Chapter Text
Not everyone bears the privilege of seeing the red strings that bind two souls together, but Seongje does. He’s one of the chosen. And not even a quarter of the world’s population has the chance of seeing the red string of fate.
In this world, being chosen means being cursed. At least, that’s what Seongje used to believe.
To see the threads of fate is to stand outside of them. He can witness connections—love, longing, destiny—woven between others like cosmic silk. But for him? Nothing. No thread. No bond. No promise that someone, somewhere, is meant for him.
If you can see the strings, you’re not tied to any.
It’s both a gift and a punishment.
He'll never have someone who truly sees him; past the masks, the performances, the exterior, the chaos. No soulmate waiting at the other end of his thread. Because there is no thread.
And yet, now, for Keum Seongje, that absence feels like freedom.
No attachments. No cosmic obligations. No one to answer to, or live for, or be broken by.
He can burn bridges and detonate lives without worrying about the tug of fate pulling him back.
He’s not anchored.
He’s unbound.
And god, it’s liberating.
Dim lighting from the fluorescent light engulfed the interior of the room, with grayish walls and the smell of smoke from Seongje's cigarette.
Baekjin and Seongje are sitting across from each other, as silence embraces the space. Both of them refused to speak. It's silent. Not suffocating, but it's unsettling.
Seongje broke the silence.
"So," Seongje puffed a cigarette and blew out the smoke, widely scattered around his face. "Did you call me here to have a staring contest?"
A second passed.
And another.
Then another.
Finally, Baekjin replied.
“Make him fall for you,” Baekjin said flatly, his piercing gaze devoid of emotion; less a suggestion and more a calculated demand. His voice was hollow, mechanical, as if he were assigning a task, not a proposal. "Sieun. Yeon Sieun. Make him fall for you."
And yet, Seongje felt the weight of those words settle like a threat, something unspoken but heavy. It wasn’t just an order. It was a variable in an unchangeable equation.
Momentarily, Seongje froze. The words were so absurd they made aliens seem more plausible.
This fucker is ordering me around like I’m some errand boy. And for what? Some ridiculous plan?
Still, as much as Seongje hated to admit it, stupid things had a certain allure. It's fun.
He scoffed, raising his eyes from the floor to lock onto Baekjin’s. A second of silence passed before a slow, amused smirk pulled at his lips.
"Yeon Sieun," A chuckle. “And why would I do that?” he asked, voice laced with curiosity and mock indulgence, sitting up straight like he was ready to entertain the madness.
“He’s not the kind of guy who breaks under physical pain.”
“Okay…?”
“So why not go for the mind?”
A laugh escaped Seongje before he could stop it—short, sharp, but laced with genuine interest despite the absurdity. Baekjin didn’t react, still watching with that same unreadable stare.
“You know I also can see red strings like you could, right?”
Baekjin nodded.
“That asshole’s already tied to someone else. It’s annoying." A laugh escaped from his lips. "And you know what's funnier? It's with his coma buddy, man. Out of all people, someone unconscious? Fuck." More laughter escaped from Seongje.
“So?”
“What do you mean, so?” Seongje scoffed, leaning back, legs spread wide, as if to say this conversation is already a waste of my time. “You’re basically asking me to cut his red thread and wrap it around my own finger. Forced proximity, manipulation, yada yada—whatever. It's ridiculous.”
The fact that he was even explaining this made him cringe internally. All because of this bizarre ability to see fate. These stupid strings.
Baekjin stayed silent.
A breath in. A slow sigh.
“As if you’d ever let fate take its course without interference,” he muttered.
“Hey,” Seongje shifted again, that devilish smirk never fading. “Just because your little experiment with Baku crashed and burned doesn’t mean you can dump this bullshit on me.”
That hit something. Baekjin’s jaw tightened.
“This isn’t about him.”
“Don’t play me for a fool,” Seongje snapped. “I know you tried to bend fate to your will. Tried to force that connection. And you failed.”
Baekjin didn’t respond.
"Doing anything, everything, just to bring him back. How amusing," Seongje added.
Silence. Just silence.
No answer from him. Probably hit his gut.
"Fine," Seongje sighed, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with practiced ease. Smoke curled around him as he asked, “So, what’s in it for me?”
Baekjin didn’t answer immediately. But as he does, he stands up from his seat.
“Interesting question,” Baekjin murmured as he stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he glanced back at Seongje, still sprawled on the sofa in a haze of smoke.
“You’ll enjoy yourself. That much, I can promise.”
A low chuckle slipped from Seongje.
“Hey, before you go, ‘m wanting to ask…” Seongje looked at Baekjin. “Why?”
A moment of silence.
“Just wanted to test something.” Baekjin shot back. Still mysterious. Still calculating.
“I don’t know what kind of alien shit is going on in your brain, but… fine. I’ll bite.”
Baekjin opened the door and disappeared down the hallway.
And yet, as insane as the idea was, Seongje found himself intrigued. Baekjin never proposed anything without calculating every angle. His schemes, though unhinged on the surface, always came with a level of foresight that made them feel less like games and more like orchestrated chaos.
This was why Seongje stayed in the Union—not for loyalty, not for power, but for the thrill. The madness. The game.
But this…?
This was a whole new level of crazy.
And Seongje loved crazy.
“Yeon Sieun… huh.”
He’s the axis of this entire mess. But why him?
Seongje couldn’t understand why Baekjin was dragging him into this. Of all people, he knew this wouldn’t work.
Baekjin tried the same thing once; tried to force a connection with Baku. Pulled every string, manipulated every outcome, played god with the Union’s power at his back. He twisted arms, moved people like chess pieces, made promises, and broke more. All for what?
To win against fate.
And in the end? Fate laughed in his face.
It didn’t matter how hard he pushed, how far he went. The thread between Baku and Gotak never wavered. Not even once.
What made it worse was knowing those red strings were real, and Seongje could see them. Could see how tightly they were wound together. Gotak and Baku were bound by something deeper than anything Baekjin could manufacture.
Fate can be cruel. Especially to those who are trying to interfere with it.
Baku and Gotak probably understood each other the best. Had similarities with experiences. With pain. With guilt. A silent connection between them that no one could fathom. That's what makes the thread between them unwavering. Constant.
Seongje exhaled slowly, smoke curling around him like a shroud, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
“That motherfucker, Baekjin. Makin’ me do this shit ‘cause he couldn’t pull it off himself. All this just to prove to himself that he could bring Baku back.”
A dry laugh escaped him.
Baekjin must’ve known this plan was insane. And that’s exactly why he picked Seongje for the job.
Because Seongje thrives in madness.
He doesn’t follow rules—he breaks them for fun. He doesn’t believe that fate can be wavered—but he’s fascinated by the idea of challenging it. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what this is really about.
He doesn’t expect to win.
But a part of him, deep, buried beneath the smoke and sarcasm, wants to see if fate can crack. Just a little. Just enough.
Maybe he’s not trying to change destiny. Maybe he just wants to mock it.
If fate’s really that strong… Let's test it again.
Observing. Watching. That’s all Keum Seongje had been doing for days now.
Not close enough to be noticed, but never far enough to miss the details.
Patterns, routines, and habits.
He memorized them like it's the scripture.
He doesn’t need to be close, just close enough. Enough to slip into Sieun’s world unnoticed. To become part of the background noise. To know exactly when to move, and when to stay still.
He isn’t Sieun’s friend. And he’s not quite a foe. At least, not yet.
He’s… studying him.
Sieun’s life runs like clockwork. Morning classes, punctual to a fault. His eyes frequently greet his three friends, entering Eunjang altogether.
Then it’s cram school straight after class hours. No detours. Then the hospital.
Always the hospital.
Seongje has watched him stand at Suho's bedside. Watched the way he talks to the unconscious boy like he might wake up any second. Sometimes he comes with friends. Sometimes only with Baku. Too often, only him, alone.
It’s predictable.
So predictable, it’s almost boring.
Until nighttime. That’s when the cracks show.
Sieun always ends his day at the convenience store, face pale under flickering fluorescent lights. Hands shaking just slightly as he grabs caffeine and sleeping pills. Like he’s trying to stay awake and disappear at the same time.
Every move, every choice, it’s a scream disguised as routine.
Seongje knows that kind of silence.
That kind of exhaustion.
And now?
Now, he’s ready to step in.
Lately, Sieun’s been feeling… watched.
Not in the dramatic, paranoid kind of way. Just a sense that's subtle, nagging, that he’s no longer alone in the quiet spaces of his life. Like the air’s heavier. Like someone’s breathing just a second behind him.
He brushes it off at first. Maybe it’s stress. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the caffeine. Too many nights living off vending machine coffee and bitter pills that don’t work. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s grief.
Or maybe, just maybe, someone’s really there.
Too often, he catches glimpses. A shape in the corner of his eye. A flicker of movement in his periphery. Too fleeting to confront, too consistent to ignore.
At the hospital, it’s worse.
The halls are too quiet. Too clean. The way sound echoes makes it feel like someone’s always a few steps behind.
He tells himself he’s imagining it. Or maybe the horrors of guilt are catching up to him.
But tonight, standing in the glow of the convenience store’s lights, he feels it again, that prickling sensation under his skin. Like eyes sliding over his back. Like someone knows.
He tightens his grip on the handles of his backpack.
He doesn’t look behind him.
But his reflection in the freezer door shows something—someone—just outside the frame.
Gone when he turns.
Still, his heart won’t settle.
And for the first time in weeks, he wonders if Suho being unconscious is the least of his problems.
He swiftly bought stuff that he had to buy, pay to the cashier, and go home.
However, the moment he stepped outside of the convenience store, he couldn't take it anymore.
He didn’t mean to stop.
But something in his chest halts him right outside the convenience store, steps echoing too loud against the pavement. The street is mostly empty, quiet enough that silence feels unnatural.
Sieun exhales slowly, fingers curled around the plastic bag, knuckles almost going white.
“Alright,” he says to no one in particular. “Let’s get this over with.”
He doesn’t turn around at first. Just stands there, letting the silence stretch, letting whoever it is know that he knows.
“You’ve been following me,” he says. Calm. Controlled. Tired, but not afraid.
Silence.
Then footsteps that are slow and deliberate echo behind him.
Sieun turns.
And there he is.
Keum Seongje. Certainly someone he didn’t expect. The guy from the Union. The very same guy who he fought at the rooftop and stabbed his foot with his own glasses. He’s leaning casually against a lamp post like this is a damn movie scene. A cigarette dangles between his lips, unlit. Smirk half-formed. His eyes gleam. Not malicious, but sharp. It felt like he’s analyzing him.
Like he’s bored, and curious.
Sieun doesn’t blink. “What do you want?”
Seongje steps forward, slow, unfazed. “So you did notice. Was beginning to think you were just really good at ignoring shit.”
“I’m good at pretending,” Sieun says, gaze cold. “Not stupid.”
A chuckle from Seongje. “Good. That’ll make this more fun.”
“This?” Sieun narrows his eyes. “What is this?”
Seongje shrugs. “Call it… an experiment.”
“I’m not interested in your games.”
“It's not a game... and too late,” Seongje replies, eyes gleaming. “You’re already in it.”
Sieun steps back, jaw clenched. “You don’t know me.”
“No,” Seongje says, now closing the space between them, “but I know enough. I know you visit someone every night like it’ll make a difference. I know your hands shake when you think no one’s watching. I know you stare at that guy like he’s already dead and you’re the one who killed him.”
Sieun flinches.
Gotcha.
Sieun stiffens. “Why?”
Seongje exhales, tilting his head. “You’re tangled up with someone important. Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
Sieun blinks. “What are you talking about?”
A lazy grin spreads across Seongje’s face, but there’s something colder beneath it. Calculating. Like he’s watching a puzzle come undone one piece at a time.
“You really don’t know,” he says, almost to himself.
Sieun’s expression hardens. “If you’re trying to threaten me—”
“I’m not.” Seongje cuts him off, tone quiet now. “You’re not the target.”
That freezes Sieun. “Huh?”
Seongje glances down the street, hands in his pockets. “It’s fate. You’re caught in it. And I don’t think you even realize it.”
Sieun doesn’t move, but he watches closely now. Eyes sharp. Suspicious.
“Fate?” he echoes, guarded.
“Ever wonder why you keep showing up at his hospital bed?” Seongje asks, voice almost gentle now. “Why it feels wrong to be anywhere else?”
Sieun doesn’t answer.
Because he has wondered.
He just never said it aloud.
“Ahn Suho, that guy,” Seongje says, finally naming him. “You think it’s loyalty. Guilt. Maybe even love.”
He leans in slightly, just enough to lower his voice.
“But what if you’re not choosing him? What if something else already did?”
Sieun doesn’t speak. The air feels thinner now. It felt full of tension.
Seongje pulls back, watching the shift in his expression like a scientist observing a reaction.
“I’m going to break it,” he says softly.
“Break what?” Sieun asks, voice low.
Seongje smiles, almost kindly.
“You’ll understand. Eventually.”
Then, without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the night as if he was never there. Blending into the shadows, like it’s his natural habitat.
Sieun stands in the quiet for a long time, heartbeat echoing in his ears.
And for the first time, he feels something tug at him. Something invisible, buried deep beneath reason and emotion.
Something he’s never seen… but Seongje has.
"The hell was that about..." Sieun's murmurs unbelievably to himself, still processing his fleeting, strange moment with Seongje, left alone with stuff he bought, silhouette alone amidst the glowing lights of the convenience store.
Sieun felt it in the quietest parts of his routine—an unease that clung to his skin like static. His days still looked the same: classes, scribbled notes, caffeine-fueled nights. But internally, he was spiraling.
It was all because of Seongje.
That brief encounter still haunted him. It hit every nerve, echoing in his mind like a dissonant chord he couldn’t silence. He didn’t know Seongje well—never wanted to, really. Their only real interactions had been hostile and brief. That rooftop fight. And that failed transaction at the convenience store where Sieun tried to use him for insider Union intel.
For a second, he thought maybe Seongje wasn’t as awful as he’d assumed, especially when he’d helped Juntae out of nowhere. But in the end, betrayal came. And it was Sieun’s mistake for letting his guard down. He didn’t trust Seongje, but he didn’t expect to be played, either.
Now, Seongje had shattered the fragile peace Sieun had been trying to rebuild. After the chaos between Eunjang and the Union, after Baekjin’s sudden disappearance, he thought he was finally free. Free to focus on school. On his friends. On Suho. No more schemes. No more power plays.
But then Seongje spoke those damn words, and everything tilted.
Fate? Is he insane?
He tried to dismiss it. Tried to tell himself Seongje was just high, delusional, playing mind games. But the unease didn’t leave. Because no matter how much he resisted, that single sentence kept replaying in his head:
“But what if you’re not choosing him? What if something else already did?”
It made him sick. Made him question things he shouldn’t be questioning.
He’d always believed his visits to Suho were born from grief and obligation. A way to honor the connection they had. A way to cope.
Grief, he’d come to learn, wasn’t just sadness—it was love continued. A form of memory. A vow.
But Seongje’s remark twisted that love he believed. Turned it on its head.
What if it wasn’t loyalty?
What if it wasn't a choice?
What if it was something else entirely, something invisible, something unknown, deciding for him?
Before his overflowing thoughts could betray him, a sudden tap from Juntae snapped him back to reality.
“Sieun, you good?” Juntae asked, concern and uncertainty etched across his face. “You were zoning out. I’ve called your name three times already.”
Sieun gave him a quick glance. “Sorry,” he muttered, then looked away. “What were you saying again?”
“The calculus assignment," he starts speaking, "Ten problems, finding the left and right-hand limits. Have you done it?” Juntae asked. “Our prof told me to collect everything before the day ends.”
A blank stare. A slow exhale.
Sieun rummaged through his bag, pulled out his completed worksheet, and handed it over.
“Here,” He leaned in slightly. “Sorry again.”
Juntae offered a sheepish smile. “No need to apologize. I still haven’t collected half of them. Some of our classmates are literally starting it just now.” He rubbed his eyes, tired and annoyed.
Sieun’s gaze softened.
“Must be rough being the teacher’s pet.”
“Wish I wasn’t,” Juntae muttered, then added, “But really, Sieun. If something’s up, you can talk to me.”
Sieun just nodded. What’s bothering me is all in my head.
A few moments passed. Class ended, and the usual wave of chatter and movement flooded the room. Sieun began packing his things.
“YO!” Baku yelled like he was announcing the start of a concert, storming in with Gotak trailing behind him. “Let’s hit that tteokbokki place my friend hyped up. Gotak’s buying for us!”
Gotak nearly tripped over his own foot. “Buying? Me? I literally paid for ramyeon in coins yesterday. And you're saying I'm buying?"
“It's just tteokboki,” Baku shot back, grinning. “Come on, you owe us something for moral support.”
“I owe who what now?” Gotak flailed.
“Don’t care. Didn’t ask. Gotak’s treating,” Baku declared, throwing an arm around Sieun’s shoulders and grinning like a villain. “Right, Sieun?”
Sieun immediately shrugged off Baku’s arm like he was dodging an incoming curse.
“Cram school.”
A dramatic “Gahhh!” rang out from both Baku and Gotak in perfect harmony. Juntae just chuckled behind them.
Sieun stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. All three of them watched him in synchrony, like dogs waiting for treats.
“I’ll make it up to you guys. See you.” And before they could launch another protest or joke, he was already out the door, making a beeline for the school gates. Call that the fastest campus leaver.
His mind was loud. Too loud. He couldn’t take in much more noise, more talking. He just needed the day to end.
They’d understand. He hoped so.
As he stepped into the tunnel beneath the bridge—the infamous spot where countless thugs had once been left unconscious—Sieun instantly recognized the silhouette waiting at the far end.
A figure stood just beyond the shadows, half-lit by the fading light behind him.
Sieun’s expression tightened. He knew that frame. That posture.
I know damn well who that is.
Seongje. Again.
Numerous days have passed and their brief interaction at the convenience store is still flickering like a light bulb in Sieun’s mind.
“What a coincidence, Newbie,” came the voice, smooth and amused, echoing off the damp walls. A smirk played in his tone, though his face remained obscured by the dark.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
Every step he did was unhurried. Like it was intentional.
Sieun gripped his bag tighter. His frown deepened into what could only be described as existential dread. He didn’t stop. Didn’t say a word. Just locked his eyes forward, past him, like Seongje didn’t exist.
But of course, Seongje had other plans.
As they passed each other, Seongje smoothly pulled out a tiny sticky note—bright yellow, obnoxiously cheerful—and slapped it right onto Sieun’s sleeve like it was some kind of cursed sticker.
“My number,” he said, way too casually. “In case you want a friend. Or someone to ruin your day.”
Then he adds,
“Or you realize you’re missing me,”
Sieun glanced down at the note like it was radioactive. Like it was a hazard.
His steps halted. He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t peel it off, either.
"Didn’t know you grow attached to people you’re cryptic to,” Sieun muttered.
“I’m not being cryptic,” Seongje replied, grinning. “I’m being kind. You know, generous. Like Santa. But hotter.”
Sieun scoffed. “You give off more ‘seasonal scammer’ vibes than Santa.”
Seongje shrugged, unfazed. “Still generous. You don’t see me handing my number to just anyone. That sticky note? Limited edition. You don’t just get it somewhere.”
“If you want someone to bother you, I can just give this shit to loan sharks.”
“Hey, that’s unromantic—”
“I don’t know what mind games you’re playing right now,” Sieun said, lifting the corner of the note between two fingers like it was contagious, “but I’ll already tell you that this?” he flicked the sticky note lightly, “this won’t work.”
“Wasn’t trying to make it work,” Seongje said, eyes twinkling. “Just planting seeds of chaos.”
Sieun turned to walk off, muttering under his breath.
“Therapy. That guy absolutely needs therapy.”
Behind him, Seongje called out cheerfully, “Text me when you miss me!”
Seongje’s gaze lingered upon Sieun’s hands. His fingers–his red string. Tied up with someone else.
He swore he’ll make that break. Little by little.
Sieun walked away without looking back, letting the music in his earphones drown out the world as his surroundings blur, pretending, quite convincingly, that none of it had happened.
When he finally arrived at his cram school, he paused outside the entrance. His eyes flicked down to the yellow sticky note still clinging to his sleeve. With a frown, he peeled it off and crumpled it in his hand, arm poised to toss it into the nearest trash bin.
But he stopped.
Something in him stalled. An annoying little voice that refused to let him follow through.
He stared at the crumpled paper for a beat longer, then sighed through his nose.
“You know what… whatever.”
With a reluctant grunt, he shoved the note into the side pocket of his bag like it was someone else’s bad idea—and without another thought, marched inside.
More days went by, fleeting, as if played in a film reel. Sieun’s days hadn’t changed. Not really. Wake up. Walk into Eunjang High with Baku, Gotak, and Juntae. Classes. Lunch filled with half-listened jokes and empty laughter. Cram school. Hospital. Convenience store. Home. Repeat.
A routine built from necessity, not comfort. But somehow having a routine also comforted him.
But lately, something has shifted. Or rather, someone.
Seongje.
He wasn’t part of the routine, but he kept showing up anyway. Quiet, unannounced, like an ink blot spreading into a clean schedule. At first, Sieun thought it was a coincidence. Ganghak is near Eunjang. Lived in the same city. Maybe their paths were bound to cross.
But it kept happening.
At the PC bang, sitting in the corner like he’d always been there. On the sidewalk near Sieun’s apartment, smoking cigarettes at 10pm like that was normal. Inside the convenience store, looking through the drinks displayed in the refrigerator while Sieun was grabbing his usual coffee cans.
Always silent. Always smirking. Like he knew something Sieun didn’t.
It was starting to mess with his head.
Sometimes, after leaving the hospital, Sieun would glance across the street, and there he was. Perched somewhere at the edge of the world, in the dark, like a glitch in the frame. Grinning, but never approaching. Never saying anything.
Just watching.
A particular night, though, everything felt heavier.
Sieun hadn’t made it to cram school. He hadn’t made it to Suho, either. Guilt curled in his chest, but his limbs felt like wet cement. His head pounded from too many nights running on too little sleep. He felt exhausted.
So instead, he went to the convenience store. Bought some sleeping pills, a bag of chips, and two cans of that canned coffee he always drank even though it tasted like carbonated insomnia.
Outside, the bench was empty. The store lights cast a dull, artificial glow on the pavement. Beyond that, the city dissolved into shadows and low, humming silence.
He sat at the far end, near the railing. Cracked open a can. The cold hiss and metallic scent filled the air.
He took a sip. Exhaled. Let himself exist in the stillness.
No voices. No expectations. No noise. Pure tranquility.
Until—
“Skipped today.”
Sieun didn’t jump, nor flinch.
He didn’t even look right away. Just stared at the street for a moment longer before turning his head slightly.
And there he is. Again. Somehow always beside him before he even noticed.
“You’re like a horror movie jumpscare,” Sieun muttered. “Except less threatening and more annoying.”
“Only jumpscare if you still get startled. And you didn’t,” Seongje said, settling beside him like he had every right to.
“Because I’ve become numb to it.”
“Ah, so I’m part of your numbness. That’s sweet.”
Sieun gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you even want?”
Seongje shrugged. “Maybe I just like your company.”
“You have a weird way of showing it. Following me? Really?”
“And you have a weird way of avoiding mine.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Sieun turned his gaze back to the street, the cold can warming in his hand. He could feel the tension in his shoulders, coiled from too many held-in thoughts.
“I’m exhausted,” he said quietly.
“I can tell.”
“Too tired of your games.” Sieun took a sip.
“You still didn’t tell me to leave.”
Sieun didn’t respond to that. Instead, he took another sip. The coffee was bitter, metallic. It was unpleasant, but he drank it anyway.
There was a long pause. Not uncomfortable, just right. Then Seongje leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees.
“You know, for someone who pretends not to care, you sure keep a lot bottled up.”
Sieun raised a brow. “That supposed to be therapy talk? Because I’m not paying.”
“Please. You can barely afford your caffeine addiction.”
Sieun huffed a breath that could almost be called a laugh. But he didn’t.
Another pause. The city’s silence pressed around them, broken only by the buzz of the overhead light.
“I skipped the hospital,” Sieun said suddenly, quietly.
Seongje didn’t react with surprise. Just tilted his head slightly. “First time?”
“Yeah.”
“You feel guilty?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you care.”
Sieun frowned. “What’s your point?”
“My point is,” Seongje said, turning to look at him, “you don’t have to keep pretending like you’ve got it all handled. You look like a stack of overdue homework and five hours of sleep.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I speak fluently in pointing out a massive, suppressed burnout.”
They both sat there, quiet again. This time, the silence wasn’t empty. It hummed with something unspoken, something not quite settled.
Sieun finished the last sip of his drink. Let the can rest between his palms.
“You always gonna do this?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Pop out of nowhere. Get under my skin. Say annoying things that… actually make sense.”
“This is the first time I actually approached and spoke with you,” Seongje grinned. “And this will continue if it keeps getting this kind of reaction out of you.”
“You’re the worst.”
“And yet,” Seongje stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants, “you still haven’t walked away.”
Sieun stared at the empty can in his hands, then looked up at him.
“I haven’t decided if that’s because I tolerate you, or because I’m too tired to move.”
“Either way,” Seongje said, backing toward the edge of the sidewalk, “I’ll take it.”
He started to walk off, hands in his pockets.
“You have my number!” Seongje added. A reminder.
Sieun didn’t call after him.
But his eyes followed until Seongje disappeared around the corner, blending into the dark the same way he always did.
Little did he know, the thread on his fingers started to flicker momentarily. Unnoticed if not observed. A wide grin emerged from Seongje’s lips.
Showing up everywhere. Being there when it’s convenient. Blending into his habits. Emotional connection. Enabling vulnerability. It’s like filling the hollow space created by waiting for someone to wake up. It’s working.
Seongje realized that there’s progress in his mind games. Maybe manipulation could really overwrite fate. And Sieun’s probably starting to question his reality.
Sieun started to hate when darkness conquered the sky. When everything transitions to darkness after dawn, so are his emotions. It’s like the moon is enabling him to sit with his emotions that he ignored when the sun was waving.
Another night has come. Sieun had grown increasingly restless as the night deepened. Sleep, once again, refused to come. Even the pills failed him tonight. Suho’s face hovered at the edge of his thoughts—too vivid, too loud in the silence.
He’s starting to miss Suho much more lately. For the first time, he thought of him after a while. Sieun couldn’t comprehend why he’s feeling like this. Maybe it’s the guilt of the mere fact that there’s a growing detachment.
Detachment.
The thought scared him.
And what made it worse? Seongje. And his growing frequency of stumbling up with him. And how he’s starting to show up more in his thoughts. Like he’s replacing Suho.
Ever since that bastard started crawling into his head with cryptic words and sideways glances, Sieun couldn’t think straight. His unreadable gaze, always smirking, lingered in his mind. His voice echoed, repeating in a loop that wouldn’t shut off.
Their frequent interactions felt like a connection. Sieun didn’t like that idea.
Finally, unable to sit still with the mess of it all, Sieun shoved back from his desk, grabbed his grey hoodie, slung his bag over one shoulder, and stuffed his nearly-dead phone into his pocket. He stepped out of his room like he was escaping a crime scene.
From the door of his room, he saw the doorway—the front door. The one Suho used to knock on with relentless energy, shattering the quiet with laughter and light and annoying little comments.
The same doorway that once opened to comfort.
I miss him.
The thought hit hard, but Sieun shoved it down. He stepped outside, gasping as if the air might wash the grief off his skin.
Inside that room, the walls were soaked in guilt and tears; he no longer had the energy to cry. Everything in there reminded him of things he couldn’t fix.
It was late. Too late to be out wandering. But he didn’t care. His mother wasn’t home, hadn’t been for hours, maybe wouldn’t be at all. So he walked. Past shuttered stores. Under flickering street lights. The world around him unravelled in quiet shadows, but none of it reached the ache in his chest.
He wanted to go back to the hospital.
He’d already been there earlier that day—Juntae, Humin, and Hyuntak had all come with him. But he hadn’t been alone with Suho. Hadn’t had time to unload the thoughts that had been clawing at him all week. The things he couldn’t tell anyone else.
Maybe this is a nightmare, he thought. A long, terrible dream I’ll wake from.
Every time he pushed open the door of the hospital room, he hoped Suho would be sitting up, smiling, arms crossed like always. Teasing him.
Alive in a way that didn’t feel like slow fading.
And then, again, Seongje’s voice rose in his mind, unwelcome and sharp:
“Ever wonder why you keep showing up at his hospital bed? Why it feels wrong to be anywhere else?”
Sieun scoffed under his breath. He’s messing with me. Again.
But the words clung like static. He tried to shake them, tried to bury them beneath his need to see Suho. That need always won.
Like something was pulling him, like an invisible thread. Tugging at something deep inside him. Like fate, or grief, or guilt—he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
Before he knew it, his pace quickened. His legs moved with their own urgency. Faster. Harder. He didn’t care who saw him. He didn’t care how late it was.
And then, he was running.
Down streets he barely registered. Past stoplights and alley mouths. Breath burning in his chest.
He turned a corner too fast. Feet too loud on the pavement. And suddenly he collided.
A rough shoulder. A grunted curse.
He stumbled back, and when he looked up, a group of thugs blocked his path. Shadows sharpening beneath dim orange streetlight.
He’d taken a wrong turn. Too fast and too mindless. And now there's trouble.
Sieun stumbled backward as one of the thugs cracked their knuckles, eyes gleaming like he’d just been gifted a punching bag.
“Well, what do we have here?” A voice.
“Looks like a rich kid lost his way.” Another.
“He’s got a bag, probably worth something.”
Sieun’s heart hammered, beating rapidly. He glanced around the alley that’s too narrow, too dark, too silent. The streetlights barely reached this part of the city. There was no one nearby. He scanned his surroundings, and there was no notable thing he could utilize to knock them out.
No one but them.
He could run. Maybe. But his legs were locked, stiff with panic and guilt and a thousand other things he’d never dared name. He could escape if he’s in the right state of mind. But he isn’t.
A guy stepped closer. “What’s wrong? Couldnt es—”
“I don’t want trouble,” Sieun muttered, holding up a hand. “I’m just—just passing through.”
“Wrong answer,” the man grinned. “That means you are trouble.”
One moved in first, too fast for Sieun to react. A shove to his shoulder knocked him sideways. He hit the alley wall with a grunt, stars flashing behind his eyes. His bag slipped off his shoulder and hit the ground.
Then they started closing in.
A boot nudged his bag. Another grabbed his hoodie, jerking him forward. And in that second, something inside Sieun snapped. Not courage. Just the sharp, desperate voice of survival.
My phone.
His fingers fumbled in his pocket, yanking out his phone with shaking hands. The screen was nearly dead. 3% battery. He scrolled through recent messages—none. Contacts—one stood out. Baku. But he was with him earlier, and told his friends that he’ll take a rest.
Most importantly, he didn’t want to worry them anymore. Not when the Union stopped fucking and power playing with Eunjang.
Panic surged through him as adrenaline flooded his veins. Sieun reached for his bag with trembling hands, fingers diving into the side pocket like his life depended on it.
“You little shit! Still reaching for that bag?”
A voice barked behind him, but he didn’t stop. He kept rummaging, searching blindly, until his fingers grazed something crumpled.
The sticky note.
He yanked it out just as a boot slammed into his bag.
“Eyes here, motherfucker!”
A jab cracked against his ribs. Then a punch—sharp, brutal—straight to his gut. He doubled over, breath ripped from his lungs.
Still, his eyes locked onto the sticky note in his hand. Just visible in the dim alley light:
+82-XX-XXXX-YYYY
Fuck it.
He pulled out his phone, barely alive at 3%, and dialed. On speaker.
One of the thugs lunged for it, but Sieun twisted away, his voice shaking. He clutched the phone like a lifeline.
Please answer.
“If you touch me again, you’re gonna regret it.”
The thug laughed. “What are you gonna do, cry for Mommy?”
“No,” Sieun muttered. “Someone worse.”
Click.
The call connected.
“What?”
Seongje’s voice—low, groggy, vaguely irritated. Sounded like half asleep.
Sieun didn’t pause. “I—I need help. Near the hospital. Alley. Four guys. I think they’re gonna—”
The screen went black.
Battery dead.
He stood frozen. His phone's now useless. His heart started irrationally pounding, with breath hitching.
Then the first one charged.
Sieun ducked barely. A fist skimmed his jaw. Another strike hit his side. He stumbled, tasting copper in his mouth.
It didn’t stop. Blow after blow. He curled inward, breaths sharp and ragged, vision blurring. He’d promised not to fight anymore. Promised to stay out of this kind of trouble. But now it was too late.
Sweat and tears blurred together. Bruises bloomed under his skin. Pain blurred into panic.
Then—
“Hey!”
The voice cut through the alley like a blade.
A silhouette stood at the entrance. Hood up. Bag slung low. Eyes burning through the dark.
Seongje.
The world stilled.
Then, slowly, Seongje cracked his knuckles.
“You dumbasses seriously thought you could mess with him?”
One of the thugs scoffed. “Who the hell are you?”
Seongje’s smile was pure trouble. “Someone you should’ve prayed not to meet.”
And then he moved.
It was fast, brutal, and precise.
A knee to the gut. A hook to the jaw. One thug hit the ground with a strangled grunt. Another tried to swing, but Seongje caught his arm, twisted, and slammed him against the wall.
Within seconds, the alley was filled with groans and retreating footsteps.
Silence returned.
Sieun stood, swaying, heart still racing. He stared at Seongje, chest rising and falling like he’d just come back from the dead.
Seongje didn’t say a word at first. He picked up Sieun’s bag, dusted it off gently, then slung it over his own shoulder.
Finally, he turned.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sieun opened his mouth. Closed it. “I—”
“You called me.”
Seongje’s voice was low. Controlled. Too controlled.
“I told you to call when you missed me. Not when you’re about to get your ass handed to you in a dark alley.”
“I didn’t know who else to call,” Sieun admitted. Quiet. Honest.
Seongje stared. Then let out a short breath—half sigh, half scoff.
“Of course I was,” he muttered, cracking a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He stepped forward, brushed Sieun’s hoodie back into place, fussed with it like they hadn’t just been through hell.
“Next time,” he said under his breath, “try pretending I exist before you make me your emergency contact.”
Sieun looked away. “…Sorry.”
Silence again, then a question.
“You okay?”
Sieun nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”
Seongje followed his gaze to the glowing hospital windows nearby.
“C’mon. You’re not done yet, are you?”
Sieun blinked. “With what?”
Seongje’s expression shifted. “With him.”
His voice carried something Sieun couldn’t name. It's not quite bitterness, and not quite empathy. It's something in between.
Sieun hesitated, then took a step.
They walked together. Silence hung, and unspoken tension strung between them. Two silhouettes under the streetlights, one walking slightly ahead, the other is catching up.
Their shadows overlapped, briefly, before disappearing into the night.
The walk to the hospital was quiet.
Sieun’s wounds were already tended, thanks to the nurses in their shifts. Seongje accompanied him, but the atmosphere felt uncharged.
Sieun’s steps were slow. One foot in front of the other, like each one took effort. His hands were buried deep in his hoodie pockets, and his phone, now lifeless, felt heavier than it should in his bag.
Seongje walked beside him, quiet, not pushing, and not even making a joke.
The hospital lights buzzed faintly as they stepped through the doors. The familiar sterile chill swept over them again.
Seongje stopped near the vending machines, leaning back against the wall.
“I’ll wait here,” he said simply.
Sieun glanced at him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You will?”
“I’m not done with you,” Seongje muttered. “Go. I’ll be here.”
Not done with me? Sieun stood for a second longer than he needed to. He was confused. Confused about why Seongje’s going to wait.
He nodded and made his way down the hall.
As he walked toward Suho’s room, each step felt heavier, like his guilt was dragging behind him in chains.
He pushed the door open quietly.
Suho lay still in the hospital bed. Machines beeped in rhythm, calm, yet cruel. The same way they always did. The oxygen mask fogged slightly with every shallow breath.
Sieun sat beside the bed and exhaled slowly.
“I’m here again,” he said softly. “Though I guess you already knew I’d come back, huh?”
He fiddled with the hem of his hoodie. Silence lingered.
“I got into trouble tonight. Stupid trouble. The kind you’d lecture me about for days.”
He chuckled bitterly. “And—God, you’d hate him. Seongje. You’d say he’s trouble. Arrogant. Rude. Probably dangerous.”
He paused.
“But he came.”
His voice cracked just a little.
“He actually showed up.” He scoffed. “It felt so wrong. And yet…”
Sieun looked at Suho’s face. Still, pale, peaceful. As if frozen in time.
And for the first time in a long while, the silence didn’t soothe him.
“I keep thinking,” he whispered, “that maybe… if you were awake, I wouldn’t be this confused. Or lost. Or—lonely.”
His throat tightened. He gripped the edge of the blanket like it could hold him together.
“I miss you. Every day. But…”
He trailed off.
Seongje’s words resurfaced again.
“Ever wonder why it feels wrong to be anywhere else?”
Sieun hated how much they made sense.
A tear slipped down, catching him off guard. He quickly wiped it away, his voice soft again.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what any of this means. But I wish you’d wake up and tell me I’m being dramatic.”
He sat in silence for a few more moments, letting the machines do the talking.
Eventually, he stood, whispered a quiet goodbye, and slipped out of the room.
Seongje was still there, leaning against the wall with his glasses slightly down, earbuds dangling but not playing anything. He looked up when Sieun approached, his expression unreadable.
“You cried?” Seongje asked, too casually.
Sieun rolled his eyes, rubbing at his face. “Don’t be annoying.”
Seongje smirked. “I’m just checking if your soul’s still in there. Good news: you’re still human.”
They walked side by side, down the hallway, past the sleeping city glimpsed through hospital windows.
Sieun didn’t say thank you. He didn’t have to.
Seongje didn’t ask for it. He didn’t need to. But their shoulders brushed, just slightly, and neither moved away.
And for the first time in weeks, Sieun didn’t feel entirely alone.
The walk from the hospital was colder than before. Late night had crept into past midnight, the sky tinted with stars. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few passing cars and flickering street lights.
Sieun walked quietly, hoodie pulled tighter around him. His body still ached. His wounds are treated, but stings. His head was spinning. But at least the adrenaline was gone.
Beside him, Seongje let out a dramatic sigh.
“So,” he began, “you do remember my number.”
Sieun didn’t answer.
Seongje grinned. “I was starting to think I imagined giving you that sticky note. What was it again? ‘This won’t work,’ you said?”
“Shut up,” Sieun muttered without looking at him.
Seongje gasped, mock-offended. “Wow. No gratitude. I come running like your knight in shining—well, jacket—and this is how I’m treated?”
“You were asleep,” Sieun mumbled. “Didn’t even sound like you wanted to pick it up.”
“I’d always pick up for you.” He glanced sideways. “You just never call.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Is it working?” He said with a grin.
Sieun went quiet again.
“…Didn’t want to owe you anything,” he finally said.
“Oh? And now you do?” Seongje raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Let’s keep track. One bruised jaw, two busted ribs, and approximately four thugs’ worth of chaos. That’s gotta be worth at least—what—coffee?”
Sieun rolled his eyes. “I’m not buying you coffee.”
“Then dinner.”
“Definitely not.”
“Handmade letter of apology?”
Sieun turned to him, deadpan. “You want me to write you a letter?”
“Make it scented,” Seongje grinned. “And dramatic. Something like ‘Dear Seongje, please accept my apologies and deepest regrets for doubting your stunningly, amazing, superior heroic abilities…’”
“Okay, now I’m walking the other way.”
Seongje laughed.
It was soft, rare and unguarded. It caught Sieun off guard. He looked at him again, and this time, the grin on Seongje’s face wasn’t just smug. It was warm.
Even Seongje himself didn’t expect that kind of reaction was gonna come out from him.
“You scared me, you know.”
The sudden shift in tone made Sieun pause.
Seongje didn’t stop walking, just stuffed his hands into his pocket, eyes forward.
“When the call was cut out. I didn’t know if I’d get there in time.”
Sieun looked down at his shoes. “…I didn’t know you’d come.”
“Well,” Seongje said, kicking a rock lazily ahead of them, “guess we’re both full of surprises.”
They walked a little more in silence.
Then, just before they reached the end of the block, Seongje glanced sideways again.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“You okay now?”
Sieun nodded, barely. “…Yeah.”
“Good,” Seongje said. “Because if you get yourself beat up again and I’m not around to save your sorry ass, I’ll actually be pissed.”
Sieun just looked at him.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Seongje added, voice lower now, almost smug.
Sieun raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You said I was the only one you could think of.”
I said that? Sieun immediately looked away. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“But you said it.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” Seongje grinned, “here you are. Still walking next to me.”
Sieun didn’t reply. But he didn’t walk away, either.
And Seongje counted that as a win.
Before their paths could fully diverge, Seongje caught a flicker of movement. Sieun’s hand shifted by his side. His gaze dropped instinctively.
The thread.
He searched for it, the one that had caught his vision since the beginning. It used to glow faintly, an ever-present reminder of what didn’t belong to him.
But now—
It wasn’t flickering. But instead, it was fading. It was barely visible, like something unraveling.
His chest tightened.
On impulse, he looked down at his own hand, just to check. Just to make sure. Of course, there was nothing. No thread. No fate.
He clicked his tongue, annoyed with himself.
Idiot. Just because I’m severing someone else’s fate doesn’t mean I get one of my own.
Still, the empty feeling twisted inside him.
Then,
“Remember when I said I was going to break it?”
Sieun turned, wary. “What are you talking about now?” Then he speaks again, “You’re confusing me with your vague-ass metaphors,” he added, a crease forming on his brow.
Seongje smirked. “Good. Means it’s working. Be careful.”
Sieun exhaled sharply through his nose, unamused. “If your goal is to confuse me with your philosophical crap about fate and whatever imaginary thread you’re obsessed with—congrats. Mission accomplished.”
He stepped in closer, eyes sharp. “But if you’re just trying to get into my head… it’s not going to work.”
Seongje tilted his head slightly, that maddening grin never leaving.
He leaned in, voice low—velvet over blades.
“Isn’t it already?”
For a moment, Sieun froze.
Just for a brief moment, with a single breath caught in his throat.
Then he stepped back like he’d been burned, eyes narrowing into a glare. But behind the anger was something else, something like a crack amidst his stability.
Seongje saw it and he said nothing because he didn’t need to.
The air was crisp, the kind that bit at the skin just enough to remind you you’re alive. This wasn’t one of Seongje’s plans, but something in the atmosphere shifted that he doesn't quite know—but he speaks,
“I’ll walk you home.”
Sieun rolled his eyes and kept walking. “Don’t you have a gang to threaten or a soul to corrupt or something?”
“I already checked that off today. Thought I’d add ‘walking emotionally constipated hospital visitor home’ to the list.”
Sieun let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Good. I’m not a very responsible one.”
A pause.
“And some thugs might kick your ass again. It’d be annoying if you’ll ask for my service once again.”
Sieun didn’t respond and just glared at him.
They walked in silence for a few beats. Just the rhythm of their steps and the occasional car passing by. Seongje shoved his hands into his pockets, occasionally glancing at Sieun from the corner of his eye.
“You’re quiet,” he said eventually.
Sieun didn’t answer right away. His grip on his bag tightened.
Then, with a sigh, Sieun muttered, “I hate that I’m feeling like I’m starting to rely on you.”
Seongje blinked. Then let out a small, amused sound. “Wow. Was that a genuine admission of emotional weakness?”
“Shut up. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late. That one’s going in the archives.”
“You don’t have archives.”
“I do now.”
They reached the corner near Sieun’s street. The lights flickered above them.
Seongje stopped walking.
Sieun took another step, then noticed he wasn’t being followed. He turned.
“This is enough for the night.” Seongje said, tone light. But his eyes lingered. “We’ll meet again, so don’t miss me too much.”
Before Sieun could shoot back, Seongje had already turned. “You called me already, so save my number!” He walks away, waving, playful tone.
Sieun watched his figure get smaller and smaller, then sighed.
Sieun stared at him, mouth pressed into a thin line, and words tangled in his throat.
Seongje immediately walked away as he couldn't bear any more interaction with Sieun. Without any detours, he immediately went home.
The room was dim, save for the soft, blue light of his phone screen illuminating the wall beside his bed. Seongje lay on his back, one arm thrown over his forehead, the other holding his phone as it buzzed with a half-written text he would never send.
Don’t die on your way to school tomorrow, or I’ll be pissed.
He deleted it. Again.
The screen went dark. The silence crept in.
He stared up at the ceiling, letting the stillness hang for a while.
What the hell are you doing?
This wasn’t part of the plan.
He was supposed to watch from a distance. Intervene where it mattered. Plant seeds of doubt. Get under Sieun’s skin just enough to shake the thread loose, the one connecting him to someone he was never meant to be with—at least for Seongje. The one fate shoved into place without permission.
And yet...
Seongje ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight.
That look on Sieun’s face tonight. The panic when he called. The raw honesty when he said he hated relying on him. The stupid way he looked down at his hand when he thought no one was watching, like checking for a connection that wasn’t there.
It bothered him.
He wasn’t supposed to care that much.
He wasn’t supposed to feel a sharp jolt of something when Sieun looked disappointed. Or proud. Or exhausted. Or—
Fuck.
He sat up abruptly, elbows on his knees, hands pressed against his mouth.
“This was manipulation,” he muttered aloud, to himself, like saying it would make it true again. “You started this. You were in control.”
And he had been. At first.
The late-night appearances. The cryptic remarks. The carefully placed truths mixed with misdirection. How he shows up almost all the time. All of it was calculated.
He had convinced himself he was doing Sieun a favor. That breaking the thread would prove that fate can be shaken. That fate was flawed, and maybe Seongje was the one smart enough to rewrite it.
But lately…
That logic was starting to feel thin.
Because every time Sieun looked at him now, it wasn’t just irritation or distrust anymore. There were cracks. Curiosity, fear, or hope.
And what’s worse is that when Sieun wasn’t looking at him, Seongje found himself wishing he would.
He hated that.
Because deep down, he knew this wasn’t mutual destruction anymore. It wasn’t sabotage.
It was turning into something messier. Human.
Being human means you crave connection. And he knows damn well that he can’t.
Seongje didn’t know if he could handle that.
He glanced at his own hand again. The same one that held Sieun’s bag earlier like it was something fragile. The same one that reached out, expecting nothing in return.
Still no thread, just skin. There's no thread intertwining him with someone. Just fingers that had touched a future that might never be his.
He exhaled.
Maybe fate didn’t need to tie him to someone.
Maybe he was already tangled.
After that night when Seongje showed up like a devil in a jacket and fought off some annoying thugs, something between them shifted.
They didn’t talk about it. Of course not. That would make it real.
But from then on, they just… kept crossing paths oddly and repeatedly. As if the universe didn’t get the memo that they were supposed to be enemies.
And oddly enough, they both just let it be.
Their meetings became a pattern dressed as coincidence. Spontaneous, but frequent. Sometimes Sieun would find Seongje loitering near the school gates, pretending to be on his phone. Other times, Seongje would glance up mid-smoke break, only to find Sieun walking toward him with that exasperated scowl that somehow meant you again, but I’m not entirely mad about it.
More often than not, they ended up at the local convenience store. Late-night rendezvous, sitting outside on cracked plastic chairs, sometimes on a bench, sipping instant coffee or slurping ramen, trading barbs like currency.
“Do you just haunt this place?” Sieun muttered one evening, peeling the lid off his cup noodles.
“I could say the same to you,” Seongje shot back, kicking his foot slightly under the table. “Starting to think you’re stalking me.”
“You’re the one who’s stalking me. Mainly the reason why we keep running to each other.” He said with a glare.
Well, partly he was correct. Seongje thought.
They didn’t talk about Suho. Not directly. But sometimes, Sieun would go quiet, stare off into the night, and Seongje wouldn’t say anything. He’d just offer another can of coffee or shift the topic to something stupid—like which existed first, chickens or eggs.
Their conversations never stayed soft for long. There was always an edge: mockery, dry wit, the occasional dig. But underneath all that was something warmer. Familiar, even.
Sieun plopped down across from him, annoyed and tired in equal measure.
“You always look like you lost a bet,” Seongje said, eyes scanning Sieun’s face. “And I mean that’s your default expression, but today it’s worse.”
“I did lose something,” Sieun grumbled, ripping open a bag of chips. “My patience. Every time I see you.”
“Smooth,” Seongje grinned, letting the lollipop shift between his teeth. “But be honest. You keep showing up. You’re either hopelessly drawn to me… or you’re just lonely.”
Sieun gave him a flat look. “Or maybe I just come here hoping to not see your face. I’m always disappointed.”
“Ouch. Harsh. You’re getting better at this. I’m proud of you.” Seongje leaned forward, mock-serious. “But just admit it, you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”
“I’d miss the peace and quiet,” Sieun deadpanned.
Seongje raised a brow. “You ever think your version of ‘peace’ is just emotional repression with a side of caffeine addiction?”
“I’ll take that over your version of emotional warfare and clinginess masked as smug charm.”
“Clingy?” Seongje put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Excuse you. I’m selective. You’re the one choosing to sit here with me, again. That’s on you.”
“I’m here for the snacks.”
“You’re here,” Seongje said, voice dropping slightly, “because it’s easier to be around someone who won’t ask questions. Or a punch.”
Sieun froze for a second. Just a moment.
Then: “Shut up,” he muttered, brushing crumbs off his lap.
Seongje smirked, victorious.
“You didn’t deny it,” he sang.
“I didn’t confirm it either.”
“I’ll take what I can get,” Seongje said, picking a lollipop from his pocket and tossing it on Sieun’s lap. “Here. You need sugar. You’re bitchier than usual.”
Sieun blinked at the candy. “Are you bribing me?”
“I’m curing you. Sugar helps with mood swings.”
“Then you should be swallowing a kilo a day.”
Seongje snorted. “Wow. You’ve really gotten mean.”
Sieun unwrapped the lollipop anyway. “I am always like this.”
There was a pause. It's not tense, just quiet.
The night stretched, the neon buzzed, the stars overhead invisible behind the city haze. Seongje leaned back in his chair, staring up into nothing.
“You know,” he said casually, “if we keep hanging out like this, people might think we’re friends.”
Sieun glanced at him sideways. He started to eat the lollipop. “Then I’ll make sure no one sees.”
“Ow. Cold.”
“…But I guess I don’t mind the company.”
Seongje tilted his head. Smirk still in place, but his gaze softened.
“Yeah,” he said, barely a whisper. “Me neither.”
Seongje’s eyes locked onto Sieun’s hands again, gaze sharp and searching. There was a flicker of urgency in the way he scanned his fingers—like he was trying to catch something slipping between cracks.
Sieun noticed.
His brows knit. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Seongje said too quickly, too casually. Then, like he couldn’t stop himself, he added, “Just… curious.”
“About my hands?” Sieun lifted an eyebrow, pulling them into his sleeves. “What, you got a weird thing going on?”
“Nope,” Seongje said, stepping closer. “Call it… long-term research.”
“On my fingers?”
“On you.”
And before Sieun could react, Seongje reached out and gently caught his wrists.
Sieun froze.
His instinct should’ve been to pull away, shove him off, throw a sarcastic jab, but for some reason, he didn’t move. Just stood there as Seongje turned his hands over, his touch almost too soft, too focused.
Seongje scanned every crease, every knuckle, every quiet detail.
It was gone.
The thread. The faint, flickering red that had once looped from Sieun’s ring finger—dull and distant, but there—had completely vanished. Faded.
And now, there was nothing.
A slow breath slipped from Seongje’s mouth. Almost a laugh, but not quite.
Sieun narrowed his eyes. “Are you seriously not gonna explain what that was?”
Seongje didn’t answer right away. He let go, let Sieun’s hands fall back to his sides. His own lingered in the air a moment longer before sliding into his pockets.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”
“Try me,” Sieun challenged, but there was confusion in his voice now. Not hostility, just… unease.
Seongje grinned, small and tired. “I’d rather you hate me for messing with you than pity me for telling the truth.”
Sieun blinked. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Exactly," Seongje took a step back, his grin still in place, but his eyes distant. “It’s kind of my thing.”
Sieun stared at him for a moment, unsure whether he was supposed to feel annoyed or concerned.
“I don’t get you,” he muttered.
“You’re not supposed to.”
A pause.
Then Seongje added, “Not yet.”
And just like that, he turned and started walking ahead, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, like the night was heavier than usual.
Sieun looked at him in confusion, like he did not just hold his wrist out of nowhere.
And how he wanted to freeze that moment.
The night air stung his face, but Seongje kept walking. One hand in his pocket. The other curled into a loose fist.
Gone.
He had seen it with his own eyes. The red thread that used to shimmer faintly from Sieun’s ring finger, always so quiet, barely there—now completely vanished. Snapped. Disintegrated like smoke.
Exactly what he wanted.
Right?
He stopped at the corner of the sidewalk, just outside the dim glow of a streetlight, and leaned against a cold brick wall. His breath curled in the air.
Seongje pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead.
You broke it.
That was the plan. Break the thread, end the fate, and tip the scales.
So why the hell does it feel like you cut your own damn lungs out?
He wanted to laugh, to sneer at himself. Maybe he still would, later. But right now, the tightness in his chest had nowhere to go. He’d spent weeks, months even, unraveling Sieun’s thread, poking holes in destiny with a smirk and a cigarette like it was all some twisted game.
Because it was supposed to be.
It was supposed to be just a game while asserting power and control.
He watched Sieun in secret for so long at first, just to learn the weak spots. To manipulate, twist, and push with the intent to severe a thread.
And now, fate had finally loosened its grip.
Sieun was no longer fated to anyone. Not Suho. Not anyone.
And yet, all Seongje could think was: Why does it hurt that he doesn’t belong to anyone now, including me?
He scoffed quietly to himself.
“Stupid,” he muttered. “Fucking stupid.”
He could still see the way Sieun froze when he held his hands. The way he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. The way his eyes softened—not with fear, but with confusion. With curiosity. With something dangerously close to trust.
And he didn’t deserve that.
Because he’d manipulated this from the start. Pulled the strings, cut the strings, just to see what would happen for the sake of amusement.
Now he was standing at the edge of something terrifying.
Not fate, not threads, but feelings.
Something you can’t break. Something you can’t control.
And Seongje hated that he wasn’t ready to walk away.
On a whim, Seongje decided to walk around far from the neighborhood. Far from where it’s a field of memories with Sieun. He needed to clear his head.
From there, he started to sit with thoughts and feelings.
Maybe this time, I’ll experience a real connection.
That thought, it came quiet the first time, like barely a whisper in the dark corner of his mind, and some soft note brushed from an old song he never thought he’d hear again.
But then it returned again and again like a chorus. The kind that lingers even after the music stops.
Maybe threads don’t matter now.
He had built his whole life around the idea that they did. That the red strings dictated who belonged to whom. That fate was law, and that his only rebellion was to cut it.
He was never given a thread himself. Never chosen.
He grew up believing that love was something only others were handed; something written into their skin, tied to their fingers, ordained by some higher cruelty that skipped him over entirely.
So he became the severance. The unthreader. The interference. Fate’s challenger. He told himself he didn’t need to be loved as long as he could unravel someone else’s fate. As long as he could feel powerful, even if it meant being alone.
But then came Sieun.
He's too sharp for his own good. Cold on the outside, but heavy with quiet grief. Someone whose string tied him to another. Someone Seongje was never supposed to care about; just study, prod, manipulate, and break.
And now?
Now, Sieun sat beside him at midnight convenience stores. Now, Sieun talked to him not out of fear, but with fire in his eyes. Now, Sieun walked just close enough that their shadows touched.
And Seongje realized—
He didn’t care about the string anymore.
He didn’t care that it was gone, nor it didn’t get tied to him.
Because Sieun was still here. Not because of fate, not because of threads. But because, for once, someone chose to stay.
And maybe, just maybe, that meant more than destiny ever could.
He looked at Sieun’s profile, bathed in the golden light of a vending machine. That furrow between his brows. The way his mouth twitched when he tried not to smile. The silence he sat in comfortably, like he didn’t need to fill the space between them with anything but presence.
Seongje’s chest tightened.
So this is what a real connection feels like.
No thread. No prophecy. Just heartache, and hope, and wanting.
He wasn’t ready for it.
But god, did he want it anyway.
Just when Seongje thought things were finally starting to make sense, when the chaos of his plans began settling into something dangerously close to sincerity, he let his guard down.
He hadn’t meant to. Really. It was supposed to be another trick. Another act in Baekjin’s little theater of manipulation of making Sieun fall for me type of shit. Make Sieun waver, twist the thread, and break it. Simple.
But somewhere along the way, Sieun started laughing at his jokes. And worse, Seongje started liking the sound of it.
He could still hear the echo of Sieun’s laugh from earlier that day when Sieun was about to go to his cram school, a real one, rare and fleeting, but genuine. He had said something stupid—something about Sieun walking like a grandfather—and instead of rolling his eyes like usual, Sieun had laughed. Eyes creased, nose scrunched, hoodie pulled low to hide the fact that he actually found Seongje funny.
That sound and that moment. It undid him.
Maybe this time, Seongje thought, I’ll experience a real connection. Maybe fate doesn’t matter anymore.
Maybe I’ll let myself fall.
And then—
[Yeon Sieun]
Calling…
Seongje stared at the screen.
He was on his bed, phone dangling in one hand, lazily scrolling through something meaningless just to hear noise in the background. But when the screen lit up, his blood ran cold.
Sieun never called. Not once. Texts? Sure. A dry response. A grumble. The occasional meme. But a call?
He sat up. “What the hell…”
Thumb hovered over the answer button, heart hammering. He felt like a teenage boy who has a crush on someone but they know nothing about it.
He picked up.
“Hello?”
There was breathing on the other end, quick and shallow.
“Sieun?”
Then, there’s Sieun’s voice. Stiff, barely held together.
“He woke up.”
Seongje blinked. “What?”
“Suho.” A shaky exhale. “He woke up.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Everything inside him went still. For a second, all he could hear was the faint hum of the air through the receiver and the erratic rhythm of Sieun’s breathing.
Then—
“That’s… that’s good,” Seongje said, but it came out rough.
A pause.
“He said my name first,” Sieun added. “Didn’t even need to think. Just—‘Sieun.’ Like he was waiting for me.”
Seongje closed his eyes.
Of course he did.
And just like that, reality returned. Like a snapped thread.
Every stolen moment, every late-night walk, every stupid joke—it was all hanging on borrowed time. He knew that. He always knew that.
But still, it stung.
“Where are you now?” Seongje asked, quieter.
Sieun paused. “…In front of the hospital. I didn’t go in yet. I just—I called you first.”
Seongje’s breath hitched, but he masked it with a small laugh. “That’s new.”
“Yeah.” Another breath. “I don’t know why.”
But Seongje did. And that made it worse.
“I’ll be there,” he said without thinking.
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m already on my way,” he interrupted, grabbing his jacket.
Because even if the thread never existed for him, even if it was never his name that would be spoken first, he still wanted to be near Sieun.
Even if it broke him.
The hospital loomed under the moonlight, sterile and silver against the sky. Seongje didn’t rush, but every step felt heavier than the last.
He found Sieun just outside the entrance, standing under a flickering lamp post like some tragic painting. His hoodie was half-zipped, his expression unreadable. Phone still in hand. Looking at nothing.
For a moment, Seongje didn’t say a word.
He just stared, and then he saw it. The thread. Again. Barely there... It's faint, wispy, but it's real.
It reappeared.
His gaze dropped instinctively to Sieun’s hand. That familiar string—the one he had spent nights studying, mocking, obsessing over—was back.
Only this time… it was glowing.
It was glowing softly, gently, and glimmering like a pulse like it had been reignited.
And worse, it wasn’t connected to him. Of course.
As much as he didn’t want to admit, his heart sank. Seongje swallowed hard. Slowly and mechanically, he looked at his own fingers.
Nothing. Still nothing. Of course.
A twisted smile ghosted across his lips. I must be a damn masochist for checking.
“You came,” Sieun said without turning around.
“Don’t sound too surprised,” Seongje replied, voice lighter than he felt. “You called me, remember? That makes me, what, your emergency contact again?”
Sieun huffed quietly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Oh, I’m not.” He stepped closer. “I’m taking it very seriously.”
Sieun finally turned, meeting his eyes, and something about the way he looked at Seongje was different. Softer. Tired. Torn.
But when Seongje glanced again at that red thread, it pulsed, then flickered like a dying ember. Pulling softly in the direction of the ICU upstairs.
To him.
To Suho.
The one who woke up and said his name first.
Seongje’s chest tightened.
“So,” he said, forcing casualness into his voice. “You gonna go in?”
“I… don’t know yet.”
“Are you afraid?”
“I don’t even know what I’m feeling,” Sieun admitted, gaze dropping. “I should be happy. I am. But… it’s like everything inside me’s suddenly too loud.”
Seongje nodded, gently. “Yeah. That tracks.”
He could’ve made a joke. Could’ve called him dramatic. But he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there silenty, holding still while watching the thread stretch out like a beacon toward someone else.
And even as it burned quietly in his periphery, Seongje managed a smile.
Because Sieun had still called him first.
Not Suho. Not Juntae. Not Baku. Not Gotak. Not anyone else.
Him.
That meant something, r ight?
Even if the universe had a different ending planned, even if he was just a detour on the map, even if the red string would never tie to his own fingers, he still had tonight.
“Let’s go in together,” he offered gently.
Sieun blinked at him.
“I’ll wait outside the room if you want,” Seongje added.
“…Okay.”
They walked toward the hospital doors in step.
The sterile hallway smelled like antiseptic and exhaustion. Every light was too white. Every step is too loud.
Sieun walked ahead. Seongje followed, but not too closely. Close enough to catch him if he stumbled. Far enough that Sieun wouldn’t have to see how tightly his fists were clenched.
The door to Suho’s room loomed like a monument. Sieun hesitated in front of it. Just for a second.
Seongje saw the way his shoulders rose as he inhaled. Like he was bracing for a tidal wave.
“I’ll stay here,” Seongje said carefully.
Sieun didn’t turn around. Just nodded. Then opened the door.
Seongje caught a glimpse. The pale figure in the bed. Wires. Machines. Eyes open now. Barely, but awake.
Suho turned his head, slowly, and—
“Sieun?” A rasp. Barely human. Like a memory trying to breathe.
Seongje looked away.
Inside the room, Sieun stood frozen for a second. He did not feel comfort, but something like relief.
Suho’s eyes were half-lidded. Struggling. But there.
“Hey,” Sieun whispered. “You really woke up, huh?”
A tired smile curved Suho’s lips. “Took me long enough.”
Sieun’s legs finally remembered how to move. He stepped in, close to the bedside. Took a seat.
He didn’t cry. But his chest felt too full. Like the tears were there, just misplaced.
“I came earlier,” he murmured. “I… I thought you’d still be out.”
Suho studied him slowly and deliberately, like trying to memorize a face again. “You look older.”
Sieun huffed out a shaky laugh. “I feel older.”
Suho’s hand shifted slightly, reaching out. “Still stubborn?”
“Always.”
Their fingers brushed. The touch wasn’t dramatic. It was familiar; the kind of touch that used to mean everything.
Out in the hallway, Seongje leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed.
He shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t his moment. It never was.
But he stayed.
And something in him wants to catch a glimpse. So he did. And god he regretted it.
He saw them. Fingers brushing, hands resting together. And the thread? It had never glowed like that before. Not just flickering, not just faint.
It burned.
A vivid, pulsing scarlet that seemed to bleed into the entire room, staining the air with something too sacred, too inevitable. It cast everything in red undertones—like the world itself recognized fate had just realigned.
And Seongje?
He felt it all at once.
The breath caught in his throat. His breath hitched. His heart dropped, heavy and unrelenting. The strength in his legs wavered.
One step back,
Then another.
And another.
Each retreat felt like tearing something out of himself. Still, his eyes stayed locked on them. On that impossible, cruel red glow.
Until the thread disappeared behind distance. Until their silhouettes blurred. Until the shadows swallowed him whole.
Gone again, just like before.
And maybe, just like always.
After that night, something in Seongje shifted.
He didn’t say a word on the way back. Not a single jab, not even a glance.
Then he stopped showing up.
The messages grew short.
“Busy.” “Don’t wait.” “Handle it yourself.”
No more convenience store meetups. No more late-night detours or wandering conversations under flickering street lamps. No more teasing remarks that turned into accidental truths.
He became the version of himself that he thought he left behind—the cold, sharp-edged one Baekjin once molded. The kind of person who watched others from a distance and pretended he didn’t care.
But he did.
He just didn’t know how to hold what was never meant to be his.
He buried himself in silence, in old habits. Threw himself back into fights he didn’t start and didn’t care to finish. Rekindled ties with people he didn’t trust, just to feel numb.
He stopped checking his phone, except at night. Quiet, restless nights when the room echoed too loud with thoughts of a thread that was never his.
And every time he remembered the way Sieun smiled around Suho, the way that thread burned red between them, he told himself it was better this way. That some people are meant to be shadows in someone else’s story.
Even if he didn’t want to be one anymore.
Seongje stared at the ceiling. The cracks in the plaster had started to look like constellations he couldn’t name.
The room was dark. Not because the lights were off, but because he didn’t want light. He wanted silence. Void. Something that didn’t pull.
His phone sat on the table—silent, unmoving.
No calls.
No messages.
Just a still screen reflecting back the version of him he hated most.
He had done everything right. Set the pieces. Played the part. Wielded manipulation like second skin.
And now?
Now he felt like the joke in someone else’s tragedy.
Even as they stood side by side. Even as their shoulders touched. Even when he offered him company, like an idiot trying to hold on to something slipping between his fingers.
Suho was awake.
Suho remembered.
And Seongje?
He was just the in-between.
The placeholder. The detour.
He sat up, suddenly breathless, like something punched him from the inside.
He wanted to scream.
Not from rage—but from grief. The grief of almost.
Almost meant something.
Almost touched.
Almost mattered.
But in the end, it was just him. In his room. With his regrets.
He ran a hand through his hair. Tugged hard. Just to feel something. Just to hurt enough to stay grounded.
He hated this.
He hated how easily Sieun made him believe they had something real.
He hated how he was the one who slipped emotionally, dangerously into something that wasn’t part of the plan.
Baekjin didn’t prepare him for this.
For the ache of seeing Sieun laugh. For the guilt of seeing Sieun cry. For the twisted jealousy in watching Sieun hold Suho’s hand.
What the hell was he thinking? That this would end differently? That he’d become the person Sieun reached for without hesitation?
He closed his eyes. The image of Sieun’s fingers burned into his memory. That thread—faint, barely there—but reappearing the moment Suho woke up.
As if fate just clicked back into place.
And left him out.
And laughed at him.
Just like what happened to Baekjin.
He dropped the phone, let it clatter to the ground, then curled into himself.
And for once, he didn’t try to pretend.
He let the tears come.
Silent. Bitter. Angry.
For the first time, he cried over a connection that felt so genuine.
Because this time, it wasn’t part of the manipulation. This time, it was real.
Few moments later, he reached for his phone, went through his contacts, found someone named Na Baekjin, and hit call.
And it rang, One, two, three seconds… Then it connected.
“Are you happy now?” Seongje’s voice was low, bitter. “Is this what you wanted?”
A pause on the other end. Then came the familiar, infuriatingly calm voice.
“Well. You sound dramatic tonight. That's new.”
Seongje clenched his jaw. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“Oh, I know,” Baekjin replied, casually. “Suho woke up. The thread glowed. The rightful fate is back on track. That’s the point, wasn’t it?”
Seongje’s grip on the phone tightened.
“I was never meant to—” His voice cracked, then steadied. “I told you this wasn’t going to work.”
“You’re wrong,” Baekjin said. “It did work. Sieun needed someone to fill the void until Suho came back. You were the bridge. The stand-in. The necessary failure. It worked, but not in your favor. Not in the way you wanted.”
Seongje’s breath hitched sharp, like he’d been punched in the ribs.
“So that’s all I was to you?” he muttered. “A placeholder?”
“To him, yes. To me, you were the perfect variable.” Baekjin sounded almost proud. “You followed the plan. You made him vulnerable. You made him feel. And now, he’ll return to what’s ‘meant to be.’ That’s the beauty of fate, Seongje. It self-corrects.”
Silence.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” Baekjin said. “You hate that it hurts. You hate that you let it hurt. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
Seongje stood there in the dark of his room, phone pressed to his ear like it anchored him to what was left of his composure.
“Fuck you,”
A momentary silence.
“Go ahead,” Baekjin continued smoothly, “burn it all down if you want. Go back to who you were. That’s what people like us do.”
The call ended. Whether Baekjin hung up or Seongje did, he couldn’t even tell.
He let the phone slide from his hand. It hit the floor with a soft clack.
And for a long time, he just stood there, alone, in the dark, wondering when he’d stopped playing the role and started meaning every word he said to Sieun. And hating himself for letting it become real.
The night stretched on like a wound that wouldn’t close. Seongje lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the room dim except for the faint glow of the street lights seeping through the blinds. His phone was still on the floor where he’d let it fall. He hadn’t moved.
Not until it buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
[Yeon Sieun]
Calling…
His heart twisted.
He almost didn’t answer.
But habit won over heartbreak. His hand moved before his mind caught up.
“…Yeah?”
There was a beat of silence on the other end, then:
“Are you okay?” Sieun’s voice was soft. Careful. Uncharacteristically so.
Seongje closed his eyes, the guilt spreading like frost in his chest. “Why the sudden question?”
“I just got home,” Sieun said. “I thought about calling you earlier but… I don’t know. I figured you’d show up at the hospital.”
That made Seongje wince. “Yeah. I saw.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“…Why didn’t you come in?” Sieun asked.
Because the thread glowed. Because he saw your hands and it looked like fate smiled. Because for a second, he hated the way he wanted to stay anyway.
“Didn’t feel like it,” he lied.
Sieun didn’t answer immediately. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter. “You’re pulling away again. It's been a while since I last saw you. And—and you've gone cold.” He speaks, full of emotion
Seongje almost laughed, bitter and hollow. “And you’re just noticing?”
“I notice everything,” Sieun said, a hint of irritation sneaking in. “But you—you confuse me. You act like you care, then disappear. Then show up again like nothing happened.”
Seongje bit his lip.
“That’s what I do, remember?” he said. “I mess with people’s heads. You said it yourself.”
“That was before,” Sieun shot back. “Before everything.”
There was too much between them now. Too many nights at the convenience store. Too many stolen glances. Too much comfort that didn’t feel manufactured anymore.
And that was the problem.
“…You should go back to him,” Seongje said, his voice a little rough. “He’s what you were waiting for.”
“I didn’t call him,” Sieun said. “I called you.”
And that made it worse.
Seongje swallowed hard, forcing out a weak laugh. “I’m a bad decision, Sieun. You just forgot for a while.”
“No, you don't get to decide that,” Sieun replied. “You made me forget I was waiting for someone else.”
Seongje said nothing.
“…I’ll stop calling if you want,” Sieun added after a moment, quietly. “But I meant it when I said you made things bearable. Even now.”
It hurt worse than a punch.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” Seongje said instead. As an excuse.
Then he hung up before Sieun could answer—because if he heard anything else in that voice, he’d come crawling back. And he didn’t deserve to.
Not now. Not when the thread glowed again, for someone else.
The call ended too quickly.
Sieun stared at the screen, Seongje’s name still lit up like a sore spot in his chest.
“I’ll text you tomorrow.”
But the tone didn’t match the words.
He let his phone fall beside him on the bed, rubbing the heel of his palm against his forehead. It was getting harder to think clearly when it came to Seongje. Everything about him felt like a paradox; one moment sharp-tongued and smug, the next… gentle, almost careful, like he was holding back an avalanche behind that grin.
Sieun wasn’t stupid. He knew how to read people. Knew how to dissect every flinch, every pause, every misplaced word. It was practically a survival skill at this point.
And Seongje?
He’s pulling away. He’s avoiding him.
Sieun leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the dull light flickering from the hallway outside his room.
This time, it stung. More than he wanted to admit.
Because he remembered the way Seongje looked at him sometimes, like he wanted to stay. Like he was about to say something that never quite made it past his teeth.
He remembered the night in the alley, Seongje pulling him out of that mess like it mattered. He remembered the hands brushing too close. The silence that said more than either of them were brave enough to voice.
He felt comfort. He remembered feeling safe.
And now, he felt the echo of that safety slip away like sand through his fingers.
What changed?
Sieun didn’t believe in fate. Never did. But lately… things had felt threaded, like they were walking along some unseen line that was drawing them closer whether they wanted it or not.
And now?
Now, Seongje was retreating. Turning cold again. Guarded.
Sieun’s jaw tightened. Was it Suho? The thread? That thing that Seongje always danced around with vague comments and half-meaningful looks?
Was he the problem?
He sat up suddenly, tossing the blanket off him. His heart was hammering too loud for sleep. His fingers ached from curling into fists without realizing it.
“What are you doing to me, Seongje,” he muttered under his breath.
Sieun didn’t want to chase after someone who kept running. But he also wasn’t ready to let go of something that—someone who—made the chaos in his head feel a little more bearable.
He picked up his phone again, thumb hovering over the text bar.
He typed, paused, erased.
Then, slowly, he typed:
I know something’s wrong. Say it, or I’ll show up and make you.
He hit send.
And waited.
The silence was unbearable.
But for the first time, it wasn’t just Suho he was thinking about as he sat there in the dark.
It was both of them.
And the possibility that he might lose either one was starting to suffocate him.
Then a reply,
[Keum Seongje]
I said I’ll text you tomorrow.
Sieun blinked. That was it?
Then another message followed.
[Keum Seongje]
Take a rest. Don’t bother me.
He stared.
It was cold. Detached. Pushed to the edge of indifference. And yet, there was something underneath. Something that felt too rehearsed to be honest.
Sieun’s throat tightened. He clenched the phone in his hand until the screen dimmed and locked.
Why does it hurt when he pushes me away like this?
He set the phone on the table beside him and turned his head to stare at the ceiling. A hollow ache was gnawing at his chest, slow and unrelenting. Not grief. Not anger. Something quieter. Like… absence. Like waiting for something that used to be there to come back.
His thoughts turned to the things Seongje said in fragments: threads, fate, broken connections, the bitterness he never fully voiced. It wasn’t just cryptic for the sake of being an ass. There was weight behind it.
Sieun sat up slowly, grabbing his phone again, fingers hesitating above the keyboard.
His heart felt heavy, but he typed anyway.
If this is about fate that you’re talking about…
He stopped there. The blinking cursor waited. And so did he.
He erased the words.
He typed again:
Then screw fate. I don’t care about that.
Send.
It felt reckless. But it also felt true.
A minute passed. Then two. No reply.
Sieun set the phone down again and buried his face into his hands. The silence after that message felt louder than it should’ve.
Because now he wasn’t just waiting for a reply. He was waiting for a decision. Waiting to find out if someone like Seongje, someone cold, distant, sharp-edged and careful, could ever stop running from whatever this was between them.
Even if fate wasn’t on their side.
Even if none of this was supposed to happen.
And somewhere inside him, something whispered that the moment Seongje replies, or didn’t, everything between them would start to change.
Seongje stared at the screen.
[Yeon Sieun]
Then screw fate. I don’t care about that.
His thumb hovered over the phone. His other hand clenched the edge of his desk, knuckles white. The glow of Sieun’s message burned into his vision like an afterimage.
He breathed in. Then out.
It felt like the wind got knocked out of him.
Why does it sound like he means it?
Why did it make something twist in his chest?
No one was supposed to get this close. That was the deal. That was the point. He was supposed to play the game, pull the strings, be the clever manipulator Baekjin sent him to be. And for a while, it worked.
But now?
Now he couldn’t stop imagining Sieun’s voice behind those words. How angry he must’ve been. How genuine.
Seongje ran a hand down his face.
“Idiot,” he muttered. He wasn’t even sure who he was talking about—Sieun or himself.
Then quietly, under his breath, like it hurt to say:
“You can’t just screw fate. It's cruel when you try to defy it.”
His eyes dropped to his own hand.
Still bare.
No thread. Not even the faintest shimmer.
But Sieun’s? That night in the hospital, the thread had glowed like it was on fire. Fate had chosen. And it hadn’t chosen him.
He opened the message again. Reread Sieun’s words. They made something ache.
I want to answer you. I want to believe you. I want to say fate doesn’t matter. That we can make our own story.
But he couldn’t lie to him.
Not now. Not when everything in him screamed that the closer he got to Sieun, the more painful the fall would be.
Because eventually, Sieun would see that thread again. And Seongje would still be standing there—unconnected, unwanted by the universe.
A placeholder. A detour. A mistake.
He typed, slowly:
You should care about fate.
Pause.
Because no one can resist it.
He stared at the words. His heart thudded like he was sealing something away with every tap of the screen.
But then, as if something inside him revolted—
He opened the voice memo recorder. Hesitated.
Then whispered, quietly, almost like a confession into the dark:
“…But god, I wish you could.”
He didn’t send it.
He locked his phone.
And for the first time in weeks, he buried it deep in the bottom drawer of his desk, like maybe if he didn’t see Sieun’s name, didn’t hear his voice, didn’t remember the warmth in his laugh, he could convince himself that he never wanted what they had.
That he wasn’t already in too deep.
That fate wasn’t cruel.
The next time their paths crossed, it wasn’t by chance, but it wasn’t fate either. It was Seongje, once again pulling the strings from the shadows. Just like before. Quietly watching, learning Sieun’s rhythms like the scripture. Memorizing the way he moved through the world. Blending his schemes into the illusion of coincidence, disguising intention as inevitability.
It was just past 8 PM, the chill of the night breeze hung in the air like something half-forgotten, sharp and biting. The sidewalk near the river was quiet, with the streetlights subtly illuminating the road.
Sieun was on his way back from the hospital. His steps were slower than usual. His hands were buried deep in his coat pockets, but his mind was tangled elsewhere, replaying conversations, re-reading texts that had no warmth. Reaching for a thread that kept slipping.
Then—
A presence. A familiar weight in the air. A voice he hadn’t heard in weeks.
“Hey.”
Sieun stopped.
Turned.
There he was.
Keum Seongje.
After how many days, or it has been weeks already. Sieun failed to keep track. He was too busy waiting, and hoping, for another chance of them meeting again.
Wearing a cap. Hair a little messier than usual. Eyes unreadable. Unlit cigarette on top of his right ear.
They stared at each other in the muted orange glow of the streetlights. Neither said anything for a while. It wasn’t silence, it was something thicker. More like, unspoken tension.
Then Seongje stepped closer. He didn't smirk, not even teasing remarks.
Just something in his hand.
A folded envelope.
He offered it without ceremony. “This is all I can say without ruining it.”
Sieun didn’t reach for it at first. “What is it?”
“A mess,” Seongje said with a breathy laugh. “But mine.”
Reluctantly, Sieun took it. Their fingers brushed, barely, and Seongje was the first to pull away.
“I won’t bother you again,” he added. He glanced at him like it’s the last time they’re going to see each other. “Not after this.”
“Seongje—”
But he was already walking past him. Already disappearing into the cold night, like he always did.
Sieun stood alone under the streetlight, staring down at the envelope with his name on it, written in handwriting that tried too hard to be careless.
He opened it.
And the handwriting was annoyingly precise. Clean. It’s graceful. It’s not a handwriting a Union thug should have.
Then he read:
Sieun,
It’s not fate. It’s not destiny. It’s not some cosmic coincidence or divine plan.
You weren’t meant for me.
I knew that from the beginning.
But I still looked at you like you were.
And I still moved like you were the only direction worth chasing.
I carved and made the stars align to spell out your name. I rewrote every rule. I pulled threads that weren’t mine to touch. I entangled fate and forced it to twist into something that looked like a path toward you. You think this was inevitable. But it wasn’t. It was intentional.
I chose to meet you. I chose to fall.
And when the line between pretending and feeling blurred, I kept going.
Even when it felt like I was cheating fate just to keep you a little longer.
You don’t know the weight I carry when I look at you and see a thread glowing red that doesn’t lead to me.
But I still looked.
I still hoped.
Because maybe, if I faked it long enough, if I tried hard enough… the universe would play along.
But the truth is, I can see it. The red string. It’s real. Not metaphorical, not symbolic, but real.
I’ve seen it for as long as I can remember. Threads of fate tied around people’s fingers. Some glowing gently, some taut like stretched nerves, others frayed like they were running out of time. And yours...
Yours was never meant to lead to me.
The first time I saw you, I noticed it immediately, your thread. It was clear. Strong. Steady. And it was pointing somewhere else.
To someone in that hospital bed.
To someone fate had already chosen for you.
But I was asked to intercept you anyway.
This part? I want you to know. I need you to know.
Baekjin planned it. He knew about my ability. And he wanted to try and prove something. That even fate, even love, could be rewritten. That with the right pressure, the right words, the right timing, you’d fall for someone else. For me.
I went along with it.
At first, I told myself it didn’t matter. You were just another variable in his little experiment. And I’d done worse. I’d manipulated people before. This wasn’t new.
But then you smiled at me.
You called my bluff. You challenged me. You weren’t easy to push, and somehow, that made me want to get closer. I stopped following orders. I started showing up for no reason. I laughed more than I ever have, and it scared the hell out of me.
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
Because I started to want it to be real.
Because I started to feel everything I was pretending to.
And that’s when it got dangerous.
Because I’m the villain in this story.
I’m the one who lied.
Who stepped into someone else’s thread and tried to cut it clean.
Maybe this was my karma for trying to severe something that you were unaware about.
And now you know the worst of me.
Still, I need you to understand that it was manipulation, yes. But it’s not anymore.
Somewhere along the way, you stopped being a task. You became the only real thing I had.
So when I said fate didn’t matter, I meant it.
It’s not fate.
It’s not destiny.
It’s me.
I chose you.
And now I’m choosing to walk away, because if there’s even the smallest part of you that still wonders whether this connection was ever real…
You deserve better than doubt.
Initially, I thought that being unbound to someone and not having the red string at all is liberating. Turns out, it’s indeed a punishment. Most especially when it’s impossible to be with you.
I’m sorry.
Not just for the plan, or the lies.
But for falling for you after I’d already ruined everything.
—Seongje
P.S.
None of our meetings were a coincidence. I forced every moment, and twisted every chance just to be near you. So if we ever meet again without plans, without pushing, then maybe fate is finally giving in to what my heart’s been screaming for all this time.
Sieun’s hands trembled slightly as he folded the letter back into the envelope, heart pounding in his chest. His throat was dry. His mind racing. Tears started to form in his eyes.
He didn’t understand everything. But somehow, now, he understood Seongje more than ever.
And just like that, everything ended when something hasn't even started.
Notes:
If you want to understand Keum Seongje in this fic, just listen to "Mastermind" by Taylor Swift :P
If you have come this far, thanks for bearing with me!
Chapter 2
Notes:
I'm SO sorry this took so long. Uni happened unfortunately. But this chapter is completely optional to read if you wanted the angsty open ending. But if you're one of the people who demands for more closure (well idk if this will do it justice) then this is for you. Disclaimer that there's a lot of introspection here so if you don't fw that, then I'm sorry <: Apologies also if there are typographical and grammatical errors (english is not my first language).
This is heavily inspired by the song "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His room felt alone and cold more than ever.
He thinks of every moment Seongje was there when no one else was. The moment when he never looked away when things got hard. The way his presence felt inevitable, not because of destiny, but because of intention.
“You deserve better than doubt,” Seongje had said in his letter.
But all Sieun can think is: What if doubt is the only thing left to prove this was real?
He wants to scream. He wants to find Seongje and shake him, ask why he waited so long to tell the truth, why he chose to walk away now of all times, just when Sieun had started to feel like maybe, just maybe, this connection was deeper than he used to think. That this connection wasn’t so stupid after all, despite its absurdity.
He sits down slowly, knees weak, fingers trembling, eyes burning.
And then he laughs. Bitter, short, and disbelieving.
Of course Seongje had to rewrite the stars. Of course he had to carve his way through fate like a villain who never wanted to be one. Of course this was the one time Sieun let his guard down, and it was all an experiment.
But here’s the worst part: He doesn’t hate him.
He can’t.
Because even now, even through the fury, betrayal, and ache, the image of Seongje choosing him again and again, won’t leave his mind.
So Sieun folds the letter gently and places it in the drawer beside his bed.
He whispers into the silence, “Then meet me again, you bastard. No plans. No pushing. Just you.”
And maybe this time, fate will listen.
It’s been a quiet war for Sieun; one he’s been fighting mostly in his own head. As the saying goes, old habits die screaming. And lately, that scream has been deafening.
The days have blurred together in a haze of clockwork and noise, the world around him spinning forward, fast and loud. Meanwhile, he remains stuck in a limbo, rooted to the same spot, like his feet are shackled to the ground and unable to exert any movement at all. He watches the world go on as he’s trying to pick up pieces of himself that’s used to Seongje’s presence. He watches everyone move on with a velocity he can’t match, like he’s trapped in slow motion while life rushes by. And what’s worse is that he simply couldn’t tell anyone his suppressed feelings because the mere thought of sharing his burdens haunts him.
Although yes, he didn’t want to share his burdens, he still asked around about Seongje in hopes of picking up traces from him. The very last time he saw Seongje—the time when he received his handwritten letter—he vanished without a trace.
Sieun wasn’t sure if it’s out of curiosity or desperation, but he tried to find him. He asked Humin, even if he really didn’t want to but God he didn’t have a choice, an unintentional and forced ex-Union and his best friend, about Seongje in hopes of knowing something about him. And of course, Humin was confused about this question. But he didn’t press any further.
“I saw him once,” Humin told him, slowly, as if still unsure whether it had really happened. “Just after Suho woke up. Two days later, I think. It was the time when you invited us to visit Suho.”
He explained that he thought he was hallucinating at first, but it was real. Seongje looked serious, devoid of any facade that he had shown. It looked questionably similar to the look he had on his face when he met him at the warehouse while he was taking a break from the Union. The very same he saved Juntae.
“He didn’t even look at me,” Humin added. “Not once. Dude just kept staring at the hospital. Like someone looking at a place that no longer belongs to him.”
So, that’s what all Humin has to say to Sieun. That he just saw Seongje after Suho woke up outside the hospital. Nothing more. And of course, this information got Sieun worried even more to Seongje.
He began to wonder if Seongje had been lingering outside that hospital long before anyone noticed; watching from a distance, hiding in silence. Was he there even before he left that letter? Was he always there, looking out just like he used to long before they actually talked to each other, just observing and watching?
He also asked Juntae and Hyuntak about him, but of course, nothing came up. They didn’t know his whereabouts and hadn’t heard a thing about him. In the end, all of his Eunjang friends were confused because of Sieun asking about Seongje, but they didn’t question any further.
As a last resort, he wanted to ask Baekjin, but that bastard couldn’t be reached either.
With hope flickering, he kept living in hopes of getting pieces of him. He had a lot of questions. A lot of suppressed emotions to pour. He was angry. He was lost. He was confused. He was yearning.
He kept living, grasping for fragments of Seongje in passing faces, in forgotten corners, and in moments that felt almost like memory.
He should be happy. He is happy, or at least, that’s what he tells himself. When Suho opened his eyes again, when he looked at him and smiled like nothing had been lost, Sieun felt something in him unravel. Weeks, months, and even years of breath held in his chest finally exhaled. He’d carried that fear like a burden strapped to his spine: the what-ifs, the possibilities, and the worst-case scenarios. And when they didn’t come true, he wanted to believe that would be the moment everything clicked back into place.
He thought Suho’s return would bring back the missing color to his life, that it would snap him out of the black and white filter that’s muted everything since. He thought that his monotonous life would dissipate. But the truth, as much as he didn’t want to admit, refused to stay buried.
Because, even surrounded by the people who mattered—Suho, Humin, Hyuntak, Juntae—even with the laughter, the familiar bickering, the comforting sense of belonging, there’s something offbeat in his chest. A silence in between heartbeats. A sense of being surrounded but still… incomplete. It felt like something he constantly felt when Suho was in coma while he found new friends.
So he thinks, is he undeserving to feel complete, just for once? Why is he always losing something—someone—so dear to him when he's so close to tasting pure happiness?
His friends from Eunjang and Suho are everything he could ever ask for. He was surrounded by everything that once defined his sense of belonging. He laughed more. He slept more, and his insomnia subsided. He even caught himself smiling without realizing it. He should feel lucky, blessed, even. But, there’s a strange ache twisting beneath the joy. A longing that refuses to name itself until it grows too loud to ignore.
He misses him. Seongje.
The chaos, the tension, the strange peace they found in shared banters—it was maddening, but it was real. And now that it’s gone, he feels its absence like constant aching. He used to think he hated the way Seongje disrupted his world.
Now, he just hates how quiet it is without him.
And for once, Sieun doesn’t bother denying it.
He misses Seongje desperately. Not in a polite, passing way. Not in the way you miss someone who left a gap in your schedule. He misses him like an ache in his bones. Like a disruption in his emotional rhythm. Like a song with its melody missing. The kind of missing that makes you question your sanity, because why should he feel this way about someone who turned his life upside down? He misses someone who challenged him, provoked him, and saw through him in ways no one else did. It felt like a void in his routines. He couldn’t bear Seongje’s calamitous absence in his life where he was already used to his presence.
It baffles him, truly, that he could miss someone who made him feel like he was constantly losing his grip and control. Someone who never made him feel safe in the usual sense. Seongje was chaos wrapped in charm, and unpredictability dancing with confidence. He never respected boundaries in the way Sieun was used to, and never gave him the space to keep his walls intact. He wasn’t reliable. He wasn’t steady. He wasn’t the kind of person Sieun could depend on without bracing for whiplash. Trouble followed him like a shadow, and more often than not, he was the trouble. And still, he found his way into Sieun’s life—not by invitation, but by force, by persistence, and by peeling Sieun open with a kind of ruthless honesty no one else dared to show. And, as a matter of fact, nothing was surprising about that. Because the moment Keum Seongje stepped into his life and blended into his familiarity, there was no escape.
He shouldn’t miss that.
He shouldn’t miss someone who manipulated his way into his life with games, mind fuckery, and complicated motives. Someone who showed up unannounced and left without warning. Someone who dangled half-truths like bait and made Sieun feel unsteady, like he was standing on a bridge made of glass. Someone who kept babbling about fate and made him feel stupid.
But he does.
And that’s what confounds him the most.
Because Seongje was never quite the person Sieun could trust, not fully, not comfortably. Yet now, in his absence, Sieun finds himself missing all the things he once resented: the disarray, the friction, the strange intimacy carved through conflict.
He misses the imbalance, the unpredictability, amd the way Seongje shattered the silence in his life and somehow made the chaos feel realer than the peace that followed.
He wondered if they were just two broken people meant to exist together in the chaos; Once the chaos faded and stability took hold, one would heal while the other, still shattered, would vanish.
As much as he didn’t want to admit, the feelings that Seongje made him feel gave impact in a sense that he made Sieun feel something, anything, and everything all at once.
Clarity hits Sieun, and that clarity frightens him a little: The colors didn’t come back with Suho waking up.
So he thought, Am I being punished for always something more?
Sieun has always wondered about the fate and thread that Seongje has been babbling about. Initially he just concluded that he was delusional and stupid. He had scoffed at the idea, labeling it as nothing more than the ramblings of someone seeking meaning in chaos. He presumed that maybe he was just fucking with him, ensuing even more chaos. But now, in Seongje’s absence, those once dismissed notions began to monopolize his thoughts.
When Seongje left, a peculiar clarity settled over Sieun. His bond with Suho felt natural, comforting, and a return to equilibrium. He thought that maybe, this was what Seongje was talking about. The thing that intertwines Sieun with Suho—the red string. He thought that the red string of fate was a sham, and it’s all in the head. Fictional. Only a plot to fairy tales. But, with Suho, there was a sense of belonging, a reaffirmation of purpose. And that’s when he realized that Seongje might be truthful with what he's saying; that fate was already written in the stars, and he was destined to be with Suho. He even wondered if his friends also bear the same red string with someone, curious about who’s intertwined with who.
However, despite the stability he found in Suho, Sieun found himself yearning for the very turbulence he had sought to escape. He missed the unpredictability, the challenge, and the way Seongje disrupted his carefully constructed world. It was a paradox he couldn’t reconcile; craving the madness while seeking serenity.
In the quiet moments, he questioned his own desires. Why did he long for someone who had unsettled him so deeply? Perhaps, he mused, there was truth in Seongje’s talk of threads and fate. Maybe some connections defy logic, existing beyond reason, pulling at the soul in inexplicable ways.
Sieun realized that his heart was caught between two worlds: one of peace and one of chaos. And in that realization, he understood that both were integral to his being.
It had been exactly nine months ever since Sieun last saw Seongje. Leaves started to wilt, bracing for the whiplash of the cold. It’s autumn now.
And in that time, a lot had changed.
His friends had become more than just people he spent time with. They’d become home. He and Suho had grown closer when he thought they wouldn't, quietly picking up where they left off before the coma interrupted everything. Their bond deepened even further, filling in the gaps left behind by time.
Humin and Hyuntak had drawn closer too. There was something unspoken between them, but they never addressed it, and no one pushed. Still, everyone in the friend group felt it and understood it, even if no one said a word.
Juntae had changed too. He’s more confident now, more willing to speak up and step forward. He carried himself with a quiet authority that hadn’t been there before. Frankly, he’s outspoken now.
The Union really vanished. Even Baekjin didn’t intervene in the built up peace their friend group has anymore. As if the world has become muted of their presence, though there’s violence occasionally, it’s not because of the thugs from Union anymore. Suddenly, the world has become devoid of all the laid out plans Baekjin did, and so is Seongje. Sieun suddenly remembered how Seongje told him in his letter that it was all orchestrated by Baekjin, and he sees the red strings just like Seongje does. He felt angry at first, but there was no point in lingering and dwelling in the past.
They were all growing slowly and subtly, becoming the people they were meant to be.
And somehow, in the quiet of Seongje’s absence, Sieun had grown too.
And in the strange, suspended quiet of those nine months, Sieun has been trying—sometimes fiercely, sometimes feebly—to cast off the remains of their fleeting time together. He never mentioned Seongje around his Eunjang friends, even if he knows that they have a hunch that something was up, most especially Juntae. Sieun never mentioned about Seongje when he talks to Suho either, so he doesn’t even know anything about him; the fights, the betrayal, the connection. As if memory were something that could be shaken loose. As if it could be erased. As if it never existed.
It wasn’t easy. Some nights still folded in on themselves, heavy with silence he couldn’t name. But there was progress. He laughed more. He learned how to speak without weighing every word. He spent time with his friends, real time; not just being present, but being. He could finally focus on his studies without the shadow of dread clinging to him.
He lived.
He lived as a high school teenage boy, no longer on constant alert. No longer waiting for the next betrayal, the next loss, the next collapse. It was as if he had finally been breathing freely ever since Suho fell into a coma, since Beomseok’s betrayal, since Youngyi disappeared without a word, and since Seongje… happened.
Now, Sieun was okay. Maybe not healed, but whole enough.
With Suho, Juntae, Humin, and Hyuntak beside him, he felt steady. Like maybe this quiet, this peace, was enough.
He no longer wanted to carry the ache of someone who chose absence. Someone who vanished, without explanation or promise. Someone who left, and kept on leaving.
He decided to stop looking for Seongje in crowded hallways or half-remembered dreams.
He understood Seongje and felt grateful to his letter, really. He held it very closely to his heart. He has come to cherish the fleeting moments he had made with him. It made him feel less lonely. But he wouldn’t dare to long for him anymore.
Just a few more months and he’d graduate. He’d step beyond this chapter, finally.
Truth be told, the moment Suho woke up, the world shifted again. Adjustment was inevitable. A coma that long—almost two years—doesn’t let anyone walk back into life unchanged. Not physically, not emotionally, and certainly not mentally.
But Sieun didn’t hesitate. He was willing and eager to walk that path with Suho. And it wasn’t just him. His friends from Eunjang, tough as they were, welcomed Suho in like he’d always been one of them.
Suho fit into the rhythm of their lives as if he had always been there. As if the space had always been shaped for him. And it felt right. So right, when Suho was included. Like something long missing had finally returned.
And maybe this was what Sieun was waiting for all his life. This kind of peace.
A peace closely kept within his soul.
And yet, he knew how fragile it was. Because only one person had ever been able to touch that part of him—the same person who disappeared nine months ago. Only one soul could disturb the peace he’s been building for so long.
It was a Tuesday evening, and the sky had already dipped into a soft navy blue by the time Sieun stepped out of cram school. The air was cool. His shoulders were heavy, but his mind was clearer than usual. Maybe it’s because he did well during the study session. He felt productive, even.
He wasn’t expecting anyone. He certainly wasn’t expecting to see them.
Just across the street, gathered loosely below the glow of a lamp post, his friends stood in a half-circle, too absorbed in conversation.
They hadn’t seen him yet.
He paused mid-step, his gaze drifting across the group. There was Suho, gesturing a little too dramatically, clearly in mid-argument with Humin, whose arms were crossed like a wall. Hyuntak stood between them, doing his best impression of a peacekeeper and middleman, arms spread as if sheer will could stop whatever nonsense was escalating. And then there was Juntae, leaning on the post, hands in his pockets, smiling sheepishly like he’d seen it all before and found it mildly amusing.
They looked chaotic and ridiculous.
They looked like home.
What the hell are they doing here? It’s late. They should be home already.
Still, Sieun didn’t move right away. He stood there, just observing, like an outsider looking into a memory.
Then, slowly, he started walking toward them with intention, but not too casually. He wanted to see how long it would take them to notice. To really see him.
The streetlight buzzed above. A dog barked somewhere down the road. His footsteps, though quiet, felt like they echoed.
And then, eye contact.
Juntae’s head tilted slightly, his grin widening just a fraction.
“Sieun!” he called out, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Sieun wasn’t someone who avoided group plans half the time. Like they hadn’t seen each other just this morning.
All at once, the group turned.
“Finally,” Suho said with a dramatic sigh, waving him over. “You’re late.”
“I’m not late,” Sieun said, stopping a few steps away. “I didn’t even know I was invited.”
“You are now,” Humin said, slapping a hand on Hyuntak’s shoulder. “We’re grabbing dinner. Gotak’s paying.” Humin always says those lines.
“I never agreed to that,” Hyuntak muttered, eyes wide with protest.
“You did in my heart,” Suho added, already walking ahead like the matter was settled.
Juntae fell in step beside Sieun. “Come on. Don’t pretend you’re busy.”
Sieun blinked, looking at them—really looking. The way they argued, joked, dropped stupid remarks, and fit around each other. The space they left, like it had always been shaped with enough room for him.
He exhaled through his nose, then shook his head.
“…Fine.”
“That’s the spirit!” Hyuntak cheered, a little too loudly.
As they walked, Suho tossed a glance over his shoulder, smiling. Not the usual mischievous kind, but something softer.
Sieun didn’t ask where they were going. He didn’t need to. He just walked with them.
Along the way, they dropped by the nearby convenience store that he knows too well ‘cause that’s where he and Seongje frequently meet up in the past and bought some food and drinks that are enough to fulfill their hunger. It was quick and brief, just like it was already planned.
The pitch black sky stretched even further to the night, the breeze of cold air hitting their faces as they once again went out from the convenience store. Humin and Juntae were holding convenience store bags. Suho’s bickering with Hyuntak. They collectively walked together as if they’re meant to do so.
Then, before Sieun even realized, they arrived at a place too familiar he even wonders if they’re in the right place. They arrived at his…
Huh?
He blinked, confused. The sidewalk, the gate, the cracked edge of the pavement, the graffiti on the other side of the road—it was all too familiar.
His building.
His apartment.
He stared up, just to be sure.
Wait. What?
“Why… are we here?” Sieun asked, turning to face them, suspicion creeping into his voice.
Suho shrugged with a smirk tugging at his lips. “What do you mean? We’re having dinner. Here.”
Sieun narrowed his eyes. “This is my place.”
“Exactly,” Humin said, holding up a convenience store bag like a peace offering. “Your mom’s working late tonight. Something about overnight shifts or duties or whatever. So we figured, why not make use of your nice, clean living room?”
“How do you even know she’s not home?”
“She told me,” Suho replied, looking way too proud. “She texted. I asked if we could come over, and she said she was glad we were keeping you company.”
Sieun looked at each of them, unbelievingly. “So you all planned this?”
“More like… it just made sense,” Hyuntak chimed in with a shrug. “It’s nice staying in sometimes. And you actually have soy sauce.”
“You know how hard it is to find proper seasoning at Baku’s place? This is why his dad is always mad at him.” Suho added, clearly still amused.
“What the hell dude?” Humin whined.
Sieun opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, he didn’t mind. Not like he could do anything about it.
All of them then proceeded to go inside the building. They kicked their shoes off once inside like it was second nature. Juntae headed straight for the kitchen. Suho claimed the remote. Humin was already pulling dishes out of the bag. Hyuntak wandered over to the window, pulling it open just enough to let the cool air in.
Sieun stood in the hallway for a moment, watching them take over his space like it was their own.
It should’ve felt like an invasion. But instead, it felt warm. Maybe even welcome.
He stepped forward.
Sieun sighed, then said, “You’re all washing your own dishes.”
Hyuntak grinned. “Deal.”
And just like that, the evening unfolded. Not loudly and dramatically, but in laughter, clinking bowls, dumb stories, and the kind of silence that only exists between people who’ve grown to understand each other.
Few moments later, the living room was comfortably messy now; bowls half-full, chopsticks resting on paper napkins, a bottle of soda sweating on the table.
Sieun sat at the edge of it all, quietly chewing, and letting the conversation move around him. It felt good and safe.
Then Humin—of course it had to be Humin—spoke through a mouthful of food.
“Hey,” he said, glancing at Sieun. “Weird question, but… has anyone heard anything from Seongje?”
Silence.
Just a brief second of it, but it dropped like a stone into the room.
Sieun didn’t move.
Juntae looked up from his bowl, then at Humin, eyes narrowing slightly. “Dude…”
“What?” Humin raised his hands in defense. “I’m just saying. It’s been, what, nine months? Feels like long enough to not treat it like a forbidden incantation anymore.”
Sieun’s fingers tightened around his chopsticks. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
Hyuntak shifted uncomfortably on his seat. Juntae shot Humin a warning look, but Humin being Humin, missed it entirely.
“I mean,” Humin went on, shrugging, “Sieun’s unbothered now, right? Yeah, you asked around about him, but like—I mean, you’re good now. You’ve got us, you’ve got school stuff, Suho’s back…” He motioned around the room, trying to soften it with a smile. “Just thought it wouldn’t be a big deal anymore. I’m just curious, I couldn't hide it anymore. How close were you guys back then? For you to ask around his whereabouts? Was it something like me and Baekjin had?”
Suho blinked, looking up from where he was pouring himself a drink.
“…Who’s Seongje?”
The room froze in that strange way only tight-knit groups can, where everyone feels the weight of what isn’t being said.
Hyuntak tried to pivot. “He was—uh, he was just someone from before. Don’t worry about it.”
But Suho looked directly at Sieun now, curious. “A friend?”
Sieun set his chopsticks down.
The sound was soft, but it cut through everything.
“An enemy from the past. Remember what I told you about the Union?” He paused for a moment, then glanced at Suho. Then he added, “He’s one of the top minions there. He’s a maniac who loves to fight, breaking people’s teeth on alleyways, manipulating me with the Union intel I asked him about, and… someone who left,” Sieun said flatly, not looking at anyone. The last sentence that he said left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Juntae leaned back, quiet now, sensing the air had shifted. Even Humin seemed to realize too late that he’d stepped into something deeper than he meant to.
“Oh,” Suho said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Sieun cut in, too quickly. “You didn’t know.”
There was a pause, heavy and fragile.
Juntae reached for the remote and turned the volume up on the TV, just enough to give the moment somewhere to dissolve.
But Sieun was already drifting inside himself, pulled under by the echo of a name, and the memory of a face who he long tried to forget.
They all had their theories—his Eunjang friends, and he knew. They had noticed the tension back then. The way he’d come back changed after spending time asking around about Seongje out of nowhere. The way he flinched when someone asked too many questions. The way he never said Seongje’s name, not once, ever since he left.
But no one knew the whole of it. About what Seongje had said to him before vanishing. No one knows about the red string of fate Seongje could see. No one knows how he’s tangled up with Suho, and spent his time wondering if fate was really unshakable. What he had left behind. What he had taken.
Then, Sieun stood up abruptly.
“I’m getting some air,” he said.
“Sieun—” Humin started, but stopped when Suho gave a small shake of his head.
No one followed him out.
Outside, the air was cool. The wind tugged lightly at his sleeves. And still, Sieun felt like something inside him had come undone. Again.
Sieun stood by the pavement, arms crossed, trying to steady his breath.
The street was quiet, except for the distant hum of a passing car and the whisper of wind rattling leaves. Normal, everyday things.
But inside, nothing felt normal.
He just stood up there, staring blankly at the sidewalk. There was a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow, and the taste of that last sentence still lingered like something burnt.
“...He’s someone who left.”
What a stupid thing to say.
He didn’t mean to be cruel, but bitterness had a way of slipping out when you thought you’d buried it.
“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his hands over his face.
He stayed like that for a moment longer, just breathing, while trying to collect the scattered pieces of himself.
“What am I doing, running away again?” He muttered to no one in particular. He inwardly felt pathetic, internally cursing himself for being that affected out of a harmless question.
Sieun hadn’t moved from where he stood, eyes still fixed on the sidewalk that barely could be seen because of the dark. Dim lighting was still there though, thanks to the lamp posts. He leaned to the lamp post behind him, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets, the faint thrum of the city pressing around him. The wind slipped past his collar, but he didn’t shiver.
He was somewhere between hollow and overwhelmed, like his insides had been scooped out and filled with smoke. His chest still echoed with the name he hadn’t spoken in months. Seongje.
He hated how it still had power.
Then, soft footsteps echoed behind him.
He turned slightly, not surprised to see Suho, arms crossed, a gentle expression on his face.
“I figured you’d be out here,” Suho said, stopping a few feet away.
Sieun didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at him right away.
“You always walk off when things get too loud,” Suho added. “Or too quiet.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Sorry about earlier,” Suho said. “I didn’t know the guy meant that much to you.”
Sieun let out a short, humorless breath. “He didn’t.”
A pause.
“Okay.”
Suho didn’t press. He just leaned his back against the lamp post beside him, mirroring Sieun’s posture.
They stood like that for a while, side by side, facing the dark, as silence embraced them both.
Then Sieun said, quietly, “I tried not to care. I really did. But he left without a word, after everything. He left like he was never real, and I just imagined all of it.”
“Did you like him?”
That made Sieun flinch, not from the question, but from how easily it surfaced. How casually Suho asked it.
“…No,” he said, not quite lying. “It wasn’t like that.”
Suho nodded. “But it mattered.”
Sieun clenched his fists inside his pockets. “He made me question things—like fate. About myself… And whether I was ever just a piece in someone else’s game.”
Suho tilted his head, studying him. “You’re not.”
“I know that now,” Sieun said. “But there was a time I didn’t.”
Suho didn’t say anything to that. He just stood quietly beside him, offering warmth through silence.
“…Hey.”
Sieun finally looked at him.
“I know I wasn’t there,” Suho said softly. “Back when everything happened. But I’ve been wondering.”
A pause, then a small exhale.
“What really happened between you and Seongje?”
Sieun’s eyes dropped to the ground, as if the question itself weighed too much.
“You don’t have to tell me now,” Suho added quickly, voice gentle. “I just… I figured maybe it’s been in your chest too long.”
Sieun stayed quiet for a moment. The silence stretched, fragile but not suffocating.
Then, finally, in a low, careful voice came.
“He started off as someone I hated. Not just disliked. Hated. He was everything I tried to stay away from. He’s violent, reckless, obsessive… and the likes.”
Suho nodded slightly, letting him go on.
“But he wasn’t just that. That’s the part I still can’t make sense of.”
Sieun’s fingers curled around his sleeve.
“He protected me once,” Flashbacks of Seongje helping him in the dark alleyway when he was cornered by some random thugs flashes in Sieun’s mind. “He helped me when he didn’t have to. He knew things about me that no one else did, and never used them to hurt me,” More flashbacks of Seongje randomly showing up and saying things that actually make sense washed his memory. “He kept saying he could see these… threads. Strings connecting people.”
Suho blinked, not quite sure what to say.
“He said I was connected to you. That we were tied by fate,” Sieun added, voice quieter now. “He hated it. But he never pulled away.”
You and I are fated? Suho looked at him, a question behind his eyes that had a lot to ask and say, but he didn’t interrupt.
“And then… he left. Just like that.” Sieun’s jaw clenched. “After telling me he gave something up, like something important, so I could live freely. And then he vanished.”
Suho took that in slowly and thoughtfully. He carefully processed what Sieun told him, and tried his best to collect the right words to say.
“Sounds like he didn’t know how to stay,” he said eventually. “Or maybe… he was afraid if he did, he’d ruin what mattered.”
Sieun’s throat tightened. That struck closer than he expected.
“I think he thought disappearing was some kind of kindness,” Sieun said bitterly. “But I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t want it. I just wanted the truth.”
There was a long pause. The wind shifted again, brushing past them like breath.
Then Suho stepped closer, his voice steady.
“You don’t have to carry him alone anymore.”
Sieun looked at him.
“You’ve got us now,” Suho said. “You’ve got me.”
It was simple and undramatic, but it’s honest. And somehow, that grounded Sieun more than anything else.
He gave a slow nod. Then, for the first time in a long time, he let out a breath that didn’t feel like it was being held in place by grief.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
They stood in silence for a few more seconds, then Suho gently motioned toward the apartment.
“Come on. If we stay out here any longer, Humin’s gonna eat the leftovers and blame you for it.”
A faint, reluctant smile tugged at Sieun’s lips.
He followed Suho back toward the warmth of the apartment.
Sieun’s sure that he needed that conversation with Suho, because he felt like a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
It was like something deep and tangled inside him had finally been unknotted. A burden, long sealed in silence, had slipped off his shoulders. Not entirely gone, perhaps, but lightened. And that burden felt shared.
After the unspoken tension suffocated their dinner, and when Sieun finally untangled his burdens sealed off his core with Suho’s help, the warmth around his friend group quickly returned. They passed on as if nothing’s happened, and they didn’t dwell on what had happened. No one asked follow-up questions. No one pushed.
Maybe that was enough; the quiet, wordless understanding. The silence was like an unspoken promise: You don’t have to explain more than you want to.
Then, weekends came. Sieun’s mom told him that she’ll be out for the whole day, not like it was something new for Sieun. It’s early in the morning, and Sieun’s phone buzzed with notifications as always, with his friends rambling in the group chat, talking about something like a game from PC bang.
Originally, he had planned to spend the weekend studying, which is his own way of marking the incoming pressure of winter break. It always signaled finals season. The final sprint before spring comes again.
Sieun made his way to his study desk even with an empty stomach because his mind already shifted gears. He didn’t need breakfast to function properly because he was never a breakfast person in the first place. He sat down, pulled open his bag, and started rummaging for his notebook and pencil case. With a practiced hand, he grabbed the pen, his favorite one, the kind of pen that made writing feel smooth, clean, almost satisfying. The same kind of pen he uses to stab someone.
He opened his notebook, poised the pen, and drew the first stroke.
Nothing came. Not even a blot of ink.
He clicked his tongue and gave the pen a few hopeful shakes, and there’s still nothing. With a sigh, he dug back into his pencil case, fishing around for another.
One by one, he tested them. And guess what? It’s dry, all of them. A graveyard of pens long past their prime.
Seriously? Of all times…
He glanced at the blank page in front of him, then at his mechanical pencil. It could work, sure, but the thought of ruining the uniform look of his notes made his eye twitch. Aesthetics mattered. He had a system.
With a groan, he leaned over and opened his drawer, hoping to find some emergency stash of ink refills or backup pens.
But there’s nothing.
Sieun let out a long, annoyed exhale. His hands slammed lightly on the desk as he stood up, frown etched deep across his face.
“Well,” he muttered under his breath. “Guess I’m going out today.”
The brightness of the sunlight invaded Sieun’s eyesight as he dragged himself out of his apartment. Everything looked auburn, with autumn embracing the entire neighborhood. He wore his earbuds before he walked, blurring the noise of the surroundings into something silent.
As usual, he walked and passed by the very same stalls he always comes across when he goes to the bus stop to commute to Eunjang. He passed by the same buildings, alleyways, and… the convenience store. Everything was familiar and repetitive, and nothing made him feel safer.
Eventually, he arrived at the bus stop. He didn’t even check the time. He just waited for the bus.
The bus arrived with a gentle screech, and he climbed in without thinking, instinct leading him to the back, to a window seat on the right side which is his usual spot. He sat and let his head lean against the glass, eyes half-lidded as the city drifted by in blurred streaks of color.
Then, something tugged at his vision.
At the edge of his periphery, just a few seats ahead, someone shifted slightly. And there was a flash of a familiar orange color.
That windbreaker.
Bright, ugly, unmistakable.
The same one Seongje wore the night he dragged him out of the hospital and brought him to the Union’s turf, snooping around Suho’s room like a psycho. The one he had on during their first mind fucking meeting in the restroom during his community service with his friends. And it’s also the one he wore when he left, when he disappeared, leaving nothing but a folded letter behind.
Sieun’s body locked in place.
He slowly leaned forward, careful not to draw attention, trying to glimpse the stranger’s profile. His pulse thudded quietly in his ears, throat tight with something he couldn’t name.
And then,
It wasn’t him.
Just a stranger. A similar jacket. A coincidence.
Sieun let out a breath, quiet and shaking. Was it a relief? Was it a disappointment? He didn’t know. All he knew was that for a moment, something inside him had steadied, like the illusion had been enough to anchor him, but briefly.
He was supposed to get off soon. The bookstore was at the next stop. He needed to buy a pen, after all.
But he stayed seated.
He didn’t press the stop button. He just let the city carry him two more stops farther than he needed to go. Maybe he just wanted to pretend for a little longer that Seongje had never really left, and he was just there, one seat ahead, and one word away. He wanted to feel him longer, even if it wasn’t real.
A strange sort of ache settled in his ribs, low and sharp. He wasn’t sure if it was loneliness, longing, or some twisted tangle of both. He had Suho back, and his friends, and yet… there was still this hollow part of him that refused to close.
There were days he didn’t think about Seongje at all. And days when the thought of him came and went like a breath, quiet and unannounced.
And then there were moments like this.
When everything hit him all at once.
The absence, the questions, the confusion, and the longing that comes with it.
It wasn’t love. He didn’t even know what it was. But it had left a space in him. And no one else seemed to fit.
Before Sieun even realized it, the bus gave a sharp hiss and halted once again, the doors folding open. He blinked, snapping back to the present like someone coming up for air.
He didn’t even notice how far he had gone. How long he’d been sitting there, hollowed out by thoughts and emotions he thought he’d buried for good.
He looked around, slowly.
The scenery outside the window wasn’t familiar, mainly because it’s not part of his daily route. The buildings were lower, more spread out, and the streets were quieter. It wasn’t exactly far from the city, but it felt like it existed on the edge of something familiar and unfamiliar.
Something in him stirred. Without fully knowing why, Sieun stood up and stepped off the bus.
The air outside was cooler here. The bus wheezed behind him and drove away, leaving him in the quiet.
This stop didn’t have the usual crowd. Just a stretch of sidewalk, trees lining the street, and the sound of auburn leaves brushing against one another like whispers.
He started walking without a destination. Not with urgency. He’s just moving, like he might outrun the weight sitting in his chest.
Block after block passed beneath his feet, until eventually, tucked between two rows of apartments and a sloping hill, he found a small, empty park.
There was nothing remarkable about it. There were few plants, a cracked fountain long dried up, and a single bench facing an open stretch of autumn trees.
He walked toward it and sat.
There were no boisterous kids. No footsteps echoing in his ears. Just wind and memory.
And for the first time that day, Sieun let himself breathe without pretending he was okay. Not when something reminded him of Seongje again.
This time, Seongje had a dream, but it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like fate itself was speaking to him, offering a proposition.
Let go. Give up the ability to see the red strings.
In exchange, he would finally be allowed to feel, to touch, and to connect with Sieun; not through manipulation or interference, but through something real, natural, and earned. These are things that are too unfamiliar to him, because it’s all so human.
But there was a cost.
Without the threads, Seongje would be vulnerable. He’s no longer untethered, unbound, and liberated. He would experience raw human connection, the kind of connection that aches, scars, and sometimes never returns what it takes. He wouldn’t know who was meant for him. He wouldn’t even know if Sieun was ever his to begin with.
There were no guarantees, no glimpses of fate, no predetermined plans, and just feelings.
And for the first time, Seongje realized that the absence of certainty might be the truest form of love.
With a lot of thought, he gave it up. He let go of his ability to see the red strings. He let go of the power to see who belongs to whom.
When Seongje opened his eyes, the world felt quieter.
He sat up in bed, wore his glasses, searched his surroundings, still wondering if the dream’s proposition was real. Then, his vision caught the window. In instinct, he stood up, walked near the window, and proceeded to sightsee. His eyes instinctively observed people roaming around the street near his home, scanning as if to check for the thin red threads he’d always seen since childhood, woven into the space around people, dancing faintly at their fingertips like whispers of destiny. He looked, really looked, and even squinted his eyes to catch a glimpse of random people’s fingers.
But there was nothing.
His breath caught.
For a terrifying moment, he thought he was blind not in the eyes, but in the soul. The invisible map he’d always relied on was gone. There were no threads at all. And then it hits him, there’s no certainty anymore. Just people, and raw emotion.
The silence in his chest grew louder.
He walked away from the window and staggered to the mirror near his desk, looking at his own reflection like it might hold an answer. The emptiness he once believed was freedom… now felt like a void. A blank slate. A heart waiting to be broken, or filled.
And then, the most human thing happened.
He cried.
Because for the first time, everything wasn’t calculated. He couldn’t predict the way forward. For the first time, he couldn’t trace the lines that led to comfort or safety. He had stepped off the map, into uncharted territory, into something unfamiliar: Hope.
Hope that, maybe, if he crossed paths with Sieun again—truly and accidentally—it would mean something. Hope that if Sieun looked at him, it wouldn’t be because of fate’s strings, but because of him.
And yet… fear gnawed at him too.
What if Sieun’s thread still pointed elsewhere? What if the dream lied? What if letting go of his gift meant letting go of the only chance he ever had?
But he had made the choice. And choices come with consequences.
So Seongje did what he had never done before.
He walked forward blindly toward a connection he might never find, with a heart no longer protected by foresight, only driven by something far more dangerous:
Hope.
That dream of Seongje happened seven weeks after he left Sieun with a letter. Without a doubt, those seven weeks felt like hell for Seongje.
He disappeared like he didn't even exist. He illicitly moved out, severed all ties to the Union, blocked Baekjin without a word, and dismantled every thread still connected to his name.
He burned the bridges, all of them. On purpose.
And though he wouldn’t admit it, it was the loneliest he had ever been. Loneliness wasn’t new to Seongje, but this time, it wasn’t just solitude. It was a complete absence. No friends, no family, no voices at all, not even enemies. Just silence and aftermath of his decisions.
He drifted to the outskirts of the city, letting the days blur without meaning. Even his school, Ganghak, became irrelevant. His future became a discarded thought.
He fought anyone, really. Stangers, thugs, anyone with a mouth to sneer or a fist to throw. He beat down unfamiliar faces, bloodied knuckles without names, and broke countless teeth. In a town that didn’t know him, he became someone to fear again; a shadow on the streets, a storm in an orange windbreaker.
Before long, even the local gangs learned to walk wide circles around him. The name Wolf echoed.
He had become the Keum Seongje that existed before Yeon Sieun. The version of himself built from spite, sharp edges, and bruised silence.
And for a while, that was enough. The rush numbed him, and the chaos successfully distracted him as always because he thrives in chaos anyway. He toyed with fate again. He tugged at red strings that meant nothing to him, knotted them for fun, burned them out of boredom. Like he never learned his lesson.
But the truth sat somewhere deeper, untouched. No amount of blood or adrenaline could quiet the fact that he longed for someone he couldn't have.
But ever since the dream happened, ever since fate whispered its offer and he chose to give it all up, Seongje began to live differently.
He no longer saw the red strings that once tied the world together. There were no more flashes of destiny and no more certainty tucked behind every glance. The quiet hum of fate that had always followed him was gone, leaving only the bare ache of human uncertainty in its place.
At first, he didn’t notice the absence. His body still moved on instinct, and old habits still dictated his steps. But as the days passed, the emptiness settled in deeper. It then hits him that there were no threads to manipulate, no knots to untangle, and no patterns to read. The world, once laced with red, is now stretched out in dull grays. It felt… normal.
So he tried to live as if he belonged to this world now.
He moved out once again, still on the outskirts of town. He found a small place to stay, a run-down room above a closed bakery, and it’s the kind of place where no one asked questions and silence was cheap. He kept to himself. He frequently ate convenience store food. He walked aimlessly, watched strangers come and go, like none of them marked with anything special anymore.
He didn’t look for Sieun.
Not because he didn’t want to, but because he had made peace in the only way he could, that he no longer had the right to. He had manipulated fate, pushed too far, and pulled too hard. The letter he left behind was his last reach. Everything after was absent.
And now, he lived inside it.
There were days when he found himself walking by a bookstore or a school gate, for no reason at all. Moments when he almost turned toward familiar streets. His body remembered things his heart tried to forget.
But each time, he would stop, breathe, and keep walking.
He wasn’t chasing anymore. Not after a future he could no longer see. Not after a man he had hurt more than he could hold. He was no longer the Seongje who thought fate owed him something.
Now, he just lived.
He started with quiet mornings. A part-time job that didn’t ask for a name. Nights filled with street lights instead of red threads. He lived with no visions, no fate, and no certainties.
And strangely, that blindness—the raw, aching uncertainty—felt more honest than anything he’d ever had.
Because if Sieun ever did appear again, it wouldn’t be fate that brought them back. It would be a choice.
It was supposed to be just another day.
Seongje wasn’t thinking much, just drifting and walking aimlessly, like he always did. He’s wandering past the usual corners of the neighborhood he now quietly existed in. Past the shuttered convenience store, the cracked sidewalk he always stepped over, and the small park tucked between aging apartment buildings, with bare trees clawing at the sky, and benches creaking under the weight of no one.
He often walked there when he couldn’t sleep. Not for peace, but for the sake of moving.
So when he turned the corner that day and stepped into that worn little park, he didn’t expect anything. Not joy, not pain, and certainly not fate.
And yet, There was someone on the bench.
That someone’s hunched forward slightly, elbows on knees, and lost in the sort of stillness that only comes from being miles away in your mind.
Seongje stopped walking.
His gaze froze before his breath could even catch up. A strange stillness rang in his ears.
That profile. That slope of the shoulders like he’s always carrying something invisible. That quiet energy, heavy and focused, like someone trying to hold something inside just long enough to make it home.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Yeon Sieun.
Of course it was him. There was no mistaking it.
It hit him like a body blow; familiarity rushing in all at once, all the moments he’d buried clawing their way back. Sieun’s stubbornness, his silence, the weight in his stare when words weren’t enough. The letter, the goodbye, and the silence that followed.
But this time…
This time, there was no red thread attached to his finger. There was no glow of red. No whisper of fate trying to tell him that he’s bound to someone.
He’s just a boy on a bench, looking alone in a world that had forgotten to make room for him.
Seongje stood still on the path, as if moving forward might rupture something sacred. His chest felt tight, too full, and too empty all at once. No vision guided him now. No strings paved the way.
Only feeling. Only choice.
His throat felt dry. His heart was loud and he almost turned away.
But Sieun, as if sensing something—or someone—turned slightly, catching him in his periphery.
Their eyes met.
Just two people in a park, with wilted leaves falling around them, stumbling into the same silence they once shared.
And Seongje, for the first time in what felt like forever, didn’t know what to do.
He stayed on the bench for a long time. Maybe too long, he didn’t even realize the time. The sun had begun to slant, getting progressively near the horizon, staining everything in shades of gold.
Sieun didn’t move.
His phone buzzed twice, probably from his friends again or his mom, then stopped. He didn’t look, still unbothered. The cold was settling in now, pressing against his back and fingertips, but he still didn’t move.
Then, there’s footsteps. Footsteps too soft against the leaves, like it was measured and intentional.
He didn’t pay attention at first. The world was always full of strangers. Maybe someone’s walking by. Or a bypasser on the way somewhere else.
But then something in his body stilled—froze—before his mind even caught up.
There's a familiar weight in the air, so he turned his head slightly.
Seongje.
After… nine months.
He’s standing a few feet away, almost as if he had just appeared out of the trees. His hands were in his pockets, head tilted a little like he wasn’t sure if he should say something or keep walking. The orange windbreaker—that windbreaker—hung off his frame like a shadow, older now, slightly faded, but unmistakably his.
His hair was longer. Messier, even. His face is a little thinner, older, and sharper. His eyes… are still unreadable, just like before.
For a second, neither of them moved.
The breeze stirred the wilted leaves between them. A few danced in the space like something out of a dream.
Sieun’s heart knocked once. Then again. It hammered his chest like crazy.
He said nothing.
And neither did Seongje.
Not at first.
Just the two of them, standing in this quiet, nowhere place where no one was supposed to be. No Union. No Eunjang. No Suho. Just… them.
Finally, Seongje took one step forward. Then another. He didn’t sit down, and he didn’t come too close either. He stopped at a distance where his presence still felt ghostly.
“I didn’t expect you here,” he said quietly.
His voice was the same. It sounded Rough, menacing. but something under it was raw. It felt more human, and more vulnerable.
Sieun swallowed. “Neither did I.”
For a moment, it was just the sound of traffic somewhere far off. The rustle of branches overhead. The cold breeze touching their skin.
“I thought you left for good,” Sieun added.
“I did.”
Sieun’s mouth twisted. “Then why are you here?”
Seongje looked away, toward the park’s quiet path, like he might start walking and never come back. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“You just happen to live near this park,” Sieun said. “And you just happen to walk here at this exact time, yeah?”
Seongje didn’t respond right away. Then, “I’ve been trying not to look for you.”
“Trying?” Sieun echoed, voice cold.
“I don’t—” Seongje dragged a hand over his face. “I’ve been keeping to myself. I gave it all up. The Union. Baekjin. The strings. All of it.”
“The strings,” Sieun repeated with bitterness. “Of course. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it?”
“That’s not fair.”
Sieun stood. “Fair? You think I care about what’s fair anymore?”
Seongje’s shoulders stiffened.
“You walked out,” Sieun said, sharper now. “You left a letter and disappeared like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter.”
“I left because you did matter.”
Sieun laughed, then it cracked. “Don’t pull that shit on me right now.”
“I mean it.” Seongje’s voice rose, not loud, but strained. “I could’ve stayed and dragged you down with everything I was. But I chose to leave before I ruined it completely.”
Sieun’s fists clenched at his sides. “Do you think disappearing fixed anything?”
“It was better than manipulating you.”
Sieun flinched. There it was, the word he condemned the most.
“Right,” he muttered. “So that’s what we were. A manipulation.”
“No,” Seongje said, too quickly. “But I didn’t know how else to exist. I only knew how to win, how to use people, how to read what fate handed me. I never learned how to just—just let someone choose me.”
Sieun’s mouth parted slightly. He looked at Seongje, stunned into silence for a moment but not softened.
“So you took away the choice from me instead,” he said. “You made that decision for both of us.”
“What would you have done if I stayed?” Seongje asked, suddenly. “Would you have forgiven me? Would you let me in even if you had Suho and your friends? Could you have trusted me again?”
“I don’t know,” Sieun said, biting the words. “But at least it would’ve been real. At least I wouldn’t be stuck asking myself what the hell we even were.”
Seongje didn’t answer.
The distance between them might as well have been a canyon.
Sieun’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. His face was tight, his eyes burning with something unspoken, something deeper than anger, something like grief.
Seongje’s jaw flexed. His hands were shaking.
Sieun turned slightly, looking off toward the street, his voice quieter now. “You took everything and left me wondering if it meant anything to you at all.”
Seongje swallowed. “It did.”
“Then why does it still feel like I’m the only one who has to live with it?”
That silenced him.
They stood there, two silhouettes cast by the fading light. The space between them filled with all the things they weren’t brave enough to say. The space between them was filled with unspoken things they failed to say during the nine months of longing. And still, neither walked away.
Sieun turned his face away, jaw tight, arms crossed like a barrier he didn’t want to lower.
Seongje took another half-step forward, but the air between them didn’t ease. It tensed further, like something was on the verge of breaking.
“You talk like you’ve changed,” Sieun said. “But you still speak in riddles and maybes. You still act like you’re the only one fate played games with.”
“That’s not what I—”
“You don’t get to rewrite what you did just because you’re lonely now.”
“I’m not trying to rewrite anything,” Seongje snapped, voice low but sharp. “I live with what I did. Every damn day.”
“Good,” Sieun shot back. “You should.”
That landed like a slap, and Seongje’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t retaliate.
“I tore everything down just to keep you safe,” he said instead, quieter now, but his voice strained with something breaking underneath. “And you think I haven’t thought about you every day since? You think that moment when I saw you and—and Suho were holding hands with red strings that glowed the brightest didn’t haunt me? That I haven’t wondered if you’d ever look at me without hate?”
Sieun looked up, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes weren’t cold but they were full of grief, confusion, and feelings too long left to rot.
“I don’t hate you,” he said, almost like a confession. “But I want to. God, I wish I did.”
Seongje swallowed hard.
“Because if I did,” Sieun went on, “this would all be easier. I wouldn’t be standing here wanting to scream at you and ask if any of it was real. I wouldn’t be wondering why the hell you still feel like something I haven’t gotten over.”
The silence that followed was brutal.
Then Seongje spoke, slow and uncertain, like he hadn’t planned to say it aloud.
“Maybe…” He looked down at his hands with uncertainty, then back at Sieun, voice low but steady. “Maybe the universe is making us go through all these different, grueling stages in life… where we lose ourselves, over and over, just to eventually become the one for each other.”
Sieun blinked. His breath caught.
“What?” he said, voice hoarse.
“I don’t know,” Seongje continued, more certain now, a fire starting to light behind his eyes. “Maybe we’re not supposed to be ready yet. Maybe we had to be torn down. Maybe I had to lose everything—my power, my pride, and you—because I wasn’t worthy of you back then. And maybe you weren’t ready for me, either.”
“That’s—” Sieun faltered. “You can’t just say shit like that as if it fixes everything.”
“I’m not saying it does,” Seongje said. “I’m saying… Maybe we’re still in the middle of it. Maybe the mess is the point.”
Sieun looked away. His arms were still crossed, but his grip on them had loosened.
“You think the universe gives a shit about what we want?”
“No,” Seongje said. “But I think it keeps putting you in front of me no matter how far I run.”
Sieun let out a slow breath, shaky. He didn’t speak right away because he simply couldn’t.
The wind blew through the park. The leaves whispered. He didn’t forgive Seongje. Not yet, and maybe not for a long time.
But for the first time in months, he didn’t feel so alone in the hurt.
Sieun took a few steps away before he paused. He sat on the bench once again, and Seongje followed like it was his instinct. Now they were sitting beside each other, as silence clings to the both of them. Then, Sieun’s voice, when it came, was lower.
“…You don’t see it anymore, do you?”
Seongje blinked. “What?”
“The string,” Sieun clarified without looking at him. “You used to follow it like a lifeline. Like it was all you ever needed to understand people, or control them. But now… you’re looking at me like you don’t know anything.”
Seongje stayed still.
And then, finally, he spoke.
“I don’t,” he said. “I gave it up.”
Sieun turned. His eyes were confused with something unreadable. “Why?”
A brief moment passed.
Seongje’s lips parted slightly, but the words caught for a moment like they still hurt to say. He exhaled shakily.
“Because I wanted to see you for who you are,” he said. “Not who fate said you were to me. Not as someone I could use or follow or wait for.”
He looked down for a second, then back up. His gaze became even more raw and unguarded.
“I didn’t want to love you because I forced myself to break a connection of yours with someone you cherish,” he said, voice unsteady. “I wanted to risk it. All of it. I wanted to feel something real, even if it never came back to me. I want to let myself be bound to fall for you.”
Sieun didn’t respond immediately.
His expression didn’t shift much, but something in his posture did. It’s like there was even less armor.
The silence wasn’t heavy this time. It was holding something tender and unfamiliar between them.
“…You’re an idiot,” Sieun said, finally.
A dry sound escaped Seongje. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a breath he’d been holding too long. “Yeah. I am.”
“And we’re both still messed up,” Sieun added, almost tiredly. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Seongje said, voice low. “I just wanted you to know.”
For a moment, they stood there like that; two boys from opposite ends of the same scar, finally meeting in the middle.
There’s no apology, and there’s no resolution either.
Just a single confession that hung between them like something quietly blooming in the cold.
Then, Sieun turned back toward the street.
“I’m heading back,” he said. “It’s a long ride. I was supposed to study.”
Seongje hesitated. “Can I walk with you?”
Sieun paused. He didn’t answer.
But when he started walking, he didn’t stop Seongje from falling into step beside him.
And maybe this time around, something could start.
"Help me buy a pen I'll stab you with."
"Romantic as ever, princess."
They say that when one gives up the sight of fate, it doesn’t vanish. It simply finds new eyes. If someone gave up their ability to witness red strings among each other, someone also has to gain it. And if, by chance, someone else begins to see the threads that are frayed, knotted, pulling quietly in the dark, then that is no longer anyone’s concern. So, if Suho now glimpses red strings where it shouldn’t be, or if the one bound to him begins to blur at the edges—well, that’s no one’s fault. No one’s doing. When Suho realizes that what Sieun told him about Seongje’s ability was real and got tangled up with such thing as fate, that wasn’t for anyone to know.
Once you have the ability, you’re unbound. You have no connection. And it’s up to you to figure out what to do with it.
Notes:
If you have come this far once again, thank you so much for bearing with my ramblings and stupidity. I apologize if this became too out of character, but it's an AU for a reason :)
Once again, thank you for reading! <3
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