Chapter Text
Can you be nostalgic over a place you’ve never been? Can you be filled with longing for a person you’ve never met?
page 1.
In South Korea, the first snow normally means destiny, good luck, and new beginnings. That, if you shared the moment with your loved one on the first snow, your relationship will be blessed and last a long time.
Sieun spends the first snow in the States instead, alone.
"Why do you think you can't sleep well?"
Sieun just stares at the snow falling down outside the window.
"You said you keep having the same dream..."
"—But you still don't want to tell me what the dream is about?" Sieun's psychiatrist asked him softly.
"A dream is just a dream." Sieun states, and continues to stare at the unknown.
For five years, Sieun's life had passed by like a wind. But he still gets nightmares, after what happened in high school, after the blood he’d spilled to dismantling every single one of them, the aftermath had been swift and brutal.
Sieun could still remember it, the feeling, the blood on his hands, the metalic smell flooding his nose. He was in a dissociative state, he felt like he was high, like a massive rush of adrenaline on his veins. all of his rationality gone out of the window. After seeing Suho, on the bed, unconscious... his brain just shuts off, everything… all of it disappeared. He just snapped, he could not care about anything else, just do the same on what they did to Suho.
Did Suho also felt what he felt that time as well? Is that why he crossed the line?
Even if he—they were the victim, the adults wouldn't save either of them. Even if he had a valid reason for his violent crashout, he stayed quiet. Sieun knows, the teachers, the principal, the fellow parents, won't understand, won't listen, won't take their side.
The adults didn't act like adults. Sieun knows they don't care about the truth, or what's right. They're just puppets for the bigger people. They could only save themselves, and that's what happened, Suho saved him, and Sieun was too late.
That is why he resorted to violence in the first place. He had to, he needed to. He didn't have a choice.
After doing that to Suho, how could he just not do anything? how could he just let them go? how could he ever just act like it was okay and go on with his day? as if him being in coma because of them was just nothing? an accident?
So he barely batted an eye from breaking the legs, arms who had hurt Suho. Sieun didn't felt anything at the moment, just pure anger and despair and to just focus on breaking everyone who was involved.
Was it worth it? Sieun doesn't know. Did he regret it? No, not an ounce of regret. He would do it again, if the time was reversed.
But in the end, he couldn't break Beomseok's face as much as he wanted to, Sieun just took it out on punching the school's window instead, anger filled him, but the guilt and grief was making him choke, he was too late already. By then he was expelled, and he had been shipped off to the States by his own mother who saw the darkness growing in his eyes and feared it more than anything else.
Sieun had wanted to stay—to sit by Suho’s bedside, everyday, to hold the limp hand until the very moment those eyes fluttered open, refusing to believe it will take long. But when it was Suho's grandma crying on his arms after hearing what the doctor said about Suho's current status... Sieun then, was crippled by a suffocating, clawing guilt, Suho didn't deserve to be in such state.
Sieun should have been the one in that coma.
He should have been the one paying the price for his own weakness, not Suho. The shame, the guilt of it might be the reason he had accepted his mother's decision, even if he had no other choice. Staying by Suho's side might not be good for Suho, because Sieun would only affect suho of his own misfortune, and Suho already did. And he won't forgive himself if it goes further. Even if the thought of leaving Suho's side already kills him, even thought of just living there—beside Suho, until he wakes up... no matter how long it takes.
Sieun knew, that would be impossible.
Sieun had sobbed loudly at Suho's room in the hospital for the first and very last time, asking for forgiveness. Sieun had left Korea reluctantly after that, as if his heart hasn't already been torn in two.
In the states, Sieun have chosen to be invincible. He kept his head straight, no voice, and his world small. He avoided eye contact, shunning socializing with people as if it were the same as breathing air. He was just silent and hauntingly alone, but it was what he decided. It was what he deserved.
It’s been five years since the world ended for him. People would call it moving on, call it starting fresh. Even his mother calls it starting new, like a new leaf. But they don't know the truth. You don't heal from the kind of debt he owes.
The guilt is still deep in his veins and blood, it never left, and it never will. Sieun accepted it.
Sieun chose medicine, not out of passion, but out of a desperate coping, to the person he failed to protect.
Every night, before his head hit the pillow, he would pull out his phone and open the messaging app, his thumb hovering over Suho’s number. After moving to the states, Sieun was cut off from everything, he's not sure if it was his mother's doing or Suho's grandmother, but he didn't have any contact anymore, he didn't know what happened to Suho. Does he even deserve to know?
“I’m still here,” he would type into the void of what seems to be an inactive account. “Please be okay.”
He never got a reply, but the ritual kept him tethered to the reality—that he was still with Suho.
He missed him, every single day, for the past five years, he yearned for Suho. To at least see him just once, awake or… not, but still breathing, he wanted needed to know, to see... but he knew deep down, he can't, he doesn't have the face to… to know what happened after him leaving everything behind.
Sieun doesn't have the courage to face Suho, if he's okay—if he's still sleeping or if he's.... Sieun stops thinking about it.
⋆˚࿔
The world Sieun was in, was a circle of repeating patterns... sieun had realized, when he just newly transferred.
Sieun had moved thousands of miles to escape the normalized cruelty, to trade his old high school, to a structured silence of a foreign university. He had thought that if he became a ghost—if he made himself small, invisible, and utterly indifferent—everyone would eventually grow bored and bother someone else.
At first it was like that, no one minded him, everyone had their own world.
But he was a fool to think just changing places could also change human nature.
Even here, in a place that didn't know his name, the likes of them followed him. The taunts started small, like static, a tripped foot in the hall, and a deliberate muffled insults when he walked past the bathroom. He kept his eyes on his notes, he kept his airpods on, his face neutral and unfazed.
He had promised Suho, back in the hospital. In the dark, lonely hours of the night, as well when he stared at the ceiling of his apartment, he could see Suho’s face—the calm, steady hope that Sieun would be better, that he would be safe.
I will never fight again, Sieun had vowed to the silence. I won't fight again, Suho.
So, Sieun just let them. He let them talk about unnecessary rumors against lockers. He let them spit insults and derogatory words, each word didn't bother him. Not much was done, back home was worse. This? Sieun could handle.
But then, it happened. After the first year.
One of them—a guy with a sneer that looked too much like the ghosts of his past, cornered him behind the outside of university buildings, where students normally smoke or bully other students. After being announced as one of the top student on this University, Sieun just blinked and suddenly he's here. The bully didn't just push. He laughed, a low, ugly sound, and leaned in close.
"You really are a pathetic little fag, aren't you? It's no wonder your friend ended up like that. Someone like you... with your freaky eyes, you attract all kinds of things huh? ending up killing your friend? Or is he your boyfriend?"
The air in the outdoor space suddenly shifted.
The sound of the guy’s voice wasn't just noise to Sieun, it was a trigger, a violent crack that bypassed Sieun’s brain and went straight to his knuckles. The promise to Suho vanished in thin air.
Sieun didn't know what happened. It's like his own body moved itself and he only remembered the current position he's in right now. Sieun then blinked and the book he was clutching was in the far end, all bloody, and the way all of the three guys crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain and eyes wide with a terror that Sieun knew intimately.
When the silence returned, Sieun stood over the guy who spouted nonsense, chest heaving, his hands raw and stinging, twitching.
"I told you to stop didn't I?"
Sieun didn't feel the sense of victory. He felt a cold, jagged spike of horror at the realization of what he just did, of what he have done. He stared at the sky, and he walked away, his hands trembling so hard he could barely shove them into his pockets.
"I’m sorry," he whispered.
He turned his head toward the empty, dusty air of the outside buildings, his eyes wet and burning.
"I got into another fight suho-yah," he breathed again, his voice cracking. "I promised, and I failed you. I won't do it again. I'm sorry suho-yah." He whispered to the air.
Sieun went home, washed the blood from his skin until it was raw, and sat in the dark, like putting himself in timeout. He expected to be summoned to the dean’s office. He expected the bullies and their friends to be waiting for him at the gates the next morning, ready for revenge. He expected his mother calling him again, ready to spout a bunch of words at him again. He expected the world to punish him for breaking his vow.
Sieun expected the glares, the whispers, the inevitable fallout of another violent outburst, with the whole world judging him, again.
But there was nothing. It was unusually… quiet.
The hallway was the same but, the group that had bothered him was nowhere to be found, gone—vanished, as if they never occupied a space in the university in the first place. No disciplinary action, no whispered rumors, no lingering glares, no one batted an eye at him weirdly. It was too eerie-calm, like nothing happened.
Sieun paused by his locker, a furrow appearing between his brows. It was strange, It was weird, really. But as he looked around, he realized the crushing weight of his busy schedule, the upcoming lab reports, and the exhaustion that lived deep within him.
Sieun didn't have the time to investigate, didn't have the mental energy to fear the implications.
They’re gone, Sieun thought, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. Maybe they moved. Maybe they got expelled for something else. Sieun's thoughts flooded him yet, he accepted the silence like a gift, for his sufferings. He didn't look for the why. He simply breathed in, grateful that he didn't have to face the consequences, and pushed himself forward into the crushing works of his day.
And somehow after that, It was silent again.
On the fifth year.
Sieun stares outside the window of the classroom, looking through the grass field and the sunlight poking his eyes.
There’s some people playing soccer, and Sieun immediately thought of one person. Sieun remembers him mentioning it once, how he’d like to play soccer with Sieun, if they had a chance.
Sieun felt a tug on his heart, an ache again. They never did had the chance to.
He rubs his eyes, feeling itchy and heavy. Sieun had a hard time sleeping, none of the sleeping pills work nowadays and even if he exhausts himself to the core, he still can’t sleep. Visions and visions of what happened is still stuck to Sieun. It’s like he’s on a loop, a never ending loop.
He stares at his phone.
and he starts to type.
Suho. I’m having a hard time sleeping again, while i can't sleep… I wonder when will you wake up?
He stares deeply at his screen.
The teacher’s voice comes in, and he turned off his phone.
Sieun used to study because he claims recognition, because studying is the only thing he knows, and how his parents expected him to. Now, he studied to stay awake, to distract him. In high school, he had used his knowledge like a weapon, here, in this new place, it was just a tool to keep his mind from drifting back to the rhythmic, heart-wrenching beep of a hospital monitor, and to distract Sieun from missing him.
The class ended and Sieun waits till everyone leaves, he puts on his airpods so people wouldn’t talk to him or even bother him. It works even until now.
He fixes his things, and then stops. His brow furrowed.
Sieun checked his pocket, the fountain pen he'd been normally using was missing. He paused, frowning even more. He checked his bag—empty. He sighed, Sieun could only stare, his seat, the table and the classroom. Exhaust is filling him and he pays it no mind, as he got up and took his bag and start to walk.
It’s just a pen.
That his father gave to him, not really a big… deal.
In another class, Sieun goes to his normal seat way at the back, as he rearranges his stuff, was about to put his notebook under the table until—his fingers touched something smooth, cold and hard, he pulled it out.
It wasn't his pen. It was a weighted, silver-bodied fountain pen, identical in heft and nib size to the one he’d lost. Even the ink was the same deep, black. The same replica. Sieun stared at it for a long, quiet moment. He blinked, the fog of sleep deprivation clouding his focus. This class was his second class, he didn’t even come here before the first. This one looked expensive—refined. He picked it up, weighing it in his palm. It felt unnervingly familiar, yet it was heavier, as sieun analyzed it.
Sieun noticed there’s an initial S. on it, as well.
He then placed it on the table and turned back to his notes. He was sleep deprived, Sieun was unsure if this was his or not, either way–this was his seat for almost a year now, if anyone is missing a pen he’d just give it back. He pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to focus on the chemistry equations in front of him.
Sieun didn’t know things started to happen more after that.
It was Wednesday morning, Sieun’s head was pounding, an agonizing dull throb that he had come to normalize on his everyday. Sieun hadn't slept, again. He had a nightmare, with Beomseok, as usual. He was barely holding onto his focus for his morning classes.
Not that he needs sleep, since there’s just too much he needs to finish on time. He stares at his watch and sighs deeply.
Coffee it is.
Sieun detoured to the campus café, he rarely come here. He didn't like coffee, no not really. The bitterness usually made him grimace and his stomach churn, but he needed the chemical jolt to survive the next four hours. He stood at the counter, his mind fogged, trying to remember the specific way he’d seen him order it once for him, back when he was around.
Black. A little extra sugar. Just enough to kill the bitterness of it.
"One Americano… black," Sieun mumbled to the barista. "With... a little extra sugar."
The barista didn't even blink, he didn't reach for the register. Sieun thought he might've ordered it wrong? Instead, the barista reached behind the counter, grabbed a cup that was already sitting there, and slid it across the marble surface. Sieun stares at the cup and at the barista slowly, when they didn't bother explaining Sieun continues to stare, the barista sighs.
"Already taken care of," the barista said, his tone casual, oblivious to the way Sieun’s confused face.
Sieun stared at the cup. "What?"
"Paid for already—“ The barista shouts a name, for a matcha order. Sieun felt a weird pressure on the back of his neck — "Who paid for it?"
The barista shrugged, already looking past him to the next customer. "didn't say.“
Sieun stood there, his hand hovering over the cup. It was warm—unnervingly, perfectly warm.
He didn't take a sip. He couldn't yet. Sieun looked around the café, his eyes scanning the sea of students, the empty tables. There was no one who stood out, no one who seemed to be waiting for a reaction.
Sieun felt a wave of chill on his spine. He grabbed the cup, the heat of it stinging his palm, and walked out of the café. He found a secluded bench just outside the café and sat down, staring at the lid of the cup.
…?
Sieun had never ordered this here. again, he barely go here. He had never even mentioned to anyone that he was struggling to stay awake, let alone that he’d finally decided to break his rule and buy a coffee. He never spoke a word to another person.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, a notification from his calendar. Reminding Sieun for a project deadline.
Sieun looked at the coffee, then at the bustling, indifferent campus. He felt like a small child lost in a supermarket. He lifted the lid. The steam curled up, smelling of burnt beans and that cloying, familiar sweetness. It was exactly as he preffered it, not too sweet and not too bitter.
He took a tentative sip.
It was okay.
Maybe… there’s just random people who gives free stuff to people, it’s pretty random but harmless. Sieun didn’t think much of it, It must've been just his lucky moment.
⋆˚࿔
On a random late afternoon, the library was as quiet, the low hum of the ventilation system the only thing anchoring him to the present. Sieun was buried in his notebook, his mind racing through the logistics of his upcoming exams. Sieun kept ignoring the sharp, rhythmic hunger pang gnawed at his stomach—a reminder that he’d skipped lunch, as he had for the past three days.
Sieun didn't look up from his work. He simply reached into his bag, his fingers searching for his notes simply ignoring his rumbling stomach.
His hand closed around something different. A small, triangular, sealed package. It felt… oddly warm.
He pulled it out, it was a convenience store triangle kimbap? The one he only ever eats with times like these. He stared at it for a minute, his thumb tracing the crinkly plastic.
Did he somehow bought this and left it inside his bag? and forgot about it?
Sieun didn't stop to wonder why he had no memory of buying it. He didn't question how a fresh, warm item had appeared in his bag when he hadn't left his seat in four hours. The cognitive dissonance was a cliff, and he was simply too exhausted to look over the edge, his brain is already too full. And he was really hungry.
He tore the top of the plastic, stared at it for a few minutes before he took a bite, and turned a page. The flavor was grounding, familiar. The same flavor he would always pick, he chewed methodically, his eyes fixed on his chemistry notes.
Then, he suddenly felt it.
It was a sharp, focused pressure against the back of his head, again, like a lens being adjusted. Sieun kept having a feeling of this randomly, Sieun didn't freeze, but he did stole a glance a bit to his surroundings, different kinds of students all around, not much but seems to be in their own busy world.
It’s just exhaustion, he muttered to himself, his voice steady, thin, convincing himself.
Sieun didn't bother. It’s a public space.
He finished the snack, wiped his fingers, and picked up his pen and went back to his work.
To say weird things didn’t happen much, Sieun would definitely be lying.
But Sieun couldn’t really care less when he’s on the brink of fainting every day, but somehow still keeps up like a robot. Days feels like a blur to him, and maybe he tends to forget things that he should be thinking and remembering. With a lack of food, water, and sleep. It’s no wonder he might’ve hallucinations, or even delusions.
Now it’s anomaly came to his home.
The first time it happened, Sieun dismissed it as a glitch in his own memory.
Sieun had left his coffee mug on the edge of the sink, a stubborn, stained ceramic thing he’d been using for three days. Sieun went to bed in a haze of exhaustion, the world blurring into darkness. When he woke up the next morning, the sink was empty. The mug was sitting on the drying rack, upside down, perfectly aligned with the other dishes.
Sieun stared at it for a long minute. He must have washed it, Sieun thought, but he kept glancing back at the mug after that.
Sieun didn't think about it again for two days.
Then an unusual moment happened to Sieun again.
Sieun was standing in front of his fridge, just getting a bottle of water. When he noticed something else besides a bottle of water—fruits?
Sieun frowned, he hadn't bought fruits in months. It was just unnecessary for him. Easy to be forgotten—when Sieun remembers, it's already rotten. The fruits he's looking at right now is still fresh though.…?
Sieun closed the fridge, opened it again, and stared at the fruits. Did he buy this? Maybe the store had a sale? And he unconsciously bought some and forgot? He shook his head, the effort of rationalizing the anomaly making his temples throb. It’s been half a month since his last mini grocery. Sieun drank the water—pauses… and took one fresh apple and went to class.
The little things became a rhythm. Not really day by day, no. but not that Sieun remembers it exactly. It's just randomly, maybe like once a week? twice a month? it's just when Sieun have slept enough to see—or to realize it. Sieun would never be sure what's real and what's not, with how he's so disconnected lately.
A stray pile of mails, papers on the entryway table, usually left in a mess—would be stacked and arranged on the side of the table. His converse shoes, which he tended to just leave it in the middle of the entrance of his unit, were consistently found tucked neatly at the side where all his other shoes are, by the time he woke up.
It was as if his apartment were breathing in and out, organizing itself whenever Sieun closed his eyes.
On a random day when he's had enough sleep and thought he's being paranoid, he decided to do something about it, Sieun began to treat his apartment like a crime scene.
Sieun started small, he would leave his biology book open to a specific page, the corner of the paper crinkled in a specific way. He would place his fountain pen at a precise angle against the edge of his notebook. He would leave another shoe of his scattered by the front door.
Every morning, he woke up with his heart in his throat, expecting to find the book closed, the pen moved, the shoe righted.
But every morning since then, they were exactly where Sieun left them.
The biology book remained at that specific page. The pen stayed at its original angle. The shoe sat there, mocking him with its unnecessary position on the entrance.
Okay.
His mind is playing with him, he might really be dissociating.
Sieun decided then to just let it go. Blame the free coffee he had taken on that random Wednesday.
The moment the first sentence is written, the author finally takes their first step into the story.
page 5.
Months passed by then. Sieun didn't care if the weird things kept happening, or it has stopped. He just didn't really bother himself to care anymore.
The lecture hall was dimly lit, the professor’s voice in the background, talking about literature. Sieun was staring at his notes, his mind drifting, when a student walked in late.
The door creaked, and a man slid into the empty seat one row ahead and to the left. Sieun glanced up—a casual, bored motion and his blood simply turned to ice.
He had the same sharp, angular profile. Even the way he set his bag down—a quick, casual flick of the wrist, was a gesture Sieun had watched a thousand times before.
Sieun’s pen dropped from his hand, rolling under the desk. He didn't reach for it, he couldn't move. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, sickening rhythm.
It’s… him. It’s him. It’s him.
The man shifted, stretching his legs out. He wore a jacket charcoal grey. The world went narrow, tunneling down until there was only the back of that stranger's head. Sieun felt the air leave his lungs. He was drowning, the ghost of his past sitting three feet away, living, breathing, and completely unaware that he was breaking Sieun into pieces.
Then, the man turned to talk to the student next to him… he laughed.
It wasn't his laugh, though. It was a low, slightly raspy sound—a laugh that didn't hold that specific, melodic lilt Sieun loved. The man’s eyes crinkled in a way that felt foreign. The tilt of his head was slightly different from the normal confidence he’d seen before.
Reality hit Sieun like a physical blow.
It’s not him.
Disappointment slapped him in the face. Yet shock is still running from his veins. He forced himself to look down. Why does he looks so—? Sieun can’t seem to do anything at the moment. He was hyper-aware of the man sitting there, the way he breathed, the way he shifted—but he immidiately kept his eyes locked on his notebook, repeating a mantra in his head.
It’s not him, It’s not him.
When the class ended, Sieun didn't wait. He didn't pack his things slowly. He shoved his books into his bag with reckless, frantic speed and stood up before the professor had even stopped speaking, so unusual of him.
Sieun pushed his way out, his pulse still erratic.
"Hey! Wait up!"
The voice caught him in the hallway, Sieun stiffened. Why is it so familiar yet so foreign? He didn't turn, instead he walked faster, Sieun felt like his body is gonna fall down any second now.
"Hey, the one with the black jacket! you dropped this," the man called out again, his footsteps closing the distance behind him.
Sieun finally stopped, his back rigid. The stranger finally caught up to him, and moved to him face to face. He does(n’t) really really want to look at the guy, ended up staring at the guy's hand instead. The man held out the fountain pen Sieun had dropped.
Sieun’s face wore a mask of cold, brittle indifference, but his eyes were wide and unfocused. His ears were ringing, like it’s warning him.
Don't look up. Don't look u—
Sieun then finally looked up… and stopped breathing.
His face was right there. The same slope of the nose, the same jawline. Same lovely cheeks, he had always adored. It was like looking at a distorted memory. He was dressed in a simple, dark hoodie, his hair wavy and slightly damp from the humidity outside. But it was his face—the specific, calm intensity in his eyes, the way he tilted his head with that infuriating, easy grace—that slammed into Sieun like a physical blow.
It was Suho.
Not a ghost. Not a dream. A living, breathing person who looked exactly like the person who had vanished from his life five years ago.
Sieun’s lungs felt like they had been filled with concrete. His hands went completely numb along with his whole body.
"You okay?" the man asked softly. He leaned in a fraction, making Sieun flinch, yet the guy's expression was one of polite, mild concern.
“You look like you've seen a ghost." The man had said softly with a polite smile, It was a small, kind expression—but it wasn't the smile.
It was missing that specific, crooked quirk at the corner of the mouth that he had always had. And Sieun noticed a random little mole under his right eye.
As if he was daydreaming again, the realization came for the second time, Sieun felt like he was hit by lightning. It’s not him. It’s not his Suho.
Sieun blinked, the static in his ears subsiding into the normal drone of the halls. He forced himself to wake up, his face snapping into that familiar, unyielding mask of indifference.
“You looked like you were in a rush, this is your pen right?"
Sieun stared at the pen. He didn't move or take it, He couldn't bring himself to touch the man’s hand.
"I don't need it," Sieun said, his voice clipped and hollow. It might've sounded rude, but he didn't wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and walked away, his stride long and panicked.
He didn't look back, but he could feel the man’s eyes on his back—a heavy, curious weight that followed him.
He locked himself in the bathroom stall, his back against the cold tile wall, and clutched his chest. He was shaking so hard his teeth clicked together.
It’s not him, he reminded himself, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
But as he sat there in the dark, he realized the most terrifying truth of all: the stranger hadn't been Suho, but the way he looked? the way he talks? The way he moved? It’s like a carbon copy of him.
It was as if someone had taken the memory of Suho and built a new person out of the pieces, specifically to haunt him. Maybe it was just all a dream. But it felt real, it felt so real.
And for the first time this year, Sieun breaks down.
Sieun believed he was simply daydreaming, hence the sleep deprivation causing all of these nonsense.
There is no way there would be a person who looks exactly like another person unless they’re twins or just a doppelgänger, maybe. But last time Sieun knew, Suho didn't have any of those.
But then again, Sieun must be having hallucinations now. From the lack of sleep. Yes, definitely.
Sieun promised to himself he will have at least a five-six hours of sleep with no waking up in between this weekend.
Just to stay sane. Perhaps he is losing it.
His shock stayed within him till he got home, he couldn’t stop shaking. It’s been so long since he felt…such feelings… and he doesn’t really want to feel it again.
Even though a part of him wants to see the guy again because he looked so much like Suho, and he misses him.
It was an ill thought. It's not right…. He had dreamt of Suho before, but not like this.
I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar
— Once Upon a Dream
page 8.
Sieun clutched the strap of his bag, his knuckles white. It had been a month of this—relentless, suffocating game of hide-and-seek where he was the only one running and hiding.
He was certain he was losing his grip on reality. It wasn’t possible for one person to occupy so much space in a university of thousands of students, yet there's the guy who looks so so much like Suho: leaning against a pillar in the library, standing by the vending machine at the exact moment Sieun decided to get a drink, or walking towards him on the third-floor corridor just as Sieun took a detour to avoid the main staircase.
On Monday, he had switched his library hours, moving his study block to six in the morning, long before the campus woke up. He had walked in through the side entrance, only to find the same guy again, sitting at a desk near the back.
The guy hadn't looked up yet, but when he did, Sieun immediately hid himself at the bookshelves, his heart almost lunged out of his chest.
Sieun didn’t check out his books. He turned on his heel and walked out, his breathing ragged. When he finally reached his apartment, he locked the door, and pressed his forehead against it, he was trembling.
Sieun started questioning his own sanity. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe the trauma from highshool—the guilt, the years of silence—had finally cracked the foundation of his mind. Was he creating The guy? Was he manifesting his own fear into a physical form? Worse, a form of someone who looks so much like-
He decided to skip school today, for the very first time.
As if the universe took pity of him, for the first time in months—Sieun slept wonderfully on a random day. A full nine hours sleep, like he was completely knocked out. Sieun doesn’t know what he did to make that happen, it was just a normal day and nothing was different with what he did on the daily. But he did finally decided to order some food delivery and actually eat real food, but other than that none.
Maybe he should eat food deliveries once in a while?
Back to the University, he successfully avoided the stranger as much as possible every single day.
They had the same literature class, so Sieun started to arrive late, sat in the very front row instead of the last row, and left before the final sentence was even finished. He just needed to avoid the stranger whoever he is. He was doing good because avoiding something and leaving immediately is his specialty for years now, it shouldn’t be difficult.
Or so he told himself.
It was going well for a few weeks until... it wasn't.
Sieun was walking through the campus courtyard. He was focused on his papers, going through his notes, when a figure stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.
Sieun didn't even have time to register the shape of the person before he collided with them. The impact was solid, the weight of the other man’s shoulder jarring against his own. Papers went flying. A heavy stack of papers skittered across the concrete.
"ah sorry—!"
Sieun scrambled to steady himself, his breath hitching. He looked up, and his vision swum.
It was him. The stranger from the lecture hall.
Sieun’s mind began to spin. This is impossible.
Maybe the stress of his medical courses—the endless anatomy charts, the sleepless nights was finally causing a break. Maybe his brain, desperate for a target to blame for the haunting, had simply invented the guy who looks like Suho as a manifestation because he missed him so much?
Sieun checked himself again if he was hallucinating, his fingernails dug into his palm, to the point it might bleed.
Up close, the resemblance again is painful. The way his hair fell over his forehead, it was longer though and wavy, the specific arch of his brow—it was an assault on Sieun’s carefully maintained sanity.
He wasn’t dreaming. He’s real, very much real and Sieun needs to go away before he breaks down infront of a stranger.
"I'm sorry—I should've looked where I'm going," the man immediately said, he knelt, his movements fluid and unhurried. He began gathering the papers, his fingers lingering on the edges of Sieun's notes.
"You're Yeon Sieun, right?"
Sieun felt like he was electrocuted. The name sounded wrong coming from that mouth. It sounded like an intrusion. Sieun’s heart, a muscle that had been dormant and cold for years, gave a violent, painful thud that nearly brought him to his knees.
"I don't know who you are," Sieun said, stepping back, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists.
The man paused. He held up a page of Sieun’s notes—a complex structural diagram and looked at it with an expression of genuine, quiet appreciation.
"I'm Lee Kang… hanguk-saram?" You're also korean? he said, standing up. He was taller than Sieun remembered. He had a way of standing, Sieun thought.
“also, you’re the guy who’s been running away from me since... I don't remember how many times it is already—"
He remembers. He knows.
The guy held out the papers. He didn't hand them over immediately, he held them just out of reach, forcing Sieun to step into his personal space to retrieve them.
Sieun felt the heat radiating from him. It was a strange, familiar warmth—not the scent of ozone or rain, but something deeper, something that smelled faintly of old books and home.
"I wasn't," Sieun lied, his voice barely audible. He snatched the papers from Kang’s hand, his fingers brushing against Kang’s skin. It was a warm hand. A living hand. Sieun flinched, pulling away as if burned.
He’s real. He's… real.
Sieun turned away, staring at the floor, his breathing ragged. He's real. Like he's being in denial about the whole situation.
The man tilted his head, his eyes tracking Sieun’s back with an interest.
And Sieun walks away, again.
Didn’t notice how the man’s finger twitched when it made contact with his.
⋆˚࿔
The walk back to his apartment was a blur, still feeling a headache for days now. Sieun entered his passcode instead of using his keys because his hands are trembling, his mind cycling through what happened.
His fridge was empty. It had been empty for a week. He hadn't bothered to go to the store; he didn't have the capacity to care about food when he barely had the capacity to breathe. He pushed the door open, stepped into the dark, and sighed. The silence of the apartment felt heavy, like an extra jacket he couldn't take off.
Sieun moved toward the kitchen to leave his things on the counter, but he stopped.
Sitting on the edge of the granite island, perfectly centered as if it were waiting for him, was a single, small carton of milk. It was cold, condensation beading on the cardboard, marking a dark ring on the surface of the counter.
Sieun stood there for a long time.
Did he left this here?
The thought was absolute. Sieun went through his mental checklist. Did I stop at the corner store? No. Did I have groceries delivered? No.
Sieun looked at the carton. It wasn't the store-brand junk he usually bought. It was a premium brand—the expensive one with the high-protein content, the kind he used to drink after long cram sessions, back home.
His pulse skipped, a rhythmic flutter in his throat. He looked at the window. Locked. He looked at the front door. None out of ordinary.
Sieun then realized something happened last month with the exact same scenario, the last carton milk was already somewhere in the trash. He picked up the carton. It was heavy, ice-cold. He walked over to the trash can to throw it away, his movements stiff, his jaw tight. But his hand stopped an inch above the bin.
He didn't throw it out.
"Everything in life has a pattern and a coincidence is simply the moment when the pattern becomes briefly visible." — Unknown
page 10.
The week after that had been a miracle of silence, Sieun had breathed. He hadn't seen a silhouette in the library, hadn't felt the prickle of eyes in the cafeteria, at the halls, at the library, and hadn't needed to take different routes to get to his classes. He had started to convince himself that he’d finally broken the pattern—that the coincidences had been nothing more than his own fractured mind playing tricks on him.
The sky opened up just as his last lecture ended, a torrential downpour that turned the campus into a gray, blurry mess. Sieun forgot his umbrella, today of all days.
Sieun stood by the university building, sighing as he watched the rain lash against the concrete. He was tired, his medical textbooks felt like lead in his bag. He wished he had his air-pods, it helps him a lot when the music cranked high enough to drown out the sound of his own breathing and everything else. He just wants to get to the subway and go home.
He stepped out, head down, shoulders hunched. He rounded the corner of the hallway leading to the entrance gate with much speed, he'd rather run now and get wet a bit before the rain gets heavy.
He collided with someone coming the other way. It wasn't a hard hit, but it was enough to knock the air out of him and send him stumbling backward, his feet tangling.
"Whoa—!"
The voice was bright, startled, and cut through him like a knife, that voice. For a split second, the world tilted, and he was falling onto the floor—and then, instinctively, a hand shot out in from his peripheral vision.
Sieun stares at the hand and glances up.
It was him. Again.
Again. Is his life a joke at this point?
It was a visceral, physical shock, the resemblance really. Sieun still can’t help but to be frozen every time. The gesture was so familiar, the posture, the angle, the sudden offer of stability—he was offering his hand to help Sieun out. In a way that Suho had also did way before, Deja vu. It made Sieun’s chest ache with a sudden, sharp pain from remembering a memory.
Stop it, Sieun commanded himself. He’s just another person. Stop looking for Suho in him.
"I'm so sorry, are you alright?" The voice was Kang’s—smooth, apologetic, and sickeningly the voice is so familiar yet so foreign at the same time... it's making him crazy. Kang stood there, his hand still suspended in the air, his face etched with a look of genuine, frantic concern.
"It’s fine," Sieun said, his voice coming out low-flat and defensive. Ignoring the hand in front of him, he pulled his bag instead and had gotten up easily.
"Oh, it’s you again—I-I'm not usually clumsy believe me, I'm sorry again, really.” surprised and apologetic still but a bit smiley.
Sieun's eye twitches.
Sieun couldn't look at the guy any longer, instead he looked up ahead where the rain starts to pour down heavily now. Maybe if he pretends he's not hearing anything or seeing him, the guy would leave him alone.
The guy stared at him, and looked at the torrential rain hammering the roof of the entryway as well, then back at Sieun. "You don't have an umbrella, do you?"
Sieun blinked. Didn't utter a reply to the question, afraid of what the guy will say next.
"I’m also going to the subway." Kang said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He reached into his own bag and pulled out a sturdy, black umbrella. He stepped a bit closer, opening it with a sharp, decisive click. "It’s coming down harder every minute, we're both going the same way. Just let me walk you to the station... as an apology."
Sieun stared at him, his mind screaming. Every instinct in his body told him to run into the rain, to let the storm swallow him rather than step under the shelter of a man who felt like a walking, talking ghost of his past. But the rain was getting heavier—it was cold, miserable, and he was already trembling from the shock of the encounter. Or the distinct coldness of the weather. Or maybe Sieun is tired of running—
"Please?"
Why would he say it like that? Why can't he say no to him? How could he..? when the guy is looking at him like that. Like how Suho… looked at him before, all puppy-eyed...
Defeat was a heavy, familiar taste in his mouth. Curse him.
They stepped out into the downpour of water. As they walked, Sieun kept his body stiff, his arm pressed firmly to his side to avoid any accidental contact. He kept glancing upward, noticing with a jolt of alarm that the umbrella was tilted sharply to his side.
The entire umbrella was covering him. Kang was walking with his right shoulder fully exposed to the driving rain, his sleeve darkening and dripping, but he didn't adjust it.
"Your shoulder," Sieun said, reaching up to nudge the handle toward the center. "You're getting rained on."
Kang didn't even look over. He simply reached out and pushed the umbrella back towards Sieun, his hand brushing the base of the handle, his movements resolute.
"I'm okay, you’re the one who needs to stay dry… you have a cold to avoid."
Sieun didn't move the handle back, nor speak anymore. He tried to ignore the sudden flush over his neck, and his heart going faster.
He just walked, his heart sinking further with every step. He was walking through a storm, under the shelter of someone he was trying to avoid, listening to the rhythm of the rain against the fabric—a sound so peaceful that it made the absolute horror of his situation feel even more unbearable.
Why did he agree to be in this position? Sieun thought, watching the rain fall just inches away from his dry face. He's walking right into the center of it after avoiding it for so long, and truthfully he doesn't even have the strength to leave.
Silence grew between the two of them. What a timing for his air-pods to be missing.
Just earlier after second class, his airpods suddenly went missing, not that sieun tends to forget a lot nowadays but he was so sure he put it in his pockets right after first class.
“I’m just glad I finally ran into you again. I feel like I see you everywhere lately, the library, the canteen, somewhere in the university—even out sometimes. It’s like we’re on the same frequency or something."
Sieun's heart skipped a beat.
Sieun turned his head, his eyes darting to the man’s face. But the guy wasn't looking at him. He was looking ahead, his expression serene, his hands is still on the umbrella.
"That’s just coincidence," Sieun said, his voice a tight, defensive.
"Is it?" He turned, his gaze meeting Sieun’s. The smile didn't reach his eyes. They remained steady, and terrifyingly focused, "I like to think it’s fate. We’re bound to keep bumping into each other, Sieun."
They reached the station entrance. Sieun didn't stop. He pushed through the turnstiles, his card beeping, his heart racing a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Memories flooded him.
"what are you doing here? were we married in our past life? why do we keep bumping into each other?"
Sieun’s heart ached. Again.
Sieun tried his best to not face the man, yet with many people on the subway, it was hard not to. The guy stayed still there for a second, infront of him, his dark eyes studying Sieun’s face with a quiet, lingering curiosity.
⋆˚࿔
To say the ride home was more stressful than an exam, yes, yes it was. definitely.
The subway car was a crush of bodies—a suffocating tide of commuters, damp coats, and harsh, buzzing fluorescent light. Sieun was pressed into the corner near the door, his world narrowing down to the sharp, ragged rhythm of his own pulse.
He kept his gaze locked on the advertisement posters above the opposite side, refusing to look in front. But he didn't need to look, he could feel him.
The guy was standing directly in front of him, creating a small, pocket of space in the crowded subway.
Every time their eyes meet—the other beams at him, and Sieun always looks away immediately.
The proximity was physical, agonizing. It wasn't just the height or the build, it was the smell. He looks exactly like Suho but he doesn’t smell like those laundry detergent that was soft and familiar to Sieun’s nose.
Too close, Sieun’s mind screamed. He’s too close.
The walls of the train seemed to bow inward. Sieun’s breath came in stuttered, shallow hitches. His vision began to darken, the lights above the train doors blurring. He gripped his bag strap until his fingers went white, his knuckles straining against the skin.
His brain was getting crazy, his heart was hammering inside his chest. Making it hard to not bawl his eyes right now. Sieun felt the tremors starting in his hands, a uncontrollable vibration. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the air into his lungs, but the oxygen felt thin, it was getting hard to breathe.
Then, a sudden weight settled over his head.
Sieun’s eyes snapped open in alarm. A pair of wireless headphones had been slid over his ears. Sieun instinctively reached up to tear them off, his hands shaking, his survival instinct screaming that he was trapped.
But a hand—large, steady, and radiating a startling, grounding warmth—covered his own. Making him stop in his tracks.
It didn't grab him, it simply held his hand firmly in place against the side of the headset. The grip was immovable, it wasn't intruding, it felt like comforting instead.
"Breathe," a voice murmured, though it was barely audible over the screech of the tracks.
He was having a panic attack.
The music flooded in, drowning out the roar of the subway, the screeching brakes, and the frantic pounding of his own heart. The ethereal, slow-drag of a song filled his head, soft and hypnotic.
And I'm kissing you, lying in my room
Holding you, until you fall asleep
And it's just as good as I knew it would be
Stay with me, I don't want you to leave
Sieun froze. He looked up, his breath hitching.
The guy was looking down at him. The stern focus he’d seen earlier was gone. In its place was a look of such startling, profound softness that it made Sieun’s chest ache.
His eyes were dark, unreadable, but they were there—grounding him, anchoring him to the spot while the world spun violently around them.
The song slowed his pulse. The vibration in his hands began to settle, the frantic rhythm of his heart syncing to the languid, hazy beat of the music.
come right back
I've been waiting for you
To slip back in bed
When you light the candle
What it felt like an eternity when they stared at each other's eyes—breathing at the exact time, His hand finally moved away from Sieun’s, finally letting go of the headset. As if both of them didn't want to.
He didn't hover, and he didn't crowd him any further. He turned his head away, staring out at the blurred blackness of the subway tunnel flashing past the window, giving Sieun the one thing he desperately needed at the moment, space.
They stood like that for the rest of the ride—two strangers in the middle of a crowd, tethered together by a song. Sieun’s head rested against the cool metal of the train pole, his eyes half-closed, the exhaustion finally pulling at his limbs like lead. But his eyes kept glancing at the guy, and at the side of his shirt, that had a damp part from being rained on earlier.
Sieun was guarded, yes. He was still terrified. But for the first time in five years, the silence wasn't screaming at him.
⋆˚࿔
The subway screeched to a halt, the mechanical groan vibrating through the floorboards and rattling Sieun’s teeth. The doors slid open with a hiss, revealing the bright, clinical lights of his station.
The music played on, a soft, melancholy sound, and as the train lurched toward his stop, Sieun realized with a jolt of horror that he didn't want the song to end. He didn't want to leave, to leave the man infront of him.
He was in a trance, and unusually he found himself reaching out for the hand that he had been avoiding.
The sudden shift in movement snapped the trance Sieun was currently in.
Sieun immediately pulled the headphones off, the loud sounds of the station rushing in to replace the melancholic, hazy melody of the music.
Sieun’s hands were still trembling, but the violent shaking had subsided into a dull, manageable tremor. He didn't look at the guy, he couldn't. He didn't want to see his face anymore, because... he might not leave the train anymore.
Sieun shoved the headphones toward him, his movements frantic and uncoordinated.
"Thanks," Sieun breathed out, softly, looking everywhere except the man's face.
It was barely a whisper, a sound caught and swallowed by the rustle of the departing crowd, but it was there.
Sieun didn't wait for a response. He bolted.
Sieun pushed through the bodies of other commuters, not really caring if he hit someone hard, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he sprinted toward the escalator. He ran as if he were trying to outpace his own shadow, as if he could leave the feeling of that warm, grounding hand behind him on the platform. He didn't look back because he knew—it would be a bad idea to do so.
Back on the subway car, the doors began to slide shut.
Lee Kang stood exactly where he had been, his hand still outstretched, catching the headphones just before they could hit the floor. He didn't look bothered, no. But Kang wore a suprised emotion.
He stood perfectly still, his dark eyes fixed on the gap between the closing doors, watching the back of Sieun’s dark hoodie disappear into the sea of commuters.
A slow, terrifyingly soft smile spread across his face. It was a first to Lee Kang, he never smiled like this before.
It wasn't a smile of amusement. It was a smile of accomplishment, exactly where he had intended all along yet it moved him than he ever thought it would.
His heart raced. Because of Sieun.
He brought the headphones to his lips, his fingers lingering on the spot where Sieun’s hands had been just seconds ago. He could still feel the heat of Sieun’s skin—a lingering, warm imprint. It was such a warm feeling Kang have never felt before, he smiled with much content.
"You're welcome, Sieun.." he whispered to the empty air, his voice low and intimate, as the train began to pull away.
He didn't look away from the station until the lights vanished into the tunnel. He didn't move. He simply stood there, cradling the headphones against his chest, savoring the fact that even in his haste, even in his terror, Sieun had felt the need to speak to him.
A thank you. A crack within Sieun's normal behaviour.
Finally.
He tucked the headphones into his bag, his movements fluid and precise. He’s scared, He thought, the realization warming his blood. He’s terrified, he’s running, and he still reached out.
He stared right at me. Me.
The train sped into the dark, and Kang leaned his head against the glass, closing his eyes. He didn't need to chase him tonight. It was enough, he had already got the attention he wanted.
If I push that front door open but come face to face with another smaller door, am I standing on the inside, or am I still outside?
page 17.
The monotony of Sieun’s life had become a suffocating blanket, every day was a cycle of clinical smells, textbooks, but now it changed—something has changed and maybe it's the constant, gnawing peripheral vision of Lee Kang.
The feeling never left him, foreign yet familiar warm hands on his, the way he stared at Sieun so deeply. The memory never left his mind ever since. He tried to get ahold of himself.
“You need to find an anchor,” his therapist had told him, back then, when the flashbacks were fresh. “Something that pulls you into the present, like a hobby, a passion… something that isn’t a memory or a regret.”
He simply ignored it at the time. Passion? Hobby? All Sieun knew was study, study and study. He had no time for other things.
But as he walked through the university corridors, it was earlier this year the air thick with the humidity of the coming afternoon, he saw it. A vibrant, slightly peeling poster taped to the bulletin board: "Capture the Light / Professional Photography Workshop."
He stared at it. The word Capture seemed to pulse against the dull grey of the hallway. For a second, he imagined a lens—a way to frame the world, to force it to be still and quiet, to make things stay exactly where he put them.
Then, months pass by, as he was trudging toward the library, a student shoved a flyer into his hand. He almost put it away, his fingers already twitching with the urge to discard it, but the text caught his eye. Short-term, professional workshops outside of your regular semester. Flexible hours.
It was a sign. It had to be.
Sieun looked at the flyer and felt a rare, feeling. It was a spark of curiosity? Perhaps?
It would be different from writing notes, memorizing numbers, phrases, names. He would be just observing what needs to be shot, and what it looks the best.
Sieun then decided to give it a try. It was a spare time, it was also comforting how they had their own worlds doing stuff around. He didn't need to interact with other people, and he doesn't think he needs to.
⋆˚࿔
The photography workshop was supposed to be Sieun’s past time. Maybe it was a distraction. It was a dark, quiet place where he could focus on light and shutter speeds, away from the noise of his other classes.
"Partner up," Professor Han announced, his voice booming through the studio. "For our final project, you’ll be working in pairs to document the emotional weight of empty spaces."
"the assignment requires two students to find a space that feels likely abandoned or forgotten, it's to tell a story about a person who is no longer there. It's very simple class, just capture a space that feels lonely or waiting, but include one specific, human detail that makes the void feel wrong. That's the only hint I'll be giving guys."
Sieun didn’t move. He kept his eyes on his tripod, waiting for the rest of the room to churn into chaos so he could stay firmly, safely alone.
"Professor," Sieun spoke up suddenly, his voice clipped, he knew this professor. "I work better solo. I’ll take the grade penalty."
"I know, but not this time, Sieun," the professor said, not even looking up from his files. "This project is about connection—about documenting the weight of spaces where people should be. It's purpose is to be worked on by two people. And look, Lee Kang is in the same boat. Partner up."
…Who?
Sieun’s jaw tightened. He turned, ready to argue, but the words died in his throat.
Lee Kang was standing there. The very person he tried to avoid, Sieun would not want to admit but mostly the reason why he's in this workshop right now.
Right, Lee Kang was his name. He looked so…young—a little messy, a little shy, with his hair falling into eyes that held a devastatingly soft, puppy-dog earnestness. He looked so harmless and so so suho that it actually made Sieun’s skin crawl.
He’s also in this workshop? Sieun ran the mental memory lane of the last few weeks… the grueling sessions in the darkroom, the lectures on long-exposure techniques, the endless hours spent obsessing over the play of light against shadow. He was so focused on the detailed sessions that he barely cared the people with him? sounds about right.
"I'm sorry, Sieun," Kang said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. "I know you like to work alone. I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible, I promise."
Sieun tried to look at him in the eye, Kang already staring at him, Sieun immediately turned away. He sighed, the exhaustion winning out again. "…let’s just focus on the project.”
"I will," Kang promised, his smile turning bright and relieved. Even if it was dark on this room.
Well, the universe definitely really hate him at this point.
Why has Sieun never seen him on this workshop? Is he so in his own world on this workshop—that he never noticed him? the very guy he is avoiding? Sieun mentally facepalmed himself. Of course, it was dark and mostly the objectives or works were done solo. Sieun didn't expect there would be a need of a group work here as well. He hated group work more than anything.
Later, as they were packing up their gear, the silence between them was heavy. Sieun remembered the subway… the panic attack he’d had, the way the world had tilted, and the way this boy had somehow been there, offering him a pair of headphones with music that had grounded him when he was spiraling.
He didn’t feel embarrassed or what but he still felt unsettled, like he had a debt on him. Though the poor guy must’ve thought he did something bad to Sieun these past months, with his obvious avoidance…
"Thanks," Sieun muttered, refusing to look at him. "For the other day. On the subway. The music... it helped."
Kang’s face softened. "Oh—yeah, you're welcome… anytime.”
They walked toward the exit together, the fluorescent lights of the hallway flickering. Kang fell into step beside him, his presence unnervingly calm.
"You know," Kang said, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register, "since we’re partners now—“
Sieun didn’t stare at the guy and kept walking.
"Can I..." Kang hesitated, looking down at his shoes like he was afraid of being rejected.
"Since we're going to be spending a lot of time together—is it okay if I call you Hyung?"
The word hung in the air, vibrating in Sieun’s chest.
Hyung.
Suho had been his Hyung. The memory hit him with the force of a physical blow—the way Suho used to say it, urging Sieun to say it atleast once at him. The way it had sounded like safety, like a promise.
He looked at Kang—at this boy who was now going to be with him for a few weeks or even more, the person who was slowly weaving himself into the fabric of his life. It was a sick, twisted joke of fate.
So he’s younger than him.
Sieun’s heart gave a painful, treacherous tug. It was pathetic, he knew. He was falling for a mimicry. But the sound of the word—the request for closeness, was too familiar to ignore.
Sieun can't ignore anymore, he can't run away forever.
"Okay," Sieun exhales, his voice rough. "If it makes the project easier, call me whatever you want."
Kang’s eyes lit up, a brilliant, shining glow that felt like a trap closing shut. "Thank you, Sieun-hyung." Sieun clenched his bag.
As they walked out into the cool evening air, Kang stepped just a little closer, his shoulder brushing against Sieun’s. It was subtle, making Sieun scream internally.
⋆˚࿔
The campus was unusually still for a Tuesday late afternoon. The harsh, aggressive noise of the city had dialed down into a soft, golden hum, and for once, the weight on Sieun’s shoulders felt a fraction lighter.
“If we catch it right, we can make the shadows look like they’re swallowing the structure whole."
Sieun looked up, squinting against the sun. He hadn't realized that the light looked like that, but now that Kang mentioned it, he saw it. This kid knows what he's doing…
"The angle," Sieun murmured, pulling out the camera. "If we go up to the third-floor balcony, we can get a top-down perspective."
"Lead the way, Hyung," Kang said, falling into step beside him.
They climbed the concrete stairs, the sound of their footsteps rhythmic and synced. It was the first time in months that Sieun didn't feel the need to ran away, but he still felt the need to be guarded.
On the balcony, the view was perfect. The shadows were indeed long and jagged, the wind was enough to make Sieun feel comfortable.
They spent the next hour working in a quiet, synchronized silence. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. Kang had an uncanny ability to anticipate exactly what Sieun needed—a different lens, a reflector held at the perfect height, a word of appreciation for a shot Sieun hadn't even realized he’d taken.
"That one," Kang pointed to the screen of Sieun’s camera. "That’s the one. the contrast is perfect."
Sieun looked at the screen. He had captured a single, lone student walking through the massive shadow of the building. It looked lonely, yet strangely balanced.
"It’s good," Sieun admitted.
"You have a way of finding the solitude in every shot you did," Kang said, leaning against the railing. He wasn't looking at the building, he was looking at Sieun. "It’s beautiful, Hyung."
Sieun felt a flush creep up his neck. He quickly looked back at his camera, trying to hide his expression.
“It’s just a photo."
"You think so?" Kang chuckled, a low, melodic sound that seemed to blend perfectly with the wind moving through the courtyard.
“I think it’s how you see the world, when you're taking pictures."
".. you’re looking for things that are left behind… things that are waiting to be found."
Sieun went quiet.
The observation was too accurate, too sharp. He looked out over the campus, feeling a strange, hollow peace. For the first time since the accident, he wasn't thinking about the loop, or the sleepless nights, or the phantom phone messages. He was just here, in the golden light, with someone who seemed to understand the quiet language of his grief.
"Maybe," Sieun whispered.
"Well," Kang said, his voice dropping into that gentle, comforting register he used whenever Sieun started to look stressed.
“Whatever you're looking for, I’ll help you find it. we’ve got all the time, Hyung."
He reached out and gently nudged Sieun’s shoulder with his own—a small, familiar gesture that didn't feel like an intrusion. It felt like an anchor.
Sieun flinched a bit but tried to mentally slap himself, he needs to get used to this.
The second door is disguised as curiosity.
page 14.
The university campus, had begun to feel like a minefield.
Sieun kept his eyes fixed on the pavement, his backpack straps pulled tight against his shoulders. He didn't look at the students passing by, didn't acknowledge the chatter of groups near the fountain. He just needs to get to the library, finish his pre-med readings, and return to his apartment before the sun dipped behind the city skyline. Just as always, for the past years, it's the same thing he had been doing.
Day after day, Sieun’s normal schedule is messed up. his partner might be the reason why.
Sieun planned an organized schedule, to have a strict meeting and the photography time at a certain time only, and he should be good by that. But, the guy just somehow can’t take a hint. And it’s not even on purpose so he really shouldn’t blame the guy.
Sieun tried his best to avoid him. when it’s not their supposed time for the project, but somehow Sieun just kept bumping into him everywhere.. and at a random time, kept seeing him on a place already before Sieun got there. It wasn't that Lee Kang was everywhere—no, it felt like Kang was always there, just a fraction of a second ahead of Sieun’s own path.
The Campus certainly isn’t small but there are really chances like these when you get to know a new person… Is what Sieun decided to believe.
“hyung! are you also going to the library?”
“Hyung shouldn’t you be at the cafeteria right now?”
"Oh, it's nice to see you here hyung, what are you doing?"
“Oh! Sieun–Hyung, do you also need some of your notes printed?”
As much as he would love (hate) to ignore him, avoid, and run away. Sieun had enough; he was exhausted. It’s been a bunch of times where he’d been avoiding the guy. Runs on the other way when he sees even just his hair, ignored him when its not their project time. Sieun can't even count how many times.
Though Sieun doesn’t freak out much anymore whenever he sees the guy, might steal a glance or two, maybe even analyze Kang like an uknown species, but Sieun doesn’t froze up or stutters out at him anymore. Sieun familiarizes himself with Lee Kang’s face and that he accepted the fact that he looks exactly like him and it’s not the kid’s fault.
There’s a lot he still doesn’t know about Kang and he would like to stay it that way. Even if his heart is curious about the boy who looks a lot like someone he holds dear before.
But as both of them needed to be together to work for the project in the workshop, Sieun began to notice more about Kang. Kang was undeniably brilliant—he would look like a kid that would rather play games but it's the total opposite. Kang was a scholarship student, much to Sieun's surpise. He’s not popular but it seems that he gets along with some students, though he’s well known by the teachers. Sieun observed the way Kang interacted with people, it was always polite, always brief, yet still friendly… though Kang tends to be more comfortable doing things alone as well.
He’s not annoying, to be honest. Kang stays silent when it needs to be, talks when he needs to.
Sieun’s days go in a blur. And he was getting familiar with this Lee Kang, than he wants it to be.
⋆˚࿔
Sieun might've not noticed but him and Kang were spending a lot of time together, or they're just really into the project, that they don't know how time flies really.
Sieun leaned back, watching. He’d noticed before that Kang never seemed to be not doing anything. Even in the gaps between lectures, random time or breaks in the uni, he was never scrolling through his phone or chatting idly. He was always doing something. Kang wasn't looking at his textbook, he was hunched over the chair, focused on a thick, leather-bound notebook, his hand moving in a frantic, rhtymn like he was sketching something. Sieun expected to see architectural notes. Instead, he saw a charcoal sketch—a hyper-realistic look of the buildings of the university, where they are right now.
"It’s just a way to kill time between classes, but I need to finish this now," Kang said softly, when he noticed Sieun glancing, he simply turned, a faint, polite smile touching his lips. He didn’t hide the book. Instead, he angled it so Sieun could see.
"It’s just a hobby," Kang said, his voice quiet, "I like to map out the things people normally ignore, the buildings, people in their own world, the empty chairs, anything really," Sieun hummed staring at his sketch, it was beautiful.
"You have talent." Sieun murmured as he proceeds to go back to his works.
"Hyung… was that a compliment?" Kang beamed at him so annoyingly.
Sieun didn't replied, just ignored him, as the guy giggled in return.
I needed a key, to nudge that door open.
page 15.
The sound of the convenience store hummed, a jagged, buzzing sound that felt too loud at two in the morning. Sieun pushed the glass door open. He was exhausted, but he still couldn't sleep. Sieun just then realized he hadn't eaten when he got back home at nine. So now he’s looking for the kimbap, the only food he could stomach at this hour or ever, actually. He forgot to buy one before he got back home, like he always do, but exhaustion filling him in and just went to bed, yet hours and hours fly by and he still haven't slept.
He walked toward the refrigerated section to grab his usual, the same plain kimbap he’d been eating for months—but he stopped dead in his tracks.
Behind the counter, bathed in the harsh, unflattering glow of the store’s overheads, was Lee Kang.
He wasn't wearing his usual clean-cut campus clothes, a hoodie or a jacket. He was in a faded blue uniform vest under it seemed like a big tshirt, his hair slightly disheveled, looking younger and more worn down than Sieun had ever seen him. He was hunched over a steaming cup of convenience store ramen, shoveling it in with a speed that suggested he hadn't eaten in a long time.
Sieun felt his breath leave his lungs. For a split second, he thought he's seeing things again. He saw Suho—not the Suho from the hospital, but the Suho from high school, grabbing a quick meal between part time jobs, looking tired but alive.
"Kang?" Sieun softly called out, it was the first time he said the other's name, and it felt foreign to his tongue. He winced a bit after saying it but proceeds to pull off his neutral face.
Kang jumped, nearly dropping his chopsticks. He looked up, his face flushed, eyes wide with a flash of genuine, surprised and embarrassment at Sieun. He quickly tried to swallow the mouthful of noodles, his shoulders hunching as if he were trying to shrink into the register.
"Sieu—?" Kang coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hyung—I... sorry. I didn't hear you come in."
Sieun didn't move. He watched Kang’s throat move as he swallowed, watched the way his hands shook slightly from fatigue. He realized he had never once asked Kang how he lived.
Sieun walked to the counter, placing his kimbaps down. He hesitated, then reached into the cooler and grabbed two banana milk, he placed them on the counter.
"Keep eating," Sieun said, his voice softer than he intended. As Kang could only nod softly.
"…You work night shifts?" Sieun asked, gesturing to the empty store. He didn't know why he was asking this.
"Most nights," Kang admitted, his voice quiet. He scanned the two kimbaps and two banana milk that Sieun took. Sieun stared at him silently as if waiting for him to tell more, Kang glances up a bit to Sieun and continued, "I have to cover the graveyard shift to make rent. It’s hard to juggle, but... it’s okay. No one’s waiting for me at home anyways, so the time is mine to sell."
Sieun gripped his banana milk, the coldness can be felt by his palm. He looked at Kang’s profile—the way he scrunches his nose, the way his eyes were tired and he felt a phantom grief, the kind that reminded him of everything he had lost. He saw Suho in the way Kang sighed, in the way he seemed to be carrying the weight of the entire world with a soft, weary smile.
Sieun felt a sharp, ache in his chest. "You live alone?" Why does he keep on asking questions?
"Since I was seventeen," Kang said, his voice flat, matter-of-fact. "No family, just me. when you don't have parents to support you, you learn that your grades are the only currency you have. If I don't study, I don't eat. If I don't work, I don't have a roof." Kang shrugs.
Sieun stares at him.
"—typical college kid sob story right?" Kang smiled softly, tired.
Sieun couldn't look away, he didn't say any comforting words. Because he didn't pity him, he understood him in a way. But he felt a desperate urge to reach out, to tell him that he didn't have to be alone—but he stayed frozen. Why would he say such things? Who is he to say such? So Sieun just stood there in silence, watching a boy who looked exactly like his Suho work himself to the bone to survive his present.
"It’s fine though," Kang added, a small, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. It was a gesture so devastatingly similar to how Suho used to dismiss his own hardships that Sieun’s breath hitched. "Someone else might be struggling more than I do, I don't get to complain, really."
Sieun looked at his own hands, then at Kang’s—calloused, tired, but steady.
He’s like him, Sieun thought, the realization hitting him with the force of a physical blow. He’s spent his whole life alone, he’s kind, despite it. Just like Suho.
The wall in Sieun’s mind—the one that had held firm for five years, finally cracked. What is he doing even, why does he keep thinking the worse in everything? why does he keep holding back? why is it a bad thing to get to know Kang?
And in that store, surrounded by the smell of instant broth and stale air, Sieun’s resolve didn't just break, it dissolved.
He couldn't save Suho. But maybe... maybe he can make sure this one doesn't disappear too.
"Eat," Sieun suddenly said, pushing his other unopened kimbap toward Kang along with the banana milk as well, "I’m not that hungry anyway. You need it more than I do."
Kang looked at the kimbap, then up at Sieun. His expression was soft—so soft it felt like a caress. "You’re too kind to me, Sieun. You know that, right?"
“It’s just food.” Sieun looks outside, refusing to look at Kang’s stare anymore.
“Still—”
“Don’t talk—just eat.”
Kang beams at him with his mouth full. They ate in silence, yet it was a comfortable one.
⋆˚࿔
Sieun wasn't supposed to, he knows he shouldn't have, but… he crossed a line. For the first time again, after five years.
The hallway was crowded, the usual bustle of university life—the scent of stale coffee, the rustle of notebooks, and the muffled chatter of students. Kang was walking quickly, trying to reach the study hall where Sieun was waiting. He was breathless, but he was smiling when he noticed Sieun was already looking at him.
He didn't notice someone was walking backwards loudly chattering with a group and they collided.
It was a senior—a guy known for his family’s wealth and his penchant for making everyone around him feel small. The impact sent Kang’s books skittering across the floor.
"Watch where you’re going, you dumbass," the guy hissed, his voice loud enough to cut through the noise of the hallway. He didn't offer to help, he just stared down at Kang with a sneer, as if Kang were something he’d stepped in on the sidewalk. "Do you even know who I am? Or are you too busy scraping by to notice?"
Kang didn't flare up. He didn't even look angry. He just crouched down, his fingers trembling slightly as he gathered his papers. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice low and devoid of pride. "My mistake, I’ll be more careful."
Sieun’s eyes didn't widen, and his breathing didn't hitch. His face went perfectly, terrifyingly flat. It was the same expression he wore when he was calculating some problems—only this time, he was calculating the Senior.
Kang stood up, clutching his books to his chest. He saw Sieun standing by the pillar. He knew that look. He had seen the subtle shifts in Sieun’s posture before, and his stomach plummeted.
"Hyung," Kang whispered, rushing over. He grabbed Sieun’s sleeve, pulling him toward the study hall. "I'm sorry for making you wait, let's go?"
Sieun didn't move. He kept his eyes locked on the senior, who was still muttering insults about charity cases and trash.
The guy stopped. He caught Sieun’s gaze—a stare so cold and vacant it felt like looking into a deep, dark well. He scoffed loudly, ready to turn his venom toward Sieun.
"What are you looking at, you little—"
"He’s a scholarship student," Sieun said cutting him off, his voice quiet, steady, and utterly devoid of emotion, as he stared at the senior.
The senior froze for a second, confused by the statement. "So? What, you think that makes him special? He's still nothing."
"No," Sieun said, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "He’s a scholar, he's not a dumbass. He's actually smart enough to get into this school without handing any dirty money, unlike you."
He saw how the senior's face immediately went red, from embarassment? or from anger? Sieun genuinely didn't care, stared at him unfazed even when the said senior was about to come right up to Sieun, when suddenly a professor spoke up.
"What's going on here?"
The senior halts his tracks—his eyes turned away to Sieun.
Kang suddenly moves his body to Sieun, his back facing him as if shielding him away from the senior and all of the people. He spoke up, "Nothing Prof, just a misunderstanding." Sieun didn't need to see Kang's face to know he's using the smile. The senior was glaring at Kang now and left along with his group, the teacher lecturing Kang about something.
Sieun knew it was a bad idea to speak up like that. But he didn't feel a tiny bit of regret about it, yet when he knew something was up, Sieun always know, he isn't dumb to connect the dots.
At first he observed and observed… until he couldn't just look away anymore.
Sieun had promised himself, truly, deeply—that he would never cross a line. But when he saw the way those seniors were isolating Kang, mocking him, and subtly threatening him with his part time jobs, and his living situation and planning to get his scholarship revoked, something cold clicked into place in Sieun’s rationality.
Violence is loud, Sieun had always knew. Violence is for people who didn't know any better. Though, It's for the last resort, when you have no other choice.
But this? Sieun didn't need to touch them. He just needed to know who they were.
The library was quiet. Sieun didn't look like he was plotting something, if anything he looked like he was just finishing an assignment.
He had spent just three days observing the senior—not with malice, oh.. no, Sieun wouldn't waste such an emotion to such a person. The senior was arrogant, loud, and incredibly careless. It took Sieun less than an hour of browsing through the university’s public archives and the senior’s own sloppy, unsecured social media, other days were additional intel of other students he's hearing sometimes at the cafeteria, to find the cracks.
The senior thought he was untouchable, but he was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for anyone who knew how to look. Anyone with a brain could easily do this.
Sieun found screenshots of the senior boasting about an illegal side-business he was running on campus using university equipment, and a series of group chat logs where he explicitly detailed breaking school conduct policies—policies that carried a mandatory expulsion clause… bingo.
What an idiot.
Sieun didn’t forge anything, he didn't even hack anything... at all. He simply compiled the senior’s own words, records and actions into a single, organized document.
He opened an anonymous email account, attached the file, and sent it to the school board’s tip line.
Sieun shut his laptop, his face as flat and calm as if he just finished a simple equation. The senior had done all the work himself, Sieun had merely been the one to hit send.
He stood up, tucked his laptop into his bag, and walked toward the cafeteria. By the time the administration opened that email in the morning, the senior would be… well… gone. His own ego and his own actions having already paved the way for his removal. Sieun just simply, nudged it a bit.
Sieun checked his watch. He was exactly on time to meet Kang for lunch.
Did he felt any regret about it? no. Did he cross a line? maybe. Does it matter? Sieun doesn't care.
as soon as i saw what was behind the door, i realized which one i had really wanted to open.
page 18.
The library was deserted, the late-afternoon sun casting long, golden bars across the aisles. Sieun won't admit but it's his favorite time of the day, ever since.
Sieun stood on his tiptoes, his fingers outstretched, straining toward the top shelf. The book that he’d been tracking for weeks—was just an inch beyond his reach. He nudged it with his middle finger, watching it slide back into the darkness of the shelf, mocking him. There's no stool anywhere, nothing to help him, and he's a bit impatient at the moment.
He bit his lip in frustration. He shifted his stance, trying to get just a little more height, his breath hitching in his chest. Just a little more.
Sieun then felt the heat of a body press against his back, not forcefully, but with a presence that was impossible to ignore. He froze, his spine stiffening, he could feel it through the thin fabric of his own shirt, a sensation that made his skin prickle with sudden, confusing warmth.
A large hand, kind of long-fingered than his—reached over his shoulder. In one fluid movement, the hand brushed past Sieun’s, the skin of a forearm pressing firmly against his shoulder blade. Effortlessly taking the book, Sieun felt mocked and was about to confront the person but when he turned around, Sieun froze.
His face—facing Kang's chest at first. Was Kang always this wide before? His eyes looking over the other's collarbones, and his chain necklace… then his broad… wide shoulders.
Hm.
"Here," Kang murmured. His voice was a low vibration that seemed to resonate right against Sieun’s spine.
Kang hadn't stepped back. He had stayed exactly where he was, his arm still raised, braced against the shelf, effectively boxing Sieun in.
They were caught in the narrow corridor between the towering stacks of books. The proximity was suffocating. Kang was close enough that Sieun could see the other's adam's apple, bob.
Sieun finally looked up at his face, the words he was about to say died in his throat. Kang was looking down at him now, his gaze heavy, dark, and utterly unreadable. The way his dark irises seemed to expand, swallowing the dim light of the aisle. The silence stretched between them, tension getting thicker moment by moment. It wasn't just physical proximity, no, it was a sudden, dizzying trance. For that split second, the library faded, the years blurred, and the man standing in front of him felt like the only person in the world right this moment.
Kang’s eyes flickered down to Sieun’s lips, then back up to his eyes, his breath hitching in a way that mirrored Sieun’s own. The air grew thin, They were trapped together, caught in the gravity of a moment that felt like a secret they were both afraid to acknowledge.
The library's silence became heavy, charged, and utterly hypnotic.
It was like a line was about to be crossed.
Sieun’s lips parted, his mind going completely blank, his heart pounded with speed. He stared at Kang's eyes and down to his lips as well.
Sieun suddenly blinked, a dust must've fallen over his eyes.
Then, as quickly as it started, the spell broke.
Kang’s pupils dilated, and he blinked, a shadow of an unidentifiable emotion crossing his face before it was smoothed over by a practiced calm expression. He cleared his throat, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet aisle.
"Sorry," Kang said, his voice a little strained, though he didn't move away completely. "You looked like you were going to tip the whole shelf over."
Sieun stumbled back, his face burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the weather. He stared intensely at the floorboards, unable to bring himself to look at Kang’s face. He felt exposed, his heart still frantic, his skin prickling where Kang had been so close.
"I....I had it," Sieun muttered, his voice uncharacteristically jagged. He turned his head sharply, staring everywhere but at him, desperately trying to reassemble his composure. "Thanks."
He took the book, his fingers brushing against Kang’s skin for a fraction of a second. It was like touching a live wire. Sieun turned on his heel and walked away, his heart still hammering, terrified by how much he had wanted to stay in that space, and how much he hated that he had felt safe there at all.
Behind him, Kang remained in the aisle, watching Sieun retreat with a slow, unreadable expression. He looked down at his own hand, he sighed as he pressed his back at the bookshelf.
⋆˚࿔
Every single file from all of their shoot—from different days, weeks, almost a month really. The carefully staged compositions of empty hallways and shadowed stairwells and a bunch of other stuff they decided to take… was gone. Just a series of error messages.
The panic was immediate.
Sieun stared at the laptop screen, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The folder was empty. The SD card, which had held six hours of meticulously composed shots, was corrupted.
"I don't understand," Sieun muttered, as he ejected and reinserted the card. "I saved them. I know I saved them."
Kang took a quick look at Sieun's shoulder, "It’s a shame," Kang tsked, "But… Hyung, I told you digital was unreliable." Sieun could only sigh deeply.
"Don't worry," Kang said, his voice calm, steady, and chillingly collected.
"I knew it, the school’s digital cameras really cannot be trusted. I was worried this might happen, so I always brought my personal film camera. I shot a full roll of film on the side while you were taking shots as well."
Kang reached into his bag and pulled out his heavy, vintage film camera. He set it on the desk, the same camera he’d tried to convince Sieun to use days ago.
Sieun stared at the camera. "You… you have the shots?"
"I have the negatives," Kang corrected. He leaned in, placing a hand on the desk, effectively trapping Sieun in his workspace. "But we have to develop them ourselves. The lab isn't accepting digital prints anymore for this final phase. It’s the darkroom, or nothing."
Sieun hesitated, he barely remembers the singular, frantic session they’d had in the introductory workshop, the smell of the fixer, the way the image slowly bled into existence in the red light.
"I’ve only… done it once," Sieun admitted, his voice quiet.
Kang’s smile deepened, "I know. You were the only one who didn't ruin your negative that day. You have a steady hand, Hyung. I’ll teach you the rest."
Before Sieun could find a reason to refuse, Kang was already ushering him towards the darkroom.
"I’ll handle the chemicals," Kang murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth, confident register that always seemed to override Sieun’s better judgment. "I know this lab better than the facilitators do. Trust me." Kang smirks at Sieun so confidently that Sieun holds back an eyeroll.
The darkroom was a small, pressurized vault at the back of the building. When the heavy door clicked shut, the world outside simply ceased to exist. The room was soundproofed, no noise could be heard from outside. The only light was a sickly, deep-red safelight that bled over the stainless steel counters and turned their skin into a shade of bruised crimson.
It was a small space, and suddenly, it felt much smaller, with him and Lee kang here.
Kang guided him through every step. He taught him how to handle the film with precision, the sound of the plastic spools clicking in the dim red light. He showed him how to mix the chemicals, as they poured the developer into the tray.
"Start with the developer," Kang instructed, his voice hovering just over Sieun’s shoulder.
Sieun fumbled with the tongs, his movements stiff. He felt like he was being studied. Kang moved around him, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the walls, making him seem larger, more imposing.
"You’re holding it wrong," Kang murmured, softly.
He didn't wait for Sieun to adjust. He reached over, the scent… kinda vinegary filled the tiny space, but the scent of something woody.. something Kang, coating the back of Sieun’s throat. He placed Sieun’s hands over the tongs, his own fingers interlacing with Sieun’s to guide the movement.
"Gentle," Kang breathed into the shell of his ear. His fingers, warm warm so warm. interlaced with Sieun’s, steering the tongs in a slow, circular pulse.
"Back and forth, yeah just like that… now, watch the light." Sieun tried to focus, totally not affected by Kang's voice.
Sieun then watched, mesmerized, as the image began to emerge in the liquid. He was so focused on the photograph that he didn't realize how close Kang had moved. Kang’s chest was pressed against his back, his chin closely but not yet resting near Sieun’s shoulder.
Sieun kept his faze passive.
"You're…. really well known in this area." Sieun felt…. very small. Even his voice felt small when it left his lips, Sieun could only grimace internally.
"I’ve spent a lot of time in here, Hyung. usually alone." He turned his head, his dark eyes reflecting the red glow, pinning Sieun in place.
Sieun felt a shiver trace his spine. He tried to pull his hand back, but Kang’s fingers stayed locked over his, guiding the tongs in a slow, circular motion.
"See that?" Kang pointed to the emerging shadows on the print. "That’s the absence. That’s what we’re chasing."
For the next two hours, the outside world didn't exist. There was only the rhythmic slosh of the fixer, the ticking of the clock, and Kang’s low, instruction-filled voice. Every time Sieun turned, he was inches away from Kang, whose intense, lingering stares were beginning to feel like a physical weight on his shoulders.
Kang was guiding him, correcting his grip, adjusting his stance—always moving into Sieun’s space, always ensuring that in this room of red shadows, Sieun had nowhere to look but at him.
"You're learning fast," Kang said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to echo in the small room. He stepped even closer, his arm brushing against Sieun’s back as he reached to adjust the timer. And finally, finally moved away.
Sieun could finally exhale softly, when Kang backed up. He didn't knew he started to hold his breath from the start when Kang held his hands.
the door to his heart.
page 19.
Without meaning to, they started to walk together to the university. Started to ride the subway together, to school and back home. Not always, no, but enough to get used to it. Somehow, at times… Kang is just there randomly whenever Sieun comes in, comes out of the subway. They do ride the same subway either way, it's bound to happen.
They also eat together at lunch, sometimes… much to Sieun's refusal, when both of their schedules collide Kang makes him come with. They also work on their assignments at the library in a comfortable silence. And when they work on their photography project, they talk, about a lot of things, even if it's not about the project itself. It felt surreal, but Sieun was accepting the things little by little.
The library was quiet, save for the rhythmic turning of pages. Sieun was staring at a textbook, but his mind had drifted, suddenly focused to the person sitting across from him.
Kang was focused on his own work, his brow slightly furrowed, his jaw set in a line of quiet determination. The afternoon light slanted through the window, catching the sharp angles of his face.
Sieun felt a strange, feeling in his stomach.
Yet, every single time, no matter how many times Sieun looks at Kang. His mind betrayed him, sliding backward into a memory he usually kept locked away.
Suho.
Suho wasn't like this, but some similarities aline. Suho, who would sit for hours with a book? maybe with a comic, but a literature one? that would be impossible. If it was manga, he would definitely look like Kang right now, his entire world narrowing down to the words on the page with his eyebrows furrowed so adoringly. Suho, who had that same infuriating, wonderful habit of looking up at just the right moment, as if he could feel Sieun’s gaze on him.
Kang looked up.
He didn't jump. He didn't look startled. He just met Sieun’s eyes, his expression softening instantly into that familiar, easy warmth. "Need something, Hyung?"
Sieun blinked, the phantom image of Suho flickering and dissolving like smoke. "No. Just... thinking."
"You do that a lot," Kang said, his voice light. He leaned back, the chair creaking. "You have this look, like you’re trying to remember something that isn't there anymore."
Sieun felt a chill crawl down his spine, but he masked it with a shrug.
Kang smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes—not quite. It was a calculated, beautiful thing. "If it’s worth remembering, I’m sure it’ll come back to you. If it’s not, maybe it’s better that it’s gone."
Sieun stared at him. The way Kang said that—the quiet authority, the subtle way he offered to forget—it was unnervingly similar to the way Suho used to anchor him when the world felt too heavy. Suho had been his safety. Suho had been the only one who didn't demand anything from him.
But Suho was gone.... and Kang was… here.
He watched Kang return to his notes. The tilt of his head, the way he brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, the absolute stillness of his posture... it was a mirror image.
But as he watched Kang, he realized that Kang wasn't just similar to Suho. He was everything Suho had been, it was making Sieun's brain go crazy.
It was a terrifying thought. If Suho had been the light he once knew, was Kang the shadow that had replaced it?
"You're staring again," Kang murmured, not looking up from his paper. His voice was soft, devoid of any bite.
Sieun looked down at his own hands, biting his lips. Why is he so distracted?
Kang huffs a smile and reached across the table, his fingers lingering on the edge of Sieun’s notebook, just a fraction of an inch from Sieun’s hand. "I don't mind. I like being the only person you look at."
Sieun didn't pull away. He couldn't. The familiarity—the ghost of a presence he’d lost... was too intoxicating. He let himself stay in the silence, convinced that he had found a piece of his past, never realizing that he was actually falling deeper into a trap laid by the only person who truly knew how much he missed being saved.
Does he deserve this? Does he deserve to be selfish?
Was it selfish to want, even just a little bit?
⋆˚࿔
The darkroom's safelight—that singular, insistent pulse of deep, blood-red were beginning to give Sieun a migraine. He had been staring at the same contact sheet for an hour, his stomach doing that familiar, hollow ache, a protest against the lack of food he had ignored for the last twenty-four hours. Every time he blinked, the red imprint lingered, a ghostly crimson smear burned into his vision.
"It’s lunchtime, Hyung," Kang said, his voice cutting through the hum of the enlarger.
Sieun didn't look up. "I’m almost done with this, you can go, I don't need lunch."
"You haven't eaten since yesterday. I checked your backpack earlier when you went to the restroom, the granola bar I put in there is still untouched."
Sieun froze, his hand hovering over the chemical tray. He turned slowly, his eyes blinking. "…what?"
Kang didn't looked bothered at Sieun's question. He looked concerned, his brow furrowed in that soft, puppy-eyed way that always made Sieun’s resolve feel like it was melting. "I’m worried, Hyung. You’re shaking. Your hands aren't steady enough to handle the film. If you ruin this shot because you’re lightheaded, we’re both going to fail the assignment."
It was a logical argument. It was the kind of thing Sieun couldn't fight. Suddenly he forgot what Kang confessed, just now. Sieun is starting to hate the color red now.
"I’m not hungry," Sieun insisted, trying to turn back to his work.
But Kang was already moving. He wasn't aggressive, but he was persistent. He stepped into Sieun’s personal space, his hand firm on Sieun’s shoulder. He didn't pull, he just guided, his presence acting like a physical barrier between Sieun and the darkroom.
"Come on," Kang urged, his voice dropping to a low, coaxing murmur. "The cafeteria has those pork cutlets you used to like. Just come sit with me. You don't even have to eat if you don't want to. Just... be there."
Sieun tried to sidestep him, his heart rate spiking with the sudden urge to run—to bolt for the exit and lock himself in his apartment. But Kang was faster, his arm sliding around Sieun’s back, not quite a hug, but a firm, inescapable tether.
"You're running away again," Kang whispered, his breath hitting Sieun’s ear. "Why are you always so afraid to be taken care of?"
Sieun’s breath caught. He felt small, trapped, and for some reason, he couldn't find the strength to push Kang away. The exhaustion had hollowed him out, leaving him open, and Kang was moving into that space like water filling a crack.
He just noticed that Kang could really just push him around, the kid was actually bigger than him and he thought he’s all skinny but he’s not.
"I'm not," Sieun lied, his voice barely a whisper.
"Prove it," Kang challenged gently. "Stay. Just for lunch."
Before Sieun could muster a protest, he was being ushered out of the darkroom. He found himself walking toward the cafeteria his eye squinting from the light outside, Kang’s hand still hovering near the small of his back, a constant, grounding weight.
When they got to the cafeteria, it was packed. Kang steered him toward a table in the back, pulled out a chair, and effectively blocked him in.
"Sit."
Sieun sat, his posture rigid. A moment later, a tray appeared in front of him. A hot, steaming plate of pork cutlet, a bowl of rice, and a glass of water.
"Eat," Kang said, picking up his own spoon. Glanced back at Sieun, "—please."
Sieun stared at the food. The smell was overwhelming, he felt a wave of nausea, but beneath it, the primal, aching hunger he’d been ignoring for days finally came to life.
"I—" Sieun said, his voice tight.
"—You can," Kang replied, his eyes dark and unwavering. He picked up a piece of the cutlet with his own spoon and held it out, hovering it just inches from Sieun’s lips.
"Just eat a spoon or two... It’ll be fast before you know it—and we can continue doing the rest for the project."
Sieun looked at the spoon, then at Kang. He felt a weird, twisted sense of surrender. He took it with his own spoon, not letting kid feed him like a child.
The taste was intense, almost too much for his system to handle, but the feeling of being looked after was stronger. It was like being anchored to the earth by a heavy chain.
"Good?" Kang asked, his smile impossibly sweet.
Sieun nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the table. He felt like he was being dissolved.
It’s just lunch, he told himself, even as he reached for the spoon to feed himself. It’s just lunch.
But as he ate, he didn't notice that Kang wasn't really eating. He was just watching, his gaze soft yet sternly, as if he were memorizing exactly how Sieun looked while he was finally, finally being vulnerable at him.
⋆˚࿔
The darkroom was the same as usual, silent. Kang had been gone for twenty minutes, leaving Sieun alone with the enlarger.
“Just keep the exposures consistent,” Kang had instructed, his voice hovering in Sieun’s memory. “If you need to look at the samples I set aside, they’re in the blue folder on the left.”
Sieun was getting the hang of it. The process was meditative.. all light, timing, and liquid. He checked the blue folder first, seeing the crisp, professional shots of campus architecture Kang had printed. He studied them, comparing the contrast, and then moved to clean up the workspace.
His sleeve caught the edge of a different folder—a black, battered one tucked far back on the shelf, behind a stack of spare paper. It slid forward, spilling its contents across the workbench.
Sieun knelt to gather them. Most were just test shots, blurry views of a hallway, a finger over a lens, a stray shot of a vending machine.
Then, his fingers froze.
It was a portrait. A singular, candid shot of himself, taken from across the campus courtyard during the golden hour. In the photo, Sieun was looking up at the trees, his expression uncharacteristically soft, almost wistful.
He didn't remember this moment.
Sieun stared at it, longer.
Logically, he should have been repulsed. He hated being the subject of any lens; he hated the idea of being captured without his consent. But the image was… beautiful. The light was perfect, and the way it caught the angle of his face made him look like someone worth watching.
He didn't hate it. That was the most unsettling part. He felt a quiet, traitorous hum of warmth in his chest. He looks… peaceful, Sieun thought. He tucked it back into the pile with the other random shots, his heart rate steadying. It’s just a photo. Everyone takes random shots in a studio.
The door opened. The sharp click of the latch echoed through the darkroom.
Kang stepped in, carrying a bag of fresh chemicals and printing supplies. He looked at the workbench, then at Sieun, his eyes tracking the black folder that was now slightly out of place.
"Did you check the samples I left, Hyung?" Kang asked, his voice steady. "The ones in the blue folder?"
Sieun didn’t look at him. So he didn’t saw the way Kang’s eyes flickered toward the black folder, gauging, calculating.
Sieun didn't hesitate. He adopted a look of mild, exhausted disinterest.
"Yeah," Sieun said, his voice flat. "Everything looks fine. The contrast is perfect on the campus shots."
Kang walked over, his eyes lingering on the black folder for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "And… the others? Did you see anything you liked?"
Sieun stood up, stepping away from the bench, giving Kang enough room to work. He acted as if the folder contained nothing but trash.
"It’s all just test shots, right?" Sieun said, shrugging. "I’m not really a photographer. you’re the one with the eye for this, why don't you just choose what you want to use for the project? …..I trust your judgment."
He turned his back to Kang, pretending to be doing something, hiding the fact that his pulse was beginning to race.
Behind him, he heard the soft thud of the folder being picked up. There was a pause—a long, heavy silence where he felt Kang’s gaze boring into the back of his neck.
"If that’s what you want, Hyung," Kang finally said, his voice sounding oddly satisfied. “I’ll handle the selection."
Sieun stared into the red darkness of the darkroom, his heart racing a bit, completely ignoring the elephant in the room. There's nothing weird with that? It's just a random photo. Sieun stood there, wrapped in the familiar, suffocating safety of the dark.
He just wanted to finish the project. But the tension on the room is quite suffocating.
"You choose. I’m just gonna go buy some drink for us." Sieun said, his voice barely a whisper, and hurriedly left the room.
Our meeting was a coincidence, but us becoming close was not.
page. ???
The professor’s office had been a quick visit. It had taken a single, quiet talk with the teacher, to ensure that, by near the end of the workshop, Lee Kang and Yeon Sieun would be assigned as partners.
Kang could make anyone be persuaded. Kang had never felt the need to use it before. He had spent his life just observing, finding no one worth the effort of acquisition.
Until Sieun.
There's no such thing as crossing a line for him. There's no line. What line?
Back in the darkroom, the air was thick with the scent of developer and the thrill of the hunt. Kang walked back in with the supplies, his pulse thrumming in his throat. When he saw the black folder pushed out of place, a surge of adrenaline sharpened his senses.
Sieun saw it.
He saw the way Sieun’s hand had hovered over the print. He saw the flicker of curiosity, the flash of realization, and then—the most delicious part—the way Sieun had chosen to look away.
Sieun was feigning ignorance. He didn't mind.
Kang’s hands were shaking as he set the chemicals down.
His skin felt like it was on fire.
Every time he stood near Sieun, every time he caught the faint, clean scent of the other boy’s shampoo, his restraint stretched to the point of snapping. He wanted to reach out, he wants to sniff all of Sieun, to drag his fingers through that dark hair, to press Sieun against the cold metal of the enlarger and prove, once and for all, that he wasn't alone. Kang was seething, he wanted to do everything, everywhere at once, he could—fuck.
No. That was the mistake of an amateur.
Patience, Kang. Patience.
When Sieun told him to choose the photos, to take the lead, to decide for him—Kang felt a dark, triumphant bloom of heat in his chest. He was letting him choose. Sieun was handing over his autonomy, piece by piece, trust by trust.
Kang stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the nape of Sieun’s neck. He forced his breathing to stay rhythmic, cool, and composed. His blood was boiling, his every nerve ending screaming for physical contact, but he kept his hands tucked firmly into his pockets.
He leaned in, just close enough for Sieun to feel the heat radiating off him, but not close enough to trigger the flight response he was still trying to carefully dismantle.
He wants to fucking bite Sieun’s neck so bad. He wants to bend—
Kang mentally slapped himself.
"I'll handle the selection," Kang murmured, his voice sounding steady, even though his heart was a riot in his chest. "You just focus on... resting, Hyung."
He watched the way Sieun’s shoulders slumped, the way the tension drained out of his posture in response to the suggestion. And how Sieun immediately left the room.
Kang turned back to the workbench, his fingers grazing the edge of the black folder, smiling so widely. He would be patient. He would be the respectful partner, the helpful dongsaeng, the shadow that kept the world at bay.
But he knew how this story ended. He had already framed the shot, adjusted the focus. Almost written the best part.
Sieun just didn't know yet that he was already trapped in the dark with him specifically.
Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat
page 28.
The final results of the photography workshop were projected onto the large screen at the front of the hall. When the image—the one they had spent weeks obsessing over, adjusting the light and the shadows until it felt less like a photo and more like a memory, was awarded first place, the room erupted into applause.
Sieun didn’t feel the urge to cheer, but Sieun felt a rare, strange sense of lightness. He had spent his entire life working for recognition, but this felt different. Maybe because it's not just him. This felt like a shared victory with someone special.
Before he could even process the announcement, he felt a sudden, forceful impact. Kang had surged forward, wrapping his arms around Sieun in a grip that was shockingly tight. It wasn't the tentative, careful shy or hesitant touch Kang usually does, it was frantic, fueled by a raw, unfiltered joy that felt almost desperate.
Sieun froze. Kang is hugging him.
His arms hung limp at his sides for a paralyzed second. He wasn't a person who normally gives or receives skinship. It's not like he dislikes it, maybe? it depends—Sieun honestly have no idea. But when Kang engulfed him, with his big arms and chest and how warm the hug feels…
When was the last time someone ever hugged him?
Sieun should push him away, he should maintain the distance he’d worked so hard to establish. But the warmth of the embrace was grounding, and for the first time in a long time, being hugged didn't feel like an intrusion to Sieun.
Slowly, and awkwardly, Sieun’s hands rose. He didn't embrace him back, he's not sure how to do that yet, but he hesitantly tapped his fingers against Kang’s back, patting his back… a bit stiff.
It was the most awkward gesture of comfort imaginable, but Kang’s grip tightened instantly, his face buried against the crook of Sieun’s neck, he could feel Kang's smile. Making Sieun lost his breathing for a second. Goodbye to Sieun's personal space I guess?
"First place, Hyung," Kang murmured, his voice muffled against Sieun’s skin. He pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes shining with a brilliance that made Sieun’s chest ache. "We did it."
Kang’s grip shifted, his hands sliding up to grip the back of Sieun’s neck, his fingers tangling into the hair at his nape. The touch was burning, his thumbs tracing the sensitive skin behind Sieun’s ears in a way that felt entirely too intimate for a public hall. Sieun felt a jolt of electricity race down his spine—a mix of revulsion and a deep, terrifying comfort that he had no name for.
"Yeah.."
Sieun could never explain on how Kang looks at him, it was always so… heavy. It happened in the silence between lectures, in the hum of the darkroom, and in the crowded spaces of the campus halls. Sieun would be looking at a screen, or a notebook, or anything really, and he would feel the weight of it… a pressure on his skin, a gravitational pull that drew his gaze upward. Every single time, he would find Kang already there.
Why are you looking at me like that? Sieun would question internally. What are you trying to find?
Sieun would be the one to look away first—every single time. He would turn back to his papers, his face burning, his hands trembling as he tried to focus on his work. And he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that even after he looked away, Kang’s gaze hadn't moved.
Now though, Sieun would try to not look away.
But the moment was shattered by the workshop facilitator’s voice booming over the speakers. "And to celebrate this final milestone, we’ll be hosting a wrap-up party tonight! Everyone is invited."
Sieun glanced back at Kang again, who had a mischevious glint on his eyes—already know what the other is thinking, "No." Sieun stated, firmly, shaking his head.
"But Hyung—"
"No."
⋆˚࿔
The party was a sensory assault to Sieun, as he had guessed. Sieun had only been here for ten minutes, but he already felt his skin crawling under the weight of eyes of people who seemed to track his every move, for some reason. Then he felt ridiculous in his own clothes, the clean white shirt and fitted jeans making him feel exposed. Maybe he looked really weird? or does his clothes not proper for the event?
The air inside the rented building hall was thick with the scent of cheap beer, sweat, and rhythmic, pounding bass.
It was a suffocating environment, the exact opposite of the quiet, sterile spaces Sieun usually inhabited.
He stood near the edge of the drink station, looking strikingly out of place. He’d swapped his usual oversized, concealing grey hoodies for a simple, fitted white t-shirt and dark skinny jeans. With his hair styled away from his face, he looked… very different from his normal—an unusual look on him in a way he hadn't intended.
He kept glancing toward the entrance, like he might just really leave but then his chest aching with a familiar, hollow rhythm. If Suho were here, he thought, his gaze drifting over the crowd, if Suho... if they were still together, would he have invited Sieun as well to a party? would they enjoy it?
The thought made his heart lurch. He pushed it down, burying it under the reality of his life: Suho was gone, and he was here, waiting for Lee Kang.
Kang appeared through the sea of bodies, he looked... well dressed. He was wearing a dark-toned button-down, looking polished and effortless. But the moment his eyes landed on Sieun, the smile he’d been wearing dropped, his expression shifting into something raw, blown-out—a look of visceral, unfiltered suprise. He stared at Sieun as if he were the only person in the entire building.
Does he look weird? Was he dressed weirdly?
"You look..." Kang stopped as he breathe out, mumbling, "—retty. I might just kil—anyone who looks a—you right n—"
"What?" Sieun questioned, not hearing what Kang just said from the loud bass of the room.
"Nothing hyung," Kang beamed at him but feeling a prickle of unease at the sudden, sharp intensity in Kang’s tone.
"You look handsome." Kang said finally audible by stepping into his personal space, effectively shielding him from the rest of the room.
Sieun felt a flush of heat rise up his neck. He didn't need to hear a compliment, he thought, the embarrassment tightening in his chest. God, he can't do this. He turned on his heel, ready to slip out the back exit, when a hand clamped firmly around his wrist. Warm, it was really warm.
"Where are you going?" Kang’s voice was low, vibrating with a strange, frantic energy. He was already close, his eyes scanning Sieun’s frame with an intensity that made Sieun stutter.
"I... forgot something." The lie wasn't written all over his face yet somehow Kang knows him too well now.
"No," Kang said, the command sharp enough to make Sieun pause. He pulled Sieun toward the bar instead. "You’re staying, with me." And he beamed at Sieun. Does this kid have some personality issues or something?
Any retort died on his throat when he realized that Kang was holding his hand, Sieun stared at it, grip wasn't tight but enough to not let Sieun escape it. It was too warm, too intimate.
After a few minutes the atmosphere at the party was surprisingly tolerable. Kang had been relentless, promising that they would leave as soon as Sieun grew tired, and for once, the promise felt genuine.
"Just for tonight, Hyung," Kang had coaxed earlier, his smile soft and easy. "No worrying about any school stuff. Just you and me having fun."
Against his better judgment, Sieun had taken a cup. Kang's eye sparkled at the action. Sieun, who usually viewed alcohol as an unnecessary chemical distraction not worth trying, actually drank a cup given by Kang. The alcohol did strange things to him—it dulled the sharp edges of his anxiety and made the room feel less like a prison and more like a space he could actually occupy. He expected it to be bitter, but it was actually sweet.
Kang was… different today. He was getting giddy, his eyes sparkling with a genuine, infectious mirth that made Sieun’s heart do a strange, thud. Little by little he was being a bit touchy, and then as time passes, his hand constantly resting on Sieun’s lower back, his shoulder pressed against Sieun’s arm as he laughed at something he was telling to Sieun.
Seeing Kang so light, so lively, made something in Sieun’s chest thaw. Sieun forgot that Kang was still young, he needed to enjoy more, and maybe Sieun also. Sieun didn't notice himself leaning into the contact, actually enjoying the way Kang’s eyes crinkled when he was telling a story. He did notice was the way Kang almost spilled his own cup.
"Kang-ah, you’ve had enough," Sieun said, reaching out to gently intercept the cup Kang was raising to his lips. He tried to keep his tone stern, even though the sight of Kang staring at him with an unreadable emotion for a quick second and then pouting at him makes him the latter.
"You’re getting tipsy, and you’re already getting louder than normal."
Kang giggled, a low, melodic sound that warmed Sieun to his core. He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned into Sieun’s space, his gaze heavy and affectionate.
"Ah, Sieun-nah. Just tonight. Let us have fun, please?"
He looked so young, so at ease. Sieun felt a wave of emotions run through him. He let his guard down, letting Kang’s hand rest on his knee. For a few hours, the crushing weight of Suho’s memory didn't seem quite so heavy—because Kang was filling the space with something real and immediate.
"I’m going to grab us another round," Kang said, standing up with a playful wink. "Don't go anywhere. You might get lost."
Sieun watched him weave through the mass of students, a fond, rare smile lingering on his lips. He felt relaxed, his pulse steady.
He's just tired of it all, with all of his complicated feelings, he decided to let go, just for tonight.
Just for tonight.
Sieun leaned back against the wall, observing Kang's movement through the bar when someone gets in the way of his vision.
He frowned.
"You're the one who hangs out with Kang, right?"
The voice was grating, smelling of stale smoke and cheap gin. A senior, one of the football team's reserve players, had drifted into the space Kang had vacated. He leaned against the table, his eyes roaming over Sieun’s frame with a look of predatory appraisal.
"I’ve seen you around. You’re way too pretty to be acting all stuck-up. Come on, let me buy you a real drink. Stop acting like you’re too good for us."
What?
"No," Sieun said, his voice cold and final. "I’m not interested."
The senior’s face twisted, the mask of friendliness dropping instantly.
"Don't be a little bitch," he spat, his voice rising over the music, reaching out to snag Sieun’s arm. Sieun glared at the guy. "You think you’re better than everyone because you're a top student? and Kang follows you around like a dog? You’re just a pathetic little fag who lets Kang fuck you in the as—"
The words died in his throat.
The air in the room didn't just change; it vanished. There was a blur of movement, a heavy crack of bone against fist, and the senior crumpled to the floor, his head hitting the table with a dull, sickening thud. Making some of the glasses fall from the table to the floor—shattered everywhere.
The music didn't stop, but the circle of people around them froze and stared at the scene. Sieun didn't even saw what happened—it was so quick, just like a blink of an eye.
Kang was now standing over the guy, his back rigid. The giddy, soft and smiley kid from a moment ago was gone, replaced by a silhouette that looked like someone else entirely. He didn't speak, but his action was loud, his hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were bone-white.
Sieun stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at Kang—the boy who had been laughing and holding his shoulder minutes ago—was now definitely not smiling anymore. His expression dark, his cheek was twitching, his glare at the senior focused.
Kang didn't look back at Sieun yet. He stared down at the groaning, bleeding senior with a look of such hollow, disgust that it didn't even look human. Kang stood where the senior landed, his posture still coiled, his fist dripping with a smear of blood he hadn't bothered to wipe.
Kang looked down at the senior, tilted his head slowly—his breathing calm. He tugs the collar of the guy, body seemed spent already with just one punch, Kang holds back a scoff.
"Get up," Kang spat out, a sound that carried across the entire room, as if there's no loud music on the background, it was so so different from the boy he was talking to just a few minutes ago.
"I want you to try and repeat exactly what you called him, I want to see if you can say it while you’re choking on your own blood."
Sieun felt the blood drain from his face, when he realize that Kang continued to punch the guy in the face. Not stopping.
Sieun then scrambled up, stumbling towards Kang, grabbing his wrist—the same wrist that had been soft against his skin only minutes ago. The intensity of Sieun’s touch caused Kang to flinch, to stop. He turned, and for a fleeting second, the terrifying, unexplainable emotion on his face was replaced by a boy who looked wounded, frantic, and desperate for validation.
"He touched you," Kang hissed, yet his voice cracking, like a child complaining to his mother, "He said something disgusting about you like you were—"
"I don't care." Sieun didn't even shout but it's the loudest he has ever been ever since, his own voice trembling.
"We are leaving, now."
Sieun didn't wait any reply or complain from him. He gripped Kang’s wrist, pulling him towards the exit. Kang obeyed—following behind Sieun, as they pushed out into the cool night air, the silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Sieun kept walking, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He caught sight of his own reflection in a window—pale, shaking, terrified—and then Kang’s, which looked exactly as polished and calm as it had when they arrived.
He’s just a kid, Sieun thought, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth. He had a drink.
He gripped Kang’s sleeve tighter, clinging to the familiar fabric, refusing to look at the blood still staining Kang’s knuckles. It was all too familiar. Sieun avoided the twisted parallels, he was being hunted by a past—it was just an accident, Kang didn't mean it.
It happened again. Sieun shook his head, no. It didn't go further, Sieun breathes out—it was a weight he wasn't ready to carry again.
⋆˚࿔
The walk outside was silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of their shoes on the pavement. The night air helping a little to cool the heat of the incident that still burned in Sieun’s mind. He kept his eyes fixed forward, refusing to look at the man beside him—the man whose knuckles were still stained with the drying blood of a senior he had nearly dismantled.
Kang broke the silence, his voice tight, tinged with a desperate, frantic edge. "Sieun, listen, that guy—he didn't know what he was saying. I just—"
"Stop."
Sieun didn't look at him. He kept walking, his voice sharp and dismissive. "I don't want to hear it. You’re drunk."
"I'm not—"
"You have no idea what you just did," Sieun cut him off, his voice sharp with a mix of frustration and genuine concern. He didn't look at Kang; he couldn't bear to see the look in those eyes again.
"Do you realize how easily that could have gone wrong? You could have been expelled, you could have been arrested. You just resorted to violence over some drunk idiot’s pathetic slurs."
Kang kept pace beside him, his head bowed, his stride strangely measured.
"Violence isn't the solution to everything, Kang," Sieun continued, "You can't just do that.. Do you think a punch is just a punch? There are consequences, there are laws, you could have permanently damaged him, or he could have pressed charges, and then where would you be? You’re a student, you have a future—you can't just throw it away because you can't control your temper."
Sieun didn't notice the way Kang’s expression shifted. He didn't see the way Kang’s eyes darkened.
He had no way of knowing that for Kang, the violence wasn't a loss of control—it was a precise, calculated choice. Kang could have ended that man’s life with a single, practiced movement if he had chosen to. He could have turned that senior into a memory without breaking a sweat, the act as effortless and natural to him as breathing.
But Kang remained silent. He listened with a strange, eerie patience, his gaze fixed on Sieun’s profile.
He didn't interrupt, he didn't defend himself. He simply watched Sieun, his eyes tracking the way Sieun’s brow furrowed, the way his voice trembled with concern for a boy he thought was spiraling out of control.
Both of them were being unusual.
"Are you even listening to me?" Sieun asked, finally glancing at him.
Kang blinked, the predatory edge of his focus softening into a look of feigned, repentant guilt. He let out a long, shaky breath, perfect for the part of a drunk, remorseful student.
"I'm sorry… Sieun," Kang murmured, his voice sounding appropriately thick with regret. "I just... I lost my head, i didn't mean to scare you. I just couldn't stand and let him say that to you."
Sieun let out a frustrated sigh, convinced he had gotten through. "Just... don't do it again. You’re better than that. You have to be."
Kang nodded, his knuckles throbbing, but he didn't feel the pain. He only felt the intoxicating rush of being lectured. As long as Sieun was worried about him, as long as Sieun was trying to save him from his own impulses, he didn't care about anything else.
"I will," Kang said, his voice low and submissive. "I promise."
He walked on, silent and compliant, hiding the terrifying truth that he would have dismantled that man ten times over if it meant keeping Sieun’s attention fixed solely on him.
…
"Where do you live?" Sieun suddenly asked, his voice clipped and unnaturally steady.
Kang stumbled, his momentum breaking completely, wasn't expecting the question at all. He stopped walking, staring at Sieun’s back with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
"…What?" Kang asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Sieun finally turned around. He looked at Kang—the blood on his knuckles, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the way he looked truly, deeply worn out. The hyung instinct was the only thing Sieun had left to hold onto; if he treated this like a drunken, reckless mistake, maybe he could convince himself that it was just a mistake.
"You're clearly drunk," Sieun said, his eyes darting away from Kang’s knuckles. "You're a mess. I’m not going to leave a kid in your condition to wander off and get into more trouble. I'm taking you home. Now, tell me the address."
Kang’s reaction was immediate and unsettling. He looked genuinely rattled, his hands fumbling at his sides, his chest heaving with a mix of surprise and a burgeoning, manic kind of joy. He looked like someone who had just been given the one thing he was terrified to ask for.
"My... my place?" Kang repeated, stuttered a bit, his gaze searching Sieun’s face. Is he so drunk he can't understand a thing now?
"you don't have to—"
"I said tell me," Sieun snapped, his patience fraying. "I can't just leave you here on the street, give me the address."
Kang’s smile was shaky, his eyes shining with an emotion that was far too intense to be simple drunkenness. He took a step toward Sieun, his movements clumsy but eager.
"It's just a few blocks away," Kang muttered, his voice trembling as he reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric of Sieun’s sleeve.
As they began to walk again, Sieun felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Kang was restless, shifting his weight constantly, his breathing a low, under his breath. He kept glancing at Sieun, his eyes tracking every movement with a precision that was completely at odds with his supposed state of intoxication.
Sieun gripped his bag tightly, his knuckles turning white. He was doing the right thing. He was being a good, responsible hyung. So why did it feel like he was walking willingly into a trap? A trap he put himself to.
aut viam inveniam aut faciam.
page 30.
Sieun was supposed to just take Kang to his own home and then leave.
But before he could, Kang, was gripping the hem of his shirt, and asked softly, "Do you want to come inside?"
He knows he shouldn't, he knows, but when his eyes stared at Kang's knuckles… he nods and let himself in.
Sieun didn’t have many expectations. He never did. Expectations were just pre-planned disappointments, and he had learned long ago that the best way to survive his life, was to keep his hands folded and his heart tucked behind iron bars.
But, somehow… Kang kept surprising him. Every. Single. Time.
Kang’s apartment was… something. Sieun maybe maybe.. had a little expectation that it would be like any other college student, perhaps a bit messy.. It was better than Sieun’s—spacious, minimalist, and spotless clean. It could be the same vibe as Sieun's but atleast he had things on his apartment. Yet, this? it was too empty. It lacked the erratic clutter of a student’s life. There were no textbooks left on the floor, not much furniture. It felt less like a home and more like a high-end holding cell. It felt like no one lived here at all.
"You're quiet," a voice broke the stillness.
Sieun had no right to judge as well, maybe Kang wasn't just much at home. He was too busy with school and his part time jobs.
Sieun stood by the kitchen island, his back stiff. "I’m just... thinking.."
"Thinking," Kang repeated, the word sounding distorted in his throat. He was standing too close. He had been standing too close for the last hour, his eyes tracking Sieun’s movements with something that felt heavy, and entirely un-like of him.
"Do you have any clean cloth here?"
Kang nodded, and finally stopped staring at him like he was the only important thing in the room. Sieun used the moment of distraction to scan the apartment again, his eyes darting to the shadows, trying to find anything—that could explain the void he felt standing in this room. And he saw the closed room just near the bathroom, might be his bedroom.
When Kang came back and moved closer to him, he was unusually silent. Maybe he feels bad now? after what happened?
Sieun’s eyes traveled to the darkening crimson on Kang’s knuckles. It was a violent, ugly mark, Sieun knew too well. Without thinking because thinking was dangerous, and thinking led to the ghost of someone—Sieun grabbed the clean towel from Kang and wet it.
"Sit," Sieun commanded, his voice barely a whisper. As if Sieun's the man of the house. He moved toward the sofa, and Kang followed, when they sat the space between them felt heavy... Sieun took Kang’s hand, his fingers surprisingly steady as he began to dab at the dried blood.
"You're acting very... strange, Kang-ah," Sieun said, his voice quiet. He forced himself to sound calm, detached, the way he usually sounded when he's with Kang, "This isn't like you."
"How should I act, Sieun?"
Sieun kept his gaze fixed on Kang's hand, but the question threw him off. He's drunk, Sieun reminded himself. Sieun had to be the responsible one, the one who kept his distance, the one who didn't let the physical resemblance to someone pull him into a spiral of delusion.
"You shouldn't have punched him," Sieun said, trying to regain some semblance of control. "That wasn't... it wasn't like you." But it only came out weak, worried, and so so not Sieun.
He focused on the task, treating the injury with gentleness. But he could feel it—the weight of Kang’s stare. It wasn't the casual way, Kang always did. It was something heavier, something that felt like a physical pressure against his skin.
"You're right," Kang whispered, his voice cracking. "It wasn't like him."
Sieun looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion—and then his movements pausing, in a blink, the space between them vanished.
The tension was thick enough to choke on. Kang wasn't looking at the cloth or his hands. He was looking at Sieun intensely, his eyes blown wide, and utterly focused on him, unblinking. The air in the room felt like it was being sucked out, leaving them where the only sound was their own ragged breathing.
Sieun's breath hitched as he realized that Kang is closer into Sieun’s personal space now, his hands gripping Sieun's as he fought the primal urge to just take everything right here, right now.
The distance, inches between him and Sieun. He wants Sieun to give in, to give in to him. He doesn't even know he's being shameless. He doesn't care anymore.
Before Sieun could recoil, Kang's lips were on Sieun.
The kiss wasn't lustful, not yet. no tongue, just warm soft lips together, it felt like it was a plea. It was soft, carried a weight of something so heavy, Sieun couldn't tell. It was filled with so much yearning—so much craving, he could feel it, that Sieun’s brain went completely blank. For a heartbeat, both of them was surprised at the quick peck, but Kang didn't wait any second for Sieun to think, as he surged forward again, now, with no hesitation. His hands coming up to cradle Sieun’s face. The touch was firm, desperate, and searingly warm. Sieun gasped into the kiss again, his hands dropping the cloth he was using earlier to clean the dried blood on Kang's hands.
His lips, oh. oh. his mouth.
Their lips collided again—but now a desperate, clumsy, and devastating impact. It was getting heavier and wet. Maybe they were both getting greedier.
Sieun didn't push him away, he couldn't… instead he actually melted at the kiss. He leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut. Sieun made a low, trapped sound in his throat, his hands coming up to clutch the front of the other man’s shirt, anchoring himself, his body betraying him as he leaned into the familiarity of it. Kang’s hand shot up, tangling into the hair at the nape of Sieun’s neck, pinning him in place.
It tasted like desperation and home.
They were both trembling, a frantic rhythm of breath and skin, until the sheer intensity of it—the raw, sobbing reality of the contact—shattered the spell.
Suho.
Then, the world rushed back in.
Sieun’s eyes snapped open. he shoved Kang away with a gasp that sounded like a sob. Sieun pulled back, his eyes wide, his lips swollen and burning.
The reality slammed into them like a physical wall. The realization hit them both at the same time, a cold shock that froze the air in the room, the horror of the realization crashed over him like an icy tide.
"I—" Sieun’s voice was a horrified whisper. "You’re... we’re..."
What did he just do?
"No," Sieun breathed, his face drained of all color.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Sieun took a step back, then another, his face drained of all color. Sieun shouldn't have done that. Sieun couldn't be here. He couldn't exist in a space where his grief was being cannibalized by someone else.
What the fuck did he just do?
Without a word, Sieun turned and fled. The sound of his footsteps echoed loudly, receding toward the door, leaving Kang alone in the sterile, hollow apartment—clinging to the phantom warmth of a kiss that was never meant for him.
Kang stood there, his lips still parted, his hands reaching out to his lips where Sieun had kissed it just a second ago. He looked as terrified as Sieun felt, his expression crumbling as the weight of what he’d done—the identity he’d broken—hit him.
Sieun didn't wait. He didn't think. He turned on his heel, his feet flying toward the door, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He didn't look back. He couldn't. Because if he looked back, if he saw that face again, Sieun isn't sure what else he could've done. He fled into the hallway, the sound of his own frantic footsteps echoing in the silence.
Sieun was so out of it that he haven't noticed that he didn't taste any alcohol on Kang's lips.
⋆˚࿔
Sieun felt heavy… no, there seems to be something on his weight. On top of him—on his hips?
Sieun then felt it—warm, tight feeling. It was sucking his—
He jolts abruptly at the feeling and immediately gasps—groans at the air.
His eyes barely open, as he tries to check his surroundings and as he did—his stomach dropped.
Sieun can’t even think, can’t even move, unable to say even a word. He stayed where he is frozen—still. He is in shock but he can’t stop the noise coming out of his mouth. He might be dreaming or is it a nightmare?Because as his other eye finally opens wide, he could see him on top of him. On his cock specifically, already halfway.
Sieun choked on his saliva. He is dreaming. And he needs to wake the fuck up.
Thud.
Sieun gasps again, loudly this time.
The guy slammed down, all of his weight down on Sieun’s. The slick sound can be heard so loudly at his silent room.
“W-Wha—Hngh!?” Sieun stutters out—whimpers at the sudden action.
The guy’s breath hitches as he slammed down, shudders and bites back a moan. Though he continued to go up and down after, setting a pace and a rhythm, the sound of wet noises fills Sieun’s ear.
The creak of his bed was making him dizzy, totally not the feeling of that foreign tight warm heat that his cock is feeling right now.
“Sieun. Sieun. Sieun.”
The guy that’s riding him is saying his name like a mantra.
Sieun kept a tight hold on the pillows and his blanket. Like it’s the only thing he could do at the moment. His cock twitching and his heart pacing. Sieun can’t even utter a word—just kept moaning on his hand.
Sieun tried to glance back at the guy. He really doesn’t know if this is dream Kang or… Suho. But right now he can’t think of anything other than his brain being fried and his dick being ridden so much he might pass out. It was all too new to him, he kept gasping out.
Sieun tried to peel his eyes open, and he saw him. Taking him all in, like it’s nothing.
He saw the way he dropped his head back with a loud moan, his back arching a bit, as he moved up and down, kept babbling about something Sieun could barely understand with how his brain is not working now.
The man was getting loud, more vocal. And it almost made him climax. He was trying to hold back.
“—you feel so good, too good, it’s so hng—“
Sieun could only proceed to sob on the sheets.
While the guy kept bouncing on his cock and growling loudly. Why is he having a dream like this? And why does his cock feel it too much? Too real?
Why does this sight and feeling—doesn't disgust him in the slightest?
It was so tight—warm so warm. Sieun has never done such a thing before. He sure did try to masturbate before, but it wasn’t really his thing. This though, this is so much different.
It felt real. It felt… weirdly good. It felt like everything he ever wanted in his life that he didn't even know.
Sieun felt like he was high, if ever this might be the feeling of it. His body was dead, he has no strength to move or to push the guy. Not that he even wanted to do that in the first place.
Sieun then felt like he was electrocuted when the guy clenched hard. He felt like a wave was coming, like it’s going to pour. He trembled, his lower twitching.
“Ah—!” Sieun sobbed a bit too loudly.
Suho—Kang? smiled so affectionately at him, making Sieun’s cock twitch, a bit of tears? or sweat falling down on his face and neck.
The guy didn’t even bother to stop his movements, even kept urging Sieun to come… inside of him.
“You like what you see? What you feel? It’s all for you Sieun. It’s all for—fuck, fuck yeah cum, cum inside, i wanna feel it all—give it to me pleaseplease—“
The guy mewled—pleaded, crying out to Sieun, a bit of tears on his cheek. He looked crazy but he looks so much like Suho.
Sieun was getting nauseous. Rather than questioning his moralities and why does he dream about this—He can't stop wanting for it—for more.
“Sieun-nah.” It was a rough voice coming from his side, not from the person infront of him. It was familiar and the voice, was deep.
Sieun flinched at the sound, tried to glance over the shadow—it was...
…Another Suho?
“Cum. Sieun, for me.”
Sieun short-circuits, then the world suddenly stops spinning. Sieun screamed as he jerks, cumming so much inside of him. His whole body twitching, as he grips the sheets so hard. His back arching, his eyes rolled on the back of his head. Going limp as his breathing heavy.
The man who looks like Suho or Kang? that was riding him quivers, gasping and then giggles a bit, out of breath—and kept praising him. Continued to ride him even while Sieun was still sensitive and twitching.
Sieun might actually pass out—or wake up from this sick sick dream. Sieun could still feel it, but he was slowly losing his consciousness.
“Sieun. Sieun please moremoremore—“
"Enoug—"
Sieun blacks out.
⋆˚࿔
Sieun wakes up with a jolt.
His eyes widen and checks his room—surroundings immediately.
Nothing out of ordinary. Same books, same curtain, no anomaly. Sieun exhales, his heart still pacing. He looked down, on his pants. He was hard. Sieun shakes his head.
Why is Sieun being like this? Why would he—He ignored the feeling and got up. Glanced at the bed sheet. No wet residue, no weird smell. Of course nothing. He dreamt of it.
And he slapped himself, hard. The sound echoing all around the room. His body felt tired though, fatigue or overslept might be the reason.
His phone’s notification could be heard. He glanced near his bedside table.
It was Kang.
Hyung, are you awake yet? Let’s meet up at a cafe near the uni. I'm sorry for last night, let's talk.
Sieun sighed. How can he look at Kang at the eyes now?
Sieun sat down on his bed, his hands over his head, he was genuinely fucked.
He decided to avoid Kang, for a whole three days. He was unusually successful with it.
⋆˚࿔
"I didn't know you two were that close," the class's secretary suddenly said, making Sieun surpised.
When Sieun just stared at her in confusion the class secretary added, "You and Kang…"
Thankfully, Kang was unusually absent today. Only reason why he attended the class today as well.
"—I mean, the creative writing assignment from last week? It was so... intimate. He didn't even try to hide that he was writing about you anymore. It's almost cute how well he describes your habits, Sieun."
Sieun froze, his pen hovering over his notebook. "…What do you mean, he was writing about me?"
The class secretary laughed, dismissive. "Oh, you know, the way you blink slowly when you're tired, the way you organize your stuff, and a lot more actually... He wrote that you’re 'at your most beautiful when you think no one is looking.' It sounded real romantic, now I get what people were saying about the two of you."
Seeing at how Sieun stared at her blanky, the class secretary's smile falters.
"…wait you didn't know? oh. oh sorry, I thought it was about you because of how familiar his description of—shucks, Sieun please don't tell Kang I said this to you."
Sieun was so confused. His brows furrow, but he couldn't stop the sudden dread he is feeling right at this moment.
"It's just I thought it was a given, everyone in class talks about how he doesn't write about anything else. Just you. Like you're his only subject. Ever since semester started. Some people were even saying that the two of you were dating."
Since the semester started? Sieun thought, his blood turning cold. But Sieun and Kang didn't talk much by that time. They barely even interacted… Sieun didn't even know Kang existed at that time.
This doesn't makes sense at all.
Sieun was busy, he shouldn't have the time to deeply think about it, but he did, it didn't left his mind even from the way back home.
Came by another day, successfully avoiding Kang. As much as possible he tried his best to be silent and hide, avoid his usual ways.
Sieun is walking past the art studio when an art major stops him. The student looks at him in awe.
"You're the muse, right? Lee’s masterpiece?"
huh?
Sieun brushes it off, confused. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You really do have such a specific bone structure," the art student mused, circling Sieun like he was a statue in a museum. "It’s funny, actually. He spent months perfecting that in the back studio."
Sieun stiffened. "wait, Kang? You mean Lee Kang?"
The student clicked his touch as he pull up his phone, and showing a certain hyper-realistic charcoal sketch of a boy sleeping in a library corner to Sieun. It was him. The detail was suffocating—the exact fraying of his hoodie sleeve, the way his eyelashes cast a shadow. It was Sieun. And it was so beautifully made.
"Kang is a genius, isn't he?" the art student said. "He’s been working…ah man, i don't even remember, all i remember is that you're his muse at every art he does."
What.
"When did he start working on this year?"
The art student laughs as if he asked a dumb question, "What do you mean? Kang finished that over three years ago already."
Sieun stared at the date on the corner of the frame. July 9th, of three years ago.
Sieun stared dead at that art student. What.
As if that's not enough, the student scrolled down again, with a bunch of other art of him. In sketches, painting, sculptures even. It was a series, of him.
He felt a jolt of vertigo. again that was three years before he had ever met Lee Kang. Sieun is so very confused.
"But really, seeing you in person... it’s so eerie. It’s like you walked right off the sketchbook."
Sieun felt a cold shiver trace his spine. He had met Kang only months ago. If this was true, Kang had been studying his face, sketching his features, and molding his likeness in clay while Sieun was still a total stranger to him.
Three years ago.
The student's words echoed in his head, morphing into a low, mocking hum. Sieun turned on his heel, frantic, leaving the art student. Like he couldn't believe what he just saw and heard.
Sieun tried to ignore, to focus on his day with his pre-clinical lectures but he can't. Not anymore.
July 9th, three years ago.
He slammed his pen down, the plastic rattling against the desk, his other classmates from medical course stared at him, as he pushed himself up from his chair. Sieun needed to find them. He needed to ask them questions, to verify if his mind was playing cruel, psychotic tricks on him, or if he was actually losing his grip on reality.
He rushed down the corridor, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum, his breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps.
A cold sweat broke out along the back of his neck, he needed to talk to someone. He needed proof. He needed to find the class secretary, to ask her if she’d been joking, if it was some kind of cruel joke. He needed to find that nameless art major, to demand he open his phone again and show him the date, to prove that his own memory wasn't fracturing under the weight of sheer panic. Anything.
He had tried to go back. Desperate for answers, needing someone—anyone—to tell him he was losing his mind, he had gone looking for them.
The class secretary from the literature block was gone. When Sieun had nervously asked around, a classmate had blinked and said she’d suddenly transferred out over just the other day. No warning, no goodbyes. Just gone.
And the art student? nowhere to be found. Sieun couldn't remember his face clearly, only the way he had smiled while showing him the sketches.
Sieun was beginning to be paranoid.
There were perks of being a top student but Sieun didn't knew he would do something like this, asking for papers from the literature class, all the old assignments. The new secretary just idly gave it to him with a confused look.
Sieun looked every single paper that Lee Kang submitted.
The handwriting was elegant, loops and curves that looked like they belonged to a poet. At first, it was harmless. “I saw the sun hit his hair today, a halo of gold against the gray of the hallway. He looked so fragile, so beautifully detached from the world that it made my heart ache. I want to be the only thing that disrupts his orbit.”
Sieun glanced down, his eyes scanning the page.
“He looked at the window today for exactly forty-two seconds,” the entry began. “The light caught the sharp angle of his jaw, and for a moment, I could almost taste the silence he keeps around him. I wonder if he knows how beautiful his restraint is. I wonder if he knows that I am the only one who sees the fire he tries so hard to keep hidden.”
Sieun’s breath hitched. It was poetic, intimate. Yet Sieun knew better.
He moved to the next paper. The tone shifted, sharpening, making Sieun's hand shake a bit.
“He doesn't know I was there when he cried on the subway. He didn't see me in the back row, watching the way his shoulders shook. He thinks he’s alone, but he’s never alone. I rearranged his kitchen tonight. He didn't notice, of course. As usual. He’s so beautifully unobservant when it comes to his own safety. I’ve decided. if he won't let me into his life, I will simply become the walls of his home. I will be the air he breathes.”
Sieun’s fingers went numb. The fragile boy in the note wasn't a stranger.
He flipped faster, his hands shaking so violently he almost tore the pages. The entries became jagged, breathless, and increasingly unhinged.
“I watched him sleep for three hours last night. He moves his hands when he dreams. He looks like a fallen angel. He’s mine. He just doesn't realize it yet. Every choice he makes, every person he talks to, every breath he takes—it’s all part of the narrative I’m writing for us.”
“He doesn't realize that the world he walks through is one I’ve paved for him. He thinks he’s independent, a solitary ghost drifting through a crowds of people, but he’s never been alone. Not for a single day. Not when I was always, always, with him.”
The realization hit Sieun with the force of a heart attack.
He flipped further. A sketch fell out—a hauntingly accurate drawing of Sieun sleeping in his own bed, taken from an angle that made Sieun’s skin crawl. The caption below it read “He looks like a doll when he’s unconscious. I wonder if he’d notice if I just touch his soft cheek for a second? would that be too greedy of me?”
Sieun's skin crawled as he read further more, "He does look so ethereal in real life than in pictures, it's so much better than sketches or even in painting. The real one always wins, but I need not to be greedy. I'll settle on his pictures for now."
Pictures?
Then it clicked.
The Darkroom.
Sieun immediately turned and ran to the place.
The door to the darkroom was unlocked. That was the first thing that felt wrong, Sieun was too unfocused to notice.
Kang never left it unlocked.
Instinctively, his hand groped for the switch, snapping on the deep, blood-red safelight.
The room bloomed in that familiar, sickly crimson. But the moment the light hit the space, Sieun’s breath caught in his throat, a strangled sound tearing past his lips.
Stretching across the length of the room, clipped to clotheslines strung tightly from wall to wall, were dozens of photographs. They weren't landscapes, or anything about the empty spaces for their workshop assignment.
It was all, him.
All. single. pictures. hanging.
All Sieun.
Sieun staggered forward, his shoes scraping against the concrete floor. He reached out a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against a hanging print. It was him sitting on a bench three days ago, staring blankly at his phone, looking exhausted and completely unaware. Next to it was an image of him asleep at his desk, his head resting on his arm, captured from an angle that meant whoever took it had been standing right beside him.
Some of the prints were still damp, smelling faintly of fixer and acetic acid. They had been developed just hours ago.
"What the hell..." Sieun whispered, backing away until his spine slammed hard against the stainless steel counter.
His eyes darted frantically around the room. Sieun tried to open and search for more, he can't accept it. This, isn't real. None of it. This must be a very very sick joke for Sieun.
The folders stacked neatly inside the cabinets weren't labeled with project titles or assignment codes. They were marked with dates…. dates going back weeks, months—years.
Sieun’s hands flew to his mouth as he pulled open the top folder.
Inside were contact sheets and prints arranged in chronological order. There was a photo of him walking home from the convenience store last winter, his breath pluming in the cold air. There was a photo of him sitting in the back of a lecture hall from his very first semester, before they had ever spoken a single word. There was a photo of his apartment window at night, taken from the dark street below, framing him through the glass like a picture in a frame.
Sieun grabbed the edge of the counter, his knuckles stark white.
Sieun wouldn't dare to look at the other pictures, he saw enough of it.
He had to get out. He had to run. Why did he even came here in the first p—
"You shouldn’t be here, Sieun."
The voice came from the shadows by the doorway.
Sieun flinched violently, whirling around. Kang was standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe. The harsh overhead safelight caught the sharp angles of his face, casting deep crimson all over him, and an unreadable shadows over his eyes.
Sieun was terrified, yet he knew better than to show it.
“Don't ever speak to me again.”
The statement hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
Kang tried to stop him and Sieun just bursts out.
“You’re not him—never been, ever since the start. You may look like him but you’re not—” Sieun stops himself.
Kang only stared at him, unblinking.
“I confess, at first I kept seeing him in you, I kept…” Sieun bites his lips to stop from crying, “—kept comparing but I stopped. Because I know you’ll never be him and I—“
“Sieun—“ Kang reached out, but Sieun backed away sharply.
“Don’t.”
Kang was frozen, and stares at him.
"It's all because of him right?"
Sieun stills. What more does he know? Sieun couldn't dare to ask.
Kang pauses, his expression shifting from soft confusion to a blank, terrifying void. He grabbed Sieun’s wrists—warm, far too warm. Sieun slapped his hand away.
An evidence hurt flashed through Kang’s face before it vanished.
“Fuck. Sieun-nah.”
“I—fuck!” sudden outburst made Sieun flinch.
Sieun scrambled back, his breath hitching as he hit the wall. There was nowhere left to run. The mask hadn't just slipped, it had been shredded.
“It shouldn’t matter if I’m him or not.” Kang stood before him, chest heaving, his usual composure replaced by something wild and raw.
Sieun stares hard at him.
"Call me whatever you want!" Kang barked, the sound echoing off the narrow walls. "Call me Kang—" He took a sharp, jagged breath, his eyes searching Sieun’s face with a hunger that made Sieun’s stomach turn. "—or you can call me Suho."
Sieun’s eyes widened, the pupils blown out with shock and anger. The name Suho felt like a physical blow to his heart. His eye twitched, his knuckles turned white and–
Sieun punched him.
Why does he know Suho? How does Kang know Suh—
Kang didn't retreat. He just stares at nothing and breathe out a small laugh, and surged forward, closing the distance in a single, fluid step. He captured Sieun’s wrists again. The grip was immovable—a frantic, desperate hold of a man.
The grip was tight—deliberate, but there was no malice in it. It was the frantic hold of a man anchoring himself to the only thing that kept him tethered to the earth. Sieun was the only reason he's alive and breathing.
"Call me a fucking liar," Kang whispered, his voice hard, vibrating against Sieun’s skin. "Call me a weirdo. A stalker. A perverted son of a bitch."
Sieun stared at him, unable to speak, to move. The sheer intensity of Kang’s gaze was paralyzing. There was no apology in those eyes. There was only an absolute, terrifying conviction.
And then Kang's face changes back into a look of someone defeated, innocent and all submissive.
Kang exhales and softly pleaded, "I'll be—let me be Suho—"
"You could never be Suh—"
"—I CAN BE SUHO!" Kang screeches, his voice louder than Sieun has ever heard before.
Kang trembles, "I am, better than Suho could ever be. I can be whatever you want me to be Sieun-nah," Kang's voice cracks, deep and blunt as he proceeds to take a step, closer to Sieun.
"In the end, Sieun-ah," Kang murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate hum as he pushed Sieun slowly against the wall, hands tightening on his shoulders, "I’m still the only man who is here beside you. I’m the only one who is alive. I’m the only one who is deeply, irrevocably in love with you."
When Sieun tried to turn his head away, Kang leaned in, resting his forehead against Sieun’s shoulder. The heat radiating off him was overwhelming.
"And that," Kang breathed, "is the only truth that matters."
They stayed like that—locked in of heavy breaths and terrified silence. Sieun could feel the frantic, irregular thumping of Kang’s heart against his own chest. It was human. It was messy. And it was desperately, horrifyingly alive.
Feeling stupid with how Sieun’s stomach flutters at this.
Sieun struggled, but Kang’s strength was immovable.
“Get off.”
Silence.
“Get away from m—“
The world stopped.
Soft, warm—lips were suddenly on his. Sieun’s mind fractured. He tried to push back, tried to kick, but Kang’s hand clamped around his waist, squeezing with such force that Sieun’s knees buckled. A soft, involuntary moan escaped Sieun’s lips before he could stifle it. Kang froze, his gaze flickering with a mix of shock and pure, deep hunger. It was so so different from the first time they kissed, it wasn't anything like this.
Sieun was so touch-starved he felt his resistance crumbling. He wanted to scream, but instead, he glared and bit down on Kang’s lip, hard enough to draw blood. Sieun needs to wake up and stop this.
Kang’s eyes widened, but then he only smiled—a jagged, psychopathic grin, with blood on his lips.
Suddenly, Sieun was weightless. He let out a small, shocked shriek as his legs were wrapped around Kang’s waist, his hands reflexively gripping the man’s shoulders to anchor himself. Kang slammed him back against the wall, cornering him, and began to devour his mouth. It wasn't just a kiss, it was an act of consumption. Kang sucked at his lips, his tongue pushing past Sieun’s teeth, drinking him in. Sieun’s hands gripped Kang’s hair, pulling hard away from him, but it only seemed to incite the man further.
It’s like Kang was sucking his whole mouth, drinking all of him. He was devouring Sieun.
Sieun was getting dizzy, everything keeps happening at the same time.
“You taste so divine Sieun-nah, I fucking knew you would—“ Kang groaned between breaths.
Why is Kang acting like this is the first time he tasted Sieun?
“You feel out of this world, I wanna dry you out, lick you from head to toe—fuck!”
Sieun should be disgusted, he should feel weirded out, he needs to go away. Every touch, felt like a gentle sin and he knows the other felt it.
Kang’s hold on him is so tight. Like he’s afraid Sieun’s gonna leave forever.
“You can try calling me Hyung, if my name unsettles you—“ Fuck no.
“Or Suho—“ Sieun stilled, his eyes blown wide, directly at Kang like he said something so fucked up.
“—call me Suho, keep thinking of Suho won’t you? call me by his name, I don’t really fucking mind Sieun-nah” His eyes were dilated, like he was on drugs.
Sieun’s head is screaming at him. What the actual fuck.
Sieun trembles, shaking. He’s fucking crazy, the man in front of him is so fucked up.
“You getting hard Sieun-nah? Hyung too, want me to stop? Just say my name baby.”
Sieun’s eyes twitched. Kang pinned Sieun’s hands above his head with one palm, using his hips to grind against him. Sieun felt the friction through his pants, a jolt of raw electricity that made him want to cry out.
“Say my name Sieun-nah.”
“Fuck you—“ Kang only beamed at him, a look of pure, twisted ecstasy.
Sieun glared through tears of frustration, his body flushed and traitorous. The grinding intensified.
“Ka—mnggg!” A sharp sting blossomed on his chest. Kang had bitten him through his shirt, a possessive, sharp nip that forced a broken sound from Sieun’s throat.
“Wrong. Sieun-nah, that’s not my name.” Kang whispered, his teeth still grazing the skin.
Sieun’s head spun. The man in front of him was fragmented—a collage of the boy he was about to call a friend but it was a monster he feared.
He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.
The grinding got even harder. He feels guilty, he's guilty, he shouldn't feel like this. He's a hypocrite.
“H—Hyung, stop.” Sieun cries softly, still trying to hold it back, he’s so overwhelmed by everything. He feels hot and he feels like he’s gonna pass out.
The words were a pathetic, soft plea, but they acted like a physical blow. Kang froze. The frantic movement of his hips stopped instantly. The room went deathly quiet.
Sieun felt it then—the hard, undeniable proof of Kang’s arousal pressing against him. He looked down, his eyes widening as the reality of the situation crashed into him.
In the sudden stillness, Sieun felt it—the unmistakable, hard, heavy pressure poking into his thigh. Kang had reached his limit.
Sieun looked up, his face burning, his eyes stinging with tears of pure frustration, and something else. He was being held captive, his body was betraying him, and the man holding him was unraveling at the seams.
Sieun stared down again, his shock absolute. The man had come undone just from that single word.
Hyung. He fucking called me hyung.
He then notices late that Sieun suddenly looked down, shock evident on his face and his cock twitched.
His breath hitched, a ragged, hitching sound that betrayed his own shock. He had actually came. Just from the sound of Sieun finally, finally calling him that.
His Sieun, was beet-red, he looked like a sweet strawberry. He looks so small, so fuckable right now.
Kang’s face was drunk-like, his eyes wild. He was about to lunge again when a sharp, insistent knock echoed through the Darkroom.
Kang will definitely behead the person on the other side of the door.
He didn't jump. He didn't pull away. He simply went still, his eyes turning into bottomless, frozen pools of malice. He looked at the door, then back at Sieun. He simply breathe out, calming himself, his thumb tracing the swollen, bitten skin of Sieun’s lip with a terrifying, calm possessiveness.
"Stay here," He whispered, his voice dangerously smooth. "If you try to move, I’ll have to make sure you never walk again."
Sieun didn't move an inch.
He stepped away, and in a single heartbeat, the man who had been trembling with desire just seconds ago was gone. In his place stood something lethal, stalking toward the door.
Sieun gasped for air, his hands clutching his own shoulders, his legs wobbling as he slid down the wall. He was alone for a second, surrounded by the scent of Kang—sterile, metallic, and overwhelming—while the knock came again.
He didn't wait for a response. He strode to the door, his movements fluid and predatory. When he yanked it open, it was just a student.
"Uh, Kang? it's near closing ti—" A junior trailed off as he took in Kang’s appearance—his disheveled hair, the blood on his lip, the raw, murderous look in his eyes. The guy took a visible step back.
Kang didn't spoke a word. He just stared at the boy with such profound, icy malice that the junior immediately gave him the keys.
"I see you're busy, go ahead, sorry for—yeah. bye." and scrambled backward, turning to flee before Kang even uttered a word.
Kang slammed the door shut and exhales.
He turned back to face Sieun. The rage was gone, replaced by a terrifyingly calm, possessive focus. He walked back toward Sieun, not stopping until he was once again looming over him, staring at Sieun who's openly glaring at him, on the floor. Kang crouches down, still felt like trapping Sieun against the wall.
It took a lot, and i mean a lot, of self restraint in him to not kiss Sieun again, it was hard. But he needed to calm himself. He can't just—maybe he can but—fuck.
Fuck him. He wants Sieun so bad, it hurts.
"You were asking, weren't you?" Kang asked, his voice returning to that soft, intimate hum. "You wanted to know why I act the way I do? Why I know everything about you, why I was always there? why I always happen to be at the exact right place at the exact right time?"
Sieun trembled, his hands pressed flat against the wall, trying to put distance between them. "You're—You've been stalking me."
He tilted his head, a sickeningly fond smile gracing his face. "Stalking you? No, Sieun. I’ve been protecting you. I’ve been cleaning up your life, removing all the obstacles, the people, the trash that tried to get close to you."
He reached out, tracing the line of Sieun’s jaw with a thumb that felt like a brand. "Remember when your locker was tampered with in March? Or when that creep followed you home after the library late-night session you had? You thought you were unlucky, you thought you were alone."
He leaned in, his breath hot against Sieun’s ear. "I was there, Sieun-nah. I was always there, just out of sight, making sure nobody else could touch you."
Sieun’s blood ran cold. The weird things that had been happening all year—the sense of being watched, the way problems seemed to solve themselves, the sudden disappearance of people who bothered him—it hadn't been luck, It had been this man. All along.
"You're sick," Sieun whispered, the word sounding small and hollow in the vast, empty darkroom.
"I’m devoted," Kang corrected, his eyes darkening. He gripped Sieun’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "I spent years building a life for us, curating everything so you’d be safe, so you’d be ready for me. And tonight... tonight was the first time you finally stopped comparing me to a ghost and started looking at me."
He pressed his forehead against Sieun’s, his voice dropping to a whisper of absolute, terrifying ownership.
The adrenaline had finally crested, leaving behind a cold, hollow dread. The silence in the darkroom was deafening, amplified by the heavy, rhythmic sound of Kang’s breathing.
Kang stared at Sieun, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of his frantic, possessive heat. It was obvious he wasn't done, he was resisting. A lot.
Suddenly Sieun felt it, warm lips on his skin. Sieun expected to be ravaged—but instead, Kang kissed his forehead so softly.
????????
Then, slowly, with a deliberate, haunting grace, he loosened his grip. He stepped back—not because he wanted to, but because he saw the way Sieun was vibrating, the way his eyes were darting toward the door as if he were a caged animal looking for an escape.
Kang’s expression softened into something that, for a split second, looked almost regretful. But it wasn't regret like he’d done wrong, it was the indulgence of a man who knew he could afford to be patient. Kang has a lot of time. He desires violently—but he can wait. He didn't wait five years for nothing. He could go on for more. Fuck it.
"Go," Kang whispered, his voice startlingly gentle after the raw violence of moments ago.
Sieun blinked, his brain stuttering. He had expected to fight, to be dragged back, to be physically forced to stay.
"You… what?" Sieun’s voice was a jagged rasp.
Kang walked to the door and unlocked it—He opened it wide, the cool air of the hallway, as he exhales. like what he was doing was wrong. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, looking at Sieun with a terrifyingly calm, absolute certainty.
"You’re overwhelmed, Sieun-ah," Kang said, his eyes tracing Sieun’s face as if memorizing the confused expression he wore right now. "You have a lot to process. I know how your mind works—you need to retreat, you need to analyze, you need to convince yourself that this didn't just happen. It shouldn't have, really, you were too curious for your own good, and those people who spoke too much."
"Where are they?" Sieun’s voice cracked, raw and trembling. He got up slowly from the cold floor.
Kang tilted his head, a soft, indulgent smile curving his lips.
"People leave all the time, Hyung," Kang said smoothly, stepping into the room, closing the distance between them with slow, measured strides. "Why are you so worried about people who don't matter?"
Crazy bast—
"Don't you want to leave? I mean we could continue what we were doi—"
Sieun didn't wait. He shoved past Kang, his shoulder brushing against the man’s chest. He didn't look back, even though he could feel Kang’s gaze pinned to his spine like a physical weight.
"You're fucking crazy," Sieun spat, the words catching in his throat, trembling.
"Maybe," Kang replied, his voice following him into the hallway, unnervingly close. "But remember, Sieun-nah, you can run to your room, you can run anywhere, everywhere, you can lock your doors. But I know where you are. I know what you’re doing every second of every day. There is no corner of this world you can go to where I can't."
Sieun can't bare to hear anything from him anymore.
Sieun’s feet hit the concrete stairs, his legs shaking so badly he nearly tumbled. He sprinted, his heart hammering against his ribs, desperate to put distance between himself and the man who claimed to own his every move.
He burst out into the night, the cool air doing nothing to soothe the burning shame and terror coursing through him.
Sieun didn't sleep. He can't. Who could even sleep after that?
He spent the entire night huddled in the corner of his own room, his back against the wall, eyes fixed on the door. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the wind against his window made him flinch, expecting to see Kang standing there, waiting with that terrifying, patient smile.
He clutched his phone, his thumb hovering over the dialer, but he knew—with a sinking, absolute certainty that calling the police was useless. How do you explain that your stalker is someone who has been protecting you? How do you report someone who has been inside your head for years? Would the people even believe in him? Would the adults be actually useful this time?
Deep down Sieun knew, he knew, he can't—because it's him. If it were any other person, he would in a heartbeat, call the police, he wouldn't care. But it's him. Sieun hated how he couldn't do anything about the fact that he's not just someone anymore.
He sat in the dark, shivering, his mind replaying the feel of Kang’s hands, his warm lips, the smell of him, and the way he’d been poking through his clothes. His warm big hands on his skin. He realized then that he wasn't free.
Kang wasn't waiting for him to come back. Kang was simply waiting for the inevitable realization that Sieun had nowhere else to go.
Sieun decided to be away from school for a week. He submitted letters—emailed to his teachers. Any excuse just to not go to the university for a week—personal, or regarding his health anything really. Fortunately, they accepted. He could do things at home. Again, perks of being a top student.
Kang proceeds to send him a bunch of messages for a whole week as well.
Sieun had been ignoring him for a week now. He tried to stay at a different place, a rented out apartment for this whole week only, away from his home. Sieun was doing all of his works at two in the morning, he was back at his past habits of no eating, and overworking himself. He was distracting himself again from everything that just happened. Avoidance was his first decision, as usual.
Just as he was about to click on the document he was working on, something pops up on his screen. It was black for a moment, Sieun thought the battery might've died, but he was so sure it was at fifty percent just a minute ago.
Sieun sighs as he was about to get the charger—he pauses.
The screen lit up, and fades to black again, but then a message appeared.
Sieun
Sieun
Sieun
Sieun
Sieun
Sieun
Sieun
Sieun
Sieun
Sieun
I love you
I love you
I LOVE YOU
I LOVE YOU!
I LOVE YOU!
I LOVE YOU!!!
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
iloveyou
iloveyou
iloveyou
I love you
I love you
I LOVE YOU
I LOVE YOU!
SIEUN...SIEUN...SIEUN
SIEUN!!
YOU'RE... IGNORING ME...
SIEUN
STOP IGNORING ME
I LOVE YOU
SIEUN SIEUN SIEUN
I LOVE YOU SIEUN
DONT IGNORE ME
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Sieun immediately closed his laptop, and pushed it away from him.
His heart was hammering at his chest, his hand trembling. Sieun glanced quickly at his windows, and door. He made sure to lock everything.
As he was done—his back hit the wall as he tries to get ahold of his breathing.
Then his phone rings.
Sieun didn't need to look at it to know it was him calling.
Sieun turned off his phone and threw it away on the bed.
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz
Sieun flickered to the door. There was someone outside, buzzing his doorbell.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
When Sieun didn't bother to get up or even speak, the door is being knocked by someone. Non-stop.
Then it stopped.
"Sieun-nah... let me in."