Chapter Text
The room was dark...too dark. Yunjin’s body twitched beneath the thin bedsheet as the nightmare wrapped its claws around her again.
It always started the same.
At first, she was just standing there. Somewhere indiscernible. A hallway? A dressing room? The edges of the space were always shifting, warping like heatwaves. Her limbs moved slowly, like they were dragging through water. She tried to speak, to call out, but her voice didn’t work. Not even a whisper escaped her mouth.
And then the door slammed shut behind her.
A hand. Rough. Gripping.
Her stomach dropped as ice filled her veins. That hand didn't belong. It wasn’t supposed to be there. But it latched onto her arm anyway, yanking her back so hard her shoulder jolted.
“No—!” she tried to scream, but her voice still wouldn't come.
Another hand, on her waist. A harsh, demanding pressure. Too much. Too close.
She clawed, scratched, kicked, yet nothing worked. Her limbs were too slow. Her body wouldn’t obey. His breath was hot on her ear, humid and heavy. She shuddered. Her fists pounded against his chest, but he didn’t flinch. He laughed.
God, he laughed.
Then the cloth came, rough fabric, knotted tight and forced between her lips. She choked. Gagged. Her protests became muffled sobs, reduced to broken sounds that echoed off the walls. Her eyes were wild, terrified, pleading for anyone, anything.
No one came.
Her back hit the bathroom tiles, hard. Cold. She could feel the sting. She could feel everything.
Hands, everywhere. Violating. Cruel. They pinned her down, forced her open. Fingers bruised her skin like he was branding her. Her legs thrashed but he only pressed harder, covering her body like a shadow she couldn’t escape from.
Tears blurred her vision. Her heart pounded, a war drum in her chest, but it did nothing. Her "no" was silent. Her pain, invisible.
He took what was never his. And she felt it. Every second. Every horrifying, endless second.
Time became meaningless. Minutes stretched into hours. Her mind screamed, her body broke.
When it was over (if that could be called an end), he stood. Pulled up his pants like she was nothing. A discarded toy. He looked down at her and smirked. That same sick laughter fell from his mouth as he opened the door and walked out, whistling.
The door slammed shut again.
And she was left there.
Bare, broken, bruised, and used.
Her skin felt like it didn’t belong to her anymore. Like it had been stolen. She curled into herself, fingers trembling as they tried to cover what couldn’t be covered anymore. Her sobs were silent in the dream, but they shook her entire body.
The bruises bloomed across her arms, her thighs, her neck. Imprints of fingers she didn’t recognize. Marks that her soul would carry longer than her skin ever would.
Yunjin shot upright in bed, gasping like she had been underwater for hours. Her chest heaved, each breath ragged and sharp, clawing its way out of her throat like it didn’t belong there.
The room around her was dark, too dark, and for a split second, she couldn’t tell where she was. Hotel? Dorm? Hell? The sweat that soaked through her shirt clung to her skin like a second suffocating layer, as if the nightmare hadn’t stayed in the dream at all but followed her, sticking, wrapping, haunting.
Tears clung to her lashes. She didn’t remember when she started crying, only that they were already there, dripping down her cheeks in hot, silent streaks. Her hands trembled where they gripped the bed-sheets, white-knuckled and clenched like she needed to hold onto something or she might fall apart completely.
She inhaled sharply, but it wasn’t air that filled her, it was dread. Thick and raw.
It’s not real.
It’s not real.
It’s not real.
She repeated the words like a mantra, desperate to believe them. But, her body knew better. Her skin knew better. Every inch of her felt touched. Violated. Branded. Her muscles ached with the memory of being pinned down, held against her will, fought and failed and broken. The phantom pressure of rough hands still lingered on her wrists, her hips, her throat. Like fingerprints that had never truly faded.
'It was just a dream,' her mind whispered again.
But another voice, quieter, crueler, truer, murmured, 'No. It wasn’t.'
This wasn’t just a nightmare. Not for her. It was a memory, dressed in the shadows of sleep but all too real. A scar turned cinema, playing itself over and over again whether she wanted to see it or not. She couldn’t outrun it. Not when her own body remembered everything so vividly. Not when her voice still cracked every time she tried to scream and couldn’t. Not when it returned night after night and left her in shambles every single time.
She rubbed her arms, as if trying to scrub away the feeling, scrub the filth, the weight, the wrongness off her skin. But her palms met only damp, trembling flesh. Her body didn’t feel like hers. It hadn’t in a long time.
Her gaze darted around the room, trying to anchor herself to something. Anything. The sliver of moonlight bleeding through the curtains. The hum of the air conditioner. The faint outline of her phone on the nightstand. Real things. Safe things.
But even then, she didn’t feel grounded. Not fully. Her heart still raced, thudding against her ribs like it wanted to break out. Her breaths came quicker again, tears gathering fresh as the memory clawed back up her throat.
She pressed a palm to her chest, trying to steady herself.
'You’re here. You’re safe. No one’s touching you. No one’s hurting you. You survived.'
But what she couldn’t say out loud was this: 'I survived, but not all of me made it out.'
And she wasn’t sure it ever would.
She brought her knees to her chest, curling in on herself like maybe if she made herself small enough, the world, or her past, would forget about her. Maybe the pain would pass quicker that way. But it didn’t. It never did. It just… simmered there, just below the surface, waiting for the quiet moments to rise again.
And in that darkness, all she could do was sit there, shaking, silent, soaked in sweat and saltwater tears, hoping that this time, morning would come soon.
Yunjin’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of her arms, nails carving crescents into her skin as if pain could somehow anchor her back to the present. Her body trembled uncontrollably, a violent, invisible quake from the inside out. Her chest heaved in shallow, panicked bursts. Sweat clung to her skin like a second layer, cold and suffocating.
She rocked back and forth on the edge of her bed, knees pulled in, arms wrapped around herself, but it wasn’t comfort she found there. Her wide, tear-glazed eyes stared ahead, unfocused. Hollow. Her breathing stuttered with each inhale, and every exhale sounded like a strangled whisper, as though speaking might shatter what little was left of her.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real—
But the way her skin crawled? The ache between her ribs? The phantom weight pressing down on her chest? The suffocating feeling of being touched again, against her will, against her body’s desperate resistance?
That was real.
That was real.
Her fingers curled tighter into her arms. She didn’t care about the sting. She didn’t care about the way blood pricked the surface. If anything, it helped. If only just a little. If only to remind her that she was here. That she was still here.
“Yunjinnie?” The door creaked open with a soft click. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, but have you seen my—” Chaewon’s voice cut off.
Silence, thick and stunned.
She stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes locked onto the sight in front of her.
Yunjin. On the bed. Shaking. Pale. Her shoulders trembling under the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Her eyes, wide and glassy, were locked on something that wasn’t there. Her nails were still buried into her skin, so deep Chaewon could see a smear of blood where red met pale.
Yunjin didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even notice she wasn’t alone.
Chaewon’s breath hitched.
“Yunjin?” She blinked, as if trying to convince herself the scene before her wasn’t real.
Yunjin sat on the edge of the bed, drenched in sweat, her pajama shirt sticking to her trembling frame. Her knees were drawn to her chest, arms tightly wrapped around them as if trying to physically hold herself together. Her fingers were moving, no, digging, into the soft skin of her forearms, deep enough to leave angry, red welts. One had already broken the skin. There was a faint shimmer of blood under her nails.
Her eyes were wide. Distant. Teary. Staring right through Chaewon like she wasn’t even there.
“Yunjin—hey,” Chaewon rushed to her, stepping carefully, voice low and cautious, as if trying not to scare a wounded animal. “Yunjin, you’re—you're hurting yourself.”
She reached out instinctively, her hand gently brushing against Yunjin’s wrist to stop her from clawing at herself.
Yunjin flinched violently.
“No! Don’t—don’t touch me!” she cried out, jerking away so fast she nearly fell off the bed. Her breath hitched again, faster, shorter, like she was being suffocated from the inside.
Chaewon froze. Her heart dropped.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” she backed her hand away slowly, palms up, voice trembling as she knelt beside the bed. “It’s okay. I won’t touch you, I promise. You’re safe. You’re safe, Yunjin.”
But, Yunjin wasn’t hearing her. Her hands had clamped down over her ears, her entire body rocking back and forth in erratic, haunted rhythm.
“It was real,” she whispered, a frantic chant barely audible between her ragged breaths. “It was real. Not just a dream—it was real—it was real—it was—”
Chaewon’s heart clenched. “What was real? Yunjin, what was?”
But, Yunjin didn’t answer. She just kept whispering, as if her voice could outrun the memories.
Tears streamed freely down her face now, mingling with sweat. Her breathing hitched again, harsh, erratic. Her fingers trembled as they dug back into her arms, skin turning raw under her nails. Her lips parted in a gasp, but she wasn’t breathing in.
“Yunjin—hey—hey, you’re okay. Just breathe with me, okay?” Chaewon said, trying to stay calm, even though her pulse was thundering. “In. Just in.”
Yunjin let out a sob, her whole body convulsing. Her chest rose too quickly, air getting caught halfway. She wasn’t just crying now, she was spiraling. She was slipping.
Her voice cracked, almost childlike. “It’s on me—it’s all over me—I can still feel it, I can still feel them—”
Chaewon’s chest tightened so painfully she thought she might shatter. She had no idea what Yunjin was referring to. She didn’t know the backstory, the pain, the wounds. But, she didn’t need to.
She moved slowly, deliberately. Still not touching, but staying close. Her voice was a tether.
“Look at me. Yunjin, look at me,” she whispered. “You’re here. You’re not there. You’re with me. No one’s hurting you. You’re safe. I swear it.”
Yunjin let out a harsh sob, finally blinking, but her eyes were still unfocused, lost in something far away and terrifying.
“I—I hate this—I hate this skin—I want it gone—I want it off—” Her voice was guttural now, broken with grief and revulsion. She didn’t say it out loud, but the words hung there, too loud in the silence: I want it gone until there’s nothing left.
Chaewon’s chest clenched again.
“I know,” she whispered, even though she didn’t. “I know it hurts. But I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
She inched a little closer, slowly raising one hand.
“I’m not going to touch you unless you want me to. But I’m here. Just… breathe with me.”
Yunjin tried. She really did. But her breaths kept hitching, catching on invisible knots in her throat. Her body was trembling so violently now that the bed creaked under her. She was still rocking, still staring ahead, but her eyes flicked to Chaewon, just once. Just enough.
So, Chaewon took the tiniest risk. She sat on the edge of the bed, keeping distance but letting her voice remain steady. Gentle. Anchor-like.
“Do you want me to stay?”
A long silence. Then a faint, desperate nod.
“Okay,” Chaewon breathed.
She grabbed the soft blanket from the foot of the bed and offered it out gently, her hands still trembling. “Can I just… give you this? Just the blanket, no touching you.”
Yunjin hesitated. Her hands were still bleeding, her body shaking, but she nodded again. Chaewon gently draped it around her shoulders, careful to avoid even the smallest touch of skin.
Yunjin’s hands gripped the fabric like a lifeline.
And slowly, her breathing began to even, only slightly. Her tears didn’t stop. Her body still trembled. The pain was still there. But the spiral… started to loosen.
Just enough.
Chaewon sat quietly beside her. No pressure. No questions.
Yunjin didn’t have to share anything she wasn’t ready to.
And Chaewon? She would stay anyway. As long as it took.
Yunjin had stopped rocking. She wasn’t clawing anymore. Her fingers, though trembling, had stilled in her lap. Her head hung low, damp strands of hair sticking to her sweat-slicked cheeks, her lashes heavy with tears. The tremors in her body hadn’t stopped. Not even close. But from the outside, it looked like she was calming.
Then Chaewon noticed her chest.
It wasn’t rising and falling naturally. It was jerking. Quick, shallow gasps. Each breath came like a punch, panicked and sharp, as if her body was forgetting how to breathe.
“Yunjin…?” Chaewon stepped forward, voice low and cautious. “You’re okay. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
No response. Just the sound of those frantic, wheezing breaths.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
Yunjin’s body was stiff, rigid with tension, as though even blinking might break her in half. Her eyes stared forward, pupils blown, unfocused, tears still spilling freely. A tremble passed through her again, this time more violent, like a cold shock rattling every bone in her body.
“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s Chaewon.” Her voice cracked despite her best efforts to stay composed. “Look at me, please. You’re safe, okay? You’re not alone.”
She tried again, her hand reaching slowly, carefully, fingertips brushing over Yunjin’s clenched hands.
The reaction was immediate.
Yunjin recoiled as if struck. She flinched hard, yanking her hand away with a choked gasp and pressing her back against the headboard like she was trying to disappear into it. Her eyes snapped toward Chaewon for the first time, wild and terrified, like she didn’t even recognize her.
Chaewon froze, hand still suspended mid-air. Her breath caught. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she whispered. “I promise it’s just me. Just me.”
But, Yunjin wasn’t listening. She was spiraling fast, her lips trembling as she tried to speak but no words came out. Her throat moved with the effort, her jaw clenched, but all she could manage were shattered whispers.
“It was real,” she gasped. “It wasn’t just a dream—I swear to God, Chaewon, it was real—”
“What was?” Chaewon asked gently, kneeling now beside the bed, her heart breaking at the sight. “What happened?”
But Yunjin just shook her head, curling in tighter, arms wrapping around herself. Her fingernails had dug so hard into her own skin they’d left angry, reddened indentations, some now streaked faintly with blood. She was shaking all over again, caught between the fading shadow of the nightmare and the waking panic it brought with it.
Chaewon didn’t ask again. She wouldn’t push. Not when Yunjin looked like that, like the very act of existing hurt.
She swallowed hard, trying to steady her own racing heart. Then, quietly, she made a choice. A risk.
“Yunjin… it’s me. You know me, right?” she said again, voice low and soft like a lullaby. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just… I’m going to hold you. Only if that’s okay. Only if you’ll let me.”
No answer. Just the shallow breathing.
Chaewon reached out, slow, slow enough to be seen. Her hand hovered over Yunjin’s shoulder, then gently made contact.
Yunjin tensed like she’d been shocked, her whole frame flinching beneath the touch. Chaewon stopped immediately.
“I’m here,” she whispered again. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe, Yunjin. With me.”
A beat passed.
Then another.
This time, when she tried again, when her arms circled Yunjin, gentle as a breeze and just as patient, she wasn’t pushed away.
Yunjin didn’t collapse into her, but she didn’t recoil either. Inch by inch, Chaewon wrapped herself around her friend’s trembling frame, cradling her with quiet urgency.
She was smaller, but it didn’t matter. She pulled Yunjin into her chest, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other slowly rubbing circles along her spine, her palm warm and steady.
“Just breathe with me, okay?” she murmured, resting her chin against Yunjin’s damp hair. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. We’re here together. That’s all we need to do right now.”
Yunjin clutched at her like a lifeline, like if she let go, she’d drown. Her tears were silent now, but they didn’t stop. Her body jerked occasionally with the hiccuped aftershocks of crying too hard, too long. Her breathing was still uneven, still caught in the grip of anxiety’s vise, but something in her seemed to shift.
She was no longer alone.
And Chaewon would stay. No matter how long it took.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want to. I just… I’m here, Yunjin. That’s all. I’m here.”
And for the first time that night, Yunjin’s eyes closed.
Yunjin’s breathing had finally begun to slow. Shaky inhales steadied into softer, quieter ones, still uneven but no longer gasping. Her chest rose and fell against Chaewon’s with tentative rhythm, like her lungs were remembering how to function under calm.
And somewhere between whispered reassurances and the warm, protective circle of Chaewon’s arms, Yunjin slipped back into sleep.
Chaewon didn’t move at first. She just held her, listening, making sure the breaths didn’t shift into panicked ones again, watching the way Yunjin’s lashes stopped trembling, the way her hands relaxed slightly in her grip.
Then slowly, so gently she barely rustled the sheets, Chaewon adjusted their position, guiding them both to lie down. She curled close, so they were facing each other under the soft hum of the dorm light.
Yunjin’s face was tear-streaked, pale even in the shadows. Her dark hair clung slightly to her damp temples. Her lips were parted just enough to let out a tiny exhale as she rested, her brows still faintly furrowed, like some part of her was still guarding herself even in sleep.
Chaewon reached out, brushing a damp strand behind Yunjin’s ear with the softest touch, her thumb lingering on her cheek a second too long.
Even like this, exhausted, raw, and fragile, Yunjin looked ethereal.
No… not just “looked.” She was. She was beautiful in ways Chaewon couldn’t even name. Not just because of her face, but because of who she was. Her heart. Her light. Her warmth. That dorky laugh she always let out when she made herself giggle too hard. Her loyalty. The way she always worried about everyone else, even when she couldn’t carry her own weight anymore.
And now… this.
What could’ve happened?
What the hell had happened?
What nightmare could bring that kind of fear into Yunjin’s eyes?
What memory could steal her breath and make her beg for it to stop?
Who or what could hurt someone like Yunjin so badly that even in sleep, her body remembered the terror?
Chaewon’s jaw clenched. She hated not knowing. She hated that Yunjin was in pain and wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell her why. But, more than anything, she hated that something had carved itself so deep into Yunjin’s heart that she woke up trying to claw herself out of her own skin.
Gently, Chaewon took Yunjin’s hand again, careful not to wake her, and brought it to her lips. She pressed the softest kiss to her knuckles, then whispered into her skin, a promise only the two of them could ever share.
“I don’t know what you’re fighting, Yunnie… but I swear I’ll protect you. From whatever it is. From whoever it is. Even if you never tell me… I’ll still be here. I always will.”
Yunjin shifted slightly, curling toward her, a soft breath brushing against Chaewon’s collarbone.
Chaewon closed her eyes.
And she stayed like that. Wrapped around Yunjin like a shield. Like an anchor. Like a home.
Yunjin’s eyes fluttered open, heavy and unfocused, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains like pale fingers brushing across the room. Her mind was thick with sleep’s fog, the edges of the nightmare still clinging to her like shadows she couldn’t quite shake. The memory of the terror that had gripped her the night before hovered just beneath her consciousness, a dark pulse beneath her ribs.
For the first time in what felt like forever, a faint, fragile stillness threaded through the chaos inside her, a quiet breath after the storm. It wasn’t peace exactly. Not yet. But it was close.
Her gaze drifted around the dim room, slow and hesitant, taking in the scattered remnants of the night before: a crumpled blanket, the faint glow of a bedside clock, the soft hum of the world waking up beyond the window.
Then her eyes landed on the weight against her back.
Warm. Firm. Unyielding.
Her breath caught in her throat as the floodgates in her mind opened.
No. No. No. Not again.
Her heart thundered like a wild animal trapped inside her chest. Panic surged through her veins like wildfire. She bolted upright with a sharp gasp, eyes wide and wild, limbs trembling with raw terror.
Had he found her again? Had the nightmare reached beyond the walls of sleep? Had the memory become flesh, an uninvited shadow pressing down on her even now? Had he somehow found his way to her body again?
She twisted her head sharply, every muscle coiled for flight or fight, expecting to see that dark presence, the source of her deepest horror.
But instead, she found something else. Someone else.
Kim Chaewon lay curled against her back, small and quiet, her face peaceful in sleep. Her lips were parted softly, breathing slow and steady, lashes resting gently on pale cheeks. Despite being the one who had spooned Yunjin moments ago, Chaewon looked tiny, fragile even, nestled into the larger frame of Yunjin’s body.
The weight of realization crashed into Yunjin’s chest like a wave.
She remembered, vaguely, the visit. The whispered words. The trembling hands that had held her through the night.
But, she hadn’t realized Chaewon had stayed. Had stayed all night.
A delicate warmth unfurled in her chest, soft and unexpected. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, something whispered that she might be safe.
Yunjin’s sudden movement made the warmth holding her shift, and with a low groan, Chaewon stirred awake.
Her eyelids fluttered, heavy and reluctant, as if weighed down by the exhaustion of too many sleepless nights. She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, fingertips grazing the soft skin beneath her brow. The morning light spilled faintly through the curtains, casting muted gold across the room, softening the harshness of reality.
A frown tugged at Chaewon’s lips, a quiet confusion knitting her brow as she blinked rapidly, struggling to bring the world into focus. "Jin-ah, is that you?"
The shapes were blurry at first, shadows and muted colors blending together in a hazy dance. Slowly, her gaze sharpened. The soft rise and fall of a chest against her own came into view. The gentle curve of a cheek, still glistening with the residue of tears.
Then her eyes settled on Yunjin’s face.
Chaewon’s lips curled into a lazy, tired smile, a small curve of warmth that spoke of relief and affection tangled with lingering sleep.
“Jinnie,” she murmured softly, voice thick and rough from sleep, like a whispered secret.
Yunjin’s heart stumbled at the sound of her name coming from Chaewon’s lips, the familiar comfort cutting through the fog of panic in her chest. For a split second, she allowed herself to breathe easier.
But even as relief seeped in, a flutter of awkwardness rose. She caught herself watching Chaewon’s face, still shadowed with sleep but undeniably beautiful in that raw, unguarded way. The faint crease at the corner of her eyes when she smiled, the way her hair fell messily across her forehead.
Yunjin’s cheeks flushed, and she shook her head almost imperceptibly.
'Stop it,' she thought. 'She’s your leader. This isn’t the time to think about how cute she looks.'
But, even as she tried to push the thought away, a small, shy smile touched her own lips.
Chaewon’s gaze held steady on her, steady and sure now as she blinked away the last vestiges of sleep.
“Good morning,” Chaewon said again, voice warmer this time, threading through the quiet room like a gentle promise.
Yunjin swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied, “Morning…”
She shifted slightly, the weight of Chaewon’s body still warm and comforting behind her. Her fingers traced faint patterns on the blanket, hesitant to break the fragile quiet that had settled between them.
Chaewon’s sleepy eyes searched Yunjin’s face, noticing the faint tremor at the corner of her lips, the way her gaze flickered away for just a moment.
“You’re really awake,” Chaewon said softly, voice still thick with sleep but steady. “I was worried you wouldn’t want me to stay.”
Yunjin swallowed, her throat dry. “I… I’m glad you did.”
A small smile tugged at Chaewon’s mouth. “Good. You looked like you needed it more than I realized.”
There was a pause, the kind that holds both words and unspoken things suspended in the air.
“How are you feeling?” Chaewon asked, her tone gentle, careful.
Yunjin hesitated, eyes drifting down to the soft curve of Chaewon’s shoulder.
“Better… I think,” she murmured. “Still… tired.”
Chaewon nodded slowly, as if she understood more than Yunjin could say. “You did have a rough night.”
Yunjin’s breath hitched just slightly.
After a few moments, Chaewon shifted so she was propped on her elbow, her gaze intent but soft. “Last night… I wanted you to know I’m here, no matter what.”
For a heartbeat, Yunjin’s expression flickered, dread pooling in her eyes, a shadow crossing her face that didn’t go unnoticed.
Chaewon caught it immediately, her heart tightening.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said quickly, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I’m not here to pry. Just… to listen whenever you’re ready.”
Yunjin gave a small, grateful nod but didn’t speak.
To lighten the weight, Chaewon cracked a teasing smile, eyes twinkling with mischief despite the early hour.
“Besides,” she said, “if we’re going to face the day, you’re going to need to keep up with me. And I’m not known for my patience with slowpokes.”
Yunjin’s lips twitched, the faintest laugh escaping her. "Is that a challenge, unnie?"
"Maybe," Chaewon smiled, relieved, and reached out to lightly bump Yunjin’s shoulder.
“Come on,” she said softly, “Let’s get you some breakfast before you turn into a grumpy cloud.”
Yunjin looked up, meeting Chaewon’s warm gaze, and for a moment the heavy silence lifted, replaced by something gentler, something hopeful.
Then, Sakura’s voice rang out from down the hall, clear and bright, cutting through the stillness like a familiar melody.
“Breakfast will be ready soon! Everyone, time to wake up!”
Chaewon’s gaze shifted toward the door, a sense of duty tugging at her features despite the tenderness in her eyes.
“I’d better go help her,” Chaewon murmured, her voice reluctant but firm. She gave Yunjin one last warm look, a silent promise hanging in the air between them.
Yunjin nodded softly, watching as Chaewon rose, stretching her limbs like a waking cat. The soft click of her footsteps echoed as she crossed the room.
And then, just like that, the door swung shut with a gentle but final sound. The room seemed to hold its breath.
Gone was the warmth, the steady presence. Gone was the quiet safety that had cradled Yunjin through the night.
She was alone again.
Her smile faded slowly as the stillness pressed in. Her thoughts swirled in the quiet, fragile hope mingling with a creeping loneliness.
Yunjin pushed open the bathroom door with a slow, hollow feeling in her chest. The harsh white light flickered overhead, casting sharp shadows across the sterile tiles. She stepped toward the sink and caught sight of herself in the mirror.
The reflection was raw and unfiltered.
Dark circles pooled under her eyes, etched deep from sleepless nights and relentless worry. Her skin looked pale, almost translucent, stretched tight over tired bones. The weight of everything, of fear, exhaustion, and a pain that wouldn’t leave her, etched itself onto her face. She looked mentally drained, broken in ways no one could see but that bled through every tired glance.
Yunjin swallowed hard, her throat tight, and bent forward. She splashed cold water over her face, the icy shock cutting through the fog of fatigue for a moment. But it was a temporary reprieve. The mirror reflected back her own wide, haunted eyes, eyes that flickered with fear and fury beneath the surface.
His hands.
Rough and unyielding, forcing her legs apart against her will.
Yunjin’s fingers dug into the edges of the sink, knuckles whitening as the memories attacked her.
His cruel grin, twisted and menacing, as he snapped his hips without care, ignoring her muffled cries and desperate attempts to push him away.
Yunjin’s breath hitched sharply. She shook her head violently, trying to force the nightmare away.
Her late nights scrolling through social media, reading the cruel comments targeting the way she dressed, the way she sang, the way she danced, vicious words that cut deeper than any blade.
Yunjin's gaze flickered downward. There, on the cold porcelain beside the sink, lay a sharp razor. Its gleam called to her like a dark promise.
The memory of watching Eunchae break, tears streaking down her face after the public backlash to their Coachella performance. The weight of blame that wasn’t hers but that she had to bear anyway.
Without thinking, Yunjin’s hand darted out and grabbed the razor, fingers trembling.
The sight of Chaewon, usually so strong and steady, crumpling under the pressure, and forced to apologize on behalf of the group for the hate on their performances, something none of them deserved.
Yunjin’s sweater sleeves slipped up over her wrists, exposing pale, fragile skin beneath..
The excitement when “Easy” was announced, the bright hope that pulsed through them all, the dreams and plans made in whispered conversations late at night. And then the slow, brutal unraveling as the hate took hold, smothering everything.
Her fingers tightened around the razor’s handle.
Watching Sakura lose confidence in her voice, shrinking into herself as the criticism tore her apart. Watching Kazuha’s energy drain away, the spark in her eyes dimming with every harsh word hurled at them.
Tears welled in Yunjin’s eyes, blurring the harsh bathroom light.
Without hesitation, she dragged the blade across her exposed arm, a sharp, searing line blooming beneath her skin. She winced, biting back a cry, the sting a fleeting reminder that she was still alive.
But, the pain wasn’t enough.
Her tears mixed with blood as she slashed another cut beneath the first, the burning ache a cruel comfort amidst the storm inside her.
Yunjin leaned heavily against the sink, breath ragged, heart pounding with the weight of all the things she couldn’t say aloud, the nightmares, the trauma, the unbearable pressure.
And the razor still glinted coldly in her trembling hand.
Yunjin’s gaze was glued to the slow, steady drip of blood sliding down her arm, each droplet pooling and then falling into the stark white sink below. The crimson stained the porcelain, a vivid, undeniable mark of her pain. She felt the warmth of it, both cold and burning at once, an unyielding reminder of the storm raging inside her, the weight she couldn’t escape.
Her fingers curled tighter around the razor’s handle, the cold metal pressing against her skin as she raised it again. She was poised to drag it across her arm once more, to carve fresh lines deep enough to quiet the chaos inside, to feel something other than the unbearable ache in her heart.
But then, cutting through the silence like a blade, came a knock from the doorway.
“Unnie! Breakfast’s ready! Chaewon unnie asked me to come get you. We’re all waiting,” Eunchae’s gentle, bright tone floated through the doorframe.
Yunjin’s body froze, her breath catching in her throat like a trap snapping shut. Panic surged in wild waves, the razor suddenly heavy and foreign in her trembling hand.
Her fingers slipped, and the blade clattered against the cold tile floor, the sharp sound slicing through the room with brutal finality. Her heart thudded painfully as the reality slammed back in: she wasn’t alone. She had to hide it. She had to pretend.
“B-Be there soon,” she called out, voice trembling but strained into steadiness.
Seconds stretched, each heartbeat echoing loud and raw in her ears. Desperation clawed at her as she scrambled to erase the evidence of what she’d just done, what she felt compelled to do.
Her hands shook violently as she grabbed the closest towel and pressed it to her arms, blotting at the fresh blood with frantic urgency. She dabbed again and again, wiping until the red stains faded into faint pink bruises that could be explained away.
But, that wasn’t enough.
Her fingers moved next to the razor lying cold on the floor. She picked it up with shaking hands, then carefully cleaned the blade on a spare cloth, wiping off every trace of red as if erasing the pain itself.
Still trembling, she tapped the razor lightly against the edge of the sink, mimicking the gentle noise it might make if it had been untouched, trying to make everything look normal, innocent.
Her breath came fast and shallow, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, stifling a sob that threatened to escape.
The panic in her eyes burned fiercely in the mirror, but she forced herself to meet that gaze with a brittle, cracked smile, a mask she had worn too many times.
No one can see. No one can know.
She took a slow, steadying breath, willing her heart to slow its frantic beat, willing herself to move past the moment.
Her footsteps were quiet but hesitant as she left the bathroom behind, the cold weight of what she’d done still settling heavily on her skin.
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