“The Quiet Between Us”

“Glass Cage: Part 9 – The Night They Came”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | heavy angst,

Guys I’m sorry for doing this to y’all. But I couldn’t help it. Trust when I say your are gonna need to listen to this song while reading this ok😓🙏🏻🙏🏻

⸻

It was raining.

A quiet, warm rain that tapped gently on the windows like it didn’t want to disturb anything.

The house smelled like vanilla and red wine.

The soft hum of the heater filled the room.

The baby had just fallen asleep — her little fists curled under her chin, breathing soft and perfect.

You’d both stood over her crib a little longer tonight.

Just looking.

Seong-je had kissed your temple and whispered:

“She looks like you when she sleeps.”

You smiled, eyes full.

“You say that every night.”

He just grinned, kissed your lips next, and turned the baby monitor on.

⸻

You sat together by the window, watching the rain blur the world.

Two glasses of wine.

His fingers intertwined with yours.

Married.

Safe.

Hidden.

In love.

You almost believed the world had forgotten you.

You almost believed forever could fit inside four walls.

And then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Three deafening knocks on the front door.

Too hard.

Too fast.

Too official.

You jolted.

Wine glass spilled.

Your heart stopped.

Seong-je was already on his feet.

You grabbed his arm.

“Don’t—wait—don’t open it—”

But he was calm. Too calm. Like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“Stay with the baby.”

“No—”

Too late.

He opened the door.

⸻

Ji-won was standing in the rain.

Behind him—

Two FBI agents.

Their badges out.

Jackets soaked.

Guns visible.

Outside, headlights cut through the dark.

Several cars.

People moving behind trees.

Voices on radios.

It wasn’t just a knock.

It was a raid.

⸻

You stepped into the hallway, barefoot.

And time slowed.

You saw Ji-won’s face.

Guilt. Regret.

And something like mourning.

One agent stepped forward, raising his voice:

“Geum Seong-je—hands on your head. Get on the floor. Now!”

You couldn’t process it.

“W-what? What’s going on—?”

“We’ve been investigating the disappearance of [Y/N] for over a year now. A camper in the area saw you both near the river. We confirmed the identity. We know you’re here. Sir—on the ground. Now.”

Your world cracked like glass.

The baby monitor screeched from the table.

Your daughter crying, wailing in the other room.

“No—no—no!”

You ran forward, but one of them grabbed you—holding you back gently but firmly.

“Ma’am—step aside—”

“Don’t touch him! He didn’t do anything wrong!”

But Seong-je just looked at you.

Not afraid.

Just heartbroken.

⸻

He lowered himself slowly to the floor.

Hands on his head.

The agents surrounded him.

Cuffed him.

One read him his rights, voice drowned out by your screaming.

“Don’t take him!—please—PLEASE!—don’t take him away!—”

You were shaking, clawing to get to him.

The rain poured harder.

Your feet slipped in the mud.

Seong-je looked over his shoulder as they pulled him to the truck.

And he smiled.

Just a little.

Like it was the only thing he had left to give you.

“You’re safe now,” he mouthed.

“I love you.”

⸻

You ran after them.

Screaming.

Begging.

Your body against the side of the truck as they shoved him in.

“I love him! You don’t understand—HE SAVED ME! Please—please—just let me talk to him—let me touch him—just ONE MORE TIME—!” You screamed as the cops held you back.

But the engine roared.

The door slammed.

And Seong-je disappeared behind steel and glass and red lights.

You stood in the driveway.

Soaked.

Bleeding from your knees.

And screamed.

“BRING HIM BACK—”

“PLEASE BRING HIM BACK—”

⸻

The FBI tried to talk to you.

One woman crouched down, jacket shielding your body from the rain.

“Are you okay? Do you need medical—?”

You shoved her away.

“I’m not okay! I’m never going to be okay again.”

And you collapsed.

Right there in the mud.

Hands in your hair.

Eyes toward the empty road where they’d taken your husband.

⸻

Your baby’s cries still echoed from inside the house.

The monitor was still glowing.

And your chest caved in as you whispered to no one:

“She won’t even remember his face…”

——-

Omgg heyyyy!!. Sry I havent posted in a while it’s summer and ive been busy🤪🤪🤪🤪anyway here’s a short oneshot.

——

“The Last Cigarette”

Genre: Angst / Slice of Life

Characters: Geum Seong-je x fem!Reader

⸻

The air behind the convenience store was thick with smoke and silence.

Geum Seong-je leaned against the concrete wall, one hand buried in his pocket, the other lazily holding a cigarette. He didn’t usually smoke during school hours—it made him look like he cared too much. But today was different.

You watched him from the corner of the alley, your presence deliberate but unspoken. He noticed you. Of course he did. He always did.

“You follow me again,” he muttered without looking. “I should start charging you.”

You walked closer, not bothering to deny it. He had a way of dragging people in, even when he told them to stay away. Especially when he told them to stay away.

“I heard about what happened with Banseok High,” you said quietly.

“Tch.” He flicked ash to the ground, jaw tight. “People talk too much.”

You leaned against the wall beside him, close but not touching. He didn’t move away. That counted for something.

“Why do you keep doing this?” you asked.

He finally turned to look at you, eyes sharp but tired—always tired. “Doing what?”

“Picking fights. Getting yourself nearly killed. Pretending like none of it matters.”

There was a long pause. The wind carried the scent of burnt tobacco and blood not yet washed off his knuckles.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said flatly.

You tilted your head. “Liar.”

A humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You think you know me?”

“I think I know enough.” You nodded at the cigarette. “You only smoke when something’s eating at you.”

He didn’t deny it. Just looked away again, gaze distant, as if he could see every mistake he’d ever made written in the cracks of the pavement.

“You don’t have to keep doing this alone, Seong-je.”

Those words hit harder than any punch he’d taken. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but something shifted. His hand, still holding the cigarette, trembled just slightly before he crushed it under his shoe.

Then he turned to you, really turned to you—eyes not cold, but hollow.

“Don’t say things like that,” he said. “Not to someone like me.”

You stepped closer, and this time, he didn’t flinch when you touched his hand.

“Maybe it’s time someone did.”

The silence after your words hung heavy, like the static before a storm.

Geum Seong-je looked at your hand on his, his fingers tense like a spring ready to snap. You didn’t move. You let him decide.

He could’ve walked away. Should’ve. It would’ve been easier.

Instead, his fingers curled, slowly, uncertainly, around yours.

It was subtle—barely a grip, barely anything at all—but to him, it felt like confession. Like surrender.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, so quietly it could’ve been the wind.

You met his eyes. “You don’t have to know everything. Just don’t push me away.”

He stared at you—really stared. As if he was searching for the trick, the weakness, the betrayal he was sure had to be hiding somewhere behind your kindness. But all he found was the same calm defiance that had always drawn him in.

His fingers tightened just slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

That made him scoff. “I’m not like those soft guys you probably like. I’ve got blood on my hands. I’ve done shit that doesn’t wash off.”

You stepped closer, now chest to chest. “So have I. Maybe not like you, but… we’ve all got scars. Doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to feel something good.”

He looked away again, jaw clenched. But he didn’t let go.

“You’re not scared of me?”

You shook your head. “I’m scared of losing you before you ever let yourself be known.”

That broke something in him. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just the faintest crack in the armor—enough to let the light in.

He lowered his head, resting his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven.

“You make me want things I don’t think I deserve.”

You reached up, gently brushing your fingers against the side of his face, over a forming bruise. “Then let me give them to you anyway.”

For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between you.

Then, slowly, carefully—as if afraid it would all shatter—Seong-je tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t polished. But it was real. Raw. Honest.

And in that kiss, Geum Seong-je didn’t feel like a fighter or a delinquent or a shadow in someone else’s story.

He just felt human.

“No One Else” — Part 2

Genre: Angst, emotional tension, psychological push-and-pull

Tone: A bit softer, but still haunting

⸻

It had been three days since the rooftop.

Three days since Geum Seong-je kissed you like he wanted to carve his name into your mouth. Three days since you’d told yourself, for the hundredth time, that this can’t go on.

You ghosted him. Or tried to.

No texts. No after-school meetings. You walked with other people in the hallway. You answered class questions, laughed too much, and avoided stairwells. You told yourself he’d get bored. Move on. Obsession only works if the subject plays along, right?

But on the fourth day, he was waiting.

Not at school. Not even near the campus.

He was outside your apartment building, leaning against the wall like he belonged there. Hoodie up, head low, one AirPod in like he had all the time in the world.

You stopped walking half a block away. Thought about turning around.

But of course—he saw you.

He didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. Just stared, waiting. Like this was inevitable.

You stepped closer.

“How’d you even know where I live?”

He looked at you. That maddening calm. “You said once your bus stop was near the GS25 with the cracked window. I only had to walk around the area.”

You swallowed. “You tracked me down from that?”

He didn’t blink. “You’re not that hard to find when you matter.”

You crossed your arms, hugging yourself without meaning to.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I gave you space,” he said. “Four days of it. Didn’t like it.”

You stared him down. “That wasn’t a gift, Seong-je. That was me trying to figure out how to breathe again.”

He studied your face. Quiet. Thoughtful. Too quiet.

“Did you figure it out?” he asked. “How to breathe without me?”

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

He stepped forward slowly, until there were only inches between you.

“I thought about you every day,” he said, voice like gravel. “Every hour. And not just in the cute, high-school crush kind of way. I imagined knocking on your door and asking who was in your house. I imagined dragging your phone out of your hands to see who you were texting. I imagined hurting anyone who made you laugh like you used to laugh with me.”

You flinched.

He saw it. And didn’t back down.

“I’m not the good guy,” he said. “I don’t want to be.”

“Then what do you want?” you whispered.

His hand moved—slow, deliberate—and landed over your heart. Not touching skin. Just hovering.

“This,” he said. “Yours. Mine. I don’t care how ugly it is, I just want it beating where I can see it.”

You looked away. Voice shaking.

“You can’t control me forever.”

“I don’t need forever,” he said. “I just need right now.”

He leaned in again. Not for a kiss. For a breath. As if breathing the same air kept you tethered.

You stood still. Not forgiving. Not forgetting.

Just… stuck.

Because love shouldn’t feel like drowning.

But sometimes obsession wears the same face.

I wanted to request for Sieun x high functioning depressed female reader.

“You’re Still Here”

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x fem!Reader

Theme: Comfort | Emotional Intimacy | Hurt/Comfort | Slice of Life

⸻

It’s not easy to explain to people why you’re tired all the time.

You get up. You show up. You speak when spoken to. You get the grades. You smile just enough. You reply to texts with just the right tone that no one notices you drifting further away in your own mind.

No one, except Si-eun.

He doesn’t pry.

That’s the scariest part.

He just knows.

You’re sitting in the quiet corner of the school library, cheek resting against your fist, eyes glazed over a page you’ve reread four times without registering a word. You’re supposed to be taking notes. The pen sits still in your hand, ink bleeding faintly onto the page where your grip is just a bit too tight.

Then, you feel it.

The shift of air. The quiet footstep. The presence.

Si-eun slides into the seat across from you without saying anything, placing a bottle of banana milk and a protein bar on your notebook like it’s a normal Tuesday thing. Like he knows you haven’t eaten anything solid since yesterday afternoon.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Your throat aches at how gently he speaks. Like he’s afraid to break something in you that’s already barely holding.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for the bottle. He watches, eyes steady, calculating—not judging—and then pulls out his own book, opening it silently. As if to say: You don’t need to talk. I’m just here.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. You finally begin writing again. Slower than usual, but it’s something. He’s still reading, occasionally scribbling in his notebook, and not once does he look impatient.

After some time, you whisper, “I don’t think I’m okay.”

Si-eun doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fumble. He looks up, meeting your tired eyes with those calm, unreadable ones of his.

“I know,” he says. “But you’re still here.”

The words hit somewhere deep in your chest.

You let out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I don’t even know why. It’s like I’m…running on fumes. Like I’m surviving by accident.”

His hand moves across the table. It lands near yours—not touching, just close enough.

“I don’t think you’re a burden,” he says quietly, almost too quiet for anyone else to hear. “And I don’t care if you don’t have the energy to be ‘fine’ every day. You’re still… you.”

You close your eyes.

You’ve cried alone before—into pillows, into showers, into the dark silence of your room—but this feels different. You’re not crying yet, but your chest is finally exhaling.

Safe. That’s what he gives you without even trying.

You whisper, “Why do you stay?”

He tilts his head, like he’s confused by the question.

“Because I care. Isn’t that enough?”

You nod. Just barely. And then, almost timidly, you reach your hand out. His fingers curl around yours slowly, naturally, like it was always meant to happen this way.

And in that quiet library, surrounded by fluorescent lights and the scent of old textbooks, you find something rare.

Not a solution. Not a sudden burst of happiness.

But something softer.

A hand to hold in the dark.

Someone who sees the version of you you’re too tired to perform.

“Just You, Just Me”

Geum Seong-je x fem!Reader

Smut | Soft possessive | Explicit

*They had a first round and he goes back for another*

⸻

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breaths evening out, skin still slick with heat, your bodies tangled under the sheets.

Seong-je lay on his side, one arm draped across your stomach, his fingers tracing lazy circles just above your navel. His lips brushed your shoulder — light, like he was barely touching you.

You thought he’d fall asleep like that. But then—

His voice, rough, low:

“You’re too good for me.”

You blinked at the ceiling, heart slowing but full. “What?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just shifted closer. His mouth found your jaw, then your throat, tracing the edge of it with deliberate slowness. You felt his breath fan across your skin as he whispered, “I’m not done with you.”

Your body reacted instantly — heat pooling low, thighs pressing together beneath the sheets. He pulled the blanket down just enough to expose your chest, his eyes darkening at the sight of you bare beneath him again.

His voice dipped, rough with that edge only you got to hear.

“I want to take my time this time.”

His lips found your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucked — slow, teasing. One hand slid between your thighs, already finding you soft and wet again.

“Still so ready for me,” he murmured with a smirk, kissing lower now, down your stomach, until he was between your legs.

“Seong-je—” your voice broke as his tongue dragged up your center, gentle at first, then deeper, more focused. One arm slid under your thigh to pull you closer to his mouth.

He moaned softly against you. “Taste so good. Could stay here forever.”

Your hands tangled in his hair as your hips bucked, but he held you steady, savoring you, taking his time. His tongue moved slow but confident, lips wrapping around your clit just right — until you were trembling, back arching, eyes fluttering shut.

When he finally pulled back, he licked his lips like he was addicted.

He moved up your body, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re shaking.”

You nodded, breathless. “You’re unreal.”

He chuckled, low and satisfied. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

This time, he slid into you slowly — deep, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every second. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, anchoring him closer.

He kissed you through it, lips slow and open-mouthed, swallowing every gasp, every moan.

His thrusts were smoother now — not rough, but deep. Intimate. You could feel every inch of him, and it made your head spin.

He held your face in one hand as he rocked into you, watching your expression, whispering, “Look at me… I want to see you fall apart.”

You tried to look away, but he caught your jaw gently.

“No hiding. Not with me.”

And you didn’t. You gave him everything — every breathless cry, every broken moan, every pulse of your body around him as you spiraled over the edge a second time, tighter, hotter, deeper than the first.

He followed fast after, with a low, guttural groan, hips stilling deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours as he let himself go.

You lay there, breath tangled in his, hearts thudding together in the dark.

His thumb stroked your cheek, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Only you do this to me.”

You smiled, exhausted but full. “Good.”

He chuckled, brushing your hair back.

“You gonna survive round three later?” he teased.

You narrowed your eyes, barely holding back a grin. “Only if you keep looking at me like that.”

He leaned in, kissed your nose.

“Oh, I will.”

“The Way He Stays”

You sat on the steps of the old gym, chin tucked into your knees, shivering beneath your school jacket. Everyone had gone home hours ago. You hadn’t. Couldn’t.

There were too many voices in your head, and none of them were kind.

Then, like a ghost conjured from the fog, he was there. Geum Seong-je. His hair damp, hands buried in his pockets, the collar of his uniform sharp against his throat.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

He never did.

Instead, he sat beside you — not touching, but close enough that your shoulders almost brushed. Close enough that his warmth bled through the space between your bodies like quiet reassurance.

“Did you eat?” he asked after a while.

You shook your head.

He clicked his tongue, pulled out a crumpled bag of snacks from his pocket, and shoved it toward you.

You didn’t take it.

He didn’t care. He opened the bag, pulled out a piece, and held it to your lips. His fingers hovered, waiting. Not forceful, just patient.

You opened your mouth.

“You always do this,” you said between bites.

“What?”

“Show up. Stay.”

He didn’t answer. But he turned his face slightly toward you, rain dripping from his lashes, and in the curve of his mouth there was something unspoken — something you’d never seen him give to anyone else.

“You scare people,” you whispered. “But not me.”

“Should I?” he asked, gaze steady.

“No.”

You reached for his hand. He let you. His fingers were rough, cold — but they closed around yours with surprising gentleness.

“You make it hard to breathe,” you admitted, “but I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

A beat passed.

Then: “You think I don’t feel it too?”

His voice was quiet. Uncertain, for once.

You looked up. His eyes — guarded, always — had softened. Just for you. Only for you.

And when he leaned in, his kiss wasn’t desperate. It was slow. Careful. Like he was afraid you might vanish.

But you didn’t.

You kissed him back.

Because no one had ever stayed the way he did. Silent. Solid. Unshakable. And in his broken, bruised way, Geum Seong-je loved you more fiercely than anyone else ever could.

No one knew.

Not your friends. Not his crew. Not even na baek Jin, and he knew everything about everyone.

You were Geum Seong-je’s secret — and somehow, that made you feel more important, not less. He didn’t hide you out of shame. He hid you because he was possessive. Because the world didn’t deserve to look at you the way he did.

“Someone’s gonna see,” you whispered.

“Let them,” he said, voice low. “I’ll break their jaw.”

You laughed, soft against his skin. “You can’t fight everyone.”

“Yes I can.”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah?” His hand slid up your back, fingers grazing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. “But you keep crawling back.”

“Because I’m just as bad as you,” you said, grinning.

But then the grin faded — because you saw it. That flicker in his eyes. The one that only showed when he was afraid of losing you, even if he’d never say it out loud.

“Hey,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t speak. Just pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in like he needed you to survive.

There was so much he never said — but he didn’t have to.

It was in the way he’d always stand behind you without a word, always watching, always ready. The way his hands only ever shook when they touched your skin. The way he kissed you like it hurt — like loving you scared the hell out of him.

You brushed your lips against his. He kissed you back slowly, fingers gripping your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, barely audible.

“I know.”

“And I’m yours,” he added, like a confession.

Your chest tightened.

This boy — this violent, guarded, impossible boy — didn’t just want you. He needed you. And you needed him, in all the dangerous, destructive ways that made no sense.

But in the quiet?

He was soft.

And in secret?

He was yours.

“No One Else”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader

Genre: Angst, possessiveness, obsession, unresolved tension

Setting: Post-Class 2 events, dark school rooftops and quiet apartments

⸻

You shoved his hand off your wrist for the third time that night.

“Geum Seong-je,” you snapped. “You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to act like this.”

His eyes flickered. Not wide, not surprised—but focused. Too focused. Like a lion watching prey try to limp away.

“Don’t call me by my full name like that,” he said, stepping forward. His voice wasn’t loud, but it tightened the air between you.

“Why not? That’s your name, isn’t it? Or should I start calling you what people actually say behind your back?”

He raised a brow. “You think I care what people say?”

“You care when I say it.”

That shut him up, for a beat. And that silence felt more dangerous than any insult he could throw.

You folded your arms, already regretting coming up to the rooftop with him. He’d cornered you at the stairwell after your last class, asking—no, demanding—a word. Always when no one else was around. Always when it would be easier to just nod and let him have his say.

You should’ve said no.

“You were with him again,” Seong-je said finally, his voice low. “You know who I mean.”

You blinked. “Are you seriously bringing this up again? He’s a friend. A normal friend.”

“Normal? You think that guy’s not waiting for you to give him one smile and climb into his lap?”

You stepped back. “You’re out of line.”

He followed, slow and deliberate. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

“Even if you’re not, it doesn’t matter. You don’t get to dictate who I hang out with. You don’t own me.”

That word. Own.

His face twitched. Not angry. Not yet. Just… strained. Tense in that way he got when he was trying not to lose control.

“I don’t want to own you,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise. “I just want you to understand. I’m the one who sees you for who you are. Not them. Not that guy. He doesn’t know how your voice sounds when you’re lying. I do.”

You stared at him, arms still crossed. “That’s not love, Seong-je. That’s surveillance.”

He laughed. Just once. Sharp, bitter.

“Love?” he repeated. “You think what you make me feel is love?”

You paused. The rooftop air felt colder suddenly. And quieter. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I don’t sleep some nights,” he said. “Not because of guilt. I don’t have much of that left. But because I can’t stop thinking about you. What you’re doing. Who you’re smiling at. If you’re still thinking about me or if you’ve finally decided I’m just another freak with a control problem.”

You didn’t speak. Because he wasn’t wrong. You had thought that. Maybe still did.

“But then you do something stupid,” he continued. “Like laugh too loud in the hallway. Or wear something that makes every guy turn his head. And I realize—they don’t get to see you like that. They don’t get that part of you. Only I do.”

You exhaled slowly. “That’s not love either. That’s obsession.”

He stepped closer again, so close you could smell the faint trace of smoke and mint he always carried. Not cologne—something darker. More dangerous.

“I don’t care what you call it,” he said. “As long as it keeps you away from him.”

You glared at him. “You think I’ll drop my friends just because you said so?”

He leaned in, voice quiet enough that you could feel it in your spine.

“I think you already have. At least a little. Because you’re still here. Because even when I scare the hell out of you… you stay.”

He was right. And that terrified you more than anything.

Because you had a million chances to walk away from Geum Seong-je. From his temper, from the way he made everything a war, from the way his gaze felt like it could skin people alive—but you didn’t.

Maybe because part of you liked how intense he got. How he looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world full of pawns and trash. Maybe you liked being the one exception.

But at what cost?

“You need help,” you whispered.

His head tilted, eyes unreadable. “You make me worse. You know that, right?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. And you make it really hard to breathe sometimes.”

He looked at you for a long time. No smirk. No anger. Just a quiet, razor-sharp stare.

“Good,” he said. “Then we’re even.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was a claim.

Possessive. Bruising. A kiss like a warning.

You didn’t kiss back. But you didn’t push him away, either.

And when he pulled back, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you realized he wasn’t going to let go.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“Glass Cage: Part 6 – Relocation”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, paranoia, fresh start, domestic intimacy in isolation

⸻

In the late nights of you tangled in his arms, he thinks , and thinks, and get get thoughts out his head

He bolts upright in bed, breath caught in his throat, eyes burning into the dark.

You stir, rubbing your eyes. “Seong-je…?”

He doesn’t answer at first.

He just gets up.

Goes straight to the closet. Pulls down bags. A duffel. Two black suitcases you’ve never seen before.

“…What are you doing?”

He finally looks at you.

“We’re leaving.”

You blink. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t need to.

The memory of your friend standing in the garden hasn’t left either of your minds.

He kneels by the side of the bed, fingers brushing your cheek.

“I waited too long last time. I thought we were safe. I won’t make that mistake again.”

You nod slowly. “Okay. What do I grab?”

He kisses your hand.

“Everything that’s yours.”

⸻

He moves like a ghost through the house — precise, silent, tense.

You pack your makeup carefully, your perfume, the soft brush he used on your hair.

He brings up your clothes from the basement — folded already, like he was always ready to flee.

Your sheets. The shampoo. A framed photo you took together, hidden in the drawer.

He takes the guns. The documents. The cash.

Every trace of the life you built together in that house vanishes into bags.

He opens the front door of his truck for you to get in. You’re still in your pj’s with a robe on and still tired and a little confused as you wait for seong je to finish coming in and out of the house with bags.

And two hours later, just before dawn —

you disappear.

⸻

The new house is deeper in the woods.

Colder.

Bigger.

Safer.

At least, that’s what he tells you when you arrive.

“It’s unregistered,” he says, pulling into the overgrown driveway. “No digital footprint. No cell towers for miles. No neighbors.”

You step out of the car and breathe in pine and fog.

It smells like secrecy.

It smells like home.

⸻

He opens the door to the new house.

Everything is wooden. Clean. Empty.

You look at him. “Where’s the basement?”

“No basement,” he says. “You sleep with me. Always.”

Your stomach flips. You nod.

Then you carry your bags into the master bedroom — his room.

And start unpacking your makeup on the wide wooden dresser.

Lipsticks, brushes, serums. Your world in little glass bottles.

He watches you from the doorway, arms folded.

Like you’re art. Or a miracle.

You glance at him. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “I thought you might say no. When I said we were leaving.”

You blink. “Why would I say no?”

He looks down. Then back at you.

“Because most people run from cages.”

You walk over.

Wrap your arms around his waist.

“I don’t care where we are. I care that we’re together.”

He closes his eyes like your words slice him open in the best way.

Then kisses you.

Hard. Grateful.

⸻

Later, while he’s setting up the locks and security cameras, you explore the house barefoot.

The floorboards creak. The windows are tall, and the kitchen smells like pine and dust. You find:

• A fireplace in the den, untouched

• A loft above the stairs, with a single skylight

• An empty room filled with wild light — one you think could be yours

There’s a long hallway that leads nowhere.

But you find his jacket on a hook near the back door.

You touch it, smile to yourself.

Because even in this new place…

He still leaves pieces of himself lying around for you to find.

⸻

That night, after you make ramen in the new kitchen and eat it on the floor by candlelight, he pulls you into bed.

No words.

Just his arms around you.

Tighter than ever.

You whisper into his chest:

“I’m not scared.”

And he replies:

“Good. Because I’ll never let anyone find you again.”

—————-

It starts with the floorplan.

You were wandering the new house again — barefoot, robe tied loose, sunlight warming your skin — when you noticed it:

A hallway with five doors.

But only four open.

One stays shut.

Always.

You try the knob.

Locked.

You frown. “Strange.”

⸻

That night, curled in bed, your head on Seong-je’s chest, you whisper into the silence:

“What’s in the last room?”

He stiffens.

Subtly.

But you feel it.

“…Storage,” he says.

You lift your chin. Look up at him. “What kind of storage?”

He’s quiet.

Then: “Things that don’t belong to this life. Old things.”

You brush your fingers along his ribs. “Will you show me?”

He exhales, long and low.

“No.”

You blink. “Why not?”

He looks at you then — expression unreadable, jaw sharp with restraint.

“Because what’s in that room isn’t for you.”

You sit up a little. “But I want to know everything about you.”

His voice is low.

“I’m giving you everything that matters. This house. This life. Me.”

“And that room?”

He looks away.

“That room is before you.”

⸻

The next day, you wake up alone.

He’s already gone — probably outside, checking the traps, the perimeter, the signals. His new routine.

You walk barefoot again.

Same hallway.

Same five doors.

Four open.

One locked.

You kneel by the door and press your ear to it.

Nothing.

No sound.

Just stillness.

But somehow… it feels loud.

Like whatever’s in there is waiting.

⸻

Later, he finds you painting your nails on the windowsill.

He notices the chipped polish on your thumb.

“You were picking at it again,” he says.

You shrug. “I was bored.”

He sits beside you. Watches you brush on the new coat.

Then he says — casual, but careful:

“You went to the locked door, didn’t you.”

You pause.

“I didn’t open it.”

“You tried.”

You stay silent.

Then:

“I don’t want to lie to you.”

His jaw tightens. But his hand doesn’t leave your thigh.

You turn to him. “You said what’s in there is before me.”

He nods.

You lean close, lips brushing his cheek. “But I want all of you. Even the pieces you locked away.”

His eyes flick to yours.

Quiet. Dangerous.

“You’d regret it.”

“I don’t regret anything with you.”

⸻

That night, he sleeps restlessly.

You feel it in the way his arms tense around you.

How he murmurs your name in his sleep.

How he clutches you like you’re already slipping.

The door stays locked.

But now the house feels different.

Heavier.

Like the air’s holding its breath.

⸻

You dream of the hallway.

You dream of the door opening.

And Seong-je standing inside it —

Not angry.

Not afraid.

Just waiting for you to follow him into the dark.

LEE JUN YOUNG THE MAN YOU ARE UGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!