Hi!! itâs my first time reading a bot prompt and i loved your hyun-ju one so much!! do you do part 2âs?
Plot: The second part of my initial prompt idea, bringing a little bit of love for the girls.
TW: I lied, they still havenât kissed, but donât worry, love is a slow process. It needs time to grow and develop, even in tense moments like a deadly game! And guess what? It doesn't heal traumas (spoiler: the real hero here is therapy!). I didnât sleep very well, so the slow-burn development might not be as well-developed, meh, sorry.
Note: I donât know if the term âbot promptâ actually exists, but I started using it to store everything I write or post because, honestly, in less than a year, my phone was stolen at a party, and I lost all my notes. Anyway, thank you so much for liking the idea! Youâre really sweet.
The bathroom was cramped and suffocating, a stark, cold space where time seemed to have left its indelible marks. The tiles, worn and chipped, absorbed more than mere moistureâthey held memories, secrets, the weight of countless moments that had transpired within these walls. The weak, jaundiced light that filtered in through the grimy window barely illuminated the room, casting an oppressive pallor upon the surroundings. It was as if the space itself conspired to reflect the turmoil within youâan echo of your internal struggles, a microcosm of your suffocating existence, a prison without bars.
The silence between you was not discomforting per se, yet it was far from peaceful. It was a silence that stretched with the weight of unspoken words, a silence that felt too large, too heavy, almost tangible. It hung in the air, thick and oppressive, as though it sought to smother you. There was a fragility to the moment, like walking on a tightrope over a vast chasm, with the risk of falling into something irreparable.
The question, at first glance, seemed simple, even innocent. But as soon as the words left her lips, they carried with them an invisible burden, one so immense it seemed to bear down upon you. You knew in that instant that the query was not just a passing thought, but a probe into something deeper, something you were reluctant to confront.
Hyun-juâs gaze was steady, unwavering, as if she could see through the façade you wore, as if her eyes could peer into the very recesses of your soul. Her stare was not judgmental, but it was not indifferent either. There was a quiet understanding in the way she observed you, a knowing that unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You felt exposed, vulnerable, as if you were standing naked before her, with all your fears, your guilt, your unspoken regrets laid bare. Your body reacted before your mind could grasp what was happening: your arms wrapped around yourself, seeking refuge, though you knew none would come. Your nails dug into the tender flesh of your skin, a silent cry for solace, for something to hold onto.
âI donât know what you mean,â you muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper. The words tasted like ash in your mouth. A lie, pure and simple. A desperate attempt to obscure the truth, to protect yourself from the torrent of feelings you were so ill-prepared to face. But you knew, deep down, that the lie was futile. The guilt, the shame, the condemnationâit was all there, swirling in your chest, suffocating you. Sinner. Impure. Filthy. The words echoed in your mind, relentless, each repetition digging deeper into the rawness of your soul.
The silence that followed was deafening. It pressed in on you, suffocating in its weight. Hyun-juâs expression remained impassive, though not unkind. It was as if she were waiting, not for an answer, but for you to find the courage to face somethingâsomething hidden, buried so deep inside you that you barely knew it was there.
âYou pray every time you pass by me,â she said, her voice calm, but carrying an undeniable gravity. "Do you think Iâm a sinner because of who I am?"
Sinner. The word reverberated again, louder now, more insistent. It felt as though it were branded into your very being, like a scar that could never heal. You couldnât escape it. Not in this moment. Not in any moment.
âDo you know that youâre not?â Her voice was gentle, but there was an edge to it, a quiet challenge. âHow do you know youâre not sinning, when you question everything?â
The question pierced through the fog of your thoughts, leaving behind a sharp, cold clarity. How could you know? How could you possibly know? The doubt, the shame, the constant, gnawing fearâit was all there, coiled in your chest, suffocating you. You had never been certain of anything. Not really. But you had to hold on to something, didnât you? If only to survive.
The silence stretched between you again, heavy and suffocating. It was the kind of silence that filled the space with something intangible, something you couldnât touch but could feel creeping in around the edges, wrapping itself around your throat. Hyun-juâs gaze was unwavering, but not cruel. She wasnât condemning you. But you, you were drowning in your own guilt, your own self-loathing.
âYouâre afraid of sinning, arenât you?â she asked, her voice softer now, though no less direct. âIâm sorry to say this, but I think no one can escape that. No one is without sin.â
Her words settled around you like a fog, thick and impenetrable. There was something in themâsomething that felt irrefutable, undeniable. You wanted to argue, to fight against them, but the words caught in your throat. The truth of it was that you had never known a life without guilt, without the constant, oppressive weight of your own failures. How could you possibly argue with her when all you knew was sin, when all you had ever known was that you were wrong, that you had always been wrong?
Hyun-ju fell quiet, as though considering her next words carefully. But you were already drowning in the silence. She broke it with a quiet, almost resigned sigh.
âWell, unless youâve known God personally.â
The words struck like a blow, not because they were harsh, but because they were true. You had never known God, not in the way she spoke of. You had always sought comfort in rituals, in prayers, but had they ever really meant anything? Had you ever truly believed, or had it simply been another way to drown out the noise in your head?
You were silent, unable to answer. There was no defense, no retort. She had laid bare the truth of your existence, and you could do nothing but accept it.
âMaybe questioning is the answer,â she said, her voice soft but insistent. âWhen you pray, when you ask for strength, when you confide your fearsâarenât you, in some way, questioning as well?â
âI donât question,â you responded, but the words felt hollow, empty. It was a defense, nothing more. "The word is divine. It is true."
âAnd you say that because youâve known God personally?â Hyun-ju asked, raising an eyebrow. Her tone was neither accusatory nor dismissive. It was simply a question, one that cut to the heart of your uncertainty.
The silence returned, heavier than before. You had no words to offer, no defense to mount. You simply sat there, drowning in the weight of her gaze, the weight of her truth. She wasnât judging you. She wasnât condemning you. But you were. You were judging yourself. And the guilt, the shame, it wrapped around you like chains, pulling you under.
âI donât understand much about religion,â Hyun-ju said, almost as if speaking to herself. âI havenât thought about it in a long time. But I donât think God would want anyone to feel like this. I donât think He would create someone to live in fear.â
Her words, so simple, yet so profound, fell over you like rain. They soaked into your soul, washing away some of the shame, some of the fear. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to breathe. Maybe you werenât the monster you thought you were. Maybe you could be more than the sum of your sins.
Without thinking, you spoke, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop them.
âWhen did you know?â Your voice was fragile, hesitant. âWhen did you know that you wanted to be a girl?â
Hyun-ju didnât hesitate. Her answer was simple, yet it carried the weight of a lifetime. âIt wasnât about wanting to be a girl,â she said softly. âIt was about realizing that the discomfort wasnât natural. No one should feel sick for being who they are. No one should be made to feel wrong for simply existing.â
Her words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with a part of you that you had long buried, a part that had never known how to express itself. You understood now, in a way that was both painful and enlightening. You had been living in fear, in doubt, in self-loathing, when perhaps all you had ever needed was to accept yourself.
âMy journey started when I realized that fear is not a way to live,â she continued. âIt never was. It never will be.â
Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You didnât know how to respond. You didnât have the words. But you felt something shift within you, something that had been dormant for so long.
âIâŠâ You began, your voice faltering. âI donât know what I am.â
Hyun-ju didnât respond immediately. She simply waited, her presence calm and steady, like a quiet anchor in a storm. You swallowed hard, the words struggling to escape.
âSometimes, I look at girls, andâŠâ Your voice trailed off, the weight of the confession too much to bear. âI think theyâre beautiful.â
Hyun-juâs gaze softened, and she smiledâa small, knowing smile. âThatâs not wrong.â
âItâs more than that,â you whispered, your words heavy with unspoken longing. âItâs more than just that.â
You exhaled, the weight in your chest growing unbearable. And then, almost without thinking, you spoke the truth that had been lodged in your throat for so long.
âAnd you⊠youâre beautiful, too.â
Hyun-juâs surprise was fleeting, but the smile that followed was soft, gentle. "Thank you," she murmured. "And, to be honest⊠youâre beautiful too."
Her words wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and comforting. Before you could respond, she gently wiped away the dirt from your face, her touch light, delicate. When she finished, her hand rested on your forehead, and you felt the warmth of her kiss, brief but profound.
âShall we go?â she asked, her voice soft but firm, as she extended her hand to you.
You hesitated, but after a moment, you took her hand. The warmth of her touch grounded you, offering a kind of solace you hadnât known you needed. As she led you out of the bathroom, you glanced at her once more. The way her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the serenity that emanated from herâit was a beauty that seemed to fill the room, to fill your heart, in a way that was both gentle and strong.
In that moment, you realized something: perhaps, for the first time, you could begin to let go of the fear, the shame, and the guilt. Maybe, just maybe, you were allowed to be something more than the person you had always believed yourself to be.
And that, perhaps, was enough.
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