Work Text
Seoul, December 19, 2023
Hangang River, 11:30 PM,
Jeon Jeongguk
The night air was crisp as Jeongguk sped along the riverside, the hum of his bike cutting through the quiet. The streets were mostly empty, the city’s usual buzz dulled by the late hour. He had always loved these rides—just him, the open road, and the distant glow of Seoul’s skyline reflecting off the Hangang River.And then it happened.A blur. A screech of tires. The sudden flash of headlights from nowhere.The car came out of the darkness like it had materialized from thin air. Jeongguk’s eyes widened as instinct kicked in, his hands gripping the handlebars in a desperate attempt to swerve out of the way. But it was too late. The impact was sudden, violent. Metal on metal, the sharp sound of glass shattering, and then... nothing.It shouldn't have hit him. It wasn't his fault. Jeongguk swore he had looked. There had been no car in sight. One moment the road was clear, the next, he was colliding with it. The accident happened in a blink, a fragment of time that felt both endless and impossibly short.
Jeongguk’s body flew from the bike, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.The world spun.Cold asphalt against his skin.
Pain surged through his limbs, sharp and disorienting. His vision blurred, the distant sound of the river blending with the ringing in his ears.On the once empty, dark street, now lay the wreckage of a destroyed car and a crumpled motorcycle. The faint, rhythmic beeping of a car’s alarm pierced the stillness of the night, but Jeongguk couldn’t tell if it was quiet or deafening. His mind was foggy, swimming between consciousness and oblivion.
He tried to move. Just to lift a hand, a finger—anything to reassure himself that he was still alive, but his body refused to obey. Panic surged through him like ice in his veins, and his breathing, already shallow and labored, grew more frantic. The pain radiating from every part of his body now mixed with a new sensation: fear.I don’t want to die here, he thought, his mind racing in sync with the pounding in his chest. Not like this.He fought to take a breath, but each one came shorter than the last. The beeping—constant, nagging—began to fade. The world around him dulled as though someone was slowly turning down the volume of reality itself.
And then, terrifyingly, silence. Absolute, deafening silence.Jeongguk’s eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open as the edges of his vision blurred into darkness. His senses were betraying him one by one. The cold asphalt beneath him no longer registered, and the stars above were disappearing behind a veil of black. His flickering consciousness, his fight to hold on, was slipping away. The desperate thought crossed his mind again: This was a fight I can’t winAnd then suddenly a small light, glowing in the dark. seemingly flying closer to the body lying on the street. As he lay there, struggling to breathe, the cold biting into his skin, a strange warmth began to spread through the haze of pain. The warmth wasn’t coming from the asphalt or his wrecked motorbike. It felt... different.And then, everything stopped.
No sound, no breath, no heartbeat—nothing. The world had gone utterly silent, as if Jeongguk had been ripped away from reality and left suspended in an endless void.
Isolated.Out of the stillness, a voice—soft and soothing—whispered near his ear."You poor child."The words, tender and filled with compassion, wrapped around him like a warm embrace. Jeongguk felt it then: a presence, something—*someone*—was with him. Not just there, but shielding him, standing between him and the abyss that had been so close to consuming him. The darkness receded, replaced by light. It wasn’t harsh or blinding, but soft and pure, growing steadily until it became all he could see.The light above him shimmered, ethereal and almost otherworldly, casting a soft glow over the wreckage around him. It pulsed gently, and as it did, Jeongguk felt a sense of calm wash over him, soothing the fear that had gripped him moments before.“I’ll take up the burden of watching over you from now on,” the voice murmured, firm but kind.The words sank into him, filling the void inside with something whole, something he hadn’t known he was missing. For the first time, Jeongguk felt complete—safe, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. There was an eerie stillness, yes, but not one that unsettled him. It was peaceful, like the world had paused just to let him rest.“It’s okay,” the voice whispered again, gentle and reassuring. “You can sleep now.”Jeongguk’s eyes fluttered. The fear that had once gripped him—fear of closing his eyes, of not waking up—was gone. In its place was only peace. He let the warmth of the light envelop him, and as his eyes finally shut, he felt no more terror, only a deep sense of trust.For the first time in his life, Jeongguk wasn’t afraid to let go.And there it was.Jeongguk's body, broken and bleeding, hung suspended in the silence of the night. Unseen by human eyes, a figure hovered above him.
Seoul, Present Day
Hongdae (Hongik University Area)
Cafe Sip Society
Jeon Jeongguk
Jeongguk was told he had been in a coma for a month before he finally awoke. His condition had been nothing short of catastrophic—no one in the hospital believed he would survive. When the ambulances arrived at the scene of the crash, they expected the worst. The wreckage had told a story of destruction, a fatal accident that should have taken his life long before help could arrive.The paramedics, prepared for a body, found instead a pulse. Faint, but there. Jeongguk was still breathing. Unconscious, broken, barely hanging on—but alive. It defied all logic. He was rushed to the ER, the trauma team preparing for the worst, ready to perform surgery after surgery, knowing that every second was a battle against death itself.They found him shattered—bones broken in nearly every part of his body, internal bleeding, open wounds that seemed too deep, too severe to heal. His body was a roadmap of injuries, each more devastating than the last. But no matter how grim the situation looked, one fact remained: he was still breathing. Jeongguk’s survival was nothing short of a miracle, baffling even the most experienced doctors.They called him a wonder. A miracle patient. No one could explain how he was still alive, let alone how his condition had stabilized long enough for them to save him. Every test, every scan told them the same thing: by all accounts, Jeongguk shouldn’t be here. And yet, he was."That plate was special! Get your damn hands off it!" a voice screamed across the café, filled with fury. Interrupting Jeongguks thoughts."I didn’t know it was that fragile!" came the defensive reply, laced with panic."When I get my hands on you—""Alright, let’s not do that," another voice cut in, calmly stepping between them. Dropping the broom he’d been holding and gently grabbed the arm of the person who was dramatically shouting, trying to diffuse the tension."Let go of me, Yoongi! It's time I let my fists do the talking," Seokjin snarled, his eyes locked on Namjoon, who was awkwardly holding the shattered remains of the plate.
Yoongi’s grip tightened, his calm demeanor barely holding Seokjin back. "Seriously, Jin, it's just a plate—""And you!" Seokjin’s furious gaze shifted to Jeongguk, who had been silently watching from behind the counter, frozen in place. "Don’t just stand there laughing like an idiot! Do something!"
Jeongguk blinked, startled by the sudden attention.After Jeongguk's accident, he had no choice but to quit his job as a construction worker to focus entirely on his recovery. It took him months just to walk again, and weeks before he could even move his arms without pain. Nearly a full year was consumed by grueling rehabilitation, slowly piecing his life back together. But despite his hard work, he was left with permanent reminders—scars that ran deep, both on his body and in his mind. His legs bore the brunt of it, leaving him with a limp that slowed him down, a painful reminder that he would never be able to return to the physically demanding job he once had.He didn't have the qualifications for a desk job, nor the luxury of a laid-back position. And most employers, whether they admitted it or not, didn’t want someone with his physical limitations on their payroll. He knew it. His hopes for finding meaningful work were practically nonexistent.So when he walked into the small café that day, he didn’t expect much. Just another rejection, another closed door. But then Kim Seokjin had done something no one else had: he listened. Really listened. He was one of the first people who actually seemed to care about Jeongguk’s story, not just his scars.To Jeongguk’s surprise, Seokjin hired him on the spot. Nothing too strenuous—working behind the cashier most days, maybe serving during slower hours. It was simple work, but to Jeongguk, it was more than that. It was a chance.He couldn’t help but be surprised by Seokjin’s calm and laid-back nature. He wasn’t pitied or patronized, just... accepted. And that, more than anything, gave Jeongguk a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in a long time.Jeongguk picked up the broom that Yoongi had left behind, limping slightly as he made his way over to the shattered plate. The tension in the air had dissipated now that Seokjin had retreated to his office, leaving the café much quieter. As Jeongguk swept up the broken pieces of glass, he heard a soft voice from his left."Sorry," Namjoon mumbled, standing awkwardly beside him, clearly ready to help with the cleanup.Jeongguk shook his head, offering a small smile. "It’s fine, I’ve got it."Namjoon sighed, his broad shoulders slumping a little. "I didn’t mean to break the plate. It wasn’t on purpose."Yoongi, who was now wiping down the tables nearby, let out a chuckle. "Yeah, tell that to Seokjin, not us."Jeongguk glanced up at Namjoon and said, "Maybe you could buy him a new one? There’s plenty of nice plates out there."Namjoon scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "He said it was special to him, though. I don’t think just buying a new one will fix it."Jeongguk paused, then nodded thoughtfully. "True, but it’s the effort that counts, right? At least if you try, he’ll know you care."Yoongi chimed in with a grin, "Yikes, yeah. I mean, it’s a plate, but it's the thought that matters. Seokjin’s sentimental like that. He’ll appreciate the gesture, even if it's not the same."Encouraged by their words, Namjoon seemed to relax a little, and Jeongguk gave him another reassuring smile. "Just give it a shot. Worst-case scenario, you’ll be one step closer to getting back on Seokjin’s good side."Namjoon chuckled, finally breaking into a grin. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks, guys."As they continued cleaning up, the tension from earlier fully dissolved into a shared sense of camaraderie—just another day at the café, where mistakes happened, but so did second chances.Since the café was relatively small, so was the team working there. Jeongguk quickly grew close to all of them, forming easy bonds and finding himself enjoying his shifts more and more in their company.Jeongguk glanced at the clock just as it struck 8 p.m. His shift was over.
Fridays were the days he got off a bit earlier than everyone else, a small reprieve he appreciated. He gave a nod to the others, exchanging brief goodbyes before heading to the back of the café to change. The familiar routine brought a sense of comfort, but there was always an underlying restlessness.After slipping into his coat, he stepped outside, where the cold winter air hit him like a sharp reminder. It had been a full year since the accident, and yet it still felt unreal, like a memory too distant and too vivid all at once. His thoughts, as they often did, drifted back to that night.As he walked down the street, his pace slow but steady, his mind was consumed again by the same questions that haunted him. People say that in the last moments before you die, your happiest memories flash before your eyes. But Jeongguk hadn’t seen that. He hadn’t seen his childhood, his friends, his family. Instead, there was only a light—a brilliant, overwhelming light.He had always dismissed it as a trick of the mind, a hallucination brought on by the trauma of the crash. And yet, the thought lingered, refusing to let go. Something had been there, pulling him back from the brink. Saving him.
What puzzled him most was that the other person involved in the crash, the driver of the car, hadn’t survived. The wreckage had been brutal, and there was no chance of saving them. But why had Jeongguk been the one to live? What made him different?The train arrived at his station with a soft hum, breaking him out of his thoughts. He stepped onto the platform, still wrestling with the questions that gnawed at him. He had so many unanswered questions about that night—questions that no one seemed able to answer.He sighed as he opened the front door of his apartment complex, pushing thoughts of the accident aside. His mind shifted to a simpler question—what to have for dinner.
Location: Unknown?
Time: Unspecified¿
????
More often than not, humans die due to natural causes—illness, age, accidents, or even by their own hand. It's simply the course of their destiny, the inevitable conclusion written long before their first breath.However, something has changed.Lately, these deaths no longer seem to follow the natural, predetermined order. There is something, or someone, interfering in the fates of humans, cutting their lives short before their time.The balance that had governed life and death for eons is being tampered with, and the natural order is fraying at the edges.
People who were never meant to die are slipping through the cracks, their lives ending abruptly—unseen hands pulling the strings, ensuring their fate takes a darker turn"I will send some of you to protect them, to shield the humans from this unseen threat," the voice boomed, resonating with an authority so overwhelming that it could bring even the strongest to their knees. "And while you do, you will investigate these disruptions. I will not tolerate these violations of the natural order any longer."The voice, ancient and immeasurable, was far too powerful for mortal ears to hear. It reverberated through realms unseen, commanding without question, shaking the very fabric of the universe. What had once been sacred—the delicate balance between life and death—was now being challenged. And it could not go unanswered.In the silence that followed, the weight of the command settled like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon. There was no room for failure.“To think someone would actually sabotage humanity,” someone whispered, voice trembling with disbelief. The murmurs around grew louder. Sabotaging humanity would mean undermining their very essence and their collective efforts—an act potentially more heinous than a war crime.“I will assign you some humans who are suspected of imminent interference with their fate. It will be your duty to watch over them and report back,” the voice boomed through the assembly, resonating with an authority that commanded attention. As the individuals received their orders, a palpable tension filled the air, each figure standing tall, a mix of determination and concern etched on their faces.The weight of the task was not lost on them. Protecting humanity was an ancient and sacred duty, but the forces of darkness were ever encroaching, eager to disrupt the delicate threads of fate. Each of them felt the gravity of their responsibility, knowing that even the slightest misstep could lead to devastating consequences for the lives they were sworn to defend.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Seoul, Present Day – 7:00 PM
Near Saruga Shopping Center
Jeon Jeongguk
Humans had coexisted with countless mortal beings—animals, plants, and even the elements—creating a fragile balance on Earth. Jeongguk often pondered this equilibrium, though he wouldn’t classify himself as a believer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that humanity was part of something larger, a universe brimming with mysteries and beings beyond his comprehension. That thought grew louder in his mind after his traumatic accident, echoing like a distant siren call.
As he ambled through the streets, Jeongguk found himself drawn to the window display of a motorcycle shop. Rows of sleek helmets glinted under the bright lights, each one a promise of speed and freedom he could no longer grasp. He paused, his heart racing in a way that felt foreign. The sight of those helmets stirred a mixture of longing and dread within him; they were remnants of a life he used to know—a life defined by adrenaline, the wind whipping through his hair as he tore down the open road. Now, all that remained were memories tinged with pain.
His own motorcycle, once a source of exhilaration, lay crumpled and broken, a shell of its former self. Though insurance would cover most of the costs, the thought of replacing it felt insurmountable.
He could picture the bike, a glossy black beast that had roared to life with a flick of the throttle. It had been an extension of himself, a companion on countless adventures. Now, the very idea of climbing back onto a bike sent shivers down his spine, and the thought of another ride felt like flirting with danger all over again.
With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the window, the allure of the helmets fading like the sun behind darkening clouds. He had promised himself he would focus on recovery, yet a gnawing emptiness replaced the thrill that once invigorated him. Jeongguk shook his head, pushing the memories aside, determined to concentrate on the mundane task ahead: grocery shopping.
He entered the grocery store, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Jeongguk wandered through the aisles,
he began to lose himself in thought, he nearly collided with a woman pushing a cart filled with colorful produce.
"Oh! I’m so sorry!" Jeongguk exclaimed, stepping back quickly. He gave a polite bow, an instinctive gesture of apology. As he straightened up to meet her eyes, an odd, unsettling feeling crept over him, like the air had suddenly thickened.
What...?
The woman’s face, which had seemed warm and friendly just moments ago, twisted into a scowl. "Can't you watch where the fuck you're going?" she snapped, her voice sharp and biting. The sudden shift in her demeanor was jarring, almost unnatural. Her eyes, once soft, now glinted with something cold and predatory.
Jeongguk blinked, momentarily stunned. Her entire posture seemed to change—shoulders stiff, her presence looming like a storm cloud over him. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but the words died on his lips. There was something off about her, something he couldn’t quite place, and it sent a chill down his spine.
He forced a smile, trying to diffuse the tension. "I didn't mean to—"
"Yeah, sure you didn’t," she cut him off, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes bore into his, unblinking. The longer he stood there, the more her face seemed to shift. It was as if, beneath the surface, something else lurked—something far darker than a simple bout of irritation. Jeongguk’s heart began to race, and his instincts screamed at him to get away.
Something about her doesn’t feel right.
Forcing himself to stay calm, Jeongguk muttered a quick apology and turned to leave. But as he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes were still on him, watching, almost hunting. He glanced back over his shoulder, but she was gone, vanished into the aisles as if she'd never been there in the first place.
His pulse pounded in his ears as he grabbed a basket and tried to focus on his shopping. But no matter how hard he tried, the strange encounter gnawed at the back of his mind, like a dark shadow following him through the store. Every step he took seemed heavier than the last, the air around him thick with an invisible tension. He could feel it crawling under his skin, whispering in the back of his mind that something was very wrong.
Jeongguk grabbed everything from his shopping list, moving through the aisles with practiced efficiency, though the unsettling feeling from earlier still clung to him. He tried to brush it off, focusing on the task at hand. With his basket full, he headed for the cashier, eyes flicking around cautiously as he tried to shake the strange encounter from his mind.
After paying, he left the grocery store with quick, purposeful strides, his breath misting in the cool evening air.
The sky had already darkened, and Jeongguk found solace in the quiet of the late hour. He preferred it this way—fewer people, less noise. The peaceful hum of the city winding down helped him think. The light snow that had begun to fall was gentle, dusting the streets with a soft white layer. It crunched under his boots as he walked, the cold biting at his skin and leaving his nose red, but he didn’t mind. It was the kind of chill that made you feel alive, the kind that sharpened your senses.
He walked along the snowy sidewalk, the streetlights casting a soft glow over the path ahead. His mind wandered, but every now and then, he caught himself glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see that woman again. The strange encounter still gnawed at him, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.
It had been a while since he'd felt this uneasy. Ever since the accident, his instincts had been sharper, like something inside him had been awakened—or perhaps broken—and it wouldn’t let him rest. Little things bothered him more now. A glance that lasted too long, a voice that felt too sharp, even moments of stillness felt... wrong. He had learned to ignore it, mostly, but tonight felt different.
The snow fell in quiet patterns, landing softly on his coat and hair as he neared his apartment. The cold night usually brought him a strange sense of calm, but not tonight. He picked up his pace, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with a strange, foreboding tension.
Just as he rounded the corner, a sharp clatter rang out from behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet street. Jeongguk froze mid-step, his heart leaping into his throat. Slowly, he turned around, eyes scanning the street for the source of the noise.
Nothing. The sidewalk behind him was empty, the street silent except for the gentle fall of snow. But Jeongguk couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone.
Jeongguk quickened his pace, each step feeling heavier than the last as he neared his apartment. The night air, once a cool comfort, now felt thick with tension. His breath puffed out in short, anxious bursts, his senses on high alert. He was almost home—just a few more blocks.
But as he rounded the next corner, his feet came to an abrupt halt.
There, standing a few blocks ahead, was a figure. A silhouette barely illuminated by the dim streetlights.
Jeongguk froze, his body stiffening as his mind raced. It could be nothing, he thought. Just a normal person waiting for someone.
But the moment the figure moved—walking directly toward him—his stomach dropped.
No. This wasn’t normal. The way they moved, slow and deliberate, sent a jolt of fear through his system. He didn’t need to think twice.
He turned and bolted.
His legs pumped furiously, his feet pounding against the snowy pavement. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his worst fear—the figure was now moving faster, gaining on him.
Something was very, very wrong.
Jeongguk's pulse spiked, adrenaline flooding his veins. He ran harder, the grocery bags in his hands swinging awkwardly as he tried to get away. But the fear clouded his judgment. His foot slipped on the icy pavement.
He crashed to the ground.
Groceries spilled everywhere, the bags flying from his grasp as his body hit the pavement with a painful thud. The sound of glass jars shattering, cans rolling, and vegetables scattering across the street barely registered in his mind. He winced, a sharp pain shooting up his arm, but there was no time to dwell on it.
His limbs shaking uncontrollably from the shock and fear. His feet scrambled for purchase on the slick ice, but it was no use. His shoes slipped, sending him crashing back down onto the cold pavement. The world felt like it was closing in on him, the icy ground unrelenting beneath his palms, his breath ragged and frantic.
The sound of footsteps grew louder, sharp against the frozen street.
Closer now. Too close.
He twisted around, pushing himself into a sitting position, his eyes wide as they locked onto the figure looming just ahead. The dim streetlights barely illuminated the stranger, but it was enough for Jeongguk to make out their outline. The figure was taller, their movement eerily smooth, almost predatory, as they closed the distance between them.
Fear gripped him like a vice. His mind screamed at him to get up, to run, but his body refused to cooperate, paralyzed by the terror that flooded his veins. The cold bit into his skin, but all he could focus on was the shadow creeping toward him, deliberate and unhurried, as if it had all the time in the world.
It was disgusting, Jeongguk couldnt even describe what he saw. Human but diffrent. He closed his eyes ready for it to take what every it wanted but the touch or pain Jeongguk exspected never came.
It was grotesque—beyond words. Jeongguk's mind scrambled to make sense of the thing standing before him. It was human, but twisted in ways that defied logic. Its limbs were too long, its face obscured by shadow, with eyes that seemed to burn holes into the night. The air around it felt wrong, like it carried with it the weight of something ancient, something foul. Jeongguk’s stomach turned as he forced himself to keep looking, though every instinct screamed at him to run.
He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever horror was about to come. He could almost feel it—its cold, wretched fingers reaching out, ready to claim him. He waited for the pain, for the touch that would bring with it something far worse than death. His breath hitched, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, a sharp, metallic sound cracked through the night air, like bone meeting steel. Jeongguk’s eyes flew open, and his breath caught in his throat.
A figure—another figure, this one unmistakably human—had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
A young man, no older than Jeongguk himself, stood between him and the creature. His grip was locked on the monster’s arm, holding it with a strength that seemed impossible for his slender frame.
The creature writhed in his grasp, its grotesque form twisting unnaturally as it struggled to break free.
The man’s hand tightened, and the creature hissed in pain, its pale, elongated face contorting with rage. Jeongguk could hear the crackle of bone beneath the man’s fingers, the sound sickening and final.
Something about the man in front of Jeongguk was utterly captivating, almost otherworldly. He stood there, shielding Jeongguk from whatever that thing had been, and for a moment, it was as if the air around him shimmered. A soft, ethereal glow seemed to envelop his slender frame, like moonlight reflecting off the surface of water.
Suddenly, an intense burst of light radiated from the young man, so blinding that Jeongguk had to squeeze his eyes shut, instinctively throwing his arm over his face to shield himself. The light was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, powerful and pure, as if it wasn’t meant to harm but cleanse. A strange warmth surged through the air, pushing away the bitter cold for a brief moment. It was as though time itself had stilled, the night holding its breath.
Then, just as quickly as it had come, the light faded, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. No footsteps, no wind. Nothing.
Jeongguk cautiously lowered his arm, his eyes fluttering open. The world around him felt different—off, somehow. The snow that had been gently falling was now mixed with something else, something grey. Ash? He stared at the strange flakes, swirling softly in the air, coating the ground like a delicate veil of death.
His heart still pounded, though the immediate fear had dissipated, leaving behind an unsettling quiet. The street that had felt so dangerous only moments ago was now empty, as though nothing had ever been there at all. No sign of the creature, no trace of the chase, just Jeongguk and the stranger who had saved him.
The young man stood there, utterly composed, his soft glow now dimmed, blending into the night as if he were a part of it. His expression was calm, but there was a lingering intensity in his eyes—like he'd just done something monumental, something that went beyond Jeongguk’s understanding.
As Jeongguk looked up at the man, it was as if his mind couldn’t quite comprehend the sight before him. The pale, cold light from the surrounding snow bathed the man’s figure, accentuating every perfect contour—the sharp, defined line of his jaw, the delicate curve of his neck. His hair, a soft shade of platinum blonde, shimmered almost silver in the moonlight, contrasting against the shadows that seemed to cling to him like an ethereal cloak. It was as though the night itself had bent around him, drawn to the quiet power he radiated.
There was something about him—something beyond human—that made it impossible to look away. His face was too perfect, like a marble sculpture carved by hands far beyond mortal skill. His eyes, a piercing, almost unnatural shade of blue, seemed to hold the very secrets of the universe within them. They glimmered with an intensity that both invited and unsettled, a warmth that defied the biting cold air around them. His lips, slightly parted, carried an expression that was both calm and fierce, like he was aware of things Jeongguk could never hope to understand.
The longer Jeongguk stared, the more drawn he felt to the man, like gravity itself was pulling him closer, as if some invisible force connected them. It was beyond attraction—something far deeper, more primal. He felt as though he was standing on the edge of an abyss, teetering between fascination and fear. The man’s very presence was magnetic, enthralling, defying all logic.
Jeongguk, who had always considered himself grounded, calm even in chaos, suddenly felt completely disarmed. This stranger, with his otherworldly beauty and impossible aura, stirred something deep within him—a feeling he couldn’t name, but one that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. It was as if this man had reached into the very fabric of his soul, pulling at threads he hadn’t even known existed.
“You should get up,” the man said softly, his voice smooth and unhurried, breaking the spell just enough for Jeongguk to blink, realizing he was still on the ground. The man extended his hand, his fingers long and graceful. Jeongguk hesitated for only a second before taking it, feeling a sudden warmth spread from where their skin touched.
The man’s grip was firm, yet gentle, lifting Jeongguk effortlessly to his feet. For a moment, Jeongguk stumbled, his legs still weak from fear, but the man steadied him, keeping his hand on Jeongguk’s arm longer than necessary.
“That thing,” Jeongguk stammered, his voice barely holding together as the terror from moments before still gripped him tightly. His entire body shook, though whether it was from the cold or the shock of what had just happened, even he couldn’t tell. His heart was racing, pounding so hard in his chest that he could feel it in his throat. The man, standing over him with that strange, calm presence, must have noticed the tremble in his voice, the way his body quaked beneath the layers of his jacket.
“I’ll get you home first,” the man said, his voice low and soothing, yet firm. It was more of a statement than a suggestion, as though he had already decided what needed to be done, and Jeongguk had no choice but to follow.