Chapter Text
The bell rang, slicing through the classroom, interrupting the teacher mid-speech.
“Class ends now. Please prepare for the mock exam next week.” Before leaving the classroom, leaving behind the students, who started packing their things, running around and chatting with each other, exchanging their weekend plans.
In the very back sat a boy. Silent, small, trying to make himself invisible. He didn’t want to be noticed.
Park Gyu Jin moved slowly, careful not to draw attention, afraid that one wrong move and he would notice him. He continued sliding his books into his bag one by one. If he just left a little later than the others, maybe he could slip out without catching his eyes.
“Maybe today would be a quiet day," he thought, praying.
But hope was a dangerous thing.
Gyu Jin just picked up his pen and wanted to put it away when he heard the shout.
"Yah!"
The voice froze him mid-movement. It was deep. Smooth. Too casual. It was him .
Kang Seong Jun.
The one who haunted him. Day and night.
Gyu Jin kept his head down, pretending not to hear, even though he felt sick just thinking about what was about to happen, but he felt it – the shadow looming closer, blocking the sunlight spilling through the window.
“Hey, mouse,” Seong Jun leaned against Gyu Jin’s desk, giving him a friendly smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The eyes that looked at him with cruelty, with a promise for pain.
“What’s with that face, mouse? Planning on sneaking out? Didn’t even say goodbye to your classmates?”
Laughter sparked from Seong Jun's friends and the students nearby. The students who always hovered close enough to watch but never close enough to interfere. Gyu Jin’s throat tightened.
“I-I was just …” he started, voice weak.
“Just what?” Seong Jun tilted his head, as if genuinely curious, but his eyes told otherwise. Shining with cruelty. He reached out, taking the pen from Gyu Jin’s hand and holding it up. “This is yours? Don’t tell me you need it to write your sad little diary. What do you even fill it with? ‘Dear diary, today I was pathetic again.’”
The words stung more because of how casually Seong Jun delivered them. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to hit. His words and cruelty were enough, meant to slice and linger. Destroy everyone they were aimed at. Gyu Jin believed that even adults would break down if they were at the receiving end of Seong Jun's ruthless words.
Gyu Jin stayed silent, gripping the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles whitened. He prayed for Seong Jun to get bored.
Eventually, Seong Jun tossed the pen onto the floor and straightened, flashing his usual easy grin that made teachers adore him and classmates trail behind him. “Pick it up, yeah? Wouldn’t want you to fail the mock exam just because you’re too stupid to hold a pen. Would you, mouse?”
With that, he walked out, laughter trailing behind him as others followed.
The classroom emptied, leaving Gyu Jin alone. The silence pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. He bent to pick up his pen, his hand trembling slightly.
That’s when he felt it – eyes.
The room was empty, yet the sensation crawled along his skin, prickling at the back of his neck. He turned quickly. Nothing. Just rows of desks, their shadows stretching long under the fading sunlight.
Still, the feeling lingered. Watching. Waiting.
He hurriedly packed his bag and left, heart pounding. But even as he stepped into the noisy hallway, surrounded by people, the weight of that unseen gaze followed him – like a shadow stitched to his very skin.
The hallway buzzed with voices, but to Gyu Jin, it all felt dull and distant, like his head was underwater. His bag felt heavy on his shoulder as he pushed through the crowd, trying to disappear between taller bodies.
He tried to make himself small, to keep his head down; maybe no one would notice him then.
But it was hopeless.
Because someone always noticed him, wherever he went.
“Move,” a sharp voice snapped, and Gyu Jin’s body flinched before his mind caught up. He turned – too fast, too guilty – and his eyes landed on Kang Seong Jun leaning casually against the lockers.
That grin again. Lazy. Dangerous. Promising pain.
“Relax. I wasn’t talking to you. Yet .”
The word ‘yet’ made Gyu Jin’s stomach drop.
He hurried on, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the mocking laughter from behind. He didn’t look back, but he didn’t need to. The sensation of being followed continued haunting him, burrowing itself under his skin.
By the time he reached the stairwell, the hallways had gotten emptier, voices fading into the distance as the students left for home or were on their way to their clubs. He took the steps quickly, almost running, but with each step he took, he heard another set – steady, deliberate, always a beat behind his own.
“Don’t turn around. Don’t look,” his mind screamed at him.
As he got to the ground floor, he couldn’t resist anymore. He spun, heart pounding.
Empty.
He could only hear the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above him and the silent rustle of papers stuck to the noticeboard.
Still, the feeling didn’t disappear. That gaze – cold and precise, pressing down on him like invisible hands. Gripping and tightening around his neck, squeezing down hard, making him unable to breathe.
He clutched his bag strap tighter and bolted down the hallway, not stopping until he burst through the side doors and into the fading daylight outside.
For a moment, relief washed over him. The noise of traffic, the shouts of students – it felt almost safe.
Almost.
Because when he dared to glance across the courtyard, he saw Seong Jun again. Surrounded by his friends, laughing, tossing a ball between his hands as though the world itself bent for him. He didn’t look in Gyu Jin’s direction. He didn’t need to.
Even at that distance, even in the middle of a crowd, Gyu Jin felt pinned in place. Like an insect under glass.
Gyu Jin let out a shuddering breath before he continued walking towards the art club, trying to ignore the gaze that clung to him like vines wrapping themselves around him. Suffocating and persistent.
When Gyu Jin finally stepped out of the building after the art club, the streets were quiet and empty. The sun was already standing low, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Gyu Jin kept his hood up and shoulders hunched, walking fast. He just wanted to go home and disappear into his room. At least there he was safe.
As he walked, his footsteps kept on echoing too loudly in the empty side streets. Every flutter of a plastic bag, every distant bark, made him startle and flinch. He kept glancing over his shoulder, though he knew no one would be there. No one ever was when he turned around.
And yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling. Someone was following him.
At first, it was subtle – a soft echo of footsteps that matched his own.
Then, faint glimpses – a shadow stretching in his peripheral vision, always gone when he turned his head.
Gyu Jin quickened his pace. He told himself it was paranoia. That Seong Jun wasn’t here. That he wasn’t even thinking about him; he was just that silent kid, which was easy to bully. Hell, Seong Jun had better things to do than to think about a loser like himself.
But the city had a way of twisting into a maze when your mind was already on edge. Alleyways seemed darker and longer, streetlights flickered just as he passed, and in the distance he could hear the chatter of people carrying a weight, a scrutiny he couldn’t place.
He passed the small convenience store where he sometimes stopped for snacks. Today, the door was ajar. A cold breeze rolled out, carrying the faint scent of metal and something else – something sharp. He shivered, pulling his hood tighter around his face.
Then suddenly he noticed a figure moving across the far corner of the street. At first, it seemed ordinary – just someone walking. But when Gyu Jin’s eyes caught theirs, the figure stopped. Just… stopped. Watching. Staring back at him.
He broke into a run.
The rhythm of his own feet pounding against concrete became frantic. The city noise blurred into white noise, and he barely noticed the uneven pavement or the stray puddles soaking through his shoes.
When he finally reached the small gate to his apartment complex, his chest was tight, every breath harsh. He took out his key, trying to insert it into the lock, but his hands shook so badly that it took several tries before he hit the lock. He glanced over his shoulder, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw a familiar silhouette watching from across the street.
He blinked.
Gone.
As he finally entered his apartment, he let out a sigh of relief. He took in the familiar scent of the paint and old wood. Safe.
Almost.
In his room, Gyu Jin fell on his bed, pulling the blanket close around him, as if trying to hide from the world. As if his blanket was the only thing protecting him from the harshness of reality.
His mind raced, replaying the walk. Every shadow. Every echo. Every faint whisper he thought he heard.
He shook his head, trying to forget. Trying to tell himself that he was just imagining it. No one cared about him. No one would trouble themselves with following him. No one would even care if he disappeared.
He forced himself up, trying to forget, doing everything possible, but the feeling refused to fade. He tried to study, tried to eat, tried to work, tried to read, but every creak of the apartment and every flicker of shadow against his curtains made his breath quicken.
He told himself he was imagining it. That Seong Jun couldn’t possibly be here.
And yet, when he finally turned off the light and crawled into his bed, his eyes fell on the window. The glass only reflected his room – but for a split second, he thought he saw something else.
A silhouette.
Tall. Lean. Watching.
By the time he blinked, the silhouette was gone.
But the whisper of a voice lingered in his mind, curling like smoke, so soft he couldn’t tell if it was real or a dream.
You can’t run from me.
Gyu Jin shook his head and forced himself to close his eyes, but sleep felt like betrayal. Every creak in the building and every faint rustle outside increased his anxiety. His imagination twisted the sounds into shapes he didn’t want to acknowledge.
And somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he knew: the danger wasn’t just in the shadows outside. It was closer than he could admit.