand to shake Steve’s. He took your hand, savoring your grip and your soft skin on his hand. He felt that soft wave of recognition buzz over his skin. One soulmate touching another, it wasn't the electric rapture that overcame you the first time you touched you're other half. It was that old familiar whirring under the skin that came with every contact with his girl. His eyes shot up to see if you recognized the feeling. Nothing

“The pleasure’s…” He had meant to to come off suave but his voice cracked and he cleared his throat to try again, “The pleasure’s all mine.” He felt like an idiot and his chest felt like might swing open and the contents would fall out, but he knew he had to be strong.

When you responded with a welcome smile, he felt maybe everything might be alright. He tried not to notice how perfectly your hand fit in his, though his brain instantly comparing the sizes and the way his palm dwarfed hers. Your handshake was warm, and he could have held you forever, but you took your hand back far too soon.

“Come on,” you said, smiling and lighting up the room. “I’ll show you around and we can discuss volunteering a little.”

Steve and Sam followed you, looking around as you introduced them to a few of the veterans that were sitting and chatting around. You seemed to know them all, giving nicknames to each one with a loving, familiar smile. Steve wasn't surprised by how easily you could make anyone feel like they were a friend. You had always been that way, Like when your eye's landed on someone you were actually seeing you and not just a face. you smile lit the room and he was so enchanted he let his guard down. Talking to vets and being recognized, if you were shocked you didn't show it. You just let him become part of the goings on.

You left the Captain to talk to Mr. Nelson. Smiling to you're self when they pulled out the checkers board and you made you're way back to Sam.

"So… THAT is Captain America?"

Sam laughed, watching the interaction between the Captain and the old vet.

“He’s a good guy, a little outdated and hard to get to know… but don’t let him intimidate you, he’s a marshmallow on the inside and he can be…charming… on occasion.”

"He seems.. melancholy?" you search for the word. Sad didn't seem right but there was this vague sense of otherness to Steve that almost comes off him in waves.

"Wouldn't you be? The man lost everything he's ever known. Was woken up only to be thrown into another fight… He probably needs therapy. But I think you would be hard pressed to get a man like him in a session. So, community is gonna have to do for now."

You consider that for a moment as Steve's gaze meets yours one more time. He does seem a like happier now that he is here. But you still see that flicker of something indescribable whenever he is left to his own thoughts. You may not know combat but you knows that feeling. That lost drifting feeling that settles on the bones after soldiers come home. You had seen it in the eyes of a least a hundred men.

You wished he would let Sam actually help him.

Steve did his best to focus on the game with the Lt. He really did. But when his petal was standing right there in your cute pink scrubs who could blame a man for being distracted.

"She is a cutie, let me tell you what." Nelson murmured with a smile as he took another of Steve's pieces.

Nelson gave him the look of a man that had a keen nose for bullshit. "Nurse Darnell. You've only been looking at her like she is made of sugar for the last 20 minutes."

Steve chuckled, trying to play it off. "She is very attractive yes."

"Then why are you wasting time talking to an old fart like me."

"I don't know if your aware of this pal but I am just as much of an old codger as you are."

Nelson shakes his head, his deep baritone laugh rumbling in that old smokers chest. "Naw, you may have been born the same year as me son, but you're still a young man inside. I know you feel out of place. But we all did when we came home."

Steve knew what he was saying was right, and that Nelson was trying to give him an out to go and ask his petal out. But Steve was still scared to death. "I don't know if I am ready for all that."

"You'll never know if you don't try son."

When Steve pushed up from his chair Sam and petal where no where to be found. He searched the room and came up empty. "You looking for me?"

Her warm voice trickled down his spine and made him smile. "Yes, I was. Do you have coffee in this place."

"Do we have coffee?" You sounded almost indignant. "You are aware this is a VA correct. And that we service exclusively military personnel and veterans… Yes we have coffee. Stiff enough to float a brick on."

Steve smiled at that, the grin lighting up his face. We are talking, she's talking to me… "Just how I like it."

You lead him off to the little coffee bar in the corner of the rec room, the one that is attached to the kitchen where all the meals are served, "Here we are." You pump a mug full out of a carafe and hands it over, "might be a little cold. Hopefully not."

"I'm sure it is just fine." He assures and takes a sip, it was in fact cold be he could not give less of a shit as long as you keeps talking to him. "It's perfect."

"Mhhm…" you looked like you didn't believe that for a moment but didn't say anything. "So how are you finding modern living, Captain Rogers?"

"Steve, please." He did his best to keep the pleading from his voice but if you called him Sir again he was gonna throw something. "And I'm… I'm finding it. It's different from home but most places are. And its better then the trenches so I guess I'm fine."

"I feel like there is a major difference between 1940's Brooklyn and the trenches Mr- uh Steve." You seemed to catch yourself. It was just one more reminder of how he had lost everything and even now with you right in front of him he was lost.

"Well yeah, but I have to find the good where I can. The food is good, the cars are fast, information at your fingertips anywhere and everywhere. The future isn't so bad…" He was rambling. And he knew it. But he didn’t know how to stop the words. You, his sweet girl, were right in front of him. And he could touch you. He could pull you into his into him, hold you close and sweep you off you're feet like he should have been able to 70 years ago if he hadn't been a fool. Taste your pretty lips again. Hear you say “I love you” with that laugh at the end, like always did.

It was taking every ounce of dignity and strength he had not to do it.

"What do you hate about it?"

That broke him from his daydream. "I'm sorry what?"

"What do you hate about the modern world? When I first moved from New York to DC i hated the way people talk. Back home everyone talks fast and straight to the point. No one sugar coats anything and you know precisely where you stand. Here, everything is niceties and small talk. It still drives me crazy sometimes, but I've gotten used to it." You swirl the tea in your mug. "So, what drives you crazy? What can't you stand."

He wanted to say he could not stand the distance between them. The fact that you did not know him. That the love between them was gone. That they had spent so much time apart, years where they could have been building a family together.

“Too much choice.” He said with a smile as he tried to hide the sadness in his eyes. “Back in the 40’s there were about 2 radio channels, you had one ice cream place to go to and movies were 15 cents a pop. People have hundreds if choices now. It's pretty overwhelming. Everything, is buzzing and moving and changing constantly. I can't keep up.”

She hadn't expected that answer but it made sense. "You'll like it here then. Our own little bubble her at the living center. You can stop in for a change of pace whenever you want."

The way you said 'our' and 'you' gave him a jolt of hope. "So, I can come back and help out when I can?" he asked casually.

"Oh, of course you are more then welcome. It benefits everyone don't you think? Plus I can always use the extra hands." You say and give him a grin that makes his whole day worth it.

Steve thought the grin on his face was permanent, he did not even notice his cheeks starting to ache. There was a warm feeling in his chest and he felt a calmness wash over him the longer he was in you're company.

"You got a pen I can borrow Pet?" He said as an idea came to mind.

You pulled an ink pen out of her breast pocket and handed it to him. "Sure."

He took the pen and took a napkin and quickly jotted down his number. "Here," he hands her the napkin back with a lopsided boyish smile, "for next time, you know, when I can help out."

Captain America just gave you his phone number on a napkin. You couldn't help but grin at how cute and old fashioned that was. He looked so boyish and shy, you just had to tease him. "Just for work?"

Tag List: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers, @delilah-hey @tldrthor @littlestxli @otterlycanadian @moviegurl2002

[schmergo]

My controversial opinions about the current trend of highly minimalist Shakespeare:

I like a minimalist approach to the Bard, but I think it has to be done within certain parameters.

Too many theatres seem to think that either everybody already knows the play and they don’t need to worry about the audience understanding everything OR they assume that nobody cares about Shakespeare and massively cut down everything except the celebrity leading actors’ lines. But if you play your cards right, audiences might actually enjoy other aspects of the play besides the stars!

1. A smaller cast is fine, great even. I’ve heard the estimate that Shakespeare’s plays might have been originally performed by about 15 people. A cast of 11-15 tends to work well in most spaces.

You can do an enjoyable Shakespeare play with 8-10 people (with significant cuts and doubling), but it doesn’t do anything to IMPROVE the theatergoing experience. And under 8 actors? It better be done for comedic effect or highly avant- garde, or it will be incomprehensible to most.

2. If you’re using a lot of doubling/tripling/quadrupling, you need to differentiate characters with costumes. Having everyone wear plain black minimalistic outfits or military uniforms only works if half the actors aren’t playing 5 different people.

As originally staged, Shakespeare’s plays didn’t have much in the way of sets, but costumes did a lot of storytelling. Even if yours are simple and modern, they should tell us something about the characters. The humble Friar Lawrence and the powerful Prince Escalus probably wouldn’t dress the same.

3. Similarly, if you’re doubling, tripling, etc. and significantly abridging the script, do not cut dialogue like “I have disguised myself as a monk!” or “They will never know that I’m secretly Bob!” Otherwise, they might think this is a whole new character they need to keep track of if clothes/accessories are the only signifier for that!

4. Also, try not to cut too many lines that establish a sense of place if you don’t have actual sets. Lines like, “Here we are in the forest” or “We’ve finally reached France!” are Shakespeare’s audience lifelines!

5. If you’re combining small roles to create composite characters, pay attention to those characters’ arcs. For instance, if combining all the minor lords in Macbeth into Ross and Lennox, maybe one starts more naive and the other more jaded, maybe one turns against MacB long before the other.

Don’t assign them lines that don’t make sense for their role, like if Lennox teleports between Scotland and England from scene to scene or if someone reacts with shock to news they already witnessed firsthand in an earlier scene. In general, treat your supporting characters like characters, not just vehicles to move the plot forward for the lead actor’s star turn, even if the lead is played by a celebrity!

6. Relying on voice and facial expressions only to tell the story, absent of sets, costumes, props, ensemble characters, or action scenes only works in a suitably intimate space. I don’t want to sit in the nosebleed seats in a 2,000 seat theatre and see a huge bare stage with only 9 people sitting or standing, emoting to only the first few rows.

Sitting through a play without following the story at all will make lots of people hate Shakespeare who may have otherwise fallen in love with his work after attending your play. “Stripping Shakespeare down to its bare essentials” can be raw and invigorating, just be careful not to remove binding ingredients or the whole recipe falls apart. The text can be tricky enough to comprehend, let alone with next to no visual signifiers to guide them. Work with the text, not against it! So many helpful tools are built into it!

[aangelinakii]

JUST THE ALCOHOL TALKING.

— certainly a confession.

summary : after a casual night of drinks, you're alone with your friend wally, and it seems like there's something he's got to say...

yet again wally west had outdone himself.

sometimes kids just want to be kids, and spend their days off playing drinking games; but sometimes wally can't handle his alcohol, or might drink too much of what's offered. a normal reaction would be to get annoyed, but everyone's used to his antics now.

whilst a cool night breeze whipped in through the open window, of which everyone else had squeezed through for a smoke break or fresh air (which don't normally go well together), you remained by wally's side as his eyelids lowered and rose sleepily over his green irises.

he's not the only one fighting sleep; you hadn't drank too much tonight, but last night's patrol had taken a lot out of you — but who were you to decline hanging out with your friends?

you gave a sniff as the show on the television went to another commerical break — there are too many of those nowadays — and leaned forward to swipe the tv remote from the empty beer can-spattered coffee table.

as your back hit the plush cushions once again, an arm extended to point the remote at the screen, something ghostly began blazing into your side; a presence, a watcher.

the show switched as you pressed down a channel, but you glanced over to your right, to find a limp, down-pulled set of eyelids fluttering at you, and the sound from the television became mere background noise.

sure, wally was drunk — the drunkest of everybody tonight by far — but something in the way he peered lazily up at you caused your stomach to quiver.

hey— no, he's drunk, don't think like that.

"what you looking at, big guy?" you teased, tearing your eyes away from him for the moment to change the channel again.

but you hadn't expected him to actually reply; him with his slowly rising and falling chest, him with his limp neck lulling as it rested on the back of the couch, him with one arm stretched lazily, fingers inches away from brushing the nape of your neck.

"you," wally breathed heavily, shifting onto his side to look up at you. "and there are two of you so that makes it better."

even as you attempted to laugh it off, that fluttering in your stomach returned, and you only looked back at the tv screen as you flicked on another channel.

you thought that would be the end of it; he's been managing to stay awake the past three hours in this state, surely he'd nod off now. surely...

"i dunno if it's the alcohol talking," he began, words slurred and sluggish, tilting even more so to face you, one of his legs coming up lazily to tuck against himself, the other remaining outstretched. "but i really, really like you."

oxygen hitched in your throat, suddenly unable to pass through your nostrils, nor go back down to your lungs. your mouth hung slightly open, eyes glued to the scene of patrick verona bugging kat stratford at her soccer practice that you'd coincidentally flipped on to.

this had to be the alcohol talking — wally west didn't like you.

you liked him. he couldn't like you.

that's just... not how it would work.

your heart fluttered with every childish laugh he gave at every immature joke he made. your eyes always found his vibrant toss of red hair in a crowd, no matter how large. your fingers always flinched towards him if he got too close, before you pulled yourself away from him completely.

he could never see you like that; you knew him, he just didn't do that.

even as your stare stayed stuck on the movie ahead, his tired eyes still burned holes in your flesh, turned the whole right side of your body fuzzy.

"i'm sorry," he hiccupped from beside you, moving away, the warmth radiating from his fingers at the nape of your neck dissipating. "i shouldn't... burden you. with this."

"hey, hey—"

before you could stop yourself, you were reaching out for him again, your palm finding his forearm and your fingers taking it carefully, but firm enough to halt him in his movements.

lips parted, eyebrows raising although his lids stayed hung low, wally stared up at you.

"sorry," you muttered, grip relaxing. "but, no, it's okay. you can... you can stay. we can just– talk about this in the morning, okay?"

nodding slowly, wally carefully rolled back beside you, although his shoulder was pressed against yours now.

"if you can remember it."

his head craned up to look at you, a lazy offense upon his features. "hey, i'll— i'll remember it. i'll remember it..."

but now as he lay beside you, body against body, you felt his bones slacken, and his weight began to fall against you, until his head was pressed right in the crook of your neck.

please, god, let him remember.

[tumblweeds-omegaverse]

there's gotta be some irony in being a person who dislikes bioessentialist tropes in worldbuilding, and also being a person who can enjoy omegaverse. if only because it immediately makes the omegaverse stuff I create more complex than it could otherwise be.

could I make it so my hyena inspired species has a dynamic that basically means dominant females, and then go from there? sure.

is that what I did? no. no it is not. has every attempt to change it turned into something that is harder to explain but feels more fun to write? yes. is this odd for me? nope!

(extended ramble continues)

me, a person who tends to have casual projects spiral out into massive things: how did this happen?

worldbuilding file: has morphed from "haha funny crossover silly time" to "...currency should probably used for trade, but maybe that’s a way to fill the gap of 'I dont know you personally yet'? or to ensure that merchants can swap for items made far away? with locals, a gift economy is probably even stronger than trade... thinking that instead of stamping coins, it’s common to trade useful materials in a transportable form? mana stones as currency just as much as metals? high-quality wood? ores in bar form, like small palmable sticks one can carry in a pouch?"

me: ...fine, I'll make another project for casual stuff while I keep researching climates and animal behavior and pre-industrial weaponry!

the project idea: lol what if I cross 2 other things I like with omegaverse? the fact that the other project also uses omegaverse tropes certainly won't get confusing ever! and it definitely won't get complicated, since this one actually takes place on this planet!

one month later: ...so, if a person transforms into their alternate form in order to access abilities, does that mean that their scent also changes during that time? I mean, if their appearance, clothes and items, and even physical durability can be enhanced, there's no reason why they couldn't also smell differently.

ooh, if they have some control over how they look, does that mean that they could choose their scent for the alternate form? hmm, people would probably lean into stereotypes around scent that are based on dynamic. like if light herbal scents are associated with betas, then...

wait. wait, is that a beta thing in this verse? or is that the other one? let's check...

oh hang on, what if people consider being able to do this as some kind of override to your social status? like sure, you might have been born omega, but this ability makes you too different to be seen as "a normal omega" or something.

but how would people know that without some kinda tell? is there some sort of registration...? is it like how animals can tell the difference between themselves and a familiar? would the initial shift into that battle form cause a change that people can pick up on, even after they leave it? some kind of mark that gives it away if people see it?

I definitely don't want to lock the capability to only one dynamic, that comes too close to bioessentialist stuff and stereotypes...

sure, the stereotypes might say it's not normal for betas, but that makes it more interesting when it comes to character interaction, yeah?

...geez this is getting involved again...

[mossterunderthebed]

Y'know what honestly frustrates me about the JJK fandom?

When people make stuff that's like JJK 0 Gojo and Getou talking or whatever, and it's like Getou being totally deadpan about all the horrible things he's doing/going to do/believes in *insert various types of wholesale murder here* and Gojo just laughs along, treating it like it's a joke and Getou's so cute and funny.

Like, no.

Gojo did NOT indulge Getou's philosophy. That was The Whole Point.

What do you think the whole encounter on the street in front of a random KFC was about? That's why there was such a deep divide between them. That's why Gojo was furious and disbelieving. That's why they didn't see or talk to each other for TEN YEARS even thought they were best friends.

Because Getou killed people, chose to kill people, and chose to keep killing people. Because he dehumanized an entire, MASSIVE group of people who were good, bad, kind, cruel, and everything in between, men, women, children, everyone, simply because of something they couldn't help and didn't even know about. Because he took advantage of those that Gojo had decided and felt duty-bound- even though he didn't like it much- to protect.

(And all that came BEFORE Geotu ever stepped into the picture. Yeah, Gojo whines about having to protect the weak and admittedly thinks it's a drag, but he still does it. He was raised with the ideal that he should do it.

That wasn't a Getou thing. Getou believing in that as a teenager did change the way Gojo saw it, but it wasn't New. He already was raised that way, believed that way, and intended to live that way, or why go to Jujutsu High at all? Even if he found it annoying, he was still always going to become a sorcerer, not only because it was kind of his only option- which is it's own kind of horrible- but because he was a sorcerer, down to his bones.

He had that madness in him, and maybe it was nurtured, but that doesn't change the fact that it was there. He wanted to be a sorcerer, loved fighting and killing curses, whether it had anything to do with helping others or not.)

I know it's just fanart and fandom, and look, I myself really like art of Gojo and Getou in their good days. They were kids and they were happy. While I don't ship them, they were best friends, and their own kind of soulmates, I've never not believed that, it's too forking obvious. Gege practically shoves it down our throats and literally designed them to balance each other and be Messed Up Forever when they split. Every official art we see of the two of them practically has them as each other's reflections. I know, okay? I can't not know.

I just get really frustrated when Gojo's disregarded like that. He is his own person with his own beliefs who's made his own choices. They both are. And maybe it's dumb to get up in arms about a story that's not even real, but Gojo's a really imperfect person who struggles and suffers, and at the end of the day? He tries his best.

Even with all the power in the world, he's still only human. He can still only do so much. He's expected to be more than he is a lot of the time, and still he really tries. He wants to make the world better. He wants to make life better for the next generation. He has, in a way, given up on himself, but he's still going, because he knows his place in the world is still one that needs filling.

That's a narrative that means a lot to me. It's disheartening when it's misinterpreted because of the fun, silly, giggly side of his personality, or the reckless, careless, cocky side, both of which are wonderfully, excruciatingly human.

That's all.

[dukeofankh]

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.

[drdemonprince]

any advice for coping with being on the receiving end of a public callout ?

Oh yes:

Do not acknowledge the callout publicly. It will only further its spread, lend it legitimacy, cause you to be interpreted as guilty, and convey to anyone who bears you ill will that you are rattled and feeling socially threatened.

Do not act out of urgency. One of the ways that cancelled people get themselves in far worse trouble is by spiraling due to anxiety and rushing to issue a statement about what has happened, or to attempt to socially manage public impressions about what has happened. Do not do this. Anything that you say will be picked apart and used against you. The situation is truly not as urgent as it might feel. A lot of times, doing nothing and being quiet is the best way to proceed, and the dust will settle better if you do.

Do not issue a public apology. If you truly feel that you have wronged someone, that conflict should be worked out in private with the people you have directly affected. You do not owe the anonymous public audience a damn thing. Do not apologize for something you don't honestly believe that you have done wrong. Take time and really think about what happened, and seek the counsel of people whom you trust in PRIVATE.

Do not attempt to disprove the callout unless you have crystal clear, smoking gun evidence that the person who accused you is actually victimizing you. And even then, probably don't do it. I have only seen a disproof of a callout work ONCE, and that was when Juniper Abernathy revealed the person cancelling her had been abusing her. Even if the facts are on your side, acknowledging the accusations will only make more people aware of them, give your detractors ground to criticize your every word, and will muddy the waters and make people find the situation confusing and troubling rather than clear.

GET THE FUCK OFFLINE. Delete your social media apps for the time being. Turn off notifications. Turn off DMs requests. Change your settings so that you only ever hear from people you already follow (I do this, on the advice of Philosophy Tube). Get away from the computer.

Connect with IRL friends. When you're wrapped up in a cancellation, the negative opinions of a handful of foaming at the mouth freaks loom way larger than they actually are. And social media dramatically skews our sense of social priorities such that the approval rating of complete strangers starts to seem more important than people we actually know, and trust, and who actually know us. Go get a meal with a buddy. Watch a dumb movie. Talk to your grandma about her plans for her garden. Surround yourself with real people you care about and focus on their life and problems, to help put things in perspective.

Find distracting, active, rewarding activities that bring you out of the digital space and into physical reality. Not everyone is talking about you, not everybody hates you, most people have no fucking clue what has been said about you, and most people do not give a fuck about you (that's good). There are so many areas of life that are completely fucking untouched by what a bunch of social media power users have to say online. Go volunteer to clean up a park, run some errands, take an exercise class, foster a dog, regrout your bathroom, knit a hat. Even if the worst case scenario happens and a cancellation sticks, it's really only among a certain very vocal group of miserable fucking people. There is a whole world around you that will not ever care, and you will have a life outside of this.

Good luck!!

[teaboot]

I do not have Boy Knowledge to trade, but can I ask for dinner party hosting tips???

Sure!

I grew up broke but the great-grandparents passed on all their old etiquette, so *fart noise* got a lot of old fashioned shit kickin around, this is what we'd do

PREP:

Clean the house in advance. And not just common areas- the whole place. Minimum the kitchen, living room, bathroom, entrance. Take out all the trash, no dirty dishes, scrub out the toilet. (This is less vital with super casual close friends and family.)

Have snacks ready before arrival. Ask in advance about any allergies and accommodate. Same for actual food.

Aim for business-casual clothing. Jeans are okay if they're well-fitted and clean, with no holes, but nothing acid-wash. Sleeveless shirts should be at least three fingers wide, typically women-only but fuck gender conformity I don't give a shit.

Put coffee or the kettle on a minute or two before you expect people to arrive. Coffee should be fresh and kettle should be boiled around the same time folks arrive.

Have a place for people to put their coats and shoes. An area rug works for shoes, ans if you don't have a coat rack or closet for jackets it's handy to have a bedroom cleaned out and a bed made so people can keep coats, scarves, bags, and purses somewhere.

In some cultures cooking doesn't start until guests arrive. The way I was raised, cooking starts much earlier, and things should be coming out of the oven after they've been there a few minutes and had time to chat.

Set the table before guests arrive: Typical setting when I was younger was matching placemats at every seat, plate next. Fork on the left, knife and then spoon on the right. Wine glass on the right, saucer on the right, cup on saucer for hot drinks. Cloth napkin under the spoon and knife on the right, unless rolled with a napkin ring, in which case it could be set at the top of the plate, on the plate, or on the right hand side. Salt, pepper, and a butter dish is to be set out- one of each for every four to six seats is a decent rule of thumb.

DURING:

Guests are expected to announce themselves by knocking or ringing the bell. When this happens, usually a younger member of the family is sent to answer the door and let them in. Hosts follow shortly after, and hugs and greetings take place. The host offers to take people's coats and bags, or otherwise indicates where they can be placed. Shoes come off and are left at the door.

Tour of the house. This doesn't happen every time, but a quick, "let me show you around" may happen if you expect to be there a full day or longer, or if someone needs to politely stall for time, or if the host is especially happy to have you there or to show you something. This usually skips bedrooms, but a nod will usually be given to indicate adult's rooms, and kid's rooms may be peeked at to show off or do introductions with small children.

Offering seats. Usually starts in the living room, where, "can I get you anything?" Is asked. Options usually include wine, beer, water, some kind of juice, coffee, or tea. Possibly ginger ale or cola, but not usually much in the way of sodas.

At this point, a tray of cookies, biscuits, crackers, or other small snacks might be set our to be shared. Here, it's polite to eat a little and join in on smalltalk.

Dinner. When food is ready to come out of the oven, someone in the host's home will announce that dinner is ready, and guests and hosts will relocate to the dinner table and pick seats. (If there is not enough room at the dinner table for everybody, children's plates will be set at a folding table elsewhere, or in the vacated living room area.)

Some hosts will have guests line up in the kitchen and serve their own food one at a time. The way I was taught, hosts bring food and serving utensils to the table and sit once everything is placed. Dishes are then passed in a circle from person to person as people fill their own plates. It is generally assumed that you will take your portion in such volume that everyone else can receive the same amount as you, or more.

Meal usually includes a meat-based dish, a starch like rice or potato, one to three vegetable dishes, and a bread like a bun or roll that may be buttered.

It is here preferred that you ask for something to be passed rather than reach over food. "Could you pass me the..." or "may I borrow the ..." are good ways to ask.

Elbows stay off the table. You may rest your forearms on the edge if you like, depending on how formal we're talking, but no elbows.

Napkin is spread out flat on your lap to catch anything that may drop or spill. Some people may choose to tuck I into their shirt collar to protect their suit or tie, but I've only really ever seen old folks do that, or people doing it to babies and small children.

It is polite to eat everything on your plate, especially if you served yourself. Once everyone has eaten their plate, seconds may be offered or mentioned. It's considered rude to go in for second servings if others haven't finished their firsts yet. This is a good place for conversation to pick up.

Once everyone is finished eating, a member of the hosts' house (usually a kid, sometimes a volunteer guest assisting) will clear the table, gathering empty plates and such from the guests and taking them to the kitchen to be cleaned. Drinks might be refilled now, and dessert forks or spoons might be brought in.

Dessert usually happens. While the meal itself is traditionally homemade, it is perfectly normal for dessert to be store-bought.

The serving of dessert is much less communal than dinner. The person dishing dessert will normally take a stack of plates and send a runner (again, usually a kid) to take stock of who wants dessert and carry theirs to them.

After dessert, dishes will again be gathered and removed, with the exception of cups. Coffee and tea is customary at this point, and alcohol will disappear. This is when conversation comes back in full swing- talking and unwinding is the goal here, and letting any liquor digest so drivers who may have had a sip will be safe to drive afterwards.

END:

Someone will sigh and take note of the time. This is different depending on the group, but a second round of hugs will be in order. Farewells will be made at the door. If there are plenty of leftovers, the host may insist the guest take some. Borrowed dishes and containers will ostensibly be returned at a casual future meeting, possibly as an excuse to meet up and chat over coffee.

It is polite of the guest to offer a hand with cleaning up. It is polite of the host to insist they not. If they are an acquaintance or someone to be impressed, the guest will not be allowed to help clean unless they make it clear that offense will be taken otherwise. If they're a close friend or family member, they may be accepted with some minimal pushback.

The host might start cleaning while the guest is still at the table. This is not intended as an insult.

It is polite to leave around the same time that children begin getting ready for best- usually around 8, 8:30, 9-9:30 on special occasions.

If the weather is especially terrible, or driving conditions are poor, the host might offer the guest a bed for the night. If this is done, it is best to fetch them clean sheets and blankets, a fresh towel, and whatever else they might need. They will be expected to stay no later than breakfast the following morning, unless further plans have been agreed upon. An especially prepared host might have a spare set of pajamas (close friends and family only, usually) and a new toothbrush ready for use.

I think that's everything? A lot of it is weird unspoken shit but yeah lol that's most of what I remember.

I'd love to hear what everyone else grew up with!! Share with me your food culturrrrrrre

[dreamesamu]

THE THINGS HE TAKES FOR GRANTED

in which he takes a moment to justify himself after never noticing your little crush for him

starring. msby!miya atsumu x fem!reader

genre(s): angst to fluff, long scenario sets in post-timeskip!

warning(s): reader is nice and overworks herself. not proofhead i apologize

author’s note: It's kind of not what i had imagined but hope you enjoy it.

choose your character: m. atsumu | k. akaashi

another cliché beginning for the person you are right now - the MSBY team manager - is that you’ve loved the miya atsumu since high school. it’s not like being the team’s manager isn’t your dream, you loved this job and had been dying to do it because you’ve loved volleyball, too. plus, you will have the opportunity to stay close and take care of the team, especially your crush who just merely thinks you are his best friend.

you first laid eyes on him when you were sitting alone on the subway, his dyed-blonde locks caught your attention as he first talked to you about the chase atlantic’s song you were listening to, he was cute, warm and friendly. at that moment, you were verified that he wasn’t the guy who was fond of his fan girls that everybody had been rumoring about. He eventually found out that you guys went to the same high school, so as to start a new beginning of your bonding friendship.

It wasn’t long until you finally realized that you might have adored the pretty setter a little too much than usual. his touches, his smile, the way he calls your name and his genuine characteristics when he was used to you being around seemed a little bit more easy to flutter your heart than every other day. Ever since then, you just hid your feelings and was grateful for what you got right then because you knew that if you confess, you couldn’t get this best friend treatment that you silently fell for for any longer.

You impressed yourself for even keep it until now. you and him are mature and beautiful, but you still can’t help but feel so ‘high school’ when you look at him. the least thing you could do for a friend (crush) is care for him through bottles of flavored electrolyte water, preparing his favorite after-practice snacks and even cool and soft towels to calm the heat down after a match. However, it seems like mr. miya doesn’t notice all of the hard work you did for him, he was so used to be taken care of by you that he accidentally failed to realize the special treatment only for him but nobody else.

“Hey, tired yet? you can call it a day for now if you want?” you smiled, hand over his bottle of water you prepared for him to the softly panting atsumu taking a break on the bench. He is quite preoccupied with his earlier techniques that he need to improve, he only spares you a glance then takes the bottle to drink without saying any words, you assume that he is in a bad mood.

“oh, and” you search for the thing in your bag. “here, your towel”

he nods and takes it, it makes you feel awkward. that’s… all…? You try to not overthink yourself, after all, it was quite a tense match, and the fact that your team will have an important volleyball game the next month proves his concerns are valid.

you watch atsumu leave when hinata shoyo came up to you.

“oh? isn’t that our manager?” you startle at his voice. “hehe, please don’t mind tsumu at all, please, he just got pissed because he made a mistake during practice” the sunshine grins, having him around surely just brighten everything up, because he is just so sweet and comfortable to be with.

“no, no,… I really don’t mind at all, actually” you know atsumu better than anyone so you don’t take his actions to heart sometimes, it’s just…

“oi, oi! I know what you’re thinking, I saw you overthere doing things for tsumu. This guy, honestly…” Hinata sure saw you earlier with enthusiasm written on all over your face while preparing those towels and bottles, he felt bad for you and decided to cheer you up regardless atsumu has just cracked your poor heart a little.

“It’s okay, hinata. thank you for checking on me!” you smile wide, so my efforts wasn’t invalidated at all, gratefully bow down to see the awkward hinata trying to stutter words out.

“no- no, don’t do that, you are our manager, that’s just nothing! besides, seeing you give tsumu so special treatment makes me real jealous!!” he huffs cutely. “I really want that flavored electrolyte water, too! what a shame he wouldn’t notice.”

you laugh sheepishly as you guys return to your dorms to rest. things have been going hard for you like crazy, the work amount weighing on your shoulders make it almost unbearable, but you still stay strong and put a warm smile on your face so nobody would notices. you have been thinking of retiring just in case the situation just got worse to the level of destroying your mental health. but, by thinking of your small joy of seeing atsumu everyday, you hesitated.

your sleepless nights start when the important games take a step closer, you overworked yourself and often feel burnt out, your time with atsumu narrows as you find it hard to start a conversation even in lunch break. atsumu does feel weird. why isn’t y/n sit with us? she is nowhere to be found these days.

“hey, tsum-tsum” said bokuto. “what do you think of y/n?” he said, putting a tray of food on the table while making his way to sit.

“y/n? what’s with her?” the fake blond raises a brow, munching on his food

“I think she’s so cute and thoughtful, base on her affection for you, i betcha she’s completely smitten” the owl laughs as the other teammates giggle along. “you should consider on dating her, what a waste if you don’t, she’s literally girlfriend material, same thoughts huh, hinata?” he winks and the tangerine head give him back a thumbs up.

“dating y/n, huh?” atsumu laughs as if he doesn’t take bokuto’s statements seriously. “I don’t date my friends, you know. besides, y/n is just a close friend of mine, she ain’t my type”

“heartless tsumu… she worked so hard for you these days…” hinata fake crying when talking about you

“I know that she makes snacks and does things for me, but sometimes, that’s just unnecessary, i don’t need it to be all the damn time, it feels a little annoying, i just need to be alone to refresh my thoughts” he sighs. “now you told me to consider on dating her, i wouldn’t know how long i can take it.”

now there is dead silence following his statement, everybody just awkwardly continues finishing their lunch, and you do know eavesdropping is a thing that you shouldn’t do. but you did. before you even notice, hot streams cover your face and you feel your breath hitches. the coach sends you to check on the team at such wrong timing, you can’t face them, the voices earlier destroy your confidence, replace it with angst and hurt. so… what i did is just a bother to him, huh. you realize now, that you were such a dumbass trying to make him catch feeling by all of this. and with the tiniest amount of pride left, you back up a smile and step into the cafeteria, the atmosphere suddenly feels tense as everybody hasn’t been moving on since their last conversation, atsumu feels an uneasy feeling when he sees you behind him, guilt? he thinks.

“hey… coach sent me to check up on you guys, please be well rested at your dorms after lunch, we have practice match at 2pm, alright?” your voice evidently trembles, you try cover it up with some fake coughs. oh, who are you kidding? it’s atsumu miya we’re talking about. he first notices how your eyes are a bit swollen, have you been crying? your tired figure due to sleepless nights, the way you haven’t eaten properly shows right in front of his eyes. he suddenly felt a twinge in his heart, in which moment he never wanted to see you like this, ever again. but, what’s all this for? he doesn’t like you… right? because- you’re his best friend, and caring is what’s best friends do, am I correct?

you left the cafeteria. atsumu feels like his whole head is going to explode, he regrets what he said earlier, knowing seventy per cent that you might have listened to it. he is weak because of guilt and distaste. the group feels uneasy and moody all of a sudden.

“i haven’t told you this before but you’ve seen her now, tsumu… she overworked herself with this huge amount of work with nobody beside her, yet she still maintaining to take care of you with these small gestures.” hinata sighs heavily. “y/n told me not to tell you about her state so you can concentrate on practising, but I’m really worried because now she can’t even hide it anymore. I tried to help, but she pushed me away and told me that i should do my own practices as our game is going to start soon.”

hinata pats atsumu’s back before leaving as if he’s signalling him to make it up to you. atsumu started to cry at this point. how could he be so clueless? he didn’t even know that his best friend was undergoing such pressure, yet why does the term “best friend” sound so irritating? he felt like he had failed to protect you and worse, hurting your feelings and he regretted it, so badly.

The following day comes, atsumu's first task is to search for you. To his astonishment, you are once more nowhere to be found. he was so preoccupied, his spikes aren’t as good, and he could not concentrate on practising, the coach sent him out, and gave him a moment to rethink by himself. and so, he reaches a staff, asking for information about you.

“Y/n? oh… she’s at the infirmary, we noticed her devastated state so we sent her to the doctor a while ago. now think about it I might write a report to the coach asking him to reduce the amount of work she’s handling.”

“thank you, kind sir. may I be the one who’ll write the report? I’m sure I could convince the coach.”

as the man nods, atsumu bowed goodbye to him and sprints to the infirmary where you’re at. he knows, that if anybody should write a report for you, it must be him. he must protect you because he has just realised it now, he likes you a lot more than he could imagine.

“Y/N!” atsumu slams the door open, he faces you with your eyes widened, startled by the bright window.

“tsumu…?” you softly speak.

atsumu in front of your eyes is the atsumu who tries to hold back his tears, biting his bottom lip as the poor heart lurching somewhere in his stomach but somehow still happy because he has found you.

“hey…” he kneels down on one knee beside you. “i’m sorry, angel” his hand softly squishes the smaller one, it holds back gently on his’

in all of the things you dislike, what you utterly don’t want to deal with is your emotions when you see atsumu looking so vulnerable like this. you instinctually grab a tissue and wipe off the sweat drop on his forehead the moment you see it, atsumu’s worried expression won’t vanish unless you speak up something.

“hey…” you smile. “don’t worry, I’m okay now, tsumu” you fondly touch his face with a hand, and he sinks in your touch, eyes glittering. atsumu intentionally plants a soft kiss on your warm palm and watches you go weak for him.

“i like you, y/n” he sighs. “i don’t want us to be just friends. i want to protect you, want to be the kind of guy who mentally support his girl to help her cope with any pressure.”

he looks up to see your widened eyes, without a response, he continues.

“i’m sorry i said the things i didn’t mean when you were there, I was just…" he gulps nervously and you sigh.

"tsumu... if it's too much for you to bear, maybe i should stop doing those things, okay?" you scoff bitterly, he becomes panic

“no, no, no,... i really like the way you care for me, please, i want your attention. please keep doing it. don’t get tired of me…”

you can feel the pulse bumping in your nerves, your heart flutters, and blood rushes into your cheeks just by hearing his confession. you kneel down beside him, fighting back the tears but then you can’t, so you squish him in a hug. atsumu holds you back as you start sobbing on his white shirt, inhales fondly your intoxicating smell and pats rhythmically on your back

“there, there, my angel. i’m here now. i’m sorry i’m late. let me make this up for you, yeah?” he chuckles.

atsumu loves his girlfriend. after hearing you ramble about your tight schedule, he immediately writes a report based on your experience to inform the coach about your condition so that everyone can share in your responsibilities instead of you having to handle everything alone. it wasn’t that long for the msby mates to realize you guys are together, he wrote in that report that he is your boyfriend, anyway.

“you nailed it, tsumu-kun” hinata bumps him with a thumbs up, atsumu responds with a sheepish grin while bokuto laughs beside him and sakusa just doesn’t really give a shit. 

he spots you standing on the opposite road near the brand new cafe, waving back to him smiling, “nah, gotta run. gonna treat my girlfriend with extra pastry today.”

i guess he is the simp now.

© 2024 dreamesamu. all rights reserved.

a recommendation to cope with your broken heart <3

[princess-ly]

— the princess guide on glowing up:

recently i noticed how in love i've become with my appearance after a long time of strongly hating how i look. i wondered how i got to this point so i worked backwards to figure out what changed and made this post.ᡣ𐭩

GETTING OVER MY INSECURITIES

social media is one of the main things that attributed to my insecurities. when you're constantly bombarded by posts praising girls that look nothing like you for their beauty it's easy to trick yourself into thinking that must mean you're not beautiful since you have nothing in common with them. someone's beauty does not take away from yours, but it can make you forget yours. the first change i made that signified the beginning of my new found self love was when i started to look at models and influencers and actresses that looked more like me. i believe there's beauty in every feature, you just have to see it in a beautiful light. i stopped considering my features ugly when i distanced from any content that would insist on them being flaws and instead exposed myself to beautiful girls who had the same exact features and realised they didn't make them any less beautiful.

SETTING MY OWN BEAUTY STANDARDS

a crucial point in my journey to loving my physical appearance was disregarding society's already set beauty standards and it's expectations. the truth is you can't build your confidence based on how much you fit others' standards because everybody has their own idea of beauty and what might make you beautiful in someone's eyes might make you ugly in another's. so that's why i decided to create my own standards and measure myself based on what i personally think is beautiful.

i did this by taking out my journal, closing my eyes for a few seconds and imagining what i considered to be the epitomy of beauty, then i wrote down a description of what i imagined. if you're having trouble picturing the details, you can try answering some of these questions:

what kind of girl would i see on the street and would leave something that is more than an impression on me? what texture is her hair? what color is it? how is she wearing it, is it parted in the middle or to the side? is it styled or is it down? is it long or short? is she wearing makeup? if yes, is it natural makeup or is it more on the bold side? is she wearing jewellery? is it dainty or flashy? what is her body type? is she skinny or curvy? does she have her nails done? are they long or short? what type of clothes is she wearing?

after i decided on my own beauty standards, i made changes to my appearance and the closer i got to that image i had of the perfect girl in my head the happier i grew with myself.

EMBRACING MYSELF

now while i was picturing the perfect girl in my mind, i made sure that she had my features. i didn't imagine her without my 'insecurities'. essentially i was just imagining myself if i reached my maximum potential, i didn't change anything i was already born with i only changed the customizable things in a way that i thought was beautiful / suited me more. and that's what i wanna talk about in this part, the importance of embracing myself the way i am.

embracing myself didn't only help me in the mental aspect where i started to love myself more, but it also helped me physically. i started to look a lot better when i stopped trying to force myself to look 'sexy' and admitted that i was more suited for makeup & clothes that are more on the cuter side.

obviously i'm not trying to tell you what to do, but i'm willing to bet that you would look a whole lot better if you wore clothes that fit your body type instead of forcing yourself into tight and uncomfortable clothing. the idea is to understand that there isn't only one type of beauty, so you don't have to force yourself to do things that don't suit you to be beautiful.

IDENTIFYING YOURSELF + YOUR STYLE

i've talked about how you should do things that suit you, but how do you even know what does or doesn't suit you? well you have to start by identifying what 'you' are first.

while i was going through this phase of my glow up journey, i found that there are three things that you have to know about yourself: your face shape, your skintone/undertones and your body type. you can figure them out by looking at yourself in the mirror and referencing these charts below. if you're having a hard time determining where you fit, you can ask a family member/friend for their opinion. i think that wearing things that compliment you makes you look put together no matter what your style is, it gives you the perfect 'canvas'.ཐིཋྀ

from these three things you can figure out what eyebrow shape, hairstyles + hair colors, clothes and colors would suit you the best. you can do that by simply going on pinterest or tiktok and looking up "hairstyle recommendations for ____ face shape". you can also use celebrities with similar traits as inspiration.

as for developing your style, i think that is something you naturally develop over time as you try out things and evolve your taste. but if you're stuck on where to start, i recommend quizzes! there are a lot of korean/chinese quizzes scattered over the internet that can help you. something else i recommend is checking out @/dreamgrlarchive's blog, she has a lot of posts dedicated to finding your style. also, don't shy away from trying out trends or aesthetics that pique your interest, you're drawn to them for a reason so don't let people online shame you for it.

EMBODYING CONFIDENCE

the mental aspect of glowing up is something that often goes unnoticed. glowing up doesn't only require changing physically but also mentally. you have to make sure the inside matches the outside. journaling allowed me to work through any negative thoughts and feelings i had towards myself as well as identify any habits i used to do out of insecurity that i needed to get rid of. you'd be surprised at how many beautiful girls lack self esteem. become comfortable with the fact that you're beautiful.ᡣ𐭩

[exercise-of-trust]

i don't generally bother posting the stuff i knit exactly from existing patterns but i finally wove in the ends on a couple frankensteined socks and figured i might as well throw them up here? they're very dumb but i'm fond of them.

for the first pair i made up a colorwork pattern for the feanorian heraldic symbol, and slapped it together with the pisqu sock structure and toe pattern, and a snippet of a mitten for the sole halves. the yarn is 100g of jamieson's of shetland that i got on the high street of fort william, as a treat after walking 100 miles from glasgow to get there, and i had... maybe 10 yards total left over? i had to cut off the long tail from my cast-on and use it to graft the toe closed on the last sock; it was nerve-wracking. if i did this pattern again, i'd probably put the toe motif in between the two heraldic lozenges, but the first time through i wasn't sure how the math would work out so i frontloaded them. ah well!

the second pair is the structure of an existing sock i've forgotten the name of (worked in the round from the tip of the heel to a hat-like shape with six sides; two opposite ones are grafted together to form the instep and the other sets of two open into the cuff and close into the toe), with the colorwork pattern from the gogink sweater yoke. i thiiiink you could do this with basically any colorwork sweater yoke, but i've only tried it with this one. if i did it again i'd add some short rows to the front side of the cuff; the construction sort of pulls it down so that the heel side of the cuff is higher than the front, and a couple short row rounds would probably level it back out. i like these because they neatly smash the cuff-down/toe-up binary and make everybody mad, and i am at all times an imp of the perverse.

[ylangelegy]

babe for the weekend ❄️ soonyoung x reader.

Everybody thought that you and Kwon Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion, but then he had to go and change the ending. Six years after the breakup, he decides to come home for the holidays— and now, you’re stuck between your pride, his dreams, and the road not taken. ‘Tis the damn season, indeed.

୨ৎ pairing: dance studio ceo!soonyoung x lawyer!f!reader. ୨ৎ genre/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, romance. alternate universe: non-idol. mentions of food, alcohol consumption, swearing/cussing. post-breakup dynamics and quarter-life crises. high school lovers to exes. law terms. spiteful reader. rated T for languages and themes. title and synopsis shamelessly reference taylor swift's t'is the damn season. ୨ৎ word count: 16.6k ୨ৎ footnotes: this is part of @camandemstudios's winter with you collaboration! ´◡` thank you so much for trusting me with soonyoung. also eternally grateful to @shinwonderful and @biniaiahs for beta reading. may revisit this to do edits in the future, but for now, we settle.

in the words of a, i am the 'harbringer of doom and angst.' happy holidays, everyone! + tag list in the comments.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ winter with you masterlist ┆ my masterlist ┆ the official babe for the weekend playlist.

This has to be the universe’s idea of a joke. 

It’s like the time your professor refused to round up your grade in college and you almost got set back a semester. Or that one day at work, where the forecast said it would be sunny— only for you to get caught in a downpour on your way home. 

The universe had to be an aspiring amateur comedian, because why else would Kwon Soonyoung be in front of you right now? 

“What?” Soonyoung chirps. “No ‘hello’ for your favorite ex?” 

Six years. It’s been six years since you last saw each other, and those are the opening words he decides to go with. 

You’re torn between smacking him upside on the head and strangling him. Maybe both, you muse, as you survey the ways he’s changed over time. 

His hair is blonde now. His once-pale skin is a little more tan. And— as much as you loathe to admit it— he looks more fit. You can vaguely make out the muscles straining underneath his casual wear.

Dancer’s build, you begrudgingly concede.

When Soonyoung calls you out in a bid to snap you out of your daydream, you physically flinch. Your name still rolls right off his tongue like honey. You don’t have the right to call me that, a small, bitter voice says in the back of your mind. You don’t have the right to talk to me at all. 

“Hellooo,” he sing-songs, waving one of his palms inches away from your face. “Did you have a stroke or something?” 

That prompts you to speak.

After all that time, your first words to Soonyoung in six years are cold and curt: “Get out.” 

A corner of Soonyoung’s mouth twitches upward. The infuriating bastard. He probably anticipated a reaction like this from you. 

He straightens until he can shove his hands into the pockets of his winter coat. “I don’t see any signs that say I’m not allowed to be here,” he says. “Did I miss it?” 

He makes a whole show of looking around your family’s restaurant. A part of you is grateful that you’re the only one on today’s shift; your parents would’ve undoubtedly had over-the-top reactions to Soonyoung’s sudden reappearance. It’s only through years of conditioning that you’ve learned to keep your reactions under control, even when the world throws you curveballs such as these. 

Your expression is perfectly blank as you dryly note, “There’s a sign out on the front, actually.” 

“Oh? Really?” 

“Yeah. No strays allowed.” 

Soonyoung shakes his head. “Brutal,” he says, but there’s still that hint of a smile on his face.  

If you strained your ears, you might hear the trace of affection in his tone. The thought of it— of Soonyoung holding any sort of fondness for you— makes you want to scream. 

You manage to tamp that urge in favor of jerking your head towards the front door of the restaurant. “Out,” you repeat, your gaze briefly flickering to the CCTV in the corner of the store. 

Your father would probably kill you if he found out you were turning someone away. A supposed family friend, at that. But this wasn’t just a customer, and you weren’t sure if you could still call Soonyoung a friend, and it’s been six years, damn it.

“Is that any way to treat a customer?” Soonyoung goads.

“You’re not a customer.” 

“You haven’t given me the chance to be.” 

“That’s because you’re not welcome here.” 

“It’s pretty bad for business that—” 

That wasn’t going to fly. You weren’t about to take business advice from Kwon Soonyoung of all people. 

One minute, you’re behind the counter with your hands clenched into fists. The next, you’ve closed the space between you and Soonyoung. He falters as you approach, looking almost like he’s holding his breath. 

It’s not a slap that greets him. Most definitely not a hug, either. 

Instead, one of your hands dart out until you’ve got a firm grip on his ear.

Soonyoung is still taller than you, but he folds over at your rough tug. “Ow, ow, ow!” he screeches, his own hands flying out of his pockets in a futile attempt to either push you off or shield himself. 

In his split second of indecision, you manage to haul him back over to the entrance. Because you had been manning the fort, you hadn’t even noticed that it had started to snow. The first of the year. 

You don’t have the time to appreciate it. Your focus is entirely on channeling your energy to shove Soonyoung out of the restaurant. He stumbles out on the sidewalk where he rubs his offended ear with a scandalized expression on his face.

A lesser man might have snapped back, might have demanded an explanation for being manhandled so shamelessly. To your sheer annoyance, Soonyoung only laughs. 

It’s a full-bodied sound, one that practically bounces off the street. He laughs, and he laughs, and he laughs, clutching at his stomach like this is the funniest thing in the world. 

Remember how, earlier, you thought you might scream? Now, you truly almost do. Because the years have passed— but Soonyoung still laughs exactly the same. 

You don’t stick around to find out if you do end up yelling. Instead, you march right back into the restaurant with your chin jut up in a show of confidence. You can hear him trying to choke out words between his laughing fit, something akin to, “Hey, wait—,” but you’re not about to hear him out. 

Not today, not ever. 

It’s the most satisfying feeling in the world, getting to slam the door in his face. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I got hungry.”

--

“ — tried to give me business advice! Me, business advice!” 

You punctuate your exclamation with a slap to your office table. Jihoon and Wonwoo are a little too familiar with your fits of passion to be surprised; Wonwoo barely looks up from his round of Block Blast, while Jihoon only shakes his head. 

“Sounds like something he would do,” Jihoon offers empathetically.

You lean back into your chair, your expression contorted into one of utter frustration. The three of you rarely meet in your office, but you had called a DEFCON 1 situation in light of recent events. Jihoon and Wonwoo lounged leisurely in front of you as you ranted your heart away for the past thirty or so minutes. 

“Who does he think he is?” you seethe. “Showing up here unannounced!” 

Wonwoo pipes up. “It wasn’t unannounced.”

Jihoon silences Wonwoo with a warning glare. You can only glance between the two boys before Jihoon heaves out a sigh and admits, “We knew that he was coming back to visit.” 

The look of betrayal on your face must be clear as day, because Wonwoo guiltily pauses his game to flash you a sheepish grin. “We met up with him— yesterday, was it?” 

Yesterday. “And you didn’t tell me?!” Your voice is a little shrill and a whole lot incredulous.

Ever the pragmatic one, Jihoon quips, “You’ve always said that you want nothing to do with him. I presumed that involved knowing whether or not he was coming home.”

Damn it. Jihoon got you there. 

You’re not sure what you would’ve even done, really, if you’d been given a heads up. Would you have boarded up the doors to your home? Would you have sought him out yourself in a prideful bid to maintain some twisted sort of upper hand? 

You’re still mulling it over when Wonwoo delicately says, “Look at the bright side. You probably won’t run into him again.”

Jihoon attempts to distract you by getting you to talk about your most recent client— a stubborn chicken shop significantly behind on mortgage payments. You give in, if only because you want so very badly to believe in Wonwoo’s words. 

--

You should’ve known better, really, because of course your friends would lie to you. 

That’s the only thought on your mind as you keep your eyes firmly ahead and away from the smirking blonde in your peripheral vision. Already, you’re contemplating the bodily harm you’ll cause Jihoon and Wonwoo for leaving out this vital piece of information. 

But you can’t be wrathful. Not in front of the kids. 

The gaggle of twenty-something elementary students sit cross-legged on the floor, their gazes all trained on the newcomer. They’re whispering excitedly among themselves, so much so that Teacher Kang has to clap more than thrice to recapture their attention. 

“Now, everyone,” Teacher Kang announces. “Do you remember what I said about having a very special guest for today?” 

A high-pitched chorus of “Yes, Teacher Kang,” resounds throughout the auditorium. 

“Very good. Can we please give a warm welcome to Teacher Kang’s friend, Soonyoung?” 

Soonyoung makes his way to the front of the gaggle with an easy grin and a relaxed gait, like he belongs here. And maybe a part of him does. This was his turf once, too. 

“‘Soonyoung’ is a bit long, isn’t it?” he says, speaking to both Teacher Kang and the kids in front of them. It’s a small grace that he isn’t calling you out just yet, though you wouldn’t put him past it. 

“Everybody!” Soonyoung proclaims. There’s a bit of a flourish in how he moves, how he looks down at the awe-stricken kids with a bright, wide smile. He puts up one hand to his face and bends his fingers in an imitation of a paw. “You can call me Hoshi!”

The kids echo it back to him— “Teacher Hoshi!” “Hello, Mr. Hoshi!” “What’s a Hoshi?”— while Teacher Kang only smiles fondly. For your part, you keep your expression perfectly controlled, even though you’re telepathically trying to get Soonyoung to combust. 

It’s one thing for him to waltz back into your life like it’s nothing. It’s another thing for him to come around and introduce himself with the pet name you used to have for him. 

Suddenly, you’re teenagers again, visiting the zoo on a field trip. The two of you had tried so hard to hide from your chaperones that you were holding hands in the pockets of your winter coats. In hindsight, it had been the most obvious thing in the world. 

Soonyoung had excitedly pointed out the Bengal tigers lounging in their enclosure, and you joked about how similar he looked to them. 호랑이의 시선. Horangi-ui siseon, the tiger’s gaze. 

Soon after, you took to calling him Hoshi when he was on stage, when the two of you were arguing over something petty, when you wanted to be affectionate. Hoshi, let’s get ice cream today. Hoshi, take me to the library. Hoshi, I love you!

Something that was once yours alone was now everybody else’s, too. It bothers you more than you care to admit. 

You’re so caught up in reminiscing that you almost miss Teacher Kang saying, “Soonyoung— er, Hoshi— is going to help us with the Christmas showcase. He’s a very popular dancer in Seoul, so we’re happy to have him here.” 

The betrayal that rises up within you is sharp albeit short-lived. Teacher Kang didn’t owe you a warning the same way that, say, Jihoon or Wonwoo might’ve. But still. Any indication at all would have been nice. 

One of the younger students— an absolute sweetheart by the name of Iseul— tugs at your pant leg. You lean down so she can cup her little hand over your ear. 

“Do you know Mr. Hoshi?” she whispers conspiratorially. 

How fitting, for a five-year-old to pose the million-won question. It’s a loaded gun of a query even though there’s technically no right or wrong answer. 

Of course you knew ‘Mr. Hoshi’. Your mothers were best friends. The two of you were in the same classes. You dated him throughout high school. You knew him well, like the back of your hand. 

That was before he got up and left without so much of a glance over his shoulder, though. 

You give Iseul a tight-lipped smile. “I knew him once,” you answer. It’s not quite the truth, but it will have to do for now. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Took a wrong turn and ended up here.” 

--

“Are you going to ignore me the whole time, or…?” 

You answer Soonyoung’s prodding by ignoring him. 

The past week has been largely uneventful, sans Soonyoung’s occasional effort to poke his nose into your business. He at least had the decency to not show up at your family’s restaurant again, and whether or not he knows of your office is yet to be seen. 

Your interactions with him have been largely limited to the one-hour a day that you’ve dedicated to Yangjeong Elementary School. 

Yangjeong was yet another thing that the two of you shared. You were once a pig-tailed menace who outran all the boys on the playground, and Soonyoung was your snot-nosed partner-in-crime. 

Planning Yangjeong’s Christmas showcase has been your yearly commitment for as long as you can remember. Even when you were off at college, you had made it a point to set aside time for it. Volunteers have come and gone throughout the past, though this year’s volunteer was undeniably one of the more annoying ones. 

“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually, you know.” Soonyoung practically flops himself onto the desk in front of you, the sudden weight of him making the table creak. As you turn your face away, you catch sight of the pout beginning to form on his lips. 

You almost snipe at him, something along the lines of stop that or grow up or that doesn’t work on me anymore. You hold your tongue, in favor of wordlessly getting up to move to a different chair.

Soonyoung is right. You will have to talk to him soon enough.

But as you sit as far away from him as possible, readying yourself for the day ahead, you can at least decide that today will not be that day. 

Preparations for the showcase involve discussing the program with the teachers and readying the students for their performances. It’s never anything spectacular— just your run-of-the-mill rotation of tone-deaf singing and middling dances— but the town’s overzealous parents are always more than happy to indulge the show. 

Today, you and Soonyoung are set to meet with Teacher Kang to discuss the showcase’s overarching theme. 

The sixty-something-year-old woman had been your teacher as well, and so it’s understandable why she’s eyeing the pair of you with poorly concealed amusement. There’s a palpable tension between you and Soonyoung, though a significant majority of the awkwardness is likely from your end. 

“Have the two of you not kept in touch?” Teacher Kang asks as she sets down two mugs— coffee for you, hot chocolate for Soonyoung. 

“No,” the two of you say simultaneously. 

Soonyoung steals an all-too obvious glance. You keep your eyes on the coffee in front of you. 

Teacher Kang— bless her heart— decides not to push it. She settles in her own seat, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. 

“The principal wants all the kids to do a number. Nothing too flashy, but something that will give everyone a chance to be on stage.” The elderly teacher sips at her drink before going on. “That’s why I called you in, Soonyoung.” 

“I’m the reinforcements,” he jokes. 

Teacher Kang gives a short laugh in response. “Something like that.” 

She turns to you, then, with that same motherly simper that you’ve never been able to say ‘no’ to. You wonder if she’s doing this on purpose— pulling all the stops to get you to agree to what she’s going to say next. 

“I know your hands are going to be full with the program and the staffing,” she starts. “But you’ll work with Soonyoung, won’t you?” 

What kind of person would you be if you said ‘no’? If you threw a fit and demanded for Soonyoung to be thrown out?

“Of course,” you say, the word gritted out through your teeth. 

At your side, Soonyoung lets out a loud cough to disguise his grumble of ‘bullshit’. You fight the urge to kick him in the shins.

The beguiling expression on Teacher Kang’s face is merciless. At this point, she’s no longer hiding the way that she’s watching you and Soonyoung’s heatless bickering. And when she comments on it, when she says “You two haven’t changed,” you almost walk out then and there. 

I’ve changed, you want to insist. He’s changed. We’re both changed; we had to.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been worth it. The breakup, the distance, all of it. 

Soonyoung recovers before you do. 

“Ah, before I forget!” He digs for something in his pants pocket, which he eventually holds out for Teacher Kang. “You asked me for this, the last time we saw each other.” 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but try and crane your neck to catch sight of what had been handed over. Soonyoung catches the small shift and huffs out a laugh. 

“You could just ask, you know,” he says, reaching back into his pocket. 

Your protest of “I don’t—” is cut off by him shoving the same thing in your hand. Your fingers close around the calling card bearing the illustration of a tiger and a string of unfamiliar numbers. 

Hoshi, A.K.A Kwon Soonyoung, it also says. Chief Executive Officer, Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio. B1, 47, Dogok-ro 27-Gil, Gangnam-Gu, Seoul. 

“So you know where to find me,” he says with the world’s most obnoxious smirk. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I forgot something.” 

“From six years ago?” 

“From six years ago.” 

--

Everybody thought that you and Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion. 

It had been your stereotypical small town romance. You were kids together and then you were teenagers together. Some might have blamed it on forced proximity, but you like to think that the attraction and affection was real. That it wasn’t a matter of not having any other choice. 

You had chosen Soonyoung happily. He had chosen you right back.

After an awkward dance of ‘will-they-won’t-they,’ the two of you started dating in your freshman year of high school. It was the type of thing that had everybody— your respective families, your mutual friends— breathing a sigh of relief. Something akin to finally. 

For nearly four years, Soonyoung was it for you. 

He was the one walking you home, the one you messed around with behind the library building. The two of you shared nearly every first that mattered. Every first that a high schooler could afford, anyway. 

First date.

First kiss. 

And, so it goes— first heartbreak.

Soonyoung had worn his heart on his sleeve; it was abundantly clear to everyone what he cared about. Two things in particular defined him: You, and dancing.

If you really tried, you can still remember the first time that Soonyoung had choreographed a dance himself. He had been young, scrappy, hungry— all the qualities that made it possible for him to tear up the stage and leave the rest of you in awe. 

He went on to be president of your school’s modern dance club. He went on to compete, both in groups and by himself, and win. 

You picked up on it, too, if only to indulge him. The two of you had your fair share of semi-viral dance covers and podium finishes at local contests. It was yet another testament to your partnership, to what everyone presumed would spell out endgame. 

Except you only loved to dance, while Soonyoung lived for it. 

“Come with me,” he had invited you the night before your high school graduation. 

The two of you were supposed to be in bed, but your phone buzzed underneath your pillow and you couldn’t resist one last act of rebellion. You climbed out your window and met up with Soonyoung at your typical halfway point— the derelict playground the two of you have long since grown out of. 

“To where?” you asked, your sandaled feet dragging through the sand beneath the swing. Uncharacteristically, Soonyoung hadn’t kicked off at all, instead opting to remain still. 

His fingers had been tightly clenched around the rusting chain of the dated swing. You remember that much. In hindsight, he looked nervous. 

There is a timeline where he might have proposed to you that night, might have asked for an early hand in marriage, with how on edge he was acting. 

But, instead, you had prompted, “Have you finally decided on a uni?”

A beat. 

His voice— soft and vulnerable— broke the silence of the February evening. “I’m not going to uni.” 

You should have stopped swinging, then. Should have ground to a halt and grabbed Soonyoung by the shoulders. Should have called him crazy, insane.

Maybe you should have asked him to reconsider. That might have changed things. 

Except you only kept on pushing. Back, forth. Back, forth. Like this was just a normal conversation and not a relationship-defining, life-altering moment for the two of you.

“I’m going to Seoul,” he elaborated, desperate to fill your silence. “I’m going to try and be a dancer. You— you could, too.” 

Your answer was immediate. “I’m not as good as you.” 

“You are,” he argued. A muscle in his jaw jumped, then. You’d known him for long enough to recognize his little tells and ticks, and that had been one of them. An indicator of a lie. 

“I’m not.” You kept swinging, kept your face angled away from your boyfriend who was slipping through your fingers. “I’m going to uni, Soonyoung.” 

“But—”

“But what?” 

You’ll never admit this, but you had been cruel back then. You know that now.

There are things you would have done differently. You wouldn’t have snapped. You would have looked at him. 

You were young, though, and angry. Your heart had been shattering in your chest and the only thing you could do was go back and forth on that creaking swing as Soonyoung tried to get through to you. 

It hadn’t been that much of a surprise. Soonyoung’s general disinterest in college applications— and his constant rumblings about city life— had given you some idea of what his plans might be. 

You just thought you would be more involved in it. That you wouldn’t be simply handed the decision, as if it were something you would have to accept.

Young, angry, and selfish to boot. 

“Nothing.” Soonyoung eventually said. His words sounded like a concession, like some form of twisted acceptance. “You’ll go to uni.” 

“And you’ll go to Seoul.”

In your peripheral vision, you had seen Soonyoung tilt his head away as if trying to hide his face from you. Six years is a long time ago. You can’t tell if he had cried, or maybe you’ve chosen to erase that from your memory. 

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung repeated, an edge of defeat in his tone. 

You swung, and swung, and swung, like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. 

Back, forth. Back, forth. 

The quiet had stretched, giving you a chance, an opportunity. To convince him otherwise. To change your own mind. 

But— 

“And I’ll stay,” you had responded. 

That’s the thing about endings: They’re susceptible to change. 

--

The first civil words you utter to Soonyoung are “Yeah, I think the kids will enjoy Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” 

He’d been spewing out prospects for the showcase’s group dance, though each idea had to be delicately shot down by Teacher Kang. Jingle Bell Rock? Performed three years ago. Baby, It’s Cold Outside? Perhaps not the most appropriate for children. 

You can see from a mile away, the signs of Soonyoung’s growing frustration— the downturn of his lips, the furrow of his brows. When he recommends the Maria Carey classic, you throw him a bone. Just to try and wipe that look off his face.

You immediately regret your kindness, because Soonyoung’s head whips around and he looks at you with the most disbelieving, wide-eyed expression. You return the overreaction with a half-hearted glare. 

“What?” you ask defensively. 

“It’s—” He pauses, his eyes flicking to Teacher Kang. “Nothing, nothing.” 

His jaw ticks. All that time apart and he’s still never learned how to get better at lying. 

You don’t have to poke and prod to know what’s coming. Once your little meeting draws to a close— Teacher Kang eventually agreeing with Santa Claus Is Coming to Town— Soonyoung makes a beeline for your side, his excitement barely concealed. 

“Is the world ending?” he asks you.

You attempt to shoulder past him, but he only follows you out of the classroom, sticking to your side. “You said we would have to talk eventually,” you point out. “Here’s your ‘eventually’. Don’t be too happy about it.” 

“But I am happy about it,” he responds, his tone almost like that of a whining puppy. “Not too much. Just an appropriate amount.” 

So help me, God. 

You keep your gaze ahead as you walk out of the school. Soonyoung matches your pace, humming underneath his breath. You better watch out, you better not cry. You better not pout, I’m tellin’ you why. 

Once the two of you are out the front doors of the school, you’re greeted to a light dusting of snow on Namyangju’s sidewalks. 

“So,” Soonyoung says casually as you pull out your phone to check the weather for the rest of the day. “You don’t work full-time at your parents’ restaurant, do you?” 

Involuntarily, a derisive snort of laughter escapes you. “Small talk? Really?” 

There’s a boyish grin on Soonyoung’s face. “Gotta take advantage of you being chatty,” he shoots back, which only prompts you to shake your head. 

You could ignore him, like you always have. You probably should. That had always been Soonyoung’s style. 

Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

And yet—

“No,” you grumble, your eyes still absentmindedly scanning your weather app. “I only work at the restaurant part-time.” 

“The rest of the time?” 

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a talk show.” 

“Haven’t you heard? I’m primetime’s most charming host—” 

“Law. I work at a law firm.”

The answer is ripped from you in a bid to avoid Soonyoung’s theatrics, and you find yourself blinking with mild surprise, like you hadn’t prepared to divulge the detail at all. Soonyoung notices, and his lips curl in a smug smirk. 

“I know,” he says simply. “Jihoon told me.” 

You make a mental note to berate your mutual friend as you exasperatedly say, “Why did you ask, then?” 

“Because I wanted to hear it from you.” 

Soonyoung lets his words hang, linger, before he goes on. It’s just four words, what he utters next, but it still threatens to tilt your world on its axis. 

“I’m proud of you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You’ve heard your fair share of the platitude throughout the years. From Jihoon and Wonwoo, when you first got into law school. From your parents, when you passed the bar exam. From Teacher Kang, every December, when the Christmas showcase is pulled off. 

This is something entirely different. This has you shoving your phone back into your bag, just to hide the way your hand had begun to twitch at the words. 

“You can’t say stuff like that to your ex,” you snap. 

Soonyoung’s answer comes without a moment’s hesitation. “Why? Being exes doesn’t take away the fact that I’m proud of you.” 

Too much, too much, too much. It’s too much for your pride, your emotions, your heart. You wish you could take this for what it is— a compliment, some kindness— but the history goes deep, and the words feel like a scab being picked. 

You do what you do best. You turn on your heel and begin to walk away. 

Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow you. But he’s nothing if not vexatious, so he squeezes in a sing-song cry of “Byeee, attorney!” as you leave. 

You quicken your pace just a little bit more. 

--

Jihoon has the tendency to look like a kicked puppy when he’s being told off. 

He doesn’t pout, no, but the expression on his face is a close thing as you give him grief over telling Soonyoung about you. Wonwoo, stuck in the middle as per usual, only calmly cuts into his lunch. 

“Why did you have to tell Soonyoung about my work, huh?” you demand as you slice a little too forcefully into your bulgogi. “Giving him free ammunition or something?” 

Jihoon finally gets a word in edgewise. “It’s because he asks about you,” he deadpans. 

The thought of it is so insane that you bark out a laugh. The retort— bullshit!— is right on the tip of your tongue, but it dies out when Wonwoo bobs his head up and down.

Wonwoo has always been the less likely of the two to lie to you. You’re still a bit baffled even as the bespectacled man confirms, “Yeah. He asks me, too.” 

“Asks what?” 

“How you’re doing.” Wonwoo is so nonchalant about the whole affair that you’re tempted to call him out, too, but the lack of teasing in his tone gives you some sense of where his head is at. “What you’re up to. Stuff like that.” 

Kwon Soonyoung has kept tabs on you. 

In the years that you’ve tried to bury the memory of your friendship, of your relationship, Kwon Soonyoung has kept tabs. 

“He—” You clear your throat when your voice comes out a little more high-pitched than usual. If Jihoon and Wonwoo notice, they mercifully don’t call you out. 

You manage, “He could have just reached out to me.”

Jihoon, who had taken advantage of the reprieve to shovel some spoonfuls of rice into his mouth, swallows hard before speaking. 

“Would you have answered?” he inquires, one eyebrow arched upward. 

The truth— rarely plain, never simple— lies in a single, two-lettered word. No. No, you probably wouldn’t have answered. And even though you want to defend yourself, to claim otherwise, both Jihoon and Wonwoo would only do what you had wanted to do earlier. Call bullshit. 

You let out a groan of defeat, slumping forward until your forehead has planted on the table in front of you.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Wonwoo chirps, and though you can’t see him, you can already imagine the smirk that he’s sporting. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I thought there would be a high school reunion. I think I got the date wrong.” 

--

The abundance of existing routines for Santa Claus Is Coming to Town makes it somewhat easier for you and Soonyoung to dumb it down for the kids. 

You spend the next week keeping the students in line as Soonyoung teaches them how to shimmy, how to slide, how to do jazz hands. Every so often, you catch him at a loss— like when one of the younger boys tries to eat a crayon, or when the kids go into a scream-filled debate about the existence of Santa Claus. 

These are things you’re used to. These are things you can handle. 

Taking the crayons away or assuring the kids that Santa Claus is real is far, far easier than being in forced proximity with the one that got away. You’re reminded of that, now, as Soonyoung taps out for a breather and you sub in to go over the routine with the kids once more. 

They’re more prone to listening to you, and so you easily get one run of the song down without a hitch. In the years that you’ve voluntarily choreographed for the showcase, you’ve never thought too much about the technicalities of your skill. You danced well enough to teach, to pull off a decent, child-appropriate routine. That had been enough. 

But with the scrutinizing eyes of dance studio CEO ‘Hoshi’ following your every move, you feel that simmer of competitiveness in your stomach. 

After three more runs of the number with the children, you let them go. As you go to catch your breath over one of the auditorium’s bleachers, you’re surprised by a hand holding out a Cool Blue Raspberry Gatorade. 

“Is this still your poison?” Soonyoung asks with a hint of amusement as he settles into the space next to you. 

You don’t answer. Briefly, your mind goes to those days— the salsa competitions, the random play dance events. How Soonyoung’s backpack always had his Game Boy Color, a change of clothes, and a blue Gatorade. The last one, always for you. 

You uncork the drink, tilt your head back, and take a long swig. It’s as close to a confirmation that you’re going to give him. 

The two of you sit in silence as the children begin to file out of the auditorium. Once the only two of you are left, Soonyoung speaks up, the words far too quiet in the otherwise empty room. 

“You really are good, you know.” 

It takes you a beat too long to realize that he’s talking about your dancing. If the two of you were on better terms, you might have teased him about that night on the playground, many years ago, when he had fibbed about you being as good of a dancer as he is.

As it is, you can only respond with an equally soft, “Thanks.”

Being the bigger person lasts for all of fifty seconds, though, because Soonyoung’s next words prickle. 

“Could’ve been much bigger.” 

“Excuse me?”

He freezes, an oh shit type of expression crossing his face. Even so, he doubles down. “I'm just saying,” he starts, his tone growing slightly more defensive. “You could have done much more—” 

Your words are cold as your fingers close tighter around the half-empty bottle of Gatorade. “Am I not doing much where I am right now?” 

“You’re twisting my words,” he shoots back.

“Those are exactly your words,” you fume. 

It’s an old wound, one that Soonyoung poked with something sharp the second he returned home and made his presence known. You’ve done everything you can to ignore it, to keep the ache and the bitterness at bay, but you can’t help the way that it rises in your throat like bile. Something acidic, and foul, and unwelcome. 

You get to your feet, leaving the offered Gatorade on the bleacher. “Sorry not all of us moved to the city and had a big break, Kwon,” you say as you begin to gather your things.

“Jesus Christ.” Soonyoung’s cuss is punctuated with a laugh, but it’s not like any of the laughs you’re used to from him. The sound is annoyed, pained. Almost hurt, even, though you try not to dwell on that. 

Your relationship, your breakup, is an old wound that hasn’t completely healed. It’s been on the edge of festering ever since you lost contact with him. 

And, now, as you leave him stewing in his emotions, you figure that it’s only going to fester some more. 

--

Back then, the two of you had dubbed each other The Great Pretenders. 

Dating in high school required a certain level of delicadeza. While your relationship was largely accepted and acknowledged, there were still a number of things you had to hide from your families and friends. Tear-stained faces after petty arguments. Hickies under the collars of your school uniforms. 

It’s been years, but The Great Pretenders makes a reappearance when the pair of you have to face Teacher Kang the next day.

It goes unspoken that whatever the hell is going on between you two shouldn’t affect the showcase, shouldn’t be obvious to anyone that matters. And so the two of you update her on the kids’ progress, and sip the warm drinks that she offers, without any indication of having had a spat. 

The check-in winds to a close after a couple of polite exchanges. Teacher Kang seems pleased with preparations so far, though she looks even more happy about you and Soonyoung’s perceived civility, which damn near bowls you over. 

“By the way, Soonyoung,” Teacher Kang says conversationally as the three of you pack up for the afternoon. “How’s the studio?” 

“All good.” He pauses, like he realized he hadn’t given that sufficient of an answer. “We’re usually busy around this time of year, but I have one of my staff keeping watch while I’m here. I plan to head back once the holiday season is over.” 

You should’ve seen it coming, but something beneath your rib cage still twinges at the thought. You ignore the feeling in favor of shouldering your backpack. 

“You shouldn’t wait so long before coming back again,” Teacher Kang half-jokes.

Soonyoung’s chuckle— a dry, unconvincing huff of ha-ha— is chased with the cool delivery of “I’ll try to make it a more regular thing.”

In the corner of your eye, you catch what Teacher Kang misses. The most imperceptible tick in Soonyoung’s jaw. 

Liar, you think. Liar, liar, liar. 

You and Soonyoung had mastered the art of pretending, sure, but you could never quite get away from each other. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I’d forgotten the sound of my mother’s voice.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

--

The snow returns with a vengeance. 

It’s that time of winter where the streets are blanketed with white, where the sleet and rain makes conditions horrendous. You have no choice but to soldier through the soft hail as you make your way to the school, which you’re committed to reach come rain or shine.

Except when you get to the front doors, you’re greeted by a bemused-looking Soonyoung. 

You pat down your snow-clad clothes as you look him up and down. “Where are you going?” 

He answers your question with one of his own. “Haven’t you heard?” He holds up his phone. “Practice is cancelled today. Everybody’s snowed in.” 

You were rarely the type to walk and text, so your phone has been sitting pretty in your pocket this whole time. When you go to check it, you find messages from Teacher Kang. Canceling showcase preparations in lieu of the weather. Stay safe and dry. 

“I just found out myself,” Soonyoung says delicately. 

Ah. That explained why he was the only other person around. 

Disgruntled, you glance at your surroundings. There’s barely anyone present, and the snow is only seeming to fall heavier with each passing minute. You’d be lucky to get a cab at this rate—

“Or I could just drive you.” 

You jump a bit. At what point had you started saying that last thought out loud? 

“That’s not necessary,” you start to say, but Soonyoung is already fishing for his car keys in his jacket pocket. 

“I know you hate my ass,” he responds bluntly. “But that hatred isn’t worth freezing to death over, no?” 

His face is turned away from you, so there’s no way for you to tell what expression he’s sporting. It’s a small grace. Even though you dread the thought of being stuck in a small space with nothing but your thoughts and an old ghost to keep your company, you do hate the prospect of hypothermia even more. 

That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of Soonyoung’s beat-up Hyundai Pony, which stutters and bucks every time he has to take a turn. It’s the very same car that you both learned to drive in, though it’s looking significantly worse for wear. 

While nostalgia has proven to be a bitch, you can’t resist the jab on the tip of your tongue. “Jesus,” you breathe, your fingers tightening around your seatbelt as Soonyoung barely makes a corner. “I can’t believe this thing’s still alive.” 

“That makes two of us,” he quips with a grimace. 

Once the car miraculously makes its way past a snowed-out road, Soonyoung notes, “Remember when my dad first taught us how to get through rain?”

The memory brings the flicker of a smile to your face. “You were so scared you might run a squirrel over,” you say. 

“You swore up and down that you’d never drive on a wet road,” Soonyoung shoots back.  

“I still don’t,” you respond, glancing out the window for the lack of a better thing to look at. “I ask my dad to drive whenever it’s raining.” 

Soonyoung’s next words make you pause. “Your dad hated me,” he huffs. 

You let out a snort of laughter. “That’s not true. He really liked you.” 

“He always left the room whenever I came in,” Soonyoung argues. 

“He wanted to give us privacy.” You can’t help the sigh that slides past your lips, the sound edged with annoyance. “Really, you’ve got to stop blaming other people for why we didn’t work out.”

The words hang heavy in the din of the car. You wonder, for a second, if you’d been too callous, but there’s something like a rueful smile that tugs at Soonyoung’s face. 

“Sorry. Coping mechanism,” he responds, and you don’t push any further. 

An awkward couple of moments follow. Unfortunately for you, Soonyoung has never learned the art of tact— always pushing it just a little bit, right to the point where the tension is drawn like a rubber band. 

“You know, my mom has been asking about you,” Soonyoung says conversationally as he turns into your neighborhood. “Says I should invite you over for lunch.” 

Your grasp on the seatbelt is white-knuckled. It wasn’t like you were actively avoiding the Kwons; you were perfectly polite when you saw them in public, when you ran into them in the supermarket or at church. But it’s been years since you last stepped foot in their house, and for obvious reasons, too. 

“I’m not ready for that,” you answer tersely. 

Soonyoung is either oblivious to your agitation or ignorant of it. Regardless of which, he goes on, “I said the same thing. I guess she still thinks—” 

“Let’s not go there.” Your tone is just cutting enough to give Soonyoung pause, to have him stammer to a halt as he pulls to a stop in front of your house. “I’m hot having this conversation with you, Soonyoung.” 

He doesn’t apologize, though he does back down. “Right,” he mumbles as he parks. “Right.” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt, careful to keep your gaze trained away from Soonyoung. “Thanks for the ride.”

Soonyoung is graciously quiet as you step out of his car, though that lasts for all of ten seconds— just enough for you to almost close the door on him— when he speaks up. 

“Hey. For the record,” he starts, leaning over the center console to get in the last word. “I don’t blame anyone else for our breakup. I know whose fault it is.” 

You raise an eyebrow. He throws you an infuriating grin before reaching over to pull the door close himself. 

Soonyoung peels away, once again leaving you with more questions than answers. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“It’s cold in the city, during the winter.” 

--

You and Soonyoung find yourselves doubling your efforts as the date of the showcase looms.

You spend more of your time with Teacher Kang. You extend a little more patience to the kids. You dance— dance the routines, dance with Soonyoung, dance around the truth. 

But when the elephant in the room is as big as it is, ignorance is not an option. And Soonyoung never did learn how to keep his mouth shut. 

It’s late in the evening, the two of you having pulled extra hours to work on decor. You’d felt like it was going a little too well with the way that the two of you were uncharacteristically cordial throughout the afternoon. But of course that was too good to be true, because just as you were packing up for the night, Soonyoung had to go and say— 

“Are you happy here?” 

You freeze midway into packing away the multi-colored, Christmas tree-shaped banners. That familiar flash of frustration, that inkling that he’s looking down on you, rises up again. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you say, and he’s immediately prickly. 

“It’s nothing.” He shoves some of the props behind the stage, hasty in his pursuit to end the conversation as fast as possible. “Forget I said anything.” 

“Come on,” you bristle. All the while, you’re also putting things back in place— your movements just a little more forceful than necessary. “Spit it out. You started it.” 

“I was just asking.” 

“You’re never ‘just asking’. Go on, say it.” 

“You—” 

The two of you are glaring at each other, now, your face red and Soonyoung’s fists balled at his side. When you speak, it’s with a tone that could cut through ice. 

“Just because I chose to stay,” you say. “It doesn’t mean my dreams are smaller than yours.” 

Soonyoung looks dumbstruck. His voice is impossibly tight; his words, reverberating in the otherwise empty hall. 

“I wasn’t going to say your dreams are small. It’s just… We—” He backtracks, like the pronoun had been a scalding slip of the tongue. “You could’ve sold out auditoriums.” 

Your answer is immediate, if not a little strained. 

“A sold out auditorium doesn’t matter if the one person you want isn’t at the recital,” you say. “Some people find happiness right where they are, and this is mine.” 

And that’s always been the crux of it, hasn’t it? Soonyoung has tried to make a name for himself in cities, in rooms full of people cheering his name. His definition of success was only achievable in quantity, in scale. Yours was different, and he could never really quite accept that. 

There’s a moment where Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with a pinched expression on his face. He opens his mouth like he might say something— 

“Oi! You two!”

You and Soonyoung jump, the tension that had been simmering between you two disappearing at the interruption. The school’s ancient janitor lingers by the door, squinting at you two. 

“Whaddya think yer still doin’ here?” the old man croaks, wielding his broom in a fashion that still makes you recoil. “It’s past curfew! Geddout!” 

Never mind the fact you and Soonyoung were now in your late twenties and long out of high school. The two of you still cower and meekly mumble, “Sorry, Mr. Cho.” 

It’s snowing again when the two of you step out. Soonyoung’s face is set in stone as he mumbles, “Get in my car.” 

Right. Like that was going to happen. 

With a wordless huff, you begin to march in the opposite direction to him. “Hey,” he calls out. “Where are you going?” 

“Home!” 

“In this— hey, it’s snowing!”

“That’s what happens during the winter!” 

You’d be a little more conscious about having a screaming match in the streets if it wasn’t nearly midnight. Something about the incessant snowfall and the cloak of darkness gives you just a little more courage to speak your mind, to toe that line that the two of you have so haphazardly drawn. 

Soonyoung marches after you, his own misgivings about the weather momentarily forgotten. He’s raring to fight, and it shows in the way he stomps through the snow like an overgrown child. 

“So that’s it, then?” he hollers from a couple of paces behind you. “You’re just going to stay here for the rest of your life, playing it safe? Work at the family restaurant because of filial piety? Marry— I don’t fucking know— guy-next-door Joshua Hong, and have babies, and—” 

“What is your problem?!” you snap, rounding on Soonyoung. He skids to a halt, stopping himself from completely barreling into you. “Why are you acting like you know me?” 

“Because I do!” His voice cracks on the last word. “I know you!”

“No, you don’t.” 

“I know you very well.” 

“From what? Jihoon and Wonwoo’s stories?” There’s a muscle straining in your neck from the way you’ve raised your voice, but you can’t find it in yourself to back down. “Think that’s enough to fill a six-year gap?” 

That seems to get Soonyoung. “You never reached out to me! Not once!” he seethes. 

“Well, neither did you!”

“I didn’t think—” His breath catches. He pushes on. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” 

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.” 

“What’s your excuse, then?” he shoots back. “Come on. I’m dying to hear it.” 

What’s your excuse, he’s asking. Why haven’t you reached out? If you were so angry and upset about the radio silence, why did you do nothing about it? 

Several answers occur to you at once. There was Soonyoung’s own flimsy reasoning. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.

There was something close to the truth, something a little too vulnerable to be spoken out loud. I was mad at you. I hated you for a bit. I think I still hate you even now. 

There was the whisper of something treacherous, something damning. I was scared that I would only end up asking for you to come back. 

None of those words come out. You stay standing across from Soonyoung in the wake of his challenge, your face flushed, your gaze narrow. He glares right back at you, unyielding in his pride and his pain. 

The silence stretches. It becomes an answer in itself. 

“Exactly,” Soonyoung says with a heavy exhale. There’s a spark of flint in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be likened to hurt. “It takes two people to break up. You always seem to forget that.” 

As he begins to stalk away, you’re overcome with that feeling again. That heavy weight in your chest, put there whenever you know he got the last word, whenever he turned out to be right. Soonyoung has only taken about three steps away before you’re bending down and cupping some snow in your hands. 

The hastily-made snowball hits Soonyoung on the back of his head. It splatters against his hair, leaving tiny, glistening flakes tangled in his blonde strands. 

He freezes, but only for a moment. In the blink of an eye, Soonyoung is already crouching down to retaliate. He’s quicker and much more savage, and his revenge soars through the end to land squarely in your chest. 

You stagger backward, the gasp catching in your throat. Oh, it’s on.

What ensues is the most ruthless snowball fight that your small town has seen. Snowballs are hurled with reckless abandon, the ice crystals getting everywhere from your clothes to your socks. Neither of you even bother to try and hide from the onslaught. The two of you take each other’s attacks, every hit punctuated with heatless insults that have simmered too long. 

“You never called—” Soonyoung screeches, sending a cold sphere against your shoulder. 

“You didn’t visit—” you shriek as you shape ammunition in your gloved hands. 

“You deleted every photo of me off your Facebook—” A snowball to your side. 

“You talked to Jihoon and Wonwoo, but not me—” Another square hit to Soonyoung’s chest, sending a puff of powdery snow up into his face.

“Coward!”

“Asshole!”

It feels like hours before the two of you let up. 

The two of you are covered in snow from head to toe; your chests heaving from exertion, your cheeks ruddy from the cold. The heat of the exchange leaves you both puffing breaths that cloud the air between you. 

There’s a hint of something in your stances. Something that feels like it belongs to another time— before the breakup, before the distance. 

Quietly, Soonyoung starts to laugh. 

His hands are on his hips and his head is tilted back. The flakes catch on his eyelashes, his hair, but he keeps his face upturned to the sky as he laughs, and laughs, and laughs. 

That old, familiar sound. The one that warms you up from the inside, whether or not you care to admit it. You’re doubled over, your hands on your knees, as you watch him look more and more like the boy you loved and lost. 

“I hate you,” you choke out, though a corner of your mouth has twitched upward. 

He doesn’t even look at you as he responds.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Missed you, too.” 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Am I not allowed to?” 

--

“Soonyoung says you two kissed and made up.” 

You shoot Jihoon an unamused glare. 

From across you, he raises his hand in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t believe him, of course,” he insists, though you don’t miss the way he and Wonwoo try to discreetly exchange money under the table. 

Wonwoo catches your suspicious expression and gives you an apologetic grin in return. 

“Made a bet,” he says. 

“You two suck,” you groan. 

Your three’s weekly lunch has gone mostly swimmingly up to the point that Jihoon had brought up Soonyoung. Now, though, with the topic broached, neither of your friends see the need to be discreet about it. 

“I do wonder why Soonie decided to come home now, after all these years,” Wonwoo muses aloud, toying with his chopsticks as he speaks. “Seems a bit out of the blue, doesn’t it?” 

“He came home because Teacher Kang asked him,” you point out. 

One of Jihoon’s eyebrows cocks upward. “Teacher Kang has asked him every year for the past couple of years,” he says. “So it’s not just that, I’m sure.” 

Wonwoo chimes in with, “Must be something real important, then.” 

Jihoon nearly smirks. “Or someone.” 

What feels like your nth groan of the evening escapes you. “Put a sock in it, you two,” you grumble, drawing snickers from your friends.

Jihoon mouths something to Wonwoo. You can’t make it out for certain, but it looks suspiciously like a wordless grumble of Bet’s still on. 

--

Civility is a rare thing to share with Soonyoung. 

With the showcase mere days away, it’s a welcome development. At least it’s easier for the two of you to iron out the chinks in the routines, to ensure the program is up to par with the school’s standards.

But with civility comes an even more fragile thing— hope. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung will hold open doors for you or haul the heavier props on your behalf, much to your chagrin and to Teacher Kang’s amusement. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung starts to make small talk about everything from your day job to your parents, never minding much that he’s the one who has to carry half the conversations. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung tries to make you laugh, and how, one afternoon, he finally succeeds.

You can’t even remember what it was. Some terrible joke about the kids, maybe. All you know is that a snort of laughter had slid out of you, the sound not quite the derisive giggles you’d been giving him the past couple of weeks. 

You’re still chuckling when you see Soonyoung’s face. 

Immediately, you sober up. “What?” you ask, because he’s staring at you with his jaw slack and his eyes slightly wide. 

He tries to rearrange his expression into something more acceptable; it’s too late, given that you’ve already caught him. Soonyoung may have not always been honest, but he was expressive. 

You glare at him, indicating that he’s not about to escape, and he huffs out a defeated sigh. 

“It’s just— I forgot, okay?” 

“Forgot what?” 

“How good happiness looks on you.” 

Who the hell says something like that on a random Thursday? 

Soonyoung still has that vaguely dazed look in his eyes, even though you’ve begun to stare at him like he’s insane. As he walks away to go and refill his water bottle, he nearly collides with one of the auditorium’s poles, drawing raucous laughter from the kids. 

You shush them, the tips of your ears beginning to flame. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“It was about time.” 

--

It’s nothing short of a miracle, how you, Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Wonwoo all end up at the same table at Taco Joe’s. 

Jihoon had been the one who proposed the idea. So casually, too, like he was readying himself for one of your infamous tirades or a flurry of your punches. Soonyoung wants to grab drinks with all of us.

To Jihoon and Wonwoo’s surprise, you had only responded with, “When?” 

Neither boys want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so they’re extra careful in playing their cards right. Wonwoo vows to be the designated driver. Jihoon holds back on making any jokes about the whole affair. And, Soonyoung— well, he’s just happy to be there. 

“This place really hasn’t changed, huh?” Soonyoung snickers as he sips at his beer. 

There’s not a lot of bars to choose from in your small town, making Taco Joe’s something of an institution. Its low lights, Top 50’s playlist, and cheap drinks attract more of the mid-twenties crowd, though there had been a time in your teenage years when you’d all tried and failed to sneak in. 

“Joe threatened to ban us for life when we first stepped foot in here,” Jihoon reminisces. 

Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his face by the bridge of his nose. “Worse,” he says. “He said he would tell our parents.” 

Simultaneously, the four of you shudder. A small smile tugs at your lips as you extend your cocktail for the boys to cheers with. 

“To vindication,” you announce. 

There’s a ripple of laughter among your friends. 

“Vindication,” they echo, clinking their bottles and glasses with yours. 

A part of you is suspicious at how pleasant the night is going. The conversation is easy, if not a little on the safe side. The drinks are good. The music is more often a hit instead of a miss. It’s shaping up to be a decent evening, though there are a handful of interruptions here and there. 

Kwon Soonyoung is a bit of a local celebrity, after all. 

Everybody and their mother knows about his swanky dance studio in the city, about the idols and celebrities he’s met in his line of work. Every so often, someone will stop by to greet him, to exchange a word or two with him. 

Soonyoung is perfectly amicable to all of them. His smile, practiced; his words, cool and smooth. After the fourth or so person has come up to say hello to the Hoshi, Jihoon voices out what you’ve all been thinking. 

“It’s so exhausting hanging out with you,” Jihoon says dryly.

Soonyoung giggles mid-swig of his alcohol. “Can’t help it.” He fakes a tired sigh, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “Everybody wants a piece of me.” 

“I’ll tear you to pieces if anyone else comes up to us,” Wonwoo warns. 

Your gaze flicks over Wonwoo’s shoulder, towards someone approaching your corner table. “Get those claws ready, Wonu,” you say.

When Joshua Hong saunters up to your group’s table, though, his greeting for Soonyoung is cursory at best. 

“Nice to see you back, Kwon,” the man says politely before turning his attention to you. “Hey, you.” 

You straighten in your seat. Jihoon and Wonwoo exchange a look. Soonyoung’s eyes narrow ever so slightly as he gives a grumbled ‘hello’ to Joshua’s lackluster greeting. 

It’s apparent that Joshua isn’t there for him, because Joshua is instead smiling at you. “Hey,” you respond in kind. “What’s up?” 

Joshua had been an upperclassman during your school days, part of the infamous trio featuring troublemaker Yoon Jeonghan and varsity captain Choi Seungcheol. But Joshua was more on the mild side, known for his volunteer work at the local choir. He wasn’t any less unattainable, though, and you’re reminded of why Soonyoung so callously threw his name out during your more recent spat. 

Prior to dating Soonyoung, you did have a raging crush on Joshua, after all. You’re briefly reminded of it as he flashes you a warm smile. “I was hoping I could buy you a drink,” he says. “For… you know.” 

There’s absolutely nothing coy in Joshua’s words. He’s not suggestive, not trying to come on to you. All the same, the three boys at your table react like Joshua had just proposed. 

Jihoon bites back a grin. Wonwoo cocks his head to one side. Soonyoung shoots back a quarter of his beer. 

For… you know, Joshua is saying, and you know exactly what he means even though the rest aren’t privy to it. You’re already getting to your feet before you can register it. “Yeah,” you say, nodding towards the bar. “Let’s go.” 

None of your friends say a thing as you step away with Joshua, but you can feel their eyes on your back. You know you’re going to get hell for it later— but, for now, you focus on the small talk that Joshua has to offer. 

He lets you pick out your cocktail of choice. As the bartender goes to make it, Joshua smiles down at you. There had been a time where you might’ve keened over at the sight of it; now, though, it only makes your heart flutter a bit. 

His voice is just loud enough to be heard over the thumping music, but low enough that it’s just for the two of you. 

“Thank you for your help,” he says. “Really. You’re a life-saver.” 

Your expression softens underneath the lights of the bar. “How’s your dad?” 

Joshua’s smile is a little tight, but not any less sincere. “Better,” he responds. “It’s rough, of course, but he’s coping.” 

Earlier in the year, Joshua’s father had been one of your firm’s clients. It had been a lot more challenging than you thought, working with someone you personally knew. The arduous process had involved unsecured debts, scarred credit scores, and seized collaterals, but you were ultimately able to help the Hongs in closing down their music school. 

“I’m glad.” You pause, as if realizing that’s not quite the right thing to say. “I’m not glad about what happened—” 

Joshua’s laughter cuts through your tirade. Your shoulders ease when you realize it’s not a particularly mean laugh. More of an amused sound at your panic. 

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he reassures as the bartender slides your drinks to you. Joshua gives the other man a nod and a mumbled promise of tipping later.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Joshua says. “Just wanted to show my appreciation.” 

“You didn’t have to.” Your fingers wrap around the drink he brought you. “But thank you, anyway.” 

Joshua nods, grins. The lines are clear as day. He’s not flirting, not trying to get in your pants or anything. The drink is exactly that: A show of gratitude. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Some old version of you might have been disappointed. Tonight, you are only oddly relieved. The two of you talk a little more— about things that are neither here nor there— before Joshua lets you go. 

Upon your return to your table, you’re greeted with a sight for sore eyes. 

Somehow, in the fifteen or so minutes that you were gone, Soonyoung had already shot back his first bottle of beer. As you slide back into your seat next to Wonwoo, your bespectacled friend quietly divulges, “That’s his third one.” 

“Third?” You glance toward Soonyoung, your eyebrows raised quizzically. “Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning or something?” 

Soonyoung only flashes you a grin before taking another swig. He ignores your question in favor of chatting Jihoon’s ear off; the latter throws you a bemused look before going back to his conversation with Soonyoung. 

You huff out a sigh as you go to nurse the cocktail that Joshua got you. 

“I wonder what’s gotten into him,” Wonwoo says, his tone just a little too smug for his own good. 

You shoot him a sideways glare. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, hiding his blooming smile behind a sip of his soda. 

As the night wears on, you begin to feel that familiar buzz in your system. The telltale signs of your tipsiness leave you pleasantly sated— your laughter a little less restrained, your brain a lot more empty. So when Soonyoung leans across the table to yell at you, “Let’s dance!”, your first instinct is not to say Fuck off. 

The words that come out instead are “To what song?” 

Soonyoung is already standing up and moving around the table to get to your side. An intoxicated Jihoon and sober Wonwoo only watch on, spectators to this impending dumpster fire, as Soonyoung reaches out to tug you out of your seat. 

“Any song,” he breathes. His face is flushed a deep shade of red, but his eyes are as bright as ever. “Anything you want.” 

There’s a right thing to do in this situation.

The right thing to do would be to let Soonyoung down politely. To tell him no, you’re not interested in dancing. You’re happy to drink with him and your friends, but you’re not about to indulge him with the thing that once made the two of you so close. You don’t think your heart can take it. 

But you’re two cocktails in. The music is good. And Soonyoung is looking at you with that absolutely incandescent expression, faring not any better than you in the game of sobriety. How could you deny him? 

You let him pull you to your feet. His hand stays wrapped around your wrist as he drags you out onto the dance floor, as he leans over to the DJ and yells, “Do you have any GD?!”

The current track transitions into the unmistakable beats of Good Boy. Soonyoung’s face lights up like a firework. 

You’re drunk enough to laugh at him, with him, as you easily fall into the decade-old dance routine. No matter how long it’s been, it seems like your body still remembers every step, every hand movement. 

You’re drunk enough to not care that Wonwoo is not-so discreetly filming the two of you, that Jihoon is wearing a knowing smirk. Come tomorrow, your friends will have a lot to say about this moment. But, right now, it’s all inconsequential. 

You’re drunk enough to dance. To dance in a way that isn’t simply for Christmas showcase purposes. To dance and remember why you loved it so much in the first place. 

To dance with the boy who got you into it in the first place. 

Good Boy spins into Home Sweet Home, then Fantastic Baby, then Gee. You and Soonyoung dance through it all. Honestly, you’re no longer built for this the same way that you once were, and you’re certainly not up to par with Soonyoung.

His drunkenness does nothing to dampen his energy or his dancing skills. He moves across the floor with the practiced ease of a professional, putting everyone to shame without even trying. His toothy smile never leaves his face as the two of you swing and pop and glide. 

By the time the DJ starts to play more modern pop, you call for a time-out. Soonyoung stumbles after you and the two of you collapse onto a nearby couch, boneless from the non-stop dancing. 

Wonwoo is off to one side, chatting with a girl, while Jihoon is nowhere to be found. You wouldn’t hold it past the latter to be on a smoke break of some sorts; nights out always tended to drain him, after all. 

“Insane,” Soonyoung croaks out. Blonde strands of his hair stick to his face due to sweat. You resist the urge to fix it.

“I haven’t danced like that in ages,” you say, rolling your shoulders to fight off the growing ache in your body. 

Soonyoung tries to laugh. The sound comes out more like a wheeze. His next words are mumbled in between attempts to catch his breath. “You’re good, babe.” 

Come Back Home is thumping through the speakers. You try to focus on that instead of Soonyoung’s Freudian slip; you fail miserably, and it must show on your face because Soonyoung sucks in some air through his teeth. 

“Sorry.” He’s laughing, but the sound is a bit rough around the edges. “Moment of weakness.” 

A beat. “Wanna dance some more?” he prompts. 

Whether it’s a desperate bid to run from his words or a sincere offer by a man who simply lives to dance, you don’t question it. “Yeah,” you say a little too quickly. “Let’s dance.” 

You dance until you feel like your feet are going to fall off. Soonyoung matches your pace, never missing a beat. When he needs to take a break, he drinks some more— an endless cycle of dance floor shenanigans and drawn-out sips of beer. 

It’s probably why he’s swaying by the time that you’re all calling it a night. Wonwoo and Jihoon flank Soonyoung on either side, the blonde still somehow having the tenacity to chatter while dragging his feet. He’s talking out of his ass about one thing or another, like music these days “not being as good as the OGs,” and you can sense Wonwoo’s exasperation over the whole thing. 

“Living in Seoul has done absolutely nothing for your tolerance,” Wonwoo grumbles, prompting Soonyoung to go into a long-winded rant about the cultural differences in drinking culture. 

The relief on Wonwoo’s face is palpable as he shoves Soonyoung into the backseat of his car. 

Jihoon gives a nod of his own. “You’ll be good to drive?” he asks Wonwoo.  

“Didn’t drink a drop,” Wonwoo chirps. “You?” 

“Sobered up, like, two hours ago,” Jihoon says wryly. He gives you a vicious side eye— wordlessly blaming you for not being able to go home any earlier, since he was your designated driver— and you raise your shoulders in a half-shrug. 

“You were the one who invited me out to drink.” Your voice is hoarse from all the alcohol, from the physical exertion of non-stop dancing. 

You’re somehow lucid enough to register that Soonyoung is calling for you. There’s a slight pout on his face, like he’s upset to be missing out on the conversation. He’s bracing himself against the frame of the car door, his legs swung over the seat, as you gingerly approach.

“What?” you ask.  

This close, you can smell his faint cologne, mingling with the scent of alcohol and sweat. 

This close, you can see the way his eyes are slightly unfocused; his mouth, still bearing the hint of a glowing smile. 

“You—” he croaks out. 

His gaze darts to your lips. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. You don’t miss it.

Your breath stills in your chest, and Soonyoung is looking up at your face like he’s searching for something. Denial? Reciprocity? 

He must not have found what he was looking for, because the words he grumbles are, “I’m going to hurl.” 

Wonwoo’s panicked shriek cuts through the otherwise quiet parking lot. 

“Not in my fucking car, asswipe!” 

--

Soonyoung’s hangover the next day is comical. 

You can’t help but snicker as he rolls up to the showcase’s dry run with shades over his eyes and a large cup of coffee in his shaking hands. 

“You suck,” he hisses to you as he slides on to the bench next to you. Teacher Kang is busy heralding the students, getting them into their costumes and places, so the two of you have a minute alone before the hubbub strikes up. 

“You’re the one who can’t hold down his alcohol,” you respond, eyeing his slumped form with amusement. 

Soonyoung mumbles some incoherent cusses, his free hand reaching up to rub at his temples. 

“God, my last memory was Hong coming up to the table,” he grouses. 

You’re reminded of the inordinate amount of alcohol he downed in your brief absence. I wonder what’s gotten into him, Wonwoo had said. 

“That clears,” you say sympathetically. 

There’s a moment’s pause before Soonyoung tentatively asks, “Did the two of you ever…?” 

You don’t immediately register what he’s asking about Joshua. When it hits you, though, you find a startled laugh sliding past your lips. Because there’s Wonwoo’s answer, even though you don’t recognize it then and there. 

“Hong? No, no.” For reasons you can’t quite explain, you feel compelled to tack on, “I haven’t really had the time to date.” 

“Oh.” It kills you, how Soonyoung almost sounds relieved. “Me, too. I mean— me neither.” 

“Ah.” 

“Running a dance studio is a lot of work.” 

“Right.” 

“And I’m sure— law school, right? That was a lot of work, too.” 

“Right, yeah.” 

It’s a stilted conversation, one heavy in its implications. The real things that the two of you want to say, want to address, linger on the surface, but neither of you seem to want to break that ice. 

You settle, instead, for this moment. For the negligible distance between the two of you on the bleachers and how it closes, slow but steady, like the ticking hands of a clock. 

Your shoulder just barely presses against Soonyoung’s. 

Neither of you move away. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Because I love you, and I miss you.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Only one of those is a lie, actually.” 

--

You’ve always liked being front of house during the showcase.

You’re a familiar face to the parents of the children, to the community members who attended the event every year. Their warmth is a welcome reprieve from your nerves. 

You make small talk. You usher people to their seats. You try not to wonder where the hell Kwon Soonyoung is. 

Despite having his calling card, you haven’t deigned to reach out. It’s tucked away in a drawer at home; you don’t quite know what to do with it. Maybe you’ll actually save his number one of these days. 

You’re entertaining the thought when you feel a hand at your elbow. The smiling face of Iseul’s mother— the pompous but well-meaning Mrs. Hwang— greets you. 

“There’s no need for that,” she says with a chuckle as you fold into a bow. You don’t miss the way she nonetheless preens at your formalities. It’s why you keep up with it. 

You let her link your arms and, out of instinct, you begin to lead her to one of the free seats in the auditorium. “Are you excited for this year’s show, Mrs. Hwang?” you ask conversationally. 

“You know it,” she answers. “Iseul has been talking non-stop about her performance, but she refuses to tell me what song to expect!”

You’d recognize Mrs. Hwang’s baiting tendencies from a mile away. With a curt giggle, you tell her, “You’ll find out soon enough, Mrs. Hwang. I promise it’ll be worth the suspense.” 

The older woman gives you a disapproving frown, but it smooths out as she seems to realize a change in topic. The auditorium is notably a little more packed this year, enough to have the volunteers bringing out additional Monobloc chairs. 

“I guess people want to see what the Kwon boy has done to the showcase, hm?” she notes, speaking into existence the fact that you’ve neglected to acknowledge so far.

Surprisingly, you don’t feel bitter about it. People were showing up to assess Soonyoung’s choreography, to bask in the product of his labor. There’s a twinge of something in your chest. It could almost be mistaken for pride.  

Mrs. Hwang tacks on, “Mighty shame.” 

That throws you off. “Pardon?” 

She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes zeroing in on an empty chair by the front of the stage. She practically drags you there as she continues, “It’s really so unfortunate. The whole thing about his dance studio tanking.” 

The whole thing about his dance studio tanking. 

What the hell was she talking about? 

The universe, once again, had to be messing with you. You’re convinced this is some skit. Some buildup to a joke. 

But the punch line never comes, and you end up admitting, “I don’t think I’ve heard about that yet, Mrs. Hwang.” 

Your voice is surprisingly even for someone whose world was closing in. If Mrs. Hwang can sense the trepidation in your demeanor, she makes no indication of it. You’re grateful for her obliviousness, even, because she only keeps talking as she settles into her seat. 

“My girls are always talking about it,” she says, referring to the group of forty-something-year-old women who like to gather and gossip in the town’s sole Italian restaurant. “That’s why he’s back. Couldn’t hack it out there.” 

When she glances up at you with a scrutinizing expression, you just know you’re not going to like what she says next. You’re proven right when she says, “We thought he’d ask for your help, actually. Isn’t liquidation your specialty?” 

You can’t be bothered to correct the woman over the technicalities. You give her a tight smile, a nod of your head, a polite ‘goodbye’ as you take your leave. 

There are much more pressing matters, you think to yourself, as you go to greet more guests, make sure the music is all queued up, check in on the host’s script.

You didn’t spend over a month preparing for tonight only to lose yourself before it’s even begun. You refuse to let the new piece of information trip you up, even though it has your heart acting like a caged animal underneath your ribs. 

The showcase goes by without a hitch. The children are more than phenomenal; they’re perfect. 

The audience is enamored. The teachers are overjoyed. 

You want nothing more than to go home and tear up Soonyoung’s calling card. 

As the showcase wraps up to enthusiastic applause, Teacher Kang snatches the microphone from the host for one last announcement. 

“This wouldn’t have been possible without two of our very tireless volunteers,” she says, and— from backstage— you wince. Before you know it, you’re being pushed out onto the stage.

Soonyoung exits from the other stage wing.

He’s managed to evade you the entire showcase, and now you realize why. In his arms, he holds a monstrous bouquet. Yellow acacias, striped carnations, bunch-flowered daffodils. Your first thought is how expensive it might have been, to find out-of-season blooms in the thick of winter. 

Your second thought is that you want to hurl, but that’s neither here nor there. 

As Soonyoung strides in from the other side of the stage to meet you in the middle, he sees it. He sees the hint of trepidation underneath your practiced grin, sees the way your eyes flash momentarily. His own grin drops ever so slightly. 

But the two of you are in an auditorium, on a stage in front of Namyangju’s best and brightest. Neither of you can afford to give voice to what you feel. 

Soonyoung hands you the bouquet. You nod in acknowledgement. 

The two of you instinctively reach for each other’s hands.

You hadn’t noticed that the crowd had gotten to their feet. A standing ovation. It feels like an echo of the past, a cruel reminder of an alternate universe. 

Even so, your smile never wavers. Neither does Soonyoung’s. He raises your hand. The two of you take a bow. 

The Great Pretenders put on their best show yet.

--

“What was that?” 

A part of you is surprised that Soonyoung found you. The moment the showcase officially concluded, you were booking it out of the auditorium before he could even get a word in edgewise. Gracefully, the dozens of people hounding him for photos and small talk let you widen the gap. 

Still, he caught up. Just as you were passing by the godforsaken playground that had witnessed the ending of it all. Oh, the universe and its jokes. 

Soonyoung is red-faced, like you’d embarrassed him somehow despite the convincing act you both put on. Your fingers tighten around the bouquet he gave you. 

“What was that?” he repeats, and what little restraint you had left snaps. 

“Why did you come home?” you ask point blank. 

“Teacher Kang—” 

“Don’t,” you snipe. “Teacher Kang asked you last year. And the year before that. Why did you come home now, Soonyoung?” 

The question hangs heavy in the early December evening. You and Soonyoung are staring at each other, mere paces away from the swing set where the two of you made your choices.

He doesn’t answer right away, so you prompt him with, “Is it because of me?” 

Soonyoung misinterprets the question. You can see the way his eyes light up, the way his lips part like he’s just about to say something of consequence. 

You almost feel guilty about the next words that tear out of you. “You’re going bankrupt,” you say, and the hope on his face fizzles out like a popped lightbulb. 

“Who told you—” he chokes out. 

“So it’s true?” 

Kwon Soonyoung is struck dumb.

Soonyoung, whose mouth ran faster than his brain. Soonyoung, who was full of quick quips and witty remarks. 

Soonyoung, who is now staring at you like you’ve told him the world was about to end. 

You contemplate throwing his bouquet in his face. It will make for a dramatic, pretty picture— the petals falling onto the soft snow, the fuck you loud despite being unspoken. For now, you only clutch the arrangement closer to your chest like it's a lifeline.

“And here I thought—” Your breath hitches on a scoff, the puff of air visible in the chill. “I was a fool who thought you came back for me.” 

The truth cuts. Your laugh bitterly as you go on, “I guess you still did, though, huh? Because you need me. What? Were you hoping to avail of cheap services, Kwon?” 

“That’s not—” 

“That’s exactly it!” Your tone is shrill. Soonyoung always did bring out the worst in you. “You were away for six years, and now you’ve come crawling back—” 

“Do you think I wanted to fail?” 

Soonyoung’s voice rises, his frustration bubbling over to match yours. 

“I starved out there,” he bites out. “Ate cup noodles for a year so the studio could afford rent for one more month. Sold half of my stuff so I could pay my employees. It was so hard.” 

The way Soonyoung’s voice breaks on the last word makes something in your heart clench. For a moment, you think it might be pity, but you kill the feeling as soon as it tries to make itself known. 

You don’t want to pity Soonyoung, which is both an insult and a grace. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask instead, even though a part of you already knows the answer. 

A sound that’s almost like a delirious laugh escapes him. “Not when I was the one who made it out,” he responds. 

You never realized how much you’d prefer Soonyoung’s cocky, self-assured self over this version of him. This boy— man— who is defeated and resigned. Even in your anger, there is a small part of you that wants to do something to wipe that look off his face.  

“I made it out,” he repeats wearily, like it’s taking everything in him to face the truth of being Namyangju’s failing poster boy. 

He continues, “I gave up everything to be there. I gave up you.”

Your grip on the bouquet tightens. There’s a faint prickle behind your eyes, but you refuse to let those tears fall. “You did that like it was easy,” you mumble, your voice just loud enough to carry. 

Soonyoung meets your gaze. He looks like he’s on the verge of sobbing himself, but his tone brokers no arguments. 

“It wasn’t,” he says.

And that was that. 

You’ve never been able to stand not having the last word. You clear your throat, attempting to speak through the lump forming there. “Yeah, well,” you say shakily. “You’re not the only one who lost something.” 

It’s a shitty comparison and you know it. Soonyoung’s sacrifices dwarf yours. You weren’t the one who moved away, who bore the weight of an entire city’s pride. 

Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t call you out on it. He only takes a sharp exhale and turns his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the swings. 

When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Almost like the words are an afterthought. “For the record— that night?” he says. You don’t have to ask for clarification. You know exactly which night he’s talking about. 

“I was hoping you’d change my mind,” he confesses. 

A physical blow to the chest would have hurt less. You stagger, but you try to mask it like you’re taking a step back. Like you’re walking away, even as your eyes never leave Soonyoung’s face. 

“And I was hoping I’d be worth staying for,” you say with a humorless laugh, the distance between the two of you growing, growing, growing. 

Your parting words are the proverbial nail on the coffin: “I guess we both didn’t get what we wanted.” 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” 

--

For once, Jihoon and Wonwoo have nothing to say. 

No wisecrack. No jab. No exchange of money in some backhanded bet. 

They listen as you recount the salient points of the argument. You keep the personal stuff out of your own retelling, focusing only on the broad strokes. The biggest concern lies in one nagging question. 

“Did you know?” you ask, your hands bracing the table in front of you. 

“No,” Jihoon says immediately. 

Wonwoo chimes in with a quiet “Me neither.” 

You know these boys. You’ve seen them lie to their parents about their homework, lie to their girlfriends about where they were. 

They’re not lying now. You know that much. 

A shaky exhale escapes you. It’s been three days since the fight and you’ve yet to run into Soonyoung. You wouldn’t hold it past him to avoid you, either by steering clear from the places you frequent or getting on the first bus back to Seoul. 

“When he asked about how you were doing,” Jihoon says gruffly. “I thought it was just— yearning or some shit.” 

“Me, too,” Wonwoo adds. 

Yearning or shit. The words almost make you laugh. 

The pinched expression on your face prompts Wonwoo to ask, “Are you upset?” 

‘Upset’ feels like too light of a term to describe the maelstrom of emotions within you. There are facts: You wish you had known. You could have afforded to be kinder. You are afraid that you will never stop being angry. 

You answer Wonwoo’s question with a mumbled, “Would it be cliché to say that I’m just disappointed?” 

“Ah.” His face is thoughtful, understanding. “Because you expected something from him.” 

“That’s not it,” you say dryly. 

It is. 

The three of you lapse into contemplative silence. Jihoon breaks it after a couple of moments, his tone soft and serious. 

“I know it’s shitty,” he says. “But I do hope that he’s okay.” 

That would be the mature thing to do. Even Wonwoo is nodding his agreement, willing to set aside his own gripes in favor of well wishing.

You can’t bring yourself to do the same. The platitude sticks in your throat until you feel like it will suffocate you. 

--

Soonyoung has an alibi for not showing up to Teacher Kang’s post-processing session. 

You’re grateful that the elderly woman doesn’t go on about the details of his absence. She mentions something about him being busy with the holidays, and you take it in stride. 

You try not to picture the way his jaw might’ve twitched before sending out the text, before lying to get away. 

“Everybody loved the show,” Teacher Kang gushes. “I’m so proud of you, dear. I really do hope we can have Soonyoung on board more often.” 

An offhand joke of “we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of him in the near future” crosses your mind, but you hold it back. You may be calloused, but you’re not heartless. 

You nod. You agree with Teacher Kang. You hold it together, up until you’re halfway out the door and she calls you back for one last word. 

“You know,” she starts. “I remember the two of you when you were kids.”

You’d been dreading this— the inevitable trip down memory lane. You thought you had escaped it, but now you’re facing it with one of the world’s fakest smiles. 

“That was a long time ago,” you say. 

“It was.” There’s a glimmer in Teacher Kang’s eye. Something unbearably tender. “Soonyoung always made you smile a certain way. You’ve started smiling like that again. It’s nice to see.” 

You don’t know how you manage to laugh it off, to bid Teacher Kang goodbye and make your way back to your car. Your hands are shaking as you slide into the driver’s seat of your car.

The school’s parking lot is gracefully empty. It’s a good thing, because then no one can hear you as you fold in half and screech. 

You scream until your voice goes hoarse, until the windows shake. 

You scream until you can’t hear the way your chest is caving in on your heart. 

--

Your theory of running into everyone but Soonyoung is proven when you’re sooner to cross paths with Mama Kwon.

Your carts nearly collide in the pasta aisle of the grocery store. You’re already bowing, apologizing profusely, when you realize that you recognize the woman holding a can of pesto.

She says your name with the fondness that could rival your own mother’s. It takes everything in you not to bolt at the sound of it.

“What a coincidence,” she says with a tinkling laugh. 

You know in your heart of hearts that it’s exactly that. A coincidence. Still, you can’t help but think some higher power is out to get you. Call it karmic justice. 

“How have you been, Mrs. Kwon?” you ask, feeling the slight nip of not addressing the woman as you typically might. 

She notices too, if her slightly furrowed brow is any indication. She manages to rearrange her expression into something more neutral as she answers. 

“You know how the holidays are,” she says, wielding her pesto bottle in an absentminded gesture. “It’s a full house!” 

That stings. 

You’ve heard from your mother how the past couple of years, Mama Kwon would complain about her household feeling empty during the holidays. The seat at the dining table stayed vacant for the son that refused to come home. 

You don’t know how much she knows about the state of the dance studio, so you decide to play it safe. “I’m sure it is,” you say. 

The small talk is tearing you up from the inside, but you don’t want to be rude. Don’t want to be a stranger to the woman who once cared for you so deeply— who probably still cares for you, if you really thought of it. 

The question is out of you before you can hold it back. “Are you with Soonyoung?” 

What would you even do with that information? Would you have booked it if she said ‘yes, he’s right around the corner’? Would you have cried if she revealed that he headed back to the city? 

You’re not sure. 

Here’s what happens instead: A sigh nearly breaks out of you when Mama Kwon responds, “He’s in the next shop over, getting some repairs for the car. We’re meeting at Italianni's for lunch.” 

Still here, a small voice murmurs in the back of your mind. Hasn’t left for Seoul just yet. 

You shake the thought away as Mama Kwon delicately prompts, “Would you like to join us?” 

Mama Kwon is probably not inviting you solely out of politeness. She’s making the offer because she wants you to be there. She wants you to be at the same table as her family, sharing a pizza and whatever the restaurant’s special for the day is. She wants you to sit next to Soonyoung and play nice, even though you currently can’t stomach the thought of being anywhere near him. 

For some reason, it makes you want to cry. 

To lose somebody in a breakup is painful, yes. To lose all the things that came with it— like the family that you might have learned to love yourself? 

A different type of ache all together. 

Your smile is so painfully fake, almost hurting the edges of your mouth, as you try to let her down gently. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” you say. “But thank you for thinking of me.” 

For once, The Great Pretenders is met with negative reviews. 

Then again, nothing ever really escaped Mama Kwon’s scrutinizing gaze. She surveys your expression and purses her lips. You can practically see the way that the cogs turn in her brain, as if trying to decide on the response that will do the least amount of damage. 

It doesn’t matter how gentle she tries to be. The words that she eventually extends still hurt like a bitch. 

“He still talks about you a lot,” she muses. 

Oh. 

“Oh?” 

“Nothing bad,” Mama Kwon says quickly. She laughs again, smiling very much like how her son might. 

“Just—” She leans in. Your body autonomously mimics the action.

You’re reminded of being younger, of when she’d do the exact same thing to whisper you some ‘secret’. I got Soonyoung new shoes for Christmas. The car side mirror is busted because of me. I packed you extra of those choco pies you like. 

Today, she whispers, “I think he came home for you.” 

--

“Why did you come home?”

“I had a nightmare that I visited and I couldn’t recognize a thing. All the street names were different. The buildings were new. I kept running, trying to look for something familiar, and I just— I was just lost. And that sucked. This was mine once. You know?” 

“It still is.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It isn’t anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.” 

--

“You know, I really have missed your mother’s cooking.”

You smile ruefully at Soonyoung’s words. 

He’s digging heartily into your mother’s signature kimchi jjigae, and you have half the mind to tell him to close his mouth as he chews. Instead, you let him devour the dish. 

It had taken a little bit of masterminding to pull this off. Maybe it would’ve been easier to send Soonyoung a text of Let’s meet up, but your blasted pride was one of the last things you had left. You’d be damned if you were going to give that away, too. 

You enlisted Jihoon and Wonwoo’s help in orchestrating this, in convincing Soonyoung that he could sneak into your family restaurant undetected. Sure, the blonde had been more than a little miffed when his friends ditched him and left him with you, though his irritation was short-lived in the face of the food he had been craving for God-knows-how-long. 

“Maybe that’s because you’ve only been eating shin ramyun,” you point out. 

Soonyoung barely looks up from his bowl as he shovels more food into his mouth. “Low blow,” he says in between bites.  

You wince. “Sorry.” 

“You’re not really sorry.” 

“No, I am.” 

That drags Soonyoung’s attention away from his stew. 

His guarded expression slots right back into place, like he’s realizing you have some ulterior motive beyond feeding him. He rests his spoon against his bowl and leans back into his chair. With one eyebrow raised, he says, “This feels a lot like the lead-in to a breakup.” 

A bark of laughter escapes you. Of course Soonyoung would make a joke like that. 

You reach into your pocket until you’ve found what you’re looking for. Wordlessly, you slide it across the table until it’s resting by Soonyoung’s hand.

“I’ll give you a discount,” you tell him. “But only, like, fifteen percent. Anything more than that is just pushing it.” 

Your calling card stares up at him. It bears your name along with your firm’s address, your phone number, and your title. Consumer bankruptcy lawyer. 

Even now, Soonyoung can’t help but be expressive. His wide eyes are fixed on the card you’ve laid out. For a moment, your offer hangs in precious balance, but you don’t have a single urge to take it back. It’s entirely, wholly for Soonyoung to take. 

He asks the question that you know is coming. “Why are you doing this?” he says, his words like a raw nerve. 

You almost smile. Almost. 

In the past week that you’ve mulled it over, you’ve reached at least a dozen different answers. 

Because Jihoon and Wonwoo worry about you.

Because it’s the right thing to do. 

Because Teacher Kang talks about you like you hung the stars and the moon. 

Because I owe you one. 

Because I don’t want you to let Mama Kwon down.

Because I’ve missed you, and I want you to be happy, even if that happiness has nothing to do with me. 

The answer that eventually, finally comes to you is none of the above. 

You simply say, “Because you’re my favorite ex.” 

--

The call asking for your help never comes. 

A couple of days after that lunch, you find something on your desk. Your calling card. 

If it weren’t for one small thing, you would’ve thought that it was a stray card of yours that you’d forgotten. But then you catch sight of a doodle in one corner right before you’re about to tuck the card away in your closet. 

A crude drawing of a tiger, with crescent-shaped eyes and a toothy smile. 

You instantly know what it means. Sure enough, you hear from Jihoon that same evening. 

Kwon Soonyoung has left as quietly as he arrived. 

There is relief. There is regret. How you feel ultimately doesn’t matter, because you knew it would always come to this— a choice being made.

He left. You stayed. 

The world spins madly on. 

The last of the snow is melting on an unassuming Tuesday afternoon when your phone pings in your pocket. You fish it out to find two texts from an unknown number. The first is a link to a news article. 

You’re suspicious, but curiosity always did kill the cat. The article loads and fills your screen.

Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio To Start Offering Child-Friendly Dance Lessons

By: Xu Minghao

SEOUL, South Korea – Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio, founded by renowned choreographer and performer Kwon Soonyoung, better known as HOSHI, is expanding its mission to inspire a new generation of dancers. The studio announced it will officially begin offering child-friendly dance lessons following a successful pilot program last month.

Parents and young aspiring dancers can look forward to the official launch of child-friendly lessons early next year. According to HOSHI, the initiative aims to ���nurture the joy of dance from an early age and build a foundation for self-expression and confidence.”

The studio piloted its first all-children dance classes in January, offering a creative and supportive environment for young dancers to explore movement. The program’s success has led to an upcoming showcase featuring the children at the KB Art Hall in Gangnam. 

HOSHI, celebrated for his innovative choreography and passion for dance, revealed the inspiration behind this new direction. 

“There was a time I felt lost, like I had lost my purpose for dance,” HOSHI shared, reflecting on a challenging period in his career. “I was going through the motions, using dance as a way to distract myself from everything else, rather than embracing it as a part of who I am.” 

“But I realized something important recently,” he goes on. “Dance shouldn’t be an escape or a vacation. It should be a homecoming.” 

And that’s exactly what they hope to do with their upcoming showcase. Details on the event can be found here. 

The second text bears only a couple of words, but it changes the ending of everything.

There’s only one seat that will matter in that auditorium, it reads.

Please make sure it’s not empty. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Home had you.”

[cavegirlpoems]

The problem with the 'play another game that isn't D&D' thing is that every time it comes around, inevitably, somebody says something to the effect of: "So what's the game should I play instead of it" and this just makes me want to slam my head into the floor in frustration because it totally misses the point. There is not, and cannot be, a single game that I can cheerfully reccomend blind to everybody to replace D&D as their forever game. This is for two reasons: 1) Different players (which includes GMs) have different tastes. People look for different levels of complexity, levels of narrative control, levels of competitiveness, amounts of customisability, genres, tones, settings, campaign-lengths, degrees of generic or specificness, and required arts-and-crafts projects. Without knowing somebody's specific tastes - which they might not even really be sure of themselves if all they know is D&D - you can't reccomend them a game that will suit those tastes, because taste is subjective. 2) you don't actually want a single forever game that you play to the exclusion of all else. People will want a change of pace, or to explore different ideas, or the excitement of novelty. Instead of simply having 'my game that I play', you want to pick the game that works best for what you want to do today. "Oh, what game should I swap in to replace D&D?" is a fucking assinine question. It's like asking "you're into music, what song should I listen to?" My man I don't know you, and even if I did even the best song is gonna suck after the 500th repetition if its all you listen to.

[prokopetz]

I'm asking you because I've seen people ask you similar questions before. Why are kobolds, as a fantasy creature, so nebulous?

Generally when people say orc, goblin, elf, dwarf, werewolf, vampire etc. a person can have a pretty solid idea of what traits that animal will have. I guess because they're usually copying that species from the same similar source works?

What happened to kobolds? I used to know them as a kind of german folklore creature, but then also as a short lizard person, and most recently there's been Dungeon Meshi, which gives the name kobold to anthropomorphic dogs.

Well, the trick is that none of these terms have a standard definition. In folklore, the words "elf", "dwarf", "gnome", "troll", "goblin", "pixie", etc. are used more or less interchangeably – all of these words might refer to the exact same folkloric critter, and conversely, the same word might be used to refer to several completely different folkloric critters, even within the same body of regional folklore, to say nothing of how their usage varies across different regions and over time.

Literally the only reason any of these terms have "standard" definitions in modern popular culture is because one specific piece of media got mega-popular and everybody copied it. For example, Tolkien is responsible not only for the popular media stereotypes of elves and dwarves: he's responsible for popularising the idea that "elf" and "dwarf" are separate kinds of creatures to begin with. Similarly, while Bram Stoker's Dracula isn't solely responsible for cementing the idea of what a vampire is in popular culture, it did standardise what vampire magic can do, and it helped cement the idea that a "vampire" and a "werewolf" are different beasties, which hasn't always been the case.

So the short answer is that there's just never been a mega-popular work about "kobolds" to provide a standard template for the type. Most modern depictions in Anglophone popular culture ultimately point back to the interpretation set forth by Dungeons & Dragons, but D&D itself has gone back and forth on the whether they're tiny dog-people or tiny lizard-people, with the tiny dog-person version being the earlier of the two, so even folks who are directly cribbing from D&D will vary on this point depending on which particular edition they're name-checking.

[elikajinnie]

Mysterious Circumstances - N.R

P: Serial Killer!Ni-ki X FemReader!

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Corruption, Blood/Injury, Deceit, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Jealousy, Attempted Murder, everybody say poor jiung.

Synopsis: When you move into a new apartment, your mysterious neighbor Ni-ki catches your attention—but so does a dangerous murderer with an unsettling obsession with you. As your friend Jiung warns you that Ni-ki may be hiding secrets, you're forced to question who you can trust.

Wordcount: 29k

a/n: rewatching dexter morgan now cause why not? anyways enjoy and feel free to leave feedback and reblog <3

--

In this economy, it was nearly impossible to find an affordable place as a student trying to juggle both work and school. But somehow, luck had tipped in your favor, and you managed to land a tiny student apartment. Sure, it was a bit removed from the city center, and the bus route wasn’t always reliable, but it was yours.

Moving day had been chaotic, but a few neighbors were kind enough to offer help as you dragged your furniture and bags inside. Over the next few days, you got to know a handful of them. There was Mrs. Han, an older woman who always had a story to share and a recipe for every occasion, and there were two other students who, like you, often looked like they were running on pure caffeine and sheer willpower.

The only person you hadn’t met was your next-door neighbor. You'd actually thought the apartment beside yours was empty; the place was as quiet as a graveyard, and you'd never heard a single noise from it. It isn’t until Mrs. Han brings you a steaming bowl of her homemade stew that you learn the truth.

“Ah, dear,” she says between sips of the tea you made for her, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You must meet the young man next door! Such a nice fellow, but he’s been away. Family in Japan, you know?”

Her enthusiasm catches you off guard. You chuckle lightly, trying to play it cool. “Sure, sounds nice,” you say, but a hint of curiosity creeps in.

“Oh, he’s so handsome!” she insists, her voice laced with genuine fondness. “You two would make such a lovely couple!”

You pause, your laughter dying in your throat. “Thanks, but I’m not looking for anyone,” you explain, the weight of your recent breakup hanging over you like a dark cloud.

Mrs. Han`s face falls slightly, but her optimism doesn’t waver. “That’s unfortunate... You would have liked him!”

“What’s his name?” you ask, playing along, if only to satisfy your own curiosity.

“Nishimura Ri-ki,” she replies, her smile returning as she savors the sound of his name, as if it were a cherished secret.

You nod, storing that name away for a later moment when you might need it, a faint ember of intrigue igniting within you.

So, you settled in, figuring it’d be a while before you’d have a chance to meet him, if ever.

But one night, as you were deep into your notes, trying to make sense of a mountain of study material, you heard it—the unmistakable click of the door next door opening, then closing softly. Footsteps, light and deliberate, moved across the floor, and you caught the sound of muffled words in Japanese.

There was a rustling, the faint scrape of what sounded like heavy bags being set down, and then silence. After a moment, a new thought clicked into place—your elusive neighbor had finally returned.

Curiosity tugged at you, but you hesitated. It wasn’t as though you could just walk over and knock. He’d likely just gotten back from a long trip and would want to settle in. But as you listened to the familiar sounds of unpacking through the wall, you wondered what he was like. Maybe he'd be just another busy student like you, or maybe… someone you wouldn’t expect.

And one morning, as you’re hurrying down the hall, you finally see him.

He’s standing outside his door, tall—very tall—with dark hair falling into his eyes as he fumbles sleepily with his keys, muttering something under his breath. There's an effortless, almost careless confidence in the way he stands, the kind that draws your attention without even trying. When he finally looks up, his eyes meet yours, and the old woman’s words echo in your head: handsome.

He has a striking face, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing eyes that seem both focused and detached. His build is slim yet lean, and he’s dressed in a way that’s understated but impossibly stylish. It’s hard not to notice; there’s a refined edge to him that somehow makes the early-morning grogginess look deliberate, like it’s just part of his charm.

At first glance, he seems… intimidating. The intensity in his gaze catches you off guard, and for a moment, you find yourself frozen, unsure if you should look away or say something.

“Ah, you must be the new neighbor,” he says, his voice smooth and warm, carrying a casual friendliness that makes you feel as if you’re talking to someone you’ve known for ages.

You nod, feeling a slight, inevitable awkwardness. “Yeah, that’s me. Nice to finally meet you… Ri-ki, right?”

He grins, nodding. “That’s right. But you can call me Ni-ki—that’s what most people use.”

You offer him your name in return, and he repeats it softly, as if testing it, making sure he gets it just right. There’s a faint trace of an accent in his voice, a subtle lilt that adds to his charm.

“Nice name,” he says, giving you a small, genuine smile. His smiles are understated, almost reserved, yet they have a sincerity that leaves an impression. And just for a second, his gaze lingers on you—curious, almost as if he’s sizing you up. You catch it, but brush it off as nothing.

“If you ever need anything, just knock,” he says, leaning back with a quiet ease. “I’m still getting back into the swing of things here, but I’m around.”

With that, he gives a casual wave and slips into his apartment, leaving you alone in the hallway. You stand there, still feeling the warmth of his voice, and can’t help but wonder if the old lady had been right about him after all.

In the days that followed, you found yourself crossing paths with Ni-ki more frequently, mostly in the early mornings when you were both heading out. There was an ease to these encounters—a nod, a brief exchange of “good mornings,” maybe a small smile from him. He had a quiet way of being friendly, but you noticed a certain mystery to his routine. While you only ever seemed to run into him during the day, at night, you’d often hear the door to his apartment open and close. You figured he had some job with late hours, something that kept him out through the night.

One morning, though, your usual passing-by turned a little strange.

As you were locking your door, Ni-ki appeared down the hallway, carrying a bag slung over one shoulder. He stopped in front of his door, setting the bag down to dig for his keys. Just as he was fishing them out, a roll of duct tape slipped out and rolled across the floor, stopping neatly at your feet.

You crouched down, picking it up, and turned it over in your hand, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment as you handed it back. “You dropped this.”

Ni-ki blinked, then gave you a soft, appreciative smile as he took it from you. “Thanks,” he said, tucking the tape back into his bag without another word, and slipping into his apartment with a nod. You couldn’t quite place it, but the encounter left you feeling slightly unsettled, even if you brushed it off as nothing.

With a sigh, you headed down to the street, making your way to the building’s parking lot. You hated this route, especially at night, with the narrow alleyways and strewn trash. A few small shops lined the way, and there was always a sense of something lingering in the shadows. But it was the only path to the lot, so you resigned yourself to walking it, tightening your grip on your bag.

Halfway there, you paused, catching sight of a familiar sight on the wall outside a laundromat: a collection of missing person posters. You’d noticed them when you first moved in—rows of faces staring back at you, each one accompanied by details of last sightings and worried pleas from family members. It had unsettled you from the beginning, so much so that you avoided coming home too late. And when you did, you always clutched your pepper spray tightly in your bag.

Today, however, something different caught your eye. There was a new poster on the wall, freshly pinned beside the others. The picture was of a young woman, her smile frozen in a snapshot of happier days. Below the photo, it said she had last been seen three days ago, near her home. A chill ran down your spine as you stared at it.

You turned away quickly, heart racing as you hurried towards the parking lot, relief flooding over you as you finally got to your car and locked the doors.

--

It was late afternoon when you returned home from work, your feet aching as you climbed the stairs. Just as you rounded the corner toward your apartment, you spotted one of your neighbors standing in the hallway. He looked a little worn out himself, books and papers spilling out of his bag, but he straightened up and offered a friendly smile when he noticed you approaching.

“Hey! You’re the new neighbor, right?” he asked.

You nodded, and he introduced himself as Jiung, one of the other students who shared the floor with you. You exchanged a few polite comments about school, life in the building, and eventually, you found yourself laughing at his stories about late-night study sessions gone wrong. “Hey, we should study together sometime!” Jiung suggested enthusiastically. “I could use a study buddy to keep me on track.”

You were about to respond when the door to Ni-ki’s apartment opened, and he stepped out, a bag slung over his shoulder. He looked like he was on his way somewhere, but he paused when he saw you and Jiung talking. There was no emotion in his gaze as he glanced at Jiung, who greeted him with a friendly nod. “Hey, Ni-ki! How’s it going?”

Ni-ki gave the briefest nod in response, eyes cool and unreadable. It wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but there was a noticeable distance. However, when you spoke up, greeting him with a casual “Hey, Ni-ki,” his whole demeanor shifted. His gaze softened as it landed on you, and the corners of his mouth curved into a faint smile.

“Hey,” he replied, voice warm, and he seemed to hold your gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “Headed out for a bit,” he added, lifting the strap of his bag as if in explanation. “I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” you replied, catching that small, almost private smile he gave before he turned and headed down the hallway.

Once he was gone, you turned back to Jiung, your curiosity piqued. “What’s he like? Ni-ki, I mean. He seems… quiet.”

Jiung shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s not much of a talker. I’ve seen him around, but he usually keeps to himself. I’m surprised he smiled at you. That’s not something I’ve seen him do.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? He seems nice enough.”

“Nice? Sure,” Jiung chuckled, a hint of disbelief in his tone. “Just… mysterious, I guess.”

You couldn’t help but shrug, your thoughts lingering on the way Ni-ki had looked at you. It was easy to let your mind wander about him, but you shook it off, needing to focus on your own routine.

“Anyway, I should get going,” you said, unlocking your door and stepping inside. “But I’d love to study together soon!”

Jiung waved goodbye, and you kicked off your shoes, letting the familiar comfort of your apartment wash over you. After tossing your bag onto the couch, you headed straight for the bathroom, eager to wash away the day.

After your shower, you were heading to the kitchen to make dinner, the sudden sound of your doorbell caught you off guard. Peeking through the peephole, you spotted Jiung standing in the hallway, looking cheerful and a bit expectant.

Curiosity piqued, you opened the door. “Hey! What’s up?”

“Hey! I was just wondering if you wanted to grab dinner at that little diner down the street,” he offered, his enthusiasm contagious. “I hear their burgers are amazing!”

The idea was tempting, and you found yourself smiling. “Sure! That sounds great.”

Within moments, you were both strolling down the street, the evening air pleasantly cool against your skin. Jiung chatted easily, sharing amusing stories from his day that had you laughing.

Once you settled into a cozy booth at the diner, you couldn’t help but appreciate how at ease Jiung made you feel. As you perused the menu, you turned the conversation toward him. “So, what do you do for work?” you asked, genuinely curious.

His eyes lit up as he leaned back, a grin on his face. “I work in criminology.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Wait, really? I knew you studied crime, but I didn’t realize you had a job in it!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “I’m mostly in the back right now, just filling out papers and doing administrative stuff. But with everything going on—the people disappearing—I’ve been able to look into some of the cases.”

You leaned in, intrigued. “What do you think about it? Do you really think they’ll find the people?”

Jiung’s expression shifted, a seriousness replacing the earlier lightheartedness. “Honestly? I think they’ll find most of them in a ditch somewhere… dead,” he said, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

A chill ran down your spine, the earlier comfort now tinged with unease. “That’s… grim,” you said quietly, feeling a knot in your stomach at the thought. “Do you think they’re all connected?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “It’s hard to say. There are definitely patterns in cases like this, but a lot of it just feels random. It’s the uncertainty that gets to you. You never know what’s going to happen next.”

You both fell into a contemplative silence, the diner buzzing around you, the laughter of other patrons fading into the background as the weight of the conversation settled in.

“Let’s change the topic,” you suggested, attempting to lighten the mood. “What’s your favorite kind of burger?”

Jiung’s expression brightened at your attempt to shift the conversation. “Oh, definitely a classic cheeseburger! You can’t go wrong with a juicy patty and melted cheese,” he said, his enthusiasm returning as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “How about you? What’s your go-to?”

You laughed, relieved at the change in tone. “Hard to say!”

He nodded “Well we should totally do a burger night sometime, try out different places around here.”

“I’m in! I’ve been wanting to explore more of the area,” you replied, feeling a sense of excitement at the prospect of more outings together.

Just then, the waitress arrived to take your order, and you both made your selections, sharing a few more laughs as Jiung recounted a funny story from his work. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and as your food arrived, you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company.

With each bite of your burger, you felt more at ease. Jiung was a great conversationalist, effortlessly switching from light-hearted jokes to more serious topics, never lingering too long on any one subject.

After finishing your meal, you leaned back in your seat, satisfied. “That was amazing! I’m definitely coming back here,” you said, glancing at Jiung.

“Right? It’s a hidden gem,” he agreed, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “So, what else do you like to do when you’re not buried in schoolwork?”

You took a moment to think, then smiled. “I love camping with friends. It’s a nice break from everything.”

“Camping, huh? That sounds awesome! I haven’t been in ages,” he said, his face lighting up. “I’d love to join you guys sometime if you ever need an extra hand.”

“Absolutely!” you replied.

Eventually, you realized how late it had gotten. With a reluctant sigh, you reached for your phone to check the time. “Wow, we should probably head back. I have class early in the morning,” you said, feeling a slight twinge of disappointment at the thought of the night ending.

“Yeah, I should get back too. I have some work to finish up,” Jiung replied, but there was a hint of reluctance in his voice as well.

When you reached your building, you turned to Jiung with a smile. “Thanks for dinner, Jiung. I had a great time!”

“Me too! We definitely need to do this again,” he replied, his smile wide and genuine.

You waved goodbye to Jiung, the warmth of the evening still buzzing in your chest as you stepped into the building. The comforting familiarity of your apartment awaited you, and you closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment to savor the afterglow of a good night.

After dropping your bag onto the couch, you moved through the small space, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

As you got ready for bed, your mind wandered back to Jiung’s laughter and the easy way he’d made you feel. You smiled at the thought of him, picturing the way he’d animatedly shared stories, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

You brushed your teeth and slipped into your pajamas, the familiar routine comforting you as you settled into bed. As you pulled the covers up, a sense of sleepiness enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, allowing the events of the day to fade into the background.

Meanwhile, just on the other side of the wall, Ni-ki stood silently in his dimly lit bedroom. The faint light of the street lamps outside illuminated the room, casting shadows on the wall that separated him from you. He was staring at that very wall, deep in thought.

Thoughts swirled in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of how drawn he was to you. The way you’d smiled at him earlier, your laughter echoing even in his thoughts, was intoxicating. There was something about you that felt different—refreshing and genuine. You captivated him in a way that made it hard to focus on anything else, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to truly know you. The longing to have you in his arms for himself coursed through him, an obsession that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

As he stood there, he couldn’t help but realize how you had taken over his every thought since he had returned home. Every little interaction replayed in his mind, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke, the softness in your voice. He felt an urge to be closer to you, to share more than just a wall.

Unable to resist, he walked closer to the wall, his heart pounding in anticipation. At the edge of his room, he crouched down near a small hole, a remnant from when the building had been renovated. It was barely noticeable, easily missed by anyone else. But to him, it was a window into a world he yearned to explore.

Peering through the tiny opening, he felt a rush of emotions as he caught a glimpse of your bedroom. There you were, peacefully sleeping on your bed, the gentle rise and fall of your chest barely visible in the dim light. The sight struck him with an overwhelming sense of want. You looked so serene, completely unaware of his presence, and he felt a strange mix of admiration and longing wash over him.

For a moment, time stood still as he watched you, entranced by the vulnerability of the moment. The shadows danced around your figure, and he wished more than anything to reach out, to bridge the distance that lay between you. But he knew he couldn't—not yet.

As the seconds stretched into minutes, he began to feel his thoughts spiraling, sinking deeper into an obsession that had taken root faster than he’d ever anticipated. He felt restless, his mind racing with a relentless need to be closer to you, to make you truly his. His hands clenched into fists, and he tore his gaze away, feeling the tension pulse within him.

Pushing himself up, he took a steadying breath, trying to clear his mind. He grabbed his bag from the corner of his room, hastily slinging it over his shoulder as he headed for the door. The apartment felt stifling, as though the walls themselves were closing in on him. He needed air, space, somewhere to let his restless energy burn itself out.

As he stepped out into the cool night, the familiar darkness of the alleyways called to him, a place where he could blend into the shadows. He moved through the narrow streets with purpose, the muted sound of his footsteps swallowed by the thick silence of the night. His thoughts continued to circle back to you, and he struggled to shake the hold you had on him, the way you’d invaded his every thought.

The alleys, littered with discarded trash and the occasional flicker of a broken streetlight, felt like a fitting place for the storm brewing inside him. Ni-ki knew he’d have to confront these feelings eventually, to figure out what he wanted from you—or rather, what he was willing to do to have it.

--

The next morning, you woke up and began your usual routine. The sun barely peeked through the blinds, casting soft lines of light across your room as you stretched, pushing away the lingering sleepiness. After washing up and getting dressed, you wandered into the kitchen to start breakfast. You flipped on the TV on the counter, letting the morning news fill the quiet apartment.

But today’s news wasn’t the usual report of traffic and weather.

The screen flashed to a somber-faced anchor as she reported the story. “Breaking news this morning. Authorities have confirmed the discovery of several bodies in the nearby forest—those of individuals reported missing over the past few weeks.”

You froze, the toast forgotten in your hand.

“According to sources,” the anchor continued, her voice steady but grave, “all the victims were found in shallow graves scattered throughout the area. While police are withholding certain details of the investigation, it appears the victims suffered similar injuries before being disposed of.”

The camera cut to aerial shots of a dense, mist-shrouded forest, police cars dotting the dirt paths and officials gathering at the edge of the trees. Crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze, sectioning off parts of the forest where investigators combed the ground. The reporter’s voice droned on, but you barely heard the rest, caught in a mix of shock and unease.

Your mind flashed back to the rows of missing person posters in the alleyway, the faces staring back at you.

The broadcast shifted to interviews with shaken locals, expressing their horror and sorrow. You took a shaky breath and forced yourself to turn away from the TV, hoping to shake off the creeping fear that settled in. It was hard to believe this was happening so close to home—and to think that just last night, you'd felt safe, even happy.

You rubbed at your arms, trying to rid yourself of the unease. Part of you wanted to text Jiung, maybe even ask if he’d heard anything. After all, he’d told you just last night that he was beginning to work on some of the missing person cases. Maybe he’d have some answers… or at least a comforting word. But a new thought hit you, one that made your stomach turn—Jiung’s earlier words echoed back to you, cold and direct: they’ll probably find them in a ditch, dead somewhere.

With an effort, you shook it off, grabbing your bag and heading out, trying to focus on the day ahead.

As you stepped out of your apartment, the hallway felt unusually quiet, almost tense, as if it, too, held its breath in response to the morning's grim news. You glanced down the hall, half-expecting to see a few neighbors gathering, maybe exchanging words about the unsettling report. But it was empty, still, as though the building itself had absorbed the heaviness of what you’d just learned.

Making your way toward the elevator, you felt a pang of nervousness, and just as you were about to press the button, the sound of footsteps caught your attention, echoing from around the corner.

You turned and saw Ni-ki. He looked calm, almost unbothered, his expression as unreadable as ever. A hint of a small smile crept onto his face as he noticed you, his eyes flickering over you in that way that always seemed to linger just a beat too long.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice low and casual.

“Morning,” you replied, trying to muster a steady smile.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze a little sharper, as if he could sense something was off.

“Just… heard the news. They found the bodies of some of those missing people,” you said quietly, glancing down.

He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful, as though he were considering the words carefully. “Yeah. It’s unsettling, isn’t it? This city’s not what it used to be.”

You nodded, a strange feeling settling over you. He was calm, too calm. But then again, maybe he was just better at masking his emotions.

“So, off to work?” he asked, his tone light, almost as if he were changing the subject intentionally.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling relieved to talk about something mundane, something far from the gruesome reality of the news. “I should get going.”

“Be careful out there,” he said, and his gaze lingered on you, that same unreadable intensity in his eyes. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that felt both protective and… something else you couldn’t quite name.

With a small nod, you turned and stepped into the elevator, feeling his gaze on you until the doors closed.

--

That evening, as you lay in bed, the feeling of unease crept back, refusing to let you rest.

You shifted beneath the covers, trying to find a comfortable position. It felt like the city was closing in on you, secrets lurking around every corner, even in your own building.

But finally, as exhaustion took its toll, your eyelids grew heavy, and you drifted off, slipping into a restless sleep.

The room around you blurred into shadows, and your dreams stirred, fragmented images of faces you didn’t recognize flashing across your mind. A faint sense of dread seeped into the dream, mingling with the strange silence of the hallways in your building. In your dream, you were walking down a dim corridor, the walls narrowing, pressing in closer with each step.

And then, somewhere in the distance, you heard a voice, low and almost familiar, calling your name.

You turned, but the hallway stretched endlessly, fading into darkness. You started to walk faster, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, the sense of being watched creeping over you. Every now and then, you'd glimpse shadows flickering at the edge of your vision, but whenever you looked, there was nothing.

The voice grew closer, a deep, almost soothing tone that sent shivers down your spine. It was calling your name again, soft and persistent, like a lullaby pulling you deeper.

In the stillness, you felt a hand on your shoulder, gentle but firm. You spun around, and suddenly you weren’t in the hallway anymore—you were back in your bedroom, lying in bed, your heart pounding as you blinked at the familiar shadows. It took a moment to convince yourself you were truly awake, that whatever presence had been in your dreams was just that—a dream.

But as you stared up at the ceiling, trying to steady your breathing, you felt a lingering presence, as though someone had just left the room, watching you in silence.

The next day, after a long shift at work, you returned home, grateful to finally relax. Dropping your bag by the door, you slipped into something more comfortable and settled on the couch, absently flicking through channels as you tried to unwind.

You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you stumbled upon a crime show rerun, its familiar theme music drawing you in. Without thinking, you leaned back, letting the sounds and scenes wash over you, instantly hooked by the storyline. The show delved into a detective's pursuit of a mysterious suspect, each piece of evidence drawing him closer to the truth—and closer to a chilling revelation.

As you watched, you couldn’t help but feel a strange, lingering tension, like the details were tugging at something buried in the back of your mind. Each time the show shifted to a dimly lit crime scene or the detective narrowed in on his suspicions, a shiver ran through you. The storyline was fictional, you reminded yourself, just a cleverly crafted script. But the suspense was so gripping, so real, that you could feel your pulse quicken with each reveal.

The episode built to a tense, nail-biting finale as the detective pieced together the last clues. With each passing moment, it became painfully clear that the killer had always been closer than anyone expected. As the scene unfolded, the detective arrived at a secluded cabin on the outskirts of town, where he confronted his best friend—the very friend who had been beside him through every twist and turn of the investigation. The friend tried to justify himself, a calm expression masking a chilling emptiness as he spoke about why he’d done it, how easy it had been to lie, to manipulate the detective into trusting him completely.

The camera closed in on the detective’s face, his expression a mixture of betrayal and horror. As the final credits rolled, the weight of that last revelation hung in the air, you realized you’d been sitting there with your legs tucked to your chest, entirely wrapped up in the drama. You exhaled, blinking as you pulled yourself back into the present. You got up, turning off the TV and glancing around the room, still feeling a faint tension prickling at the edges of your awareness.

You gave yourself a small shake, trying to laugh it off. It was just a TV show, after all. Nothing to get worked up over.

But as you walked toward your bedroom, preparing for bed, you couldn’t shake the faint echo of the show’s final line: “Sometimes, the people closest to us are the ones hiding the darkest secrets.”

You shivered, the weight of that line lingering with you as you slipped under the covers, feeling a strange, nagging unease as the room darkened around you.

--

The night was quiet, the air thick with an eerie stillness as the woman walked down the empty street. Her voice was soft but cheerful as she spoke on the phone, the distant warmth of her father's voice on the other end keeping her company. She laughed lightly, reassuring him, “I’ll be home soon, don’t worry. Just a few more blocks.”

Her voice echoed faintly down the road, but she didn’t notice the lurking shadows around her or the faint glint of the black van parked just a little too conveniently along her path. She was focused on her conversation, on the comfortable thoughts of home.

As she passed the van, a figure stepped from behind it, tall and cloaked in darkness, their features obscured by the smooth, black surface of a mask. In one swift movement, the figure lunged forward, a blade glinting under the dim streetlights. Before she could scream, the knife plunged into her back, silencing her words with a strangled gasp. Her phone clattered to the ground, her father’s voice calling her name desperately from the other end.

In one fluid motion, the figure hauled her up, opened the van door, and shoved her inside. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the still night.

The figure adjusted their mask, scanning the area, making sure no one had seen—only to freeze as they noticed a lone figure, a woman standing a short distance away, eyes wide with shock and horror. She’d seen everything.

The masked figure tilted their head, pointing toward her with a gloved hand. “Oh, hello there, sweetheart” they said, the voice disturbingly calm, almost playful.

The woman’s breath hitched, her hands trembling as she took a step back. She tried to scream, to turn and run, but terror had locked her in place. The figure began to move toward her, each step slow and deliberate, closing the distance in long, measured strides.

A strangled sound escaped her lips, and she finally turned, her feet stumbling over themselves as she bolted down the street, desperate for an escape. But her footsteps were matched, quicker, heavier, the figure gaining on her with chilling ease.

She didn’t make it far before she felt a hand clamp over her shoulder, yanking her back with brutal strength. Her scream was muffled as she was dragged backward, her last sight of the quiet street fading as she was pulled into the waiting darkness.

The next day, news broke of a grisly discovery—a woman’s body found stabbed multiple times in a dark alleyway. The details were still emerging, but there were hints of something more chilling: a second woman reported missing, suspected murdered.

The morning news report broke in as you settled into your seat for lunch at school, your friends gathered around the table, chatting and laughing. But the tone shifted as Ji-wong's voice rose above the clamor.

“Did you guys hear? They found a woman’s body in an alleyway last night,” she said, her face a mix of shock and disbelief. “She was stabbed multiple times. It’s all over the news.”

Your heart sank as you absorbed her words. You glanced at the TV mounted in the cafeteria, the screen flickering with images of the crime scene, police tape strung around the darkened alley, a crowd of reporters clamoring for details. The news anchor’s voice droned on, detailing the discovery.

You could hear your friends exchanging hushed whispers, their voices overlapping in concern and intrigue. “Can you believe it?” one of them exclaimed, shaking their head. “How could something like this happen here?”

Another chimed in, “It’s so scary. We walk these streets all the time!”

You remained quiet, a knot tightening in your stomach as you picked at your food. Your friends continued to discuss theories about the killer, sharing opinions about how to stay safe, but all you could focus on was the weight of the news.

Ji-wong glanced over at you, concern etched on her face. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked gently, sensing your quietness.

You nodded, forcing a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, just… a lot to take in.”

She nodded, but you could see the worry linger in her gaze as the conversation shifted back to the details of the crime, leaving you lost in your thoughts.

After school, you and your friends made your way to Hyerin’s place, arms full of books and bags. Her apartment was warm and welcoming, instantly lifting the tense cloud. The group settled in, books sprawled across the coffee table as you attempted to study, though the conversation soon drifted to lighter topics.

Not long after, someone suggested ordering pizza, and before you knew it, the textbooks were forgotten as laughter filled the room, everyone relaxed and joking around. Between bites of pizza and bursts of laughter, time flew by, the clock on the wall ticking faster than you realized. By the time you glanced at it, it was well past midnight.

A slight unease settled over you as you checked the time again. “I should probably get going soon,” you said, not wanting to admit that the thought of walking home this late made you nervous.

But Hyerin just waved her hand, dismissing your concern. “Don’t worry about it! You can just stay here. We have extra blankets and space on the couch.”

Relieved, you nodded, grateful to avoid the long walk through the dark streets. “Thanks, Hyerin. I really didn’t want to be out after midnight.”

“Of course!” she said brightly. “I wouldn’t want to walk out there either. And besides, it’s more fun with you here.”

--

Ni-ki stared through the small hole, his gaze tracing over your empty room, irritation bubbling under his calm exterior. You weren’t home. The thought gnawed at him, and he found himself pacing across his apartment, restless. He glanced at the clock on the wall, each passing second heightening his frustration until he muttered a low curse, grabbing his bag before stepping out.

He paused outside your door, jaw clenched as he stared at it, mind racing. Just then, he heard footsteps, and when he looked up, Jiung was locking his own door. “Hey,” Jiung said casually, but Ni-ki's mind was racing with questions.

“Where’s Y/N?” Ni-ki asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, though he could feel the tension coiling inside him.

“Oh, she’s with a friend,” Jiung replied, shrugging as he continued on his way.

A spark of anger ignited in Ni-ki’s chest. Why did Jiung know where you were? Why did he have that information when Ni-ki did not? But he masked his irritation with indifference, taking a steadying breath, his expression smoothing into cold neutrality as he watched Jiung’s back disappear through the door. He waited a moment, then slipped out of the building behind him, falling into step at a distance.

The night air was crisp, brushing against his skin as he moved silently, slipping on a mask to cover the lower half of his face, fingers grazing the blade concealed in his bag. He kept his steps light, trailing Jiung with a practiced patience, biding his time.

But then, his gaze shifted to a young man walking toward them, absorbed in his phone, completely unaware of his surroundings. Ni-ki paused, the choice lingering between them like an invitation. His eyes followed Jiung, now gaining distance, then flicked back to the man much closer, oblivious, vulnerable.

With a silent groan, he made his decision. He turned from Jiung and closed in on the young man, steps quickening, his grip on the blade tightening. He moved like a shadow, swift and silent, until he was right behind him. In a single, precise motion, his blade flashing in the dim light before the man's gasp was choked into a sickening gurgle, the sound of struggle dwindling into silence.

Ni-ki let the body slump to the ground, sparing a glance over his shoulder to ensure no one had seen. Jiung had already disappeared down the road, blissfully unaware of the fate that had played out in his wake. With one last look at the lifeless figure, Ni-ki wiped his blade, pocketed it, and slipped back into the night.

--

The next day, you returned from Hyerin’s place, still a bit groggy from the late night. But as you neared your building, something felt… wrong. A few police cars were parked on the street, their lights flashing in silent urgency. You blinked, unsure if it was exhaustion playing tricks on you, but the closer you got, the more the scene came into focus.

A section of the street near the entrance was cordoned off with yellow police tape, and a small group of officers clustered around the area, deep in discussion. Your steps slowed as you took in the scene, eyes widening with a growing sense of dread.

Just then, two officers noticed you and made their way over. “Excuse me,” one of them said, glancing down at his notebook before looking back at you. “Do you live in this building?”

You swallowed, feeling suddenly very aware of the tension in the air. “Yes,” you replied, nodding.

The officer’s expression was calm but serious. “Have you noticed anything unusual or suspicious lately?”

You shook your head slowly, feeling a strange weight settle in your chest. “No, I… I was out with a friend last night, actually. I just got back.”

The other officer exchanged a glance with his partner before saying, “If you do happen to notice anything, please report it right away. Safety’s a priority right now.”

Your stomach twisted as a flash of concern crossed your face. “Can I… ask what happened?”

The first officer sighed, nodding slightly as he spoke, “A young man’s body was found nearby early this morning. We’re still investigating, but if you hear or see anything, let us know.”

You nodded, processing his words in silence as you managed a quick goodbye, leaving the officers behind. Your thoughts were a mix of shock and unease as you continued toward your apartment.

By the time you closed the door behind you, your mind was still reeling from what you’d heard. A young man, here?

--

You sat curled up on the couch, the glow of the TV casting dim shadows across the room as you continued with the latest episode of the crime show.

Just as the plot thickened, your doorbell rang. Reluctantly, you tore your attention away, padding over to the door. Peeking through the peephole, you saw Jiung standing there, looking a bit nervous. You opened the door with a curious smile.

“Hey, Jiung. What’s up?” you asked, noticing his slight hesitation as he shifted from foot to foot.

He took a breath and then, in a slightly rushed tone, asked, “Would you… maybe want to go out with me sometime? Like… on a date?”

Surprised, you paused, caught off guard. After a moment’s thought, you gave him a small smile. “I’ll think about it, Jiung.”

His face lit up, and he nodded quickly. “Great! I’ll, uh, let you think it over.” He flashed you a happy grin before heading down the hallway, glancing back once with a wave as he disappeared around the corner.

You closed the door and went back to the couch, feeling a bit dazed from the unexpected moment. But just as you settled down, another knock echoed through the room. With a sigh, you got up again, peering through the peephole. This time, it was Ni-ki.

You opened the door, offering him a polite smile. “Hey, Ni-ki.”

“Hey,” he greeted with a quiet smile of his own, holding up an empty container. “Do you have any salt? I’m all out.”

“Sure, come on in,” you said, motioning for him to step inside. You made your way to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for the salt shaker.

Ni-ki’s eyes wandered over to the TV screen, and when you came back to hand him the salt, he glanced over at you with interest. “You watch this show too?” he asked, his tone holding a hint of excitement. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Your eyes lit up, a smile forming as you looked at him. “Really? I just started watching it recently.”

He nodded, his eyes returning to the screen. “Yeah, I’ve been following it since the start. It really keeps you on edge.”

Before you realized it, you were both seated on the couch, completely immersed in the show. The storyline unfolded, and the detective chased after his best friend—the killer—through a dark, shadowed warehouse. Each twist and turn of the chase drew you both in, leaning closer as the suspense built.

It wasn’t until the episode ended that you noticed how comfortable the room had become, Ni-ki looked at you, his usual reserve softened.

“That was… intense,” you said, breaking the silence.

Ni-ki’s eyes lingered on you, a quiet glint in his gaze. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice softer than usual. “But it’s always better watching with someone who’s just as into it.”

Eventually, sleepless night caught up with you, and your eyelids grew heavy. As you fought to stay awake, your head slowly tilted, finally coming to rest on Ni-ki’s shoulder. You let out a soft sigh, and the tension in your body eased as sleep washed over you.

Ni-ki stilled, watching you as you drifted off, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gently, he shifted so you were more comfortable against him, his arm wrapping subtly around you to hold you steady. He stayed like that for a long moment, his gaze lingering on your peaceful expression, feeling your warmth beside him.

When he was sure you were fully asleep, his hand moved slowly, almost hesitantly, to brush against your cheek, tracing a light line along the edge of your jaw with the tip of his finger. The dim light cast soft shadows across your face, and he watched, entranced, as his fingertip moved along your skin.

He leaned in, his face mere inches from yours, his breath warm and steady as he stayed close, hovering. His gaze flickered to your slightly parted lips, and for a second, his own breath hitched. The air was thick with an unspoken closeness, and he held that position, suspended between a lingering ache and restraint.

Carefully, he leaned back, settling you more comfortably against him, his hand resting softly on your shoulder as he continued to watch over you, his fingers curling protectively around you.

Ni-ki’s gaze darkened as he continued to watch you, his fingers resting softly on your shoulder. His eyes traced the gentle curve of your neck, and an almost imperceptible smile crossed his lips. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured softly, almost to himself, “Red would look good on you.”

His fingers slid up, tracing the line of your neck. His grip tightened ever so slightly, lingering just enough to feel your pulse under his fingertips, steady and unknowing. He let out a slow breath, as if grounding himself, as his thumb brushed softly against the side of your throat.

For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, caught between something intense and something careful, like he was savoring this quiet moment he had with you. After a second, his fingers relaxed, trailing back down your shoulder in a gentle motion, his gaze softening. He drew in a slow breath and finally leaned back, keeping you close but releasing the subtle tension in his touch.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have you truly his, for you to look up at him with trust, completely unaware of the thoughts running through his mind. For now, though, he was content to simply stay by your side, holding you in the quiet of the night.

Ni-ki rose slowly, careful not to disturb you as he scooped you up in his arms. You stirred, blinking sleepily as he carried you toward the bedroom, but he gently hushed you, his voice soft and reassuring. "Shh… just sleep." You let out a quiet hum, drifting back into sleep as he placed you on the bed, pulling the blanket over you.

Once you were settled, he crouched beside the bed, his gaze intense as he took you in, his arms resting on the mattress as he leaned closer. Slowly, his hand reached out, thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip, tracing its softness, almost reverent. He caught himself lingering, letting his fingers ghost across your cheek, as if memorizing every line and curve of your face.

With you here, looking so serene, he could almost pretend to feel peace, like a balm against the darkness that usually gripped him. There was something about you—something that stilled the turbulence in his mind, turning the razor-edged thoughts of violence into something softer, more possessive. Yet, deep down, he knew: if you ever found out who he truly was, you would recoil, flee, maybe even scream. The thought unsettled him. And he couldn’t allow it.

But that was fine, he decided, his hand lingering on your cheek. You would be his. No matter what it took, he would find a way to make you understand, to make you stay, even if he had to teach you how to love him. If it came to that, he could handle it. He would mold you to be his, through your resistance, your fear—until all that was left was the love he craved from you.

Leaning forward, he whispered, almost to himself, "You'll come to love me… just wait."

Ni-ki stood for a long moment at your bedside, watching as you slept, peaceful and unaware of the thoughts circling in his mind. Finally, he straightened, brushing his fingers over the blanket one last time before he slipped out of the room. Quietly, he closed the door behind him, sealing you safely inside as he moved toward his own room.

Once there, he pulled a black bag from beneath his bed, checking its contents with practiced ease. With a final look around, he slung it over his shoulder and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. Outside, the air was cool, and the streets were veiled in a soft hush of night, faintly lit by scattered streetlights.

He walked with a steady stride, blending into the shadows as if they welcomed him. His mind was calm, sharp, each step carrying him forward with a chilling sense of purpose. There was nothing to fear out here. No shadows lurking around corners or dangers in the quiet alleys.

Why would he worry?

--

Days passed, and you started noticing that Jiung seemed increasingly interested in following up on his offer for a date. Every time you ran into him, he would smile a bit wider, his eyes hopeful as he casually asked if you’d made up your mind. His persistence was endearing, and yet… your answer was still unsure, hovering in your mind.

Meanwhile, your time with Ni-ki only grew, filling the quiet corners of your routine with an unexpected ease. He was becoming a fixture in your days, almost as though he’d always been there. You’d find him at your door some evenings, asking if he could join you for whatever crime show you were watching, his attention firmly on you as the plot unraveled on the screen.

He rarely shared much about himself, but you didn’t mind. It felt natural, sitting side by side, sometimes letting your head rest on his shoulder as you got lost in the suspense. Occasionally, he would make small comments on the case, his voice low, adding details you hadn’t noticed.

Then there were the times you’d spend in his apartment, which felt equally familiar now. You’d find yourself leaning over his shoulder, challenging him in games as he let out a soft laugh, relaxed and genuinely happy.

Laughter filled Ni-ki’s room as you clutched the game controller, triumphantly beating him for the third time in a row. Ni-ki groaned, his face caught between frustration and amusement as he asked, “How do you keep winning? Seriously!”

You shrugged, smirking as you teased, “Maybe you’re just not as good as you think.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not one to take the defeat so easily, and before you knew it, he lunged at you in a playful attack. His hands found your sides, mercilessly tickling you as you shrieked, squirming to escape his grip.

“Ni-ki—stop!” you managed between laughs, trying to push him off, but he only grinned, enjoying his victory as he held you down on the bed. Your laughter eventually softened, leaving a warm silence between you as the two of you lay there, his face hovering close to yours.

His breathing slowed, and as he gazed at you, the teasing glint in his eyes softened into something deeper. You could feel your heartbeat quicken as his gaze drifted down to your lips, and without a word, you found yourself leaning into the moment, mirroring his movement.

Slowly, his lips met yours, gentle and cautious at first, as though testing the connection. But the kiss quickly grew deeper, more intense, stealing the air from your lungs as you returned it, feeling a sense of warmth and closeness you hadn’t expected. For a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fall away.

To Ni-ki, this was both heaven and torment. Having you so close, feeling the softness of your lips against his—it was everything he’d wanted and yet, in some ways, so agonizingly out of reach. He ached for more, for all of you, yet held himself back, savoring every second with a longing that made his heart pound.

The kiss lingered, soft yet fervent, as if neither of you wanted to pull away. When you finally did, it was only because you both needed to catch your breath, your faces still close, foreheads nearly touching as you shared a quiet smile.

Ni-ki’s hand brushed along your cheek, his thumb tracing soft circles as he looked at you, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. The tension between you was thick, yet comfortable, like something long-awaited that had finally fallen into place.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” he murmured, his voice a soft tease, though you could hear the tremor of excitement there.

You shook your head, a bit breathless, your own heart still racing. “No… but I’m not complaining.”

His lips curled into a smile. “Good.”

Without waiting, Ni-ki leaned in, closing the small gap between you once more. His lips met yours with a deeper, more assured warmth, as if he was savoring each second, each soft touch.

This kiss was different—more intense, more deliberate, and you found yourself melting into him, your arms slipping around his neck to pull him closer. He responded eagerly, his hand moving to rest on your waist, holding you against him as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Just as the kiss deepened, your phone buzzed, cutting through the perfect moment. Reluctantly, you pulled back, a bit breathless, and glanced at the screen. It was your boss.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you whispered, and Ni-ki nodded, though you noticed a faint flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

Answering the call, you heard your boss’s familiar voice sounding slightly frantic. “Hey, sorry to call last minute, but we’re understaffed tonight. Any chance you could come in for a bit?”

You hesitated, ready to turn him down, but then he added, “I’ll pay double for the overtime.”

You bit your lip, considering it. Rent was due soon, and you were already running a little behind. “Alright,” you finally said with a sigh. “I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

Ending the call, you looked at Ni-ki apologetically. “I have to go to work… They’re understaffed.”

He shrugged, though you sensed the tension just beneath his relaxed expression. “No worries. We’ll pick this up another time.”

With a quick goodbye, you grabbed your bag, left the apartment, and hurried down the stairs, thinking about the night ahead. You didn’t see the way Ni-ki’s expression hardened the moment you were gone, his eyes narrowing at the door, simmering with anger at the interruption.

Your shift stretched far longer than expected, the minutes slipping by until hours had passed. By the time you finally finished work, the streets were dark, only dim streetlights casting long shadows over the quiet city. Your fingers clenched tightly around your keys, each small noise setting your nerves on edge. As you walked past a dark alleyway, a faint, agonized moan caught your attention. You paused, heart pounding as you peered into the murky darkness. Shadows seemed to shift against the brick walls, making you question if your mind was simply playing tricks.

Then, abruptly, a shoe flew out of the darkness and landed at your feet. The pale glow of the nearby streetlight barely illuminated it, but it was unmistakably there, lying askew on the cold pavement. You froze, glancing around, but the street was empty. No one else was around.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped into the alley, clutching your keys with knuckles white. As you walked past the shoe, each step carried you deeper into the shadows, your breath shallow with dread. Just a few paces in, you saw it.

There, sprawled across the grimy ground, lay Jiung, his skin pale, eyes half-lidded with pain. Blood soaked his shirt, dark and spreading from multiple stab wounds across his abdomen. His breaths came in shallow, desperate gasps.

“Jiung…” you whispered, dropping to your knees beside him, voice shaking with panic as you scrambled to pull out your phone. You pressed one hand against his wounds, trying to staunch the bleeding, feeling the warmth of his blood seeping through your fingers.

“I’ll call for help,” you assured him, barely holding back tears as you dialed for an ambulance with a trembling hand.

But then, a chilling sensation ran down your spine. You felt the weight of a presence behind you, like ice settling in your veins. Slowly, you looked over your shoulder—and saw a tall shadow standing at the entrance to the alleyway. The streetlight behind them cast their face into darkness, but there was something menacing in their stance, the way they loomed over you and Jiung.

In a flash of movement, Jiung pushed himself up with a guttural scream, lunging toward the figure despite his injuries. “Run!” he cried, voice raspy with desperation as he collided with the attacker, buying you precious seconds to escape.

Heart hammering, you didn’t waste a moment. You turned and sprinted out of the alley, Jiung’s shout echoing in your ears. You didn’t dare look back, but the pounding of footsteps behind you pushed you faster as you bolted down the street, breath catching in your throat.

“Help!” you screamed, hoping, praying someone would hear. But the quiet streets remained desolate, and all you could do was keep running as the footsteps behind you grew closer, each one filling you with a terror you’d never known before.

The sound of heavy footsteps grew louder, and before you could take another step, a gloved hand shot out from behind you, silencing your scream as another arm snaked around your torso, pinning your arms to your sides. Panic surged through you, and you squirmed, trying to break free, but his grip was iron, unyielding.

Then you felt the cold press of a knife’s edge against your throat, sharp and threatening, making your breath hitch as fear flooded your veins.

"Where are you running off to in such a hurry, doll?" deep, gravelly voice purred in your ear. The words sent a shiver of fear racing down your spine. His breath was hot against your skin as he held you impossibly close, his grip tightening.

You froze, every nerve paralyzed in his grip as he kept you close, his body pressing against yours to ensure you couldn’t break away. The gloved hand over your mouth stifled any sound, leaving you helpless, trapped in his grasp.

"That's it," he continued, his voice almost a whisper but laced with malice, "be a good girl and don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

You held your breath, every muscle tensed, but he only chuckled, his tone shifting to something almost playful, his lips inches from your ear. “You know… you could’ve ignored it, kept on walking home like a smart little thing.” He tilted his head, sounding almost regretful, though the teasing edge to his words betrayed his satisfaction. “But no, you just had to be the hero. Couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

He let out a soft, taunting hum, as though savoring the moment. “Admit it,” he said, his tone slipping into something disturbingly flirty, almost tender. "You liked the thrill, didn’t you? The danger of getting a little too close…”

Your mind raced, desperately searching for some way to escape, but his grip tightened, pressing the blade just a fraction closer, enough to remind you how easily he could hurt you.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you jerked your head back, surprising him for an instant as you managed to shift just enough for your foot to slam down on his. He grunted, his hold loosening slightly, and you seized the opportunity, twisting out of his grasp as you stumbled forward, barely managing to break free.

With adrenaline surging, you started to run again, praying you could get far enough before he caught up once more.

Your heart raced as you stumbled onto the open street, glancing back to see the shadowy figure still gaining on you. But just as hope seemed to fade, you spotted two police officers rounding a corner up ahead. Relief surged through you, and you screamed, “Help! He’s right behind me!”

Hearing the desperation in your voice, both officers turned immediately. At the sight of them, your pursuer halted, cursed under his breath, and bolted in the opposite direction. One officer shot a quick look your way before sprinting down the street after him, while the other rushed to your side, her eyes filled with concern as she gently placed a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” she reassured, keeping her voice calm. “Take deep breaths for me, alright? Tell me what happened.”

Gasping for air, you struggled to relay what had occurred. “There’s… there’s a victim in the alleyway,” you managed between breaths. “He’s hurt badly… please, he needs help.”

The officer’s expression turned grim as she quickly radioed the situation, calling for another police unit and an ambulance to head to the location immediately. She stayed with you, grounding you as you both waited, her presence steady and comforting.

Moments later, her radio crackled to life, and a voice came through. “We’ve located the victim. Ambulance is on the way—he’s alive. Repeat, the victim is alive and en route to the hospital.”

A wave of relief washed over you at the news. Jiung was still alive. The weight of it hit you, and a smile of sheer gratitude flickered on your face, even as exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

Not long after, the other officer returned, breathing heavily, a frustrated look on his face. “I lost him,” he admitted, shaking his head. “He knew these streets too well… slipped into a maze of alleys. But we’ll catch him.”

The officer looked at you with a soft, reassuring gaze. “Would you be willing to come down to the station and give a witness report?”

You nodded, feeling a sense of duty but also the weight of the night’s events. They guided you into the police cruiser, and the short drive to the station was filled with a comforting silence. Once there, you filled out the report, recounting every detail you could remember. When it was over, the officer who had helped you before offered to drive you home.

You thanked her sincerely as you stepped out of the car in front of your building, exhaustion tugging at every limb. “Thank you… for everything,” you said, meeting her kind gaze.

“No need to thank me; just take care of yourself. Call if you remember anything else.”

You nodded, feeling the night’s intensity fade as you finally stepped into the familiar, quiet space of your apartment. You took a deep breath and pulled out your phone, sending Jiung a message, asking him to let you know as soon as he was well enough to reply.

After a hot shower, you felt slightly more grounded. You sat on the couch, flipping through channels until a horror movie caught your eye. Something about the way the killer on-screen moved in relentless pursuit of his victim made your pulse quicken. You’d just been in a scene like this, and yet… as you watched the screen, a dark thrill crept into your thoughts.

You shifted uncomfortably as the killer on-screen cornered his next victim, remembering what it felt like to be hunted down, to feel the darkness creeping in, to hear that voice whispering things you hadn’t wanted to admit. The words echoed in your mind—“Admit it. You like this. You like the fear.” You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but it was like they had a grip on you now. You couldn’t help but admit that there was something unsettlingly captivating about the chase, about the fear.

You tried to push the unsettling thoughts away—tried to focus on the killer on the screen, how methodical and cold they were, but the feeling of being hunted, being chased, was all too real. The way the killer's footsteps echoed in the victim’s ears, how their every breath seemed to be more desperate, more frantic—the adrenaline that had coursed through you earlier in the night crept back up, making your pulse quicken.

Your eyes slowly drifted to the door. The thought of being alone here, in the dark, made your heart race. You wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them tightly to your chest.

Suddenly, the phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your trance. You pulled it out quickly, half-expecting the worst, but it was just a message from Jiung.

“I’m okay. I made it through surgery, just need some rest. Thanks for being there tonight. I owe you one.”

A flood of relief rushed over you, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You typed back quickly, “I’m glad you’re okay. Take care of yourself. I’m here if you need anything.” It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to say.

You dropped your phone beside you on the couch, and the movie continued to play in the background, but now you couldn’t stop thinking about the killer—the way they moved with such confidence, with such control. You wondered if you had been a part of some twisted game, a part of something you couldn’t even begin to understand.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling exhaustion from the long day, but the unease wouldn’t let go. Maybe you didn’t need to be scared. Maybe it was just a nightmare that you’d wake up from. But deep down, you knew that something about tonight had changed you. It wasn’t just the danger, but the feeling of the chase, the adrenaline, and the way you couldn’t help but wonder if you'd somehow enjoyed it.

The thought made you shiver, but there was no denying it. And in that moment, as you sat there, you couldn’t help but think—maybe you’d never be the same again.

The familiar sound of Ni-ki’s door opening caused a shiver to run down your spine. It was a noise you’d come to recognize, and as soon as you heard it, your body stiffened, a strange feeling pulling at your chest. You couldn’t explain it, but it was as if something in you needed him, needed to feel his presence.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was just the nerves from the night still lingering, but then you felt that push—an overwhelming urge to reach out. Without fully thinking it through, you grabbed your phone and sent a quick message to him: "Can you come over?"

The ping came almost instantly from next door, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat, loud in your ears. Then, it fell quiet again.

You stared at your screen, watching the message go from "Sent" to "Read." Your heart beat a little faster, your pulse quickening in anticipation.

Then the sound of footsteps. Heavy and deliberate. You watched the time, and in the span of a few seconds, Ni-ki's door opened, then closed softly. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what was about to happen.

There were two sharp knocks on your door, and your stomach fluttered.

You opened it quickly, not wanting to second-guess yourself. The moment the door cracked, you rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug. His warmth and the familiar scent of him enveloped you, and you couldn’t help but hold on a little tighter than you meant to.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but filled with concern.

His body was solid against yours, his warmth comforting in the wake of everything that had happened. But after a few moments, his hands gently cupped your shoulders, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“What happened?” he asked softly, his voice low, the tenderness in his words making your heart ache a little.

You didn’t answer immediately, not wanting to let go of him just yet. You squeezed your eyes shut and clung to him for a little longer, trying to steady yourself. When you finally opened your eyes, you pulled away just enough to hold him at arm’s length, feeling that strange mix of relief and uncertainty washing over you. You could feel the flutter of anxiety in your stomach, but you knew you had to say something.

"Can we sit down?" you asked, your voice soft and almost pleading, your fingers still gripping his shirt tightly. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, the lingering fear from earlier making it difficult to fully focus on anything other than the sound of your own heartbeat.

Without a word, Ni-ki nodded and allowed you to lead him to the couch. As you both sat down, you could feel him sitting closer than usual, his presence a constant comfort, but his eyes were still searching your face. It made you feel exposed, like there was something about you he could see, something you were trying to hide.

You turned to face him, the weight of everything rushing back now that you had a moment to think. “There was... there was someone in the alley. I—" you stammered, suddenly feeling the weight of the night’s events pushing down on you. You took a deep breath, gathering your words. "I found Jiung... he was... he was stabbed. And then..." Your voice broke for a second as you swallowed hard, the image of Jiung on the ground, bleeding, still so fresh in your mind.

Ni-ki’s eyes didn’t leave you, and his gaze softened, his hand reaching out instinctively to touch yours. His thumb gently traced your knuckles, the touch grounding you. He didn’t interrupt you, just silently waiting for you to finish, allowing you to speak in your own time.

"And then I—" You felt yourself faltering, but you pushed through. "I heard him. The person. He... he came after me." The memory of his grip, the way he whispered to you, the coldness of the blade against your throat, made your chest tighten. You shuddered involuntarily, your hands tightening around Ni-ki’s.

“But then the police came. They helped me. And Jiung... he’s alive.” Your voice shook with relief, but there was still something raw in your tone. “But I couldn’t shake it, Ni-ki. I keep thinking about it, feeling like he’s still out there.”

Ni-ki’s jaw tightened as he listened, his eyes focused on you with an intensity that made you feel both comforted and exposed. He didn’t speak for a moment, just leaned closer, his face softening. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said quietly.

You nodded slowly, trying to shake the images of the night from your mind. You had always found it hard to be vulnerable, but with Ni-ki, it was easier to just let go of the walls.

“Thank you for coming,” you murmured, looking up at him. "I... I needed someone. And I didn’t know who else to call."

Ni-ki smiled, though it was laced with something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place. His hand gently squeezed yours. “I’ll be here as long as you want me to be.”

His words melted some of the tension still lingering in your chest, and for a brief moment, you felt like you could breathe easier. You leaned back into the couch, your body relaxing just a fraction, but you didn’t let go of his hand.

You picked up the remote from the side table and hit play on the movie you’d paused earlier. The flickering of the TV screen and the eerie music of the horror film filled the silence, but it didn’t feel as suffocating now that Ni-ki was here with you.

As the movie played on, the tension in the room grew, thickening with every chase scene. You could feel your body reacting even before the first footstep of the pursuer echoed across the screen. Your eyes narrowed in, focused entirely on the characters as the camera swiveled between the running victim and the shadowed killer. Every time the chase escalated, your breath would hitch, your shoulders tightening with the anticipation of what was to come next.

When the killer finally caught up to the victim, you couldn’t help but shiver. The chase scenes felt too real, too close to what you had experienced just hours ago. The grip of the knife, the feeling of running, your breath coming faster as you tried to escape—it all flooded back in an instant, and your body involuntarily tensed. You clenched your fists in your lap, trying to steady yourself as the screen flickered with flashes of horror.

Unbeknownst to you, Ni-ki was watching intently, his eyes trained on your every reaction. He could see how your breath quickened, how your body stiffened with each passing moment, how the fear from the movie bled into your own memories. The way your hands trembled slightly, the way you seemed to draw closer to him when the killer gained on the victim.

His gaze deepened with satisfaction. He could see how easily the thrill of the chase consumed you. How, despite the terror, there was something almost addictive about it—the danger, the vulnerability, the adrenaline. And it stirred something inside of him, a dark thought that he couldn’t ignore.

He watched you carefully, a small, pleased smile tugging at the corner of his lips as you flinched at every tense moment. He knew this feeling—he could feel it, too. The hunt, the chase, the thrill of bringing someone to the edge of fear. You’d experienced it in the alley, running from him, and now, you were reliving it through the film. But he could tell there was more to you than just fear. You liked it. You liked the adrenaline.

Ni-ki’s hand slowly shifted towards you, resting just near your knee, not touching yet, but close enough to sense your tension. His thumb twitched, as if he could feel the currents of your unease, of your suppressed excitement. He knew you weren’t just scared. You were drawn to it, to the rush of being pursued, to the danger.

He was sure of it now—he could make you understand. He could shape you, mold you to match his world. All he had to do was push you far enough, make you see the thrill the way he did. He’d show you how to embrace it, how to live for the chase, to revel in the fear, to become a part of it—just like him.

And no one would stand in his way.

Not Jiung. Not anyone.

He’d take care of the loose ends soon enough, with that same meticulous care. Just as he had with so many others. But you—you—would be his masterpiece. He would make sure of it.

His fingers brushed lightly against your leg, just enough to make you flinch, but not enough to pull you out of the movie. And as the next chase scene unfolded on the screen, Ni-ki smiled to himself, savoring the moment.

He could tell you were deep in your thoughts, processing the fear, but also something else—something beneath the surface. You were on edge, yet you didn’t pull away. You were still here, still sitting with him. That pleased him more than you could know.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening as he took in the way you gripped the couch, the way your body tensed with every dramatic moment. He noticed the little things—how you took a sharp breath when the victim almost got caught, how your eyes widened in brief anticipation, but you didn’t look away.

“You okay?” Ni-ki asked casually, breaking the silence, his voice soft yet filled with a certain curiosity. His tone seemed almost too casual for what he was observing, but it made you snap back to reality.

You nodded quickly, forcing a small, reassuring smile, though the flicker of unease still danced in your eyes. “Yeah, just… wasn’t expecting a movie like this.”

He chuckled, a low sound, and leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I get it,” he said, the words carrying a gentle teasing quality. “But you seem to be handling it well.”

You looked over at him, unsure of what he meant, but his eyes were fixed on the screen now, and you couldn't quite read his expression.

"Thanks for staying," you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could think to stop them.

“Of course," he replied, glancing at you briefly, his smile soft. "I’m not going anywhere.”

By the time the movie ended, the adrenaline had faded, and the room felt quieter, and you found yourself leaning back into the couch, your body finally starting to relax.

Ni-ki turned to you, his expression unreadable but his presence still comforting. “Feel better?”

You nodded, your smile small but genuine. “Yeah, I do. Thanks for being here."

He gave a small nod, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he looked away. "Anytime," he said softly, the words hanging in the air between you.

--

The sunlight filtered softly through the blinds as you slowly awoke, groggily blinking as you tried to get your bearings. The familiar warmth of the couch wrapped around you, but as your eyes adjusted, you realized that the person who had kept you company the night before—Ni-ki—was no longer beside you. The spot on the couch where he’d been was empty, and the space next to you felt cold in comparison.

You groaned, sitting up and stretching. You must've dozed off again after the movie had ended. You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until you woke up now, all tangled in the blanket.

Shaking off the remnants of sleep, you stood up, ran through your usual morning routine, and gathered your things. You quickly dressed, brushed your hair, and splashed some water on your face to wake yourself up more fully. There was a lot to do today.

After grabbing a quick bite, you made your way to the hospital. Jiung had been transferred there after the attack, and you were eager to see how he was doing. As soon as you entered his room, you saw him sitting up in bed, looking far better than you expected after the ordeal.

He smiled weakly when he saw you, though there was still a tinge of pain in his eyes. “Hey, you came. I’m so glad to see you.”

You smiled back, your heart lightening at the sight of him doing so much better. “Of course, Jiung. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he replied, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “The doctors said I’ll be fine to go home in a couple of days. Just need to rest a bit more.”

“That’s great news,” you said, relieved. You sat down beside his bed, glad to see he was recovering well.

Jiung paused, looking at you with an almost hesitant expression. “Hey, I was thinking… once I’m out of here, maybe we could go grab a coffee or something? I know you are still thinking.”

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands for a moment. It was clear that Jiung had more than just friendship in mind, and you didn’t want to hurt him. But you also needed to be honest with him.

“Jiung…” you started softly, meeting his eyes. “I think you’re great, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I see you as a friend. I’m actually interested in someone else.”

His face softened, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes. He gave a small nod, though, his smile never quite fading. “I understand. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a girlfriend.”

You gave him a gentle smile in return, feeling a pang of guilt, but also relief at having been honest with him. “Thank you for understanding, Jiung. You’re a really good person, and I’m glad we’re friends.”

“I’m glad we’re friends, too,” he said, his voice steady despite the slight sadness in it. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will. And you get better, alright?” you replied, giving him a small wave as you stood up to leave.

After your visit, you made your way to work, your thoughts still lingering on the conversation with Jiung. As much as it had been the right thing to do, it didn’t make it any easier. You focused on your tasks at work, trying to push the lingering thoughts aside and focus on the tasks at hand. It was a long shift, but at least it gave you a break from the emotional weight of everything that had happened lately.

The evening had crept up on you faster than you expected. The time spent with your friends at the mall was a welcome distraction, but as the sky darkened, the familiar unease from earlier in the week began to creep back. You said your goodbyes, as they headed in different directions, and made your way to your car, feeling the weight of the day on your shoulders.

You climbed into your car, started the engine, and drove home, your mind preoccupied. The streets were relatively quiet, the rush of the city settling down as night enveloped everything in shadows. A part of you felt relieved to be heading back to your apartment, but another part felt uneasy. The events of the past few days—the attack on Jiung, the strange tension with Ni-ki—lingered in your thoughts, gnawing at the back of your mind.

Once you parked your car and grabbed your shopping bag from the back seat, you stepped out, pulling the door shut with a soft click. The air was crisp, a cool breeze brushing against your face as you locked the car and started walking toward your apartment. The familiar sounds of the street felt oddly distant, almost muffled by the growing darkness.

Your senses felt more alert than usual, and you quickened your pace, the soft click of your shoes against the pavement echoing in the quiet evening. Something about tonight felt off, the air thick with an unspoken tension that you couldn’t quite place. Every shadow seemed to stretch longer, every flicker of movement felt like a warning.

You glanced over your shoulder, but the street behind you remained empty. Still, the unease gnawed at you.

Maybe it’s nothing, you thought to yourself, trying to shake off the feeling, but it didn’t help. You picked up your pace again, hands clutching your shopping bag a little tighter. The streetlights above flickered intermittently, casting long shadows across the pavement.

As you neared your apartment building, you paused for just a second, glancing up at your door. Everything appeared normal, yet the feeling of being watched was inescapable. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart, and told yourself it was just your mind playing tricks.

But then you heard something.

A sound behind you. A shuffle of footsteps.

Your head snapped around, but the street was still empty. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you stood there for a moment, frozen in place. The wind rustled the leaves nearby, but that was the only noise in the air.

You couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed.

Just get inside, you urged yourself, turning back toward the door of your building. You fumbled with your keys, your fingers cold and unsteady as you slid the key into the lock. The sound of footsteps drew closer, and just as you pushed the door open, a voice, low and unfamiliar, echoed from behind you.

“You’re not alone tonight.”

Your heart stopped. The hairs on your neck prickled with fear.

Before you could turn around, a gloved hand rested against the door, pushing it slightly back into its frame, and you were pulled backward.

The moment you were pulled into the alleyway, the cold grip of fear clamped down on your chest. You were yanked roughly, stumbling over your own feet, and before you could even think to scream, a gloved hand pressed tightly over your mouth, stifling any sound. The sharp edge of a knife was placed at your throat, just enough to make you feel the cold metal against your skin, but not yet enough to break it.

"You're lucky I let you live after you interfered last time," the man muttered, his voice low and cold, as if every word was carefully measured. "But… I guess I’ll forgive you. After all, it’s not your fault you got in the way. Just another mistake. But don’t worry, I’ll finish what I started."

He pressed the knife a little harder into your side, making you wince, and his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "You won’t stop me this time."

Your eyes darted to the alley’s entrance, and you tried to struggle against his grip, but his hand on your mouth only tightened, and the blade felt like it could pierce your skin with the slightest movement. Panic surged through you, but before you could react further, you heard something.

Footsteps. The faint sound of boots hitting pavement.

You froze.

The man must have heard it too, because his voice turned sharp, a warning whisper. "Stay quiet," he hissed. "If you make a sound, I’ll finish it right here."

Your breath caught in your throat as three police officers walked into view, their figures passing by the alley’s opening. The sounds of their conversation blended with the quiet night, but they didn’t seem to notice the two of you hidden in the shadows.

Your heart hammered in your chest as they came closer, their uniforms barely visible in the low light, the soft murmur of their voices floating into the alley. You dared not move a muscle, barely able to breathe, as you felt the pressure of the knife against your side.

The man’s grip on you tightened, forcing you to stand still, and you could feel the pulse of fear racing through your veins. Your eyes stayed locked on the officers, willing them to see you, to help, but they kept walking past without a second glance. Their conversation faded, and just like that, they were gone, leaving nothing but silence behind.

The man’s grip on you was relentless, pressing you deeper into the shadows. But in that brief, fleeting moment, you found your opening.

His hold slackened just enough, his focus momentarily distracted by the fading sound of the officers’ footsteps. His attention turned slightly to make sure they had truly gone, just long enough for you to summon the courage to move.

With a burst of adrenaline, you jerked your body to the side, slipping out of his grasp. Your heart pounded in your ears as you darted forward, legs propelling you as fast as they could carry you. The alley seemed to stretch endlessly in front of you, and with every step, the fear that gripped your chest pushed you further, faster.

You didn’t look back—couldn’t afford to—but you heard the sound of his footsteps pounding behind you, growing louder. He was coming after you. His breath was ragged, but there was no mercy in his pursuit, only the promise of violence. The sound of his pursuit echoed down the narrow alley, each step closer to your heels making your breath come quicker, your legs feel weaker.

You turned a corner, hoping to lose him, but the streets around you were eerily empty, void of the people you so desperately needed. The streetlights flickered weakly, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly, making you feel as though the darkness was swallowing you whole.

There was no one. No one to help you. No one to witness your struggle.

You tried to scream, but your voice was caught in your throat, choking on your fear. Every alley you passed was as desolate as the last, every street devoid of life. The city seemed to hold its breath as you ran, its silence mocking your desperate escape.

Your legs burned, your lungs screamed for air, but you didn’t dare stop. If you did, he would catch you. And the thought of what he would do made your skin crawl, your heart race even faster.

But then, you heard it. His footsteps were louder now, more insistent. He was gaining on you. The realization hit you like a wave—you weren’t going to outrun him.

Desperation set in as you searched for any place to hide, any escape, but the streets stretched on endlessly, the buildings looming on either side like dark sentinels. The only sound that filled the air was your frantic breathing and the thudding of your own heartbeat.

You had to think. You had to survive.

You pushed yourself harder, heart hammering in your chest as you darted through another narrow alley. Desperation clawed at your throat, but somehow, you found an abandoned dumpster in the corner of the alley, its shadow deep and offering a small sliver of cover.

With trembling hands, you crouched behind it, pulling your legs close to your chest, trying to quiet your frantic breathing. You held your breath, praying that he wouldn’t hear you or see you. The night felt suffocating, the dark streets now your only allies.

You pressed yourself against the cold, gritty wall of the alley, the rough surface scraping your skin as you slowly peeked out, just enough to see him.

The man was standing a few feet away, his head shifting left and right, scanning the area. He was looking for you—searching for you, and every passing moment felt like an eternity. The way he moved, his body tense, the way his eyes narrowed behind the mask, told you that he was intent on finding you.

He was tall, lean, and wore a baggy jacket with the hood pulled low over his head, casting his features in shadow. His jeans hung loosely around his waist, the fabric almost swallowing his legs. A mask covered his mouth, hiding his expression, but you could see the sharpness of his eyes, cold and calculating as they swept over the alley.

You held your breath again, not daring to move a muscle. The air felt thick, and the sound of his footsteps seemed impossibly loud as he stepped closer to where you were hiding. You could hear him muttering under his breath, a low, almost inaudible grumble of frustration as he searched. He was so close now, standing right in the spot where you had just been moments before.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you forced yourself to stay still, not even daring to blink. If you moved, if he saw you… you didn’t want to think about what would happen. The fear that gripped your throat made it hard to breathe, but you didn’t dare exhale too loudly.

The man stepped closer again, his body tensing, clearly aware that you were near. You could see the muscles in his arms flexing beneath the fabric of his jacket, his hands twitching near the knife in his pocket. His breathing was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the hunt.

You swallowed hard, your entire body on edge. It felt like the world had stopped, the only thing in motion was him, his every movement calculated, methodical.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he stepped back, his head turning as if he had sensed something—or maybe it was just the cold night playing tricks on him. His eyes scanned the surrounding area once more, and for a moment, you thought he might give up.

You knew, the moment you moved, he would be on you. You just had to wait, to let him think he’d missed you. Just a little longer, just enough time for you to figure out your next move.

You waited, heart racing, every muscle in your body tensed, when the man who had been stalking you suddenly vanished into the shadows. The air felt thick with suspense, the silence almost deafening as you kept your eyes trained on the dark alleyway, afraid to make a move just yet.

It wasn’t until several minutes later that you finally saw why he’d left. A tall, broad-shouldered man appeared at the mouth of the alleyway, his gait confident and purposeful. You recognized him instantly—the owner of the laundromat a few blocks over. His muscular build and rough demeanor made him hard to miss. He was the type who could take care of himself, the type you’d want by your side if trouble were brewing. He strolled past the alley, seemingly unaware of the danger that had been lurking just moments before.

Taking the opportunity, you slowly began to step out of your hiding place, keeping your movements as quiet and fluid as possible. With the laundromat owner walking ahead, you kept a few steps behind him, grateful for the presence of someone who seemed safe, someone who might be the buffer between you and whatever danger had been stalking you just minutes before.

As you walked, you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of being watched, that prickling sensation creeping up your spine. Your eyes darted over your shoulder, searching the dark streets. But there was no one. Still, the unsettling feeling lingered like a shadow that wouldn’t let go.

You turned back around and quickened your pace, staying close to the laundromat owner. The walk back to your apartment felt like it took forever. Every turn, every creak in the distance, made your heart pound faster. You refused to look back again, forcing yourself to focus on getting to the safety of your apartment.

The moment you reached your building, you breathed a sigh of relief. The door to the apartment building seemed like a small fortress in that moment. You glanced once more over your shoulder—nothing. But the nagging sensation that something, someone, was still watching you refused to let go.

You hurried up the stairs to your apartment, not bothering to check the other floors, not caring who might be around. Your only priority was getting inside, locking the door, and sealing yourself off from whatever it was that was chasing you—whether it was the man in the alley or the dark thoughts you tried to push away.

As you entered your apartment, you locked the door behind you, breathing heavily. You walked to your room, closing the door with a soft click, and pressed your back against it for a moment. Your hands were trembling as you looked around your room.

But even in the safety of your room, the adrenaline still buzzed in your veins. The fear hadn’t fully dissipated, but something else had settled into the pit of your stomach. It wasn’t just fear anymore—it was an unsettling sense of anticipation. A craving that you couldn’t name, a feeling that made your skin tingle and your breath quicken, not from fear this time, but something else. Something darker.

The feeling grew, gnawing at you from the inside. You pushed it down, told yourself to focus, to get some sleep, to let go of the rush. But deep inside, you knew what it was.

It was the thrill. The addiction to it. The way your body had reacted to the chase, the near escape, the uncertainty of what might happen next.

You shook your head, trying to clear the thoughts, telling yourself to stop. It was a dangerous game to play with such thoughts. But in the back of your mind, a voice whispered that you would never be able to stop craving it.

That night, as you lay in your bed, the exhaustion from the long day weighed heavily on your body. The adrenaline from the events earlier had faded, leaving behind a deep, aching tiredness. You pulled the blanket up to your chin, closed your eyes, and let yourself drift into sleep, unaware of the quiet presence watching you.

Just beyond the wall of your room, in the shadows, Ni-ki stood silently, his eyes fixated on the small hole in the wall that gave him an unobstructed view into your room.

He smiled, a dark, satisfied smile. You had no idea how close he was, no idea how much he had watched you tonight, how every move you made—every step you took—had been carefully observed. Even the small crack in the wall had become an entryway for him to see you, to observe you without you knowing. To see you in your most vulnerable state—sleeping, unaware of the danger just beyond your reach.

His fingers traced the edge of the hole, a slow, deliberate movement as he drank in the sight of you. He admired the way you shifted in your sleep, how your body instinctively curled up for warmth, how your lips parted slightly in a soft breath. He knew you didn’t fully understand the danger, didn’t fully comprehend the way he had been keeping watch over you, but that would change.

You had something inside you. Something that made you crave the chaos, the rush, the thrill of danger. He could see it now. He could feel it in the way your body reacted, in the subtle ways you would flinch at the chase scenes on the TV, in the way your heart raced when you were close to danger. You liked it, didn't you? The feeling of being hunted, the rush of barely escaping.

And that was where he had to be patient. He would guide you. Mold you. Shape you into someone who wouldn’t just run from him. No, you’d be by his side, not as a victim, but as someone who wanted to walk this dangerous path with him. It would take time, but he was willing to wait.

As you slept, Ni-ki’s gaze never left you, his heart thumping in quiet anticipation. It wasn’t just the thrill he enjoyed now. It was you.

You had no idea how impressive you were, how far you'd come in such a short amount of time. The way you escaped from his grasp earlier—it had caught him off guard, in a way. The determination in you, the fight, the way you pushed through the fear. It was something he admired, even if you didn’t fully realize the extent of it.

When you managed to slip away from him, when you outwitted him for those few seconds, it ignited something within him. He was impressed—not many could do that. Not many could slip through his fingers like that, especially when he was so close. It wasn't just the thrill of the chase anymore; it was the way you handled it. You were more than just a victim to him now. You were becoming something else—something he wanted more than anything.

The rush he felt watching you run, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, was addicting. You had that same fire, that same dangerous allure that kept pulling him back in. Your fear, your resistance, even your attempts at fighting back, had only made him more intrigued, more obsessed.

It was clear now—you were no longer just a victim for him to hunt. You were a challenge. A beautiful, unpredictable challenge. And he loved every moment of it.

His fingers grazed the wall as he leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing with focus. You had nearly escaped him, but in doing so, you’d only stoked the flames of his desire to catch you even more. You were strong, quick, and clever. But more than that, you were unpredictable, and that made you more enticing than any victim he had ever encountered.

He could already picture it—the next time you faced him, the next time you ran, the next time you resisted. He’d be ready for it. And this time, he wouldn’t let you go. Not until you fully understood the game.

With a slow, deliberate breath, he pulled himself away from the wall, slipping quietly out of the shadows, his mind already whirring with plans. He would let you think you had control for now, let you think you were escaping him. But soon enough, he’d pull you back in, closer than ever before.

Ni-ki knew the thrill wasn’t just in the chase anymore. The real excitement would come when you finally stopped running—when you embraced the darkness he offered, when you no longer resisted him. That was when he’d truly have you. And when that time came, you would understand. You would want it too.

But for now, he would let you breathe. He would let you think you were free, even though, deep down, you already belonged to him. The pull would only get stronger.

And when you woke in the morning, when you faced the world again, he would be right there, ready to take the next step in bringing you closer to him. Because this wasn’t just about chasing you anymore—it was about claiming you, piece by piece.

He turned away from the wall and quietly left, leaving the hole behind, but his mind was already set on the next move.

Soon enough, you would be his.

--

You had just opened your door, heading out for class, when you froze in your tracks. The road ahead of you was blocked. Someone had left a shopping bag on the ground right in your path, unmistakably familiar. Your breath caught in your throat as you took a step closer, recognizing the bag immediately.

It was the same one you had dropped during your frantic run from the killer, the one you had barely managed to grab before fleeing for your life. How could it possibly be here?

Your heart raced in your chest, and your hands trembled as you reached down to pick it up. As you did, a cold shiver ran down your spine. The weight of it was just as it had been before, and when you peered inside, you saw everything you’d bought from the mall—a few pieces of clothing, makeup, and the lipstick you’d picked out without much thought.

But there was something else, something more unnerving—there was a note. It was attached to the lipstick. You slowly pulled it out, and the moment your eyes fell on the words, your stomach dropped.

“You forgot your bag, doll. I thought I’d return it to you. I’d love to see this shade on your lips next time we meet.”

The words were simple, but the implications were enough to send a chill down your spine. It felt like the note had been written just for you, as if he knew where you’d be, as if he was keeping track of you.

You glanced around the hallway, but there was no sign of anyone, no figure lurking in the shadows. You were completely alone. Still, the presence of that note, the familiarity of his words, left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. He was closer than you realized. He was always watching.

You quickly stuffed the note back into the bag, clutching it tightly as your heart hammered in your chest. But even as you turned to leave, a sinking feeling gnawed at the back of your mind, knowing that every time you tried to move forward, something—someone—was always just one step behind you.

--

Over the next few days, your life seemed to settle into a new rhythm. You spent more time with Ni-ki, and each moment felt different from anything you had experienced before. His presence was comforting, a sense of protection lingering whenever he was near. It wasn’t just the way he would quietly stand watch over you when you were vulnerable, but the subtle ways he made sure you felt safe.

As much as you tried to shake off the unsettling memories of that night, Ni-ki's company made you feel… reassured. The small crush you had once harbored for him began to grow. His calm demeanor, the way he carried himself with confidence, and the way he seemed to understand everything without saying much—it made him irresistible. It was so easy to let your guard down when he was around, even if a small part of you still questioned things you couldn’t quite understand.

Then Jiung came back from the hospital.

The moment he stepped into your apartment, there was an odd tension in the air. He’d been through a lot, and he looked exhausted, but there was something else in his eyes—something darker, a sharpness you hadn’t noticed before. He wasn’t the same since the attack, and maybe it was the trauma or just his protective nature, but when he saw Ni-ki, his demeanor shifted. He greeted you with a tired smile, but his gaze lingered on Ni-ki longer than it should’ve.

You could sense something was off. He seemed distant, colder, and even though he was happy to see you, his eyes kept flicking to Ni-ki, narrowing as if trying to make sense of something.

Later, as you and Jiung were talking, he dropped a bombshell.

“Have you noticed anything strange about him?” Jiung asked, his voice low, guarded.

“Who?” you asked, slightly confused.

“Ni-ki,” he answered, his eyes not meeting yours but focused on the spot where Ni-ki had been sitting earlier. “I’ve been doing some thinking… about all those murders. The ones that happened around the same time he showed up… It’s too much of a coincidence. And the way he’s always around, watching you—something’s off.”

You laughed softly, trying to ease the tension. “Jiung, you’re being paranoid. Ni-ki’s harmless.”

But Jiung didn’t seem convinced. “I’m serious. You’ve been around him a lot, right? Think about it. His timing, his habits… don’t you think it’s strange?”

You shook your head, brushing off the unease creeping into your chest. “You’re crazy. Ni-ki would never hurt anyone. He’s been nothing but nice to me, Jiung. You’re just imagining things.”

Jiung clenched his fists, frustration evident on his face. “I’m not imagining anything! You need to be careful. He’s dangerous. I’m telling you.”

You met his gaze with an exasperated sigh. “I know you’re worried, but Ni-ki isn’t who you think he is. He’s not the bad guy here.” You stood up, trying to change the subject. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re just tired from everything that happened at the hospital. Maybe you should rest.”

Jiung stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of doubt. But there was none. Finally, he shook his head, as if giving up on convincing you. “I hope you’re right,” he muttered, but the suspicion still lingered in his eyes.

The rest of the conversation was awkward. Despite your assurances, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Jiung’s words had planted a seed of doubt, but you quickly silenced it. Ni-ki had always been kind to you. He was always there when you needed him. He wasn’t dangerous.

Right?

But as the days passed, and you spent more time with Ni-ki, you began to notice small things that didn’t sit right. There were moments when you would catch him looking at you a little too intently, or when his smile would slip into something darker when you weren’t paying attention. The tension from Jiung’s warning kept gnawing at the back of your mind, but each time you saw Ni-ki’s face—calm, patient, understanding—you pushed it aside.

Jiung had to be wrong. He was just being paranoid.

Still, something inside you felt like it was teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t quite grasp.

A few days later, Jiung showed up at your door again. This time, he was holding a manila folder, and the look on his face was grave.

You didn’t want to invite him in, but he didn’t give you much of a choice. As he pushed the door open, you stepped back, arms crossed defensively.

“I’ve got more to show you,” Jiung said, a mix of urgency and frustration in his voice.

“Jiung, I told you already, I don’t want to talk about this,” you said, trying to shut down the conversation before it even started.

But he was insistent, handing you the folder. “Look at this. You need to see it.”

Reluctantly, you opened the folder, your heart racing as you flipped through the papers. They were mostly copies of reports from the police and CCTV footage, but one image caught your eye: it was a grainy shot of Ni-ki walking alone through the streets at night. The image was taken from a security camera, and it was timestamped around the time of one of the murders.

“Jiung, this is just footage of him walking down the street,” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

But Jiung wasn’t backing down. He pointed to another image, a close-up shot of Ni-ki entering a small shop—a shop you knew he worked at. “This is him going to work, isn’t it? You know it is,” Jiung said, his voice tight with tension. “This is where the pattern starts. He’s always around. Always at the right place at the right time.”

You stared at the photo, your mind spinning. You didn’t want to admit it, but the timing was too coincidental. But still, something about it didn’t sit right with you. Ni-ki had always been kind, gentle, and… well, he was your friend. You had to believe that.

“Jiung, please,” you said, your voice pleading. “This isn’t enough. It’s just… it’s a coincidence, okay? Ni-ki is a good guy. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Jiung’s face hardened. “You’re just ignoring the facts. I’m telling you, you’re in danger. He’s been involved in every single one of these murders, and you’ve been around him. You need to stay away from him before it’s too late.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “I’ve had enough of this, Jiung. You need to leave.”

You didn’t give him a chance to argue, firmly holding out the folder with the papers he had given you. “Take your stuff and go.”

Jiung looked at you one last time, eyes filled with a mix of hurt and frustration. “I’m just trying to protect you, you know,” he muttered before taking the folder from your hand and walking out the door.

Once he was gone, you locked it behind him, letting out a long sigh of relief. You couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach, though, the small part of you that wondered if maybe Jiung had been right. But then you thought of Ni-ki—his smile, the way he always looked out for you, the way he’d been there for you time and time again.

No. You couldn’t believe it. Ni-ki wasn’t capable of what Jiung accused him of.

You couldn’t let yourself doubt him.

--

You were curled up on the couch with Ni-ki, the soft glow of the TV lighting up the dark room as you both watched a movie. The atmosphere was comfortable, the kind of quiet warmth that made you feel safe with him.

But then, the sound of your doorbell broke the calm.

You groaned, irritated that the moment was being interrupted. As you stood up and made your way to the door, Ni-ki didn't even glance away from the screen, still lounging back on the couch. You opened the door, not expecting much, only to find Jiung standing there. His presence instantly put you on edge.

"Jiung? What are you—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jiung’s eyes immediately darted past you to the living room, locking onto Ni-ki. There was a brief moment of silence, and you could practically feel the tension building in the air. His discomfort was palpable, his body stiff as he shifted uneasily on his feet.

“I was wondering if you had any more information on the murder,” Jiung asked, his tone direct but strained. “Anything else you might have forgotten to tell the police? Some small detail that could help?”

You blinked in confusion, then sighed. You were so tired of this. The suspicion, the constant questioning—it felt like a weight you couldn’t escape. You could see the doubt in his eyes, and it stung.

“Jiung, I already told you everything,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm but firm.

He didn’t look convinced, his gaze flickering to Ni-ki again, lingering a little too long. Ni-ki, for his part, seemed unaffected, his expression unreadable.

"Well, if you remember anything else—" Jiung started, but you cut him off.

“Look, I really need to go to the bathroom,” you said, your patience wearing thin. “I’ll be back in a minute. Can you just... wait here?”

Jiung nodded, though you could see the worry in his eyes as he glanced at Ni-ki one last time.

You didn’t want to deal with this right now, and as you made your way toward the bathroom, you hoped that maybe Jiung would leave. But just as you reached the door, you heard it. A loud crash, followed by shouts, then the sound of things scattering across the floor.

Your heart skipped a beat. You rushed back toward the living room, and your stomach dropped when you saw what was happening. Ni-ki and Jiung were on the floor, tangled together in a mess of flailing limbs. They were shouting at each other, the aggression in their voices unmistakable.

“Jiung, what the hell—” you gasped.

The two of them were a mess—clothes half-ripped, hair disheveled, and faces already starting to show the marks of their struggle. Ni-ki’s grip on Jiung’s shirt was unforgiving, his knuckles white with the intensity of his hold, while Jiung pushed back with all his might, trying to break free.

The coffee table had been knocked over in the chaos, and your bowl of popcorn lay shattered across the floor, the pieces scattered like a reminder of how quickly things had gone wrong.

“Ni-ki is the killer! Don’t you see it?!” Jiung shouted, his voice hoarse and frantic as he tried to land a punch, but Ni-ki dodged it easily. His voice rang with panic, eyes wide as he looked at you. “You’re protecting him! You don’t know who he is!”

You felt the words cut through you like a knife, your heart pounding in your chest as the truth of what Jiung was accusing sank in. Was it possible? Was Ni-ki really the killer? The one responsible for everything? Your mind raced, but every part of you resisted the thought. You knew Ni-ki—he couldn’t be.

But Jiung’s anger and fear were real. His accusations filled the room like a thick, oppressive fog.

Ni-ki’s expression remained cold, unflinching, despite the heat of the fight. His face was a mask of controlled rage as he twisted Jiung’s shirt tighter. “You don’t know anything,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “You’re just trying to get a rise out of her.”

Jiung tried to break free, his breath ragged. “You think I’m lying? You think I’m crazy? I saw the patterns, I saw the way he’s always there, after dark. You think that’s a coincidence?!” He shoved Ni-ki with all his strength, causing the two of them to stumble. “You can’t hide it anymore. You’ll slip up, and when you do—”

Ni-ki cut him off, his grip tightening as he shoved Jiung into the wall with a brutal force. “I’m done with you,” he snarled, his voice filled with a chilling finality. “You’ve said your piece. Now, get the hell out of my sight.”

Jiung’s face twisted with frustration as he took in the damage around him—the overturned coffee table, the popcorn on the floor. He seemed to come to a realization then, one you couldn’t quite place, and he stared at Ni-ki one last time with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“You’re the monster,” Jiung spat, his voice trembling. “And she’ll see it too. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Jiung opened the door, his hands trembling as he stepped out, casting one last glance at you before leaving, his figure disappearing into the hallway.

The room felt unnaturally still after he was gone. The only sounds were your breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner.

Ni-ki, still standing where Jiung had left him, slowly relaxed his stance, though the tension in his body remained. He took a step back, as if finally realizing how close to the edge things had been. His eyes locked onto you, the intensity of his gaze making your heart skip a beat. But this time, there was something else there, something deeper—something you couldn’t quite understand.

“You don’t believe him, do you?” Ni-ki asked, his voice softer now, almost too calm.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your mind was a whirlwind, caught between what you had just witnessed and the person you thought you knew.

“He’s just trying to scare you,” Ni-ki continued, taking a step closer to you, his expression unreadable. “You know me better than that. I’d never hurt you. You have to know that.”

But you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in your chest. The questions, the doubts, they had been creeping in for weeks, ever since you first met him. Every time you thought you could trust him completely, something dark—something off—seemed to follow in his wake.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing thoughts. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Ni-ki didn’t respond immediately, just standing there, his eyes never leaving yours, watching you as if waiting for something. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the way it seemed to see straight through you.

But then, his lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to think about it right now,” he said softly.

The words sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t know why. You didn’t know what to do with the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside you.

The days following Jiung’s visit felt like an eternity. You couldn’t shake the weight of his accusations or the image of Ni-ki and Jiung fighting, each man standing for something so different.

You started to keep Ni-ki at arm's length, your interactions with him becoming more guarded. You’d still spend time together, but there was a distance now—something unsaid that hung in the air between you, a barrier that wasn’t there before.

Ni-ki noticed. His usual calm demeanor faltered, just for a moment, whenever you hesitated to answer his calls or avoided his gaze for too long. But he didn’t press it. Not directly. Instead, he continued to show up, his presence always just a step away from being too much, and yet you let him in. Every time. Maybe it was the loneliness, or the need for something familiar, something you could hold onto.

One evening, you opened the door to find him standing there, the familiar tilt of his head and that quiet smile of his. He was calm, as always, but there was something in his eyes—something searching. He didn’t have to say anything to make you feel it.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said quietly, stepping into the apartment without waiting for you to invite him in.

You couldn’t bring yourself to lie. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admitted, your voice low. “I’m confused.”

Ni-ki closed the door behind him with a soft click and turned to face you, his eyes unwavering. “I understand,” he said, his tone almost too understanding. “But you’ve got to trust me. I haven’t done anything wrong. You know me better than anyone else.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But Jiung’s accusations, the evidence he showed you… it made it harder.

“Ni-ki, I…” You faltered, your words feeling heavy in your chest. “I don’t know who to trust.”

He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours, the space between you shrinking with each word. “You can trust me,” he said, his voice softer, almost coaxing. “I know it’s hard to see through all the confusion, but I swear to you, I’m innocent. I would never hurt you.”

You took a step back, your mind fighting with your heart. Your body told you to believe him, to let go of the doubt. But the fear still lingered, a shadow at the edge of your thoughts.

“You have to understand, what Jiung said… It’s all just paranoia,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting, like a whisper meant to calm the storm inside you. “He doesn’t understand me the way you do. You know me. You know who I am.” His hand reached out, fingers brushing gently along your arm. "You know that I would never hurt you. I’d never hurt anyone you care about."

You shook your head slightly, still conflicted, but his touch made it hard to focus. “But Jiung…” you started, your voice faltering.

“He’s crazy,” Ni-ki interrupted, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes before it softened again, replaced by that unwavering calm. "He’s got a wild imagination. He's pushing all these ideas in your head. Don’t listen to him. You’re smart. You know what feels right.” He took another step closer, his hand moving to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You feel it too, don’t you? The connection between us? The way I protect you, the way I look out for you? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

You swallowed hard, his words sinking deeper into your mind, like a slow poison—soft and insidious. The memory of Jiung’s accusations felt distant now, buried beneath the weight of Ni-ki’s soothing tone. "But... what if he was right?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, the fear creeping in again.

Ni-ki gave you a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He cupped your chin gently, lifting it, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Jiung doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just scared. Of me, of what he can’t have But you, you’re not scared, are you?” His voice dropped even lower, intimate and coaxing. “You know I would never hurt you. Why would I? I care about you. I would do anything for you.”

You hesitated, the conflicting emotions a jumbled mess in your mind. Ni-ki continued, his fingers sliding from your chin to the back of your neck, gently pulling you closer. “You’re safe with me. You’ve always been safe with me. Jiung doesn’t want to see that. But you do. You trust me, right?”

You nodded, despite the knot in your stomach, the small voice of doubt still lingering in the back of your mind. It felt easier to trust him in this moment. He was right there, offering you comfort, offering you understanding. Everything about him seemed so sure, so calm, as though the whole world was just a puzzle he’d already figured out.

“You’ll see,” Ni-ki whispered, brushing his lips lightly against your forehead, “once Jiung’s out of the picture, you won’t have to worry about anything. We can be happy. Together.”

Before you could say anything else, Ni-ki lifted your chin, tilting your head back slightly. His breath was warm on your skin as he leaned in, and for a moment, you froze, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. But then, before you could stop yourself, he kissed you.

His lips were soft, almost tentative at first, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your arms found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. Ni-ki responded immediately, his hand moving from your chin to the back of your neck, his grip possessive but gentle.

His other hand slid around your waist, pulling your body against his, the heat of his touch igniting something inside you that you had tried to ignore. The kiss was intense, consuming—everything you had been pushing down rising to the surface.

He backed you towards the wall, his body pressing against yours, and you could feel the tension between you both, the energy swirling in the space around you. You kissed him back, feeling the surge of desire you hadn’t realized was building up inside you.

In that moment, everything else faded away—the doubt, the fear, the confusion. All that mattered was the way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing in the world.

Ni-ki’s lips lingered for just a moment longer before he pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your face. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, his hands gently resting on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing in small circles.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low, full of awe. “I don’t know if you realize it, but you really are.” His eyes searched yours, intense and filled with something that felt almost too deep to understand, yet you couldn’t help but drown in it. “You’re perfect. Everything about you, your smile, the way you think… It’s everything I could ever want.”

You stood there, your heart beating faster, warmth blooming in your chest. No one had ever spoken to you like that before, with such intensity, such devotion. It was intoxicating.

“You make me feel like I’m the luckiest person in the world,” he continued, his lips curling into a smile, almost possessive in its warmth. “I love everything about you.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “I love how you trust me. How you’re mine.”

His words wrapped around you like silk, each compliment sinking deeper into your chest, making you feel cherished, wanted in a way that left you breathless. It was like he had tapped into something inside you, something you didn’t even know was there.

“You make me feel like nothing else matters,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to gently hold your cheek. “I need you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

You felt a soft smile tug at the corner of your lips, your heart swelling with something that almost felt too big for your chest. For a moment, you almost forgot about everything else—about the doubts, the warnings, the nagging feeling that there was something off. It didn’t matter. Because in that moment, Ni-ki was the center of your world.

And the way he looked at you, so tender, so fixated, made you believe that you were the only one who could make him feel this way.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’ll always love you. No one else, just you.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion that swelled in your chest. You didn’t question it.

Because in that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was him. And the love he gave you. The kind of love that wrapped around you like chains, making you feel like you were everything to him.

You didn’t need to know that it wasn’t the healthy kind of love. The kind of love that makes you feel safe, seen, and valued. No, this was the kind of love that thrived on obsession, on want, The kind of love that turned into possession, into something dangerous.

But you didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

--

The cool evening air wrapped around you as you walked down the dimly lit street, the soft hum of the city’s late-night life barely audible. Your fingers danced across your phone’s screen, sending a quick text to Ni-ki. You smiled at the thought of him, your chest warm with the affection you’d come to associate with him in these past few days. It had been a week since any news of the killer had surfaced in the area, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to feel a little at ease.

The street was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant sound of cars passing.

But the moment you raised your eyes from your phone, something shifted in the air.

The silence seemed heavier now, thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Your heartbeat quickened, and despite your attempts to ignore it, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You slowed your pace, scanning the quiet street, looking for any sign of movement, but saw nothing. Nothing that seemed out of place.

Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. You had ignored it before, the anxiety bubbling up every now and then, but tonight… tonight, it felt different.

You kept walking, fingers tightening around your phone, clutching it like a lifeline. You tried to push the thought out of your mind, convincing yourself it was nothing, just the remnants of your paranoia, but your instincts were screaming.

Your eyes darted from the street to the alleyways, scanning the shadows. The streetlights flickered as you walked past them, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to move with you. You quickened your pace, not sure why, but feeling an undeniable need to get home, to the safety of your apartment.

Then, a sharp sound broke the stillness behind you.

You froze.

Footsteps—fast, heavy, and far too close.

You turned around, eyes wide, but the street was empty. The night air felt colder now, and you felt the rush of adrenaline hit your bloodstream. Your mind raced, trying to find logic in the situation, trying to explain the sudden unease that crawled under your skin. You glanced back at your phone, feeling a desperate need to call Ni-ki, to hear his voice. But then your phone buzzed in your hand, and your breath caught in your throat.

It was a message from him. “Are you home yet? I’m thinking about you.”

You took a shaky breath, attempting to steady yourself, but it didn’t help. Something felt wrong. Your heart pounded in your chest, your senses on edge. You turned the corner, taking a route that led you toward your apartment building, but before you could take another step, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up again.

The footsteps were louder now, closing in.

And this time, you could feel it—someone was behind you. You didn’t dare turn around. Instead, you broke into a sprint, desperate to make it to the safety of your apartment. Your heart raced, pumping with fear, as your footfalls echoed in the night. You could hear the sound of running footsteps following you, getting closer, faster.

With every beat of your heart, you felt the fear building. Your breaths came in sharp gasps as you rounded the last corner before your building came into sight. The lights were on in the lobby, a beacon of safety you were nearly within reach of.

But just as you reached the door, a cold hand gripped your wrist, pulling you back into the shadows.

You felt the sharp tug of your wrist as you got dragged further into the shadows, your heart racing as panic surged through your veins. His grip was iron-tight, and each step he took felt like it was pulling you farther from safety. The familiar, chilling voice whispered again, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Did you really think you were safe?” he murmured, the words coated in something dark.

The world seemed to slow as you looked around, your eyes desperately searching for help. And then, in that moment, you saw him—Jiung. He was walking out of the apartment building, his expression tight, a storm cloud of anger above his head.

Without thinking, you swung your head back, using the only weapon you had—the back of your skull. You slammed it against the killer’s face with all your might. The sound of it echoed in the night, and he grunted in pain, stumbling back. The grip on your wrist loosened for just a second.

That was all you needed.

You took off running.

“Jiung!” you screamed, voice hoarse with fear. “The killer is here!”

Jiung whipped around at the sound of your voice. His eyes widened in shock and recognition as he saw the state you were in, but there was no hesitation. He grabbed your wrist without a second thought and pulled you down the street with him. Your heart pounded in your chest as your feet barely touched the ground.

The sound of your footsteps echoed in the night, but Jiung’s determination led you to safety. He didn’t stop running until you reached a narrow alleyway, the faint glow of a streetlamp casting long shadows against the walls. He yanked you behind a dumpster, urgency in every movement.

“Stay quiet,” Jiung hissed, fumbling for his phone with shaky hands. His breath was quick, his eyes scanning the street, his voice low and urgent. “We need to wait until he passes. Don’t make a sound.”

You nodded, pressing yourself against the cold brick wall, trying to steady your breathing. Your body felt like it was on fire from adrenaline, but there was no time to process it. You had to stay quiet. You had to stay hidden.

You peaked through behing the dumpster, your breath barely a whisper as you watched the street. The killer was there, his head scanning the area. His posture was tense, each step measured, and it made your stomach drop.

You quickly pulled your head back, heart racing. Your eyes met Jiung’s, and the terror in them was mirrored in his. He pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for you to stay as still as possible. You did, trying to make yourself as small as possible, breathing shallowly, praying he wouldn’t find you.

You pushed back against the wall even further, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, hoping the fear would subside, but it only grew. You could hear the faint shuffle of the killer’s footsteps, closer now. Every sound felt louder in the silence of the alley. Your pulse drummed in your ears, and your chest tightened.

Jiung’s phone buzzed in his hand, but he didn’t dare answer it. Instead, his eyes locked onto yours, full of resolve. He would protect you, no matter what. But the question was, how long could you stay hidden? How long until he found you?

You felt the seconds stretch into what felt like eternity, your body frozen in place. The cold air seemed to grow heavier as every nerve in your body screamed for you to move, to run, to do something—anything. But your feet remained rooted to the ground as the wind shifted, carrying with it the familiar, suffocating scent of the killer.

You opened your eyes, your breath catching in your throat as your gaze landed on him.

There he was.

He stood there, just a few feet away, his eyes locked on you. His voice was low, almost mocking, as he leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving you.

"Found you," he said, his tone sending an ice-cold shiver down your spine.

Before you could react, the terror overwhelmed you. Your throat felt tight as a scream tore its way out of you, a cry of desperation, of pure fear. You backed away, stumbling, but there was nowhere to go.

Jiung reacted instantly, leaping up from behind the dumpster, his body moving with the speed of someone who had no choice but to fight. He threw himself at the killer, fists flying. They collided with each other in a flurry of punches and kicks, a blur of movement and desperation.

But the killer was prepared. He pulled out a knife, gleaming cold under the dim streetlights, and without hesitation, he lunged.

Time seemed to slow as the blade plunged into Jiung’s abdomen, a sickening sound echoing in the alley.

You froze, unable to move, unable to breathe, as Jiung gasped, his hands clutching at the wound. Blood spilled between his fingers, and you could see the life draining from his face as he stumbled back. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps.

But Jiung wasn’t done yet. Despite the pain, despite the blood spilling from him, he refused to back down. His hand shot out toward a pile of broken glass nearby—sharp shards that glittered like jagged teeth in the dim light. His fingers wrapped around one, and with a primal yell, he swung it at the killer.

The sharp glass met the killer’s skin, drawing a streak of blood across his arm. The killer grunted in pain, momentarily stunned, but he recovered quickly. His eyes locked onto Jiung’s, full of rage, as he prepared to strike again.

You sat there, paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the two men fought, the sound of fists meeting flesh, the sickening slashes of the knife cutting through the air. Your mind was screaming for you to act, to help, but your body refused to obey.

All you could do was watch the violence unfold before you, heart pounding in your chest, terrified of what would happen next.

In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stop. Jiung, his face contorted with pain and fury, managed to land a punch to the killer's jaw. The force of the blow sent the killer stumbling back, giving Jiung a brief but crucial opening.

With a desperate gasp, Jiung grabbed the killer’s mask, his hands trembling with the effort, and in one swift motion, he tore it off.

The world around you seemed to freeze as the dim streetlight illuminated the face beneath the mask. The face you had seen so many times before—every day, every week.

It was Ni-ki.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage, your breath caught in your throat. It couldn’t be—this wasn’t possible. Your mind refused to process it, even as the sight before you screamed the truth.

Ni-ki’s face was battered, blood smeared across his nose, a split lip, and a cut above his eyebrow. But despite the damage, despite the blood, he still wore that same, twisted smile. The kind of smile that made your stomach turn, the kind that sent a chill down your spine.

He looked at you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, and with the bloodstained remnants of his smile, he spoke.

“Surprise, doll.”

The words echoed in your head, ringing louder than the chaos around you. The killer—the man who had been terrorizing the streets, the one who had been hunting you, was the very person you had let into your life. The man you had trusted. The man you love.

Ni-ki.

He stepped closer, blood dripping from his face as he took a slow, deliberate breath, savoring the shock on your face. The man you thought you knew, the one who had played the role of the charming, protective figure, was now standing before you as the very monster you had feared.

And he was enjoying every second of it.

Jiung, weak and struggling to stay on his feet, gritted his teeth as he raised the shard of glass again, ready to fight, but the sheer realization of what Ni-ki was sent a wave of terror crashing over you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think straight.

Ni-ki's eyes flickered to Jiung, then back to you, his smile widening, dark and crazy. He reached up to wipe the blood from his nose, his voice low, almost amused as he looked at the two of you.

“You really thought you could stop me? Cute.” He chuckled, a sound that made your blood run cold.

Everything you thought you knew—everything you had believed about him—was a lie. The person you had been so drawn to, the one who had seemed so perfect, was the very person who had been hunting you all along.

Ni-ki’s smile never wavered as he approached Jiung, who was struggling to stay conscious, his breath shallow and ragged. The bleeding from his stab wound had only worsened as he lay there, weakened and unable to defend himself.

Ni-ki crouched down beside Jiung, his fingers trailing lazily over the blood-soaked ground, clearly enjoying the sight of his former victim.

“You know,” Ni-ki murmured, his voice low and dripping with mockery, “you were right. You figured me out before anyone else did.” He tilted his head, a cruel gleam flashing in his eyes. “But it was a stupid way to prove it, don’t you think?”

Jiung, barely clinging to consciousness, managed to grit his teeth, his hands shaking as he tried to push himself up. He cursed Ni-ki out through his bloodstained lips, his voice rough but filled with defiance. “You’re insane, Ni-ki. You’re nothing but a sick, twisted bastard.”

Ni-ki didn’t flinch. In fact, he laughed, the sound almost too light for the situation, as if it was all some kind of sick joke to him. He reached out, grabbing Jiung by the collar of his shirt and jerking him up slightly before slamming him back down onto the cold, filthy pavement.

Jiung let out a pained gasp, trying to punch him, but his efforts were weak, his body too battered and bloodied to fight properly. Ni-ki easily dodged, stepping aside with a lazy grin. “Come on, Jiung, I thought you were better than that.” He made a mocking sound, almost disappointed. “You’re just a nobody, trying to play somebody. But you’ll never be anybody.”

With a swift movement, Ni-ki stepped back and let Jiung fall back to the floor, helpless and weak. He turned his attention back to you, eyes glinting with the same unsettling hunger he’d always had.

“You’re mine now, doll,” Ni-ki purred, his voice low and possessive. The way he looked at you now was different, like a predator sizing up its prey. “And I’m not letting you go.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, a mix of fear and a strange, confusing part of you that still wasn’t sure how to feel. He stood there, watching you with an almost calculating gaze, his smirk never leaving his face as he took in the way you reacted to the scene before you.

Suddenly the sound of sirens pierced the air, their wail growing louder, closer. For a brief moment, Ni-ki froze, his eyes flashing with irritation. His gaze snapped from you to the distant entrance of the alleyway as the first set of flashing lights illuminated the street.

“No…” he muttered under his breath, before cursing loudly. “Not now!”

Without a second thought, he spun on his heel and sprinted, darting into the shadows, his footsteps quick and erratic. You barely registered his movement as you looked up, heart pounding, to see the police officers now rushing toward the scene.

“Shoot!” Jiung’s weak, pained shout broke through the ringing in your ears, the officers opened fire. The sound of gunshots echoed through the alleyway, and you flinched, eyes wide with terror as you heard Ni-ki shout in pain.

“Move! Move!” one of the officers shouted, his voice urgent. Another officer, with the familiar stride of someone used to chasing down criminals, sprinted after Ni-ki, disappearing into the night.

The remaining officers rushed to you and Jiung, the crackling urgency in their movements. One of them knelt by Jiung’s side, his face grim as he assessed the situation. The other officer quickly turned to you, his hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you. “Stay with him,” he urged. “We’ve called an ambulance. It’s on the way.”

But you knew. You knew that it might be too late. You saw Jiung’s face, pale and drawn with blood, his breath ragged and shallow, the crimson slowly spreading across his chest. His eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open.

“Jiung…” You whispered his name, voice shaky, as you crouched down next to him. His hand reached out weakly, grasping yours with a weak, trembling hold.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His eyes were cloudy, but he was still looking at you, even if it seemed so distant now. “I tried to… I tried to protect you…”

Tears blurred your vision. “You did, Jiung. You did.”

His faint smile made your heart shatter, but there was nothing you could do now, nothing but to stay with him.

The ambulance finally arrived, and the paramedics rushed in, their movements swift and professional, trying desperately to stabilize Jiung. They didn’t waste time, quickly getting him onto the stretcher and into the back of the ambulance.

You sat in the back of the ambulance, your heart in your throat, as they worked on him, trying to keep his weak pulse steady. Every bump in the road seemed like it could be the last.

The hospital came into view soon enough, and you felt numb as they rolled Jiung inside, their movements swift and precise, but it all felt too late. The doctors rushed to assess him, shouting orders, and you were left standing in the sterile hallway, your heart pounding in your chest.

Every passing minute felt like an eternity. You had been checked for injuries, given a few mild sedatives to calm your nerves, but nothing could ease the gnawing anxiety gnawing at your stomach. You needed news. You needed to know if Jiung was okay. If he had survived.

You waited. And waited.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when a doctor finally appeared at the door, his face grim but not completely hopeless.

“Are you here for Jiung?” the doctor asked, his tone serious.

“Yes,” you said, standing up too quickly, your knees unsteady. “How is he?”

The doctor hesitated, looking at you carefully. “We’ve managed to stabilize him, but it’s touch-and-go. His injuries are severe. We’re doing everything we can, but we can’t promise anything.”

You nodded numbly, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whispered, “Please… don’t let him die.”

The doctor gave you a small, sympathetic nod, before turning to walk down the hall, leaving you in that suffocating silence again. You didn’t know what else to do. You had no strength left.

But you didn’t leave.

--

The moment the doctor told you the good news, you felt like a weight you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying was lifted from your chest. He was stable, still weak, but his heart rate had steadied, and the monitors that had been beeping in a steady rhythm now felt like a lifeline.

You stepped into the sterile room, the sound of the heart monitor beeping steadily filling the air. Jiung was still unconscious, but the rhythm of his heartbeat on the monitor brought you a sense of relief you hadn’t realized you needed. The steady beep seemed like the only reassuring sound in the world right now.

You pulled a chair beside his bed, your hand gently resting on his. It was warm, his skin still carrying the weight of the battle he’d fought. The wounds were bandaged, the cuts and bruises still visible, but there was a certain peacefulness now. The machines were there to help him, to keep him alive. His breath was soft, but steady.

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, but full of hope. “You’re going to be okay, Jiung.”

You spent the next few hours in that quiet, sterile room, making sure that Jiung had everything he needed. When his family arrived, you greeted them with a nod, letting them take over. They seemed so relieved, and you could tell that the weight on their shoulders was starting to lift. But there was still a long road ahead.

After some time, the police came, and you were escorted to the station for questioning. The tightness in your chest from the night before was still there, and the quiet hum of the station didn’t do anything to calm you.

You sat nervously in the sterile, fluorescent-lit room of the police station, your hands pressed tightly together in your lap, your mind racing. The low hum of conversation and the shuffle of paperwork echoed from the hallway, but inside the room, it felt like everything was suspended in a heavy silence.

A detective entered the room, his expression serious. He was holding a folder, flipping through papers before glancing up at you. “We’ve got an update,” he said, his voice flat.

You sat up straighter, trying to prepare yourself for what was to come, but the unease that had settled deep in your chest couldn’t be shaken. “Is it about Ni-ki?”

The detective paused for a moment, then nodded. “He’s gone.”

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. You blinked, feeling the world shift beneath your feet. “Gone?” you repeated, unable to comprehend. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“They lost him,” the detective explained, his voice barely betraying any emotion. “We thought we had him cornered. But there was no sign of him anywhere. No trail, no leads.”

You swallowed hard, the room suddenly feeling too small. Your thoughts raced, your chest tightening as you grappled with the realization that Ni-ki had somehow escaped. How was that even possible?

“How?” you whispered, more to yourself than to the detective. “How could he just... disappear?”

The detective’s eyes softened slightly, as if sensing the turmoil inside you. “We’re still investigating, but from the evidence we gathered, we think he’s been one step ahead of us the whole time. He could be anywhere by now.”

Your mind went blank, the world spinning around you. Ni-ki—your Ni-ki—was gone.

Suddenly officers surrounded you with questions, all trying to piece together the night’s events, asking for every detail.

You answered as best you could, your mind replaying the horrible events that had unfolded over the past few weeks. Every time they asked about Ni-ki, the feelings in your chest tightened, and it took everything in you to answer without faltering.

It wasn’t until one of the detectives asked you a question you didn’t expect that your breath caught in your throat.

“Has Ni-ki contacted you?” the detective asked, his voice firm but measured. “We know you two are close. If he reaches out again, we’d like you to wear a wire. We can use you as bait to catch him.”

You froze. The words hung in the air, thick with their implications. The flashbacks to every moment with Ni-ki flooded your mind—his kindness, his protection, the way he’d whispered promises to you, the way he held you, the way he looked at you. You remembered the way he told you that he loved you, the way he made you feel safe. You remembered the thrill, the obsession, the pull of his presence.

You swallowed hard. You had always known, deep down, that something wasn’t right. But your love for him had blinded you. You couldn’t ignore it anymore. He was a murderer, a criminal, and as much as you hated to admit it, you knew he was guilty of everything they were accusing him of.

But still, the hesitation gnawed at you.

“Do you think he’ll hurt you?” the detective asked, noticing the uncertainty in your face.

You didn’t answer immediately. You thought of his words: “I would never hurt you, doll.” His voice echoed in your mind. He had never hurt you, had he? You were still alive, still breathing.

But the question lingered—could you trust him? Could you really risk everything for a man who had been hiding his true nature from you all along? A man who had killed without remorse?

You took a deep breath, the weight of the decision heavy on your chest. Slowly, you nodded.

“Yes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do it.”

The detective gave you a nod of approval, but you could feel the heaviness in the air. You weren’t sure if you had made the right choice, but you knew it was the only option you had. The man you loved was dangerous. And the only way to stop him, to protect others, was to help the police catch him.

The thought of wearing a wire, of luring him in, made your stomach twist with anxiety. But you couldn’t ignore the truth. Ni-ki was a killer, and it was time to face that reality.

“Thank you,” the detective said. “We’ll arrange everything. Just stay in touch, and when he reaches out, we’ll be ready.”

You nodded, feeling numb. You left the station, your thoughts swirling. The weight of what you’d just agreed to hung over you.

When you got home, the sight of Ni-ki’s apartment door covered with police tape sent a cold shiver down your spine. The red-and-white stripes, the ominous warning of a crime scene, were a stark reminder of how close to the edge you had come. How everything had spiraled out of control, and how much you had been willing to ignore just to hold onto something—or someone—you thought you could trust.

With a deep breath, you turned away and walked into your own apartment, the familiar surroundings offering little comfort as you closed the door behind you. The silence in your space was suffocating, every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet somehow louder than usual.

You didn’t do much that night. No calls, no messages, no distractions. You just walked to your bed and collapsed on it, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing in around you. You could feel the tension in your body, the deep ache in your chest where love and regret tangled together in a confusing knot.

The memories of him, of his touch, his smile, his voice, and all the promises he’d made to you… it was too much to bear all at once. You didn’t know what to feel anymore, what to believe. Every memory, every whisper of his voice felt like it was suffocating you, forcing you to hold on when all you wanted was to let go.

--

A few days passed, the police investigation continuing but yielding no new leads. You tried to keep your life as normal as possible, but the weight of the unknown pressed down on you every minute of the day. The fear that Ni-ki could be watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, never left you.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, the vibration echoing in the empty room. At first, you didn't think much of it, but as you glanced at the screen, something caught your attention. The message was from an unknown number, and your heart skipped a beat. It was a message you hadn’t been expecting, but deep down, you knew exactly who it was from.

The message itself was simple, only a few words, but it sent a jolt of fear down your spine.

“Doll, I’ve missed you.”

Your breath hitched in your chest, and your fingers trembled slightly as you stared at the screen. The word doll was unmistakable. Ni-ki. It could only be him.

For a moment, you sat frozen, every muscle in your body tight, your mind racing as the weight of his message sank in. You wanted to call the police, to reach out for help, but a part of you held you back. You had no idea where he was, but there was an undeniable pull that made it hard to ignore him.

You hesitated for a moment, then typed back a simple question, your fingers unsteady.

“What do you want from me?”

The response came quickly, almost immediately, and it sent a chill down your spine.

“Just a little reunion. I think you’ll be happy to see me."

You quickly typed back, your fingers trembling as you struggled to keep your hands steady.

"Where?"

The seconds that passed felt like hours, your pulse quickening as you waited for a response. Finally, the phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with another message.

This time, it was different. There were no words. Only an address.

An address that made your stomach drop.

"Come alone."

You stared at the screen, your mind racing. The fear started to set in as you thought about the implications of the message. Was this a trap? Or was he truly trying to see you again? Your thoughts spun in every direction, but one thing was clear—he wanted to meet. And somehow, you knew that he was in control of this situation.

Your hand hovered over your phone, your body frozen in indecision. Every part of you screamed to ignore the message, to let the police handle it. But you knew Ni-ki wasn’t that easy to catch. He’d always been two steps ahead.

You looked at the address again, the numbers blurred by your anxious tears. You couldn’t tell if you were ready to face him, but deep down, you knew you were already preparing yourself for what was to come. You had to go. You had to see him one last time.

With trembling hands, you typed a simple response:

"I’ll be there."

The message sent, and you felt a knot form in your stomach.

--

The next night, the air felt heavier than usual. You stood at the address Ni-ki had sent, staring at the old, abandoned building in front of you. The structure was decaying, graffiti littering its walls, the windows cracked and boarded up. It looked like the perfect place for a secret meeting, a place no one would think to look. The chill of the night sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself glancing around, half-expecting someone to jump out at you.

Nobody.

You checked your phone, noticing you were a bit early. The minutes ticked by slowly, each one stretching longer than the last. The silence felt heavy, each creak and rustle sending your nerves on edge. You took a steadying breath, wondering if maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t show up.

But then, you felt it. A presence, warm and unsettlingly familiar, hovering close behind you. The hair on the back of your neck stood up as a low voice whispered near your ear, smooth yet laced with that teasing edge you knew all too well.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show, doll,” he purred, his voice sinking into your bones.

Your heart leaped, and you spun around, coming face to face with him. “You’re a little early, aren’t you?” Ni-ki purred, his steps slow and confident as he closed the distance between you, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “Did you think I’d forget about you?”

His gaze was intense, studying every little reaction from you. It was like he was savoring this moment, his dark eyes never leaving yours, his lips curling into that unsettling grin that made you feel both drawn to him and repulsed at the same time.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to piece together your next move. What were you supposed to say? Your body tensed, but your feet remained rooted to the spot, your arms folded tightly across your chest as if to protect yourself from the overwhelming pull he had over you.

“Why did you bring me here, Ni-ki?” You managed, your voice steadier than you felt, but inside you could feel your nerves unraveling.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, taking another step closer. “To see you, doll. To see if you’re ready to stop pretending you’re someone else, stop running.” His fingers brushed against your arm lightly, and you flinched, though he didn’t seem to care.

He moved even closer, his face only inches from yours. “You’ve been running from me, haven’t you?” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “You didn’t really think I’d let you go so easily, did you?”

The realization hit you hard. He hadn’t contacted you to let go or to explain—he had brought you here to remind you that he still had you, wrapped up in his world, whether you wanted it or not. And as his fingers reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, you knew he wasn’t going to let you slip away.

“Oh, doll,” he murmured, his words dripping with twisted affection. “I thought you’d realize by now—you and I, we’re… inevitable. I’m part of you, as much as you are part of me. We fit, don’t you see? That little thrill you get, that rush in your veins when you’re with me… it’s more than just fear.” He paused, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive. “It’s excitement, isn’t it?”

He tilted his head, watching every twitch of your expression, every flicker of hesitation in your eyes. "You like it, don’t you? The thrill of it all, the mystery, the danger… If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come here tonight. You didn’t have to answer that message.” His hand moved, slipping to the back of your neck, his thumb grazing over your pulse, feeling the rapid beat under his fingers. “But you wanted to. Part of you was… curious. Maybe even… drawn to me. You still want to see me, even after everything."

You swallowed, feeling a chill at how easily he could see right through you, peeling away layers to reach the uncertainty you’d tried to bury. His gaze held yours, and you felt paralyzed under it, trapped in the intensity of his words.

“I make you feel alive, don’t I?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, the words wrapping around you, pulling you in despite yourself. “Tell me, honestly. Do you really want to go back to your quiet, predictable life, or do you want to be here, with me?”

Your heart raced under his touch, every word sinking in deeper, stirring up feelings you had tried so hard to push down. Part of you wanted to resist, to walk away and bury this twisted pull he seemed to have over you. But as you looked into his eyes, his gaze so intense it felt like he was unraveling every part of you, you realized how hard it was to lie to yourself any longer.

As his hand slipped from your neck, trailing down your arm to finally capture your wrist, he tightened his grip just enough to make you feel the weight of his hold. “You were always meant to be here, doll. That’s why you came tonight, why you didn’t stay away. You could have told the police, could’ve run in any direction—but you came here, to me. You’re not running, not really.”

Ni-ki leaned closer, his mouth just beside your ear. “I know you don’t want to admit it, but… you’re mine, and I’m yours. It’s just the way it is. No one else would understand you the way I do.” His words were laced with dark promise, wrapping around you like a spell, coaxing you into that familiar, dangerous warmth.

“And you can try to push me away again,” he whispered, his breath warm and steady, “but it’ll never work, because I’m already in here.” His finger tapped lightly against your temple, and then he let his hand fall, brushing down your arm. “Deep down, you don’t want me to leave, do you? You don’t want to lose me.”

The realization sunk deeper, and he leaned back, smirking as he took in the flicker of doubt he’d stirred in your eyes. “So why don’t you just accept it? Stop fighting, and give in to what we both know is already there.”

You held his gaze, feeling the heat of his grip on your neck, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Every warning bell in your mind rang out, but they were muffled, tangled up in the intensity of his presence, in the dark thrill of being so close to him. You wanted to pull away, to deny the pull he had over you, but you knew it was no use. He was right; you were already caught in his orbit, unable to resist him fully.

Your voice was barely a whisper as you answered, your own words feeling both like a confession and a surrender. “I… I don’t want you to leave,” you admitted, feeling the last of your defenses crumble as you looked up at him. “I tried to run, tried to push you away… but you’re right. I don’t want to lose you.”

His smirk deepened, satisfaction glinting in his eyes as he held you close. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, thumb brushing softly along your jaw. “See? You’re exactly where you belong. With me.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that seemed almost out of place given the tension swirling around you. And then you gave in, letting him pull you closer, his hands pressing against your back as he deepened the kiss, pouring every unspoken word, every dark promise, into it. It was desperate, raw, and so intense that it felt like he was claiming you, binding you to him with a connection that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how wrong it felt.

When you finally pulled back, your breath unsteady, you met his eyes, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions rise in your chest. You loved him, or maybe it was more accurate to say you loved the way he made you feel, the way he held you as if you were the center of his universe. But you knew—deep down, somewhere you’d tried to ignore—that this was unsustainable. Dangerous. A boundary crossed that couldn’t be uncrossed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a tremble in your voice.

Just then, the sound of footsteps and the bark of commands echoed through the building. The police swarmed the room, moving in, guns raised and voices sharp. Ni-ki’s face twisted in fury as he took a step back, his body coiled. He fought, thrashing against the officers who closed in on him, a snarl on his face as he shoved, swung, and resisted with every bit of strength he had.

“Get off me!” he roared, his eyes searching wildly until they found yours. He kept fighting, even as they forced him down, the weight of handcuffs snapping around his wrists with a finality that cut into the air like a knife. “No! Let me go! You can’t keep me!”

They pulled you back, and an officer shielded you as Ni-ki thrashed, his desperate gaze locked onto you, his voice growing louder, more desperate, with each passing second. “She’s mine! You can’t keep us apart!” His voice cracked, but the fury remained as they dragged him, his eyes searing into yours with a mixture of anger and desperation.

And despite everything, the weight of the heartbreak fell over you like a shroud. Tears blurred your vision, your chest tightening painfully as he was pulled out of the building, his screams fading into the night. You knew this was the only way, the only choice you had if you wanted to break free of his dangerous hold.

But some twisted part of you yearned for him, for the way he’d made you feel, for the thrilling, frightening attention he had given you. The line between love and fear had blurred beyond recognition, and as the officers led you away, you could still feel the haunting echo of his words.

In the silence, you knew you’d never be the same.

--

The news spread quickly—The killer was caught. People felt safe again; there was a renewed sense of calm throughout the city, like a collective sigh of relief after months of fear. It was over. Even Jiung, recovering in the hospital, felt a victorious pride in knowing he had been right all along. The police had commended him, his bravery gaining him recognition, a promotion, and a hefty raise. He was the hero of this story, finally validated.

But for you, life had taken a different turn. Every day felt hollow without Ni-ki. The nights were the hardest, when the memories of him became a ghost haunting the quiet hours. You would lie awake, your mind replaying the stolen glances, the thrill of his attention, the depth in his eyes when he looked at you. You missed him, an ache buried so deep it was almost painful. You’d wake from dreams where he was still with you, his arms wrapped around you, his lips brushing against your skin, whispering that you were his.

It was wrong, you told yourself over and over, to feel this way. But he had given you something no one else ever had, even in all its twisted intensity. His devotion, unhinged and consuming, had been a kind of dark comfort that felt impossible to replace.

You tried to fill your days with normal things, going through the motions, reconnecting with friends, putting on a brave face. But it was never enough. The nights stretched on endlessly, his absence lingering in every shadow, the memories of him entwining with the silence, pulling you back to a place that you wished you could escape from, but part of you never truly wanted to let go.

--

It had been weeks since they’d taken him away, weeks since you’d forced yourself to start a new chapter. You’d moved to a better part of town, the kind of place you hoped would feel safe, far from the past and far from the memories of him. But today, standing in your living room, the news alert on your phone shook you to your core:

Ni-ki had escaped from prison.

The words didn’t seem real. You read them again, your heart pounding louder with each second. He had escaped? The walls of your new apartment suddenly felt too thin, too fragile. The past weeks had been a struggle, true, but you had managed to convince yourself that it was over. That he was gone. That you were safe.

And now? You could practically hear his voice in your mind, that teasing, low murmur, saying he’d find you wherever you went. The memories flooded back—how he looked at you, how he made you feel like the only person in his world.

Your phone buzzed again, and your breath hitched, a small part of you both dreading and hoping it was him.

But it was a message from Jiung: "Stay inside. Lock all doors and windows. Police are already on high alert."

You sat down, trying to gather your thoughts. He couldn’t know where you were, could he? You’d been careful, had avoided any trace of the life you’d shared in that darker part of town. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that he was already close. That he’d find you, just like he promised.

An unsettling thrill ran through you, a twisted reminder of the love that still lingered, even after everything. You whispered to yourself, clutching your phone tightly, “What am I going to do?”

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting there, the news about Ni-ki’s escape still echoing in your mind, when you heard the faintest sound outside your door. It was soft at first, almost imperceptible, like the creak of old wood underfoot. Your heart raced, eyes darting to the door. You couldn’t breathe for a moment, waiting for it to happen again.

Then you heard it—a quiet knock, a rhythm you knew too well. Your stomach churned, and instinctively, your feet moved toward the door. You tried to stop yourself, but your hand had already reached for the handle, your body pulling you closer to something you couldn’t resist.

You opened the door just a crack, and there he was—Ni-ki.

He stood there in the hallway, his familiar dark eyes staring back at you, intense and unrelenting. His jaw was set, his expression something dark.

For a moment, neither of you moved. He took one slow step forward, and without even thinking, you found yourself stepping into his arms, pressing your face into his chest, your body trembling as you hugged him tightly.

“You found me,” you whispered, your voice a mix of fear and longing. You didn’t care anymore. In this moment, it felt like he was the only thing that made sense in your life, the only thing that could put you at ease.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. “I told you I would,” he murmured, his voice almost playful despite the heaviness of his words.

His hands were on your back, gently caressing you as he whispered more words of possession, of devotion, his voice low and hypnotic. "You're the only one who understands me… the only one who’s ever really seen me."

Before you could respond, he tilted your chin up, his gaze never leaving yours, and leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, soft at first, before his kiss deepened, seizing control, pulling you closer. You couldn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

The kiss felt familiar, intense, almost suffocating. There was no turning back now. It was as if everything that had happened before—the pain, the fear, the escape—had led to this moment.

His fingers tangled in your hair, and his lips brushed against your ear as he continued, his voice a dangerous mixture of softness and intensity. “I told you, doll,” he whispered, each word drawing you in deeper, “no one else could ever love you the way I do. No one else knows you like I do.”

He leaned back slightly, just enough to study your face, his dark eyes filled with a twisted sort of devotion. “You tried to replace me, didn’t you?” he asked, though the question was more of a knowing accusation. “But it didn’t work. You felt it too. No one could make you feel this alive… not like I can.”

You swallowed, caught in his gaze, and even as a shiver of fear flickered through you, it was overshadowed by the intoxicating pull he had. The way his eyes roamed over you made your heart pound, every glance and touch leaving a mark you couldn’t shake.

His hand moved from your hair, trailing down your shoulder and then your arm, coming to rest on your waist. “You can try to deny it,” he whispered, his mouth hovering just above yours, “but I know you missed this… missed me.” His fingers tightened, holding you with certainty, like he was reaffirming his claim. “It’s in your eyes, doll.”

In that moment, he pressed his lips to yours again, the kiss deep, full of all the things he wouldn’t say—how he’d waited, how he’d planned, how he wouldn’t let you slip away again. His hold was unrelenting, a reminder that you were his, that no matter how much you tried to run or forget, he would always come back for you.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze intense, he murmured, “There’s no life without me, doll. We’re meant to be.” His fingers brushed down your face as he continued, “I’ll take care of you. Protect you. Nobody else deserves you but me. And now… you’re never escaping me again.”

And despite the warning in his words, you found yourself nodding, caught in his spell, the line between fear and desire blurring with every touch, every whisper.

[absolutebl]

Of My 50+ Favorite BLs these are the 10 I rewatch the most

So you could call these my favorite comfort foods. Everything on this list got a rating of 10/10 or 9/10 from me.

10 Most Comforting BLs

(for me, in order of most recently rewatched at the top)

Our Dating Sim

Korea 2023 Viki (watch the series not the movie)

This is a perfect short form KBL, an office set reunion romance featuring geeks that really suits 8 eps with no fluff and no chaff. Just comforting and yummy. I adored every aspect from the casting to the pristinely simple premise to the quietly smooth execution. Sure it’s low stakes, but that makes it high domesticity and extremely warm and gentle. This is a fuzzy blanket of a story - a cozy BL. It lives in my rewatch pile and you know what’s best about it? Every single episode is in that pile. There’s no skipping with this one, it might be good natured and calmly sweet but it’s tight and the pacing is excellent.

Cosmetic Playlover

Japan 2024 Gaga

The most recent release on this list, it came out this year and I've already rewatched it 5x. I love this little show. It's a classic office BL about the older workaholic who loves his job and the younger upstart who unexpectedly loves his boss. It’s a hyung romance where everybody is extremely earnest and sweet and pretty about everything. Except our seme, who is slightly unhinged and a little obsessed in all the ways one likes best from Japan (if one is me). Plus the kisses are good! Utterly charming unexpected gem of a show. What fun!

Jun and Jun

Korea 2023 Viki

A delightful office romance about an ex-idol who joins cubical life only to find his new boss is his first love. Other boys are sniffing around too. Operative word being "sniffing" as much of this romance involves smell. With a snappy (sometimes even raunchy) script, enjoyable sides, a pretty as peaches cast, and decent chemistry this show made up for in style what it lacked in substance. I like fluff. I loved this. I smiled every moment I was watching. My only caution is this is for fans of the BL genre only, I don’t think it’ll work for anyone else.

My Personal Weatherman

AKA Taikan Yoho

Japan 2023 Gaga

This style of live action yaoi really only works from Japan. Basically: boys who fell in love in college end up living together but are so repressed they don't realize they're in love. It's higher heat than we usually get from Japan's HEA stuff, and that aspect is also very well done, but it leaned into the "why don't they just talk for fuck's sake?" trope which is only exacerbated into undiluted frustration by the fact that they're already fucking. It's great, but watching requires more patience than usual, even for Japan. That said it's also bruisingly romantic. Emphasis on bruise.

Unintentional Love Story

Korea 2023 iQIYI

OMG the plot! Uke forced into a totally understandable betrayal, falling in love despite himself, put into a corner he can't get out of, the AGONY, the PAIN in those gorgeous eyes. Gah. Okay, so: A boy loses his job due to trumped-up corruption charges accidentally discovers his ex-boss's favorite artist, now a recluse. Evil manager offers him his job back, if he can convince the artist to rejoin society. Instead, they fall in love. I found the artist a bit stiff and reserved but Gongchan (maknae of B1A4) is a fucking GIFT - he carried this show (which I do not expect from the idol element). He was luminous with extraordinarily expressive eyes, just drown in the emoting abyss. The external conflict, social tension and pressure is complex and beautifully executed, plus Korea gave us legit side dishes (NOT a love triangle, hally-fucking-luya). All that said, when I rewatch this it's usually just the second half, but WHAT a ride.

Semantic Error

Korea 2022 Viki

Sexy older boy discovers pouty younger boy has outed him as a slacker, starts out bullying him, accidentally falls madly in love instead. Korea hits it entirely out of the Parks by doing a university BL with everything we expect from BL just done exactly right. Korea's signature quality executed perfectly with added bonus good story, great pacing, stunning visuals, and fantastic chemistry. You cannot ask for more from a BL, let alone a KBL. Another one where the rewatch is mostly just the second half.

Old Fashion Cupcake

Japan 2022

This show had me from the moment they broke the egg yolk with the chopsticks in the opening credits. It’s about a younger man with a long cherished crush on his boss (ten years older and going through a mid life crisis) who decides to save and seduce said boss with pancakes. It’s wholesome, comforting, sexy, and a very necessary narrative about still having hope, interests, and openness to affection at any age. It’s a stunningly filmed late-in-life comg of age/queerness story packaged in a subtle critique of expectations around masculinity, love, and loneliness… and it’s beautiful.

Yes yes. But the bit you know you want to rewatch is that long shot with the bite kiss. YOU KNOW you wanna.

Seven Days

Japan 2015

Ha! I faked you out 'cause this wasn't at the top but of course it's on the list! One of the best live action yaois ever made, with perfectly structured angst, fantastic characters and acting, and no problematic tropes (rare in Japanese BL). Older boy dares the hot af younger one to date him for a week. Turns out they both like it... A lot. The leads have excellent chemistry although it’s low heat there’s still some really cute mutual kisses.

Takara & Amagi

Japan 2022

I gnawed on my knuckles and squealed a lot with this show, but a rewatch is way less tense. Reserved cool kid must learn to communicate to keep the tiny disaster nugget he’s madly in love with. It is beyond charming: soft and gentle, packed with cuteness and high school angst, thirst, & yearning.

We Best Love

Taiwan 2021 WeTV

WBL successfully managed to pick up and combine the best features of Korean, Thai, and Japanese BL as it exists right now. Couple that to the insane chemistry from the leads, and we have one of the greatest BLs of all time, cooking to a recipe I doubt anyone else will ever be able to replicate since only Taiwan is this flexible. It's basically every classic BL trope bombarded at us in two parts, rapid fire, one after another. Rewatching this show reminds me of everything I love about this genre. It is the genre in pure concentrated form.

The End!

I think it's no accident that none of these are Thai, part of a rewatch for me is the brevity of the show, longer stuff does get rewatched, but not as frequently.

(source)