c.w: trauma, past physical abuse, branding scars, dissociation, emotional conflict, angst, implied relationship with unresolved feelings, derealization/panic implied
(side note: in this chapter, it's implied that reader and isaac get together-- this is JUST a part of reader's healing process!! i promise this is still a luka x gn! reader fic <3)
Adjusting to life here was far from easy. Far from what you were used to.
No Segyein beat you until you lost consciousness. No orderly ration lines. No forced wake-ups. Everyone woke at their own pace, with their own plans.
Your branding began healing.
You were untrusting of those around you; it took you two full weeks to even poke your head out of your door. Isaac visited you during your period of isolation, bringing you fresh food, water, and clothes. He introduced you to his friend, Dewey, who taught you how to wash your clothes, how to cook, even how to change your own sheets.
You begin to forget what your owner looks like.
You aren't so certain how long it's been since you've been here. A few weeks? A few months? Years?
You find comfort in living here, though, already re-finding the confidence in yourself and making friends with other rebels. In fact, you'd even reconnected with Till, who became a member of the rebellion, too.
Within time, you've blossomed into an entirely different person: you laugh with others at their jokes, you join Isaac and Dewey for dinner, you dress however you like, and--
you smile, all the time. as if nothing could ever hurt you again.
One morning, the sunlight peeks in through your windows and kisses you awake. You groan, of course, rolling over to hide yourself from it's bright lights.
"it's bright outside," Isaac mumbles beside you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "we can stay in bed for just a while longer."
This has become your life, now. Living peacefully as a member of the rebellion, without the fear of waking up knowing it was all a dream. You think, for maybe a moment, this is what was meant to be.
But you can't stop thinking about him. What he's doing, if he's even alive.
Isaac sighs as he untangles himself from your arms, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He yawns, scratching his stomach beneath his shirt momentarily. "I've got the food haul shift this morning. I'll be home later for dinner."
"Okay," you murmur warmly at him, smiling as Isaac dips his head to kiss your forehead before he turns, stretches, then pads off bare-footedly to the bathroom. You sigh, rolling onto your back to stare up at the ceiling.
It’s peaceful. Safe. Everything you should want — and yet your chest feels wrong. Too tight. As if your body remembers something your mind is trying to bury.
A thousand what-ifs run through your head at once: what if you did something wrong that night? what if you weren't fast enough, and you'll never see Luka again? what would Isaac think-- Isaac, who's been nothing but kind and sweet and supportive to you-- if he ever found out you're thinking about Luka again?
He'd leave you, surely. He'd leave and you'd be alone again.
Guilt churns in your stomach and you roll over, as if physically hurting. Forgetting Luka was like forgetting how to breathe.
A few weeks pass before you know it.
Life settles into a rhythm—an imperfect one, a little too loud, a little too busy—but it’s a rhythm you’ve grown to rely on. You rise with the others now, not startled awake by footsteps or orders. You wash your own clothes. You help prepare meals. You pull your weight.
And today, you’re on food haul duty.
The air is crisp when you step out, boots crunching against gravel. Isaac walks a few steps ahead, teasing Dewey about miscounting the storage crates last week. Dewey fires back with a shove that’s much gentler than it looks. Their laughter drifts around you, warm and familiar.
The market district is crowded the way it always is: vendors fighting for attention, neon boards flickering half-dead above peeling storefronts, drones weaving overhead like lazy insects. You’ve been here enough times that the noise no longer feels threatening.
You help Dewey lift a crate into the cart, brushing dust from your palms.
“Hey, good timing,” Isaac calls over his shoulder. “If we finish early we can—"
You don’t understand why until you notice the way everyone around you seems to pause at once. Heads tilt upward. Conversations falter. Even the distant hum of drones feels quieter.
A soft melody begins to drift through the street—synthetic, polished, eerily familiar.
It tugs at something deep inside your chest before you even recognize it.
A new holo-billboard rises above the district, fresh enough that the plastic covering still clings to its corners. The screen illuminates, flooding the street with cold blue light.
Not the Luka you remember—breathless, desperate, dirty with sweat.
This Luka stands tall in immaculate stage attire, silver lights catching in his hair. His eyes are sharper, colder; his posture perfect; his expression unreadable.
He looks older, stronger, manufactured.
“Reborn Idol: LUKA — New Era Broadcast,” the display announces, his voice echoing through the speakers as the promotional clip loops.
Your breath disappears all at once.
A rush of heat floods your face, followed immediately by a hollow cold that spreads through your whole body. The sounds around you warp—muffled, distant—like you’ve been shoved underwater.
He’s alive, and he’s changed, and he’s right there—
“Hey—hey, you okay?” Dewey asks, stepping closer.
Isaac turns toward you slowly, eyes narrowing as he takes in your expression. You see the realization strike him—not fully, but enough. Enough to hurt.
Isaac stiffens beside you.
For a moment he doesn’t say anything—just watches you, watches the billboard, watches the way your entire body has gone still. His jaw tightens, just barely, but it’s enough. Enough to tell you he understands something even if he doesn’t know the full story.
“...Luka,” you breathe again, softer this time, like the name pulled itself out of you.
Isaac exhales slowly through his nose. Not angry—hurt. Confused. Scared for reasons he doesn’t want to voice.
He steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder, gentle but trembling.
“Hey,” he says quietly, “look at me.”
You don’t. You can’t. Luka’s face is still glowing above the street, larger than life, hauntingly unfamiliar.
Isaac’s fingers curl slightly, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll drift away.
“[name],” he murmurs, voice cracking at the edges, “talk to me. Please.”
Dewey glances between the two of you, uneasy, but stays quiet.
The billboard shifts to another clip—Luka singing, perfectly composed, perfectly controlled—and you flinch. Isaac notices. He notices everything.
His breath catches, and for the first time since you’ve known him, Isaac looks… afraid.
Not of Luka.
Of losing you.
“Is this…” He swallows. “Is he the one you were waiting for?”
You finally turn toward him, but the words won’t form.
Isaac’s expression crumples—just a little, just enough to show the wound—and then he smooths it over with practiced calm, the kind he uses when tending to injured rebels.
“Okay,” he whispers, thumb brushing your arm once before pulling away. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it here. Just… stay close to me, alright?”
His voice is careful now. Guarded.
Not because he blames you—but because he’s suddenly unsure where he stands.
He shifts, angling himself protectively between you and the crowd, but he can't shield you from the billboard’s glow. Luka’s voice carries on above the street, flawless and distant.
Isaac doesn’t look at it again.
Luka’s face flickers across the screen again, impossibly bright against the grey sky.
And everything inside you collapses.
I feel bad for isaac highkey :(
