PREVIEW: Halloween is approaching the next night, and your best friends have been imploring you to join them since they have been invited to an exclusive event that is known as 'The Devils Night' that is hosted by the fraternity of devil's knights. You know of them, including their corrupted fraternity, and you know better than to involve yourself with them after hearing unpleasant things about them from your peers. In fact, from the day you stepped foot into the university, you had been warned to steer clear of any of the devil's knights members, especially four certain individuals, and so you successfully did throughout those years, until now, because the moment you stepped foot into their territory, you have long since caught the attention of the devil's knights leaders.
GENRE: 18+ (mdni), semi-college au, adulthood, reverse harem, dark themes.
WARNINGS: indicated on respective parts.
TAGLIST: close
RUBY'S NOTE: this fic is inspired by the devil's night series by penelope douglas but with an entirely different plot. all feedbacks and reblogs are very much appreciated!
CREDITS: main top banner by @chaconnenha ! , hyung line solo banners by @hollyoongs !
SYNOPSIS: Final exams are approaching, and you have every intention to immerse yourself in studying for the next two weeks, but your best friends decide that it's a good idea to drag you out with them to attend an all-exclusive event called 'The Devil's Night' since it is Halloween week. Initially, you feel disgruntled and detested by such a social event, especially one that is hosted by specific delinquents, but eventually, you allow yourself to relax and enjoy the night. However, some of the invited guests, including you, have no notion of what the devil's knights' goal is for this year's Halloween. From the moment you begrudgingly agreed to go to the event, you were fucked because you had no idea what truly awaited you ─ you had no idea how your life would take a drastic turn, especially when you had become their prey.
➤ PART 1
SYNOPSIS: Jake Sim has got to be more bearable compared to the others. Unlike the rest of his club members, Jake is friendlier, making him an approachable figure. You recall when you got lost in the campus building during your second week of college in your first year, but Jake found you wandering like a lost puppy and was kind enough to guide you to the place you needed to go. Even after three years, his kindness is engraved in your mind.So, when Jake approaches you, you have little reason to suspect that he has an ill-intention towards you, especially when you have completely fallen for his trap. How can you not? With that charming grin on his handsome countenance and how he makes you comfortable enough to be yourself around him. It’s so easy to be with Jake. Little do you know that he is every bit corruptive like the rest of the knights.
➤ PART 2
SYNOPSIS: For some reason, Park Sunghoon utterly despises you ─ how you are the literal definition of a good girl who steers clear of troubles, how you remain loyal and abide by the rules, how you dress modestly, the fact that you're best friends with the popular girls who are his kind of girls, the way your eyes sparkle with your face being animated, and the dimples on your cheeks whenever you smile or laugh ─ you are every bit of a girl he has no desire to fuck.However, being naturally competitive even against his best friends, he is determined to be the one to break you, poison you with his corruptive ways, and change you for the worse.
➤ PART 3.1 | PART 3.2
SYNOPSIS: You have heard unpleasant things about Jay Park, one of which is his tendency towards violence, which brings you chills as you recall a student who nearly died because of him. You know better than to cross him, and so you ignore him whenever he attempts to speak to you or pesters you by throwing such crude remarks at you, because no matter how much you want to lash out at him, you worry that your words would greatly anger him.Little do you know that your silence and how you disregard his existence have long since angered him. So he decides to teach you a little lesson, making a different approach towards you and eventually you fall for his dark allure ─ one that has you on a delirious high, and yet you find yourself slowly breaking into pieces.
➤ PART 4
SYNOPSIS: You and Lee Heeseung are pursuing the same major, and the two of you have always been the top students in your cohort throughout your university years, with the only exception that his name is always above yours. Although you have never exactly interacted with him, sometimes you catch him staring at you, and the intensity of his gaze is enough to knock the breath out of you. After being heavily involved with his comrades, you should be staying away from him, you should be avoiding him at all costs, and yet, in your vulnerable state, including the lust clouding your better judgement, you fall for his dark allure, allowing him to breach through the walls that you built to protect yourself from them.
➤ PART 5
SYNOPSIS: The mystery behind whoever orchestrated the incident has yet to unravel, and the very same incident is the start of the palpable rift in your relationship with the four leaders. Things get gradually worse, and problems after problems keep piling up, especially having discovered a shocking revelation that causes you to develop mistrust towards them, but at the same time, you are caught in a dilemma where your mind and heart are in dissonance. In spite of it all, your heart still desires for them — the ones whom you have given your heart and soul to.
➤ PART 6.1
SYNOPSIS: Your heart and mind remain in an agonising dissonance, and this time, you choose rationality over what your heart desires most, even if it is slowly killing you. But you have underestimated their determination in luring you back to them, which leads to you rebelling against your initial resolution as you fail to resist your darkest temptation. So when the tension finally snaps, you find yourself back to square one, and this time, you fear that there is no way out to elude their intoxicating, dark allure once more.
➤ PART 6.2
SYNOPSIS: Just when you think that everything has fallen back into place as it was before, a twist of fate leads you to be thrown into a shocking revelation, one that results in the breach of trust once more, and this time, the damage is completely irreversible. Being broken beyond repair, you agreed to embark on a new journey for the sake of your sanity, burying the bittersweet yet painful memories in the wreckage of your mind. But perhaps there is another twist from fate that you won't be expecting in the midst of your new blissful journey.
➤ PART 6.3
SYNOPSIS: Embarking on a new journey was definitely the best decision you have ever made. Ever since your new life started out on the very place you have ever dreamed of visiting, which has now become your reality, everything works in your favour. But you can't deny the fact that deep down inside, you miss the ones who were a major part of your life. Just like that, the universe seems to favour you as you now find yourself in a predicament involving being chased by the very past you thought you had left for good.
➤ PART 7.1
SYNOPSIS: After the heated yet emotional confrontation that led to you involuntarily revealing glimpses of your hidden emotions seeping through the cracks of your tenacious resolve to them, you knew that it was for the greater good that you had officially driven them away. But little do you know that the four ex-leaders refuse to give up on you, doing whatever it takes to get you back, even if it leads to them repressing their pride and grovelling for your forgiveness on their knees.
YOUR TURN — 1. A phrase used in a gangbang to tell the next person waiting that it’s time for them to step in and get involved.
2. A slut’s opportunity—the moment when it is finally her chance to act, indulge, and surrender herself after others have already taken theirs. The phrase emphasizes delayed gratification, where the receiver eagerly awaits her turn to be used or to participate after hearing others go before her.
content tags/warnings: hyung line x reader, reader is horny and desperate, men are assholes, inspired by the show series euphoria. explicit content (smut): porn with no plot at all, gangbang, face fucking, facials, nipple play, fingering, oral fixation, unprotected sex, degrading language, pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling etc), double penetration, protected anal sex, slapping, hentai like expressions, handjob, overstimulation, tits fucking, squirting, lack of verbal consent in some scenes, choking, pain play, creampie, this is straight up porn but have a potential romance at the end. lmk if i missed something. WC: 17.2K
It wasn't like you were some kind of slut, right?
Who were you kidding? Any girl with a working pussy would drool if she stood close enough to those four men. Not just because of their looks, not just because of the sharp edges of their jawlines or the way their eyes seemed to strip people down without touching them, but because how they confidently carried themselves. Their scent. That mix of cologne and sweat that made your throat dry the second they passed by. It wasn't normal, not the way your body reacted. Not the way your thighs pressed together when you thought of them. But you kept telling yourself it was. It had to be.
Lee Heeseung, Park Jongseong, Sim Jaeyun, and Park Sunghoon.
Four names that rang louder than any lecture in your university halls. Four names whispered in bathrooms, shouted across freedom walls, written down in anonymous confessions like some fucking campus legends. Everyone knew them. Everyone wanted them. And everyone, at least once, wondered what it would be like to be touched by them.
People pretended to sneer at their lives, at the rumors tied around them, but the truth always leaked through—envy, hunger, the kind of desperate need nobody wanted to admit out loud. Because deep down, every damn rumor about them only made them more untouchable, more godlike.
And then there was that one rumor. The one that tore through the university like wildfire.
The gangbang story.
The most scandalous, dirtiest thing anyone had ever whispered, and yet nobody could stop talking about it.
Nobody could prove it. Nobody knew if it was just a story made up by someone bored, but fuck, if it had been real... if it had been real, then you weren't sure what was worse. The fact that people called it disgusting or the fact that it made your whole body clench with jealousy.
How fucking scandalous. How fucking disgusting.
And how fucking pathetic that every time you thought about it, your chest got tight, your mouth went dry, and all you could think was: if that rumor had ever been true, if those four had ever taken a girl like that, then why the fuck wasn't it you?
"Someone caught Jake making out with a girl from Tourism!"
"Someone said Sunghoon's been fucking that sophomore from another building!"
"Have you heard that Jay is smoking at the back of the building while the TA sucks him off? Geez, what a lucky girl."
"And that cheerleader said Heeseung likes girls who can spread their legs wide!"
Your hands gripped your pen tighter, knuckles turning pale, jaw clenched as the chatter bled into your ears. Every fucking sentence was the same—different girls, different places, different dirty details—but the same four names, always the same four names. It was exhausting, it was maddening, and it was starting to chew holes into your focus.
"Stop it," you hissed finally, snapping your head up to face the group of girls clustered near the corner. "There are people here who are trying to study. Maybe try doing that instead of running your mouths about men and their sex lives. Do you have no shame?"
The table went quiet, their smirks twitching as they shared quick glances between themselves. One girl rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but none of them pushed back. They just leaned back into their seats, whispering low but not low enough, as if they wanted you to hear every giggle, every stifled laugh.
You tried to turn back to your notes, but your pulse wouldn't settle. You're not annoyed that they were gossipping.
You were jealous.
Jealous that every rumor had someone else's name attached to it. Jealous that every filthy story, every detail, every moan that lived in their words belonged to another girl and not to you.
Fuck! It's unfair! It's so unfair! Why was it always someone else? Why did it have to be another girl they kissed, another girl they bent over, another girl who got to hear their voices from fucking?
You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying to drown it out, trying to stay steady. But every word of theirs came back to the same thing. Their dicks. Their moans. Their fucking. And all it did was remind you that you hadn't had a single taste of any of it, not even once.
Fuck it. When was it supposed to be your turn?
You tried. God, you fucking tried. You started dragging yourself to every fraternity party you caught wind of, even ones you had no business going to, all in hopes of catching just one of their eyes. You would push through sweaty bodies and strobe lights, pretending to dance, pretending to laugh, only to learn that Jay had already gotten bored and left long before you even stepped in. The disappointment would choke you, but you still kept showing up.
Like some desperate puppy waiting for scraps.
You started waxing everything, every inch of your body, until your skin burned. You bought bottles of expensive perfume you couldn't even afford, ones that clung to your clothes and hair until it made you dizzy. You thought maybe, they liked girls who smelled clean, who looked like they had their shit together, but deep down you knew it didn't matter. Because how would they ever notice when you didn't even have the guts to open your mouth?
"Uh... do you know, like, how to talk to Heeseung?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual while your eyes betrayed you, glued to the tall figure across the library.
He was sliding books off a shelf, completely unaware of the way your whole body went tense, your throat dry, your palms slick with sweat. Even from a distance you swore you could smell him, that same maddening warmth that clung to him whenever he walked past.
Your friend blinked, eyebrows raised as though she couldn't believe the words had actually come out of your mouth. "About what? You know damn well he doesn't talk to girls in public. People only talk about how he fucks them hard and then disappears. No contact. Nothing. Ever." She scoffed, dismissing it with a wave of her hand, before her gaze sharpened on you. A smirk tugged at her lips and she let out a loud laugh that made your ears burn. "Wait. Don't tell me you're actually planning something. You think you're gonna get him to fuck you?"
Her laughter made your eye twitch. You felt her gaze scan over you, up and down, picking apart everything you were, everything you weren't. She reached over, patting your shoulder in a way that only made you feel smaller.
"It's okay to dream big," she said, lips curving into a cruel little smile, "but let me shatter that for you. He would never, okay? Hmm?"
Something in your chest snapped at her words. Anger rose, clinging to your ribs until you thought you'd choke on it. How fucking dare she? How dare she look at you like that, laugh at you like you weren't even worth a second glance? How high did she think of herself, how low did she think of you?
But you swallowed it, burying the sharpness down where no one could see. You curved your lips into a laugh that sounded almost real, almost lighthearted, even though your nails dug into your palm under the table. "Silly you," you said sweetly, tilting your head like it didn't sting, "I was just trying to interview him for sports journalism. Don't get too talkative about fucking, though. It sounds like you're reflecting your own frustrations."
You smiled brighter, watching her expression falter for just a second before she scoffed again and turned back to her notes.
You needed to think. You needed to dig deeper into yourself, to find a way, any way, because you refused to lose. You refused to accept being invisible.
Every single morning became a routine.
You would drag yourself out of bed before the sun even touched the sky, forcing your heavy eyes open as you stood in front of the mirror. You styled your hair until not a single strand was out of place, you layered makeup carefully until your reflection looked like someone worth noticing, and you scrubbed your skin until it stung, until it shone smooth under your fingertips. Your closet was picked apart daily, clothes scattered across your floor, until you found the outfit that made you feel like you could walk down the hall with your head high, like you were worth a second glance.
And every time, when the clock struck the hour you knew they would be walking down the hallway, you stood ready. Shoulders straight, steps measured, chest tight with nerves as you waited for them to pass. You tried to look effortless, confident, perfect. But it shattered you every single time when none of them looked your way. Their eyes stayed forward, their voices low between themselves, their expressions unchanged as if you were nothing more than air. Your hands would grow limp at your sides, your confidence bleeding out of you as you glanced behind your shoulder, mouth parted slightly, helplessly staring at their broad shoulders moving further and further away from you.
The frustration followed you. At night, you laid in bed with their faces behind your eyelids, your thighs pressed together until you couldn't stand it anymore.
You touched yourself with the thought of them, not just one but all four, surrounding you, using you, making you theirs in every filthy way you had imagined. You came undone to fantasies of their hands pulling your hair, their voices groaning against your ear, your body stretched thin for them, and the pleasure left you gasping, sweating, shaking in the dark. Yet as soon as it ended, as soon as your heartbeat slowed, you already hated yourself. Because no matter how hard you wanted it, morning would come again, and the cycle would repeat. You'd wake up early, fix yourself to perfection, pass them in the hallway, and watch them ignore you.
The days blurred into each other, but the whispers always found you. Another rumor spread like fire, another story about them with another girl, and it burned you alive from the inside.
You wanted to scream at how unfair it was, how humiliating it felt that you couldn't stop aching for something you might never get. Sometimes you almost laughed at yourself, at how pathetic you must have looked, stuck between jealousy and desperation, unable to let go.
"Wow, what perfume do you use? You smell so good!" Your classmate's voice cut through your thoughts one day, her hand brushing casually across your arm. "And your lotion too? Your skin feels amazing."
The touch startled you, and the question almost made you snap. "It's just Victoria's Secret," you hissed automatically, jerking your hand slightly to free yourself. But the moment you saw her surprised face, you realized what you had done, and quickly masked it with a sweet smile. "Sorry, I'm in a bad mood, forgive me? It's Velvet Petals. But I exfoliate with Dove first. That's probably why."
Her lips curved into a bright smile, her eyes scanning you with something almost admiring. "It's okay! You look really, really, really pretty, you know? And you're so sweet. I just hope you don't fall into the wrong hands."
The way she said it made your stomach twist. You knew exactly who she was talking about, and the mocking tone in her voice when she mentioned "wrong hands" made it worse. Those fuckboys. That's what they all called them, as if the four of them weren't the most wanted men on campus, as if everyone's mouths didn't water at the thought of being ruined by them.
You held your smile, but inside, the anger returned, pulsing hotter than before. They all thought they were above you. They all thought they could talk about them like that and laugh at you for wanting something they secretly wanted too. They were liars, hypocrites, hiding their hunger under judgment while you carried yours openly in your chest.
You pressed your lips together, leaning closer to her so your words came out soft, almost playful. "Maybe falling into the wrong hands isn't always such a bad thing."
Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across her face as you sat back again, smiling politely like nothing had happened.
But in your head, the thought echoed, louder, heavier, filthier.
If those hands were theirs, you would fall gladly.
The party was dragging, the music pounding but lifeless, the people are drunk but boring. You wondered for the tenth time why you even bothered showing up.
The whole campus had been buzzing about this night, everyone whispering about how it would be wild because they would be here. But the most boring part of it all was exactly that—they weren't.
No sign of the four men everyone was expecting. And for that, you hated yourself a little. You hated that you had wasted another expensive outfit, another spritz of your favorite perfume, another hour in front of the mirror just to sit there and look pretty for nothing.
Your cheek rested lazily against your hand as you swirled the watered-down alcohol in your glass. Your eyes lingered on the girl across the room, perched on the couch, laughing with a group of guys who had crowded her like she was the crown jewel of the night. She looked so damn proud of herself, flipping her hair and soaking up their attention like it was worth something.
You almost felt bad for her—because those men? God, they were fucking ugly. The kind of guys who had nothing going for them except being loud and drunk enough to fill her space. And she was pretty, too pretty for the trash sitting beside her, too wasted to notice she could do better.
You sighed, your eyes dropping back down to your glass, watching the last pieces of ice melt into nothing. Maybe you should leave. Maybe you should give up, call it another wasted night, drag yourself back to bed where you could rot under the covers and imagine what it would feel like if the four men ever actually noticed you.
"Hi."
The single word pierced through the noise around you. Your breath caught, and you nearly threw your glass across the table. Your back went ramrod straight as you turned, your heart slamming against your ribs so hard it hurt. When your eyes landed on the figures behind you, everything inside of you went still before spiraling into chaos.
Jake. Sunghoon.
Two of them. Standing there. Talking. To you.
Your throat closed, your tongue heavy, your thoughts shattering into broken pieces as if the universe had finally played its sick joke on you. What the fuck was happening? Jake and Sunghoon—out of everyone in this crowded room—were standing in front of you, looking at you, waiting for you.
"H-Hi?" The word slipped out, so small, so shaky you almost cringed at yourself.
Jake's smile spread, his gaze running over you like he was unwrapping you with his eyes. He didn't hide the way he lingered on the pink silk dress clinging to your body or the way his eyes glinted when he caught the gems glittering delicately across your skin. The weight of his stare made your thighs press together without you even thinking about it.
"Where's your friends?" He shifted his hands casually into his pockets, flashing a smile. "I organized this party, you know. I almost felt bad seeing you sitting here alone."
You swallowed hard, the words tangling on your tongue. This was the moment you'd been waiting for, the one you had begged for, dreamed of, touched yourself over. And yet, your body betrayed you, trembling as you almost flinched under the weight of their presence.
"M-My friends a-are... uh... there." Your shaky hand lifted, pointing weakly toward the dance floor, and the second you did it you wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.
Sunghoon's low laugh broke the air. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes fixed on you as if he could see straight through every flimsy layer of composure you were trying to hold together. "And they exclude you? What bad friends you have."
The closeness of him made your brain dissolve. His perfume, his cologne, the sharp tang of alcohol still lingering on his lips—God, you wanted to taste it, to drown in it. He didn't even touch you, but his nearness was enough to make your body tense, your lips parting before you realized it.
"Want to join us?" Sunghoon asked smoothly.
"W-Where?" you squeaked.
"Well, we can drink outside—" Sunghoon started, but Jake cut him off with a voice that left no room for argument.
"At Heeseung's private room." His tone was steady, certain, his stare locked on you, waiting for your reaction.
For a split second, Sunghoon's eyes widened at Jake's bluntness. You caught the quick glance he shot him, an unspoken message passing between them, before his smirk slid back into place. He didn't need to argue. He didn't need to say a thing. Because the moment the words "Heeseung's private room" left Jake's mouth, your body had already betrayed you.
Your lips trembled, your voice breaking into a whisper. "Yes."
And there it was—the one word that sealed everything.
Jake's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he tilted his head ever so slightly, studying you like you had just handed yourself over. Sunghoon's grin widened, his teeth flashing as he straightened up, amusement flickering in his gaze.
"Good girl," Jake murmured under his breath.
Your chest tightened, your breath caught, and every ounce of you screamed that this was it. The moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had dreamed of, the moment you could never come back from.
And you didn't fucking care.
The door creaked open and Heeseung froze at the threshold, his tall frame stiffening instantly as his eyes landed on the scene.
Jake had one hand tangled in your hair, his cock buried between your lips, his head thrown back as he groaned through clenched teeth. Sunghoon was draped across your back, his chest pressing heavily against you, his hand pinching and rolling your nipples mercilessly while his lips brushed your skin, leaving icy trails that made you shiver.
Your body was positioned like some offering—hands and knees spread like a cat, ass swaying slightly with every thrust of Jake's hips.
"Seriously?" Heeseung's voice was carrying irritation. He shut the door, though he didn't walk away.
The noise made you whimper, muffled around Jake's cock, the vibration of your moan sending shudders up his spine. Jake gritted his teeth and hissed through a laugh, thrusting harder until the blunt head of his dick slammed against the back of your throat. He held you there with one firm grip in your hair, pushing until your nose bumped against the hard plane of his stomach. Your eyes watered, your chest heaved, but the desperation inside you drowned out every thought of resistance.
It hadn't started like this. At first, it was only drinks, games, laughter and teasing, until Jake leaned forward and suggested body shots. You hadn't even hesitated; the heat of their attention had already melted through you, and Jake had almost laughed at how quickly you had fallen into their hands.
And now, here you were, drooling and choking on his cock while Sunghoon twisted your nipples until your whole body jerked with every pinch.
"Your favorite member is here," Jake taunted, his gaze dropping down to you, then flicking toward the figure standing silently by the door. His smirk widened as he forced another thrust into your mouth. "Bro, she's been asking where the fuck you were. You took so long, she already came in her panties just from Sunghoon teasing her tits."
Heat shot through your face as the humiliation wrapped around you. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks, staining the gems near your eyes, but none of it stopped you from flattening your tongue against the base of his cock, licking every inch you could reach while your throat spasmed around him. The shame twisted into a darker, sharper, more intoxicating feeling than you ever imagined.
This was it. This was the dream. The one you'd fucked yourself to in silence night after night, the one you had burned for. And now you were living it, choking, moaning, tears streaking your face, every filthy detail of it everything you had ever wanted.
You couldn't see Heeseung clearly from where you knelt, but you felt him. His gaze was heavy, dragging over you, making your pussy clench at nothing. You knew he was watching the way your lips stretched around Jake's cock, the way your chest heaved as Sunghoon tortured your nipples, the way you looked so fucked out and desperate already.
"The rumors about us are already spreading, and you have the guts to do this?" Heeseung's voice finally cut through with restrained anger. He stepped closer, his shoes quiet against the floor until his shadow stretched across you. You could feel his eyes on your crying, messy face, and it only made your cunt throb harder, soaking your panties.
Jake laughed through a groan, his hips grinding against your lips as his cock slid deeper. Sunghoon joined him with a low chuckle, his cold mouth pressing into your nape as his fingers tugged the straps of your dress down your shoulders. The silk slipped easily, baring your chest fully to Heeseung's view, your nipples stiff and swollen as Sunghoon's thumb and finger rolled them until you moaned around Jake's length.
"Come on," Sunghoon murmured against your ear, his voice is taunting. "You know we always love sharing." His lips traced your skin as his hand pushed your dress lower, exposing more, leaving nothing for modesty.
Heeseung's jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed him. He couldn't look away. His cock stirred against his pants, hardening slowly with every sound that left you, with every pathetic little whimper muffled by Jake's cock. He watched the tears streak down your face, the way your hand lifted shakily from the floor, reaching for him.
Your fingers trembled as they hovered against his thigh, then slid higher until they brushed over the hard bulge in his pants. Your eyes lifted toward him, glassy, half-lidded, drowning in tears and lust, staring directly into his.
Heeseung exhaled sharply, his composure cracking.
And when your palm pressed firmer against him, stroking lightly through the fabric, his cock throbbed in response.
Your back arched off when Heeseung's hands moved to his belt. The sight alone was enough to make your chest tighten and your pussy throb, your body reacting with a hunger you couldn't disguise. Sunghoon caught it immediately, his laugh was low against your ear, mocking the way you looked so desperate without shame. He shifted off you, giving Heeseung room.
"Does Jay know about this?" Heeseung asked, his eyes shifting toward Jake and Sunghoon as if demanding an explanation even while his hands were already pulling at his clothes.
Jake's grin widened, still slick with your spit as he slid his cock from your mouth. "It's a surprise," he answered simply, as if that explained everything. His hand squeezed the back of your neck one last time before releasing you, and your body slumped against the mattress, chest heaving, throat raw. But before you could even recover, Heeseung's hands pressed against you, guiding your body flat onto your back, his touch so commanding you followed without question.
The world tilted when the fabric of your dress slipped from your shoulders, your body fully bared under their stares. Sunghoon leaned close again, his nose brushing your cheek as his voice dipped. "Look at those pretty eyes." His words curled into your skin, and you whimpered before turning toward him, your lips crashing into his. The kiss was messy, desperate, your mouth opening wide for him, your tongue tangling with his like you could pull the heat out of him and swallow it whole.
Jake's fingers hooked your panties and dragged them down your legs, his eyes glued to the slick mess between your thighs. The moment he saw your pussy clenching and unclenching around nothing, a growl broke from his throat.
Heeseung's response was just as guttural, his eyes narrowing as he dropped down onto his knees beside Jake, their shoulders brushing as if they were competing for the same prize. Without hesitation, they lifted your legs, spreading you shamelessly open, one of your thighs resting on each of their broad shoulders.
Sunghoon didn't let you breathe. His mouth consumed yours, his tongue pressing harder, his teeth tugging your bottom lip as his hand cradled your jaw, keeping you locked against him. You barely managed a moan into his mouth when the first hot lick dragged across your clit, the sudden sensation shooting up your spine that you tore yourself away from Sunghoon's kiss. Your eyes flew down, wide and dazed, only to meet Heeseung's sharp gaze staring up at you while his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking with deliberate, teasing pulls.
Your mouth fell open, your chest rising and falling rapidly, but you didn't dare blink. You couldn't miss the sight of his face buried between your legs, his tongue flattening against your sensitive bud and flicking so slowly it bordered on torture. Your thighs shook, trying to close, but his grip on your hips was unyielding.
"Hey," Sunghoon muttered, his fingers squeezing your chin until your eyes snapped back to him. His gaze was dark, narrowed, a flicker of jealousy twisting in it. "I was the one who found you. Give me some attention."
Your whimpers came small, but you still obeyed, your hand trembling as he guided it down between his legs. The hard ridge of his cock was burning against the fabric of his pants. The moment your palm pressed against him, your body shivered from the weight of him.
They were massive. You had heard the whispers from other girls, but no rumor had prepared you for the truth. Your fingers wrapped around him, squeezing gently through the fabric, and Sunghoon's lips parted, his breath catching as his hips rocked into your touch.
"Fuck," he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin as if your touch alone was enough to push him toward the edge.
And then Jake bit down on your inner thigh, hard enough to make you cry out, his tongue following the sting with a wet, sucking kiss that left your skin marked. Heeseung's lips abandoned your clit, only to press lower, his tongue flattening against your dripping entrance before slurping noisily at the wetness pooling there. The sound was obscene, messy, and you moaned louder than you ever had, the combination of Jake's teeth marking your thighs and Heeseung's mouth devouring you unraveling every last thread of composure you had.
"Shh." Sunghoon's voice was ragged as his hand pressed against your jaw again, his hips grinding into your palm while his other hand fumbled with his belt. His pants dropped down his thighs, and when he freed himself, your eyes widened, your mouth watering instantly at the sight. His cock was flushed and heavy, the tip glistening with pre-cum, so thick it almost made your stomach flutter with fear.
Your legs were trembling uncontrollably, but you couldn't close them, not when Jake and Heeseung had you pinned wide open, their mouths swapping positions greedily between your clit and your entrance.
Jake was hungrier, reckless with the way his tongue plunged into you, his lips sucking against your folds so loudly it drowned out even the bass from the music downstairs. You could feel him moan against you, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, his whole face buried as if he wanted to drown in your pussy.
"Say ah," Sunghoon knelt in front of you, his cock gripped tightly in his hand. You obeyed instantly, your lips falling open, your eyes wide and locked on his face.
The expression he wore was enough to make your stomach twist—his brows drawn tight, his lips parted as if he were biting back a curse, his gaze focused entirely on your mouth as though nothing else in the world existed.
"So eager," he whispered hoarsely, his cock brushing against your lips as pre-cum smeared across them. "Fuck."
Heeseung rose slowly from between your thighs, his lips and chin slick with your wetness, his chest lifting heavily with each breath. His gaze drifted down over your trembling body, then to Sunghoon's cock hovering dangerously close to your lips, before his large hands moved to your chest. The weight of his touch was deliberate, kneading the softness of your breasts, his thumbs dragging over your nipples until they tightened again under his attention.
The combination was unbearable, your body jerking at every angle, twitching against their hands and mouths as if you no longer had control over it. Sunghoon's sudden pace had your cheeks hollowing, his cock stretching your lips as he thrust with low, restrained groans.
At the same time, Heeseung's fingers twisted your nipples mercilessly, sharp flicks that sent heat rushing to your core, and Jake's tongue was buried inside you, fucking your entrance with wet, eager strokes. Each movement pulled you in a different direction, your body caught in the middle of all three of them until you felt yourself unraveling at the seams.
Your head was spinning, dizzy from the sensation. The world tilted and blurred, your muffled moans spilling out against Sunghoon's cock, your tears streaking down your cheeks. It was overwhelming, but in the best way, better than anything you had ever experienced, better than every fumbling encounter that left you aching and unsatisfied.
This was hunger given form, this was desire being fed by three men who knew exactly how to break you. Every flick of Heeseung's fingers, every thrust of Jake's tongue, every push of Sunghoon's cock made your stomach coil tighter and tighter, until the knot inside you threatened to snap.
And then it did.
You came so hard it tore a strangled cry out of your throat, your body convulsing with the force of it. The orgasm crashed into you violently, your back arching off the bed, your legs trembling as Jake's hands clamped down on your thighs to keep you open.
You almost bit down on Sunghoon from the shock of it, your mouth clenching, your throat spasming, and he pulled back with a sharp hiss, his hand replacing himself on your lips to keep you from choking. But Jake didn't stop; he didn't even pause. His tongue twisted deep inside you, lapping greedily at everything you gave him, his head moving side to side as if he wanted to drink you dry. He held you down through every wave, prolonging the orgasm until you thought your body might tear apart from how hard you were shaking.
"Fuck, ah—fuck, shit," Sunghoon cursed above you, his voice breaking into a groan. His grip tightened on your jaw as his release hit suddenly, hot ropes of cum splattering across your face in quick, forceful bursts. Some streaked down your lips, some across your cheeks, and one stray spurt landed in your eye, stinging faintly but drowned out by the overwhelming tide of pleasure still wrecking your body.
You barely processed it, too lost in the pulsing aftershocks of your orgasm and the relentless flicks of Heeseung's thumbs still torturing your nipples. The sensation was too much, every nerve in your body stretched taut as Jake's mouth sealed back over your clit, his tongue circling lazily as he wanted to drag every last drop of climax from you.
Your sobs broke into gasps, your chest rising sharply, your face sticky with Sunghoon's cum, your throat raw from the moans you couldn't stop. And still, Heeseung's eyes stayed locked on you, darkly watching you writhe.
"I need to fuck her already," Heeseung finally muttered, already standing.
Jake stopped what he was doing and glared at him, his jaw clenched. "Who the fuck said you were gonna be first? I was the one who talked to her. I was the one who had her on her knees until now." His hands went to his shirt, ripping it over his head before shoving his pants down impatiently, his irritation burning through every motion.
Sunghoon sighed, throwing his head back, eyes half-lidded as he grabbed your shaky hand and wrapped it around his cock. "You two are always fighting about this shit," he muttered, ignoring the tension and letting you stroke him, his hips lifting slightly into your fist. His lashes fluttered shut as a low groan escaped him. "Fuck, that's it. Don't stop, baby. Just keep going. That's all I need."
"Fuck off," Heeseung snapped as he took a step closer. "You've both had enough time playing with her. I've been waiting, and I'm not standing here any longer."
Your eyes darted between them, your chest rising in short, desperate pulls of breath, before landing on Sunghoon again. He was still focused only on you, his hand over yours, guiding you up and down his thick cock. "Feels so fucking good," he groaned, his voice breaking, his neck exposed as his head fell back.
"That's why I get to be the first to fuck her," Jake shot back, standing tall now, his cock hard and throbbing against his stomach. His smirk was sharp, challenging. "You were late. I've been making her drip for me."
Sunghoon leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your ear, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw. "Ignore them, baby. Just focus on me." His other hand slid around your waist, tugging you closer until his lips pressed firmly against your neck. He kissed you hard, then nipped at your skin, his teeth dragging up to your jaw before biting again. You gasped at the sting, your hand stroking him faster, your wrist straining with the effort.
"Such a good girl," he moaned, his lips vibrating against your throat. His fingers slipped down your belly until they found your soaked pussy again, circling lazily around your entrance. The teasing pressure made you jolt, your moans tumbling out helplessly as he finally pushed one finger inside. Your walls clenched instantly, wrapping tight around him, and his sharp groan against your ear told you exactly how much he liked it. "So tight," he whispered, almost to himself, before sinking another finger inside.
"Sunghoon—" your voice broke, whimpering, the heat spreading too fast through your core as his hand worked inside you.
"Keep those pretty legs open for me, baby," he murmured, his lips dragging down to your shoulder, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. "Need to stretch this pussy for all of us. You want that, don't you? Want to take us all?"
Your only answer was a frantic nod, your lips trembling as your hand gripped his cock tighter, pumping him faster even as your own body shuddered from his fingers curling deep inside.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself too much, Sunghoon," Jake hissed, stepping forward. His hand shot out, pulling you roughly away from Sunghoon's grip.
You whined at the sudden loss, your body immediately protesting the absence of his fingers inside you.
"Shhh, darling," Jake cooed mockingly, wiping at your cum-stained face with his thumb before pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss. His mouth was demanding, tasting, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before pulling back with a smirk. "Me and Heeseung will make you feel so fucking good. You want that, don't you?"
"Yes," you whimpered without hesitation, nodding quickly, your desperation spilling through. You turned on your hands and knees before they could even tell you, body moving on instantly because you knew. You'd heard the whispers. You knew this was how Jake liked to fuck—rough, from behind, with no mercy. "Please."
Jake's laugh was low, almost breathless as he stared at your ass. "Fuck, you don't even need to be told. So hot like this." His palm cracked against your cheek, the sting making you moan as he spread you open with his hands.
Your eyes flicked up, catching Sunghoon again—he was watching with his lip caught between his teeth, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking lazily as his gaze devoured you.
And then your eyes trailed higher, locking with Heeseung, who was standing in front of you, holding the base of his thick cock as if offering it to you. You opened your mouth instantly, ready to take him, but instead he grabbed your chin, tilting your head until you were forced to look up at him.
You sucked in a sharp breath when Jake's tip pressed against your soaked pussy, your entire body stiffening at the stretch before he even entered. His grip on your waist was bruising, anchoring you in place.
"Shit," Jake groaned under his breath, his voice breaking into a growl as he pushed in deeper. "How long has it been since you've been fucked like this? You're tight as fuck."
Your whimpers filled the air, your eyes locked on Heeseung's as he squished your cheeks between his large hand.
"Talk," Heeseung demanded, his eyes burning down into you. "Don't just sit there like a pretty little toy. Tell us what you want. Say it."
The moment he said it, Jake shoved his cock all the way inside you, the sudden fullness making your head drop forward with a cry.
"Moan louder. Scream our names. Tell us what to do to you," Heeseung ordered, pushing you to the edge as Jake's thrusts started to slam into you from behind.
"I—" you stammered through gasps, your body buckling under the rhythm. "I've been dreaming of this since first year." The confession tumbled out without filter, every word dripping with desperation.
Your honesty ripped a sound from both Jake and Sunghoon, low groans that mixed with the slick sound of your body being fucked. Heeseung's gaze hardened, his nostrils flaring as his jaw clenched. Jake's thrusts grew harsher, his hips snapping against you with punishing speed.
"W-want all of you to use me—fuck me, please!" you squealed, your voice cracking as Jake's cock found that spot inside you and hit it mercilessly.
Jake's laugh was cruel, his words spilling out between moans. "Yeah? That's why you gave in so fucking easy? Thought we'd have to drag it out of you, but you just spread those legs like the slut you are." His hand clamped down on your arms, dragging you back onto his cock as he fucked you harder, each thrust shaking your body forward.
Tears pooled again in your eyes as you shook your head weakly, your voice breaking between cries. "N-not a slut! D-don't call me that—ah, f-fuck! Jake!"
But he only thrust faster, slamming into you, groaning at how you clenched so tightly around him the harder he degraded you.
"Yeah?" Jake's voice dropped to a whisper, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Then why the fuck are you here like this? Why are you dripping on me if you're not exactly what I called you?" His thrusts grew erratic, pounding straight into the softest spot inside you, making your knees tremble, making your nails dig into the sheets until your knuckles turned white.
You couldn't even answer him at first, because the way he was fucking you made your thoughts scatter, your mouth falling open as broken sounds spilled out. But then Heeseung was on you again, his hand fisting in your hair, pulling your head back so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
"Come on," Heeseung murmured. His thumb brushed over your trembling bottom lip before tightening his grip on your hair, forcing your mouth open slightly. "Ignore him. Tell us what you need. Use that pretty voice."
Your chest heaved, your lashes fluttering, every nerve in your body screaming for more. "Want you—" your voice cracked, "want you all to fill m-my pussy up." The words came out broken, but loud enough for all of them to hear. Your body arched as another wave of Jake's thrusts sent shocks of heat through you, and you sobbed through your moan. "G-give me your biggest load, make me your toy for tonight—ahhh!"
Your scream broke off when Jake's hand slipped down, his fingers pinching your clit hard before slapping it over and over, sharp little bursts of pain crashing into the overwhelming pleasure. The mix had your eyes rolling back into your skull, your mouth falling open as drool slipped from the corner of your lips.
"Yes! Fuck, yes!" you squealed, your voice hoarse, your body jerking helplessly as the coil in your stomach twisted tight, tighter than before. Your thighs shook violently, your legs threatening to give out beneath you if it weren't for Jake's grip anchoring you in place. Every nerve screamed release, but he didn't stop, his cock drilling into you, his fingers punishing your clit until you were certain you'd break.
"Where do you want it?" Jake grunted against your neck, his thrusts almost brutal now, each one stealing the air from your lungs. "Where do you want me to cum, huh? Say it."
Heeseung tugged your hair harder, forcing your eyes to meet his again, his dark gaze pinning you as if daring you to answer wrong. Sunghoon's low groans filled the room behind them, the sound of his fist gliding over his cock only making the moment heavier.
Your lips trembled as you tried to form the words, every part of you shaking, drowning in pleasure, drowning in them.
"Anywhere," you gasped. "In my mouth, in my face, in my body, in my pussy—just fucking cum anywhere in me!"
"Fuck!" Jake groaned. His palm came down on your clit with a sharp slap that had your legs trembling so violently, your pussy clenching down on him with merciless tightness. The shock sent your body into another wave, your scream cutting through the air as you came hard around his cock, your walls fluttering, soaking him with everything you had.
The way you pulsed around him dragged him over the edge, his hips snapping forward with reckless speed until his cock throbbed and spilled, his hot cum spilling deep inside you in thick spurts that made your stomach twist with satisfaction. The moment you felt him paint your walls, you let out a long, broken moan, almost sobbing at how good it felt, how badly you'd needed it.
Heeseung finally let go of your hair, stepping back just far enough to watch you crumble under Jake. His eyes were locked on the mess between your legs, on the sight of Jake's cock still buried in you while his cum leaked out in slow, obscene drips.
His hand slid down his abdomen until he was stroking himself openly, his jaw tight, his breathing heavy. The look in his eyes told you he was seconds away from joining, and that thought made your clit twitch with aftershocks.
Sunghoon's chest rose and fell sharply as he leaned back, still stroking his cock at a steady rhythm, his gaze locked on you. His lips parted, his breathing uneven.
Jake's body eventually stilled, his forehead damp with sweat, his chest heaving with each breath as he looked down at your trembling frame. He pulled back slowly, letting his cock slide free from your swollen pussy. The moment he did, his cum began to spill out in a steady stream, dripping down your thighs and pooling between them.
He had never finished that hard before—he knew it, and from the stunned silence, so did the others. Even Heeseung's brows had furrowed at the sight, as if he couldn't believe how much you were leaking.
Your eyes fluttered half-lidded, your lashes wet with tears and sweat, your breaths shallow and uneven. Your body was heavy, limp from the storm that had wracked you, but somewhere deep inside, you found the strength to move your fingers, twitching weakly against the sheets. You weren't done. You couldn't be. You wanted more—you needed more. Your body begged for it, trembling but eager, your pussy clenching around nothing as if calling for another cock to fill you.
You forced your eyes open again, vision blurred with sweat and tears. And then—
"You're into this shit again?"
That voice. Deep, familiar voice, it cut through everything—the ringing in your ears, the haze in your mind, the pounding of your own heart.
Your pussy clenched instantly, as if your body recognized him before your brain could, a sharp rush of need flooding through you at just the sound.
"Took you long enough, Jay," Sunghoon muttered with a crooked smile, though his hand didn't stop stroking himself.
Jake looked up too, his chest still heaving, his hand dragging across his sweaty forehead, annoyance flickering across his features. Heeseung paused mid-stroke, his gaze narrowing, his jaw flexing as his attention shifted from you to the man at the door.
And you—your throat went dry, your lips parted, your heart slamming painfully against your ribs. Jay was here. Finally!
A soft, broken whine left your lips as your body shifted toward him. Jay's eyes sharpened, his expression was unreadable as he stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. His gaze swept over the room, over Jake still breathless, Sunghoon stroking himself lazily, Heeseung looming above you, and finally, it landed on you—sweaty, trembling, your face flushed and messy, your eyes wide and glassy as they reached for him.
He didn't move immediately. He just stood there, silent, his jaw tight, demanding the others explain without him saying a word.
But Heeseung didn't give him the chance. He gripped your legs firmly, dragging you down the bed until you were flush beneath him, your body spread and waiting. Jay's eyes narrowed as he caught the sight of your hand twitching toward him, so close yet so far, the longing in your movement almost pathetic in its honesty.
Before you could call out, Heeseung pinned your arms above your head, his fingers curling around your wrists with unrelenting strength. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, his voice low and taunting. "No more waiting. I've already held back long enough."
And then without warning, he pushed his cock all the way into you in one brutal thrust.
Your scream ripped through the air, your body arching violently as he bottomed out, stretching you so suddenly you could hardly think. The slick of Jake's cum inside you made it easier, made it wetter, but it didn't stop the sharp, overwhelming sting of being filled again so completely, so roughly.
"Fuck—yes," Heeseung groaned, his forehead pressing briefly to your temple as he steadied himself, though his hips didn't slow. "Need to bury my dick inside this pussy before anyone else tries to stop me. If I wait another second, I'll lose my goddamn mind."
He began to pound into you without mercy, each thrust shaking your body, pushing you deeper into the mattress. The sound of it mixed with his growls and your cries until it was all one desperate rhythm. His pace was punishing, desperate, as if he needed to erase the traces Jake left behind, like he needed to make sure you remembered him the most.
Your eyes flickered open through the haze, and there's Jay.
He was still standing where he'd closed the door, but now his chest rose heavily. He was watching you, not Heeseung, not Jake or Sunghoon, but you—his gaze locked on your face, on the way your lips trembled around moans, on the way your eyes begged for him even while another man fucked you senseless.
The sight of him like that—stoic, his stare pinning you harder than Heeseung's grip ever could—made your walls spasm tight around Heeseung's cock. You couldn't move forward, couldn't reach Jay the way you wanted, Heeseung's weight pinning you down just as Jake had before. It was maddening, being fucked this hard while Jay stood so close yet untouchable.
"Look at you," Heeseung groaned, his pace ruthless, his cock battering your soaked cunt. "You're dripping, squeezing me like you never want me to leave. You love it—you fucking love it."
And he wasn't wrong.
Your mind was spiraling, torn between the brutal pleasure flooding your body and the heat of Jay's eyes locked on you.
Heeseung's hand slid up the side of your face, his fingers pressing into your cheek as he tilted your head toward him. The moment your lips brushed against his, you melted, kissing him back feverishly, moaning into his mouth as he swallowed every sound. His thrusts didn't falter, his cock dragging mercilessly against that spot inside you that had you unraveling so quickly, another orgasm barreling through your overstimulated body before you could even brace yourself. Your legs shook violently, your cries muffled by his mouth as you shattered around him again.
Jake, still hard and needy, didn't wait any longer. He stepped closer, ignoring Jay's looming silence, his cock already heavy and dripping. Sunghoon followed, stroking himself lazily, his smirk curling as he looked down at your messy face and trembling body. Heeseung adjusted his body and hold, his hand locking tightly around your waist as he slowed just enough to grind into you deliberately, rolling his hips in a way that pressed cruelly against your swollen clit and that spongy spot inside, teasing you, forcing more whimpers from your lips even as your body tried to recover.
When Jake and Sunghoon moved to either side of your head, you reacted instantly. Both your hands reached out to wrap around them, your fingers straining around their girth. A muffled moan escaped you, your eyes fluttering, as Sunghoon leaned lower, his hand sliding to your breast, kneading it roughly.
The sensation made you gasp, your lips parting, and Jake took the opportunity to rub his cock against your tongue. You sighed in bliss, your throat vibrating as you licked the tip, your saliva mixing with the sticky fluid still clinging to him from earlier. You sucked eagerly, slurping him down before switching, letting Sunghoon feel your tongue glide along the underside of his length, licking from his base to his leaking tip. All the while, Heeseung's thrusts grew sharper, pounding harder, each one jarring your body as he lost the battle with his own restraint.
"Fuck, you really wanted this, huh?" Sunghoon groaned, watching your lips wrap around him before sliding free. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you lower, feeding himself into your mouth as his hips rolled slowly, deliberately. "Moaning with three cocks on you, and enjoying every second of it."
Your eyes watered as you let him push deeper, your throat tightening, but the messy desperation in your moans proved his words right. You pulled off with a wet gasp, kissing the head of his cock, smearing saliva across it before whispering against him.
"Love your cock... so much," you breathed, your lips brushing the tip, your eyes flicking immediately past him—toward Jay. That gnawing ache inside you swelled, and before you could stop yourself, your whine tumbled out. "Is Jay not gonna join?"
The room stilled at your words.
Jake chuckled dryly, tugging your wrist tighter around his shaft before thrusting into your hand with rough, impatient strokes. "You've got three cocks already and still not enough for you?" His voice dropped lower, his pace quickening as he fucked into your fist. "Can't even handle us together, but you're begging for more. God, you're insatiable."
Heeseung growled low in his throat, his thrusts growing faster, harsher, punishing you for even speaking Jay's name. Sunghoon hissed through his teeth as your grip on him tightened, his thumb brushing your spit-slicked lips.
"S-sorry!" you squeaked, your back arching violently as the three of them claimed every inch of your body with greedy, unrelenting hands. The sensations collided into each other, overwhelming, making it impossible to tell where one touch ended and another began.
Your skin burned under their palms, every squeeze, every slap, every tug forcing your body to twitch and your chest to heave with broken sobs of pleasure.
"Focus on us, you fucking bitch," Heeseung growled, dangerous enough to make your cunt clench so tight around him that his hips stuttered. He cursed, gripping your waist harder, his cock slamming into you with renewed force, each thrust demanding your full attention, demanding that you forget everything but him, but them.
Your eyes rolled back, your lips trembling, but you couldn't stop glancing toward Jay, couldn't stop feeling that magnetic pull toward his stare.
Jake grunted, his hand tangling roughly in your hair, yanking your head toward him as his cock brushed against your lips again. "Ignore him. You hear me? He's not the one inside you right now—we are. So open your fucking mouth and focus," his cockhead smearing across your tongue before pushing in, forcing your throat to stretch around him again. The taste of him mixed with the mess already dripping down your chin, and you moaned around his length, gagging slightly when he pushed deeper, his hips jerking at the sound.
Sunghoon, never content to let the others take more than him, pressed closer, his fingers pinching your nipple until you whined. "That's right. You're ours tonight, baby. All ours."
His hand slid lower, spreading you wider for Heeseung's relentless thrusts, his fingers brushing your clit in circles that made you sob.
Your words came out slurred. "Y-yours! All yours! F-fuck—I can't—ahh, I can't take it—"
Heeseung cut you off with a growl, thrusting deeper, harder, the bed frame slamming into the wall with each movement. "Yes, you can, slut. You'll take everything I give you." Your walls clenched even tighter around him, milking his cock.
"I'm not a fucking slut!" The protest tore from your throat just as another orgasm ripped through you, your body spasming violently.
Your legs tried to slam shut against the unbearable pleasure, but Jake and Sunghoon caught them instantly, spreading you wider, keeping you open, holding you there as Heeseung continued pounding into you mercilessly. Your moan stretched high, long, broken in its desperation as tears streamed down your face.
Heeseung pulled out abruptly, your cunt fluttering around nothing, before plunging three of his fingers inside you. The sudden stretch made your entire body jolt upward, your scream breaking into sobs as he fucked his fingers into you with a brutal pace. His palm pressed hard against your clit with every thrust, his thumb flicking over the swollen bud, making your vision blur and your mind scatter.
Your body shook violently, your head thrashing from side to side, your voice rising in hysterical sobs that filled the room. "Stop! S-stop! I'm gonna—I'm go-going to pee! Stop, wait! Please, wait—!"
Your arms tried to push them off, tried to squirm free, but Jake and Sunghoon pinned you tighter, one hand on each wrist, one grip on each thigh, keeping you spread open for Heeseung's relentless assault.
Heeseung's eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he kept driving into your pussy with his fingers, your slick coating his hand, dripping down his wrist, the sound of it loud and wet. His cock twitched angrily in his other hand as he stroked himself in slow pulls, groaning low in his chest. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't fight it. Let it out for us. Show us how much you need us."
Jake leaned closer, his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes fixed on the mess between your thighs. The obscene squelching filled his ears, making his cock ache again. "Fuck—listen to her pussy. She's about to—" His words cut off with a groan as his own hips rutted helplessly into the air.
Your high-pitched scream tore through the room as the dam inside you finally snapped.
A gush of hot liquid burst from your pussy, splattering over your stomach, your thighs, the sheets beneath you, drenching Heeseung's hand and face as he ducked lower, moaning against the spray. The force of it made your ears ring, your vision blur, your body convulse helplessly.
It was humiliating, overwhelming, devastatingly good. You sobbed openly, your face slick with tears and spit, Sunghoon's cum already drying against your skin, and now your own release coating everything around you. Your body trembled uncontrollably, your legs twitching and kicking weakly until Jake and Sunghoon finally let them fall open to the side.
You curled inward, your arms wrapping protectively over your chest, your body folding small as though you could hide. But the sheets were soaked beneath you, the air heavy with the scent of sex, the room echoing with your broken cries.
"So good," Heeseung's lips parted against your soaked skin and licked at the mess you left on his face. His eyes fluttered shut, his strokes on his cock tightening, his hand gliding through the mixture of your slick and squirt.
"Get the fuck to the side. I'm going to taste it." Jake's hand already twitched toward you, greedy and impatient.
Sunghoon's laugh came rough and breathless, his chest rising and falling as he lazily stroked himself, his eyes locked on the wet ruin between your thighs. "Bro, shut the fuck up. You already had your turn. It's my turn now."
Sunghoon leaned forward, dragging his tongue over your cheek, licking at the tears that stained your skin before pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"Step aside. I'm not done yet." Heeseung shoved Sunghoon out of his way, his hand already on your thigh, forcing your legs apart with a strength that made your body jolt.
"W-wait—" your voice broke, a weak sniffle escaping as you tried to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly, overstimulation already threatening to unravel you further.
The stretch of your thighs, the way Heeseung's fingers pressed into your skin, it all made you flinch with both anticipation and fear. You weren't sure if you could take more, but your body betrayed you, your cunt twitching at the thought of him filling you again.
"Dude, no fun," Sunghoon muttered, irritation coloring his tone as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, still tasting you there. His cock twitched in his fist, but he leaned back with a scowl.
"Three of you step back. You can't even take care of her." Jay's voice cut through the air, commanding, silencing all of them in an instant.
Your head turned instinctively toward him. The sound of his voice sent a violent shiver down your spine, your pussy clenching around nothing as though it had been waiting only for him. Your chest hitched, your lips parting on a desperate little whimper that you couldn't hold back. "J-Jay..."
Jake scoffed from the other side of the bed, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, but the flash of annoyance in his expression didn't hide the way his chest rose faster, as if even he knew Jay's presence shifted everything. "She's fine. Don't act like you're the savior now."
Jay's gaze flicked toward him, before returning to you. He moved closer until he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at your trembling body. "She's more than fine. She's a mess. Look at her." His jaw tightened as his eyes roamed over you—your soaked thighs, your trembling legs, your chest that still rose and fell unevenly. His voice softened. "She's mine to take care of."
Heeseung growled low in his throat, clearly unwilling to back off, his body still hovering over you. "We've already broken her in. Don't come here acting like you own her now." His fingers dug into your thigh harder, spreading you wider as if to make his point.
Jay's expression didn't shift, though his eyes burned darker. "Then move. Or I'll make you."
You breathe heavily, looking at the both of them. And you—your body trembled violently, torn apart by the clash of their voices, but deep down you knew what you wanted. Your lips quivered, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. "I... I want Jay..."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Heeseung froze above you, his eyes narrowing dangerously, while Jake let out a low laugh, though the jealousy in it was sharp. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, biting his lip as though amused but also curious to see what Jay would do.
Jay leaned closer, his hand reaching out to brush your messy hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle after all the roughness you'd endured. His thumb stroked over your damp cheek, wiping at the dried tears. His gaze softened as he looked at you.
"Here I thought I was your favorite," Heeseung muttered, finally releasing the tight grip he had on your leg. Beneath the teasing, a mix of bitterness and disappointment that made your chest ache even in your haze.
Jake snorted, throwing a smirk in Heeseung's direction. "Don't flatter yourself. She probably still thinks you're her number one. She just wants another cock inside her because that's what sluts do." His words were cruel, but his retreat was obvious, stepping back from you, his chest still heaving.
Heeseung only shrugged at that, but his eyes flicked to you once more before he turned his head away.
Your lips trembled, guilt and shame mixing with the raw need still burning inside you. You tilted your head toward Jay, your voice coming out as the weakest of whispers. "D-do you want me to clean up first?" The moment the words left your mouth, your chest tightened—afraid he might flinch, afraid he might see you the same way Jake just called you.
But Jay only smiled softly, shaking his head as though the thought was absurd. "It's alright, angel."
The simple reassurance broke something in you. Your eyes stung all over again, but before the tears could spill, his mouth was already moving lower, pressing a trail of unhurried kisses along your inner thigh. Each press of his lips lingered. By the time his lips hovered just above your swollen core, his pointed nose brushing lightly over your sensitive clit, your back had already arched off the sheets in anticipation.
You gasped softly, when his tongue finally slid against you. Hot, steady, and so focused, his tongue swirled around your folds before slipping inside you, teasing your oversensitive walls with a precision that made your breath catch in your throat. The contrast to the brutal pace you'd been enduring was staggering—he wasn't just eating you out, he was savoring you.
Your hands flew instinctively to his hair, trembling fingers tangling into his dark strands as you moaned helplessly, your chest rising and falling with every wave of sensation he drew from you. "J-Jay..." His name slipped from your lips brokenly.
He hummed against your cunt at the sound, the vibration making you twitch as his tongue moved deeper, stroking places inside you that made your toes curl. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you still when your thighs tried to clamp shut around his head from the overwhelming pleasure.
Behind him, you could feel the others watching—Heeseung's silence heavy, Jake's low scoff, Sunghoon's quiet hum of approval—but all of it blurred into the background when Jay moaned against you, drinking you down.
You whimpered, tugging at his hair as your hips bucked weakly into his mouth. "S-so good... I can't, I c-can't hold it—"
Jay pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening with your slick, his eyes dark but soft. "Then don't. Let go for me, angel. Just me."
And with that, he dipped his head again, his tongue flicking against your clit with quick, precise strokes while his fingers slid inside you, curling expertly until you were screaming, until your body was trembling so hard you thought it might break apart.
Jay let go of your trembling body, his lips brushing once more against your temple before he finally shifted back. The bed dipped under his weight as he knelt at the edge, the leather of his belt creaking faintly as his fingers tugged at the buckle.
You knew the night had only just begun, but here in this room it already felt like you had been devoured whole, like there was no way out.
"Have you ever been fucked in the ass?" Jay's voice broke through, deceptively calm, his palm gliding down the curve of your thigh, rubbing in a slow rhythm as if coaxing you into trust.
Your lashes fluttered, your chest seizing as though his words had cut the air straight out of your lungs. "H-Huh?" Your voice cracked, eyes wide, searching his expression for some sign of softness that might match the way he'd just held you.
From your left, Jake let out a muffled laugh, the sound harsh against the fragile silence that followed your confusion.
Jay's hand didn't falter. He pressed a little higher on your thigh, the pads of his fingers stroking, teasing, until finally one circled lower, grazing a place that had never been touched this way before.
His tone was as gentle as before, almost sickeningly so. "I asked," he repeated slowly, "have you ever been fucked in your ass, angel?"
The tip of his finger brushed against your rim and you gasped, the breath caught sharp in your throat as heat and panic flared all at once. Your body jolted, betraying you. You couldn't even find the words, your head turning automatically toward the other three. Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon—all three watching you intently, not a single one offering you an escape.
You shook your head quickly, shame coloring your cheeks as your voice finally stumbled out. "N-No..."
Jay's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "On your arms and knees, then. I'll be gentle with you."
The smile was soft, but you could already feel the deception in it. You should've known by now—Jay only looked gentle when he wanted you to obey.
Your tears hadn't even dried when you felt his finger pressing more firmly at your rim, the tight, foreign intrusion making your body stiffen. The burn was immediate, sharp, a sensation your body didn't know how to handle. He twisted his finger slowly, deliberately, and the stretch made you whimper, your hands clawing desperately at the sheets.
"C-can't take it," you cried, shaking your head, your vision blurring again. Your body writhed under him, desperate for someone—anyone—to stop him.
"Hurts, Sunghoon. It hurts!" Your arm reached blindly for him, searching for comfort.
And Sunghoon leaned in instantly, catching your reaching hand, his lips brushing your temple in mock sympathy. "Shh," he cooed, the sound almost tender if not for the wicked edge beneath it. "I thought you were a good girl? You've been dreaming about us for so long, haven't you? This is what you wanted."
Your sobs shook your chest, but your body betrayed you again—clenching around Jay's finger, trembling from every deliberate twist.
On your other side, Heeseung moved closer, crouching low until his chest brushed against your arm. He caught your free hand and guided it toward him, pressing your palm around his cock. "Come on, baby. Use those hands. Don't just cry. Make yourself useful while Jay breaks you in."
Jay's finger pushed deeper, the slow stretch pulling another ragged sob from your throat. He watched you closely, his jaw tight, his cock already heavy in his hand as he stroked it lazily. His lips curved again, "relax, angel. Breathe. I'll make it hurt less if you beg me properly."
When Jay finally pulled his finger free, your body sagged in relief—but it was short-lived. The sharp tear of foil reached your ears, and your stomach flipped as the sound registered. You forced your head to lift, desperate to see him, but Sunghoon's hand kept you locked in place, his grip so firm on your hair that you couldn't move. He angled you down toward Heeseung's cock again, your mouth spreading open around him until you gagged.
You heard the faint snap of latex as Jay rolled the condom down his thick length, the squirt of lube slicking the air before his fist wrapped around himself, stroking with slow pumps. You tried to tilt your head to catch a glimpse, but Sunghoon tugged hard, forcing you to choke around Heeseung's cock. Your throat tightened painfully as you coughed against the intrusion.
"Hmp—!" Your cry was muffled, spilling against Heeseung's cock as Jay pressed forward. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your rim, stretching you in ways you weren't prepared for.
Jay's groan vibrated through the room, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he pushed deeper, inch by inch. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider, making you tremble as the burn ignited again.
Your throat was stuffed with Heeseung's cock, and every shallow thrust into your mouth came with another humiliating gulp, gulp, gulp. Each noise mingled with Jay's ragged breathing as he sank himself slowly into your ass.
By the time his cock buried itself halfway, your hands had flown to Heeseung's thighs in desperation, nails scratching down his skin as your throat tried to adjust. Heeseung hissed sharply at the sting, then abruptly pulled out, your mouth gasping for air as you coughed and sobbed.
"Bitch," he spat, slapping your cheek with enough force to sting. Your head tilted from the impact, tears spilling harder as you whimpered against the mattress, your body trembling uncontrollably.
The sound of the slap cracked through the room—and the shift in the air was instant. Jay froze, his dark eyes snapping up, his jaw tight. Slowly, he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his cock still halfway inside your ass as he fixed his glare on Heeseung.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?"
"She fucking scratched me—" Heeseung started.
Jay's glare sharpened, cutting him off. His hand curled around your hip, steadying you as he leaned closer until his lips brushed your ear, his words meant for both you and Heeseung. "Apologize. To her. Now."
Heeseung's jaw flexed, annoyance flashing in his eyes, but under Jay's burning stare, he finally muttered, "...Sorry."
You sniffled, your face pressed to the sheets, too shaken to respond. Jay's grip on your hip softened just enough for his thumb to caress you. "You okay, hmm?"
You swallowed hard, unable to find your voice, and forced yourself to nod against the sheets. Your chest rose and fell in shuddering waves, but you needed him to believe you could take it.
Jay hummed softly, almost like praise. "That's it. Breathe for me, angel. Let me in. Don't hold back." His hips pressed forward again. The intrusion stretched you open slowly, your body fighting to keep up with his size. The burn sharpened into an unbearable sting, and you screamed into the mattress, toes curling tight against the sheets as you struggled not to collapse.
Sunghoon's hand smoothed over your hair, patting your head with a tenderness, so comforting that make you whimper. "Good girl," he whispered, as though you needed his approval just to keep breathing.
Then Heeseung moved closer, his hand sliding between your thighs to press against your soaked pussy.
"Sorry, baby." His palm cupped you carefully, you flinched at first, but when he leaned in, his lips closing over your nipple, sucking hard, the sharp edge of pain dulled under a rush of pleasure. The shift made your back arch violently, the cry that tore from you high and desperate.
"Ahh! F-fuck!" you screamed, voice cracking, torn between pain and bliss.
Jay grunted at the way your body squeezed around him, his hand wrapping tightly around your arm to pull it back behind you like a lever. His other hand gripped your shoulder firmly, anchoring you while his hips snapped forward with force. Each thrust sent a wet smack echoing through the room, skin colliding with a punishing rhythm.
Heeseung groaned against your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his fingers pressed harder into your clit, rubbing circles that sent shocks of sensation racing through your trembling body. The mixture of Jay's brutal thrusts and Heeseung's eager mouth had you thrashing.
You never thought being filled that way could drag such a storm out of you. The sting that had first made you sob now twisted into something overwhelming, a blend of fire and honey that made your body betray you with every clench. Each thrust blurred the line between pain and euphoria until you couldn't separate one from the other, only the dizzy rush that kept forcing cries from your throat.
At some point, you lost track of who was where.
You were a doll passed between them, shifted and handled, your body too pliant to resist, too consumed by sensation to understand the movement until it was already happening.
When Jay lifted you with an arm hooked under your ribs, carrying your trembling weight as though you were light as air, your limbs hung loose, hair falling forward like a curtain, your head lolling against his chest. The world was hazy, sound muffled except for their voices and the unrelenting rhythm of flesh against flesh.
You moaned uncontrollably, the sound spilling out of you even before Sunghoon pushed inside your swollen pussy. He didn't wait, he didn't tease—he slid in deep, and the stretch dragged another cry out of your throat.
Jake positioned himself over you, his hands squeezing your tits roughly, pressing them together around the length of his cock. He thrusted between them with a feral need, groaning at the slick heat as he forced you to keep your trembling arms raised so you couldn't rest, so none of them were ignored.
Your muscles screamed, the burn in your shoulders mixing with the fire between your legs. Yet the harder it became to hold on, the more your moans broke apart into helpless sobs.
"Shit! So fucking good!" Sunghoon moaned, usually he was silent, the one who held back while the others filled the air, but now his restraint had shattered. His moans came rough and guttural, pulled from his chest with every thrust, his expression twisting into something close to pure bliss. Each time his hips met yours, the sound that tore from his throat was louder, rawer, until you realized he was trembling too—losing himself in you just as much as you were unraveling under him.
Your vision blurred at the edges, tears clinging to your lashes, the ringing in your ears drowning out everything but their voices and the wet sounds of bodies colliding. Orgasms tore through you one after another, piling so fast you couldn't separate them anymore. You were trapped in the spiral of it, begging without thought, "Y-yes, fuck, yes—I can't stop—I need it—please, don't stop!"
Your body betrayed you completely, arching up even as you wanted to collapse. The adhesive gems clinging to your eyelids sparkled faintly under the light, miraculously still in place as your eyes rolled back, your tongue slipping free from your mouth with no strength left to hold it in. You were a mess, unrecognizable even to yourself, but they devoured every second of it.
Jake groaned low in his chest as his cock pulsed, spilling over your tits, hot ropes covering your skin until you were painted in him. He slapped your chest once more, watching it smear across your breasts before stumbling back, his body giving out as he dropped onto the mattress, panting heavily, drained but satisfied.
The moment you were freed from him, your lips were claimed again. Heeseung and Jay's mouths fought for space against yours, kissing you with different kinds of urgency—Jay deep and consuming, Heeseung sharp and demanding. Their lips pulled moans out of you you didn't even know you had left, your eyes shut tight as your mouth parted helplessly between them.
Meanwhile, Sunghoon's cock dragged deeper inside you, angling until it brushed that spot that made your whole body spasm. The rhythm of his thrusts grew steadier, more desperate, his hips slamming into you with a pace that made your chest heave and your breath hitch against the mouths kissing yours. He was unrelenting, he couldn't stop himself, your body had unlocked something in him he never wanted to let go of.
Sunghoon's control shattered first. His jaw clenched, veins standing out along his neck as he pushed deeper, his movements rough and unsteady, every thrust dragging a desperate sound from him. His eyes squeezed shut and his head tilted back, a moan ripping from his throat as his stomach tightened, the pleasure consuming him faster than he could handle. He bit down on his lip, but it wasn't enough to stifle the way his body shook while his cock throbbed violently inside you.
You felt the hot flood of his release filling you in long, uncontrollable spurts. It spread thick through your core, making your walls clench tighter as though your body wanted to keep him there, to hold every drop.
The sensation was so overwhelming that your back arched high into Jay's chest. He caught you easily, his large hand spreading over your breast and kneading. His lips swallowed your broken moans, his tongue sliding deep until you whimpered against him, unable to keep up.
Your hips jerked when Sunghoon finally spilled the last of his release, the force of it pushing some of his cum to seep out around his cock. He slumped forward, chest heaving, but his grip on your waist betrayed his reluctance to leave you. He wanted to stay buried, to keep claiming you—but his body gave out, and with a low groan he pulled free, his length glistening as it slid from your swollen cunt.
The loss of him left you trembling, and before you could even breathe, Heeseung was already there. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers parting your slick folds without hesitation. He rubbed over your swollen clit in tight circles, faster, sharper, and your lips tore away from Jay's kiss to scream, your cry echoing through the room as a new wave of sensation tore through you.
Sunghoon's cum was still dripping from your pussy when Heeseung's fingers slapped against your sensitive clit. The sharp sting made your hips spasm, jerking upward uncontrollably, the sound of the wet slap filling the room. Your thighs shook, but Jay's hand on your chest kept you pressed firmly against him, forcing you to take it all.
"So fucking hot," Jay groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down just enough to leave a mark. He soothed the bite with his tongue before sucking at the spot, leaving his claim branded into your skin while you cried softly beneath him.
"Come on," Heeseung coaxed. He gave your clit another sharp slap that made you gasp, your entire body twitching. "Breathe. Deep. You've still got two cocks waiting for you."
Your body was trembling, the exhaustion in your muscles fighting against the need clawing through your veins. Every part of you screamed for a pause, a moment of stillness, but your lips betrayed you, spilling soft, broken words into the heated air.
"...cock... want more..." you whispered, not even sure if you meant to say it out loud, but the second it left your mouth, they moved.
They shifted you onto Heeseung first, his broad chest rising under your palms as he positioned himself at your entrance. Your thighs burned as you straddled him, but you couldn't stop yourself from lowering down, grinding until his thick tip slid past your folds, the friction making your entire body quiver.
Heeseung's eyes darkened immediately, his hands gripping your waist as he guided you, feeling the way your heat stretched around him.
Jay stood behind you, his movements methodical as he tore open another condom with his teeth. He rolled the latex down over his length with one hand, the other already spreading over your lower back, holding you steady. His touch was careful, deceptively gentle, even as you felt the blunt press of his cock teasing your other entrance.
The stretch made you scream, your head snapping back to his shoulder as his cock slowly pushed inside your ass. Your tits arched forward, bouncing in Heeseung's face, and he groaned like he was seeing heaven itself, his mouth immediately latching onto one nipple. His tongue flicked hard before he began sucking greedily, moaning against your skin, drowning himself in the taste of you might keep him from unraveling completely.
He told himself not to get attached, not to think beyond the raw act of it but as he looked up, catching the sight of your face twisted with both pain and euphoria, your lashes damp with tears, your lips parted, your flushed cheeks glowing, he was gone. So fucking pretty, too pretty for this. His chest tightened, his teeth sinking into his lip, half-lidded eyes watching you lose yourself while he thrust up into you.
"Ahh—fuck! S-so good! Feels so good!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as both of them found their rhythm inside you.
Jay's arm slid tighter around your middle, pulling you back against him, while his other hand anchored hard on your shoulder.
Each drive of his hips made your body lurch forward, and every time he withdrew, Heeseung thrust upward to meet you, their cocks colliding through the thin barrier inside you. The pressure was relentless, unbearable yet addicting. You felt so full, so completely wrecked, yet you didn't want them to stop.
Your head fell back against Jay's shoulder, your throat exposed, your lips trembling as the sounds poured out of you unrestrained. His gaze locked onto you, never wavering, watching every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every blissful break in your voice.
His stomach coiled tight when he saw you smile through your moans, blissful grin that said you were floating in a haze beyond reason.
And then—when you let out a delirious laugh, drunk on cock and pleasure—both he and Heeseung nearly lost control.
"Shit... fuck, look at her," Heeseung moaned against your chest, thrusts erratic as your pussy clenched harder, milking him. His thumb found your clit again, circling with ruthless precision, making your hips twitch violently in their hold.
"Fucking cockdrunk," Jake muttered from the side, his voice strained, his hand already wrapped tight around his cock as he stroked himself, eyes devouring the sight of you stuffed full between Jay and Heeseung.
"Unbelievable..." Sunghoon hissed, though his body betrayed his words as his cock hardened again at the sight. His chest rose sharply, his jaw tightening as his eyes burned into you, unable to look away.
And you—you were flying. Your entire body trembled, sweat dripping down your back, every nerve set alight as two cocks pounded into you in perfect rhythm, stretching you in ways you never thought you could handle. You weren't just moaning anymore—you were laughing, delirious, euphoric, because nothing had ever felt this good. The world outside didn't exist. There was only this. Only them. Only the way your body sang under their hands, under their cocks.
You were living your best fucking life, and in that moment, you knew you never wanted it to end.
"Shit—I'm gonna cum," Heeseung groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as his thrusts grew uneven. You couldn't help yourself, couldn't stop your body from pushing back onto his cock, greedy for every last inch.
"Need it—please, I need you to cum inside me—don't hold back," you moaned.
Jay tightened his bicep around your throat, dragging you flush against him as his lips pressed against your temple. "Take it, angel. Take all of him."
The heat in your chest exploded when Heeseung moaned loud and emptied inside you. The sound of his voice made your heart lurch even as your own orgasm tore through you again. Your walls clenched so violently that his cock twitched helplessly, spilling thicker and thicker ropes of cum until you could feel the weight of it stretching your stomach. The mess spilled from the corners of your folds, warm streams dripping down your thighs.
But before the haze could settle, Jay's voice cut through. "Pull out, Heeseung. It's my turn—I want to cum in her too." His arm around your throat tightened, pulling you higher onto him, your back arching as his cock slid free from your ass, still painfully hard.
Heeseung hesitated, his chest heaving, his eyes narrowing like he didn't want to let go of the heat he'd buried himself in. He gave a sharp exhale of frustration but finally withdrew, his cock wet and shining as he let you slip from him.
Jay didn't waste a second. He yanked off the condom, tossing it carelessly aside, then pushed his length inside your pussy still dripping with Heeseung's load. The stretch burned, but the mix of fluids made him slide in effortlessly, and the sensation had your toes curling instantly.
"Fuck—fuck, she's so wet," Jay groaned, his forehead pressing against the side of your head. His pace was punishing, his hips snapping against your ass as his hand gripped your hip to anchor himself.
"Can't hold it—gonna fill you—"
The moment he buried himself deep, his body stiffened, and he spilled hot inside you. His growl vibrated against your ear, the sound of his release mixing with your own helpless moans. You could feel it, the pulse of his cock as he filled you so completely that the mix of him and Heeseung spilled back out, dripping into a sticky mess beneath you.
It took a long moment before they both released you, your body sagging limp between them. You barely had the strength to move when Jake stepped forward, his hand already pumping his length with urgency, his eyes locked on your face. Sunghoon moved with him, their cocks standing tall, both of them crowding your view as you were laid down on your back.
"Open up, baby," Jake ordered.
Your lips parted, tongue falling out on instinct, the salty taste of precum already smearing across it as they fisted themselves harder. Their groans overlapped as thick spurts painted your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, dripping down your neck and into your hair. You swallowed what you could, eyes rolling back at the sheer dirtiness of it, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath.
You stared blankly at the ceiling, vision hazy, ears ringing so loud it felt like you were underwater. Your head was spinning, the room tilting, but your body was already being turned again.
Your limbs flopped uselessly as Jake forced his cock back to hardness, guiding himself to your ass, while Heeseung gripped your legs wide, holding you open as though your exhaustion didn't matter.
One by one, they took their turns again, each of them sliding into your abused body, spilling more inside until it felt like there wasn't any part of you left untouched. Your mind was gone, floating somewhere else, your mouth hanging open without sound, and still, they didn't stop.
The last thing you remembered was Sunghoon's icy hands spreading your folds, his voice low with awe as he stared at the mess dripping from your swollen used pussy—thick white streams still spurting.
And then you passed out, swallowed by the overwhelming haze of pleasure and exhaustion, your body twitching even in unconsciousness, your mind lost in the aftershocks of everything they had done.
You woke with a body that felt heavier than stone, every inch aching. The room was quiet except for the soft snores surrounding you.
You shivered, realizing the air was cold against your damp hair and clammy skin, only to notice the weight of arms draped over you—two different hands anchoring you in place. One was around your waist, pulling you back into a solid chest, the other rested lazily on your hip.
You blinked hard, trying to gather yourself, and only then did you notice you were clothed, though barely. Someone had slipped a shirt over you, but it was hiked up high, baring most of your thighs. Heart pounding, you tilted your head, your breath catching when you saw Jay's face so close to yours. His features were peaceful, his brows relaxed, lips parted just slightly as a soft groan escaped him. Even in sleep, he pulled you tighter into his chest.
"What the fuck..." you whispered under your breath, pulse racing as heat rushed to your cheeks.
Your gaze dropped lower and froze. Sunghoon's head rested against your chest, lips slack and still attached to your nipple. His hand was curled around your waist too, fingers twitching. The memory of his face twisted in pleasure, his voice breaking with moans, hit you so hard that your thighs clenched instinctively.
You stifled a sound, your whole face burning.
Carefully, with your fingers trembling, you began to pry their hands off one by one, moving Jay's arm and slipping Sunghoon's hand back over his own body. It felt like sneaking out of something you weren't supposed to survive. But before you could breathe in relief, your eyes darted downward—and you almost screamed.
At the foot of the bed, sprawled across like he owned the space, was Jake. His cheek was pressed into the mattress, lips parted as he breathed heavily, his bare chest rising and falling. He looked so soft like this, so far from the rough, taunting voice that had wrecked you just hours ago.
Your stomach flipped.
"What the hell..." you whispered again, a little louder this time, biting your lip as panic swirled in your chest. You couldn't stay here. Not with the memories flashing in your head.
Ignoring the deep ache in your thighs and the heaviness weighing down your limbs, you tiptoed around them, snatching your heels and dress from the table. The sound of the zipper sliding into place echoed too loudly in your ears as you tried to dress as quietly as possible.
When you finally slipped out and pulled the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, exhaling sharply. Relief barely lasted a second before you froze again.
Someone was sitting in the living room.
Heeseung was perched on the couch, phone in hand, his tall frame hunched slightly forward. The glow of the screen lit his sharp features, but the second the door clicked shut, his head snapped up. His eyes widened as if he hadn't expected you to actually walk out. In a blur, he was standing, pocketing his phone.
"Hey," his voice came out softer than you remembered.
Your whole body stiffened, eyes wide, your pulse hammering in your throat. The room was quiet but the weight of his presence filled it, and you could feel your heart fluttering in panic—or maybe dangerously close to longing.
"It's just five-thirty," he said, glancing briefly at the window where the faintest gray of dawn was creeping in. "We finished at four. Are you... already leaving?"
Your throat was dry. Fuck. He was talking to you. Just standing there, bare-faced and raw from the night before, his voice carrying none of the arrogance it once did. You wanted to respond, but your mouth betrayed you, stuck in silence. You could only stare at him, your gaze trembling before you forced it away, too shy, too ashamed, too overwhelmed.
Heeseung shifted his weight, his Adam's apple bobbing as though he was working up the nerve. Then, in a tone that was almost uncertain, he asked, "Were we too rough?"
You blinked up at him, startled.
"I..." you started, but the words stuck.
His jaw tightened, eyes flickering before he let out a low sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that didn't fit the man who had held you down hours earlier. His voice dropped lower, rough with regret. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to slap you like that. I just... I got carried away."
The sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes searched yours like he needed you to believe him, made your chest ache. You didn't trust yourself to speak, your throat felt raw, so you simply nodded, awkward and small, hoping it was enough.
"I—I... uh... shit." Heeseung's voice faltered.
He was fumbling, caught off guard by the weight of his own thoughts. For the first time, he seemed unsure.
Heeseung had always respected the girls they brought into this kind of mess, but responsibility was something he usually left to Jay, who carried gentleness. Yet with you, the urge was different. It was tugging at him in a way he couldn't ignore, and it unsettled him more than he'd ever admit.
His tongue darted over his lips, his brows knitting together as he shifted closer, still cautious of your fragile state. "Do you... want to leave? I—uh—I can get my car, or call someone, or—wait." He cut himself off, unsure what offer would make sense, what you even needed from him right now.
You shook your head quickly, your hands clinging to your heels. Your voice came out almost too small to hear, but you forced the words past your lips. "T-thank you. I-I can manage myself. Th-thank you... so much."
It was rushed, shaky, like you needed to get it out before your voice betrayed the truth of how fragile you felt. Without waiting for his response, you turned away, your bare feet carrying you in tiny, stumbling steps toward the door. Each step hurt, your body reminding you of everything from last night, but you pressed forward anyway, desperate to escape the heaviness in the room.
"Wait—what's your—" Heeseung started, his hand twitching forward as if he could reach you. But the words fell flat, caught in his throat, and he stopped himself before finishing. His lips pressed together in frustration, a quiet curse slipping under his breath. His eyes followed the curve of your back, the fragile sway of your shoulders, the sound of your unsteady footsteps echoing.
"...number."
The word left him softer than a whisper, too late, almost swallowed by the empty space you left behind.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the door you'd just disappeared through, torn between running after you and letting you go. His jaw clenched, his hand raking through his hair as he sank back down onto the couch.
He couldn't shake the image of you—the way your eyes had rolled back in bliss, the way you had laughed in the middle of it all, the way you looked at him now as if you wanted to disappear.
And Heeseung felt a kind of defeat that left his chest heavy. First, he was pissed that Jay, of all people, had managed to pull your attention more than once that night. Second, he hadn't even gotten the chance to really enjoy you the way he wanted, not fully, not the way that would have been enough. And third—worst of all—he didn't even know your full name, or what department you were in, or anything beyond that single night where you'd let yourself unravel in his arms and under his hands.
"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand over his face, frustrated at the gnawing ache in his chest. You were too pretty, too delicate, too intoxicating, and it infuriated him that Sunghoon and Jake had gotten their way with you first, splitting you open before he ever had the chance to claim you for himself. The thought of them having your "first" and sharing you so easily left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted you whole, wanted you alone, wanted more than the scraps of a night shared with three others.
Heeseung realized this wasn't just another nameless, faceless memory to throw away. He didn't want this to be the last time. He wanted more of you—your laugh, your trembling voice, your warmth pressed against him. The only thing he had left was the trace of your scent, still lingering faintly on his skin and in the air, that floral sweetness that he couldn't shake no matter how many showers he took. It drove him mad.
"Hey, I tried your perfume and it doesn't smell nearly as nice on me as it does on you."
Your classmate pouted, watching you rub lotion into your arms after swim class. Her tone was playful, but her eyes lingered longer than usual, narrowing slightly at the fading bruises that scattered along your thighs.
"—Wait, are you okay? What's with all these marks?" she asked, her voice shifting, curious but edged with concern as her gaze dropped to your legs, then caught on your wrist where faint discoloration still traced your skin.
You forced a small smile, your hands moving carefully as though the weight of her stare could dig deeper into your body. "Anemia," you said lightly. "You know how it gets sometimes."
She frowned, unconvinced, but didn't press further. You focused on squeezing another bit of lotion into your palm, your thoughts drifting elsewhere. The bottle was nearly empty, and you hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should buy another or try something different.
It had been two weeks. Two weeks since your body had been pushed to its limit, since you had let yourself fall apart in the arms, mouths, and cocks of four men who you never should have gotten tangled with.
As much as it thrilled you to remember, you knew it wasn't something you could ever share. Not with your classmates, not with anyone. This was yours alone.
And so, you smiled at your friend, pretending everything was normal, while inside, you cherished the memory of a night you swore you'd never tell.
You tied your damp hair back, the strands clinging to your neck as you tugged on a sweatshirt and shorts. A light mist of perfume lingered as you sprayed your wrists, your throat, the curve of your shoulder, even down your spine as though you could drown yourself in that sweet comfort.
"God, you smell so good again," your friend whined, fanning herself dramatically. You only chuckled and brushed her off, slipping your bag onto your shoulder before following the group.
The conversation turned quickly, as it always seemed to these days.
"How come those fuckboys keep throwing parties and we never hear a word after? It's like magic," one girl scoffed, and the others broke into agreement, voices overlapping with laughter.
"Right? I swear they must be fucking someone every time," another chimed in, clapping her hands for emphasis. "No way they're just drinking. But no one ever talks. Like—ever."
Their voices carried ahead of you while you trailed behind, smiling faintly, shaking your head as if their words were just another baseless rumor. Inside, though, your chest tightened. If only they knew. If only they could imagine half of what had happened that night. But you weren't about to let them. You had no intention of ever telling a single soul.
That night was a secret carved into you, and the four of them had reputations built on silence—no communication, no strings, no trace.
You sighed, crouching down to fix your shoelace, the chatter of your classmates fading as they moved further down the hall. One of them called your name over their shoulder, urging you to hurry, but before you could respond, the sound of measured steps came closer. A shadow cut across the floor in front of you.
You froze.
Slowly, your gaze lifted from the shoes planted right in front of you. And your heart stopped.
"Found you," a low voice drawled, threaded with satisfaction, almost a taunt.
Gasps erupted behind you, your classmates halting in their tracks.
Your eyes widened. Heeseung was really there, standing over you in broad daylight, surrounded by people, breaking his own rules without hesitation. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
Then, without warning, he crouched down in front of you. The tall, untouchable Heeseung—the one who ignored every girl who chased after him, who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with messy attention—was kneeling, his long fingers brushing over your loose shoelace.
"I had a hard time finding you," he muttered, not loud enough for anyone but you to hear. His tone was casual, but his jaw was tight, his movements sharp with frustration as he tied the knot in one clean motion. "It really pissed me off, you know?"
Your throat went dry. Heat crawled up your neck, spreading across your face until you felt the tips of your ears burn.
Why? Why was he here? Why was he talking to you? This wasn't the Heeseung everyone else knew. He never lowered himself like this—not in front of everyone, not where people could see. He shut girls down without a glance, his cold indifference the very thing that made them chase harder. Yet here he was, focused on you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.
Around you, your classmates whispered furiously, unable to hide their shock. Some covered their mouths, others exchanged wide-eyed looks, but no one dared step closer.
"Can we talk?" His voice was steady, but softer than you expected, almost coaxing.
When you finally dared to look at him, his eyes caught yours. They weren't the eyes of the cold, untouchable Heeseung everyone claimed to know. No, they were gentle, wide, almost disarming, like he was looking through you and not just at you. He smiled—small, sweet, almost shy—and your lips trembled against the sudden wave of nerves.
"H-Huh?" Your voice cracked embarrassingly.
Before you could gather yourself, he reached forward and plucked your bag from your shoulder. His hand found yours in the same motion, his long fingers curling around your palm. The contact made your knees weaken, a sharp rush of heat flooding your chest.
Heeseung was holding your hand. Heeseung, who never even let girls close enough to breathe the same air without brushing them off, was lacing his fingers with yours in front of everyone!
"Let's get out of here first, hmm?" His tone carried a teasing lilt, but his grip on your hand was firm.
You could hardly process as he tugged you gently in the opposite direction, away from your frozen classmates whose whispers grew louder. Each step with him felt surreal, like walking straight into a dream you weren't ready for but couldn't pull away from.
Then, as if to seal the knot of heaviness swirling in your chest, his head tilted close, his breath warm against your ear.
Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.
word count: 23.7k
a/n: there's a lot of lore dumping in this one, please read this when you're 100% awake or you'll probably not understand a single thing. additionally, i must preface by saying that this part is all kinds of fucked up. i really urge you to read with discretion. REALLY.
MASTERLIST
People.
They’re dangerous—more dangerous than the dead. It’s a fact that’s been drilled into your mind, reinforced over and over by the world you’ve come to know.
Once stripped down to their core, people will cling to any semblance of purpose. Not just in the sense they'd do anything to keep themselves alive. But they’ll latch onto whatever scraps of hope they can find—convincing themselves that a crumbling building, a barricaded corner of a burning city, is worth dying for if it means they don’t have to face the one truth that terrifies them most: that nothing is safe. That nothing lasts.
But now you understand something even more unsettling.
The only thing more dangerous than people are people with something to lose.
That’s what Jungwon is. That’s what he’s become. He’s not just surviving anymore—he’s holding onto these people, this place, like a lifeline. Like it’s all that stands between him and the abyss.
And that’s what makes him dangerous.
You don’t keep your distance because you think you’re smarter or stronger than him. You do it because you’re afraid. Afraid of the weight he carries every day, the weight of responsibility, of leadership, of knowing that every decision could mean life or death for the people who trust him.
And maybe that’s why being alone feels safer. Because if you’re on your own, you don’t have to deal with the messy, volatile nature of human emotions. You don’t have to shoulder the weight of someone else’s hope or risk letting them down.
You glance around the camp, taking in the barricades, the makeshift beds, the worn-out faces of people who are holding onto hope with everything they’ve got. You’ve already done enough for them.
You’ve gotten them the medicine they need. You’ve made sure they have enough food and water to keep going for however long the heavens permit them to stay alive. You’ve fought alongside them, bled alongside them, and given them more of yourself than you ever intended to.
But that’s it. You’ve reached your limit. You don’t have to hold yourself back for their kindness anymore. You don’t owe these people anything more than you owe yourself. And what you owe yourself—more than anything—is your chance at survival. And with that renewed mindset, you steel yourself.
Quietly, you gather your things. You don’t need much. Just what you can carry. The essentials—enough to keep you moving. Enough to keep you alive. Your hands tremble slightly as you pack, but you don’t stop. You’ve survived this long by knowing when to walk away.
And that’s exactly what you’ll do.
At this juncture, you have to walk away. Now. Before it’s too late. Before hope takes root in you too, and you lose the capacity to leave. You told yourself you’d do it once the immediate danger had passed. Once you were sure they were safe—at least for a little while. It seemed logical, practical. The right thing to do.
But now, standing here with that gnawing sense of dread in your gut, you realise that even that thought in itself was hope.
And hope is stupid.
You can’t stay. You won’t survive if you do—not just because of the imminent danger, but because of them. Because losing them would destroy you in ways the world never could.
The only thing more dangerous than people is people with something to lose.
And you have something to lose.
“I don’t want to see you lose yourself.” your own words echo in your mind, sharp and piercing. They’d felt like a knife to the chest when you said them, and they still do now. Because what you didn’t realise then is that it’s not just about Jungwon, or the group, or the rest stop. It’s about you. You’re afraid of losing yourself, of what you’d become if you stayed.
When you die—because everyone in this world eventually does—you only hope you can die as yourself. Human. Both physically and mentally.
It’s the one thing you’ve clung to since everything fell apart. The idea that, no matter how bad things got, you’d hold onto your humanity. You wouldn’t let the world take it from you. Because once that’s gone, what’s the point? What’s left of you then? A shell. A husk. Something that breathes but isn’t really alive.
You’ve seen it happen to others from the community building. People losing themselves, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but desperation and violence. Until they become unrecognisable—barely different from the monsters they’re trying to survive. It’s why you’ve kept your distance, why you’ve chosen solitude time and time again.
Once you stay, once you put down roots, the danger will come for you. Because in this world, the danger never truly passes. It’s not something you can outrun or wait out. It’s relentless, always coming back, always finding new ways to haunt you. It’ll keep chasing you and every other survivor until it slowly, inevitably consumes you—or worse, you’ll have to stand there and watch it consume the people around you.
You’ll then risk losing yourself as their deaths start to carve pieces out of you, leaving nothing but jagged edges and hollow spaces.
And you can’t afford to lose yourself like that.
Not to them. Not to hope.
Tonight, you’ll take the first watch, sit through the long, silent hours, and leave without waking anyone for their shifts. Just before the sun rises—before they stir, before they have a chance to notice you’re gone—you’ll disappear.
It’s the best time to disappear—when the world is caught in that liminal space between darkness and light. This way, they won’t be in any immediate danger. They’ll wake to the sun rising over the horizon, unaware of your absence—at least at first. It’ll give them time to adjust, to make plans without you. And it’ll be easier for you to convince yourself it’s for the best.
The thought repeats in your head like a mantra, though it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the chill creeping under your skin. The others are tucked away in the convenience store, huddled in their sleeping bags. Jake is next to Jay, keeping an eye on his breathing. Sunoo and Heeseung are resting against a stack of supplies, their heads lolling to the side in exhaustion.
Climbing onto the roof of the rest stop to take up the watch, you’re greeted by a perfect view of the vast horizon. The landscape stretches endlessly before you, dark and quiet under the blanket of night. From here, you’ll be able to spot a threat from miles away—long before it reaches the camp.
The night air is still, save for the distant rustle of leaves. The barricade feels impenetrable for now, but you know better than to trust in fleeting security. Nothing in this world is permanent. Not safety. Not peace. And certainly not the fragile connections you’ve built with these people.
Your gaze drifts toward the campfire, where the flames flicker weakly in the dark. Jungwon sits there, motionless, the rifle resting across his lap. Sunghoon and Ni-ki are beside him, their quiet conversation dwindling as the fire dies down. But Jungwon hasn’t moved since you started your watch. His posture is tense but controlled, his gaze fixed on the flames.
You wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s still replaying the events of the day in his mind. If he’s questioning the choices he’s made. The burdens he carries are etched into the lines of his face, visible even in the dim moonlight.
A part of you wants to go to him. To say something. To apologise for what you’re about to do. But that would be cruel.
Instead, you sit in silence, letting the minutes crawl by as the night drags on. Every second feels like an eternity, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You keep your gaze on the horizon, but your thoughts keep pulling you back to Jungwon. To the people who’ve come to trust you enough to leave you on watch alone, unaware of what you’re planning.
Slowly, one by one, they start turning in for the night. Sunghoon is the first to get up, quietly disappearing into the convenience store beneath you. Then Ni-ki. But before he goes, he pauses, glancing up at you on the roof. His expression is soft, boyish in a way that reminds you just how young he is.
“Don’t forget to wake me for my shift,” he says quietly.
You don’t think you can trust yourself to speak without your voice betraying you, so you simply nod, managing a small, tight-lipped smile.
Ni-ki lingers for a moment, as though sensing something is off. But when you don’t say anything, he finally turns away, disappearing inside.
And then it’s just Jungwon.
He hasn’t moved. The fire has almost gone out now, leaving only embers glowing faintly in the dark. His silhouette is barely visible from where you sit, but you can still feel the ghost of his presence.
Another hour passes before you sense it—a subtle shift in the air, the faint crunch of footsteps retreating into the convenience store.
You glance toward the campfire. It’s nothing but darkness now, and Jungwon is gone.
You don’t even know how much time has passed when you notice it—the faintest hint of dawn creeping over the horizon. The dark sky softens to a deep grey, the first light of morning stretching across the landscape.
And you know. It’s time.
You descent from the rooftop quietly, careful not to make a sound. The camp is still, the soft snores of your companions the only indication of life. Your gaze lingers on each of them, committing their faces to memory.
Your feet move silently across the gravel, carrying you toward the gate. The path ahead feels both endless and final, the weight of your decision pressing heavier with each step. You push open the metal gate just small enough for you to slip through, pausing only to adjust the strap of your bag.
Freedom.
The word feels hollow as you take your first steps beyond the safety of the camp. The road stretches out before you, bathed in the soft glow of dawn. The world is vast and empty, and for the first time in a while, you’re completely alone.
But as you take another step, a voice cuts through the silence.
“Y/N.”
You freeze.
Slowly, you turn around, your heart hammering in your chest. Jungwon stands by the gate, his silhouette outlined against the rising sun. His rifle hangs loosely in his hand, but his posture is tense. His eyes meet yours, dark and unwavering.
“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement—a quiet, resigned truth.
You swallow hard, your throat tightening painfully. There’s no point denying it. He’s always been able to read you too well.
“I thought you might. After everything… I knew you wouldn’t stay.” His voice is steady, but there’s a roughness to it, like he’s holding something back.
Jungwon takes a step toward you, but you instinctively step back, creating distance between you. The space feels heavier than it should, like the air between you is suffocating.
“Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it cracks under the vulnerability of your own emotions. The real shock is in the pain you hear in your own words—pain you weren’t ready to acknowledge.
He stills, his gaze never wavering. There’s anger in his expression, exhaustion and a deep sadness that cuts through you like a knife.
Jungwon’s jaw clenches. “Last night, you said you were going to share the burden with me.” His tone is quiet, almost hollow. “Was that a lie?”
You clench your fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms. “If you already know, why ask?”
A humourless laugh escapes his lips, the sound hollow and bitter. It echoes in the quiet of dawn, amplifying the ache in your chest.
“I had hope that you would stay,” he says simply.
Hope.
Not that damned hope again.
Silence stretches between you, heavy with everything said and unsaid. But you both know there’s nothing either of you can say to change the other’s mind. Nothing Jungwon says will convince you to stay—not if it means standing by while they get hurt, while they die. And nothing you say will convince him to leave—not when he’s already made this place feel like home.
“Why?” His voice breaks the silence, softer now. There’s something in his eyes—exhaustion, yes, but also something more vulnerable. Something broken. “Why are you leaving?”
You don’t answer him. You just stare at the void in his eyes and that’s when you notice the bags under it, the way his shoulders slump under the weight of everything he carries. He hasn’t slept all night. He must’ve been waiting—waiting for you to wake Ni-ki up for his shift. Waiting to prove himself wrong about you.
But you never did.
“So that’s it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping in. “You’re already convinced we’re going to die? You don’t even want to try to fight?” His grip on the rifle tightens, his knuckles turning white. His whole body trembles with barely contained anger.
“For god’s sake, Jay took a fucking bullet for you!”
The words hit you like a slap. You flinch, your mind racing back to that moment. The blood. The panic. The sheer terror.
He’s right. Jay did take a bullet for you.
And you repaid that debt by risking your life at the bus terminal to get him the medicine he needed. Give and take. That’s what survival is, isn’t it? But suddenly, that line of thinking feels wrong. Twisted. Because with that mindset, you could justify anything. You could justify stealing from innocent people, killing whoever stands in your way, and calling it necessity. Just like The Future.
Your chest tightens. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Jungwon snaps. His voice is raw, laced with hurt and anger. “If you were going to leave, you should’ve done it that night at the motel. You didn’t have to wait until I started caring about you.”
His next words strike harder than anything else.
“What makes you different from the people who walked away from you?”
The question hangs in the air, cutting through you like a knife to the gut.
What makes you different from the people who left you behind?
Everything.
Because those people didn’t care about you when they chose to leave. They didn’t hesitate when they abandoned the community building. And you didn’t care about them when you barricaded yourself in that corner to survive.
But here? Here, you care.
And walking away makes you a monster.
Jungwon steps closer, but this time you’re rooted to the spot. His eyes are searching yours, almost pleading. “You don’t feel anything at all?” His voice trembles, and it shatters you to see him like this—vulnerable and exposed in a way you’ve never seen before.
“Y/N. Say something. Don’t just stand there—”
“You think it’s easy?” Your voice cracks, rising with anger you didn’t even realise you were holding in. “You think it’s easy choosing to leave you? To leave them?”
Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away.
“I wanted to leave that night at the motel,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Hell, I should’ve left. But that would’ve meant leaving all of you to die. I thought I could stay long enough to help, long enough for you to let your guard down so I could slip away. I never meant for it to come this far. I never meant to care.”
“You’re leaving all of us to die now. What’s the difference?” he asks quietly, though you can hear the spite in his words.
“Because I don’t want to stay here,” you choke out. “If you’ve already decided to settle down, there’s nothing I can do to change that. But I will not let myself stay here and watch the worst things imaginable happen to any of you.”
Your voice breaks, the tears flowing freely now. “At least out there, I can tell myself you’re still alive. That maybe I was wrong to think this place is a trap.”
Jungwon takes a shaky breath, his frustration cracking through the cracks in his composure. “Then stay,” he says quietly. “Stay and see for yourself. Stay and make sure you know damn well we’re alive. Leaving won’t keep us safe, Y/N.”
“Well, staying won’t keep you alive either!”
The words come out louder than you intended, your voice breaking as you sob. “I can’t lose any of you. You already saw the state I was in when Jay almost died. Sooner or later I will have to experience that kind of grief—if I have to lose you—I don’t think I’ll survive it.”
He scoffs, and you wince at the evident annoyance. "Back then, you barely knew any of us, and you were willing to sacrifice yourself to save our lives. Now that you do know us, you want to leave because you’re too afraid to see us die?" His voice trembles, rising with frustration. "You’re so full of shit, you know that?"
The words hang in the air, harsher than either of you expected. You see it in his face—the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips press together, as if trying to pull the words back. He hadn’t meant to say it, at least not like that. But it’s out there now, and there’s no taking it back.
Jungwon’s expression softens almost immediately, the anger melting into something quieter, something more painful. His shoulders sag, and you can see the weight of everything pressing down on him, heavier than ever. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely above a whisper, broken by the raw emotion behind it.
“I—I didn’t mean it that way—”
“No.” You cut him off, shaking your head. “You’re right.” Your voice trembles, the truth unraveling inside you, spilling out in a rush you can no longer control. “I’m a coward. I’d rather walk away than experience that loss.”
Jungwon flinches at your words, his expression crumpling as though he’s trying to keep his composure, but failing. His gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, all the walls he’s built to keep himself steady come crashing down.
“And it’s not a loss to leave us? To leave me?” His voice cracks as he takes a step closer, his eyes dark and glassy with unshed tears. There’s no anger left in him now—just pain. Raw, unfiltered pain.
You can barely breathe past the lump in your throat, your chest tightening with each second of silence that passes. You blink rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to fall, but it’s no use. The emotions you’ve tried to bury rise to the surface, clawing their way out.
Jungwon’s hand reaches out, hovering just beside your face. He’s waiting for you to lean in first, to close the distance, to give him a sign that you won’t leave. His fingers tremble slightly, so close that you can feel the faint warmth of his palm.
But you don’t move.
“You’re the greatest loss, Jungwon.”
Your voice is so quiet, you almost don’t hear yourself say it. The words slip out like a confession you’ve kept buried for too long. And for a moment, everything is still. Silent.
Jungwon’s eyes widen slightly, as though he’s just realised the weight of what you’ve said. His lips part, like he’s about to say something—maybe to beg you to stay, maybe to tell you he feels the same—but you don’t let him.
You don’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.
You step back, his hand falling limply to his side, and the space between you feels insurmountable. You take another step back, then another.
And this time, when you turn your back on him, you don’t look back. Even with tears streaming down your face, even as your chest aches with the implication of everything you’re leaving behind, you force yourself to keep walking.
Because you know that if you see the look on his face—if you see the heartbreak in his eyes—you won’t be able to walk away.
But even now, as you tell yourself it’s better this way, there’s a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind. A whisper that wonders if isolation is really strength or just another form of self-destruction.
You have no idea how long you’ve been walking. Your thoughts swirl chaotically, clouded by the argument with Jungwon that still plays in your mind like a broken record. The sun hangs high in the sky now, its rays cutting through the morning mist as the chirping of birds fills the air—a hauntingly normal sound in a world that’s anything but.
When you turned your back on him and walked away, you hadn’t planned on where to go. You’d just moved, one foot in front of the other, mindlessly pushing forward like one of the undead you’ve fought so hard to avoid.
All you know is you have to keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t let yourself get tied down by people, places, or promises.
Before you even realise it, the bus terminal comes into view on the horizon. That bus terminal. The one where everything nearly ended for you. Where Jungwon saved your life.
The memory threatens to surface, but you shake your head sharply, forcing it down. No. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of them. You left them for a reason.
And yet, here you are, heading back toward the city. Back toward the very place you tried so hard to claw your way out of when the outbreak first began. It’s almost laughable, the irony of it. Back then, you were desperate to escape, fleeing the chaos and death that seemed to choke every street. But now? Now you’re willingly going back.
It’s not because the city has become safer—it hasn’t. The streets are likely still teeming with the dead, and the stench of decay probably still clings to the air like a curse. Survivors rarely venture in, the danger too great for most to justify. That makes it a kind of sanctuary in its own twisted way.
You don’t know when it happened—when avoiding the living became more crucial than avoiding the dead. But after everything you’ve been through, after everything that went down with the group, you realise now that some people are better off left alone. Like you.
It’s easier this way. In the city, you don’t have to constantly look over your shoulder for someone else’s sake. Every action, every decision you make will only affect you. There’s no group to protect, no lives depending on your choices, no shared weight to carry. You can move freely, without the suffocating burden of responsibility pressing down on your chest.
As you approach the outskirts of the bus terminal, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.
What lies ahead makes your stomach churn, the sight so incomprehensible it feels like your mind is playing tricks on you. A horde—massive, grotesque, suffocating in its sheer number—fills the gaps between rusting cars and crumbling buses, their guttural moans and the wet shuffling of decayed limbs filling the stagnant air. The commotion from last night must’ve drawn them here.
No, something is off.
Your first instinct is to duck, to press yourself against the side of a nearby car, but curiosity keeps your eyes locked on the scene. The horde’s movements are... strange. It’s not just the usual shambling chaos of the dead, not the erratic, aimless wandering you’re used to. It’s too... coordinated. Sections of the group lurch forward in unison, turning together as though responding to some unseen signal.
And then you see them—figures standing atop the cars, scattered like silent sentinels amidst the chaos. Their heads swivel, scanning the area, their posture betraying an awareness the undead don’t have.
From your hiding spot, you squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Their bodies are draped in something you can’t quite make out at this distance—tattered rags, maybe? No. Your stomach twists as you squint through the haze. It’s flesh. Patches of rotting skin and gore strapped to their bodies, like grotesque armour. Their faces are hollowed out, decayed. But their eyes… it’s clear. Just like the zombie you spotted in the clearing that day. The one that stood eerily still, watching, waiting.
Then one moves. Not with the jerky, mindless motion of the dead, but with purpose. Deliberate. Intentional. Your breath catches in your throat as the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.
They’re… human? But the dead is not going after them. How is that possible?
You watch as one of the figures on a car stomp its foot onto the roof. The horde responds almost immediately, a section of the undead turning in unison, moving as if corralled toward a tighter group of vehicles. Another figure lets out a whistle, low and sharp. The sound sends a ripple through the horde. The zombies lurch toward the source, shuffling like sheep to a shepherd’s call.
It’s sickeningly methodical. Choreographed chaos.
Your mind races as you try to process the scene. These people—whoever and whatever they are—they’ve figured out how to control the dead, how to manipulate them like tools.
Then, you spot another one of them on the roof of the terminal, the one you and Jungwon came from. He’s wearing the same decayed face but his stance is confident, almost arrogant, as he surveys the horde below.
“Friends!” he calls, his voice echoing above the chaos, carrying an authority that you’ve never heard before in this ruined world. The horde reacts immediately, pushing forward as if his words alone are a leash pulling them to heel. They claw at the walls of the building, their rotting fingers scraping against the brick, desperate and unrelenting.
Your heart hammers in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears. Friends? The word twists in your mind, warping into something grotesque. He’s speaking to the dead like they’re equals, like they’re allies in some twisted cause.
“We’re not far now,” he continues, his voice filled with a fervour that makes your stomach churn. The horde responds again, the shuffling and groaning growing louder, almost like a chant. “Tonight, they’ll pay for what they’ve done!”
Your breath catches, and your grip on your bag tightens. They? Who’s they?
The man raises his arms, the action reminding you of a preacher before his congregation, a maestro before his orchestra, and the dead press closer to the building, their movements frenzied in response to him.
“They won’t even know what hit them!” His voice reverberates, filled with rage and something else—something almost gleeful. It’s the sound of someone relishing the thought of destruction, of revenge.
Your gaze darts to the figures on the cars. At first glance, they seem indifferent, but then they raise their fists in unison, a silent cheer. A rallying cry without words, their collective movements eerily synchronised, like a grotesque sermon preached to the dead.
The noise of the horde grows, a crescendo of chaos that grates against your nerves. You can’t tear your eyes away from the man on the roof as he reaches back, his movements slow and precise, untying something from the back of his head.
Your breath catches as he pulls it forward, letting it swing for a moment in the wind. It’s a mask—thin, gnarled, stitched together from the decayed skin of the dead. The detail makes your stomach churn: patches of dried flesh, sinew hanging loose, and hollowed-out eye sockets that must have once belonged to something that used to breathe. When he looks up again, your blood runs cold.
It’s him. The guy Jay went after.
Your stomach flips violently as the pieces snap together in your mind. The zombie from the clearing—that eerily still, haunting figure that locked eyes with you—it wasn’t a zombie. It was him.
Your gaze jerks back to the other figures standing on the cars, to the masks they wear, and the realisation makes your skin crawl. They’re all wearing the dead. Covering themselves in the stench of decay to mask their scent, blending seamlessly with the horde. Walking among them. Herding them like livestock.
The realisation sends a cold shiver racing down your spine, leaving your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The world around you feels like it’s tilting, the ground shifting beneath your feet as you struggle to process the horror in front of you. Your mind races, frantically revisiting every moment that didn’t make sense before: the horde that ambushed you in the city, the back door at the motel, the perfectly timed attack at the camp. It was them. It’s always been them.
The bile rises in your throat, burning and bitter, but you force it down, swallowing hard as you cling to the only thing you can do right now—stay quiet. Your breath comes shallow, the sound of your pounding heartbeat drowning out the chaos around you.
Your hand trembles as you steady yourself against the car, the metal cool under your palm. You’re not sure how long you can stay here without being spotted, but one thing is clear: these people are dangerous. More dangerous than the dead, more dangerous than any survivor you’ve encountered.
Every instinct screams at you to run, to put as much distance between yourself and this nightmare as possible. But you can’t.
They’re moving the horde.
Towards you. Towards Jungwon. Towards all of them.
Without realising, your legs move on their own, instinct taking over as you bolt back in the direction you came from. It doesn’t matter that it took you nearly an hour to walk here; you’re running now, faster than you thought your body could manage.
Your mind races just as fast as your feet. The whole thing feels like some cruel cosmic joke.
And now, with every step closer to that rest stop, you feel the pull of something you thought you’d severed. It’s not just the danger that’s pushing you back—it’s them.
Jungwon, with his quiet, unshakable strength that masks the unbearable weight he carries. Jay, who bled for you without hesitation. Ni-ki, who never stopped believing in the group’s survival. Sunoo, Jake, Heeseung, Sunghoon—they’re more than just people you met along the way. They’re the only thing tethering you to this broken, crumbling world.
And that’s exactly why you left.
You left because you couldn’t stand the thought of watching them die. Not Jungwon. Not any of them. Because you know what would happen if they did. The rage would consume you, boiling over until it scorched everything in its path. The grief would hollow you out, leaving nothing but an echo of who you used to be. You’d do things you promised yourself you’d never do, and the world would win. It would take you, just like it’s taken so many others. You’d become a stranger to yourself.
But the irony isn’t lost on you now. You left because you didn’t want to watch them die. You told yourself it was about survival—your survival. You couldn’t stay and risk being reduced to ashes by grief and rage.
And yet here you are, sprinting back to possibly watch them die. Back into the chaos. Into the danger. Into the pain.
You don’t want to go back. You do. You don’t. The contradictions whirl in your mind like a storm, a tempest of fear, anger, and regret. Every step forward feels like a step closer to doom. But every thought of turning back feels like a betrayal of something you can’t quite name.
Back then, it was just an invisible threat—a vague, looming shadow of danger that hung over you like a storm cloud. You couldn’t see it, couldn’t touch it, you don’t know for sure, you could only feel it. That gnawing dread, the constant whispers of worst-case scenarios. And you’d told yourself that leaving was the only way to spare yourself the pain of the inevitable.
Or maybe they wouldn’t die at all. Maybe you were just being paranoid. Maybe you were wrong about that place. Maybe they’d prove you wrong by thriving, by turning it into the refuge they so desperately wanted it to be. You told yourself all of that to justify the decision to walk away, to convince yourself it was the right thing to do.
But even that was just another lie. Another twisted attempt to deny what you really felt. And despite your best efforts to shut it out, to drown it in logic and practicality, you realise now—that thought in itself, that denial, that ignorance—is hope.
Hope that leaving would somehow shield you from the pain of watching them fall apart.
Hope that they wouldn’t die, that you were just being overly cautious, overly cynical.
Hope that you were wrong about that place, that it wasn’t a death trap waiting to claim them all.
And maybe that’s why you hate the whole idea of hope.
Hope, in all its naive, fragile glory, has been the cruelest trick the world ever played on you. It’s a poison wrapped in pretty words and good intentions. You’ve told yourself time and time again that hope is what gets people killed. It makes you reckless. Makes you believe in things that don’t exist. Hope makes you stay when you should run, makes you trust when you shouldn’t, makes you care when you can’t afford to. And the worst part? Hope doesn’t stop the bad things from happening. It doesn’t save you from loss, from grief, from pain. It just makes the fall hurt that much more when it all comes crashing down.
And now, running back down this highway with every nerve in your body screaming at you to hurry, you feel the weight of it pressing down on you.
You didn’t leave because you thought they’d be fine. You didn’t leave because you believed they’d prove you wrong.
You left because you hoped. In your own twisted way.
But now? Now, knowing what you know, hope feels like a cruel joke. There can’t be hope. Not anymore. Because you know the truth. You’ve seen it with your own eyes.
The people on the cars, the masks of flesh, the herded horde—it’s all proof that this world doesn’t care about hope. It doesn’t care about survival. It only cares about death, about how it can twist and shape and devour until there’s nothing left.
They’re not fine. They won’t thrive. They won’t prove you wrong. You can’t even tell yourself that you’re overthinking it, that you’re paranoid, that it’s all in your head. Ignorance is no longer bliss because you know. It’s not just some superficial, nebulous fear anymore. It’s real, and it’s heading straight for Jungwon and the others, and you’re the only one who knows.
They don’t know what’s coming. Jungwon doesn’t know. The group doesn’t know. And if you don’t make it back in time—
The thought hits you like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath out of you. You trip over a crack in the asphalt, your body hitting the ground hard, the impact jarring your entire frame.
For a moment, you’re dazed, your palms scraped and bleeding against the ground. But the sound of your ragged breathing snaps you back to reality. There’s no time to stop. No time to let the pain sink in. You scramble to your feet, dirt clinging to your hands and knees, and keep running.
You don’t even know how long you’ve been running. All you know is the tightening in your chest, the fire in your lungs, and the unrelenting truth clawing at the back of your mind.
They’re actually going to die.
That knowledge burns, searing away any last shred of hope you might have clung to.
And maybe that’s why you hate hope so much. Because you wanted it to be real. You wanted to believe, even if it was just for a moment, that they could have a chance. But this world doesn’t allow for chances. It doesn’t allow for happy endings. It only allows for survival—and only for those willing to tear apart everything and everyone in their way.
Your pace slows as the rest stop comes into view in the distance, the barricade just barely visible against the horizon. Your heart twists at the sight of it. It looks the same as when you left, quiet and still, like it’s waiting for something to happen.
You can’t stop the bitterness from rising in your chest as you picture Jungwon’s face when you walked away. The disappointment, the anger, the heartbreak—it’s burned into your memory like a wound that refuses to heal. He probably thought you were giving up on them, giving up on him. And maybe, in a way, he was right. Because you couldn’t bring yourself to watch them cling to hope like a noose tightening around their necks
And yet, here you are, running back. Not because you believe you can save them. Not because you think there’s still a chance. But because you can’t bear to let the world prove you right. Not like this. Not when the price of being right is their lives.
You hate hope. You hate what it does to people. But what you hate even more is the thought of standing here, doing nothing, and watching it die. Not just them—you.
Because saving them is saving yourself.
You realise that now, with every step you take. You can’t separate the two. You can’t convince yourself that walking away from them doesn’t mean walking away from who you are, from the part of you that still has a purpose.
The choice isn’t about hope or survival anymore; it’s about what you’re willing to lose in the process.
If you’re going to lose yourself, let it be in trying. Let it be in throwing everything you have into saving them, even if it breaks you in the process. Let it be because you cared enough to fight.
Because the alternative—the guilt, the regret of turning your back and knowing you could have done something—would be far worse. It would eat away at you. Hollowing you out in a way you’d never recover from.
So if saving them means letting the world take the last piece of you, then so be it. If the cost of trying is everything, you’ll pay it. At least this way, when you lose yourself, it’ll be with a purpose. At least it won’t be for nothing.
And if it comes down to it, if the fight doesn’t go the way you hope, you just pray you won’t live long enough to witness the fallout. You hope the world will be merciful enough to take you before it forces you to watch it take them.
You’re close now, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you force your legs to keep moving. The thought of Jungwon and the others pushes you forward, fuels your determination. You can’t let them be caught off guard. You can’t let them die.
The gates swing open before you can even catch your breath to announce your presence. Figures. They probably saw you miles before you even reached the rest stop, perched from their vantage points or perhaps by sheer habit of being on guard.
It’s Sunoo who greets you at the gate, his face lighting up when he spots you. “Y/N! Back already?” he asks, his tone casual, cheerful even. Like you’ve just returned from a harmless errand rather than the most tumultuous hours of your life.
Back already. The words settle uneasily in your chest as you step through the barricade. You glance at him, noticing the messy state of his hair, sticking up in odd angles, and the faint marks of sleep still etched onto his face. He doesn’t know. None of them know.
You scan the area, catching sight of the others. Sunghoon is by the fire, stretching as if he’s just woken up. Heeseung’s leaning against a pillar, rubbing the back of his neck. Even Ni-ki, who usually has a sharp, alert edge to him, is sitting cross-legged in the back of the van, yawning into his hand.
They don’t know you almost left for good. They have no idea that you had stood on the edge of this very decision, ready to walk away from all of this—from them.
Your chest tightens as you realise how quickly things could have gone another way. If it weren’t for what you saw back at the terminal, you’d be gone right now, miles away from this place, convincing yourself that this is how it had to be. And yet, here you are, standing in the midst of them, and not a single one knows how close you were to never coming back.
And then you see him.
Jungwon is leaning against the wall near the van, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze locks onto yours the moment you step into the camp, his expression unreadable. There’s no accusation in his eyes, no anger, no “I told you so.” He just looks at you, and you know.
He didn’t tell them.
Whatever passed between you before you left—whatever anger, whatever hurt—it’s gone now, buried under something heavier. Something you can’t quite name.
Your breath hitches as you hold his gaze, a silent exchange passing between the two of you. There’s no point in asking why he kept it to himself. You know why. He’s protecting you, just like he always does, even when you don’t deserve it.
Sunoo, oblivious to the weight of the moment, grins at you and gestures toward the rest of the group. “We figured you were off hunting or something, but damn, you’ve been gone for three hours. Did you get anything?”
Three hours. That’s all it’s been. You glance down at your hands, still clutching the strap of your bag like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. It felt like so much longer. Like a lifetime has passed since you last stood here.
You glance back at Jungwon, who hasn’t taken his eyes off you. And in that moment, you understand something you didn’t before. He didn’t just protect your secret because it was the right thing to do. He did it because he knows you. Knows how close you were to walking away. Knows how much you’ve been wrestling with the weight of staying. And somehow, despite all of that, he’s still here, waiting for you.
“Well, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to tell us what you found?” Sunoo’s voice jolts you out of your thoughts, and you force a smile, your mind already racing with how you’re going to explain what’s coming.
Because they may not know that you almost left. But they’re about to find out what you came back for.
You take a deep breath, willing your trembling hands to steady as you adjust the strap of your bag. Sunoo is looking at you expectantly, his cheerful demeanour a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. The others are starting to notice now—Heeseung raises an eyebrow, Sunghoon straightens his posture, and Jake steps closer, his gaze narrowing slightly in concern.
“I… didn’t go hunting,” you begin, your voice low but steady. You glance around the group, meeting their eyes one by one before landing back on Jungwon. His expression remains unreadable, though you catch the slightest twitch of his jaw. “I went back to the bus terminal.”
The ripple of confusion is immediate.
“What?” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence, his brow furrowed. “Why the hell would you go back there?”
“I had to check something,” you say, your words rushing out faster than you intended. “Something didn’t sit right with me about that place, about what happened. So I went back to see if—” You pause, your throat tightening as the images flash through your mind again: the horde, the people, the masks.
“If what?” Heeseung prompts, his voice calm but edged with concern.
Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you force yourself to say it. “There’s a horde at the terminal.”
“A horde?” Sunghoon echoes, his voice laced with disbelief.
“Yes,” you say firmly, your eyes scanning the group to make sure they’re listening. “A massive one. Bigger than anything we’ve seen before. But that’s not the worst part.” You take another breath, steeling yourself. “There are people. People controlling it.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.
“People?” Sunoo’s face twists in confusion, his earlier cheer replaced with unease. “What do you mean, controlling it?”
“They’re… wearing the dead,” you say, your stomach churning at the memory. “Masks. Clothes. Covering themselves in the scent of decay to blend in. They’re herding the zombies like livestock. I saw them. They’re leading the horde.”
Silence. The kind that feels too loud, too sharp.
“That’s not possible,” Jake finally says, his tone disbelieving. “No one can control the dead.”
“I’m telling you, I saw it with my own eyes!” you snap, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “They’re moving the horde, and they’re coming this way. They’re coming for us.”
Heeseung’s expression darkens, and he exchanges a look with Sunghoon. “How do you know they’re coming here?”
You hesitate, your gaze flicking to Jungwon. He’s still silent, his eyes locked on yours, waiting.
“Because he was there—the guy that Jay went after,” you admit, your voice dropping. “I saw him. Seems like he’s the one in charge too. They’re planning to attack tonight. They know you’re here.”
The weight of your words sinks in, rippling through the group like a shockwave. The air shifts, heavy with dread, the fragile sense of safety they tried to hold onto cracking under the pressure. Sunoo looks pale, his cheerful energy drained away as he stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Jake’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing with determination, though the tension in his shoulders betrays the fear he’s trying to suppress. Ni-ki, who’s just stepped out of the van, freezes mid-step, his expression hardening into one of unease.
Then, movement from the convenience store catches your attention. You glance over, your breath hitching when you see Jay standing in the doorway. Relief washes over you at the sight of him upright, alive, looking much better than the last time you saw him. He’s out of bed—too soon, really—but still, he’s here. Thank god.
But then the relief wanes, replaced by a twinge of worry. The pain in his posture is evident in the way he leans slightly against the doorframe, his body curling in on itself as though every breath takes effort. His complexion is pale, almost ghostly, the lack of colour suggesting someone still in convalescence, still vulnerable. Yet he’s standing there, bearing witness to everything.
And there’s something else. A look on his face that tugs uncomfortably at your chest—regret. It’s there in the tight line of his mouth, in the way his gaze flickers between you and the others. He must’ve heard what you said about the guy. About how he’s still alive. About how he’s leading this horde straight to them.
The regret in his expression cuts deeper than any words could. It’s not regret for himself, not for the pain he’s in or the bullet wound that’s barely begun to heal. It’s regret for what he didn’t finish. For the job he couldn’t complete. And now, because of that, the people he cares about are going to suffer the consequences.
Jay’s the type to bear the blame even when it’s not entirely his to bear. And now, standing there, he looks like he’s drowning in it, his regret and guilt weighing him down like a stone tied to his chest.
“What do we do?” Sunoo’s voice is small, almost childlike. It trembles with fear, breaking the heavy silence that’s gripped the group since your return. His wide eyes dart from person to person, searching for reassurance that none of you can offer.
“We leave,” you say firmly, your gaze locking onto Jungwon’s. The words leave your mouth with more force than you intended, your desperation bleeding into every syllable. “We pack up and leave now, before it’s too late.”
But Jungwon doesn’t respond. His dark eyes remain fixed on yours, unreadable, like he’s searching for something he’s not sure he’ll find.
“Jungwon,” you press, your voice rising slightly as the urgency claws at your chest. “You know we can’t stay. Not with what’s coming.”
His jaw tightens, his posture stiffening as the group watches the two of you with baited breath. You can feel the tension rolling off him, coiling tighter with every passing second. For a moment, you think he’s going to argue. But then he speaks, his voice low and measured. “If we leave now, they’ll follow us. A moving group is easier to track. We need to think this through.”
“Think this through?” you echo, incredulous. The disbelief cuts through your voice, sharp and biting. “There’s nothing to think through. They’re coming, Jungwon. If we stay here, we’re sitting ducks.”
“And if we leave, we’re exposed,” he counters without missing a beat, his calmness only fuelling your frustration. “We don’t even know if we’d make it out of the area before they catch up to us. We need a plan.”
The group falls silent again, their eyes darting between the two of you like they’re caught in the middle of a battlefield with no way to escape. The weight of their stares presses down on you, amplifying the tension already thrumming in your veins.
Your chest heaves as you search for the right words to push through his resolve. But before you can, Jay speaks, cutting through the thick air like a blade. His voice is quiet but firm, carrying a gravity that makes everyone turn toward him. “He’s not going to stop, you know.”
You snap your head toward him, your breath hitching at the resignation in his tone. His gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, you understand what he’s trying to say.
“He’ll find us,” Jay continues, his voice steady despite the obvious pain he’s in. “And he’ll keep finding us until he gets what he’s looking for.”
"If you're suggesting we leave without you, forget it. We—"
“The only choice is to stay and fight. To settle it once and for all.” Jay’s eyes flicker to Jungwon, then to the rest of the group, his words slicing through the growing sense of dread.
The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel the ripple of fear that passes through the group, the unspoken understanding of what staying to fight would mean. It’s not just survival anymore. It’s war. And war always demands sacrifice.
Jungwon’s gaze shifts to you again, his expression unreadable but weighted with expectation. He’s waiting for you to argue, to push back. But you don’t. Because deep down, you know Jay’s right. This isn’t just some random attack. It’s a personal vendetta.
Even if you manage to convince them to leave, to escape the immediate threat, it won’t guarantee their safety. These people don’t just want resources or a fight. They want vengeance. They want blood. And they won’t stop until they have it. Running will only delay the inevitable.
You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. “If we stay,” you finally manage, your voice trembling slightly, “we need to be ready. Completely ready.”
Jungwon nods once, the tiniest flicker of approval crossing his face before it’s gone again. He turns to the group, his voice steady and commanding as he begins issuing instructions. “Ni-ki, Jake—check the barricades. Reinforce every weak spot you find. Sunghoon—bring out all the guns and ammos from the backroom. Sunoo—gather anything we can use to secure the perimeter. I saw some extra rows of barb wires in the basement earlier. Heeseung and I will map out entry points and blind spots. Jay, you stay inside.”
Then Jungwon turns to you.
You wait, holding your breath, anticipating the order he’ll give you. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his gaze lingers on you for a fleeting second before he looks away, addressing the others again. He’s leaving you out of it—deliberately. The realisation hits you harder than it should.
At first, you think he’s still angry, that the tension from your earlier argument hasn’t fully dissipated. But as you study his face, the way his jaw is set but his eyes avoid yours, you see the truth. He’s not mad at you.
He’s giving you an out. He’s leaving the option open—the option to walk away, still.
The group disperses quickly, each person moving with purpose as they carry out their assigned tasks. The sound of hurried footsteps and shifting supplies fills the air, but you remain rooted to the spot. You feel like a ghost, watching them prepare for a battle you’d been so desperate to avoid. A battle you tried to flee from. A battle you brought right down on them.
You glance back at Jungwon. He’s already bent over Heeseung’s map, pointing at something with a furrowed brow. His posture is tense, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. Even from here, you can see the weight on his shoulders, the burden he carries not just as their leader but as someone who cares too much.
Your chest tightens. You can’t tell if it’s guilt or anger—or maybe something messier than both.
He’s leaving the choice to you because he knows you. He knows you’d hate being told to stay, that forcing you would only drive you further away. But this, this silent permission to go—it feels worse. It feels like he’s already preparing himself for your absence. Like he’s already accepted that you might leave.
You tear your gaze away, your fists clenching at your sides. He’s giving you what you wanted. The freedom to walk away without confrontation. The chance to escape without tying yourself to their fate.
So why does it feel so wrong?
Just then, Jay approaches, his steps slower than usual, but his presence steady. “You look like shit,” he says flatly, his voice cutting through the quiet.
“Could say the same thing about you, Jay,” you shoot back without thinking, the words slipping out with a touch of dry humour. Your chest tightens as you’re brought back to the moment on the roadside—the weight of his voice when he confronted you, the guilt that still lingers in your bones. You wonder if he knows just how close you came to leaving.
Jay tilts his head, studying you in that unnervingly perceptive way he has. “Come on,” he says finally, nodding toward the convenience store. “We can keep watch together on the roof.”
Your brow furrows. “Jungwon told you to stay inside.”
“Inside and on top, same thing,” Jay replies, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “At least on the roof, I get to feel somewhat useful.” He clicks his tongue, and there’s a stubborn edge to his tone that you know all too well.
“Jay,” you start, but he cuts you off, his gaze narrowing.
“Don’t start. I know my limits better than anyone, and sitting around waiting to feel like dead weight isn’t doing me any favours.” His voice is sharper now, but not angry. Just resolute. “You can watch my back if you’re so worried.”
You let out a quiet sigh, glancing toward the roof. He’s not wrong—at least up there, he’s out of harm’s way but still contributing. And truthfully, part of you is relieved for the company. You nod reluctantly. “Fine. But you’re not pulling anything heroic. Got it?”
Jay grins faintly, though the usual arrogance in his expression is muted. “I’ll leave the heroics to you this time.” His voice softens as he adds, “Come on, let’s go.”
The scent of the morning feels sharper now, almost intrusive, carried by the cool breeze that brushes over your face as you and Jay sit cross-legged on the roof. The faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds fill the silence between you. Both of you lean back against the convenience store sign, the metal cool against your shoulders.
“How’s recovery been?” you ask, your voice quiet as your gaze stays fixed on the horizon stretching endlessly past the rest stop.
“Good,” Jay replies, his tone nonchalant. “Thanks to the medicine you and Jungwon brought back. And, well, Jake, obviously.”
“So, it doesn’t hurt anymore?” you ask, glancing at him briefly, searching his face for any hint of dishonesty.
Jay lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? It was only two days ago. Of course, it still hurts like shit.”
A wave of guilt crashes over you, sharp and unrelenting. Of course, it hurts. He’s carrying the pain for both of you—for a bullet that was meant for you. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out.
“I’m sorry.”
Jay turns to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “I told you, it’s fine—”
“No, it’s not fine, Jay,” you cut him off, your voice trembling with emotion. “You really could’ve died.”
“Yeah, if you were a little bit taller.” His lips twitch, and you can see him trying to hold it back. But it doesn’t last long before he bursts out laughing—a bright, unrestrained sound that feels almost alien in this grim world. The laughter cuts short, though, as he winces and curls in on himself, the pain from his wound quickly bringing him back to reality.
Your instinct is to reach out, but you hesitate, your hand hovering in the air before dropping back to your lap. “See? It’s not fine,” you mutter, your voice softer now.
Jay breathes through the pain, shaking his head with a faint grin still lingering on his face. “Worth it. That reaction was worth it.”
You stare at him for a moment, incredulous. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable,” Jay shoots back, his grin lingering, though the weariness in his voice cuts through the lightness. Then his expression shifts, something sharper and more knowing in his eyes.
“This morning, you left, didn’t you?”
You freeze, the words hitting like a jolt to your chest. Of course you can count on Jay to call you out on your contrarian shit.
You don’t answer right away, but the silence is all the confirmation he needs. “Yeah, I figured when I woke up and saw Jungwon sitting on the roof. Legs dangling over the edge, just staring at the horizon. Like he was waiting for something. Guess that something was you.”
Your chest tightens, and you turn your gaze back to the horizon. You want to say something, to deny it, but what’s the point? He already knows the truth.
“Did he say anything?” you ask cautiously, your voice quieter now. “Jungwon, I mean.”
Jay’s eyes flick to you, studying your face for a moment before he answers. “Not much. He’s not really the type to spill his guts, you know that.” He pauses, his gaze turning distant, like he’s replaying the memory in his mind.
Jay continues, his tone lighter, but there’s an edge to it. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t look angry. Just… resigned, I guess. Like he already knew what you were going to do before you did.”
You exhale shakily, your fingers tightening around itself. “I didn’t mean to—” you start, but Jay cuts you off.
“I know,” he says, his voice softer now. “And so does he. Doesn’t mean it didn’t mess with him, though.”
His words land heavier than you expect, and you nod, swallowing hard as the guilt settles deeper into your chest. It’s a hollow ache, twisting and gnawing, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything else. The silence between you stretches thin, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of collapsing into the depths of your own self-loathing.
Jay, ever the mind reader, speaks up before you spiral. “But that just means he truly cares about you. That you bring him comfort and hope in a world that’s devoid of it.”
Hope. That word feels like an accusation, like it doesn’t belong anywhere near you.
"Why?” you whisper, barely able to hear your own voice. “Why does he care about me? I met you all barely over a week ago.”
“What about you?” he counters. “Why do you care?”
His question takes you off guard, echoing in your mind like a challenge. Why do you care? You left to avoid caring, to avoid the inevitability of their deaths, to avoid watching the world tear them away from you like it’s done to so many before. Yet, here you are, sitting on this roof, your chest tightening with every word, every thought.
You glance at Jay, his face calm but expectant, the faint lines of pain around his mouth betraying the effort it takes for him to even sit upright. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his question lingers in the air, demanding an answer you’re not ready to give.
“I shouldn’t care,” you say finally, the words falling flat. They feel like a shield, something to protect yourself from what you’re afraid to admit. “It’d be easier if I didn’t.”
Jay lets out a soft laugh, though it’s tinged with sadness. “Yeah, it would be. But that’s not who you are, is it?”
You don’t respond. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. You hate that you care, that you couldn’t stop yourself from coming back, from throwing yourself into the fire again and again. You hate that their survival has somehow become entwined with your own, that you can’t even think about saving yourself without thinking about saving them.
Jay shifts slightly, wincing as he adjusts his position. “You care because you see it, don’t you?” he continues, his voice quiet now, almost gentle. “What we have here. It’s not perfect—it’s messy and dangerous, and it might not last. But it’s something. And for some reason, you want to protect that.”
You shake your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I came back because I knew what was coming,” you argue, more to yourself than to him. “Because if I didn’t warn you, you’d all be dead by midnight. That’s it. That’s the only reason.”
Jay tilts his head, studying you with an expression that feels far too knowing. “Sure,” he says, his tone neutral. “Keep telling yourself that.”
You glare at him, but there’s no real anger behind it. Just exhaustion, and maybe a little bit of fear. Because you know he’s right. You look away, your gaze drifting back to the horizon. The beauty of it feels almost mocking, a cruel reminder of what you’re all trying to hold onto in a world determined to take it away.
“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to keep going when everything feels so... fragile. Like it could all fall apart any second.”
Jay’s expression softens, and for a moment, he looks older, wearier. “None of us do,” he says simply. “We’re all just figuring it out as we go. Even Jungwon. But I guess he tries to hide that from the rest of us.”
“Why?” you ask, finally turning to look at him. “Why does he feel like he has to hide it?”
Jay leans back further against the convenience store sign, his expression heavy with something close to regret. “When things fell apart, we were all with him at his new university. We were stuck there—trapped with him. And Jungwon...” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think he blames himself for that. Like it was his fault we were there instead of safe at home with our families when it all started.”
You’re reminded of your first real conversation with Jungwon, the way he spoke about the group as if their survival was entirely his responsibility. He hadn’t said it outright, but now, hearing it from Jay, it all makes sense. The guilt he carries, the sleepless nights, the endless drive to keep moving forward—it’s all because of them. Because of what he believes he owes them.
“He really thinks it’s his fault?” you murmur, half to yourself.
Jay nods, his gaze distant. “Yeah. But it’s not. We wanted to be there. We wanted to stay. Hell, we probably made it harder for him by refusing to leave. And now, we’re his reason to keep going.” He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s hollow, lacking any real humour.
You don’t say anything, letting Jay continue. You can tell he’s speaking from a place that’s deeper than his usual wit, pulling from a well of memories he rarely lets anyone see.
“Somewhere along the way, we just… started relying on him,” Jay says. “On his reassurance, his direction. It wasn’t even intentional. It just… happened. Even someone like me, who hates showing weakness—I faltered. When it happened. When she died.” His voice cracks slightly, and he swallows hard before continuing. “And I would go to him, night after night, just so I can fall asleep. Because his presence brought me that comfort. That feeling that everything might be okay, even when I knew it wouldn’t be.”
Jay’s gaze flicks to you, his expression distant, as though he’s caught between the past and the present. “He does it because it’s in his nature. He feels like he has to carry us, all of us, because we’re still here. That’s just who he is. He’ll carry the world on his shoulders if it means we can breathe a little easier. But it made me realise… Jungwon probably gets scared too. He probably has countless sleepless nights, only he has nobody to lean on.”
You stare at Jay, his words settling over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to bear. The breeze brushes past, carrying with it the faint scent of morning dew, but even that isn’t enough to distract you from the raw honesty in his voice.
You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then Jay’s voice softens even more, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Well, until you came along.”
That catches you off guard. “Me?” you echo, frowning slightly. “What are you talking about?”
Jay tilts his head, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “You’re really going to pretend you don’t see it? The way he looks at you. The way he listens when you speak, even when you’re arguing. Especially when you’re arguing.”
You do. You do see it. Only you didn't think it was that significant for someone else to notice it too.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you.
Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Come on. You’re not that dense. The guy practically lights up when you’re around. Even when you’re pissing him off.”
You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. “He doesn’t need me,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “He’s strong enough on his own. He always has been.”
Jay lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “That’s the thing. He doesn’t need you to carry him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you. You’re not taking away his strength; you’re giving him a reason to keep using it.”
“Don’t underestimate the kind of relief you bring him,” Jay says firmly. “He’s been carrying all of us for so long, I don’t think he realised how much he needed someone to push back. To challenge him. To make him feel like he doesn’t have to carry it all on his own.”
You glance at Jay, his expression serious now, his usual smirk replaced with something softer. “Why are you telling me this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Because someone has to,” he replies simply. “And because I know you care about him, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than before, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. It settles between you like a fragile truce, delicate but unbroken. Which is surprising, considering you’re having a heart-to-heart with Jay, of all people.
You glance at him from the corner of your eye, half-expecting some sarcastic remark or a biting joke to cut through the moment. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze fixes on the horizon. His profile, usually so sharp and full of defiance, seems softer now, like the weight of the conversation has smoothed out his edges.
“You know,” you start, breaking the silence, “you remind me of someone from the community building.”
Jay glances at you, curious. He notices your attempt to change the topic but he doesn't call you out on it. “Yeah? I bet they were a real charmer.”
You snort, shaking your head. “No, he was an idiot. But it’s something about the way neither of you know how to sugarcoat your words. That brutal honesty, whether anyone’s ready for it or not.”
Jay chuckles, the sound low and surprisingly genuine. “Well, I hope he’s thriving and doesn’t have a gaping hole in his side.”
“Yeah, well… he was a real troublemaker,” you say, your tone growing more reflective. “Got into all sorts of shit before everything fell apart. He was one of those kids the adults would always shake their heads at. A ‘bad influence,’ they’d say. But I went on a few supply runs with him, so I got to know him better. Yeah, he was reckless, stubborn, and constantly looking for trouble, but he was a nice guy deep down. Helped me out of a few tight spots.”
“He had a little sister. Around four years old when it started,” you continue, your voice lowering. “She was everything to him. No matter how much of a mess he was, he took care of her like his life depended on it. You could see it in the way he looked at her, the way he’d always make sure she had enough food or that she wasn’t scared.”
You pause, the memory sharp and painful. Jay’s quiet, sensing that there’s more to the story. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t interrupt, letting you take your time.
“One day, there was this fight. Between him and an older man in the building. It got… bad. Heated. I don’t even know what it was about anymore—something stupid, probably. Everyone was watching, caught up in the chaos, and I guess no one noticed his sister trying to stop them. She ran in, got caught in the middle.” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard before continuing. “She got pushed. Fell against the edge of a table. Her skull… cracked open.”
The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the memory presses down on you, and you can feel Jay’s gaze on you, quiet and steady.
“At first, he was devastated,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Grief just… swallowed him whole. But then, something shifted. His entire demeanour changed. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just… got up, grabbed the man who’d pushed her, and dragged him outside. Fed him to the dead. No hesitation. After that, he left. Never saw him again.”
Jay exhales slowly, leaning forward slightly. “What’s the moral of the story?” he asks, his voice careful, like he’s testing the waters.
“I guess…” you hesitate, trying to put your thoughts into words. “I guess I’m afraid of becoming like him. Detached. Insane. Letting grief consume me to the point where I’m not even me anymore. I still remember his eyes that day, when he dragged that man outside. It was like… everything human about him was gone. And I don’t want that to happen to me.”
Jay watches you closely, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he asks the question you’ve been dreading. “Is that why you left? Because you were scared to face what you’d lose?”
You flinch, the truth hitting you like a slap to the face. “Yeah,” you admit, your voice trembling.
“Do you think he made it?” he asks suddenly, his gaze still fixed you.
You blink, caught off guard by the question. It’s not one you’ve ever let yourself think about, not in detail. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice hesitant. “I think about it sometimes. Whether he found somewhere safe, whether he made it out of the city alive... but I guess I’ll never know.”
“Do you think you would’ve done the same? If it had been you?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. You hesitate, but only for a moment. Because deep down, you already know the answer.
“Yes,” you say quietly, the weight of the admission settling deep in your chest. Your fingers curl into your palms, your throat tightening.
“I think I would’ve done the same thing. And that’s what makes it worse.”
Jay nods slowly, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingers on you, as if weighing something in his mind.
“There are some things in the universe that are just out of our control,” he says, staring up at the sky like the answers might be written in the clouds. “Like the weather, for example, or who your parents are. And when things go wrong, it’s easy to say, ‘It was out of my hands,’ or ‘There’s nothing I could’ve done about it.’”
Jay’s voice is steady, measured, but there’s something raw underneath it, something that makes you listen even though you don’t want to. He glances at you then, his expression unreadable. “But when you do have control over something—when you actually could have done something, but you choose not to—and then you lose control? That’s worse. That’s so much worse.”
Your fingers curl into your palms, nails biting into skin, but you don’t stop him.
“Because this time, you actually had a hand in it,” Jay continues, his voice quieter now. “Not doing anything about it, knowing what you could’ve done to prevent it—that thought consumes you. It haunts you in your sleep, over and over again. And I think, deep down, you already know this.” He lets out a soft breath, shaking his head slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come back.”
“Human emotions are fickle. And more often than not, we’re driven by the negative ones,” Jay muses. “Anger, fear, guilt, regret, grief. I mean, it’s hard not to be when you’re forced into a world where the undead is constantly trying to eat you.” He huffs a quiet, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair.
“But the one thing stronger than all of those emotions? Hope.”
He says it so simply, like it’s a fact, like it’s something undeniable. Like he knows you've been grappling with this dilemma.
You want to deny. You really really want to.
“It’s a funny thing, hope,” Jay says, looking back at you now. “You can’t survive without it—not really. It’s the one thing that keeps people moving forward, that makes them cling to life even when it feels impossible. In the apocalypse, you can never have too much hope. Because it’s all we have left.”
His gaze sharpens, like he’s making sure you’re listening.
“That includes each other.”
The lump in your throat grows tighter.
“We’re hope for one another,” Jay says, his voice unwavering. “You’re hope for us. And we damn well need to be hope for you.”
You let out a shaky breath, turning your head away. You stare down at your scraped hands as Jay’s words settle deep into your bones, into every part of yourself you’ve spent so long trying to shut off. You hate hope. You fear it.
Jay leans back against the sign, watching you carefully. He doesn’t press, doesn’t rush you. He just lets you sit with your thoughts, lets you process.
Eventually, you find your voice, though it comes out quieter than you expect. “But you only feel those negative emotions when you hope. Hope sucks the life out of people. Hope gives people false reassurance. People lose all sense of logic just to hold onto hope and yet, it's hope that makes the pain so much more excruciating when it's ripped away from you. You’re only disappointed because you hope. Too much hope is dangerous.” You don't even realise you've been raising your voice until you're done.
Jay huffs out a small, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “It’s a paradox, isn’t it? This fragile, beautiful thing that’s supposed to keep us alive is also the thing that can destroy us.” His voice is steady, thoughtful. “Hope is the spark that ignites negative emotions—but it twists them into something else. Something with purpose.
“Anger, fuelled by hope, becomes determination. Fear, tied to hope, becomes caution. Guilt and regret, tethered to hope, becomes redemption. Grief, woven into hope, becomes strength.”
You flinch at that, but Jay doesn’t let up. “Without hope, those emotions are just weights dragging you down, holding you back. But with it, they’re a reason to fight. A reason to survive.”
“Hope is what gives meaning to every choice, every sacrifice. It’s what makes us human.”
You stare at him, your throat tightening. The words claw at something deep in you, something you’ve spent so long trying to bury.
“And that’s the cruel irony of it all,” Jay continues, his voice quieter now. “Because hope is also the thing that hurts the most. The thing that leaves you raw, vulnerable to disappointment and despair when it’s inevitably taken away. But even knowing that, we can’t let it go. Because without hope, what’s left?”
His gaze flickers to you then, sharp and knowing. “Not you,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “And definitely not me.”
Jay’s words settle into you like a slow, creeping ache—one you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to. They seep into the cracks, the ones you’ve spent so long trying to patch over, the ones you told yourself didn’t exist.
And for the first time in a conversation with Jay, you have no response.
You know he’s right. But it hurts—because hope is also the reason you’re here. The reason you turned back. The reason you’re sitting on this rooftop, trying to make sense of the war that rages inside you.
Hope, in the apocalypse, is both a necessity and a curse—and that contradiction is what makes it so powerful.
If you hadn't seen what you saw, you would have been long gone by now. You would’ve walked away with the comfortable lie that they’d be fine, that they’d beat the odds like they always do, that their naive faith in safety would somehow be rewarded.
But you know the truth now. And the truth doesn’t allow you the luxury of ignorance. Because they’re not okay. They won’t be okay.
Not unless you do something.
Leaving now—knowing what’s coming—wouldn’t just make you a coward. It would make you complicit in their deaths. It would mean standing by while the world tears them apart, pretending it isn’t your problem.
And you know yourself well enough to understand exactly how that would end. A lifetime of guilt. A lifetime of knowing you could have done something but chose not to. That guilt would fester inside you, wear you down, strip you bare until there’s nothing left of you that’s worth saving. Until the world finally wins.
And either way—whether you leave or stay—you’re not going to come out of this intact. You’re already too deep, too tangled in it all.
So you choose the path that has even the smallest, most fragile hope of something good coming out of it.
In the end, you chose hope.
And hope guided you back to them.
The silence between you and Jay stretches for another half-hour, comfortable in a way that doesn’t demand words. There’s no need to fill the space with forced conversation, no pressure to dissect the weight of everything you’ve just talked about. Just the two of you, sitting side by side, watching the horizon as if it holds the answers neither of you have.
Occasionally, your gaze drifts downward, taking in the organised chaos of the camp below. The others move with purpose, their figures threading seamlessly through the makeshift fortifications, pulling them together, binding them to one another. Binding you to them.
Your eyes find Jungwon without meaning to. He’s hunched over a roughly drawn map with Heeseung, tracing escape routes with a furrowed brow. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight, his entire body braced as if the sheer weight of their survival rests on his shoulders alone. Heeseung says something, pointing at a different spot on the map, and Jungwon nods, his fingers tightening around the paper.
You wonder what he’s thinking. If he truly believes they have a chance, or if he’s just convincing himself to. Because no matter how much you try to push it away, the doubt creeps in before you can stop it. It slithers through the cracks in your resolve, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.
The horde is too big.
There’s no way this place will hold against it.
Even if you get past the first wave, they’ll surround the camp before you even get the chance to turn around and leave.
You press your lips together, gripping the edge of the roof so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The old wood groans under the pressure, but the sound is drowned out by the weight pressing down on your chest.
It’s a losing battle.
You know it. They must know it too.
But then, you look closer. The exhaustion on their faces is unmistakable. The shadows under their eyes, the weariness in their shoulders, the way Sunghoon drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if trying to breathe the tension out of his body.
They don’t fully believe this will work. Not really.
But they’re trying anyway.
Because what else is there to do? Give up? Lay down and wait to be torn apart? No. That’s not who they are.
And despite the gnawing dread in your stomach, you realise—it’s not who you are either.
Just then, panicked voices rise from directly beneath you, coming from a blind spot you can’t see. Your body tenses instinctively as your ears strain to make sense of the commotion.
Jay stiffens beside you, his head snapping toward the sound. You exchange a knowing look, silent but immediate in your understanding—something’s wrong.
You focus, trying to visualise the situation in your head, piecing together what you can hear against what you can’t see. The sharp edges of alarm in the voices. The sound of someone struggling. A threat, spoken with dangerous intent.
Your eyes flick to Jungwon. His expression is tight, unreadable at first—until you notice the tinge of worry, the fear etched just beneath the surface as his gaze locks onto the entrance of the convenience store.
Before you can say anything, a voice cuts through the tense silence. A voice you don't recognise.
“I know there’s two more,” the stranger calls out, their tone sharp with authority. “You’d better show yourselves before I do something to this boy.”
The world around you stills.
Your breath catches.
Sunoo.
You and Jay exchange another glance, this time urgent, alarm bells ringing in both of your heads. Without hesitation, you inch closer to the edge, careful not to make a sound as you peer over.
Your worst fears are confirmed.
Sunoo stands frozen in the doorway of the convenience store, his hands raised slightly, his posture rigid with fear. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, his eyes darting toward Jungwon—toward all of them—searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.
Behind him, partially obscured by the pillars, you catch a glimpse of someone else—an outsider. A woman, dressed in ragged clothing with a cloak draped over her frame. Yet, despite her tattered appearance, her stance radiates a quiet, dangerous confidence that sends every instinct in your body on high alert. With one hand, she presses a pistol firmly against the back of Sunoo’s head, keeping him locked in place.
She’s inside the rest stop. How?
Then it hits you.
She’s been here. Probably ever since you arrived. Hiding. Watching. Acting as a spy for your attackers.
Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable, but you see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his fingers. He takes a slow step forward, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. His voice is calm, measured.
“You’re outnumbered. Are you sure you want to do this?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked onto hers. “Let him go, and we can talk.”
The woman doesn’t even spare him a glance.
“I said show yourself,” she orders, her voice sharp, unwavering. “You have ten seconds.”
And then she starts counting.
"Ten."
Your gaze flicks to Jay.
What should we do?
"Nine."
Jay’s jaw tightens.
Let’s wait it out.
"Eight."
Your stomach knots.
And what if she shoots him?
"Seven."
Jay exhales sharply, weighing the risk.
I don’t think she will. She’s outnumbered.
"Six."
Your fingers twitch at your sides.
She’s bluffing.
"Five. I’m really going to do it."
Your breath catches.
She’s not bluffing.
"Four."
Jay hesitates.
She has nothing to lose.
"Three—"
“Alright, we’re coming out.”
The words leave your lips before you fully process them. Your arms lift above your head, palms open, your body moving before your mind can tell you to stop. Slowly, carefully, you begin your descent from the roof.
Jungwon’s eyes flicker to you the moment your feet touch the ground, but he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch slightly at his side. You know he doesn’t like this, but what other choice do you have? You had seconds to decide—risk Sunoo’s life, or give her what she wants.
Your boots hit the pavement, dust kicking up beneath you as you step forward, keeping your hands where she can see them. Jay lands behind you, slower, deliberate. You sense the stiffness in his movements, the way his breathing subtly shifts as he fights to keep himself from wincing. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s still weak.
She can’t know that.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” the woman sneers, swaying the pistol trained on Sunoo. He flinches but doesn’t make a sound, though you can see the tension in his frame, the fear flickering in his eyes. He’s trying to be brave. You need to be braver.
You and Jay stop a few paces away, keeping the distance just wide enough to not seem like a threat. Jungwon, Heeseung, and the others remain still—coiled like springs, waiting for the right moment. Looking for an opening. But you know there might not be one.
A chill creeps down your spine, slithering like ice through your veins, settling deep in your bones. You swallow hard, forcing air into your lungs. Stay calm. Stay in control.
The air around you feels thick, suffocating in its stillness. Each breath is laced with tension, heavy with unspoken words, unspoken fears. Your fingers twitch at your sides, hovering near your weapon, but you don’t dare move—not yet. One wrong twitch, one flinch in the wrong direction, and the woman’s finger might tighten around the trigger.
Then, as if the universe is offering you a cruel favour, a faint breeze stirs the stagnant air, cutting through the oppressive heat and unsettling the dust beneath your feet. The edges of the woman’s tattered cloak flutter with the movement, lifting for the briefest moment.
But it’s enough.
Your breath catches and your gaze snaps to the sight beneath the ragged material, to the place where her left forearm should be.
A stump.
Jagged, uneven, the skin around it healed but rough—evidence of a wound that wasn’t treated with care. A makeshift bandage barely holds in place, frayed from time and neglect.
Your mind races, the implications hitting you like a blow to the chest.
She’s injured. She’s weaker than she wants you to believe.
The realisation strikes you hard, but before you can fully register how to use it against her, a voice cuts through the tension.
“Hey, I know you.”
It’s Jake.
His tone isn’t hesitant, but certain—sharp enough to make the woman’s smirk falter ever so slightly.
“You do now?” The woman regains her composure quickly, her smirk returning as she idly plays with the safety of her pistol, flicking it on and off, the quiet click-click-click filling the charged silence.
Jake doesn’t flinch. “Lieutenant Kim Minseol. Ammunition Command. You’re part of The Future.”
His words send a ripple of confusion through the group.
Jungwon stiffens beside you, his gaze sharpening as he scrutinises the woman up and down, searching for recognition in her face. The others exchange uneasy glances, but Jake keeps his eyes locked on her.
“I remember you,” he continues, voice controlled but unwavering. “A few weeks before our escape, you came into the treatment facility with a fresh stump on your left arm. It was because of your absence that we were able to sneak into the supply depot.”
For a brief moment, something flickers in her expression. A shadow of something sinister, something ugly. Then she lets out a hollow, bitter laugh.
“What a good memory you have there, Doctor Sim.” The mockery drips from her words, but beneath it, there’s a tightness—like the words taste sour in her mouth.
Jake doesn’t react, his expression carefully guarded.
And then her smirk disappears altogether.
“But you’re wrong about the first part,” she says, her voice dropping lower, losing its feigned amusement. “I was part of The Future. Until they expelled me. Said resources were running low. But of course, that’s because someone helped themselves to six months' worth of supplies.” Her gaze sweeps over all of you, sharp and knowing.
A chill settles over the group.
“It’s not our fault,” Heeseung says evenly, though there’s a tightness in his jaw, a flicker of tension beneath his composed exterior. His gaze shifts—almost unconsciously—to her left arm, lingering for just a second too long. “They would’ve expelled you anyway. For your… unfortunate disability.”
Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey.
“Someone of my rank would still be valuable enough to keep around, even with my unfortunate disability,” she counters, her tone dripping with cold certainty.
The click of a pistol’s safety disengaging slices through the silence. Sunoo flinches, his breath catching as the muzzle digs harder against his skull.
“You think I’m lying?” Her voice sharpens like a blade, each syllable cutting through the air with precision. “Then what about the dozens of able-bodied men and women they cast out with me?” Her eyes sweep over the group, daring anyone to challenge her, to deny the truth she’s laying before them.
“What excuse do they have?”
No one answers.
“How did you end up here?” you ask, grasping for something, anything to keep the upper hand.
The woman lets out a scoff. “What? Didn’t think a lady with a stump could survive this long?” she sneers. “I was military for a reason, you know. And lucky for the group of us that got expelled, we ran into A.” Her smirk widens, something cruel glinting in her eyes. “Who just so happened to have a long-standing unresolved affair with one… of… you.”
Her gaze sweeps the group deliberately, before landing on Jay.
It lingers.
Your breath stills.
Is she talking about him? About the man Jay went after?
Your head snaps to Jay instinctively, and sure enough, you see it—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the sharp clench of his jaw. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but that’s all the confirmation you need.
You keep your voice even, biting back the unease bubbling in your gut. “Did A suggest you lot dress up as freaks too?” you taunt, eyeing the grotesque remnants of the dead clinging to her clothes.
Her smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens.
“Call it whatever you want,” she purrs, rolling her shoulders back, “but it’s kept us alive.” There’s something almost reverent in the way she says it. “It’s what got us this sanctuary of a rest stop.”
Sanctuary. The word makes your stomach churn.
The woman gestures around like she’s unveiling some grand conquest, her voice thick with smug satisfaction. “The Future didn’t see what was coming when we rolled over this place. They never even put up a fight.” She shakes her head, laughing—mocking. “That’s how confident they were in this place. That sure of their survival.”
She spreads her arms wide, as if to drive the point home. “And just like that, they left all this behind! For us, of course.” Her eyes gleams with something almost predatory, as she levels her gaze at you. “Not you.”
She’s getting caught up in her own villain monologue. She’s getting cocky.
“‘The Future are monsters.’” She spits the words out like they taste bitter on her tongue. “It’s easy to just say that, isn’t it?” She lets out a mocking laugh, one filled with more exhaustion than humour.
“Have you ever considered that some of us were just doing what we were told? That we were just trying to survive?”
Silence.
Then, her smirk fades, replaced with something colder.
“Bet you didn’t think stealing wouldn’t have any implications on the rest of us, did you?” Her grip on the pistol tightens, her knuckles turning white.
“Did you?” she repeats, quieter this time, but the threat behind it is unmistakable.
The weight of her words settles over the group like a thick fog, suffocating in its quiet accusation.
She’s right.
They had never stopped to think about what had happened to the people they left behind. The ones who weren’t part of The Future’s elite, the ones who had simply been following orders. The ones who weren’t cruel enough, strong enough, useful enough to be worth keeping around.
And when they took those six months of supplies, when they ran, they might not have pulled the trigger on those people themselves—
But they might as well have.
It’s a sickening realisation.
The Future is a tyrant military organisation. That much is true. But tyrants don’t survive without followers, without structure, without soldiers willing to do anything to keep their people alive.
Isn’t that exactly what they’ve been doing?
Taking what they can. Keeping their own alive, even if it means condemning someone else.
The guilt twists in your stomach like a knife. You feel it rippling through the others too. She leans in ever so slightly, her lips curling into something almost gentle—but the pistol pressing into Sunoo’s skull tells a different story.
“You see it now, don’t you?” she murmurs, tilting her head. “The hypocrisy. The way you tell yourselves you’re different.”
“You’re no different from The Future.”
“And now you’re back,” she continues, voice like poisoned honey. “Trying to steal something that isn’t yours, again.”
The shift in the air is almost tangible. It’s subtle, like a silent crack forming in a foundation that had once seemed unbreakable—but it’s there.
You see it in the way Jake’s shoulders slump just slightly, in the way Sunghoon’s lips press into a thin line, in the way Heeseung’s gaze flickers to the ground like he can’t quite meet anyone’s eyes, in the way Ni-ki’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might shatter, in the way Jay’s hands twitch at his sides, in the way Sunoo disassociates even with a gun pointed at his head, and among them is Jungwon’s gaze—still sharp and unreadable.
It’s setting in—the weight of her words, the seed of doubt she’s planted.
Because she’s not just threatening them. She’s challenging everything they’ve told themselves to keep going.
The belief that they’re different.
That they’re good.
That, somehow, their survival is more justified than anyone else’s.
But survival is never clean, is it? And now that she has said it, now that she’s painted that picture in their minds, you can see them starting to crumble.
These people—your people—their sole reason for fighting is the belief that they are not monsters. That they are not like The Future, or A, or the ones who take and take and take without looking back.
But now, faced with the consequences of their own actions, you watch that belief fracture.
They’re breaking.
She sees it.
And she revels in it.
This has been her goal all along—to make them doubt themselves. Because a group that doubts itself is a group that falls apart from the inside.
You need to stop this. Now.
“Then let’s talk about what is yours, Lieutenant,” you say, keeping your voice steady, sharp. “Tell me—what exactly did you earn?”
Her smirk falters, just barely. But you catch it.
“What?”
“You and the others,” you press, eyes locked onto hers. “Did you build this place? Did you earn the supplies you’re hoarding? Did you put in the work to secure it?”
Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, but you don’t give her the chance.
“No,” you answer for her. “You stole it. Just like The Future stole from the people before them. Just like we stole to survive.”
Her fingers twitch.
Good.
“You think you’re better than us?” you continue, pressing the words forward like a knife slipping between ribs. “You took this place the same way we would’ve if we’d gotten here first. Yet, you’re walking around acting like it's your birthright.”
Her expression darkens, her grip on the pistol tightening, but you don’t miss the way her jaw clenches.
A flicker of something shifts through the group.
They exchange glances, the tension easing just slightly, as if your words—blunt and unforgiving—have cracked through the air of helplessness surrounding them. Jungwon’s stare flickers between you and the woman, the gears in his head turning, assessing, waiting for her next move.
The silence that follows is thick, heavy with unspoken truths and fractured justifications.
Then, she speaks.
“We did steal,” she admits, her voice low, sharp, controlled.
Her head tilts, dark eyes locking onto yours, something almost amused flickering in them despite the rage simmering beneath her skin.
“But the difference between us—” she leans in slightly, voice dipping into something razor-thin, something meant to cut, “—is that you’re parading around, pretending you have some kind of moral high ground.”
And this time, it’s your turn to flinch. It takes everything in you to keep your face blank, to not let her see the way her accusation burrows under your skin like a splinter.
Because she’s right. They all know it.
Survival was never about who deserved to live. It was about taking. About seizing what you could before someone else did. About carving out a space in a world that no longer cared who was good, who was bad, who had once been kind.
Because kindness doesn’t keep you alive. Compassion doesn’t put food in your hands or a weapon in your grip. Morality doesn’t stop the teeth that tear through flesh or the hands that pull the trigger.
And if you’re all the same—if you’re all monsters—then what’s left?
There’s only one answer.
Whoever wins.
The only law that exists now is power.
Not justice. Not fairness. Not mercy.
Just power.
And the only ones who get to live in this world are the ones strong enough to take it for themselves.
Survival of the fittest.
That’s what the world was before, and it’s what the world is now. Only now, the stakes are higher. Much higher.
Because before, losing meant failure.
Now? It means death.
And if you hesitate, if you second-guess, if you let yourself be weighed down by the ghost of a world that no longer exists—
You’ll lose.
And the world won’t mourn you. It won’t stop. It won’t care. It will keep turning, indifferent to the bodies left behind, to the names that fade into nothing.
Because nothing from before matters anymore.
Not the rules. Not the morals. Not the person you used to be. You can no longer afford to hold on to the past.
Because the past won’t save you.
Only the future will.
And the only way to have a future—is to take it.
"You think you’ll make it out of here alive if you pull that trigger?” you challenge her, forcing your voice to remain calm, steady. She tilts her head, lips curling into something almost amused as she meets your eyes.
“You should’ve left when you had the chance,” she says, completely disregarding your threat. The blood in your veins turns cold.
“But who knows? Maybe A will let some of you go. Like what we did with The Future,” she continues, leaning in slightly, as if daring you to flinch. “Let them scurry back to HQ like little mice. So they know to never come back here again.”
Her grin widens, twisting into something cruel. “And now that you’re here, fallen right into our trap, you’ll soon be one of us!” She laughs, the sound sharp and jagged, like glass shattering in the quiet.
Never come back here again…
Soon be one of us…?
The words settle like a stone in your chest. And then, like a curtain being pulled back, you see it—the bigger picture.
She’s laughing. She thinks she’s won. But she doesn't realise what she's just given away.
If A and his people wanted you dead, they wouldn’t have resorted to games. They wouldn’t have wasted time luring you into an ambush or toying with you—not with all these guns and ammos at their disposal. No, they would’ve wiped you out back at that forest clearing when they had the chance.
They haven’t. They insist on bringing the dead down on you—because they have an ulterior motive.
They don’t want you dead. They want you alive.
Why?
Because only when you’re alive—when you’re standing, breathing, fighting—can you turn. Turn into the very army of the dead they control. Become one of them.
That’s why they let The Future walk away. Not out of mercy. Not because they couldn’t fight them. But because they didn’t need to. The Future was never the target—you were. They wanted you to lead the others right back here. They’ve been waiting for this moment.
And The Future? The Future won’t come back. Not for revenge. Not for a counterattack. They cut their losses and retreated—not because they were outnumbered, not because they were weak, but because they were unaware.
They didn’t understand what they were fighting. They couldn’t defend against something they had no clue how to fight. They knew they couldn’t stand against an enemy that moves undetected through hordes of the dead. Couldn’t win against an army that grows stronger with every person it kills.
So they ran.
But you? You don’t have to. Because you know exactly what’s coming.
And now, standing in the heart of what should have been your own grave, you see it—hope. This place isn’t just a temporary solution. It’s an opportunity.
If A and his people could take this place, then so can you. If they could push out The Future, then there’s a way to do the same to them. And if they could survive out there, using the dead as shields and weapons, then you can find a way to use it against them.
Your fingers tighten into fists.
If you secure this place, they’ll never have to run again.
Not from A. Not from The Future. Not from anyone.
You let out a slow breath, forcing your heartbeat to steady as you shift your stance, eyes locking onto hers.
She thinks she’s won. Thinks she’s backed you all into a corner. But she’s just handed you everything you needed to know.
You tilt your head slightly, allowing the barest hint of a smirk to tug at your lips. “What makes you so confident we can’t just take it from you?”
Her smirk holds firm, but you catch the slightest twitch in her expression—just for a second. “Oh?” she muses, arching a brow. “I’d love to see you try going up against military-trained personnel and a horde of zombies. It’ll be fun.”
You shrug, feigning indifference. “Who said anything about confrontation?” You let the words hang in the air, watching carefully as confusion flickers across her face. “If you lot figured out how to walk with the dead, why can’t we do the same?”
For the first time, her bravado falters. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and there it is—realisation and doubt all at once. Almost like she had never thought about it. Which makes sense because you finding out about their mechanics, isn't part of their plan.
That hesitation—that moment of uncertainty—is all Sunoo needs.
He moves in a blur, striking before she even registers what’s happening. His fingers close around her wrist, twisting sharply as he wrenches the gun from her grip. It clatters to the floor with a thud, and in a single fluid motion, Sunoo has her pinned.
She lets out a sharp grunt, struggling against his hold, but she’s at a disadvantage—distracted, handicapped, unarmed.
And just like that, the tides turn. Sunghoon is on her in seconds, his knee pressing into her back as he yanks her arm behind her. The fight drains from her quickly, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.
You exhale, the adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin, your mind racing through every possibility.
This place can be yours.
They don’t have to run anymore.
Hope is starting to take root.
“Fools. You think it’s easy? Walking among the dead?” she sneers, her voice laced with mockery despite the fact she’s sprawled face-down on the cold, hard floor. Sunghoon’s hands move swiftly over her, searching for any hidden weapons.
“It takes everything you are to walk with the dead.”
There’s something unsettling in the way she says it, something almost reverent. Like she’s speaking of a religion rather than survival.
Sunoo scoffs, standing over her with her pistol now in his hands. He checks the magazine, clicks the safety on and off before shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, keep talking, lady. It’s not getting you anywhere.”
But she just smirks. That same infuriating smirk that hasn’t left her face since the moment she was caught. She’s lying completely still now, unnaturally calm as Sunghoon and Heeseung haul her up onto a chair. She doesn’t resist—not even when they start binding her arms—or whatever's left of it—tightly behind her, securing the coarse rope around her torso and the back of the chair. If anything, she lets them.
"I've really underestimated you, Y/N." Her voice drips with amusement, her lips curling into something eerily close to admiration, but there’s something sharper beneath it—something darker. "You’re not just similar—you’re just like us. Conniving. Merciless. Dead."
She giggles then, a sound too light, too mocking for the weight of her words, for the quiet horror settling deep in your chest. "You might not even need to wear their skin to walk with the dead."
A chill slithers down your spine, but you force yourself to hold her gaze, to not give her the satisfaction of seeing how deeply her words sink in. Heeseung pulls the final knot tight, the rough rope biting into her skin, binding her in place. Yet, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t struggle. She just leans back, head resting against the chair, exhaling like she’s settling in, like she’s making herself comfortable rather than sitting bound and at your mercy.
As if she’s the one in control.
"But don’t say I didn’t warn you," she murmurs, her voice almost singsong, a taunting lilt woven through her words. They linger in the space between you, curling like smoke, seeping under your skin. The room feels too quiet now, as if the weight of what she just said has stolen all the air from it.
She tilts her head slightly, her eyes gleaming—not with anger, not with fear, but with something worse. Something that almost looks like pity.
"You’ll understand what I mean soon."
The smirk widens. It stretches across her face, slow and deliberate. You stare at it for too long—long enough for Ni-ki to shove a loose piece of cloth into her mouth, silencing whatever cryptic words she might have let slip next.
But her eyes remain fixed on you, unwavering. Cold. Calculating.
You can’t look away.
Something about the way she’s staring at you feels wrong. Like she’s seeing straight through you, past the layers you’ve built, past the walls you’ve tried to keep up. Like she’s already figured you out before you’ve even figured out yourself. Like she knows exactly how this will play out, and you don’t.
In that sense, you’re already losing. Not in the way you expected—not in battle, not in blood, not in death. But in yourself. Because you can feel it, can sense it creeping in at the edges of your mind, curling into your thoughts, whispering where doubt used to be.
You’ve already begun losing yourself.
It’s only when someone calls you over that you manage to tear your gaze away, the spell breaking.
“What the fuck happened, Sunoo? Where did she come from?” Heeseung demands the second they’re out of earshot, his voice low but urgent.
Sunoo, however, huffs, dramatically rubbing at his wrist as if he’s the real victim here. “Geez, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he grumbles.
Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Sunoo.”
“I was in the basement,” Sunoo starts, crossing his arms, “looking for anything we could use to fortify the barricades. Found this stack of those things—the masks—hidden away in one of the boxes shoved in the corner. Thought, great, more nightmare fuel. And then—bam! She jumped me out of fucking nowhere. How the fuck was I supposed to know she was there?”
His frustration is evident, his gestures exaggerated as he recounts the moment. “If I had known, her one-armed bitchass wouldn’t have even been able to pull that gun on me like that. Ugh.”
The irritation in his voice doesn’t quite mask the underlying unease. She had been down there the whole time—hidden, watching, waiting. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched.
And yet, you left them here. With her.
A chill runs down your spine. The weight of realisation presses against your ribs, suffocating, threatening to pull you under. But before your mind can spiral further, you hear it—your name.
Spoken by the very voice you’ve been yearning to hear call out your name since you left.
“Y/N.”
Jungwon.
“Are you okay?”
Your breath catches as you turn to face him. His expression is unreadable at first, but his eyes—his eyes betray him. There’s worry there, concern woven into the fabric of his gaze, despite everything. Despite the fight. Despite the fact that you left. You walked away. And yet, here he is, standing before you, asking if you’re okay.
He still cares.
You don’t trust your voice. You’re afraid it’ll betray you, that it’ll crack under the sheer force of everything you’re feeling. That if you try to speak, all that will come out will be fragments of whimpers, of apologies left unsaid.
So instead, you nod. A small, barely perceptible movement. The best you can offer.
Jungwon watches you for a moment, searching. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he nods back. A silent exchange. An understanding.
“Y/N… did you really mean that?” Ni-ki’s voice cuts through the thick tension, pulling your attention away from Jungwon. You turn to him, barely registering the weight of his question. Your mind is still foggy, reeling from everything.
“You think we can walk with the dead?” Ni-ki presses, his gaze unwavering.
“I—I don’t know.” The words feel hollow in your mouth, the uncertainty hanging in the air like a guillotine. Your eyes drop to the ground, unable to meet his stare. “I’m sorry, I just—I always say shit, but half the time, I don’t even know if it’ll work.”
A beat of silence. Then, you swallow hard, forcing yourself to push through the self-doubt. “But… I have seen them do it. They blend in with just a mask over their heads. It can work.”
“But once they get inside the walls, it’s going to be chaos. It’ll be dark. We’ll probably lose sight of one another. You won’t even know if the zombie in front of you is actually dead or one of them.”
“Wait. Once they get inside?” Heeseung’s voice is sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade. His eyes narrow, scanning your face. “You’re saying we let them in?”
Ni-ki exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if trying to process it all.
You inhale deeply, forcing yourself to meet their gazes. “You and I both know the barricades won’t last,” you say, steadying your voice. “Against a normal horde, maybe. But they will be walking among them. Herding them. Pushing them against the gates. Even if they can’t break through the main entrance, they’ll find another way in.”
The unspoken horror settles over the group and you see the fear flicker across their faces.
“But if we leave the gate open,” you continue, your voice quieter now, more deliberate, “they’ll walk in on their own. And we can blend right in.”
“Okay, but then what?” Jake asks, his voice cautious, calculating. “What do we do after that?”
“We take them out.” You don’t hesitate this time. You don’t waver. You meet his gaze head-on. “From within.”
A thick silence follows your words. You can feel it—the doubt, the fear, the pure insanity of what you’re proposing.
“Fight?” Sunghoon is the first to break the silence, his voice incredulous. “Surrounded by the dead? You must be insane.” He lets out a bitter scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “The moment we make a single sound that doesn’t match the dead, we’re finished. You know that.”
You exhale, willing yourself to stay patient. “No,” you say firmly. “Not fight. Just—sneak up on them. Get close. A small cut, enough to draw blood. That’s all we need. The scent will do the rest.”
They stare at you.
Realisation dawns.
It’s not about fighting. It’s not about going up against them in a losing battle. It’s about turning their own strategy against them. The horde is their weapon. But it can be yours too.
Heeseung’s throat bobs as he swallows. “You mean…” His voice trails off, understanding sinking in.
You nod. “We let the horde do it’s job.”
The plan is reckless. Insane. Dangerous. But it’s the only shot you have.
And if you’re being honest—it’s a solid plan. But you’re not sure if it’s a plan you’re proud to have come up with. You should be. A plan like this—calculated, ruthless, effective—should bring you some sense of relief. Some assurance that you can outthink them, that you can survive this.
It makes sense. It’s logical. It’s exactly the kind of plan The Future would execute without hesitation if they had known what was coming for them. And that’s what unsettles you the most.
Jungwon hasn’t spoken. He’s been listening, watching, absorbing every word you’ve said. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his gaze sharp and searching, as if trying to pick apart what’s going on inside your head.
You’re dragged back to your conversation with Jay on the rooftop. The way he told you—so plainly, so matter-of-factly—that Jungwon relies on you more than he lets on. That you bring him comfort in ways you never realised.
Then your mind goes back further. To the conversation with Jungwon yesterday. The way he told you that he felt a sense of reprieve when you came along. That you were his moral compass.
The weight of that knowledge settles in your chest, and then, just as quickly, it twists into guilt. It crashes over you like a tsunami.
You wonder if he still feels that way about you.
“Sounds like a plan.” Jay’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, slicing through the tension that had been suffocating the group. Everyone turns to him, eyes wide, like he’s just said something insane.
You’re staring at him too.
“Why are y’all looking at me like that? I’m not the one that came up with this insanity.” His lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk, but the humour doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Then, as if on cue, they all turn to you. Then back to Jay as he continues, “But it’s a plan that could work,”
“Of course you think that,” Jake snaps, his frustration bubbling over. “You’re always about killing people. I mean, look what got us into this shit in the first place.”
The words hang heavy in the air, and you know he doesn’t mean it—not fully. It’s the fear talking. The frustration. The sheer helplessness of the situation that’s clouding his judgement. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
For a moment, you expect Jay to fight back. To argue. To defend himself.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he giggles. It’s a quiet, breathy thing at first—then it morphs into something sharper, something bitter, something unhinged. And it unnerves you.
“You’re right,” Jay says, still grinning, his voice eerily calm. “If I could go back to that night when I went after him, I’d have made sure I watched him die before I left.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then, you feel it—the weight of it pressing down on everyone’s shoulders. No one dares to speak, as if acknowledging it would make them sinners.
And the worst part?
You had said something along those lines to Jay, back at the field. You told him if you were in his shoes, you’d have done worse. But back then it was a figure of speech, a way to make a point. You hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t truly placed yourself in his shoes, in the heat of that moment.
But now?
Now, you know.
You would have done the same.
And hearing Jay say that—hearing him put words to the rage, to the vengeance clawing its way up your throat—it brings you a twisted sense of relief. A reassurance that you’re not the only person losing yourself in this fucked-up world.
And maybe that’s why you don’t flinch. Maybe that’s why, instead of recoiling from his words, you find yourself gripping onto them like an anchor, like something grounding you in the mess of it all.
Sunoo clears his throat, shifting awkwardly, his fingers tightening around the pistol he’d confiscated from the woman. “Alright, well. That’s… dark.” He tries to break the tension with forced levity, but no one laughs.
No one even breathes.
Jake rubs his face with both hands before exhaling sharply, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts, like if he could just reset for a second, maybe this whole situation would make more sense. Ni-ki shifts uncomfortably beside him, his fingers twitching at his sides. His gaze flickers toward Jungwon, waiting—hoping—for him to say something. Anything.
But Jungwon is quiet.
He’s still watching you, his expression unreadable. There’s no anger in his eyes, no judgement, not even disappointment. Just thought.
And that’s almost worse.
Because you know that look. It’s the same one he gets when he’s met with an epiphany. When something suddenly clicks into place in his mind, when a realisation takes hold and refuses to let go.
He’s thinking.
Not just about the plan. Not just about them.
He’s trying to make sense of you. Trying to piece together something about you that he hadn’t considered before—
No.
Something about himself. Something about his own moral dilemma. Something he’s been trying to lock away, bury deep beneath all the responsibilities, all the weight on his shoulders.
Jungwon blinks once, his gaze hardening, focus snapping back to the present.
“If we’re doing this, we can’t leave any room for error.” Jungwon’s voice slices through the silence, steady but weighted. It’s the first thing he’s said in minutes, and yet it carries the kind of finality that makes your stomach twist.
He’s still looking at you, but it’s different now. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time—not just as another survivor, not just as someone he needs to protect, but as something else. Something more dangerous.
Something like him.
And for the first time, you see it too.
You’ve cracked something in him. You’ve forced him to acknowledge something he hadn’t wanted to. You’ve opened Pandora’s box.
He knows it. You know it.
But neither of you say it.
“We can’t leave any room for error,” Jungwon repeats, his voice firm, sharp with an edge that slices through the tension like a blade. “We do this clean. Precise. No heroics. No last-minute changes. We stick to the plan, and we survive.”
The shift is immediate. The air changes. Everyone straightens, pulling themselves together, waiting for instruction. No one argues. Not even Sunghoon, who had been the first to call you insane. Because there’s no alternative. No second option. It’s this, or death.
Jungwon’s eyes sweep across the group, calculating, weighing every person’s strengths and weaknesses in the space of a single breath. “We’ll move in groups. When the dead come through, we stay in pairs. No one moves alone. We cover for each other, watch each other’s backs.”
His gaze lands on Jay. “You’re still injured. One wrong move and your stitches will come apart. Not to mention you have the biggest target on your back. So, you stay on the roof.”
Jay’s mouth opens, already ready to protest, but Jungwon cuts him off with a look. “We’ll cut the access off, so nothing can get to you. You’ll have the best vantage point—watch for gaps, any tight spots, and make noise to draw attention elsewhere if things start getting too close.”
Jay exhales sharply, jaw tightening, but he nods. He knows better than to argue.
Jungwon turns to the rest of the group, his expression unreadable. “Like Y/N said, it’s going to be dark. We won’t be able to see clearly, but neither will they. Remember, you just need to draw blood. The dead will do the rest.”
Jungwon’s gaze sweeps across them, sharp, calculating. His hands are loose at his sides, but there’s tension in his stance.
“And they don’t know that we’re on to them,” he continues. His voice is even, but there’s something colder beneath it now—something sharp-edged and deliberate. “We use that to our advantage. Move slow, stay quiet. Don’t rush. If you panic, you die.”
The words settle in like a final nail sealing a coffin.
A heavy silence settles over the group, thick and oppressive, pressing into your lungs like a vice. The weight of the plan is suffocating in its reality. The risk, the blood that will spill before the night is over.
This is it.
There’s no turning back. No room for hesitation. No time to process the sheer insanity of what you’re about to do. Your hands feel too light, your heartbeat too loud, hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.
You picture the bodies—your people, their people, the dead in between—limbs tangled, faces unrecognisable beneath the blood and decay.
What if you fail? What if you hesitate at the wrong moment? What if someone doesn’t make it? What if you don’t make it? Would it matter? Would it change anything? Would the world even notice if one more person disappeared?
You inhale sharply, trying to ground yourself, but the air feels thin, slipping through your fingers like sand. You don’t realise you’re gripping the hem of your jacket too tightly until your knuckles ache.
Move. Breathe. Don’t think.
Because thinking means fear, and fear means weakness, and weakness means death.
Your mind spirals again. It’s been doing that a lot—a relentless, asphyxiating current dragging you under. And just as it’s about to bury you, a palm presses against the small of your back. Warm. Grounding. Your breath hitches at the unexpected touch.
"Y/N, let’s talk."
Jungwon’s voice is quiet but firm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you.
He doesn’t wait for a response, simply leading you away, up to the rooftop, where the two of you are left standing under the weight of everything unsaid. You face him, but suddenly, all the words you’ve been rehearsing, all the explanations and apologies you’ve run through in your head over and over, disappear. The moment you look at him—at the quiet intensity in his gaze, the weight in his shoulders—you’re speechless.
Jungwon opens his mouth first. "I—"
But you don’t let him finish. The words burst out of you before you can stop them, raw and desperate. "I’m sorry." Your voice wavers, thick with emotion. "I’m sorry I left you. I know now that I shouldn’t have. God, I was so stupid."
The words come faster now, tumbling over themselves. "I know you said before that you don’t hate me, but you must hate me now—after everything. After I left you. I left you to die." Your breath shudders, a sob catching in your throat. The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, burning hot against your skin. "I’m so sorry, Jungwon. I—"
He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if exasperated. "God, you never let me speak, do you?"
You blink through your tears, caught off guard. "What?"
Jungwon watches you for a moment before his expression softens, something almost amused ghosting across his face. "I told you before, I don’t hate you." His voice is steady, deliberate. "Nothing in this world will ever make me hate you."
You struggle to believe it, your chest tightening as you shake your head. "But I saw it." Your voice is barely a whisper. "That look on your face, when I suggested this insane of an idea."
You swallow, trying to steady yourself. "I thought I told you I didn’t want you to think. To second-guess what you’ve always believed in just to weigh me in."
Jungwon sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before lowering it again. "Well, it can’t be helped," he murmurs. "You’re someone that makes me think. A lot."
His words make something crack inside you, splintering under the weight of your guilt. "I’m sorry." Your voice is smaller this time. "I’m sorry I brought out the worst in you. All I did was shatter your resolve."
Your gaze drops, unable to bear looking at him any longer. "And them? Have you seen the way they look at me? They look at me like I’m a monster."
Jungwon tilts his head slightly. "No," he counters. "Have you seen the way they look at you?"
His response catches you off guard. You open your mouth to argue, to insist that you’ve seen their fear, their hesitation. But something about his tone makes you stop. He gestures for you to look, to truly look.
And so you do.
Your eyes drift down to the group below.
Fear, dread, terror—it’s all there, woven into their expressions, etched into their postures, marinating in the thin air. It clings to them like a suffocating fog, thick and unrelenting. Your stomach churns at the sight of it.
But then, as you really take them in, you notice something else. You see it in the tight-set jaws, the clenched fists, the flickering light behind their eyes. You see it as clear as day—something beneath the fear, the dread, the sheer, gut-wrenching terror.
Determination.
Resolve.
Hope—
"Hope." Jungwon’s voice cuts through the moment, soft but certain.
The word reverberates through you, lodging itself deep in your chest. He says it as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. As if he sees the moment you realise what you’ve done.
"And you gave that to them."
His words knock the breath from your lungs.
Hope. The very thing you ran from. The thing you tried to abandon. The thing you convinced yourself was a lie, a cruel trick played by the universe.
And yet, here it is. Staring back at you in the eyes of the people you are trying to save.
Jungwon studies your face, watching as the realisation settles into you. Then, almost casually, he asks, "Has anyone told you what division I was in back when we were still in The Future?"
You blink, thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "No," you admit.
He exhales, his gaze flickering to the horizon before meeting yours again. "Tactical Functions."
The words hang heavy in the air between you. You wait for him to elaborate.
"I was one of the people who decided who got to stay and who was expelled. I played a part designing the tactics and strategies The Future used against the communities around them. All hell could break loose, and I would still be prioritised to stay. Because they needed people like me."
Your blood runs cold.
Jungwon’s voice remains even, but there’s something detached in it now. "You can’t bring the worst out of me, Y/N. I’m already him. And every night, I would see their faces in my sleep. In the trees. In the breeze." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What’s worse is the only reason I even suggested we leave in the first place was because the committee brought up the discussion to expel Jay for insubordination."
Your breath hitches. "Jay?"
Jungwon lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah. The man just couldn’t sit still without stirring some kind of shit. And they saw it. Saw how he could be a problem to the system. So, I orchestrated the entire escape. I left those people to reap the consequences of my actions. And I’d only done it because of Jay. If it wasn't for him, I would've sucked it up and continued doing whatever it took for us to survive.”
A weight settles in your chest, heavy and unrelenting.
He turns to you fully now, his eyes unwavering. "So no, I’m not going to sit here and let you talk about yourself like that."
It's a shocking revelation. Your mind reels, trying to reconcile the Jungwon standing before you with the boy who once stood on the watchtower, his voice laced with pure, unfiltered hatred.
You still remember that night vividly—the way his face twisted with something raw and wounded when he first told you about The Future. The way his voice dripped with venom as he spoke of them as something worse than the dead. Back then, you thought it was just anger, just the words of someone who had been wronged, betrayed, and left to fend for himself.
But now, the truth wraps around the two of you in a slow, suffocating chokehold.
He wasn’t just talking about them.
He was talking about himself.
It’s only now that you realise—when he cursed The Future, when he spat their name like it was poison, it wasn’t just about what they had done to others. It was about what they had turned him into. What they had forced him to become.
Jungwon looks at you, waiting for a response. But what can you even say? That it’s not his fault? That he was just doing what he had to do to survive? You already know those words will mean nothing to him.
"I—I didn’t know." Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say.
"Now you do."
Jungwon tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "And knowing what you know, does that change how you see me?"
Your response is immediate. "God, no. Never."
A flicker of something—relief, maybe—passes through his eyes. He nods, as if confirming something to himself.
"Precisely. And that's why you don't have to worry about how I see you.”
A humourless laugh escapes him, but it lacks warmth. "I was crazy to think I could be even a fraction of a good person. Maybe my obsession with holding onto my humanity was just deluded because I had already lost it a long time ago."
His voice drops to something quieter, almost contemplative. "And hearing you and Jay say that? It made me feel… normal. Which, in hindsight, fucking sucks."
A faint, bitter smile tugs at his lips. "But it’s oddly liberating."
All this time, you had convinced yourself that you were a burden to him, that your presence chipped away at his resolve, that you were the thing dragging him into the dark. You thought you were making him worse—forcing him to question himself, to second-guess the beliefs he had once stood so firmly upon.
But standing here, you realise the truth is something entirely different.
You weren’t breaking him.
You were keeping him together.
Jungwon was relying on you in ways you hadn’t even considered—not just for your insight, not just for your ability to challenge him, but for something far more simple. Something far more human.
You made him feel normal.
In a world that demanded ruthlessness, in a life that had forced him to carry responsibilities far heavier than any human being should bear, you were the thing that reminded him he was still just a person. Not just a leader. Not just a tactician. Not just the one keeping them all alive.
Just Jungwon.
And maybe you needed him for the same reasons.
Maybe the two of you had been holding onto each other without even realising it, tethering yourselves to something real in a world that had long since lost its meaning.
Tears spill down your cheeks before your brain even registers them. They come silently, effortlessly, like they belong there—as if your body has been holding onto them, waiting for this moment to finally let go. You don’t wipe them away. You just let them fall, streaking warmth down your cold, dirt-streaked skin.
It’s a bittersweet moment, one that catches you off guard with how deeply it settles into your chest. And you realise, standing here in the quiet, in the wreckage of everything you once thought you believed in—how truly fucked up the two of you are.
But it’s not the kind of fucked up that makes you recoil. It’s the kind that makes you stop and think.
Because if you had truly lost your humanity, would you be standing here now? Would you be looking at Jungwon, voice trembling, hands shaking, with tears running down your face? Would he be standing here, looking at you with something equally raw and conflicted in his expression?
No. You’d be long gone. And they’d all be dead.
But you’re here. You came back. And it’s because you have your humanity that you did.
It’s because Jungwon has his humanity that he’s still here, still standing, still trying. Still fighting to be something more than the sum of his past.
Yes, you’re fucked up. You’d cross lines. You’d do the unimaginable. You’d become a version of yourself you never thought possible if it meant keeping the people you care about alive.
But if that’s what it means to survive in this world, if that’s what it takes to hold onto even the smallest fraction of something real—then maybe it’s not such a bad thing.
Maybe it means you’re still human after all.
And in that sense, you’re fucked up in the most beautiful way the world has left to offer.
Your eyes flicker to his hands, catching the way his fingers twitch at his sides, hesitant, uncertain. He’s deciding whether to reach for you—whether to wipe your tears away or let them fall.
It reminds you of this morning. The way he had extended his hands towards you, offering comfort, only for you to step away. You remember the flicker of hurt in his eyes when it happened
This time, you won’t step away.
Before you can second-guess yourself, you move, reaching out and grabbing his hands. Jungwon flinches at the sudden contact, startled, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers twitch beneath yours, as if caught off guard by your warmth. For a second, he just looks at you, wide-eyed, unreadable, but you don’t let him pull away.
Gently, deliberately, you guide his hand to your face, pressing his palm against your tear-streaked cheek.
His expression shifts. The surprise fades, softening into something else—something quieter, something careful. His thumb brushes against your skin, tentative at first, then firmer, wiping away the tears that refuse to stop falling.
“Y/N…” your name comes out tender. So achingly tender that it makes your throat tighten, your chest ache.
His touch is careful, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid that if he presses too hard, you’ll shatter. But you won’t. Not here, not now. You lean into his palm, closing your eyes for just a moment, letting yourself soak in the warmth, the steadiness of him.
Jungwon exhales, his breath shaky, as though he’s only just realised how much he wanted to touch you. His hands are calloused but warm, grounding, steady. His fingers move instinctively, tracing the curve of your cheek, brushing the dampness away with an intimacy that makes your stomach twist.
Then, without thinking, you move closer.
Your hands leave his, trailing up to his wrists, then his arms, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. Maybe he is. Your breath stutters as you take another step, closing the space between you.
Jungwon freezes, his fingers going still against your cheek. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, waiting, unsure.
So you make the choice for him.
You fall into him.
His arms come up instantly, as if on instinct, wrapping around you the moment your body collides with his. His grip is firm, solid, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. His breath catches against your temple, his body warm and steady as he pulls you in, pressing you close.
And you let him.
You let yourself melt into his embrace, burying your face into the crook of his neck, the scent of him—faint traces of sweat, earth, and something inherently Jungwon—flooding your senses. His heartbeat is strong beneath your palms, his chest rising and falling with each breath, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realised you needed.
His arms tighten around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your back, holding you together as if you might slip away if he lets go.
Neither of you speak. There’s nothing that needs to be said.
This is enough.
This moment, this embrace, this quiet understanding between the two of you.
Jungwon exhales, the tension in his body easing as he presses his forehead against the side of your head. You feel the way his fingers curl slightly against your back, as if anchoring himself to you, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart too.
His breath is warm against your temple, steady and grounding. You can feel the weight of his past pressing between you, the guilt he carries like a second skin, the ghosts of decisions he can never undo.
You wonder if he can feel it—the weight you carry pressed between you, the invisible burdens you’ve never spoken aloud, the guilt of saving yourself when the community building fell, the regret of walking away from him when he needed you most, the haunting thought that maybe, just maybe, you were always destined to be alone.
The ghosts of your past intertwine with his, shadows merging, regrets bleeding into one another. He’s carried his burdens alone for so long, just as you’ve carried yours. And maybe neither of you are saints—maybe you’ve both done unspeakable things, crossed lines that can never be uncrossed.
But here, now, in this moment, none of that matters.
Because, here, now, in this moment, that weight is shared.
And somehow, it feels lighter.
So you stay like this, wrapped up in each other, holding onto something fragile, something unspoken. Neither of you dare to move, as if the slightest shift might shatter whatever this is, whatever red strings of fate have bound you together in this cruel, unforgiving world.
part 4 - blood | masterlist | part 5 - dusk
♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡
notes from nat: this part was supposed to be wayyyyyy longer but i've been nerfed by the block limit (y'all can thank tumblr for that). so what was originally suppose to be 6 parts, i will have to extend into 7 because i doubt i can squeeze everything into one post. from this part onwards, there will be no update schedule. i appreciate your understanding on this as i'm writing on my own free time outside of my 9-5. i'm really sorry for the disappointment because i know how eager some of y'all are to read this and i also want y'all to get these chapters asap!! T.T
Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.
word count: 20k
MASTERLIST
Blood.
The warm, red liquid splatters onto your face, dripping down your neck and soaking into your clothes. For a split second, your mind blanks. You’ve been shot?
You freeze, waiting for the pain to hit, for the sting of a bullet tearing through flesh. But there’s nothing. No sharp ache. No burning sensation.
Not you.
Your gaze shifts downward. The woman in front of you staggers, her breath hitching painfully in her throat. Her wide eyes stare at the man in front of her in shock, unblinking, as blood pours from the gaping wound in her neck. The bullet has lodged itself on the right side, just above her collarbone. Her lips move—trying to form words, trying to breathe—but all that comes out is a gurgled wheeze.
Your heart pounds violently in your chest, the world tilting sideways as you try to make sense of what just happened. You turn your head, slow and deliberate, your body moving on instinct rather than thought.
Jungwon. He’s still crouched near the van, his hands empty. The rifle remains untouched on the ground beside him, exactly where he left it. His eyes meet yours for a brief second, wide with alarm, but it’s not him.
Your gaze shifts forward.
Sunoo. He’s mid-tackle, slamming into the man with the rifle. Smoke curls lazily from the barrel, the sharp scent of gunpowder stinging your nose.
The woman collapses into a heap at your feet, her blood pooling beneath her.
For a moment, everything stands still.
Silent.
Still.
Then—
Chaos.
A heart-wrenching scream cuts through the silence, raw and broken.
“No!” The man in front of you drops to his knees, his voice cracking as he cradles the woman’s body.
It’s a sound you’ll never forget. Pure grief. Devastation.
Your hands tremble, the knife slipping from your fingers and clattering uselessly to the ground. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Your mind races, but your body remains frozen, your legs rooted in place. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin, smell the metallic tang in the air, taste the bitterness on your tongue.
You blink once. Twice.
No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The plan was to scare them off. To protect your people. To survive.
But now there’s a woman lying dead at your feet, and you’re the one who held her hostage. You’re the one who brought her into this.
Would this be how it played out in Jay’s mind every night since it happened—the same nightmare on repeat? The man with the knife. The girl he cared so much for held hostage, and later had her life ripped away from her right in front of him. The choice he made to satisfy his hunger for revenge.
Would you now become the monster in someone else’s story? The monster who leaves nothing but broken people in their wake? The one they obsess over, hunt down, seeking revenge? You’ve seen what grief can do, how it festers and twists until there’s nothing left but hatred and the singular need for retribution.
Your chest tightens painfully, tears pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision. You don’t even realise you’re shaking until you feel the tremor in your legs. Everything feels wrong—so, so wrong.
Movement.
Ni-ki sprints across from the front of the van, no longer bound. He’s quick, his hands working fast to untie the ropes holding Sunghoon, Jake and Heeseung. Jake is already moving, reaching for the med kit, but he falters, his gaze falling on the lifeless body on the ground.
Sunoo is still wrestling the man with the rifle, their grunts and shouts blending into the background noise of your panic. The other two attackers stand frozen, clearly in shock. They don’t move. They don’t reach for their weapons.
Maybe they’re victims too.
Maybe they didn’t want this.
None of you did.
Everything is happening too fast.
Your mind screams at you to move, to react, but your body refuses to obey. You don’t even catch the shift in the man at your feet—the subtle way his grief twists into rage—until it’s too late.
His hand shoots out, grabbing you by the throat.
You gasp, your hands flying to his arm, trying to pry his fingers loose. His grip is like iron, crushing your windpipe, cutting off your air. Black spots dance in your vision as he drags you closer, his bloodshot eyes locking onto yours with pure hatred. His face is twisted, consumed by pain, fury, and vengeance.
“You—” he spits, his voice raw with grief. “You did this. You—”
A gunshot. Sudden. Sharp. Deafening.
The pressure around your neck disappears instantly. The man collapses to the ground, his body crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut, right next to the woman. Blood seeps from the bullet wound in his temple, his expression frozen in an eternal snarl.
Your hands fly to your throat, coughing and gasping for breath as you stumble backwards. The world spins, your lungs burning as you suck in desperate gulps of air.
Jungwon. He’s standing now, rifle in hand, his gaze locked on the lifeless man on the ground. His expression is unreadable—calm, composed—but there’s something dark lurking behind his eyes.
You wipe the blood from your face with trembling hands, your mind struggling to catch up with reality. Everything feels surreal. Disjointed. Like a nightmare you can’t wake up from.
Jungwon steps closer, lowering the rifle. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet. Controlled. “Are you alright?”
You nod, though you’re not sure if it’s true. Your voice won’t come, stuck somewhere in your throat, tangled with the sobs you’re trying to suppress.
You don’t even have time to catch your breath when you hear the scream tear through the air, cutting through the chaos like a knife.
“Y/N, watch out!”
Your head snaps forward, your heart plummeting into your stomach. Sunoo’s down—pinned to the dirt—his hands grappling uselessly as the man he tackled scrambles to his feet, grabbing the fallen rifle.
Sunghoon is already sprinting toward him, but he’s too far. He won’t make it in time. The man grips the rifle tightly, his eyes wild with panic and grief, and before you can even think to move, he spins—locking the crosshairs squarely on you.
The world slows. You see it all in perfect, horrifying detail. His hands trembling as he raises the weapon. His lips pressed into a thin line. The way his chest heaves with shallow, erratic breaths. And the tears. The tears welling up in his eyes, glistening as they fall.
He’s going to do it.
Your feet won’t move. You’re rooted to the ground, frozen by the realisation.
He’s going to kill you.
And you deserve it, don’t you? After what just happened—after the woman died at your hands, after everything that’s led to this moment—maybe this is the inevitable outcome. His finger tightens on the trigger.
You close your eyes. You’re not ready. You’ll never be ready. The thought crashes over you like a wave. This is it.
And then—
The gunshot.
It echoes through the surrounding, deafening, final.
You’re not dead. Slowly, shakily, you open your eyes. Your knees buckle, nearly giving out beneath you at the sight before you.
Jay.
With his pistol in hand, dangling at his side. He must’ve circled around to retrieve it—used the chaos, used you as the distraction. He could’ve taken the shot clean. He could’ve stayed hidden, waited for the right angle, and taken down the guy aiming for you without risking himself.
But he didn’t.
Jay is standing in front of you.
His body sways slightly, his stance unsteady, but he holds firm. There’s blood—so much blood—it seeps through his shirt, dark and spreading fast, soaking the fabric and dripping down his side. So much blood. It stains the hem of his jacket and clings to his skin like oil, like ink.
You blink, unable to process what you’re seeing, unwilling to believe it.
Jay took a bullet for you.
The bullet hit him in the side, just below his ribs—aimed for him but meant for you. If he hadn’t taken it, it would’ve hit you square in the heart.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Then he drops to his knees.
“No. No, no, no.” The words tumble from your lips as you rush to his side, your hands shaking as you reach out to steady him. “Jay, why—why would you—”
He lets out a sharp breath, cutting you off. His usual glare is gone, replaced with something softer. Weaker. Human.
“Couldn’t let you die,” he says, his voice strained but steady. “Not like that.”
Your chest tightens painfully, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “You—stupid—”
“Yeah,” he interrupts, managing a weak chuckle. “I’ve heard that before.”
Ahead of you, Sunghoon reaches Sunoo, pulling him to his feet. The shooter is on his knees, his hands raised in surrender, his rifle now in the hands of Ni-ki.
But none of that matters right now. All you can see is Jay. All you can think about is the blood on your hands—his blood—and how he took that bullet for you.
“We need to get him back to the van,” Jake’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind, calm but urgent. He kneels beside you, his gaze locking onto Jay’s. “You’ll be alright. Just hold on.”
Jay’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Didn’t… think you cared.”
Jake’s jaw clenches. “Shut up.”
Heeseung and Sunghoon sprint over, their footsteps pounding against the dirt. “We’ve got him,” Heeseung says, already lifting Jay’s arm over his shoulder.
Jake rushes forward with the med kit, his face pale. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
You stay by Jay’s side, your hands hovering uselessly. Why did he do it? Why would he risk everything for you?
As they lift him, Jay’s gaze meets yours again, his eyes slightly glassy. “Don’t…,” he murmurs, barely audible.
“What?” you lean in closer, holding your ear close to his lips but he fails to conjure enough energy to speak.
Guilt. Fear. Regret. It all coils inside you, twisting and knotting until it takes shape—rage.
White-hot, blinding rage.
You barely register your own movements as you lunge forward, your hand closing around Jay’s pistol lying in a pool of his own blood. The metal feels cold against your skin, slick with crimson that seeps between your fingers. It makes you sick, but not enough to stop you. Not enough to drown out the fury coursing through your veins.
Your legs move on their own, shaky but determined, carrying you over the lifeless bodies sprawled across the dirt. The crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot echoes in your ears, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You don’t falter. Not when you reach him—the one who pulled the trigger.
He’s on his knees, trembling, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief. His hands are raised in a futile plea for mercy, but you’ve got none to give. Not now. Not after Jay.
The gun feels heavier in your hand than it should, weighted down by blood and grief. You raise it slowly, deliberately, your aim locking onto his forehead. He flinches, his lips trembling as if to beg, but you don’t hear his words. You don’t care.
Your finger curls around the trigger. But just as you’re about to squeeze, a deafening gunshot shatters the air.
Your body jolts, your eyes snapping wide as the man before you crumples to the ground, blood pooling from a clean shot through his skull. You freeze, the gun still raised, your breathing ragged as you process what just happened.
Slowly, you turn.
Jungwon stands a few feet behind you, the rifle pressed firmly against his shoulder, barrel still smoking. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—dark and piercing—say everything he doesn’t. His hands are steady, his grip unwavering. There’s no hesitation in him. No regret.
He lowers the rifle slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. The silence between you is deafening, save for the fading echo of the gunshot ringing in your ears.
You drop the pistol, the weight of it suddenly too much to bear. It hits the ground with a dull thud, splattering crimson droplets across the dirt and all over your boots. Your arms fall limply to your sides, trembling as the adrenaline starts to wear off.
Jungwon steps closer, each footfall deliberate, cautious. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet but firm. “You don’t need to carry that weight.”
His words linger in the air, but they don’t sink in—not yet. Your gaze drifts back to the lifeless bodies, to Jay lying still in the back of the van, blood staining the carpet beneath him.
You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper. “He saved me.”
Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his gaze flickering to Jay before settling back on you. “I know.”
You close your eyes briefly, guilt gnawing at your insides, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “I was going to kill him.”
“I know that too.”
You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. “And you did it for me.”
Jungwon exhales softly, his voice steady. “No. I did it for me.”
The weight of his words sinks in, pressing down on your chest. There’s no solace in them, no comfort. What did he mean? He did it for himself?
The echo of the gunshot lingers in the air, a haunting reminder of what just happened. But it doesn’t linger alone for long. The groans begin—a low, guttural sound that rises from the treeline like a warning bell.
The dead are coming.
Jungwon hears it too. His head snaps toward the trees, his hand tightening around the rifle. "We need to go," he says, voice clipped and urgent.
You nod numbly, forcing your legs to move. You turn back towards the van, your steps unsteady, mind racing to catch up with the chaos around you. Sunghoon is already at the van, throwing the back doors open. Jake is inside, frantically working with Heeseung and Sunoo to keep pressure on Jay’s wound, their hands slick with blood. Jay groans, shifting weakly, his eyes fluttering open for a brief second before closing again.
"Let’s go!" Ni-ki quickly pours however much gas he can from the canister into the fuel tank, packs up whatever's left and jumps into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition. The engine sputters to life, the familiar rumble somehow grounding you in reality. You climb into the van, pulling the door shut behind you.
The van rumbles down the cracked road, each bump jostling Jay in the back as Jake works tirelessly to slow the bleeding. The tension is suffocating, thick and heavy in the air. The only sounds inside are laboured breaths, the low hum of the engine, and the faint groans of the dead growing more distant.
Then—footsteps. Rapid. Desperate.
You glance out the back window and see them—the two remaining men from the other group. It was so chaotic that you don’t even remember seeing them around the area. Maybe they hid in fear. Doesn't matter. Because they're running now, stumbling over roots and rocks, trying to keep up with the van. They’ve ditched their weapons. They’re unarmed, vulnerable. And terrified.
One of them shouts, his voice hoarse. "Wait! Please! Don’t leave us!"
You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. Your mind flashes back to the chaos moments earlier—the gunfire, the blood, the woman collapsing at your feet. These two men had stood by, not pulling the trigger but not stopping it either. Complicit of your actions.
"Jungwon," you whisper, your gaze flicking to him. He’s sitting in the front passenger seat, his rifle resting on his lap. His eyes are hard, his jaw set. He doesn’t look back at you.
Behind the van, the men stumble again. One of them falls to his knees, chest heaving, before scrambling back to his feet. "We’re sorry!" the other shouts, his voice cracking. "We didn’t want it to go this far! Please, we just want to live!"
The van lurches forward, and you feel the weight of their desperation pressing down on your chest.
"They’re unarmed," you say quietly, though you’re not sure if it’s a statement or an excuse. "They don’t have anything left."
Jungwon finally speaks, his voice low and steady. "Neither did we. Didn’t stop them from coming after us."
"They’re running," you counter. "Not fighting."
"They’re running because they lost," Jungwon says coldly, his gaze locked on the road ahead. "If we stop, they’ll turn on us the second they get the chance."
In the rearview mirror, you catch Ni-ki’s expression—stoic, but his clenched jaw betrays his unease. Jake doesn’t look up from Jay, focused on keeping him alive, while Sunghoon grips the other rifle tighter, his knuckles white.
The men’s voices grow louder, more desperate. "We’ll do anything!" one of them screams. "We’ll work for you—protect you! Please, just don’t leave us here!"
You can feel the eyes of the group on you, waiting for your reaction. It’s suffocating.
And then, one of the men stumbles again, falling hard to the ground. He stays there this time, his hands pressed to his knees as he gasps for air. The other one slows down, grabbing his friend’s arm, pulling him up.
"Y/N." It’s Jungwon’s voice, cutting through your thoughts like a blade. "We don’t have time for this."
Your gaze flicks to him. His eyes meet yours—steady, unwavering. But there’s something else in them. Something more. Regret? Sadness? You can’t tell.
"They don’t have a weapon," you say again, quieter this time. "They’re not a threat."
Jungwon exhales sharply. "They were part of the group that almost killed you. That shot Jay. That held the rest of them hostage."
"That woman—" you start, but the words catch in your throat. That woman begged for her life. She was just as scared as they are now. And you stood there. You let her die.
Your heart twists painfully in your chest.
Sunghoon, sitting in the corner with his arms hanging over his knees, finally speaks. His voice is softer than usual. "We can’t save everyone."
It hits you like a punch to the gut. He’s right. But that doesn’t make it any easier.
Jungwon nods once, his expression hardening again. "Keep driving," he says to Ni-ki. The latter hesitates for a moment, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. Then he presses his foot on the accelerator, and the van picks up speed.
"No!" the man screams behind you, his voice breaking. "Please! We don’t want to die!"
You can’t look away as they fade into the distance. One of them collapses again, clutching his chest as he gasps for air. The other tries to pull him up, but they’re too slow. Too weak.
And then, the groans return. The dead have caught their scent.
They’re going to die.
Your chest feels like it’s being crushed. You press your hand against the window, watching as the two men disappear from sight. Jungwon doesn’t say anything. Neither does anyone else.
You lean back against the van, the weight of what just happened settles over you, suffocating and inescapable.
They begged for mercy but you left them anyway. This shouldn’t surprise you. It’s the right call, after all. And if you’d been alone, you know you’d have done the same thing. Survival over sympathy—that’s the rule you’ve lived by since the community building fell. You don’t waste time mourning strangers.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You’re not alone anymore.
And as the van jolts over the uneven road, the weight of that difference presses heavily on your chest. Jay’s words from earlier echo in your mind, cutting through the silence like a knife:
The whole point of this group—the way Jungwon leads us—is to make sure we don’t become the monsters we ran away from.
It hits you then, the realisation settling like a stone in your stomach. Maybe a part of you wanted to protect something for them. To preserve that fragile thread of humanity they’ve managed to hold onto in this fucked up world.
But all you did was shatter it. Leaving behind the cold hard truth of survival.
You see it in their faces now. The way Sunoo curls in on himself, as if he’s trying to disappear. The way Sunghoon’s jaw clenches tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. The way Jake’s hands tremble ever so slightly as he presses another bandage to Jay’s side. The way Heeseung is wiping away the sweat forming on Jay’s forehead, almost absentmindely. Even Ni-ki, who’s been quiet since you left that village, looks lost in thought, his grip on the wheel a little too tight.
And then there’s Jungwon.
He’s always been the calm in the storm. The one who makes the hard decisions so no one else has to carry that weight. But right now, he looks as hollow as you feel. He’s sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, his gaze locked on the road ahead. His rifle rests across his lap, but his hands aren’t on it. They’re clenched into fists, pressed tightly against his thighs, like he’s carrying something far too heavy for one person to bear.
You glance down at your hands, noticing the faint red stains on your palms. Blood of all that lost and almost lost their lives. You wipe them on your jeans, but the stain lingers in your mind.
If you’d run into this group back at that auto shop—if they were the people they are now: hardened, desperate, with the blood of three strangers on their hands—they wouldn’t have kept you alive.
They wouldn’t have let you speak.
They wouldn’t have given you a chance to prove your worth.
It would’ve been a cold, practical choice. Eliminate the threat before it had the chance to grow. And you wouldn’t have blamed them.
But now? You wonder if they’re blaming you. Blaming you for the decision to leave those two men behind. For the way things spiralled.
The woman’s face flashes in your mind. Her wide, terrified eyes. The blood pooling around her body. “We’ve crossed a line,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the hum of the van’s engine. Jungwon’s head tilts slightly, but he doesn’t look at you.
No one argues. No one tries to convince you otherwise.
Because they all know it’s true.
Sunoo finally speaks, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “We’ve crossed plenty of lines before.”
“Not like this,” you murmur, your words settling heavily between you all.
Ni-ki shifts in the driver’s seat, breaking the silence. “What do we do now?”
No one answers. Because none of you know. Not even Jungwon. And you can’t help but wonder if this is the beginning of the end. Not for the world—it ended a long time ago.
But for this group. For the fragile hope that’s kept them all going.
You lean your head back against the window, eyes drifting shut.
You’ve crossed a line. And you know you’re going to keep crossing lines, one after another, until there’s no point of return.
Ironically, that’s the one thing you’ve been trying so desperately to hold onto—your sanity, your humanity.
And now you’re afraid. Afriad of how the weight of their survival—the choices you’ll have to make, the risks you’ll have to take—is going to change you.
You’ve spent so long fighting to hold onto the parts of yourself that still feel human. That separates you from the dead that damned the earth.
Your boundaries, your morals, the thin, fragile line between surviving and losing who you are. You told yourself that as long as you had those things—those pieces of yourself—you wouldn’t become just another product of this world’s cruelty.
But now, you can feel that line blurring.
Whatever you said to Jay back in that field, about how wanting justice or revenge makes you human—you’re not so sure if you believe that anymore.
Because protecting them might mean crossing lines you swore you never would. It might mean compromising the very things that make you you.
And isn’t that how it starts?
One compromise. One choice made out of desperation. One decision that feels necessary in the moment.
Then another.
And another.
Until one day, you look at yourself and don’t recognise the person staring back. Until you realise you’re no different from the people you swore you’d never become.
And that’s what terrifies you.
Not them.
But the person you might become for them.
“Ni-ki pull over. We’ll stop here for today.” Jungwon speaks, the first words uttered from any of you in the past hour and a half or so. The sun is still out, early afternoon by what you can tell.
Ni-ki’s hands tighten on the steering wheel as he glances in the rear-view mirror. “We’ve still got a few hours of sunlight. We can keep going. We’ll reach the rest stop by dusk,” he says, confusion lacing his voice. But despite his words, he slows the van and pulls it to the side of the cracked road.
“We’ll stop here for today,” Jungwon repeats softly, his gaze fixed ahead. His tone leaves no room for argument.
The van grinds to a halt with a jolt, the engine ticking as it cools in the quiet. For a moment, no one moves.
“I can hear your stomach growling,” Jungwon says, glancing at Ni-ki with a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s take a short break. Eat something before we move on, yeah?”
It’s a lie. You all know it. His voice lacks its usual firmness, and there’s no mistaking the heaviness in the air. No one argues, though. There’s a quiet understanding that Jungwon needs space, and this cramped van isn’t offering him any. So, without a word, everyone begins moving, stretching out stiff limbs and gathering what little supplies remain to set up camp by the roadside.
Jungwon heads straight for the edge of the road, lowering himself onto the ground with a weary sigh. He pulls his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around them as he stares into the distance. The way he sits—hunched, small—makes your chest ache. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and for once, you can’t blame him. He had to pull the trigger today. Twice. On strangers who, by all rights, had it coming. But that doesn’t make it any easier. Killing people, even in self-defence, leaves a mark. One that never quite fades.
You take a hesitant step toward him, considering whether to offer him someone to talk to. But before you can get far, Heeseung catches your arm, shaking his head. His gaze is soft but firm.
“Let him be,” Heeseung murmurs. “He needs time.”
You nod, pulling back, though the guilt lingers in your chest. Jungwon shouldn’t have to bear this alone. None of you should.
Behind you, Sunoo’s voice breaks the tense silence. “Seriously? This is all we’ve got left?” His frustration is palpable as he crouches by the van, rummaging through the supply bag. “I swear we had five extra cans of beans last night.”
You tear your gaze away from Jungwon, forcing yourself to focus on the immediate problem. Food. Or rather, the lack of it. You walk over to where Ni-ki and Sunoo are crouched, the bag of supplies between them. The way they sift through it—careful, precise—makes the meagre contents all the more depressing.
“Are we running low?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intend.
“Yeah.” Sunoo’s lips twist into a grimace. “Those bastards—sorry, I mean, those men from earlier—they ate some of our food while we were waiting for you to get back.”
Even in the apocalypse, it seems disrespecting the dead doesn’t sit well.
You peer into the bag, taking stock. Two dented cans of baked beans. Five energy bars. One sad little sachet of instant coffee. And a leftover packet of ramen seasoning. It’s pitiful. Barely enough to sustain eight people. And Jay needs more than this. He needs proper food. Protein. Calories to help his body recover.
Your gaze shifts to the van. Jay is still lying flat on his back, propped up by makeshift bedding. His chest rises and falls slowly, his bandages soaked through with dried blood. His eyes are closed, but the furrow in his brow betrays the pain he’s in.
“We’re not going to make it far on this,” you say, glancing at Heeseung. “Not with Jay in that state.”
Heeseung sighs, running a hand through his hair. His fingers snag on the tangles, and he winces, but he doesn’t stop. “I know. We’ll reach the rest stop soon, hopefully they left something for us there.”
“Soon isn’t good enough.” Jake crouches down, picking up one of the cans, it looks almost too light in his hands. “Jay’s barely hanging on.”
Sunghoon nods in agreement. “And Ni-ki’s right. We could’ve kept going. We should’ve kept going.”
“We can’t push too hard,” Heeseung counters gently. “Jungwon…” His gaze flickers toward the figure still sitting at the roadside. “He’s trying to keep it together, but he’s hanging by a thread.”
You follow his gaze, watching Jungwon’s silhouette against the pale afternoon sky. He hasn’t moved from his spot. He sits so still, like a statue carved from grief and exhaustion.
“What do we do?” you ask quietly.
Heeseung exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “We give him a moment. And then we keep moving. We don’t have a choice.”
The words sit heavy in the air. You know he’s right. There’s no time to stop, no time to rest—not really. The dead don’t wait. And neither does the world that’s out to kill you.
You glance at Jay again. His lips are pale, his skin clammy. He shifts slightly, letting out a soft groan of pain.
“We’ll get him through this,” Heeseung says, his voice firm with quiet determination. “We’ve made it this far. We’re not losing anyone else.”
His words aren’t loud, but they don’t need to be. They carry weight, grounding everyone in a way that feels almost tangible. You watch as the effect of his reassurance ripples through the group, see how the flicker of hope reignites in their faces, how determination replaces the exhaustion etched into their features.
Your respect for Heeseung grows.
He isn’t trying to be the leader, isn’t trying to take Jungwon’s place, but his presence is undeniable. He’s become the steady force they need right now, the glue holding them together when everything feels like it’s about to fall apart.
And in that moment, you realise something you hadn’t before: maybe the strength of this group doesn’t rest on just one person. Maybe it’s not just Jungwon who holds them together.
It’s all of them.
All of them, picking up the pieces when one of them falters, stepping in without hesitation when someone needs support. Even if it means carrying more weight than they’re used to, they do it. Without complaint. Without hesitation.
And you can’t help but wonder if Jungwon knows.
Knows how much they lean on each other when he can’t carry the weight himself. Knows how much his own silence and retreat weigh on the group. Knows how they’re quietly filling the gaps he’s leaving behind, steadying themselves and each other without blame or resentment.
You wonder if he realises that even though he leads, it’s not his burden alone. It never was. It’s all of theirs, shared in a way that keeps them moving forward—even when it feels impossible.
And you want to believe him. Believe that you’ll get through this. But as you look at the dwindling supplies and the fading light of day, a gnawing doubt takes root in your chest.
You push yourself to your feet, brushing dirt from your hands as you glance around the makeshift camp.
“We can’t just sit here waiting for the rest of the world to collapse around us,” you say, breaking the silence. “I’m going into the forest to hunt. I could bring back some game for all of us.”
Heeseung immediately rises to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”
“No,” you reply quickly. The sharpness in your tone makes him pause. “I’m going alone.”
Heeseung’s brows knit together, concern flickering across his face. “It’s not safe out there. You shouldn’t—”
“I said no,” you cut him off, your gaze locking with his. There’s a finality in your voice that stops him from pressing further. Heeseung knows better than to argue with a woman bleeding her fury. His shoulders slump slightly, and he nods once, reluctantly stepping back.
The group needs Heeseung to rely on at the moment, and having him come along will only plunge them into deeper anxiety.
You know it’s dangerous not having anyone to watch your back. One wrong step or a moment of inattention could end everything. But that also means you don’t have to worry about watching someone else’s back.
And frankly, you’d rather be alone right now. You don’t have the capacity to look out for someone else. You’re mentally disoriented, emotions frayed and teetering on the edge of control. In this state, you’re probably more dangerous than the dead if someone presses the wrong buttons.
Human beings, right? How weak they are. Easily impressionable, quick to trust the wrong person, to follow blindly. Stupid, with an unmatched talent for self-destruction. They build, only to tear themselves apart. They cling to fragile hopes and ideals that crumble at the first sign of adversity.
It’s baffling how you and these people even made it through the initial chaos of the outbreak that rattled the world.
Without another word, you head toward the van. The air feels heavier with each step, your thoughts churning in your mind as you approach the vehicle. You reach the foot of the van, reaching down to grab your bag and Jay’s bow, when a familiar voice cuts through the silence.
“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”
You freeze, your hand still on the strap of your bag. Slowly, you turn to see Jay sitting upright in the van, his eyes half-lidded but sharp, piercing through the haze of pain he’s in.
Your heart skips a beat. He knows.
“What makes you say that?” you ask, your voice quieter now.
Jay’s lips twitch into a faint, humourless smile. “Because I was going to. Back then… when I lost her.” His gaze drops to his lap, his fingers picking at the edge of the blanket covering his legs. “The pain was so unbearable that I didn’t think I could handle losing anyone else. I just wanted to be alone with her ghost.”
Your chest tightens at his words. There’s so much grief buried in his voice, a sadness so deep that it feels like it could swallow you whole.
“She must’ve really meant a lot to you,” you say.
“The world,” says Jay, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was my world. But then I found new meaning to keep going. To keep these people safe, no matter what it costs me.”
You shake your head, guilt settling in your chest like a stone. “Now, look at the state I’ve got you in,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “You’re not keeping anybody safe like this.”
Jay’s gaze lifts, his eyes locking onto yours with a quiet intensity that takes you by surprise. “I kept you safe, didn’t I?”
The weight of his words crashes over you like a wave. You don’t know what to say. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone worth saving—worth sacrificing for.
“Jay…” you trail off, your throat tight.
“Just promise me,” he says softly, his voice steady despite the pain etched into his features. “Promise me you won’t run off.”
You hesitate, your grip tightening on your bag. Lying to him feels wrong, but you can’t give him false hope. You can’t promise something you know you won’t keep.
So you compromise.
“I’ll make sure you’re alive before I do,” you say, your voice wavering with a bitter edge of truth.
Jay chuckles quietly, though it sounds more like a soft exhale of exhaustion. “That’s the best I’m going to get from you, isn’t it?”
You don’t answer, but your silence speaks volumes.
He leans back against the van’s wall, his gaze drifting to the sky outside. “You’re stronger than you think, you know. But you’re also more stubborn than you realise.”
You laugh softly, a sound that surprises even you. “Takes one to know one.”
Jay smiles faintly, but the warmth of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just… be careful. You’ve got more people who care about you than you think.”
His words settle into your chest, heavy and uncomfortable. You don’t respond. You can’t. The knot in your throat makes it impossible to speak.
Instead, you sling your bag over your shoulder and adjust your weapon, giving Jay one last look before turning away. His eyes follow you, but he doesn’t say anything more. As you walk toward the treeline, your footsteps slow. The implication of Jay’s words hangs over you, intertwining with the growing ache in your chest.
The forest feels heavier than it should. Each step you take presses down on the dry leaves and twigs beneath your boots, the crunch echoing in the otherwise still air. You keep your grip firm on the knife in your hand, eyes scanning your surroundings for any sign of movement. It’s eerily quiet, but that’s how it always is now. The world hasn’t made a sound in a long time—at least not the kind that reassures you that life still exists.
You don’t know how far you’ve walked. Maybe a mile. Maybe more. The camp is long out of sight, and the silence in the trees feels more oppressive with each step. There’s no wind, no birdsong, no rustling of leaves. Just you, your footsteps, and your thoughts.
I kept you safe, didn’t I?
It stings. Not because it’s untrue, but because it is. He did keep you safe. He took a bullet for you, risked his life more times than you can count. And what are you doing in return? Hunting pathetic game and picking berries hanging heavy off bushes.
You shake your head, forcing the thoughts away as you crouch near a patch of moss. There are tracks—faint, but there. Rabbits, maybe. Or something smaller. You run your fingers over the prints, noting their direction. They lead deeper into the forest.
The sun filters through the canopy above, casting long shadows across the forest floor. You keep your steps light, your ears straining for any sound of movement. A rustle in the bushes makes you freeze, your grip tightening on your weapon.
There—just ahead. A rabbit. It’s small, barely enough to feed one person, but it’s something.
You lower yourself into a crouch, holding your breath as you inch closer. Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline sharpening your senses. You’re close enough now. Just a little further—
A snap of a twig under your foot.
The rabbit bolts, disappearing into the undergrowth.
“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, rising to your full height.
Frustration prickles at the edge of your nerves, but you force yourself to stay calm. This isn’t like the hunts you’ve seen on TV. There’s no waiting in a tree stand with a high-powered rifle. No camouflage, no bait. This is raw survival, and more often than not, you walk away empty-handed.
But you can’t go back empty-handed. Not today.
Determined, you keep moving, weaving through the trees with renewed focus. You’ve lost track of time, your eyes scan for more tracks, more signs of life. And then you hear it: the soft, melodic trickle of a stream.
A water source. Not just for you, but the animals. You move toward the sound, careful with your steps, until the trees part to reveal a small clearing. The stream cuts through the earth like a silver ribbon, its water sparkling in the late afternoon light.
And there it is. A deer. It’s young—small, but it’s enough. Enough to feed the group, to keep Jay’s strength up. Enough to make this trip worth it.
It stands on the other side of the stream. Its oblivious as it dips its head to drink from the cool water. The sight is almost magical, like a scene pulled from a world that doesn’t exist anymore.
For a moment, you just watch. You can’t help it. The way the deer moves, the way the light plays on its fur—it feels like something out of a movie. You’re struck by how much has changed, how far removed the world has become from anything remotely beautiful. And yet here it is: beauty, in its purest, most natural form.
But reality quickly pulls you back. This isn’t a movie, and you’re not here to admire the scenery.
You crouch slowly, your movements calculated and silent. You reach for the bow slung over your shoulder, your fingers steady as you pull it into position. The string hums softly as you notch an arrow, your heart beating in sync with the rhythm of the forest. You take aim, your breath slow and controlled, the deer still unaware of your presence.
The release is smooth, and the arrow flies true. A soft thud follows as the arrow finds its mark. The deer stumbles, collapsing to the ground with barely a sound. Relief washes over you, but it’s tempered by a twinge of guilt. It’s fleeting, though.
You move quickly, crossing the stream and kneeling beside the deer. Your hands are steady as you check its pulse, ensuring it passed without much suffering. You offer a silent thanks—not to a god, but to the animal itself—for what it’s giving you, for what it’ll mean to the others.
You do your best to drain the blood and skin the deer by the stream. It’s messy, your hands slick and trembling from the sheer mass of it, and the finished product is far from professional. But who’s complaining about fresh venison meat in the middle of an apocalypse?
When you return to the camp, the pleased expressions on their faces ignite a spark of accomplishment in your chest.
“Holy shit, you actually did it,” Sunoo breathes, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief as he stares at the game you’ve brought back.
Jake wastes no time updating you. “Jay’s been going in and out of consciousness. He’s desperate for something—anything—other than beans.”
You glance at Jungwon, half-expecting some critique or lecture about risks. But he doesn’t say a word. Instead, you catch the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough. Enough to know he’s grateful.
The rest of the group gets to work immediately, dividing the meat. Half of it is chopped into small cubes and added to the bubbling concoction of beans and ramen soup seasoning. The other half is sliced into smaller pieces, skewered onto sticks, and slowly roasted over the flames.
The waiting process is brutal.
The fire crackles, filling the silence as everyone stares at the cooking meat with unwavering focus, as if sheer willpower could make it cook faster. The air is thick with the scent of roasting venison, and stomachs rumble audibly, a cruel reminder of how long it’s been since anyone had a real meal.
Finally, Heeseung gives the go-ahead, and no one hesitates. They dig in with abandon, the first taste of fresh meat in what feels like forever sending a ripple of relief through the group.
Jake carefully scoops some of the broth into a makeshift bowl carved from wood and brings it to Jay in the van. When you catch Jay’s gaze, the look in his eyes says it all.
He’s grateful—not just for the food, but for the fact that you didn’t take off running into the woods.
The next morning—or afternoon, rather—everyone except Jungwon sleeps in, a luxury that feels foreign in this world. You never thought you’d use the phrase “overate” in the middle of an apocalypse, but that’s exactly what happened. With no way to preserve the meat, everyone unanimously agreed to finish it off while it was still good.
Jungwon looks noticeably better—calmer, more grounded—compared to the tense, hollow version of himself from the day before. By the time the camp starts packing up, he’s fully back in his role, directing the group with quiet authority.
Before long, you’re all on the move again, resuming the trip to the rest stop. The exhaustion lingers, but for now, this is a win. And in this world, wins like these are few and far between.
The sun dips low on the horizon by the time you arrive at the bus terminal leading out of the city, signalling that the rest stop is not far now—about another thirty minutes' drive. That is if you can get past the bus terminal without any hiccups.
The terminal looms like a forgotten monument—its once-bustling gates now a graveyard of cars, all frozen in time from when people tried to flee the city. Some doors hang ajar, others sealed shut. Windows cracked, tyres deflated, their drivers long gone—or worse, still inside.
The terminal is a bottleneck, leading into a wide expanse of roads out of Seoul. But it’s a choke point, too—a trap. You know that every car out there is a potential coffin, and every shadow could be hiding something worse. The dead don’t move until they hear or smell something alive. Something warm. Something vulnerable.
Like a van carrying eight passengers. One of which is bleeding out of a hole in his body.
The scent of Jay’s blood is thick in the confined space, metallic and unforgiving. It clings to your skin, your clothes, your thoughts. You glance back at him. He’s still pale, still barely holding on, Jake pressing a bloodied cloth against his side to stem the bleeding. But it won’t be enough. Not if you don’t keep moving.
“The last time I was here, I went on foot,” you murmur quietly to nobody in particular—maybe someone in particular but you try not to make it obvious. Your voice feels too loud in the tense silence. “Even then, it was risky. There are too many cars, too many places for them to hide.”
Jungwon doesn’t look at you. His gaze is fixed ahead, his grip on the rifle tightening with every passing second. “We don’t have that option now.”
No. You don’t.
“Why does this feel so eerie?” Sunoo’s voice breaks the silence, his usual sarcasm stripped down to unease. He leans forward from the back seat, resting his arms on the centre console. His eyes dart around the scene outside, scanning the cars and the deserted terminal. “Like we’re being watched.”
You don’t respond, but you feel it too—that creeping sense that you’ve just walked into something far more dangerous than you anticipated.
“Ni-ki, switch off the headlights,” Jungwon orders quietly. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an edge to it. A tension that pulls tighter with each passing second.
Ni-ki reaches for the switch, cutting the lights. Darkness swallows the road ahead, the only illumination now coming from the fading light of the setting sun. He carefully guides the van up the curb, circling around the edges of the terminal as quietly as possible.
You crane your neck, glancing out the window. Bodies sit slumped in the front seats of cars, their heads tilted at unnatural angles. Their hands still grip steering wheels, as though they never made it out of the city. Some are fully decayed, little more than skeletal remains in tattered clothes. Others… others look almost whole.
Your stomach churns. You’ve seen enough to know the difference.
The van bumps gently as it rolls over debris—discarded suitcases, backpacks, remnants of lives left behind. You catch sight of a baby seat in the back of one of the cars, a blanket still draped over it.
Don’t look too closely.
Don’t think about it.
“There,” Jungwon whispers, pointing to a narrow gap between two cars ahead. It’s barely wide enough for the van to squeeze through. “Go slow. Keep the engine quiet.”
Ni-ki nods, his hands steady on the wheel as he manoeuvres the van through the gap. The tyres crunch softly over gravel and shattered glass.
“Do you think they’re dead?” Sunoo whispers, his voice low and tense. You glance at him. His gaze is locked on a car to your right—a man slumped against the window, his face pressed to the glass. His eyes are closed, his mouth slack. He looks dead. But you’ve seen them wake before.
“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But we shouldn’t stay to find out.”
Jungwon presses his hand against the dashboard, leaning forward to get a better look at the road ahead. His knuckles are white, his expression unreadable. “Keep moving. Slowly.”
The van inches forward, navigating the maze of cars and debris. You press your hand against the door, your fingers twitching near the knife strapped to your leg. Every instinct in your body screams to stay alert, to be ready for anything.
But nothing happens. The van makes it through the terminal without incident. No sudden lurches of movement from the cars, no decayed hands clawing at the windows. Just silence. You exhale slowly, the tension in your chest easing ever so slightly.
Maybe the dead aren’t here after all.
Ni-ki steers the van onto the open road beyond the terminal, the cracked asphalt stretching endlessly ahead. The trees lining the road sway gently in the breeze, their rustling leaves the only sound aside from the low hum of the engine.
“We made it,” Ni-ki breathes out, leaning back in his seat with a relieved sigh. “Thank fuck.”
Even Jungwon’s shoulders relax, his grip on the rifle loosening just a fraction.
But the moment is fleeting.
A wet, rattling cough echoes from the back of the van and everyone’s heads snap toward the sound.
Jay.
He’s laying flat on the carpet, his face pale and slick with sweat. His hand, trembling slightly, presses against his wounded side. But it’s the blood staining his lips that catches your attention—the dark red smear he tries to wipe away before anyone can see.
“Jay?” Jake is the first to move, scrambling to his side. “Hey, look at me.”
Jay coughs again, harder this time, his whole body shaking with the effort. Blood spatters onto his shirt, onto Jake’s hands as he tries to steady him.
“Pull over!” Jake snaps, his voice urgent. “Now!”
Ni-ki doesn’t hesitate, swerving the van to the side of the road and bringing it to a screeching halt. The tyres crunch against the gravel, and the van shudders as it comes to a stop.
Jake lifts the cloth that’s been pressing onto the wound, checking with practised hands. His fingers come away slick with fresh blood. Too much blood.
Your eyes dart to the wound, taking in the angry, swollen edges and the telltale patches of red creeping outward, spidering across his skin. You don’t have to be a doctor to recognise the symptoms of blood poisoning.
“Fuck,” Jake mutters under his breath, grabbing a clean cloth from the med kit. He presses it against Jay’s side, applying pressure. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Jay lets out a weak laugh, his voice strained. “Yeah… figured.”
“Don’t joke about this,” Jake snaps, his usual calm demeanour cracking under the weight of the situation. “You should’ve told me the moment it got worse.”
Jay doesn’t respond. He just leans back against the carpet, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. His gaze flickers to you for a brief moment before closing again, like he’s too exhausted to hold it.
Jungwon is out of the van in seconds, sliding open the side door with a sharp tug. His movements are sharp, precise, but there’s an edge to them—a barely concealed frustration that you can practically feel radiating off him.
His footsteps crunch against the gravel as he paces in front of the vehicle, his hands resting on his hips, fingers digging into his sides. His shoulders are tense, rising and falling with each heavy breath, and his jaw clenches and unclenches in a steady rhythm. You can see it clearly: his mind spiralling through every possible scenario, none of them ending well.
And if you know Jungwon the way you think you do, he’s probably blaming himself. Blaming himself for stopping yesterday. Telling himself that if he hadn’t broken down, if he hadn’t let himself falter for even a moment, they’d have reached the rest stop by now. They’d be safer, better prepared, instead of stuck here with too many variables and not enough solutions.
It’s a vicious cycle. And no matter how many times you tell him it’s not his fault, you know he’ll never believe it.
Because that’s who Jungwon is. The leader who carries the weight of everyone’s survival. The one who always blames himself when things go wrong.
But it’s something you all should’ve seen coming. Considering the conditions and the crude materials Jake had to work with just to stem the bleeding, infection was always a risk—one you all silently hoped wouldn’t happen. But now, staring at the unmistakable signs spreading across his skin, you realise there’s no more denying it.
It also means his countdown has started. Time is slipping away, and with every passing minute, his chances of survival grow thinner.
“What do we do?” Sunoo asks quietly from inside the van. His usual sarcasm is gone, replaced by a cautious uncertainty that makes your chest tighten.
Jake doesn’t lift his head from where he’s crouched beside Jay, his hands pressing down on the makeshift bandage to stem the bleeding. “We need to stop the bleeding,” he says firmly. “But he needs rest. Proper rest.”
“There’s nowhere safe,” Jungwon mutters, still pacing, his eyes darting to the road and back again. “Not out here.”
You watch him carefully, noting the way he keeps flexing his fingers, like he’s trying to ground himself. Then, as if sensing your gaze, he stops abruptly and turns to you. His dark eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of something vulnerable slipping through the cracks of his usual calm exterior.
He’s looking to you for help.
It catches you off guard—this boy, who always seems to have the answers, who leads with quiet confidence and keeps the group together through sheer willpower. And now he’s standing there, staring at you like he’s out of ideas, like he needs you to have the solution he doesn’t.
Your gaze flickers to Jay. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. His skin is deathly pale, and sweat beads along his hairline. He’s slipping, and fast.
Your thoughts flash back to the moment he jumped in front of you, taking the bullet that should’ve been yours. The memory hits you like a punch to the gut. Hell, you don’t even know how you’d handle it if he died because of you.
Your mind races, turning over every possibility, every bit of knowledge you’ve gathered from surviving on your own. And then your eyes land on the bus terminal in the distance.
“Jake, what do you need?” you speak up, your voice steady despite the chaos in your mind.
Jake blinks, startled. “What?”
“What do you need to keep him alive?” you press. “Just name it. Whatever it is, we’ll find it.”
Jake’s brow furrows in thought, his hands still working on Jay’s bandages. “Well, it doesn’t look like it hit any major organs. That’s the only good news. The bullet is still inside, and I can’t wedge it out now without any equipment or at least antiseptic, it’ll only worsen the infection. He’s also lost way too much blood and is starting to burn up. If we don’t get antibiotics into him and stabilise his blood pressure, he’ll go into septic shock.”
“Jake, layman terms, please.” Sunghoon says as he pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated.
Jake sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Basically, if we don’t find the medicine and supplies he needs soon, he’ll die.”
The words hang there, unspoken fears suddenly given form. Silence falls over the group like a heavy blanket, pressing down on all of you harder than ever. The only sounds are Jay’s laboured breaths and the distant rustle of wind through the abandoned cars. You glance around at the others—Jungwon, Heeseung, Sunghoon, Ni-ki, and Sunoo—all of them wearing the same haunted expressions.
“There’s a drug store at the terminal,” you say, your voice breaking the silence. Everyone turns to you, hope flickering in their eyes, fragile but present. “If we can get behind the counters where they keep the prescription meds, we might find antibiotics. Maybe corticosteroids, TXA—whatever Jake needs.”
Jungwon’s gaze sharpens, locking onto you with unwavering focus. “You’ve been there?”
You nod, brushing stray hair from your face. “I passed through. There were supplies. But the locked room at the back? I couldn’t get in without making a lot of noise. I doubt anyone else would’ve been desperate enough to risk it, so there’s a good chance the medicine is still there.”
Jungwon straightens, adjusting the strap of his rifle across his chest. The cracks you saw earlier—the uncertainty, the fear—are gone, buried beneath that steely mask of determination he always wears when the group needs him most.
“We don’t have a choice,” says Jungwon, his tone resolute. “We’ll go. We’ll find what we need.”
“We?” Sunoo’s sceptical voice cuts through the tense air, his eyebrow arching. “Who’s we?”
“Me and Y/N,” Jungwon replies without hesitation. “The rest of you stay here with Jay.” His words leave no room for debate, but Ni-ki shifts uncomfortably, clearly wanting to protest. The severity in Jungwon’s voice, however, stops him in his tracks.
Jake speaks next, his eyes darting between you and Jungwon before ultimately fixing on you. “You can recognise the medicine, right? Make sure you get the antibiotics. Hard, strong ones. If we don’t hit him with the right stuff, it won’t make a difference.”
“I know what to look for,” you assure him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll grab everything we can.”
Jake exhales deeply, but his jaw remains tight. “I would offer to go myself, but if anything happens to him while I’m gone…” He trails off, glancing at Jay, who looks pale and lifeless where he lies.
“We got this,” you promise, your voice unwavering. “You focus on keeping him alive until we get back.”
“In the meantime,” you add, turning to the others, “two of you should head to the rest stop on foot. Scout the area for any signs of trouble. But be careful. If I’m wrong and The Future is still there, at least we won’t be driving straight into their crosshairs.”
Jungwon’s eyes linger on you again, something flickering behind his expression. It’s not just relief—it’s trust. He trusts you. Despite everything that’s happened, despite how little time you’ve spent with the group, he’s relying on you now.
“Yeah, that would be smart,” Heeseung says, stepping forward. “Sunoo and I can handle it. Ni-ki, Sunghoon and Jake should stay here and keep watch.”
“If we’re not back before you two, just leave without us. We’ll meet you halfway.” Heeseung adds, his voice even.
“And if we’re not back before you two, and the rest stop is safe, leave without us,” Jungwon says, his words carrying a weight that, unlike Heeseung, seems to hang in the air. His eyes lift to meet yours for a fleeting second—a silent understanding passing between you. “We’ll catch up.”
You give him a firm nod, mirroring his determination. Neither of you says it aloud, but the message is clear.
Failure isn’t an option.
“Let’s move,” Jungwon says, gripping his rifle tighter.
You and Jungwon move in silence, weaving between abandoned cars and twisted metal barricades. The stench of rot hangs in the air, thick and cloying, as if the dead themselves are watching, waiting for the right moment to lurch forward.
“Stay low,” Jungwon whispers, his voice barely audible over the crunch of gravel beneath your boots.
You nod, gripping your knife tightly as you press yourself against the side of a rusted bus. The terminal doors are just ahead, glass cracked but still intact. You glance at Jungwon, who gestures for you to move forward, his rifle at the ready.
The two of you approach cautiously, your steps light, deliberate. You catch a glimpse of movement inside—a lone zombie shuffling aimlessly near the entrance. Its clothes are tattered, blood smeared across its face, and its eyes… lifeless, yet all too aware of any sound that might bring it to life.
“I’ve got it,” you mouth, stepping forward. One quick jab to the temple and the zombie crumples to the floor, lifeless once more.
Jungwon nods approvingly, motioning for you to follow him inside. The terminal is eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl. Dust clings to every surface, softening the outlines of benches and kiosks that haven’t been touched in what seems like forever. Abandoned bags and scattered belongings lie across the floor like forgotten memories, each one telling a story you’ll never know.
Your eyes settle on a battered duffle bag near the entrance. The fabric is torn in places, and the faded logo suggests it once belonged to someone travelling light, someone who never made it to their destination. You crouch down, brushing off the dust before carefully tipping out its contents—clothes, a water bottle, a crumpled photograph. The remnants of a life reduced to debris.
You shake the bag to make sure it’s empty, then stretch it open to inspect the inside. It’s worn but sturdy. This should be big enough to store the medicine you need.
You make your way toward the drugstore tucked in the corner of the terminal. The moonlight reflects faintly off the sign above it, and the sliding doors are stuck a quarter-open, jammed by an overturned display rack.
Inside, shelves are mostly bare, but you search diligently. Bandages, aspirin, paracetamol—all over-the-counter stuff. Useful, but not what you need.
“Jake said we need antibiotics,” Jungwon reminds you, scanning the shelves. “Strong ones.”
“I know.” You crouch down, rifling through the lower shelves, frustration growing with each passing second. “But they’re not here. They’re probably locked in the backroom.”
Jungwon’s gaze shifts toward the heavy door at the back of the store. It’s secured with a sturdy lock, the kind that won’t budge without serious force.
You try the handle out of instinct, even though you already know it’s pointless. Yet, there’s that stubborn flicker of hope gnawing at you, the same irrational hope that’s kept you going this far. Who knows? Maybe some other stragglers came through, just as desperate as you to save a life, and managed to open it. But alas, it’s locked tight.
“Of course it is,” you mutter, brushing dust off your hands.
“We could try prying it open,” Jungwon suggests, but you both know it’ll take too long—and make too much noise.
“The longer we’re here, the more we’ll draw them in,” you say, casting a wary glance toward the entrance. You’ve already seen a few zombies shuffle past the glass doors, their hollow eyes scanning the streets for movement. They’re not inside yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
Jungwon steps closer to the door, inspecting the lock with a critical eye. His fingers tighten around the rifle slung across his chest.
“I could shoot it,” he offers, his tone calm, measured. “One shot to take the lock out. We grab what we need and get out.”
You hesitate, weighing the risks. The sound will draw them in, no question. But how long would it take to pry the door open? Too long. Far too long.
Jungwon sees the conflict in your eyes and steps into your line of sight, forcing you to look at him. “We don’t have time to think this through,” he says softly. “Jay doesn’t have time.”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut. Jay—lying back at the van, clinging to life.
Time is not on your side.
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Do it.”
Jungwon raises his rifle, aiming directly at the lock. His hands are steady, his breathing controlled. “On my signal, we run in, grab everything we can, and get out. Don’t stop. Don’t second-guess. Just grab and go.”
“Understood.”
You brace yourself as he pulls the trigger. The shot echoes through the terminal, deafening in the stillness. The lock shatters, pieces of metal scattering across the floor. The backroom door swings open, revealing shelves packed with boxes of prescription medication.
But the noise has done its job.
From outside, you hear them—the unmistakable groans of the dead, drawn to the sound like moths to a flame.
“They’re coming,” you whisper.
Jungwon glances over his shoulder, then back at you. “Move. Now.”
You bolt inside, heart pounding as you grab boxes at random—anything that looks remotely useful. Antibiotics. Painkillers. Anti-inflammatory meds. You shove them into the duffle bag with shaking hands, your mind racing.
Behind you, Jungwon is doing the same, his movements quick and efficient. But you can hear the groans getting louder, the shuffling of feet growing closer.
“They’re inside,” Jungwon warns, his voice tight with urgency.
You glance toward the entrance of the store. Shadows flicker across the broken glass as the first zombie pushes its way inside, its dead eyes locking onto you.
“We need to go,” you say, slinging the duffle bag over your head, the straps digging into your shoulders. Your voice is steady, but your pulse thunders in your ears. You can’t stay here any longer. The scent of blood and decay is thick in the air, and every second you linger feels like borrowed time.
Jungwon nods without a word, grabbing one last box before turning toward the door. The corridor is filled with the low, guttural moans of the undead, their decayed bodies pressing forward in a relentless wave. They trip over each other, stumbling through the narrow store entrance, their milky eyes locked on the two of you.
Another shot rings out as Jungwon takes down a zombie clawing its way through the entrance. The recoil barely seems to faze him, but you notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands tighten around the rifle. He’s running out of bullets, and both of you know it.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, glancing back at the growing horde. “We’re trapped.”
Your eyes dart around the store, searching desperately for another way out. There’s no back exit. The front is swarming with rotters. But then—your gaze catches on something above. A hatch in the ceiling, barely noticeable through the dim lighting.
“There!” you shout, pointing.
Jungwon follows your line of sight, spotting the hatch. Without a word, he slings the rifle over his shoulder and moves toward it. “I’ll boost you up,” he says quickly, lacing his fingers together to form a step.
“No,” you say, shaking your head as you glance back at the corridor. More zombies are pushing through, their groans growing louder, more desperate. “You go first. I’m lighter. It'll be easier for you to pull me up.”
Jungwon looks at you, torn. His jaw clenches, his eyes flicking between you and the hatch. “We don’t have time to argue—”
“Exactly!” you snap, your voice cutting through the rising noise. “There’s no time. Quick—go!”
For a moment, he doesn’t move. His expression is hard, conflicted. But then he nods sharply, understanding that there’s no time for stubbornness. He turns and grabs the edge of the shelf beneath the hatch, pulling himself up with a grunt. The wood creaks under his weight, but it holds.
As soon as he’s up, he reaches down, his hand outstretched. “Grab on.”
You don’t hesitate. Throwing the duffle bag behind you, you jump, gripping his wrist tightly as he pulls you up. The muscles in his arm flex with the strain, his face set in determination. But just as you reach the edge of the crawlspace, a hand shoots up.
The rotted hand grabs your ankle, its grip like a vice, fingers digging into your skin. You let out a startled gasp, kicking instinctively, but the zombie holds on tight, pulling with surprising strength.
“No—shit!” you hiss, panic lacing your voice as you scramble to free yourself. The jagged wood around the hole splinters under your weight, cracking with each tug of the zombie’s hand.
“Y/N!” Jungwon’s expression shifting from urgency to pure panic in an instant.
Your body jerks violently, your chest slamming against the rough edges of the hatch. Pain blossoms through your ribs, but you barely register it over the sheer terror coursing through you. You kick wildly, your free leg connecting with something solid—bone, maybe—but it’s not enough to break its grip.
“I’ve got you,” Jungwon says through gritted teeth, his grip on your wrist tightening as he pulls you back. His eyes burn with determination, his muscles straining as he fights to keep you from being dragged into the swarm below.
“Fuck, fuck—” Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears. You twist your body, trying to free your leg, but the zombie’s fingers are locked around your ankle like steel clamps.
More hands start clawing up, fingers reaching, desperate to grab hold of anything living.
Jungwon shifts, bracing his feet against the frame of the hatch for leverage. “Hold on! Don’t let go.”
“I’m trying!” you snap, panic making your voice sharper than intended. But your hands are sweating, your grip slipping, your strength waning. Faster now that the duffle bag is weighing you down.
You feel the zombie’s filthy nails scrape against your skin, digging in deep enough to draw blood. The rancid smell of decay wafts up from below, making your stomach churn.
Then you hear it—the unmistakable growl of another one joining the frenzy. They’re piling up, climbing over each other to get to you.
“Jungwon!” you gasp, desperation clawing at your throat. “They’re going to—”
He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift move, he lets go of one hand holding onto you and reaches for his rifle, swinging it around with practiced precision. He doesn’t hesitate. He aims down through the gap and fires.
The zombie’s head jerks back, a sickening crack echoing through the crawlspace as the bullet finds its mark. The grip on your ankle loosens, and with a final desperate kick, you free yourself.
Jungwon grabs your arm again, hauling you up with a grunt. You collapse onto the platform beside him, gasping for breath, your chest heaving.
“Are you hurt?” Jungwon’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge of urgency to it. His eyes scan you quickly, looking for any signs of a bite.
“I’m fine,” you manage, still catching your breath. “It didn’t get me.”
He nods, stepping closer to you, his hand hovering near your shoulder. “You sure?”
You nod, though your heart feels like it’s about to burst from your chest. “Yeah… yeah.”
But you both know it’s a lie. You’re not okay. Neither of you is. You can still feel the ghost of that grip around your ankle, the way it clung to you like death itself. You meet his gaze, and for a moment, you see the concern etched into his features—the slight crease between his brows, the way his lips press into a thin line. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
“We need to go,” Jungwon says, his voice softer now but still firm. He brushes a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a second too long before he pulls back.
You nod again, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah, let’s go.”
You could’ve died. But even worse—if you hadn’t insisted Jungwon go first, he could have—no, there’s no “could’ve” about it. He would have died. You wouldn’t have had the strength to pull him up if the roles were reversed.
It’s always like this, isn’t it? The small choices. The split-second decisions that separate life from death. The apocalypse doesn’t give you time to reconsider, to take back your mistakes. If it had played out differently, if Jungwon hadn’t made it out of that hatch… you don’t think you’ll ever be able to face them again. Then, Jay would die. And The others wouldn’t survive much longer either.
The thought churns in your stomach, twisting like a knife. You force it down. There’s no room for regret. No time for fear. You’re still here. You’re not dead. Not yet. And you’ll make damn sure it stays that way.
“Y/N.” Jungwon’s voice pulls you from your spiralling thoughts. He’s a few paces ahead, glancing over his shoulder, his expression grim and serious. There’s a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there before, something raw and unspoken.
“Stay close. Please.”
His voice is quieter on that last word—almost a plea. It startles you more than anything else that’s happened so far.
You nod. “Got it.”
He peers over the edge of the roof, scanning the ground below for anything that can cushion your descent. His movements are quick, efficient, but you can see the weight he carries pressing down on his shoulders. He’s not just leading you right now; he’s holding everything together—the group, the plan, your survival—but more so himself.
“There.” Jungwon points to a vending machine tipped against the side of the terminal building. Its display glass is shattered, shards glinting in the fading light, and the machine itself is battered and empty. Still, it looks sturdy enough.
“We can use that to climb down.” says Jungwon.
He takes the lead without hesitation, lowering himself carefully over the edge and testing the machine’s stability before finding a footing on top of it.
Once he’s sure it can hold both your weight, he glances up at you and stretches out a hand.
“Come on.”
You hesitate for half a second. Not because you’re scared, but because something about the sight of him—standing there with his hand outstretched, waiting for you—makes your chest tighten. He doesn’t have to do that. He doesn’t have to look back for you. But he always does.
You slowly ease into him. His grip around your waist is firm, steady as he lands you gently beside him on the machine. And for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that everything will be fine.
However, the moment your feet touches the ground, the sound of distant groans reaches your ears. It’s faint, but growing louder.
Jungwon’s fingers slip into yours without warning, his grip firm but not crushing. It’s instinctive—there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, as though the simple act of interlocking his hand with yours is the most natural thing in the world.
You don’t pull away.
His palm is calloused, but his touch is grounding, like a tether keeping you from spiralling into the chaos around you. The warmth of his hand seeps into your skin, anchoring you to this moment.
The world around you feels like a blur—half-destroyed buildings and rusting cars blending together in the fading light. The distant groans of the undead echo from somewhere behind you, a haunting reminder that danger is never far. But Jungwon’s focus never wavers. His steps are quick but deliberate, each one calculated.
It’s like he knows exactly where to go.
The path ahead seems impossible to see—fog, shadow and debris blocking your view—but Jungwon moves with certainty, his eyes scanning the terrain with a sharpness that only someone used to surviving in this world could possess.
“Watch your step,” he says softly, guiding you around a cluster of jagged rocks and broken glass. His hand tightens slightly around yours as you stumble over a crack in the pavement. His fingers squeeze gently, a silent reassurance.
You glance at him, and for a fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of something rare—something softer beneath the hardened exterior he wears so well. His brows are drawn together in concentration, but his lips press into a line that seems more anxious than confident.
“Do you even know where we’re going?” you ask, your voice hushed.
“We just need to make it past the gate, can’t be that hard,” Jungwon says, his voice steady and composed, but the lack of conviction in his tone is deafening. He doesn’t look back as he speaks, his pace quickening as if he’s trying to outrun the weight of his own words.
It makes your chest ache. Even when he’s unsure, he keeps the facade up—for you, for everyone. To keep you hoping. To give you something to cling to, no matter how thin it might be. But Jungwon knows better than to hold you to meaningless reassurances. He knows you don’t believe it, not really. Yet he says it anyway, maybe out of habit. Maybe because it’s all he knows how to do.
You wonder if he’s afraid. Surely, he must be. Only you’re not sure if that fear is directed towards the dead.
Before you can think too much, Jungwon halts abruptly, the sudden stop jolting you out of your spiralling thoughts. His hand clamps around your wrist as he pulls you forward, weaving through the maze of rusted and abandoned cars, his grip firm, unrelenting. His movements are sharper now, deliberate, and it doesn’t take much to realise he’s actually running from something.
You want to turn back, to see what it is that’s chasing you, but Jungwon doesn’t give you the chance. His arm loops around your waist, and before you know it, he’s hoisting you onto the back of a battered lorry that looks like it’s barely holding itself together. You don’t have time to ask what’s going on before he’s climbing up after you, throwing a filthy, moth-eaten tarp over the both of you, cocooning you in darkness.
“What—” The question barely escapes your lips before his hand presses against your mouth, silencing you. His other arm braces over your body, shielding you.
Then you hear it.
A sound that chills you to your very core. Low, guttural groans, and the unmistakable shuffle of dozens—no, more than dozens—of dragging feet. The dead are close. Too close.
They’re moving past you, the tarp hiding you from their vacant stares, but the proximity makes your breath hitch in your throat. It’s not just one or two. The sound is overwhelming, the groans echoing all around you like a sinister symphony of death. You can feel the vibrations through the lorry’s frame, the weight of their movements too much to ignore.
But it’s not just the horde that sends a chill down your spine. It’s the direction they came from.
The van.
Your mind races, panic clawing at the edges of your thoughts. Did Heeseung and Sunoo make it back to the van? Did the dead catch onto Jay’s blood? Are they— No. You can’t think about that. You can’t let your mind spiral like this. Not now.
Jungwon’s hand shifts slightly, his grip loosening as he removes it from your mouth. You’re on the verge of falling apart, the weight of everything threatening to crush you. But then you feel it—a gentle squeeze around your waist. Reassuring, grounding.
You glance up, meeting Jungwon’s eyes in the dim light filtering through the tarp. His gaze locks onto yours, steady and calm despite the chaos around you. He’s saying something without words, speaking to you through his expression.
They’re okay. I know they are.
The words ring silently in your mind, a fragile lifeline in the sea of doubt. But even as you hold onto that unspoken promise, you know.
Even Jungwon can’t say for sure.
The tension is suffocating, thick enough to choke on as the minutes crawl by at an excruciating pace. Every second drags painfully, your body tense and your breathing shallow, afraid that even the smallest sound will betray your presence. The groans of the undead echo just beyond the tarp, their shuffling feet and guttural rasps terrifyingly close.
You force yourself to take stock of your position, assess how easy it would be for you to get up and run if the situation permits. You’re lying on your side, pressed tightly against Jungwon. His body is turned towards you, his arm cradling your head while his other hand rests firmly on your waist.
You try to shift slightly, attempting to ease the weight off his arm. The last thing you want is to make this uncomfortable for him on top of everything else. But before you can move much further, Jungwon’s grip tightens. His hand presses gently but firmly against the back of your head, pulling you closer to his chest until your cheek is practically resting against his collarbone.
“Stop moving, will you?” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. The low timbre of his voice sends a chill down your spine, a contrast to the heat emitting from his body.
Your breath hitches, not just from the tension of the situation but from the unexpected intimacy of it. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek, grounding you in a way that feels strange and unsettling. You nod slightly, a silent agreement to stay still, and Jungwon relaxes just a fraction, his hand still resting on the curve of your waist.
The world outside the tarp feels like it’s closing in, the groans of the dead growing louder before tapering off again as the horde slowly moves on. Each sound sets your nerves alight, your muscles tensing involuntarily as you wait for the inevitable moment when one of them will catch a whiff of life and turn back. But that moment doesn’t come. Not yet.
Beneath the tarp, the silence between you is thick, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged emotions. You can’t bring yourself to look up at him, but you feel the weight of his gaze, protective and steady even in this precarious situation.
You stay under the tarp for what feels like hours, though you’re not sure how much time has passed. The groans of the horde slowly grow more distant, but the occasional shuffle of feet or guttural rasp reminds you they’re still out there—stragglers lingering behind.
Jungwon hasn’t moved, his arm still lightly draped around your waist. His breathing is steady, but you can feel the tension radiating off him. He’s waiting, listening, calculating. You don’t dare to speak, your heart hammering against your ribs as you lie there in silence.
Eventually, the noise dwindles to nothing more than faint echoes. Jungwon tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as he listens intently for any signs of danger. After what feels like an eternity, he lets out a quiet exhale and shifts slightly, lifting the edge of the tarp just enough to peer out.
“Come on,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. You nod, following his lead as he slides out from under the tarp and drops to the ground.
The air feels heavier now, thick with the stench of decay. The horde might have passed, but the stragglers are everywhere.
Jungwon motions for you to follow, his movements silent and deliberate. You mimic his steps, keeping low and hugging the shadows of the abandoned vehicles. The slightest misstep could draw their attention, and you’re hyper-aware of every rustle of fabric as you move.
As you near the edge of the terminal, your eyes dart frantically across the barren lot, scanning for any sign of the van, of Heeseung and Sunoo, of the others. The silence feels heavy, pressing against your ears as you search. But all you see is emptiness—the van is gone.
For a moment, dread begins to creep in, whispering that maybe—just maybe—they didn’t make it. And then it hits you.
The van is gone.
Thank fucking god.
Jungwon’s hand brushes against yours, snapping you out of your thoughts. He points towards the tyre tracks leading away from the terminal, faint but unmistakable in the dirt.
“They made it out, they’re alive,” Jungwon murmurs, his voice low but filled with conviction. His words aren’t just for you—they’re for himself too. A reassurance that the others are okay. That the plan worked.
Relief washes over you like a wave, but it’s quickly replaced by a new urgency. Your thoughts snap back to the weight of the bag on your shoulder, heavy with the precious medicines and supplies you risked everything to find.
“Jay’s medicine,” you say, your voice breaking the silence.
Jungwon nods, already stepping forward, his rifle at the ready as his eyes sweep the path ahead. There’s no time to waste. Not with Jay’s life hanging on a silver thread.
“Let’s go, it’s not far now.”
The walk to the rest stop is weighed down by silence. Every step feels heavier than the last, each one dragging you further into your own thoughts. There’s a thousand things you want to say—words that linger at the back of your throat, pressing against your chest—but you can’t seem to summon the courage to speak them out loud.
You glance at Jungwon from the corner of your eye, half-expecting to catch him doing the thing. The thing where he sneaks glances at you when he has something to say but is not sure how, only to avert his gaze nervously the moment your eyes meet. But this time, there’s none of that. His focus is locked ahead, his expression unreadable.
He has nothing to say to you.
The silence follows you like a shadow, lingering even as you catch sight of the van parked in the clearing. Relief flickers in your chest for a brief moment, but it’s quickly snuffed out when your gaze shifts to the towering barricade surrounding the rest stop.
It’s clearly the work of some powerful force. Military-grade equipment is woven through the defences, the barb wire circling the top of the enclosure glinting under the moonlight. Wooden spikes line the perimeter like jagged teeth, making it abundantly clear that this place was never meant to welcome anyone.
Which is weird because the last time you passed through this place in search for food, it was nothing more than an open rest stop. It’s not one of the sprawling ones you’d find further down the expressway, but it’s big enough. Big enough to refuel, grab a bite, and carry on your way.
Jungwon’s eyes narrow as he takes in the scene. His hand hovers near his rifle, fingers flexing restlessly. “Looks fortified,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
“Too fortified,” you mutter, your gaze following the stretch of barricades. The gas station and the attached convenience store sit within the enclosure like something out of a nightmare—a beacon of hope warped into something far more sinister.
The location is perfect. Open road for miles, no trees or buildings to block your view. If a horde approached, you’d see it long before it became a threat. Which begs the question...
Why the hell is it abandoned?
You approach the van slowly, your footsteps crunching softly against the gravel. With every step, your heart pounds louder in your chest. Half of you expects to see it empty, and when you peek inside, you find that you’re right.
“They must be inside,” you murmur, glancing towards the barricade.
Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his tension in the way he grips his rifle tighter. He’s thinking what you are—if they’re inside, why is everything so quiet?
You both make your way to the gate. It’s slightly ajar, swaying just enough to make you think it’s been left that way deliberately. You hesitate before pushing it open, and the rusty metal gives a screech that cuts through the eerie silence. The sound makes you wince, setting your teeth on edge. But nothing stirs.
You step inside cautiously, your eyes sweeping the area. The gas station looms ahead, the broken windows glinting like jagged shards of glass. The convenience store sits just beyond it, the door perfectly intact which is more than what you can say for other places you’ve scavenged. Everything looks wrong—too clean, too still, too quiet.
Not a single living soul in sight.
You glance at Jungwon, who’s scanning the surroundings just as intently as you are. His brow is furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You know what he knows, even without him telling you. In this case, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.
People like The Future don’t abandon their posts. Not without a damn good reason.
“No way they’d leave a set-up like this behind.” Jungwon whispers, the words barely audible
The door to the convenience store glides smoothly as you push it open, the stale air inside rushing out to meet you. The smell of dust and old wood fills your lungs as you step inside cautiously, your eyes darting around the room. It’s dark, but even with the dim light filtering through the cracked windows, you can see the shelves are completely gone.
In their place are makeshift beddings—sleeping bags spread out haphazardly, blankets thrown over crates to make impromptu mattresses. There are even personal belongings scattered around—boots lined neatly by a corner, a few scattered pieces of clothing draped over the back of chairs.
Your stomach knots. This wasn’t how the place looked the last time you were here.
Your eyes drift down to the floor, and that’s when you see them—a cluster of bags, familiar ones. Your breath catches in your throat as you step closer. You kneel down, running your hands over the straps, the worn fabric.
These aren’t just any bags. They belong to your group.
Heeseung’s patch-covered backpack. Jake’s med kit bag. Even Sunoo’s colourful duffle that Ni-ki has been begging him to cover with mud to conceal the colours.
Panic rises in your chest like a tidal wave. “No,” you whisper under your breath, shaking your head. “No, no, no…”
You scramble to your feet, stumbling towards the back of the store. “Heeseung? Sunoo? Jake?” Your voice echoes through the empty space, growing more frantic with each name. “Sunghoon? Ni-ki? Jay?”
Silence.
“Where are they?” you mutter, spinning around, eyes darting from one shadowed corner to the next. “Where the fuck are they?”
“Y/N.” Jungwon’s voice is firm, grounding. “We’ll find them.”
But you’re already moving, your gaze locking onto something near the far wall—a door. It’s subtle, blending almost perfectly into the wallpaper, but the peeling edges give it away. There’s no handle, just a faint outline of a frame.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach it cautiously. You glance at Jungwon, who gives a small nod, his rifle raised. With a deep breath, you press your hand to the door and push.
The door swings open easily, revealing a dimly lit room beyond. The room must be soundproof, because the moment the door opens, the noise rushes out—a mixture of hushed conversation and distant shuffling. The voices are familiar. Too familiar.
Your hand trembles as you push the door fully open, stepping inside.
The first thing you see is Jay.
He’s sitting upright right beside the door frame, leaning against the wall, his head resting back. His shirt is still stained with blood, but you can see his torso is wrapped up with fresh bandages. His eyes flutter open when he hears the door creak, and he turns his head slowly to look at you.
“Hey,” you whisper, crouching low to meet his eye, your voice cracking with emotion. “Are you okay?”
Jay gives you a weak smile, his lips twitching at the corners. He doesn’t speak but you can tell he’s happy to see you two alive.
Relief crashes over you, so overwhelming that your knees nearly give out beneath you. Before you can say anything else, Jungwon’s voice pulls your attention.
“Y/N,” he calls out, stepping into the room behind you. His voice holds a mix of awe and disbelief. “Look.”
You follow his gaze and finally take a good look around.
The shelves—the ones that had been removed from the front of the store—are all here. Lined neatly in rows, stacked with canned goods, MREs, bottles of water, medical supplies, ammos. Enough to last an entire year or more with careful rationing. More than you’ve ever seen in one place since the world ended.
“Holy shit,” you breathe out, taking a slow step forward.
Jungwon lowers his rifle, his expression unreadable as he scans the room. “They’ve been stockpiling.”
Your fingers brush over a can of soup on one of the shelves. It’s pristine, untouched. Like it’s been waiting here just for you.
“Jungwon? Y/N?”
The voice comes from the back of the room, faint but unmistakable. Your head snaps around, your heart thumping in your chest. It’s too dim to make out his face at first, but the familiarity of that voice cuts through the haze of exhaustion like a knife.
“Jake,” Jungwon breathes, his steps quickening as he strides toward the figure emerging from the shadows.
Jake barely has time to react before Jungwon wraps him in a tight hug, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. “Fuck, man,” Jungwon mutters, his voice rough with relief. “I’m glad you lot are okay.”
Jake pats him on the back, his own relief evident in the way he sags slightly into the embrace. “We thought something happened,” he says, pulling away. His face is tired, dark circles shadowing his eyes, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We heard the gunshot. Sunghoon and Ni-ki wanted to go after you, but then the horde started coming down on us.”
He pauses, glancing over at you. “We waited as long as we could, but Jay’s wound…” Jake’s voice trails off, his expression tightening. “We were afraid the dead would catch the scent of his blood.”
You barely process what he’s saying. Your mind is too busy counting heads, scanning the room for the others. They’re safe. They’re alive
“Yeah, we ran into a bit of trouble,” Jungwon says, glancing at you briefly before turning back to Jake. “But good news—we got the antibiotics you needed.” He pulls the bag from his shoulder and opens it, revealing boxes of prescription medicine that even The Future can’t get their hands on.
Jake’s eyes widen as he takes in the haul. “Shit. Damn. Don’t be disappointed, Jay. Looks like you’re living another day.” His grin is infectious, a flash of humour cutting through the tension. “That rhymes, by the way. And that too.”
Jay lets out a weak laugh from his spot on the floor. “Looks like you’re the one disappointed, Jake.”
The warmth of their banter spreads through the room, and for a brief moment, everything feels normal. The tension in your chest loosens slightly, but you know it won’t last. It feels fragile. Like a glass bubble that could shatter at any second.
“I already took the bullet out,” Jake says, pulling you from your thoughts. “Thanks to the supplies stockpiled here. And thank fuck this room’s soundproof, because he was screaming like a bloody baby.” Jake crushes a tablet into a cup of water and holds it out to Jay, who takes it with a grimace.
Your gaze drifts across the room. It’s genuinely surreal. “What is this place?” you murmur, still taking it all in.
Jake shrugs. “Heaven in hell, apparently.” He gestures toward the far end of the room. “There’s a basement too. Stocked to the brim.”
The sound of footsteps draws your attention. From the shadows, Sunoo emerges, a flashlight in hand, its beam bouncing off the walls in jagged patterns. His grin is wide, lighting up his face in a way you’ve rarely seen since you’ve been with this group. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, his steps light, his voice carrying a note of relief that feels almost out of place in this grim, desolate world.
“Thank god you’re both okay!” he exclaims, rushing towards you and Jungwon, his feet barely touching the ground as he moves. The rest of them follow suit, trailing beind him.
“Have you seen this place? The supplies would last us for months! And that barricade outside—it’s miles better than the one we had before.” Sunoo exclaims.
That’s the thing. You have seen this place. And it wasn’t like this.
Your stomach twists as dread coils in your chest. Slowly, you shake your head. “Something’s not right,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. “When I came here two months ago, it wasn’t like this. There were no barricades. No fortifications. It was just… a regular rest stop.”
Heeseung turns towards you with a frown. His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his face. “I could’ve sworn they marked this place on one of their maps back at base camp. Captain Hwang showed it to me when I got promoted in the security department.”
“Maybe it was a work-in-progress,” Jake suggests, his voice steady but thoughtful. “They could’ve started building it but hadn’t fully moved in when Y/N passed through.”
You can hear the curiosity in his voice, the way he’s already trying to rationalise what you’re saying. It’s how they survive—by making sense of things, by explaining away every lingering threat until it no longer feels like one.
“Maybe,” you admit reluctantly, though the unease gnawing at your gut doesn’t let up. ”But it’s clearly no longer a work-in-progress. Whoever built this will come back.”
Heeseung runs his finger along one of the shelves, lifting a thick layer of grime and holding it up for everyone to see. “No one’s been here in a while. Those sleeping bags outside? Covered in dust. Same with these shelves.”
Dust means time. Time means abandonment. But why? Why would anyone leave behind a place fortified this well, stocked with enough supplies to last a year? Which in apocalypse standard time, it might as well be a lifetime.
Your gut twists uncomfortably. “Like Jake said, this is heaven in hell. An oasis in the desert. It just doesn’t make sense, why would anyone leave all this behind? It’s not safe to stay here. We should grab whatever we can carry and keep moving.”
The moment those words leave your mouth however, a heavy silence falls over the room, heavy and suffocating. You glance around, catching the way their faces shift—how exhaustion weighs down their expressions, dulling the sharp edges of fear and worry. That’s when it hits you.
They’ve already made up their minds.
They’re tired. Tired of running. Tired of scraping by on borrowed time. Tired of surviving without truly living. And this place, with its sturdy barricades and stockpiled supplies, promises them something they haven’t had in a long time.
A home.
They see this place as a refuge. A chance to finally stop running. The desire to settle down, to stop looking over their shoulders, has taken root, pulling them in like a siren’s song. But it’s nothing but a lie—a lie that this world has dangled in front of you far too many times.
You turn to Jungwon, hoping—praying—that he’ll say something. That he’ll back you up. That he’ll remind them of what you all know deep down: nothing good ever comes easy in this world.
But when your eyes meet his, your heart sinks.
Because you see it in him too. That same exhaustion. That same longing for rest. The desire to finally stop running.
You swallow hard, trying to find your voice amidst the rising panic in your chest. “Jungwon, you know we can’t stay,” you say, your voice quieter than you’d like.
Jungwon looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. There’s a heaviness in his gaze, a weariness that mirrors your own. He knows you’re right. You can see it in the way his shoulders sag just slightly, in the way he presses his lips together like he’s trying to stop himself from agreeing.
Because places like this don’t just get abandoned without a reason. The apocalypse is full of these places, scattered across the country like cursed relics of a civilisation long gone. You’ve learned the hard way that anything that looks too good to be true usually is.
But before Jungwon can say anything, Ni-ki steps forward. His expression is calm, collected, his eyes calculating as they sweep across the room. “Whoever left these supplies behind will come back,” he says, his voice steady. “But when they do, they’ll find eight armed individuals. If we play our cards right, we could secure this place.”
Jake nods. “Jay isn’t fit to move. He needs rest if he’s going to fight off the infection. We’ve got medicine, sure, but if we keep running, he won’t stand a chance.”
“I’m with Ni-ki on this,” Sunoo adds. “This place is too good to give up. It gives us a fighting chance against whatever’s out there.”
Your frustration boils over before you can stop it. “And what makes you think whatever’s out there won’t find a way in here?” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. The room falls silent again, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Ni-ki’s glare cuts through the stillness like ice. His jaw tightens, his arms crossing over his chest. “You’re the one who led us here,” he says, his voice low and biting. “And now you want us to leave all this behind?”
The guilt hits you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. He’s right. You did lead them here. Just like you led them into every bit of danger that almost cost them their lives; the motel, the village, the bus terminal—and now, here. Every risk, every danger—it all ties back to you. And now they’re looking at you like you’ve betrayed them.
“I didn’t bring you here to settle,” you say quietly, the weight of your own words pressing down on your chest. “I brought you here to survive.”
Ni-ki doesn’t waver. His voice remains steady, calm. “We will survive. We can survive here. We don’t need to keep running.”
And that’s when you realise.
They’ve already stopped running.
Your chest tightens as Ni-ki’s words settle over the group like a final verdict. The exhaustion, the constant fear—it’s worn them down to the point where even the slightest hope of stability feels like salvation.
And who could blame them? You’ve all been running for so long, barely surviving. This place offers a lifeline, however fragile it may be.
But it doesn’t feel right.
It can’t be right.
Jungwon hasn’t spoken since you addressed him directly, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces. You watch him carefully, hoping for that flicker of leadership you’ve come to depend on, the clarity he always brings in moments of uncertainty. But it’s not there. Instead, there’s a weariness that drags him down like chains around his ankles.
“You’re right,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. It catches you off guard, making your heart skip a beat.
“We’ve been running for too long.”
Your stomach twists. No. He’s giving in.
“But—” he adds, glancing up to meet your gaze. “We’re not settling blindly. We don’t know why this place was abandoned, and we can’t afford to assume it’s safe. We secure it. We prepare for the worst.”
There’s a collective exhale from the group, the tension easing slightly. Ni-ki nods in agreement. “We fortify the barricade. Set up traps, expand our perimeter. If anyone comes back, they’ll regret it.”
“I’ll keep an eye on Jay. He’s stable for now, but he needs proper rest.” Jake says, wiping his hands on his jeans as he rises from where he was crouching beside Jay.
Sunoo chimes in next, his voice lighter than before. “I’ll start taking stock of the supplies. We need to ration carefully if we’re staying.”
Everyone seems to fall into place, tasks assigned and agreed upon with a silent understanding. But you remain still, your hands clenched at your sides, heart pounding in your chest.
“Jungwon.” You call his name softly, pulling him aside as the others begin to disperse.
He follows you out of the room without question, the two of you stepping into the cool night air outside the barricade. The wind carries the faint scent of petrol and dust, mingling with the metallic tang of lingering fear.
Jungwon’s gaze is locked on the barricade, his rifle hanging loosely in his grip. You watch him for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch slightly. There’s exhaustion in the way he stands, a bone-deep weariness that makes your chest ache. And it’s more than just physical fatigue. You see it in the way his jaw clenches, in the void behind his eyes.
“You know this is a mistake,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “You know better than anyone that places like this don’t stay safe.”
Jungwon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know it’s a risk.”
“Then why are you letting them believe it’s safe?”
He looks at you for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “Because they need it. We need it.”
You shake your head, frustration bubbling over. “And what happens when whoever built this place comes back? When they’re more armed, more prepared than we are?”
“We’ll handle it,” he says firmly.
“Jungwon—”
“I can’t keep running.”
You blink, taken aback by the vulnerability in his tone. You’ve seen him tired, stressed, angry—but this is different. He’s crumbling under pressure.
“I can’t keep dragging them from place to place, always looking over my shoulder,” he continues, voice cracking slightly. “I’m tired, Y/N. We all are. This might not be the perfect solution, but it’s what we have right now.”
The words settle between you like a stone sinking to the bottom of a river. They’re heavy, filled with truths you know too well. But another weight—one you’ve been carrying since the village—presses down on you harder.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect, almost swallowed by the night air. It’s not really a question. More of a statement.
Jungwon’s brow furrows as he glances at you. “I don’t.”
“You regret letting me come along,” you press, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I’ve done nothing but put you all through hell since you let me in.”
“Y/N—”
“No, listen.” You take a breath, forcing yourself to keep going. “Ni-ki doesn’t have to say it, but I know he thinks I’ve got no clue what I’m doing most of the time. And he’s right! Half the time, I’m winging it.”
“Y/N.”
“And you—” Your voice trembles as you continue. “You keep risking your life to protect me, and I don’t even know why. I should’ve just let that zombie bite me in the auto shop. I was supposed to go down with the city that day. Hell, I should’ve taken that bullet. I—”
“Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice cuts through your rambling like a knife, sharp and commanding. He steps closer, turning to face you fully. His eyes bore into yours, intense and unwavering.
It silences you instantly.
“Stop,” he says quietly, almost pleading. “Stop doing this to yourself.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.
“Ni-ki’s just frustrated. He doesn’t think that about you. And you can’t put us through hell if we’re already living in it.” His voice softens further, exhaustion creeping into his words. “I don’t regret making the decision to keep you. Jay would never forgive himself if something happened to you. And I don’t hate you.”
There’s a pause, and then he adds, so quietly you almost miss it, “I hate myself. For letting the world get to me.”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. For a moment, you can’t think of anything to say. You’ve never seen him this vulnerable, this open. It’s both unsettling and grounding, and you feel the cracks in your own walls widening.
“No.” You shake your head slowly, your voice trembling. “You hate me for driving you this way. It’s not the world. The world doesn’t have anything on you.”
Jungwon tilts his head slightly, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. “And you think you have the power to influence me in ways the world can’t?”
You let out a shaky laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “No. But I think you look at me like I could be someone who can finally lift the burden of leadership off your shoulders. You trust my calls. You listen to my opinions. And what I said back at the field, about justice and revenge—you weren’t just listening. You were thinking.”
He doesn’t deny it. His gaze flickers, but he stays quiet, letting you speak.
“Thinking about how maybe I might have a point,” you continue. “Thinking about how you might have been approaching the world the wrong way. But that’s the thing—I don’t want you to think. To second-guess what you’ve always believed in just to weigh mine in.”
Your voice falters slightly, but you push on. “I don’t want you to change. You don’t owe me or the world anything. Fuck the world. To hell with it.”
Jungwon lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you’re hating the world. As ironic as that is.”
The comment catches you off guard. Cute? Your brows furrow in confusion as your mind scrambles to process his words. How can he crack a joke right now?
But there’s something about the way he says it—the way his lips twitch into the faintest smile, the way his eyes soften just a little. He’s trying to lighten the moment, to ease the tension that hangs between you like a noose.
And it works. Sort of.
“I don’t want to hate the world,” you murmur, your gaze locking onto his. Your voice is softer now, raw. “After all, it has all of you in it.”
Jungwon’s expression shifts, his playful smirk fading into something more serious. His gaze lingers on you, studying your face like he’s searching for something he can’t quite name.
“It’s not just about what you said. If that’s what you’re wondering.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “I felt it—the blinding rage for justice… or revenge.”
Your heart stutters in your chest as you turn to him fully, waiting for him to continue.
“When he had you in that chokehold,” he says, his jaw tightening at the memory, “my mind switched off. I wasn’t even thinking. All I knew was that I couldn’t let you die. I picked up that rifle and pulled the trigger without a second thought. And when Jay…” ”
His voice cracks, the name catching in his throat. He stops, closing his eyes briefly to steady himself before speaking again. “When Jay took that bullet for you, I lost it. I completely lost it. That’s when I started thinking about what you said.”
“And you’re right,” he continues, voice quieter now. “If either of you had died right there and then, I would’ve done worse than just give him a quick death.”
You blink rapidly, struggling to process his words. The sheer depth of his emotions is overwhelming, leaving your mind scrambling for a response.
What Jungwon is saying is valid. You know that deep down. You would’ve done things—unimaginable, unspeakable things—if Jay, Jungwon, or anyone else had died. You would’ve burned the world down, torn apart every last remnant of civilisation if it meant protecting them.
But that’s what makes this even harder to hear. Because it also means Jungwon truly, deeply cares for you. The same way you truly, deeply care for them.
And that wasn’t part of your plan.
Noticing your loss for words, Jungwon seizes the moment to press on, his tone quieter, more reflective. “And you’re also right… I don’t like the fact that their lives are practically in my hands. It’s suffocating.”
He pauses, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “But when you came along… I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. You know how to make the hard calls, the split-second decisions that mean life or death. And all I’ve been doing is leading this group away from those problems. Trying to avoid them. Making decisions in their stead so they don’t have to. Hoping they’ll never have to face it.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a good problem to have,” you shake your head, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
Jungwon huffs out a dry laugh, one that barely passes for amusement. “No, it’s not.” He pauses, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion evident in every movement.
“Jungwon,” you say softly, your voice careful. He doesn’t look at you immediately, so you step closer, catching his gaze. “You’re not sheltering them the way you think you are.”
That gets his attention. His brows furrow slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What?”
“These people aren’t following you because you’re their leader,” you continue, your tone gentle but firm. “They’re following you because you’re you. They trust you, even if it costs them everything.”
“And you’ve done a phenomenal job keeping them alive, better than most would” you add, your voice softening. Jungwon stays quiet, his gaze flicking to the ground, as if he’s trying to process your words. You can tell he’s not used to hearing this—compliments don’t seem like something he knows how to take.
He exhales sharply, a sound caught between frustration and exhaustion, his shoulders slumping as if the weight he’s been carrying has suddenly doubled.
“I never asked to lead,” he murmurs, the words heavy with quiet resentment.
“But that’s the thing about responsibility, isn’t it? You don’t get to pick and choose when it falls on you.” you say.
For a moment, he just stands there, his lips pressed into a thin line. You can see the conflict playing out in his expression—the part of him that wants to argue, to deny what you’re saying, because he doesn’t believe it himself. But there’s another part—a quieter, more vulnerable part—that knows you’re right. That knows he’s been carrying this burden far longer than anyone should have to.
“Jungwon,” you whisper, stepping closer. “This place… it feels wrong, and you know it. They trust you. If you tell them to leave, they’ll listen. They’ll pack up and—”
“This place,” he interrupts, his tone deliberate and resolute, cutting through your words like a blade. “It’s hope. Something that these people need now more than anything. And if they think it’s worth fighting for, it is.”
His voice carries the finality of someone who’s already made up his mind. You don’t miss the way his gaze hardens, the way his jaw tightens as he speaks. He doesn’t say it outright, but you can tell he’s not just talking about the others.
This place is hope for him too.
It’s all they have left now, after everything else has crumbled—their faith, their humanity, their belief in something better. And now that their previous hope of holding on to what made them human has shattered—by the likes of you—they’re desperate. Clinging to anything that might give their lives meaning.
And once hope takes root, there’s nothing you can do to convince him otherwise. Jungwon has already decided that this is where they’ll make their stand, no matter how dangerous it might be.
And if Jungwon isn’t leaving, none of them will.
They’ll stay. They’ll fight. And they’ll fall right into the trap of whoever left it here. And the worst part?
They’ll do it willingly.
For hope. For him.
You glance at Jungwon again, noticing the way his eyes drift toward the barricade behind you, scanning the treeline and the roads as if he’s mapping out every possible threat in his head. Even in a rare moment of rest, he’s on guard. Always looking out for them. Always protecting. Always leading.
And in this moment, a realisation settles heavily in your chest—you don’t actually know him the way you think you do.
Because unlike Jungwon, you’ve never had to carry the weight of leading people. You’ve never had to shoulder the responsibility of keeping them alive, day after day. You’ve never had to watch people you care about die because of decisions you made.
You wouldn’t even count the people back at the community building among the people you care about. Sure, you’d shared meals, traded supplies, and worked together to keep the place standing. But at the end of the day, that’s all it was—a band of survivors benefiting from each other’s abilities. A mutual arrangement, nothing more.
When it really comes down to it, you wouldn’t take a bullet for any of them. Not the way Jungwon would. Not the way you’ve seen him do—standing between danger and his people, no hesitation, no second-guessing.
And in that sense, you and Jungwon are different.
Where he sees people worth saving, you see liabilities. Where he sees hope, you see a death trap waiting to happen. Where he takes on the burden of leadership, you’ve kept your distance, never letting yourself get too close. Never letting yourself care too much.
You tell yourself it’s because caring makes you vulnerable. But deep down, you know it’s because you’re afraid—afraid of the weight Jungwon carries every day. Afraid you wouldn’t be able to bear it.
And you’d be right, because you see the toll it’s taken on him written all over his face. The haunted look in his eyes, the tension in his posture, the weariness in his voice. It’s all there. And it’s breaking him, piece by piece.
“I don’t want to see you lose yourself,” you say softly, your words hanging in the air between you.
Jungwon sighs, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. His voice lowers, as if speaking any louder would make him crumble. “I’m not losing myself. And I won’t let the group lose themselves either.” He pauses, his gaze meeting yours with quiet intensity. “That’s why you’re here. You keep me grounded.”
You scoff quietly, shaking your head. “I’m not exactly the best moral compass.”
“You are for me,” he says simply.
The honesty in his words makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s raw. Unfiltered. And it terrifies you.
“I hope you’d stop looking at me like I could solve all your problems. I could never replace you. Even if you wanted me to,” you say, your voice wavering slightly before you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. You glance at Jungwon, searching his expression for any sign that he might push back, but he’s listening—silent, thoughtful, waiting.
“But what you can do,” you continue, softer this time, “is share the burden. Share it with the people who’ll gladly bear it with you. Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Ni-ki… they're not helpless, you know? And I know for one that they’ll follow you anywhere.”
His gaze shifts ever so slightly, something flickering in his eyes at the mention of their names. A hint of guilt, maybe. Or perhaps a deep-rooted fear that he’s failed them somehow, that he’s not enough.
He looks at you then, really looks at you, eyes searching yours. And his next words hit harder than you’re prepared for.
“Will you?”
Your chest tightens, and for a second, you hesitate. But before you can stop yourself, the word slips out.
“Yeah.”
The lie falls from your lips so easily, it surprises even you.
Jungwon’s expression softens, relief flickering in his eyes. He nods once, quietly accepting your answer. But as soon as the word is out, regret crashes over you like a wave, cold and unrelenting. Because you know the truth.
You’re not going to stay.
You’re not going to help him carry that burden.
You’re going to run.
And Jungwon doesn’t know it yet, but when you leave—when you inevitably abandon them—he’ll have to pick up that burden all over again.
And somehow, you know that will hurt more than anything the world could throw at him.
part 3 - whispers | masterlist | part 5 - people
♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡
notes from nat: happy lunar new year to all celebrating! this is actually the last part i have in drafts... meaning i have to race against time to get the next part written and ready by next week... don't hold me to that though. i'll try my best 🫡 and shoutout to @youcancometome for guessing the title of this part right!!!
Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.
word count: 7.4k
MASTERLIST
Whispers.
Soft at first, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. But they grow louder, more insistent, wrapping around you like tendrils of smoke. You’re alone. Back in the forest, standing in the middle of that clearing.
You spin around, your heart pounding in your chest. They’re here.
Rotters.
They shamble toward you from every direction. Some are missing limbs, dragging broken legs behind them. Others have half their faces torn away, flesh hanging in ragged strips. But it’s their eyes that hold you captive—clear, human, and horrifyingly aware.
They’re whispering.
You can’t make out the words, no matter how hard you strain to listen. The whispers slither into your mind, incomprehensible and maddening, sending a shiver down your spine.
You take a step back. They take a step forward.
Every time you blink, they’re closer. Closing in, tightening the circle around you. You’re surrounded.
“Y/N.”
Their whispers begin to merge, forming one singular voice. It echoes through the clearing, sharp and cold, making your blood run icy.
“Y/N.”
It’s louder now. They’ve reached you. Hands—cold, skeletal hands—grab at your shoulders. Tugging. Shaking.
“Y/N.”
The voice isn’t distant anymore. It’s right there. Right in your ear. Your chest tightens, your breath caught in your throat as panic seizes you. The hands grip harder. Shaking you so violently you think they might throw you to the ground.
There’s nowhere to go.
You’re going to die.
“Y/N!”
You gasp, your eyes flying open. The forest, the rotters, the whispers—they’re gone. Instead, you find yourself staring into a familiar pair of dark eyes. Jungwon’s hands are on your arms, gently shaking you awake.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice soft but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe and sound.”
Your chest heaves, your pulse still racing as the remnants of the nightmare cling to you. Sweat beads on your forehead, and your hands tremble as you push yourself upright.
Jungwon’s brow furrows with concern. “You were shaking. I tried waking you earlier, but you wouldn’t come out of it.”
You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “It… it was nothing,” you say, your voice hoarse. “Just a nightmare.”
Jungwon doesn’t look convinced. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he sighs, leaning back slightly. “You sure?”
You nod, forcing yourself to steady your breathing. “Yeah.” But even as you say it, the whispers linger in your mind, a haunting echo you can’t quite shake.
You take a look around, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the surroundings come into focus. The others have already alighted the van, their silhouettes moving quietly in the dawn light. The sky is painted in soft hues of orange and pink as the sun slowly rises from the horizon, casting long shadows over the road and surrounding trees.
“Are we there already?” you ask groggily, your voice raspy from sleep.
Jungwon, still seated beside you, reaches for his canister and hands it over without a word. You take it gratefully, the cool water washing away the dry, bitter taste in your mouth.
“No, we ran out of fuel,” he replies.
You glance toward the front of the van, where Ni-ki is tinkering under the hood, muttering quietly to himself. Jake stands nearby, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders, his gaze drifting toward the distant village down the hill.
“Jungwon,” a familiar voice calls from outside. Heeseung appears at the foot of the van, one hand resting on the roof for support. “We’re thinking about checking out the village down there. Hopefully, siphon some gas and scavenge for supplies.”
Jungwon nods thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the horizon. He’s calculating the risks, weighing the possibilities before making his decision.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Let’s do that. But not all of us. Just a few.”
You watch as the group gathers around to discuss the plan, their voices hushed but purposeful. There’s an underlying tension in the air—a shared understanding that every move counts, every decision could mean the difference between life and death.
Heeseung crosses his arms, his sharp gaze landing on Jungwon. “Who’s going?”
Jungwon’s eyes flick between the group, assessing each person in turn. “Jay, Ni-ki, and I. Us three will check out the village. You guys stay here to keep an eye on the perimeter.”
Sunoo lets out a scoff from where he leans against a tree. “You’re sending Ni-ki? What if we need the van fixed while he’s gone?”
“We’re not leaving him behind,” Jungwon says firmly. “If there’s gas to be found, we’ll need someone who knows how to siphon it properly.”
Ni-ki straightens from where he’s crouched by the van, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Relax, Sunoo. I’ll be back before you miss me.”
The feeling of guilt rises again—a familiar weight you’ve carried for far too long. It creeps up your spine and settles deep in your gut. You shouldn’t be sitting here, letting them take all the risks. They’ve already been through enough. And yet here you are, another mouth to feed, another body to protect.
It doesn’t sit right with you.
The words slip out before you can stop them. “No, Ni-ki should stay.”
Jungwon’s gaze snaps to you, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?”
Ni-ki frowns, his usual playful expression replaced by something more serious. “Why? I’m the only one who knows how–” and he yawns. Self-explanatory.
“Because you’ve been driving all night,” you reply, your tone steady but resolute. “You need rest”
“I know how to siphon gas,” you say, your voice firmer this time. “My dad’s a mechanic back in the province. I used to help him all the time at his shop. I know what I’m doing.”
The group falls silent, everyone turning to look at you. The weight of their stares presses down on you, but you stand your ground, refusing to back down.
“You’ve done it before?” Heeseung asks, tilting his head slightly as he studies you.
You nod. “Plenty of times.”
Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable as he considers your words. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to shut you down. Because at the end of the day, whatever he says goes. But when he speaks, his voice is measured but tinged with something you can’t quite place—concern, maybe.
“It’s not just about siphoning gas,” he says. “It’s dangerous out there. You saw what we ran into last night.”
“I know,” you say quietly. “But I can handle it. You need me to do this.”
The silence stretches for a moment before Heeseung speaks up, breaking the tension. “She’s got a point.”
Jay scoffs from where he’s still leaning against the tree, arms crossed over his chest. “This is insane. We barely know her, and you want to let her go off into the village?”
“Jay,” Jake’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and steady. “Again. Not your place to speak.” He doesn’t even look up from the med kit he’s reorganising again for the tenth time, but his tone is enough to silence Jay instantly.
The weight of Jake’s words hangs heavy in the air. You can see Jay tense, his jaw clenching as he looks away. It’s clear Jake hasn’t forgiven him—not entirely. That wound still festers beneath the surface, a quiet reminder of what they’ve lost.
You take a breath, your fingers curling into your palm before you speak. “Trust me. Or better yet, don’t trust me. If anything goes wrong, it’s easier to leave me behind anyway.”
Your words come out too easily. Too naturally. They’re the kind of words you’ve told yourself for days now—an unspoken truth you’ve lived by. The moment they leave your mouth, though, you see the ripple of discomfort they send through the group.
Every one of them shifts, guilt flickering across their faces. Heeseung’s hand falters over the strap of his bag, Sunoo looks away entirely, and even Jay’s hardened expression cracks for a split second.
“Y/N, that’s not—” Heeseung starts, his voice soft with concern, but you cut him off before he can finish.
“I was just joking,” you say quickly, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “Relax, guys.”
But no one laughs. No one even cracks a smile. Instead, their discomfort seems to deepen, the awkward silence stretching longer than you anticipated. It hits you then—you’ve triggered something you didn’t even realise was sensitive. Maybe it’s because those words carry a truth they’ve already lived through. Maybe it’s because the thought has crossed their mind before.
Either way, the tension is palpable. You’ve misjudged your audience.
Jungwon steps forward, his expression calm but serious. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet but firm. “Don’t joke about that.”
His words linger in the air, not harsh, but weighted with something you can’t quite name. There’s something in his eyes—a heaviness, a flicker of guilt or regret—that makes you realise he’s not saying it to admonish you. He’s saying it to comfort himself.
You hold his gaze for a moment, searching for the meaning behind those words. There’s no accusation there. Just a quiet plea.
“Alright,” you say softly, nodding once. “I won’t.”
The group falls into silence again, but it’s different now. Heavier.
The road leading into the village is eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the crunch of your boots against the gravel. Jay walks a few steps ahead, his bow slung over his shoulder, his posture tense as he scans the area. Jungwon stays closer to you, his gaze sweeping over every abandoned house and overgrown field, ever the vigilant leader.
It’s a small village—the kind you’d expect to see bustling with life, where neighbours of neighbours know one another by name, where doors are left unlocked, and everyone exchanges gifts on Christmas and rice cakes on New Year’s Eve.
But now it’s nothing more than a graveyard of memories. Weeds grow wild through the cracks in the pavement, creeping up the sides of empty houses. Windows are shattered, doors left ajar, swaying gently in the breeze as if still waiting for someone to come home. Faded signs and rusting bicycles lean against walls that haven’t seen a human touch in years.
Unfortunately, a small village also means there’s no need for cars to travel around. No gas for you to siphon.
But among the dense field stretching miles out of the village, something catches your attention.
Overgrown crops, long since withered and dead, stretch endlessly in every direction. Tangled weeds twist through the rows, choking out what little life might have remained. And in the middle of it all, sitting like a forgotten relic from a time before, is a tractor. Its rusted frame gleams faintly in the early morning light, patches of red paint barely visible beneath layers of rust and grime.
Gas.
The three of you stop at the edge of the field, taking in the sight.
“That thing’s been sitting there for a while,” Jay says, his tone sceptical. “No guarantee it even has gas left.”
“Only one way to find out,” Jungwon replies, already moving toward it.
You and Jay exchange a glance before following him, cautiously weaving your way through the wild weeds and brittle stalks.
The field is too quiet, too still. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl, as though something is watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to move. The overgrown weeds brush against your legs, and every rustle sets your nerves on edge. It feels like something is going to pop out from beneath the ground and take a chomp out of your feet.
The unease prickles at the back of your mind, but you push the feeling aside.
When you reach the tractor, Jungwon pulls out the siphoning kit Ni-ki packed for you. He hands you the tube and a canister. You kneel beside the tractor, unscrewing the fuel cap before inserting the tube.
“Let’s hope this thing’s got something left in it,” you mutter, giving the tube a few pumps. It takes a moment, but then—finally—liquid begins to flow.
Jungwon gives a small nod of approval before stepping back to keep watch. Jay crouches nearby, pulling out a knife and absently running his thumb along the edge of the blade.
The silence stretches as you wait for the canister to fill. The distant rustling of leaves in the breeze is the only sound. Until you decide to break it.
“It might not mean anything, but I would’ve done it too,” you say softly, your voice carrying across the field. Both Jungwon and Jay turn to look at you, confusion flickering across their faces. You meet Jay’s gaze, holding it steady. He knows what you’re referring to, but you spell it out anyway.
“Going after him—I mean.”
Jay’s jaw tightens, and he looks away. “You don’t have to lie to comfort me. I know what I did was wrong.”
“There’s no right or wrong in the apocalypse. But even if you think it’s wrong, you don’t regret it” you say, your tone calm but unwavering.
Jay’s head snaps back toward you, his brow furrowing. “What are you trying to say?”
You shrug, leaning back slightly on your heels. “What I’m trying to say is, what you’re feeling is valid. If it were up to me, I would’ve shot him in both ankles. Make sure he couldn’t run to begin with.”
There’s a beat of silence. Jungwon shifts slightly, his gaze flickering between you and Jay, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s listening too.
Jay’s expression is guarded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not scared to say that? In front of him?” He gestures toward Jungwon with a tilt of his head.
“Why would I be?” You glance at Jungwon briefly before turning back to Jay.
“You probably already figured it out,” Jay says quietly, his gaze fixed on the blade in his hand. “But the whole point of this group—the way Jungwon leads us—is to make sure we don’t become the monsters we ran away from.” He pauses, his jaw clenching briefly before continuing. “Whatever Jake or the others feel about what I did… that’s valid.”
You watch him carefully, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tighten around the knife as if it’s the only thing keeping him steady. There’s guilt there, deeply rooted, but also defiance. He doesn’t regret what he did—he regrets what it cost him.
“Protecting your loved ones comes at a much too high cost sometimes,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the heaviness of the conversation. “Frankly speaking, if I saw someone I love die in front of me, I’d do much more than just shoot someone in the ankle.”
Jay’s knife stills in his hand. For a brief moment, something shifts in his expression—a crack in the hardened exterior he’s built around himself. In that moment, he looks younger. Less guarded. More human.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, tinged with something close to regret. “It doesn’t bring her back, though.”
“No,” you agree gently. “It doesn’t.”
The words hang between you, heavy with shared understanding. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the sound of the wind rustling through the overgrown field filling the silence.
“But,” you add, your gaze locking on his, “you seem to forget that it’s also human to want justice. Or revenge. Whatever you want to call it.”
Jay lifts his head slowly, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, maybe. Like he hadn’t allowed himself to think of it that way before.
“Justice or revenge,” he repeats, almost to himself. “I guess it depends on who’s telling the story.”
You nod. “Or who’s left to tell it.”
He lets out a quiet exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “I don’t know what that makes me, though. A monster or just… someone who’s trying to survive.”
You offer a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe it makes you both.”
Jay huffs a soft, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Jungwon, who’s been standing quietly off to the side, finally speaks. “It makes you someone who’s still here. Someone who’s still fighting. That’s all that matters.” His voice is steady, filled with that quiet authority that makes people listen. Jay glances at Jungwon, something unspoken passing between them before he nods.
The canister fills with a soft glug, and you pull the tube out, wiping your hands on your jeans. You glance at Jay again, his gaze distant as he processes your words. You screw the fuel cap back onto the tractor and Jay picks up the canister.
The three of you head back through the field, the morning light casting long shadows across the overgrown crops. You and Jungwon walk a few feet ahead while Jay trails behind in silence. For the first time, the silence between you and Jay feels a little lighter. A little more bearable.
Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the weight of his unspoken words in the way his gaze flickers toward you. He glances at you, then away, like he’s searching for the right moment to speak—or maybe the right words. It’s subtle, but you notice it every single time.
It’s fascinating, really.
Just days ago, back at the auto shop, he was an impenetrable shell. Guarded, unreadable, every word measured and calculated. His presence then felt heavy with the burden of leadership, the weight of keeping the group alive pressing down on his shoulders.
But now? Now, you see something else. There’s a quiet shift in him. A softening.
It’s in the way his shoulders aren’t as tense, the way his eyes don’t carry the same storm they did before. He still holds himself with purpose, still walks with that quiet confidence that commands respect. But there’s something more now—something vulnerable. Something real.
He’s finally living up to his name.
Garden.
Not the enclosed, walled-off kind. But an open, untamed one. Wildflowers breaking through cracks in stone, soft green creeping over hard surfaces, reaching out toward the light despite everything.
And it makes you wonder if you’ve planted yourself there, too. If, without realising it, you’ve taken root in the cracks he kept so tightly sealed. The thought sends an ache through your chest—one you can’t quite place, one you’re not sure you want to name.
But it doesn’t change the facts.
Your plan to slip away quietly still stands. It has to. The moment you start to care too much, the moment you feel like you belong—that’s the moment everything falls apart. You’ve learned that lesson the hard way, and you’re not about to forget it.
You glance at Jungwon, his gaze once again flickering toward you before settling ahead. There’s trust in his eyes now, trust you never expected to earn. And it terrifies you.
Because when the day comes, when you finally decide it’s time to leave, it won’t be as simple as walking away. You’ll not only have to pull yourself out of that garden—you’ll have to dig. Dig deep. Find every root, every tendril of connection that’s wound itself around your heart, and sever it.
And that’s what scares you the most.
You’ve always been good at surviving. Good at keeping your distance. But something about this group, about him, makes you question whether you’re as detached as you like to think.
You push the thought aside, your grip tightening on the knife at your belt. Not yet. Not today.
For now, you keep walking.
But with each step, the weight in your chest grows heavier. The more you procrastinate confronting this—the way your walls have started to crumble, the way the cracks are widening—the deeper the roots grow.
And one day, those roots will grow too deep. So deep that no matter how hard you dig, no matter how determined you are to sever them, they’ll remain. Buried beneath layers of regret, fear, betrayal and everything you’ve been running from.
And deep down, you know this. You’ve always known.
It terrifies you.
Because in a world where nothing is certain, where survival often means cutting ties and leaving before things fall apart, you can feel yourself tethering to something—or someone—that you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.
Knowing this and yet, you keep walking.
The three of you near the foot of the hill, the climb back to the van just ahead. Your legs ache from the trek, and your mind is still spinning from your earlier conundrum. But just as you’re about to start the ascent, something stops you cold.
At first, you think it must be your mind playing tricks again—another hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But no. These voices are real. They’re vivid, sharp, and far too close.
“Get down,” Jungwon whispers, already crouching low. His eyes scan the surroundings, quickly assessing the situation.
You drop to your knees, heart pounding in your chest. The voices grow clearer, drifting through the trees just ahead.
“When are your stupid friends coming back with the gas?” It’s a voice you don’t recognise—rough, impatient.
“If they’re taking this long, it better be because there’s so much gas for them to siphon,” another voice replies, laced with irritation.
“Or maybe there’s no gas at all, and you idiots are just wasting your time on us.” Sunoo, the ever so convincing diplomat. He might as well tell them to shoot him right there and then.
Jungwon glances up from his crouched position, subtly peering over the tall grass. His blonde hair, ironically, blends into the wildflowers scattered around, making him almost invisible from a distance.
He raises two fingers, silently indicating the number of visible threats.
Jay crouches beside him, his bow already in hand, an arrow notched and ready to draw. “I can easily take them out,” he whispers, his tone steady but eager. “One shot each.”
“No.” Jungwon shakes his head firmly. “Think about it. Sunghoon, Heeseung, and Ni-ki could’ve taken them out themselves. They wouldn’t let themselves get caught off-guard. Which means there’s more of them. Armed. Hidden.”
The realisation sends a chill down your spine. Of course. It’s not just two men holding your friends hostage—there’s a whole group. And they’re lying in wait, hidden in the trees or behind the van, ready to strike if anyone makes a move.
Jay curses under his breath. “Fuck, I knew I should’ve brough the pistol along.”
Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his eyes scanning the area for any possible advantage. His mind is already racing through options, calculating risks. His hand twitches toward the knife at his side, but he doesn’t draw it. Not yet.
“We wait,” he says quietly. “We need to figure out how many we’re dealing with.”
“And if they hurt them?” you ask, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to stay calm.
“They won’t,” says Jungwon, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Not yet. They want something. And as long as they think they can get it, they’ll keep them alive.”
You swallow hard, nodding. But your eyes drift back toward the direction of Sunoo’s voice, your chest tightening with worry.
The seconds crawl by, the tension weighing heavier with each passing moment. Every whisper from the strangers ahead feels amplified, mingling with the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds. You try to focus, straining to pick out anything useful—a clue about how many of them there are or where they’re positioned—but the sounds blur together, indistinct and frustratingly useless.
Then, from the corner of your eye, you catch it—a flicker of movement. Your head snaps toward the tail of the van, heart pounding. For the briefest moment, a hand emerges, fingers twitching in a silent signal.
Three.
The hand disappears just as quickly as it appeared, but the message is clear. You nudge Jungwon lightly, your fingers brushing his arm. His gaze follows yours to the spot where the hand had been, and you watch as his expression hardens. His eyes narrow in that calculating way you’ve come to recognise.
Three.
No—more. The hand reappears, flashing another quick signal.
Five.
Your stomach twists, the tension tightening like a noose around your chest. Five? Does that mean five hidden threats, or five including the two already standing out in the open with your friends? You curse under your breath, frustrated that you hadn’t thought to establish hand signals with them sooner. Anticipating a situation like this should’ve been second nature by now.
Your heart skips a beat as the hand emerges once more. But this time, it’s more than just fingers. You catch a glimpse of hair, dishevelled but unmistakable.
Sunghoon.
His hands are tied behind his back, but he’s doing everything he can to communicate. His fingers form a fist, except for his thumb and index finger, which he cocks repeatedly.
“They’re armed,” Jungwon whispers, his voice low and steady, cutting through your thoughts. He’s already figured it out. Of course he has. Sunghoon’s making the universal sign for guns, cocking his thumb like a makeshift trigger. When he raises two fingers, it clicks.
Two guns.
Three hidden threats.
Five in total.
You turn to look at Jungwon and Jay and it’s pretty clear they figured it out too. Their faces mirror your own dread, their expressions tense and focused. There’s no room for error here.
Sunghoon’s hand twitches again, slower this time. He forms a clenched fist before making a sweeping motion inwards, his fingers pointing to the back of the van.
“He wants us to come up behind the van,” you whisper to Jungwon, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding of your heart. Jungwon gives a slight nod, his eyes never leaving Sunghoon.
But then Sunghoon’s fingers start counting down.
Five.
Wait, what?
Four.
Panic flares in your chest. What’s the plan? There’s no time to figure this out.
Three.
Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his hand inching toward the hilt of his blade.
Two.
If you rush out now, you’ll be spotted. You know it. You’ll be shot before you even make it to the van.
One.
You freeze.
“So, what’s the plan, lady and gentlemen?” Sunoo’s voice rings out, light and sarcastic despite the weight of the situation. “Gonna stand there all day?”
He’s creating a distraction. Of course he is. Turning the strangers’ attention to him, giving you a window of opportunity to sneak around. For a brief moment, you’re struck by how well this group operates together—how they fill in the gaps for each other. It’s seamless, even in chaos.
You also catch the nuance in Sunoo’s words. Lady and gentlemen. One woman. Four men.
One of the men steps closer, his rifle glinting in the light. “Keep talking, pretty boy. See how that works out for you.”
“I understand,” Sunoo says lightly. “But I really do need to pee. Would you be so kind as to help me out?”
The man doesn’t even flinch. “No. Pee your pants.”
Sunoo lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come on. I know it’s the apocalypse, but you can’t strip me of my basic human rights. Back in the day, you’d be charged with kidnapping on multiple counts.”
“This isn’t ‘back in the day’ now, is it?” says one of them.
“Fine. But at least unzip my trousers and help me take it out, please!" you make a mental note that Sunoo and lack of decorum do not go well together, even in the apocalypse.
The man’s face twists in disgust, and a woman’s voice pipes up from the other side, exasperated. “Ugh. Just help him.”
There’s shuffling. Movement. Now.
You push yourself off the ground, body low as you crawl across the curb and step into the open road. You creep behind the van, the gravel crunching quietly beneath your boots. Jungwon and Jay follow close, silent shadows trailing in your wake.
Sunghoon stands just a few feet away, Jake perpendicular from him, both still bound. The tension between the three of you is palpable, a shared understanding that one wrong move could cost everything.
Unfortunately, from your position, you can't see where the oppressors are without risking exposure. The van offers some cover, but it’s not enough to make a clear assessment. Your pulse drums steadily in your ears as you scan your surroundings, searching for any advantage.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jake shifting slightly. At first, you think he’s adjusting his position, but then a glint catches your attention—a flash of sunlight reflecting off the knife secured in his belt. Your brow furrows, curious.
Jake moves again, this time more deliberately, tilting the blade just enough to catch the light. The reflection bounces toward the treeline, and you realise with a start that he’s not just adjusting—he’s positioning himself to show you something.
He’s using the reflection to signal.
You narrow your eyes, focusing on the faint gleam in the knife. It flickers as Jake tilts it, revealing small glimpses of what lies beyond your line of sight. Through the distorted image in the reflection, you can make out the silhouette of a woman standing near Sunghoon. She’s clinging to the arm of a man with a rifle.
Jake tilts the knife again, revealing two more figures standing near the van’s hood. They’re not moving much, but the muzzle of a rifle glints faintly in the light.
Four.
Your chest tightens as you try to piece together the situation. You glance at Jungwon, who’s crouched nearby, his gaze locked on the same reflection. His lips press into a thin line as he absorbs the information.
Four by the van. One unaccounted for.
“What? Are you going to watch me pee?” Sunoo’s voice drifts through the trees, loud and mocking. He sounds far too relaxed for someone tied up and at gunpoint. It would almost be funny—if it wasn’t terrifying. But you know exactly what he’s doing—keeping the focus on himself. No, not just that.
The pieces fall into place. Four by the van. One with Sunoo. Two confirmed firearms.
You take a risk, tilting your head just enough to peek beyond the edge of the van. The road stretches out before you, dappled with sunlight filtering through the trees. And then you see it—an opportunity.
Your gaze sharpens as the woman catches your attention again. She’s unarmed, still clinging to the man with the rifle, her hands trembling slightly. The way her fingers grip his sleeve, the tension in her posture—it tells you everything. She’s scared. Not just for herself, but for him.
Girlfriend? Wife? Sister? It doesn’t matter. It’s a weakness.
Your heart pounds as you glance at Sunghoon, signalling with a subtle nod. He inches to his left, giving you a clear path. Every movement is slow, deliberate. The woman remains oblivious, her focus entirely on the man she’s holding on to. You shift your weight, exchanging a glance with Jungwon. His eyes narrow, and in an instant, he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
Don’t.
The silent message is written all over his face. His hand twitches, reaching toward you, a last-ditch effort to stop you. But you’ve already made up your mind.
You step out from behind the van, your footsteps soft but purposeful. The knife in your hand feels like an extension of your arm. The woman’s head snaps up as she senses your presence, her eyes widening in shock.
Before she can react, your arm wraps around her neck, pulling her close. The blade presses against her throat, just hard enough to make her freeze. A gasp escapes her lips—a fragile sound, filled with fear.
“Move and I’ll slit her throat,” you say, your voice cold and unyielding. Something in it that scares you even. The woman stiffens in your grip, her breath catching in her throat. The man in front of her spins around, his rifle swinging toward you before he freezes, wide-eyed and panicked.
Beside you, Jungwon stays hidden, crouched low behind the van. He signals to Jay with a subtle nod, motioning for him to circle around to the front of the van now that every pair of eyes is locked on you.
“Let her go!” he shouts, his hands tightening around the weapon.
"Not a chance," you reply, pressing the blade just a little closer to the woman’s neck. Her breath hitches, a strained gasp breaking through the tense silence. She trembles in your hold, her fingers clawing weakly at your arm—not to fight you off, just instinct, pure desperation. Her nails barely scrape your skin, like she knows it won’t help but can’t stop herself from trying.
You know what must be running through her mind. You wonder if she feels like prey in a trap, heart pounding, mind racing to find a way out. Your mind spirals further, unwanted thoughts clawing at the edges of your focus.
This moment is a reflection. A sickening déjà vu.
Would this woman be feeling what their friend felt when that man held her at knifepoint?
Would this man be feeling what Jay had felt when he witnessed his loved one on the verge of death?
Would they see you in that same light?
Then again, why would you care what they think about you? It’s not like you’ll be staying long anyway.
So, you don’t let go. You can’t let go. Because you know what will happen when you do.
The man with the rifle looks like he’s calculating his odds, his gaze flicking between you and your hostage. The tension is palpable, each second stretching out endlessly. The woman whimpers, her body trembling against you. She’s scared. Good. Fear keeps people compliant.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “We didn’t come here to hurt anyone.”
You scoff, the sound bitter in your throat. “Funny. That’s not what it looks like.”
The man with the rifle shifts again, and your grip on the woman tightens. “You really want to test me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “Because I promise you, I don’t care about her life nearly as much as you do.”
“No!” he shouts, his voice raw with desperation, his grip loosening on the rifle. “Don’t hurt her!”
For a moment, everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. The trees sway gently in the breeze, the leaves rustling like whispers of a long-forgotten world. The morning sun filters through the branches, casting dappled shadows on the road. And yet, all you can focus on is the pulse beneath your hand—the steady, panicked thrum of the woman’s heartbeat against your arm.
Mentally slapping yourself out of your trance, you command. “Drop your weapon.”
He hesitates, his knuckles whitening around the rifle. His fear is palpable, radiating off him in waves. You press the knife just a fraction deeper against the woman’s skin, enough to make her whimper. “I said, drop it.”
The man hesitates for a long moment, his grip tightening. His gaze flickers to the woman in your grasp, then back to you. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he weighs his options. But you also see something else.
Fear. Not fear of you—but fear of losing her.
That’s the thing about love, isn’t it? It makes you vulnerable. It cracks you open, gives someone the power to hurt you. And if someone knows where to press, that love becomes a liability.
Slowly, he lowers the rifle, the barrel pointing toward the ground.
“Good,” you say, your tone steady. “Now kick it over.”
The rifle skids across the asphalt, stopping just a few feet from Jungwon. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jungwon’s expression—tense, calculating, but not surprised. He moves slowly, staying low as he presses himself closer to the van, positioning himself to take control of the situation once the opportunity presents itself.
"You don’t want to do this," another man, closer to the hood of the van, says slowly. His voice is calm, measured. Too measured. Like he’s trying to steady not just himself, but the entire situation. His eyes flick between you and the woman you’re holding. He’s trying to be the voice of reason, the negotiator, but there’s a tremor in his tone—one he can’t quite hide.
"You don’t want to hurt her."
"Don’t tell me what I want," you snap, your voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. Your grip on the knife doesn’t waver, but inside? Inside, it’s chaos.
Because he’s right. You don’t want to hurt her. Not really. Not if there’s another way out. They’ve got guns and they’re desperate, just like you.
Desperation makes monsters of everyone.
The thought claws at the edges of your mind as you adjust your grip on the woman. She’s trembling, tears slipping down her face, but she stays silent. Her breath comes in short, shallow gasps, her chest heaving against your arm. You can feel her fear, taste it in the air, and it makes your stomach turn.
This whole situation, it’s just the natural order of things now. The strong preying on the weak. Demanding supplies, food, whatever it takes to keep their own people alive. You’ve seen it before, lived through it. Hell, there’s a whole organisation running rampage out there doing exactly that.
Regardless of their intentions and how they do it, it’s survival. But that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.
And you know—you know—these people aren’t much different from you and your group. They’re just trying to survive, trying to keep moving, to keep the people they care about alive. They don’t want to hurt you any more than you want to hurt them. At least not until you give them a reason to.
And you did. The moment you grabbed the woman, the second your knife pressed against her throat, you gave them all the reason they needed to pull the trigger. Because you touched something they care about.
That’s the thing about people. It’s all about who and what they care about. And when you touch it, threaten it, everything changes. Logic, reason, morality—it all flies out the window. And now? Now they’re counting down the seconds until they can shoot you in the face without a second thought.
But they forget one thing.
They touched your people first.
"You’ve got about thirty seconds," you say, your voice steady, cold. "Drop all your weapons, let my people go, or I swear I’ll slit her throat."
You glance at Jungwon out of the corner of your eye. He’s still crouched low behind the van, waiting, watching. His expression is unreadable, but you know him well enough now to see the tension in his shoulders, he’s waiting for the right moment.
Jay is out of sight, somewhere on the other side of the van. You can’t see him, but you know he’s moving, circling, trying to find an angle. Trying to protect your group the only way he knows how.
Your gaze flickers to the others. Jake and Heeseung is still bound, but their eyes are locked on you, a mix of shock and something like pride flickering in their expression. Sunghoon remains frozen, his body tense but ready to spring into action the second he gets a chance. Ni-ki is pinned down on the hood of the van but his eyes are on you, unwavering, waiting.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flicker of movement in the treeline—Sunoo. His figure is barely visible through the dense foliage, but you can tell his hands are free. He must have managed to cut through the rope binding him, probably using the rough bark of a tree. That—or the guy tasked with watching him isn’t very good at his job.
You keep your gaze locked on the man in front of you, careful not to let your eyes betray Sunoo’s presence. The last thing you need is for them to catch on. Instead, you let your peripheral vision do the work, tracking Sunoo’s slow, deliberate movements as he inches forward, his footsteps light and calculated.
He’s closing the distance. The guy guarding him hasn’t noticed. Too busy shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting nervously with his knife. He’s jittery. Out of his depth. They’ve clearly never done this before. Not properly, at least. There’s no confidence in the way he stands, no calm resolve you’d expect from someone used to wielding power.
But the man closest to you—the one with everything to lose—is different.
His jaw clenches tight, muscles flexing as he shifts his weight. You can tell he’s getting impatient, barely containing his frustration. His hand twitches at his side, fingers curling and uncurling like he’s itching to do something, anything. He keeps glancing at the rifle on the ground—probably kicking himself for letting go of it in the first place.
“What’s your plan here?” he sneers, voice low and venomous. His eyes bore into you with disdain. “Think you’re walking out of this alive?”
God, you hope so.
But hope isn’t a strategy, and you know that better than most. You don’t answer him. Instead, you move deliberately, swinging your free hand up to cover the woman’s face, pressing your palm over her eyes. She gasps, stiffening in your grip, her hands scrabbling weakly at your arm. She doesn’t fight hard enough to hurt you—too paralysed by fear.
The man in front of you frowns, taking a cautious step forward, his confusion clear in the crease of his brow. Yes, that’s right. Let him think you’re escalating the situation. Let him think you’re panicking, acting out of desperation.
But It’s nothing more than a calculated move—meant to look like you’re trying to intimidate her further. Really, it’s to cover her vision. Keep her from seeing Sunoo.
“Shh,” you murmur harshly against her ear, low and threatening. Your voice doesn’t waver, even as your heart pounds relentlessly in your chest. She lets out a muffled whimper, trembling, and you press your hand more firmly over her face. The other man with the rifle steps forward, his brow furrowing in confusion. Perfect. Let him focus on you. Let him take the bait.
Sunoo is closer now, creeping along the treeline like a shadow. His footsteps are almost silent, his movements fluid and precise. He’s patient, careful. Waiting for the right moment.
Behind you, you sense Jungwon shift slightly, adjusting his stance. You know he’s seen Sunoo too. His hands hover near the discarded rifle on the ground, his body taut like a coiled spring, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
But it’s Jay’s absence that nags at the back of your mind. Where is he? He should have circled around by now, taken position. The fact that he hasn’t reappeared yet only heightens the tension coiling in your chest.
“Let her go,” the man demands, his voice harder now. “We’re done playing games.”
Games? You almost laugh at that. This isn’t a game. This is survival. Still, you keep your tone even, your grip steady. You tilt your head, letting a slow smirk curl at the corners of your mouth. “It’s kind of fun though, isn’t it?” you mock, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “This little game.”
Sunoo’s almost there now. Just a few more steps. He’s inching closer, creeping along the treeline with the precision of someone who knows how to stay invisible. His hands flex at his sides, ready to act.
And then—
The sharp crack of a branch echoes through the air like a gunshot. The noise is deafening in the tense silence, slicing through the moment like a blade. Your heart lurches into your throat as the man with the rifle reacts instantly, swinging his weapon toward the sound, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“Sunoo—now!” you shout, your voice breaking through the moment of standstill.
Bang.
A singular gunshot rings out.
part 2 - warmth | masterlist | part 4 - blood
♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡
notes from nat: *laughs menacingly* i'll shout out the person who guesses the title of the next part first when i post it HAHAHA also lowkey had a breakdown writing this part because of the whole sequence at the back. it was so challenging trying to portray her anxiety and levelheadedness at the same time.
Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.
word count: 13k
MASTERLIST
Warmth.
The first thing you notice when you wake is the warmth of the sun on your face, its golden light filtering through the gaps in the trees. You blink against the brightness, disoriented for a moment as you sit up abruptly. That’s when you realise your head had been resting on Jungwon’s lap.
He’s still there, sitting exactly where you left him, his blade resting against the wooden railing. His posture is stiff, and there are faint shadows under his eyes, but his gaze remains focused on the treeline, sharp and unwavering.
“You didn’t sleep,” you say, your voice hoarse from disuse. It’s not a question—it’s an observation, one that feels heavier than it should.
He glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t want to risk it,” he says simply, as though staying awake all night was no big deal.
Your brow furrows, guilt creeping into your chest. “I thought we were switching shifts.”
He shrugs, leaning back slightly against the railing. “You looked like you needed it more.”
You stare at him, the weight of his words sinking in. He barely knows you, yet he gave up his rest so you could have yours. The realisation sits uncomfortably, making your chest tighten.
“Thanks,” you say quietly, the word feeling inadequate. “But you didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he interrupts, his tone light but firm. “It’s fine, I didn’t think i would’ve been able to sleep anyway.”
The camp below begins to stir, the others waking slowly as the day takes hold. You glance down, watching as Sunoo stretches lazily, Sunghoon stokes the embers of the dying fire, and Jay mutters something under his breath, clearly not a morning person.
“You should get down there,” Jungwon says, his voice pulling your attention back to him. “Grab something to eat before they take it all.”
“What about you?” you ask, still uneasy with the thought of him staying awake all night.
“I’ll eat later,” he says, waving off your concern as he finally stands, stretching his arms above his head. “Someone has to keep an eye on things while everyone else sleeps in.”
For a moment, you consider arguing, but the look in his eyes tells you it’s not worth it. Jungwon’s sense of responsibility runs deeper than you realised, and while it frustrates you, it’s also hard not to respect it.
“Alright,” you say finally, climbing down the ladder. But as you reach the ground and glance back up at him, the faint guilt lingers.
You sit by the dying fire, its faint warmth barely reaching your skin as the morning unfolds around you. Despite the ache in your body and the exhaustion clawing at your mind, you can’t stop your eyes from darting across the camp, taking in the subtle movements of the group.
There’s a rhythm to them, an unspoken flow in the way they interact, as though every task and gesture has already been decided without a single word being spoken. It’s not chaos, not the haphazard scramble you’re used to seeing in desperate survivors. It’s something else. Something deliberate.
The longer you watch, the clearer it becomes that they aren’t just a random assortment of people who happened to survive together. The dynamics of this group, odd as they may be, seem to work, each person carrying out a role that seems as vital as breathing.
You hate to admit it, but it intrigues you. There’s a part of you—a part you thought you buried—that wants to understand how they make it work. Against your better judgment, you can feel your curiosity growing, clawing at you for answers.
One thing, however, is abundantly clear: Jungwon is the leader.
You spot him high up on the watchtower, his silhouette outlined against the soft glow of the rising sun. His arms are crossed, his posture relaxed but alert as he surveys the camp below. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t bark orders, yet the others seem to fall into line as if guided by an invisible tether.
“Hey,” Sunoo’s voice cuts through your thoughts, jolting you slightly. He’s seated across from you, fiddling with a dented tin cup and flashing one of his easy, disarming smiles. “Jungwon figured that if you’re going to be staying, it’d be better to let you in on how things work around here.”
Staying. You’re not entirely sure about that.
The idea of staying with a group, of being around people again, stirs something uneasy inside you. It’s not a fear of them—it’s a fear of what comes with them. The horror of your past still clings to you like a second skin, a constant reminder of what it means to care, to hope, and then to lose. You’re not sure you’re ready to open yourself up to that again.
Because staying with people means watching them die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.
Not to say this group will meet the same fate—but in this world, there’s no guarantee of survival, no matter how capable or united they seem. Death isn’t a possibility; it’s an inevitability. The only question is when.
You’ve seen it before—how quickly things can go wrong. How one misstep, one unlucky moment, can unravel everything. Staying means becoming a part of something, and a part of you wonders if you’ve got anything left to give. After all, what’s the point of building something that will inevitably collapse?
“It’ll help you understand why we do what we do,” comes another voice from behind. You start slightly, not having noticed Jungwon’s approach. He settles on the log beside you, his presence calm yet commanding, as if he’s somehow taken control of the conversation without trying.
Sunoo leans forward, his grin widening. “Alright, listen up. Starting with our fearless leader over here—Jungwon.” He gestures dramatically, and Jungwon rolls his eyes, though there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s our strategist, the one who keeps us alive by figuring out where to go, when to move, and how to deal with… well, everything.”
Jungwon exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Someone has to keep you lot in line,” he says dryly, though there’s no malice in his tone.
“Whatever you say, captain,” Sunoo replies, offering a mock salute before turning his attention to Heeseung.
The man sits at the edge of camp, methodically sharpening a blade. “Next, we’ve got Heeseung, our scout and tracker. He’s got the best eyes out of all of us. If there’s something—or someone—out there, he’ll find it first.”
“And that grump over there?” Sunoo gestures toward Jay, who’s seated a short distance away, carefully cleaning his pistol with a precision that borders on obsessive. “Jay’s our long-range shooter. Best shot we’ve got. He’d never admit it, but he’s saved all our asses more times than we can count.”
“Jake,” Sunoo continues, pointing toward the man currently inspecting a med kit, “is our medic. If you get hurt, he’s the one you want patching you up. And don’t worry, he actually knows what he’s doing, and not just throwing plasters on everything hoping for the best.”
Jake smirks faintly, his hands moving deftly as he tosses a roll of bandages into the kit. “I was in pre-med before all this,” he says, his tone light but tinged with a quiet seriousness. “It’s not anything impressive, but it’s enough to keep us alive. Just don’t make me work too hard, alright?”
“And then there’s Sunghoon,” Sunoo says, his tone growing slightly more dramatic, “our weapons expert and close-range fighter. If it comes down to it, he’s the one who’ll keep the rest of us breathing.”
Sunghoon glances up from where he’s tinkering with a makeshift blade. “And by ‘close-range fighter,’ he means I’m the one who has to deal with the messy stuff,” he says dryly, though there’s a faint glimmer of pride in his eyes.
“And then there’s me,” Sunoo adds, placing a hand on his chest with mock seriousness. “Diplomat. Negotiator. The one who talks us out of—or into—trouble, depending on the situation.”
“Mostly into trouble,” Jake interjects, his voice carrying a faint edge of amusement.
Sunoo waves him off with an exaggerated sigh before turning to the cheekiest of the group. “And last but not least, Ni-ki, our little magic hands. If it’s broken, he can fix it. If it’s running, he can make it run faster.”
Ni-ki, who’s crouched by the van inspecting its undercarriage, glances up briefly. “Yeah, and if you want it to work, don’t touch it,” he says, his tone sharp but not entirely unfriendly.
The pieces start to fall into place, the dynamic clicking in a way that almost makes sense. You find yourself both impressed and uneasy, the thought of fitting into something so cohesive feeling alien to you.
Sunoo tilts his head, his gaze meeting yours. “And you? What about you?”
The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve been on your own for so long, your only role has been survival. You’ve never had to think about what you could bring to the table—only about what you could take to stay alive. And in that sense, staying would be a terrible idea.
Then again, these people clearly know what they’re doing. It doesn't hurt to be around people that will keep you alive.
“I guess… I’m figuring that out,” you say finally, your voice quieter now.
Sunoo studies you for a moment before nodding, his grin softening. “Stick around long enough, and we’ll figure it out too.”
About three days have passed in their camp, and you’re beginning to entertain the possibility of staying with them. They work well together, almost seamlessly. It’s not something you just discovered, but the more you witness their dynamics, the more in awe you are.
You can’t help but wonder: if the community building you were part of had been like this, would it have fallen the way it did? Maybe with them, you finally have a real shot at staying alive.
Most of them seem to have opened up to the idea of you sticking around—at least, you think they have. Truthfully, the only people who’ve expressed any contentment with your presence are Sunoo and Jake. But that’s likely because they’re the ones you’ve spent the most time with. They’re always in camp, managing supplies and rations, keeping the place running while the others head out.
And, of course, because you’re not allowed to leave camp. Orders from Jungwon—though you suspect Jay had a hand in that decision too. You figure it’s less about keeping you safe and more about making sure you don’t fuck up their rhythm.
Speaking of Jungwon, you’ve noticed something about the way the group operates: his words hold a lot of weight here. And not just because he’s the leader.
Even after spending the last few nights on watch with him, sharing quiet conversations under the stars while the others slept, you still haven’t quite figured it out. There’s an ease to the way he interacts with the group, a quiet authority that doesn’t need to be forced.
Every decision, every movement, seems to flow through him first. But it’s not in a micromanaging or authoritarian way. It’s just… natural. The others look to him, wait for him to weigh in, like his judgment is the glue holding them together. He doesn’t shy away from it either, even when it’s clear the burden weighs heavily on him.
Whatever this group’s flaws, it’s clear Jungwon holds them together, even at the expense of himself. And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to understand why.
He’s not the leader because he demands it—but because the others trust him to be.
It works for them, clearly. They function like a well-oiled machine, each person playing their role with practiced efficiency. But if you’re being honest, you find it a little risky.
To have everyone’s lives hinge on one person’s decisions? To place that much responsibility on a single set of shoulders?
It’s a dangerous gamble. For even the strongest leaders have their breaking point. And if Jungwon ever falters, you wonder what will happen to the rest of them.
You’ve also learned that they only leave the camp unattended during high-stakes expeditions, like the one back in the city. Other than that, it’s almost always Jungwon, Heeseung, Sunghoon, or Jay who take turns heading out. And even then, they only leave when it’s absolutely necessary.
Not to hunt. Not to scavenge.
They don’t hunt. They’re surviving off the food they stole when they escaped The Future.
It’s a startling revelation, one that lingers in the back of your mind every time you watch them ration out supplies. Even though you know Heeseung is perfectly capable of hunting, they don’t take the risk.
No, when they go out, it’s not for food or water. It’s to cover their tracks and secure the perimeter. To ensure that no trace of their last expedition leads anyone back to this camp, which you suspect is also another reason why they don’t let you leave.
Ni-ki is harder to figure out. He’s a wild card—sometimes he goes out when needed, but otherwise, he stays behind to keep watch. These past few days, though, Jay has been staying in camp too, and it’s clear he’s still wary of you. He doesn’t trust you, not fully. He doesn’t sleep when you’re on watch and makes sure you’re never alone with any of the others for too long.
Aside from Jungwon, Jake, and Sunoo, you haven’t exchanged many words with the rest. Even when everyone’s in camp, the conversations are minimal.
Most of them don’t like talking about their lives before the world fell apart. And you understand. What’s the point in reminiscing about a time that no longer exists? It only makes the loss worse, reminding you of everything you could have had.
Well, most of them feel that way—except for Sunoo.
He talks endlessly, filling the silences around camp with anecdotes and bits of his past. You’ve learned from helping him manage supplies that he was in law school before everything fell apart. It makes sense, given how much he talks. He’s always negotiating, always diffusing tension with his words.
When he asked you what you did before the world ended, you kept it vague, telling him you were in school too.
And yet, despite the distance, they’ve started treating you like one of their own. It’s been a long time since you’ve gone days without starving, and for the first time in forever, you almost feel like you’ve found a safe haven.
But before you even have the chance to fully sit with the idea of staying, your attention is drawn to Jungwon, who’s making his way over to Heeseung. His movements are careful, deliberate, and the moment they begin talking, it’s clear the conversation isn’t meant for everyone’s ears. Still, their words are loud enough to reach you from where you’re sitting by the logs.
“Heeseung, how’s our food situation?” Jungwon asks, his expression serious, his brows furrowed in thought.
Heeseung glances around briefly, his sharp eyes scanning the camp before leaning in closer to Jungwon. “We’ve depleted almost everything we took from The Future. With our current resources, it’ll last us about a week.” He pauses, then adds in a lower voice, “Well, less now that we have…”
Heeseung’s gaze shifts toward you, and you realise a second too late that you’ve been staring. Your eyes meet his, and he stiffens, clearly caught off guard by your attention. His words trail off, but the meaning behind them hangs in the air, unspoken yet deafeningly clear.
A wave of guilt washes over you, sharp and overwhelming.
That’s right. You’re just another mouth for them to feed. Another person whose survival they’re now responsible for.
You hadn’t thought about it before, not really. But now, it hits you like a freight train. Every bite you take, every resource you use—it’s something they can’t spare, something that might have kept one of them alive just a little longer.
And that triggers something in you.
You lower your gaze, suddenly unable to hold Heeseung’s. The weight of your presence in their camp feels heavier than ever, and the resolve you thought you’d solidified earlier begins to shift.
Staying with them, trusting them, letting them trust you—it’s not just about your own safety anymore. It’s about what your presence costs them. And that’s not something you can ignore.
So, you make up your mind there and then.
The next opportunity you get, you’ll leave. Leave and never turn back.
They don’t entirely trust you, but they don’t distrust you enough to keep you at arm’s length, either. They let you into their camp, shared their food, their fire. They even explained how they work together, the roles they each play. Yet, you remain an outsider, lingering on the edges of their tight-knit circle. And you know, deep down, that’s exactly where you belong.
So when the opportunity arises—though you’re not sure when you’ll have a moment alone long enough to slip away unnoticed—you’ll leave. You won’t even take anything with you. Just slip into the shadows and disappear before they even realise you’re gone. No attachments, no debts, no goodbyes. That’s how it has to be.
But not yet. Not until you’ve made sure they’re safe.
Despite your resolve, you can’t bring yourself to abandon them while the unknown danger you and Jungwon discussed the night you met them still lingers. Not after everything they’ve done, not after the way they fought to protect each other, to protect you. That’s right, you still owe them for saving your life and feeding you these past few days.
So you’ll wait. Watch for the right moment. Repay your debts. And when it comes—when the threat has passed, and the dust has settled—you’ll leave. Without hesitation. Without looking back.
But that selfless thought is, in itself, an act of caring—you just haven’t realised it yet.
Jungwon and Heeseung return from their quiet discussion, their expressions unreadable. Without needing to say a word, the group instinctively gathers around the fire that has long gone out. The way they move, as if summoned by some unspoken signal, is fascinating. No commands are given, no prompting required.
Just the sheer presence of Jungwon.
“We’ll have to send a team out to hunt,” Jungwon begins, his voice calm but firm as his sharp gaze sweeps across the group. “Latest before noon. If we leave then, we can make it back before dusk.”
Jake, sitting with his legs crossed, looks up sharply. “Hunt? Are we out of food already?” Concern threads through his voice, his usual calm demeanour faltering just slightly.
Jungwon doesn’t answer immediately, his focus flickering toward Heeseung, who nods in silent confirmation. “We’re low,” Jungwon says finally.
“I mean, we do have one more mouth to feed,” Jay mutters, his tone biting as he glances at you. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, leaning back slightly, his arms crossed. It’s not the first jab he’s made, but it stings more than you’d like to admit.
You force yourself to keep your expression neutral, meeting his gaze evenly. If anything, you’re oddly relieved by his hostility. At least someone here is keeping their guard up around you. Someone who doesn’t want to trust you, who wants you gone. You can’t explain why, but you hope it stays that way. It feels safer, somehow, for at least one person to see you as an outsider—a liability.
It makes leaving easier to justify.
“Jay,” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp but not angry. It’s enough to make Jay’s expression shift slightly, though he doesn’t apologise.
The silence that follow is heavy, Jungwon’s words settling over the group like a cold wind. The reality of their situation is clear—if they don’t find food soon, things are going to get a lot harder. And none of them, not even Jay, have to ask for you to know you should be the one to do it.
“I’ll go,” you say, your voice firm despite the nervous knot forming in your stomach. All eyes snap to you, the weight of their gazes almost crushing.
Jungwon raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “You?”
You nod, holding his gaze. “You need every fighter you can spare here, and I can handle myself. I’d hate to sit around and do nothing all day, like a parasite. Let me help.”
“At least she’s self-aware,” Jay mutters under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Sunoo.
The air grows thick with tension, the subtle coo of morning birds the only sound as the group processes your words. Heeseung is the first to break the silence, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll go too,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “If she’s going out there, someone has to track. I’m not sending anyone out blind.”
Jay lets out a sharp, humourless laugh, shaking his head as he rises to his feet. “Yeah, no. If Heeseung’s going, I’m going. Someone has to make sure this doesn’t blow up in our faces.” His words are pointed, his glare fixed on you. It’s clear he doesn’t trust you, and he’s not about to risk Heeseung’s safety over it.
You bite back a retort, understanding his scepticism even if it stings. Heeseung glances at him but doesn’t argue, his focus already shifting to what the group will need for the trip.
“I’ll go too,” Jungwon says suddenly, standing up from the log. His tone is steady, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the calculation in his eyes. “We can’t take chances with this.”
“No, you can’t go,” you say quickly, before he can cement the decision. The firmness in your voice catches him off guard, his brow furrowing as he turns to you. The rest of the group falls silent, thrown by your sudden declaration. Usually, whatever Jungwon says goes, so for you to challenge him is clearly a first.
The awkwardness is suffocating, the weight of everyone’s stares pressing down on you. You take a small step closer to Jungwon, lowering your voice so only he can hear.
“They need you here,” you whisper, your voice steady but insistent. “If you leave, that’s four people left at camp—two of whom isn’t much of a fighter.”
Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They can handle themselves. It’s not the first time I’m leaving anyway,” he replies, his voice calm but firm.
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “But it’s clear they’re rattled by the food shortage. They’re anxious, Jungwon, whether they’re saying it out loud or not.” You glance briefly at the others, noting the subtle tension in their postures, the way their gazes flit to Jungwon as if waiting for reassurance.
“You’re their leader,” you continue, your voice soft. “You’re the reason they stay focused, the reason they trust they’ll make it through the next day. If something happens to you out there...” You let the sentence hang, the weight of the implication settling heavy between you both.
Jungwon’s expression falters for a fraction of a second, the barest flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he schools it back into something unreadable. He doesn’t respond immediately, and you think he’s going to argue. But then his gaze softens slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought.
“And you think you can handle this?” he whispers, his voice softer now but no less serious.
“I do,” you reply firmly. “Heeseung knows what he’s doing, and Jay clearly won’t let anything happen to… well, him. I’ve hunted before, Jungwon. Plus, I know you stayed up on watch again last night. You need to stay here.”
Jungwon’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he exhales sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Alright,” he says, though there’s a reluctance in his voice. “But don’t take unnecessary risks. If it looks bad, you come back. Understood?”
The way he says it, as if he knows you’re considering running, makes something twist in your chest. Not yet, though. Not yet.
“Understood,” you say, standing up and brushing the dirt off your palms.
Heeseung secures his knife into its sheath with a nod, and Jay rolls his eyes but grabs his gear without protest. The three of you prepare to head out, the camp watching in silence as you gather your supplies.
Just as you’re about to step beyond the barricade, you spot Jungwon whispering something to Jay. Whatever he says makes Jay scowl, shaking his head in visible protest. But Jungwon’s expression hardens, his voice firm as he cuts the argument short. Jay sighs, clearly annoyed, but ultimately relents. His sharp eyes shift back to you, now carrying an edge of suspicion sharper than before.
Jungwon’s gaze lingers on you as you leave, his expression unreadable. The weight of his trust—or maybe it’s his doubt—feels heavier than any weapon you’ve carried. But you push the thought aside.
The three of you move quietly through the forest, the morning sunlight filtering through the trees in patches of gold. Heeseung takes the lead, while Jay trails slightly behind, his sharp eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. You stay somewhere in between, the knife in your hand an extension of the resolve you’re trying to summon.
The silence between you is heavy, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint chirping of distant birds. You don’t speak, and neither do they, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s one born of necessity, of focus. Every sound, every shift in the forest, could mean danger—or an opportunity.
But, of course, the concentration doesn’t last. Jay, who you’re beginning to suspect thrives on friction, breaks the quiet with a pointed comment.
“I don’t understand. Why does Jungwon care so much about you?”
Heeseung doesn’t turn around, but you can practically feel the exasperation radiating off him. “Seriously, Jay? You’re talking about this now?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of disbelief in his tone.
“What?” Jay retorts, his tone almost defensive. “Are you not curious at all? They stayed on watch together a few times, and now Jungwon’s ready to risk everything to keep her safe.”
“I’m literally right here,” you snap, the annoyance in your voice cutting through the tense air. “If you’ve got questions about me, maybe try asking me directly instead of talking like I’m not standing a few feet away.”
Jay glances at you briefly, his expression unimpressed. “Fine. Why is Jungwon sticking his neck out for you?”
You blink, caught off guard by the bluntness of his question. “I don’t think he’s sticking his neck out for me,” you say, your tone defensive as your grip tightens around your knife. “What are you even talking about?”
Jay lets out a humourless laugh, shaking his head as if you’ve just proven his point. “Then why did he ask me to keep an eye on you? Make sure you come back alive?” he says, his voice low but edged with irritation.
Your steps falter for just a moment, your breath catching in your throat. “He… told you that?” you ask, your voice quieter now, the frustration giving way to something more uncertain.
Jay nods, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah. Said you’ll be a great addition to the group or something. Like we don’t already have enough to deal with.”
You’re not sure how to answer—hell, you’re not even sure why Jungwon has been so willing to give you a chance. Before you can formulate a response, Heeseung cuts in.
“Maybe because Jungwon’s a nice person,” Heeseung says dryly, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. “Not like a certain somebody who can’t seem to shut up.”
“Nice? Jungwon?” Jay scoffs, his tone sharp. “He’s the last person after me among the seven of us to be nice, especially to strangers. You think this is just him being friendly?”
You glance at Heeseung, hoping for some clarification, but he keeps his focus on the trail ahead. Jay’s words settle uneasily in your chest. If Jungwon isn’t the kind of person to extend trust easily, then what’s his angle? Why is he giving you the benefit of the doubt when others—like Jay—clearly think you don’t deserve it?
The weight of Jungwon’s trust feels heavier now, more significant.
“Well, I didn’t ask for him to do that. I don’t need anyone keeping an eye on me.” you say finally, your voice a little steadier, though the uncertainty still lingers.
Jay snorts, his expression sceptical. “Yeah, well, tell that to Jungwon. He’s not exactly the type to give orders lightly.”
The tension between you hangs heavy in the air, but before either of you can say more, Heeseung glances over his shoulder, his tone calm but firm. “Enough. We’re here to hunt, not to argue. If we don’t bring back any game, it’ll blame it all on you.”
“Well, it’s her fault we’re even out here in the first place. Blame her.” says Jay with a scoff.
Heeseung’s gaze narrows. “I said that’s enough, Jay.”
Jay rolls his eyes but doesn’t push further. Instead, he mutters something under his breath and turns his focus back to the forest ahead, the tension in his shoulders still evident.
You let out a slow, steadying breath, the heat of the argument leaving you rattled. But it’s not just the argument that lingers in your mind—it’s Jay’s words. Jungwon had specifically told him to keep an eye on you? To make sure you came back alive?
Why…?
Before the silence stretches too long, Heeseung motions for a stop, crouching low and studying a patch of disturbed earth. His fingers graze the ground lightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. You watch him carefully, impressed by the ease with which he reads the signs the forest leaves behind.
“Squirrels,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. He points to a set of tracks leading deeper into the woods. “A few of them. Probably moving together.”
Jay nods curtly, his grip tightening on the bow he’s been carrying. “We’ll have to be quick. If we miss, they’ll scatter.”
Heeseung glances at you, a faint flicker of consideration in his expression. “You’ve hunted before, right?”
You nod. “A few times. Mostly small game, but I know how to stay quiet.”
“Good,” he says simply, standing and motioning for you to follow. “Let’s move.”
As the three of you make your way deeper into the woods, the tension eases slightly, the rhythm of the hunt taking over. Heeseung’s calm, methodical approach is a stark contrast to Jay’s sharp vigilance, but they work well together—an unspoken understanding guiding their every move.
At one point, Heeseung stops again, holding up a hand to signal a pause. He crouches beside a tree, studying a new set of tracks. Jay moves ahead slightly, keeping watch, and for the first time, it’s just you and Heeseung.
He glances over at you, his expression softening slightly. “You’re doing alright,” he says quietly, his tone low enough that Jay won’t hear. “Not bad for someone new to the group.”
You nod, unsure how to respond. His calm demeanour is a welcome contrast to Jay’s constant scepticism, but you can still feel the awkward tension hanging in the air.
Heeseung hesitates, the silence stretching between you as he seems to weigh his words carefully. His hand flexes around the hilt of his knife, a nervous habit you’ve noticed before. Finally, he sighs, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost reluctant tone.
“Jay’s not… always like this with everyone,” he says, his gaze fixed on the ground, as though avoiding eye contact will make it easier to get the words out. “The way he’s acting with you, I mean. There’s a reason he’s so hard to trust new people.”
You furrow your brow, confusion flickering across your face. Of course, it’s not unusual for survivors to be cautious—vigilant even—around strangers. In a world like this, where danger lurks at every corner, you either kill or be killed. Trust extended to the wrong person could easily land a knife to your back.
But the way Heeseung describes Jay’s distrust, it sounds like something more. Something personal.
“Why?” you ask cautiously, your voice low. You don’t want to push too hard, but you can’t hold back your curiosity.
Heeseung sighs, running a hand through his hair. “After our escape from The Future, we took in another survivor. A guy, around our age. He was half-starved, injured. Begged us to help him. Said he’d been on his own for months.”
You can already feel where the story is headed, but you don’t interrupt.
“Jay didn’t trust him from the start,” Heeseung admits. “Said something felt off. But the rest of us… we thought he was being paranoid. We were tired of losing people. We wanted to believe the guy was just another victim of this world.”
His voice grows heavier, the memory clearly weighing on him. “At first, it seemed fine. He kept to himself but didn’t cause any trouble.” Heeseung’s jaw clenches, his knuckles whitening as he grips his knife tighter. “But turns out, Jay was right.”
Your stomach knots, dread curling in your chest. “What happened?”
“He waited until we were vulnerable,” Heeseung says bitterly. “Waited until we were distracted. Then, he grabbed one of our friends, put a knife to her throat, and demanded our supplies.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
“We gave him what he wanted,” Heeseung says bitterly, his jaw tightening. “But he didn’t let her go. He slit her throat anyway, right in front of us. And then he ran.”
The air around you feels colder, the quiet of the forest suddenly oppressive. You glance at Heeseung, his calm facade cracking just slightly as he stares at the tracks before him.
“That’s why Jay is the way he is,” Heeseung continues, his voice low but steady. “He was closest to her. Blames himself for what happened. Ever since then, he doesn’t trust easily. And he doesn’t forgive.”
Your mind pictures Jay back at the camp, how his posture is always tense and hunched as though he’s carrying the weight of that memory with him every second of every day.
“I didn’t know,” you murmur.
“No,” Heeseung says softly. “You wouldn’t have. But now you do.” He looks at you again, his expression softer, though the pain in his eyes remains. “So, if he’s hard on you… it’s not personal. It’s his way of protecting us. His way of making sure it never happens again.”
You nod slowly, the weight of the story settling over you. “I get it,” you say softly, though the words feel inadequate. “I’d probably feel the same.”
Heeseung glances at you, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe. But trust me, if you stick around long enough, Jay will see what the rest of us do. That you’re not like him. That you’re not a threat.”
You don’t respond immediately, his words settling into your mind like seeds in freshly tilled soil. The weight of their past lingers with you, a reminder of just how fragile trust can be in a world like this—not that you needed the reminder.
The two of you rise silently, falling back into the rhythm of the hunt as you make your way to rejoin Jay, who has moved further ahead on his own. You spot him crouched behind a dense thicket of ivy, his form still but alert.
Heeseung is about to call out when Jay abruptly places a finger to his lips, his sharp eyes locking onto yours as he motions for you both to get low.
You and Heeseung exchange a quick glance before crouching, carefully shuffling toward Jay. Every step feels heavier than the last, the rustle of fallen leaves beneath your boots deafening in the tense quiet. The forest, once filled with the gentle hum of wildlife, now feels suffocatingly still.
“What’s wrong?” Heeseung whispers, his voice barely audible as the three of you huddle closer.
Jay doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on something beyond the ivy. Then you hear it—the familiar shuffling of feet, slow and uneven. The guttural moans and growls you’ve come to dread. But this time, it’s not just a few. The sound is overwhelming, a dissonant symphony of the undead. Dozens, maybe more.
“There’s something very wrong,” Jay whispers, his voice taut with unease. “Look at the way they’re moving.”
Your stomach churns as you part a few strands of ivy, revealing a massive clearing surrounded by towering pines. In the centre of it, a cluster of zombies moves in a strange, unnatural rhythm. They’re walking in a perfect circle, their shuffling steps eerily synchronised like ants trapped in a death ring.
“What the fuck?” you mutter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The sight is wrong—so wrong it makes your skin crawl.
And then you hear it.
Voices.
Your head jerks toward Jay, whose wide eyes mirror your own shock. “Did you hear that?” you mouth, barely breathing.
The sound comes again, low but unmistakable. “Round... them... up…”
It’s deliberate, controlled. Words spoken in the same hollow, rasping tone as the undead.
“They’re… talking?” Heeseung whispers, his disbelief matching your own.
You strain your ears, heart pounding as the voices continue.
“Saw them… around here…”
“Find them…”
Your blood runs cold. They’re not just words—they’re instructions. Coherent, deliberate instructions.
Your breath catches in your throat, and your hand instinctively grips your knife tighter. You glance at Jay, and the flicker of fear in his eyes confirms what you’re dreading. These aren’t just zombies.
There are people—or not people—you're not entirely sure. But something is walking among the dead.
Heeseung’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as he shifts his weight slightly, readying himself for whatever comes next. “What do we do?” he whispers, his voice steady but laced with urgency.
Jay’s gaze remains fixed on the clearing, his expression grim. “We move. Quietly. Back the way we came. Now.”
You don’t argue, your body already taut with tension as you begin to inch backward. The sound of human voices mingling with the moans of the undead burns in your ears, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on your chest. Whoever these people are, whatever they’re doing, one thing is clear: they’re more dangerous than the undead. And they’re looking for something—or someone.
The trek back to camp is a blur of tension and urgency. None of you speak, your steps light and calculated, careful not to make a sound that might draw attention. The eerie chorus of moans and human voices fades behind you, but the weight of what you’ve just witnessed hangs heavy in the air. Your chest tightens with every step, your mind racing with the implications.
By the time you see the familiar barricade of the camp, your legs are trembling—not just from exertion, but from the sheer adrenaline coursing through your veins. Heeseung is the first to signal to the others, his hand raising in a sharp, deliberate gesture that sets the camp into motion. Sunoo and Jake rush to open the barricade, their expressions immediately shifting from curiosity to concern as they take in your faces.
“What happened? Why are you guys back so early?” Jungwon asks, his voice calm but edged with urgency as he strides toward you. His sharp gaze sweeps over each of you, searching for any sign of injuries.
“We need to talk. Now,” Jay says, his tone clipped and serious. He glances back at the forest, his hand still gripping his bow tightly. “Inside.”
Jungwon’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t question it. The commotion quickly grabs the attention of the rest of the group and they instinctively assembles, their expressions a mix of confusion and worry.
Heeseung speaks first, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. “We found a horde. Dozens of them, maybe more, moving together in a clearing.”
“Okay, and?” Jake asks, his brows furrowed. “That’s not unusual. Hordes travel together all the time.”
“It wasn’t just a horde,” you say, your voice quieter but no less urgent. All eyes snap to you, and you feel the weight of their attention pressing down on you. “They were… whispering.”
“Whispering?” Sunghoon repeats, his expression sceptical. “You mean the dead started to talk?” Sunghoon leans forward slightly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His usually calm demeanour cracks under the weight of disbelief, his brow furrowing deeply.
“We don't know what it was.” you say, your voice sharp. “They sounded like the dead, but they were coherent words.”
A heavy silence falls over the group, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Sunoo looks between you and Jay, his usual light-hearted expression replaced by unease. “Are you sure? It couldn’t have just been… I don’t know, echoes or something?”
“‘Round them up,’” you say quietly, your voice breaking through the tense air. “‘Find them.’ Those were their exact words. It wasn’t just random sounds or echoes. It was deliberate.”
Jay shakes his head. “And it wasn’t just one or two words. They were coordinating.”
“Coordinating?” Jungwon repeats, his voice low and measured. He’s not panicking, but the tension in his shoulders betrays his concern.
Jake leans back slightly, his expression hardening as he processes your words. “You’re suggesting that the dead have started to talk? Or that people are out there pretending to be the dead? Why? To what end? That doesn’t make any sense,” he mutters. “Why would anyone—”
“Doesn't matter. They were looking for someone,” you cut in, your voice sharper now as you recall the chilling words you heard.
Jungwon’s expression darkens, his sharp mind clearly working through the possibilities. “Did they see you?”
You shake your head. “No. We got out before they could.”
“For now,” Jay mutters, his jaw tight. “But if they’re moving through the area, it’s only a matter of time before they find the camp.”
The group falls silent again, the weight of the situation sinking in. Jungwon exhales slowly, his gaze sweeping over everyone before settling on Heeseung. “What did the clearing look like? Could it be a pattern, or just a random gathering?”
“It wasn’t random,” Heeseung says firmly. “They were walking in a circle. Over and over, like some kind of… ritual.”
The word hangs in the air, chilling in its implication. You glance at Jungwon, his expression unreadable as he processes the information. Finally, he speaks, his voice steady but resolute. “We don’t have enough information to act, but we can’t stay complacent. Sunghoon, Heeseung, start reinforcing the barricades. Make sure every gap is sealed. Jake, check our supplies. I need to know how long we can hold out here if we need to. Sunoo, Ni-ki—keep the van ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
“I’ll keep watch with Jay,” you pipe up just as Jungwon turns to you, his sharp eyes meeting yours. His gaze lingers a moment longer than you expect, as though he’s searching for something—resolve, maybe, or doubt. Whatever he finds, it’s enough to make him nod.
Without a second to spare, everyone falls into a rhythm. The weight of what you’ve encountered hangs over the camp like a storm cloud. Nobody says anything, but the silence tells you everything. They’re scared. Jungwon included.
You climb the watchtower with Jay, the makeshift structure swaying slightly under your combined weight. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the forest in hues of orange and gold. The beauty of it feels jarring against the tension in the air, a cruel reminder of the world that once was.
Behind you, you hear the faint sizzle of the campfire, now reduced to embers and smoke despite the night’s cold settling over the camp. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the smart move. Light and smoke would only draw attention, and right now, attention is the last thing any of you need.
Jay settles into position, his bow resting across his lap. His expression is stony, his eyes scanning the tree line with sharp precision. You don’t speak, sensing the simmering emotions beneath his calm exterior. Instead, you keep your focus outward, your own knife gripped tightly in your hand.
The forest is quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that prickles at the back of your neck. Time crawls, every second feeling heavier than the last. Dusk settles in slowly, the golden hues fading into muted greys and shadows. Then, just as the last rays of sunlight vanish, movement catches your eye.
A figure emerges from the tree line, their silhouette hazy against the growing darkness. They’re limping slowly, deliberately, their steps unhurried, as they approach the gate. It’s a single person, their posture relaxed but not aimless. Something about them feels… wrong.
“Someone’s coming,” you whisper, nudging Jay with your elbow. He turns quickly, his sharp gaze locking onto the figure. The second he sees them, his entire body goes rigid.
“Shit,” he breathes, his voice barely audible. Before you can ask, he ducks behind the barricade, pulling you down with him. His face is pale, his usual composure cracking just slightly. “Stay down.”
“Who is it?” you ask, your voice low but urgent.
“It’s someone we took in. Don’t necessarily have the best relationship with,” Jay whispers harshly, his voice barely audible as his eyes remain fixed on the approaching figure. His expression is dark, and there’s an edge to his tone you haven’t heard before—something between anger and unease.
“A survivor you took in…” you begin, your stomach knotting as you piece it together. “You mean the one who killed your friend?”
Jay’s jaw tightens, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before returning to the figure. “Did Heeseung tell you that?” he mutters, his voice sharp but low enough to avoid carrying. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is he’s bad news, and he’s here.”
Your heart skips a beat, a cold dread settling in your chest. You glance over the edge of the barricade, your gaze snapping back to the figure, who is now closer to the gate. His features are clearer now—sharp, wiry, with a crooked grin that sends a chill down your spine.
“He doesn’t know you,” Jay continues, his voice tight. “You talk to him. He hasn’t seen you before. If he recognises me, it’s over.”
You hesitate, the weight of what he’s asking sinking in. Before you can respond, the man stops just a few feet from the gate, his eyes scanning the camp with a calculated intensity. Then he calls out, his voice loud but casual, almost friendly. “Hello? Anyone there?”
Jay gives you a small nudge, his expression hard but pleading. “Just keep him distracted, long enough for me to warn the rest,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. You nod, swallowing hard as you straighten, forcing yourself to step into view. Your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand, its cool weight a poor comfort against the fear knotting in your chest.
The man’s eyes light up when he sees you, his crooked grin widening. “Ah, someone’s home. Wasn’t sure if this place was abandoned or not.”
You take in his tattered clothing, the dried blood stains on his skin, and those eyes. Those eyes belong in a mental asylum if this were the world before.
“What do you want?” you ask, keeping your tone neutral but firm.
The man chuckles, his gaze sweeping over you with a calculating glint that makes your skin crawl. “Relax,” he says smoothly, spreading his hands in a mock gesture of innocence. “I’m just passing through. Haven’t seen anyone in a while, thought I’d see if there were any friendly faces around.”
“This camp’s occupied,” you reply coolly, standing your ground. “You should move along.”
For a split second, his grin falters, a flicker of something darker passing through his expression. But then the smile returns, sharper this time, and his gaze narrows slightly. “Fair enough,” he says lightly. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking for trouble. Just curious, is all.”
He takes a step closer, his tone turning smoother, more calculated. “Say… you haven’t seen a group around here, have you? Seven boys. One’s blonde. Another’s got a sharp tongue—calls himself Jay.”
The air feels heavier, and your grip on your knife tightens instinctively. Your heart pounds in your chest as his words settle over you, their implications clear. Your mind races, trying to calculate the safest response, but the danger in his tone is unmistakable.
“I haven’t seen anyone like that,” you say carefully, forcing your voice to remain steady. “And I wouldn’t know if I had.”
The man’s grin widens, but his eyes remain cold, watching you with unsettling precision. “Is that so?” he drawls, his tone almost mocking. “Well, that’s a shame. Been looking for them for a while now. That guy, Jay, he owes me… let’s just say, a few favours.”
His words hang in the air, heavy with menace. Behind you, you can sense Jay’s absence, the faint rustle of his movements as he slips away to warn the others. It’s just you and this man now, and you’re painfully aware of how exposed you are.
“Like I said,” you repeat, your voice firmer this time, “you won’t find them here. So you should move along.”
For a moment, the man doesn’t respond, his gaze lingering on you as though trying to read between your words. Then he takes a step back, his grin never wavering. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time,” he says lightly, though there’s a faint edge to his voice. “Nice camp you’ve got here. Hope it stays that way.”
With that, he turns and begins to limp away, his steps slow and deliberate. You don’t lower your knife, your gaze fixed on his retreating figure, tracking every laboured movement until he vanishes into the tree line. Only when the shadows swallow him whole do you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. Your legs tremble beneath you, exhaustion and adrenaline mixing into a potent cocktail that leaves you unsteady.
“Is he gone?” Jay reappears and asks from behind you, his voice low and tense. He steps closer, his eyes darting nervously toward the gate as if expecting the man to reappear at any moment.
“For now,” you whisper, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding of your heart. The words feel hollow, more for your own reassurance than his.
You glance at Jay—his face is pale, his usual composure shattered. His bow has been replaced with his pistol, and he grips it so tightly that his knuckles turn white, as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
The silence between you lingers for a beat too long. Without a word, you start climbing down the ladder, your mind racing to piece together what just happened. Questions swirl in your head, each one more unsettling than the last. Why was he here? How did he find the camp? And most troubling of all—what does he really want?
Jay follows, his footsteps slower, more hesitant. By the time the two of you reach the bottom, the rest of the group is already gathered around. Their expressions range from confusion to concern, a tension hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
“What happened?” Heeseung is the first to speak, his tone wary but insistent. “What did he want?”
You glance at Jay, whose jaw is clenched so tightly it looks like it might snap. His grip on his pistol hasn’t loosened, and his posture is rigid, like he’s bracing for something.
You shift your gaze back to Heeseung, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. “It’s the guy you told me about,” you say quietly. “He was looking for you lot.”
“And I don’t think he bought a single thing I said,” you admit, your voice even but laced with quiet frustration.
Jay exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, but instead of relief, you see something else settle in his expression—panic, the kind that runs deep and raw. “Oh god… we can’t stay here. We need to leave. Right now.”
The fear in his voice startles you. You’ve never seen Jay like this, not the sharp, sarcastic, ever-sceptical man who’s never once let his guard down, and you’re suddenly more confused than ever. Then it clicks, the words the stranger said echoing in your mind:
That guy, Jay, he owes me.
He singled Jay out.
But why? If Heeseung was right, if the man was the one who killed their friend, why would Jay owe him anything?
Your heart sinks, the realisation creeping in like a shadow. You glance at Jungwon, his jaw clenches subtly, the muscle ticking as he processes it all. He doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives you says it all. He’s thinking the exact same thing.
“Jay,” Jungwon starts slowly, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. “What did you do?”
Jay’s head snaps toward the leader, his sharp eyes locking onto him like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you. Then his jaw tightens, and you see it—the guilt, the weight of something he’s been carrying for far too long.
“What did you do, Jay?” Jungwon presses, his voice steadier now, his suspicion hardening into certainty.
“Are you accusing me of something?” Jay scoffs in mock annoyance.
The silence that follows is suffocating. Sunghoon steps forward, his sharp gaze fixed on Jay. “No, he’s right. Why would he be looking for us? Specifically for you?”
Jay’s head snaps toward Sunghoon, his eyes narrowing defensively. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m asking if there’s something you’re not telling us,” Sunghoon says, his tone calm but firm. “Because he didn’t just stumble across us, Jay. He knows exactly who he's looking for.”
Jay hesitates, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, and you can see the internal battle raging behind his eyes. Finally, he lets out a sharp breath, his shoulders slumping as the fight drains out of him.
“I went after him.”
“You what?” Sunoo’s voice is a mix of disbelief and anger. “You went after him alone?”
Jay ignores him, his focus entirely on the ground as he continues. “It wasn’t hard to find him. He was camped out at the edge of the city, asleep, surrounded by our supplies. I took them back. All of them.”
“And then?” Jungwon presses, his voice dangerously calm.
Jay hesitates, his jaw tightening. “Then… I shot him. In the ankle. Left him there. The sound attracted the dead, and I ran.”
The silence that follows is deafening. You glance around the group, their faces a mix of shock, anger, and something heavier—betrayal.
“You left him?” Jake says, his voice low and incredulous. “You left him to die?”
“He killed her!” Jay snaps, his voice rising as he finally meets Jake’s gaze, his eyes burning with a mix of defiance and regret. “What was I supposed to do? He put a knife to her throat, and we gave him what he wanted. And he killed her anyway. You think he deserved mercy?”
“You could’ve told us,” Heeseung says quietly, his tone cutting deeper than if he’d yelled. “You could’ve trusted us instead of going off and doing something reckless.”
“I couldn’t!” Jay’s voice cracks, the raw emotion spilling over. “I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I had to… I had to make him pay.”
“And now he’s here,” Jungwon says, his voice cold and measured. “Looking for you. And you’ve put all of us at risk because of it.”
Jay’s shoulders sag, the weight of Jungwon’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. “I didn’t think he’d survive,” he admits quietly, his voice barely audible.
“Well, he did,” Jake snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface. “And now he’s got a grudge and knows exactly where to find us.”
Part of you understands Jay’s anger, his grief. The sheer weight of what they’d lost—what that man had taken—could drive anyone to the edge. But the other part of you, the part sharpened by survival, sees the problem for what it is. Heeseung is right—it was reckless. This isn’t just about a chance encounter or a petty grudge. That man is here for revenge, and now the camp is squarely in his crosshairs.
Jay swallows hard, the fight in him extinguished. His voice trembles as he mutters, “I’m sorry…” The words hang in the air, hollow and inadequate.
The moonlight cast harsh shadows on everyone’s faces, highlighting the unease and exhaustion etched into their expressions. Sunghoon leans against the barricade, his jaw tight as he stares into the darkness. Jake’s hands are curled into fists, his lips pressed into a thin line. Even Sunoo, ever the optimist, looks pale and withdrawn.
Finally, Jungwon exhales sharply, breaking the tension. His shoulders square, and his expression hardens as he steps forward, taking charge. “We don’t have time for blame right now,” he says, his voice steady and commanding. The tone leaves no room for argument, cutting through the tension like a knife. “What’s done is done. We focus on what’s next.”
“And what’s that?” Sunoo asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
“We leave,” Jungwon says simply. “Because if he comes back, he won’t be alone.”
The words hit like a hammer, and the weight of them settles over the group. Jake’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “You’re saying we abandon the camp? Everything we’ve built here? I thought we’d finally be able to settle down.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Jungwon replies firmly, his gaze sweeping across the group. There’s a steadiness in his tone, but you can see the weight of the decision reflected in his tense posture. “He knows exactly where we are, we can’t defend this place against a coordinated attack. And it’s not the first time we’ve had to pack up and leave because of circumstances beyond our control.”
Heeseung nods slowly, his expression grim. “He’s right. We’ve seen what people like that can do. And it’s not just him. There’s that strange horde we encountered earlier today. If he’s somehow connected to them—staying here is suicide.”
“But where would we even go?” Ni-ki interjects, his voice edged with frustration. “It’s not like there are safe havens just waiting for us.”
Heeseung pulls a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket, its edges frayed and creased from frequent use. It’s a map of Seoul, though it’s seen better days. Parts of it are scratched out, and there are annotations scrawled in the margins—places they’ve scavenged, places they should avoid. As Heeseung unfolds it, you notice the heavy red crosses marking several areas.
“There’s nowhere to go but further north,” Heeseung says, his tone measured as he scans the map. “But that takes us closer to the demilitarised zone. That place fell to The Future the last time we checked.”
The tension in the group thickens as Heeseung continues to analyse the limited options. Judging by the sheer number of red crosses, it’s clear their choices are slim. The faint hope of finding refuge seems to dwindle with every second.
Then your eyes catch on something familiar—a road along the Seoul-Busan highway, just as it’s leaving the city. A rest stop is marked there, scratched out in bold red ink. The memory of that place hits you like a spark in the darkness.
“Here,” you say, pointing to the rest stop on the map.
Heeseung glances at where you’re pointing and immediately shakes his head. “No. That’s one of The Future’s outpost. The place is probably crawling with them.”
“What? No,” you reply quickly, your brows furrowing as you think back. “I was there. Scavenging. There was a gas station filled with supplies. It was too big of a place and too risky for me to set up camp, so I took what I could and left. But when I wanted to go back for more, it was overrun by the dead. I didn’t want to take my chances alone. But if there’s eight of us, it should be pretty easy to clear out if we’re careful.”
The words tumble out of your mouth, and for a moment, the group falls silent. You look up from the map, suddenly aware of the fleeting glances being exchanged between Jungwon, Heeseung, and the others. Confusion is written plainly across their faces, their unease palpable.
“When was that?” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the silence, careful and probing.
You hesitate, trying to gauge the timeline in your head. “Over a month or two ago? Give or take. It was the first time I had to venture that far out in search of food. Finding that place felt like a blessing—I hadn’t eaten for days at that point.”
You’re so caught up in recounting the memory that you almost miss the look of shock that flashes across Jungwon’s face. His expression hardens, his gaze shifting to Heeseung, who looks equally taken aback.
“Y/N, are you sure it’s the same rest stop?” Heeseung asks, his gaze sharp and unyielding as it locks onto yours.
“Positive,” you reply firmly, though the rising tension in the air makes your chest tighten. “I think I’d remember the place that quite literally saved my life.”
Heeseung’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes flicking toward Jungwon. “Jungwon…” he starts slowly, his voice laced with urgency. “Wasn’t the last time we had to move camp to run from The Future about two months ago?”
Jungwon doesn’t respond right away. His jaw tightens, his expression darkening as if the weight of the realisation is physically bearing down on him. Finally, he looks at you, his sharp eyes searching yours for answers, certainty, or maybe even doubt. But all he finds is your unwavering resolve.
“Something is seriously wrong,” Jake mutters, his voice barely audible as he scratches the back of his neck. His gaze flits between you and the others, confusion etched deeply into his features. It’s as though he’s trying to piece together a puzzle where the pieces don’t quite fit. “If that place was overrun by the dead, and The Future was still active there, then…”
His voice fades into the background, his muttering drowned out by the rising unease. The tension among the group is palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. You’re equally as confused as the rest of them, but you can tell their confusion stems from something you don’t yet understand.
Jungwon’s expression hardens further, his voice low and deliberate as he says the words that send a chill down your spine. “The Future… fell?”
The statement lingers in the air, heavy and foreboding. Your mind races, trying to comprehend what he means, but before you can process it, the sound of shuffling feet cuts through the stillness.
It starts faint, like the rustle of dried leaves in the wind, but it grows louder with each passing second. The guttural moans of the undead follow, a haunting symphony of the dead. There’s no mistaking it—there are a lot of them, and they’re close.
Jungwon’s head snaps toward the sound, his hand immediately gripping the blade at his hip. His voice cuts through the rising chaos. “Ni-ki, start up the van! Everyone else, grab what you can and get on. Now!”
The group springs into action, weapons drawn as the moans grow louder, the shuffling of feet drawing closer. You grip your knife tightly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The forest that once offered a fragile sense of safety now feels like it’s closing in.
“They’re coming from everywhere!” Sunghoon shouts, his voice cutting through the chaos as he points toward the tree line.
Jungwon moves quickly, stopping next to you, “Y/N, with me. We need to clear a path for the van to pass through.”
You nod, swallowing the lump of fear rising in your throat, and fall into step behind him. The first of the undead breaks through the undergrowth, its decayed face catching the dim light, its milky, lifeless eyes locking onto you with unrelenting hunger.
“Stay close,” Jungwon says, his voice low but steady as he raises his blade.
The camp erupts into a flurry of motion and noise, the clash of weapons against bone mingling with the moans of the undead. You steal a glance at Jungwon, his movements precise and controlled as he takes down one of the creatures with a single, fluid strike.
Even as you fight, your mind is clouded with questions. The Future fell. The weight of those words lingers, gnawing at the edges of your focus. What could it mean? How could it connect to what’s happening now? The rest stop, the hordes, the whispers—none of it adds up.
Your thoughts are abruptly cut short as another zombie lunges toward you, its rotting hands outstretched. You dodge instinctively, driving your knife into its skull. The sickening crunch reverberates up your arm, but you can’t afford to dwell on it. Not now. That’s right, what’s the point of dwelling on the dangers of the future if you can’t even make it out of the present alive?
“Y/N, watch out!” Jungwon’s voice snaps you back to reality just in time for you to duck as another undead stumbles toward you. Jungwon’s blade flashes in the dim light, and the creature collapses in a heap. He glances at you, his expression unreadable but firm. “Focus. We need to keep moving.”
You nod, breathless but determined, and press forward. The path ahead is thick with the undead, their shuffling forms threatening to overwhelm the group. But together, you and Jungwon cut through the horde, each strike clearing the way inch by hard-fought inch.
Behind you, the van’s engine roars to life, Ni-ki shouting from the driver’s seat, “We’re ready! Let’s move!”
“Keep pushing!” Jungwon calls to the others, his voice unwavering. The van lurches forward, and you fight harder, carving a path through the chaos as the vehicle edges closer to the gate.
The group scrambles toward the van, the undead closing in with every passing second. One by one, the group leaps into the back, the interior modified into a wide, open space—likely Ni-ki’s handiwork. The seats have been ripped out, replaced with a carpet that’s seen better days but provides enough room for everyone to pile in.
You’re about to climb into the van when something catches your eye—a lone figure standing just at the edge of the clearing.
At first, you think it’s another survivor. It’s upright, still, as though it’s observing the chaos. But then you take in its tattered clothing and decayed flesh, and the breath catches in your throat. It’s a zombie.
But it’s not moving.
Your heart pounds as your gaze locks onto its face. The peeling skin and hollow cheeks are all too familiar, but its eyes—its eyes are clear. Not the usual milky, lifeless void you’ve come to expect from the undead, but sharp and disturbingly human. For a moment, you could swear it’s looking directly at you.
“Y/N, what are you doing?” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the haze, snapping your focus back to the present. He’s gripping the doorframe, his blade still in his hand, ready to help you in.
“Do you see that?” you ask, your voice low and unsteady, gesturing toward the figure.
Jungwon’s eyes follow your line of sight. His expression shifts subtly—confusion giving way to unease as his gaze locks on the unmoving figure. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but the tension in his posture tells you he sees it too.
“Y/N, get in,” he says firmly, his voice quiet but insistent.
You hesitate for a split second longer, your mind racing as you try to process what you’re seeing. The figure doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. Its eyes remain fixed on you, eerily still and unnervingly focused.
“Now,” Jungwon snaps, his urgency jolting you into action.
You clamber into the van, pulling the door shut behind you. The van lurches forward, the sound of the undead clawing at the sides as Ni-ki floors the gas, navigating the rough forest terrain with practiced skill. Inside, the group struggles to catch their breath, weapons clattering to the floor as they brace themselves against the jerking motions of the vehicle.
But you can’t stop thinking about the figure. You glance out the back window, searching for it, but the dense trees blur past too quickly.
Jungwon leans closer, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” you whisper, gripping the side of the van for stability. “It wasn’t like the others. It didn’t move. And its eyes…”
Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his gaze fixed ahead as if he’s already trying to piece together an answer. “We’ll deal with it later,” he mutters. But you can see the unease in his expression, the weight of what you both just witnessed settling over him like a dark cloud.
The van jolts over another bump, and you force yourself to focus on the here and now. The memory of the figure lingers, though, its sharp, human-like eyes burned into your mind. Whatever it was, it wasn’t normal—and the thought of what it could mean sends a chill down your spine.
Sounds of laboured breaths and quiet muttering fill the van as everyone tries to catch their breath. Sunghoon sits near the front, wiping blood off his blade with the edge of his sleeve, while Jake rifles through the med kit, his brow furrowed as he takes inventory of what’s left. Jay is silent, his expression dark as he stares out one of the small reinforced windows.
“So,” Heeseung pipes up from the passenger seat, glancing back over his shoulder. “Any idea where we’re heading?”
“Can we not have a moment of silence for the fact that we’ve barely escaped death? Again.” Sunoo quips, his usual sarcasm laced with exhaustion.
“Geez, don’t have to be all prissy about it,” Heeseung mutters, rolling his eyes as he slouches back in his seat.
“Head for the rest stop,” Jungwon says abruptly, his voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. His tone is calm but resolute, the kind that immediately silences any further remarks.
Jay’s head snaps toward him, his dark eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious. We don’t even know if what she’s saying is true. What if it’s not what she says it is? What if The Future is still there?”
Jungwon’s gaze flicks toward Jay, his expression unyielding. “We don’t have many options, Jay. You saw the map. Everywhere else is a dead end—literally.”
Jay scoffs, his frustration boiling to the surface. “And this isn’t? What if we’re driving straight into a trap?”
“Jay,” Jake interjects sharply, his voice uncharacteristically firm as he closes the med kit with a snap. “With all due respect, I don’t think you have any say in this right now.”
The tension in the van thickens as Jake’s words hang in the air. Jay glares at him but doesn’t respond, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looks away.
“We’ll approach cautiously,” Jungwon continues, his voice steady but firm. “We scout the area first. If it looks clear, we check it out. If not, we move on. But we can’t afford to keep running blind. We need supplies, and we need a plan.”
The group exchanges uneasy glances, but no one voices further objections. Jungwon’s calm authority seems to settle over everyone, even if only temporarily. You can feel the weight of their trust in him, even Jay’s, despite his reluctance.
You lean back against the van’s wall, your fingers brushing over the hilt of your knife as you try to steady your breathing. The memory of the lone figure from earlier flashes in your mind, its clear eyes locked onto yours. You push the thought aside for now—there’s no room for distractions when the stakes are this high.
The van jolts slightly as Ni-ki manoeuvres it over the uneven terrain, his focused expression illuminated by the dim glow of the dashboard lights. You catch Jungwon’s gaze briefly, and he gives you a small nod—an unspoken reassurance, for now.
About half an hour drifts by, Ni-ki drives steadily along the uneven roads skirting the edge of the forest, the dense trees remaining close on the van's left. It’s a long detour as compared to driving straight through the city. But it’s safer this way—quieter. No one speaks, no one stirs.
Everyone else is asleep, or at least pretending to be. Jake is curled up against the wall, his head resting on his arms. Sunghoon sits with his back against the van, his knife still in his lap. Even Jay looks like he’s finally let himself rest, though his hand never strays far from his pistol.
But you? You don’t sleep. And neither does Jungwon.
You both sit next to each other in silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing down on what little space there is between you. There’s an understanding in that silence—a shared knowledge of something far beyond your comprehension. Something that lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind.
This isn’t just about surviving anymore. It’s about staying ahead of someone who knows how to hunt you down. That said, sleep is the last thing you’re worried about.
“What do you think that was?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air, cautious, careful not to disturb the fragile peace inside the van.
Jungwon doesn’t look at you. His gaze is locked on a single spot on the ragged carpet beneath his feet, his fingers tracing the worn fabric absentmindedly. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, distant. “A mutation? I don’t know.”
“Do you think it’s him?” you press, your heart beating just a little faster. You don’t need to explain who you’re referring to. The thought is already there, lingering between you both.
Jungwon’s hand stills against the carpet, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, in a voice barely above a murmur, he replies, “Maybe.”
That single word carries so much weight, so much dread. It hangs heavy in the air, settling deep in your chest.
There’s no certainty in his answer. No confidence. It’s unnerving—he’s usually the one with the answers, the one who reassures everyone else that they’ll figure it out. But right now, there’s none of that conviction. Just tired confusion, vulnerable, almost hopeless. A stark contrast to the strong, commanding voice he uses when he speaks to the others.
It’s the kind of tone he never lets the group hear.
And for a second, you’re glad they’re asleep. Glad no one else is awake to see this side of him—the side that isn’t sure, that doesn’t have all the answers.
Because you know, without a doubt, it would weigh on them. Everything Jungwon says, everything he feels, it spreads through the group like wildfire. That’s how much they rely on him. That’s how deeply their survival depends on his mentality—whether he realises it or not.
Jungwon exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “If it is him… then we’re in more trouble than we thought.”
The van jolts over a bump in the road, and Ni-ki mutters something under his breath from the driver’s seat, his focus unwavering. The silence stretches between you, thick with tension but not uncomfortable. It’s a shared quiet—both of you lost in your thoughts, both of you carrying burdens too heavy to put into words.
You glance at Jungwon from the corner of your eye. His posture is rigid, his arms resting loosely on his knees, but the tension in his shoulders betrays his exhaustion. He hasn’t slept since… Well, that’s the thing—you can’t even remember the last time you actually saw him let himself relax for a moment. His gaze remains distant, focused on nothing and everything all at once.
Without really thinking, you shift closer, the subtle bump of your shoulder against his drawing his attention. He glances at you briefly, his tired eyes flickering with surprise, but he doesn’t pull away.
Your heart is still racing from the events of the night—the man, the whispers, the horde that shouldn’t have been there. But now, sitting here beside him, the weight of it all feels a little easier to carry. Slowly, cautiously, you let your head rest against his shoulder.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. You wonder if you’ve overstepped, if he’ll pull away, but then you feel it—slow and hesitant. Jungwon shifts slightly, his body relaxing as he leans into you. His head rests gently against yours, his blonde hair brushing your temple.
Neither of you says anything. There’s no need to.
The hum of the van’s engine fills the space between you, a steady rhythm that matches the rise and fall of his breathing. His warmth seeps into you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the world outside fades into the background.
It’s strange, this quiet moment of closeness. You’ve spent so long keeping your distance from others, building walls to protect yourself. But with Jungwon, it feels different. It feels… safe.
“You should rest,” he murmurs softly, his voice barely louder than the hum of the engine.
“So should you,” you whisper back, your eyes closing briefly as the exhaustion pulls at you.
A faint chuckle escapes him, more a breath than a laugh. “Yeah.”
But neither of you moves. You both stay like that, leaning against each other, finding comfort in the quiet, fleeting peace. And for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself forget the chaos waiting outside.
You let yourself breathe.
part 1 - rotten | masterlist | part 3 - whispers
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notes from nat: my apologies if i missed any taglist requests commented under the previous part! my tumblr's not working like it's SUPPOSED TO. regardless, i should've noted down everyone. part 3 is a little shorter so i'll post it coming saturday 12am kst (maybe earlier if this manages to reach 200 notes hehe) enjoy!
Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.
word count: 14k
MASTERLIST
Rotten.
The can of tuna you’ve risked your life to retrieve from the mart in the next neighbourhood is rotten. Just like everything else roaming the streets.
The smell hits you first, sharp and metallic, curling through the air like a mocking laugh. It’s only when you peer into the greyish sludge that you know for sure. Gagging, you launch the can across the dimly lit room. The clang as it hits the wall feels louder than it should, echoing against the hollow silence. A greasy smear marks its path before it rolls to a stop.
Your stomach tightens, but not from hunger—not entirely. It’s exhaustion, or frustration, or both, a familiar cocktail of feelings that churns in your gut. You press a hand to your stomach, willing it to stay quiet. The small victories matter now, even if they’re as simple as keeping quiet.
“Figures,” you mutter, wiping your hands on the knees of your tattered jeans. The word feels heavy in the thick silence of the abandoned community building you’ve been calling home—a makeshift fortress that’s only just kept you alive for the past year.
The windows are boarded up with planks you scavenged from nearby wreckage, letting in only the faintest cracks of moonlight, casting fractured shadows on the walls. The small corner where you sleep is enclosed by a barricade of furniture you've managed to tie together with ropes and scraps of cloth you’ve gathered. It’s not perfect, but it’s held so far.
Outside, the telltale groans of the undead float through the night air, mingling with the distant sound of screams and breaking glass. You’ve learned to tune it out, to pretend that the world hasn’t fallen apart.
But every so often, when the noises grow too close or too many, the illusion shatters, leaving behind a pit of fear in your stomach that no amount of fortification can fill.
You lean back, letting your head hit the wall. The cracks in the paint catch against the rough weave of your jacket, the sound gritty and small. Your mind drifts back to that fateful day, the day everything went to shit.
You’d only been living in Seoul for a month, you were barely unpacked, just starting to memorise the labyrinth of subway lines, the shortcuts to your university. University acceptance had felt like the first step towards something bigger, something brighter. You can still see your parents’ faces, lit with pride, when you shared the news. Getting into a university in Seoul—it’s like gaining instant bragging rights for life.
Except now, none of it matters. Those things out there couldn’t care less about your alma mater, whether you’re earning a six-figure salary or pulled from the gutter. To them, you’re just another meal on legs—flesh, blood, and bone all blending into the same, mindless craving.
You’d always thought you’d know what to do in a zombie apocalypse. Every movie and survival guide said the same thing:
Avoid the cities. Get out fast.
So when the news started to break, you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed a bag—essentials only—and set out, determined to make it back to your parents in the province. You didn’t even pause to think about how impossible it might be.
But the city had other plans. You hadn’t even made it ten blocks before the streets were overrun. A tide of chaos, of screams and shoving bodies—alive and not—forced you off course.
The community building was a last-ditch refuge, its doors flung open to anyone desperate enough to run for them. You’d barely made it inside before the barricades went up. It wasn’t the plan, but then again, nothing about survival ever is.
At first, it felt like a haven. There were enough supplies to keep everyone fed—if barely. Dozens of survivors shared the space, most of them too old or too scared to leave. The rations were thin, one meal a day if you were lucky, but it was enough.
You and a handful of the younger survivors took turns venturing out, gathering what you could from nearby shops and houses. It wasn’t much, but it worked.
For a time.
When the convenience store was stripped bare, you moved to the supermarket. When that was picked clean, you ventured further. Each trip took you deeper into danger, the risk growing with every step. Supplies dwindled. The fear grew sharper, harder to ignore.
People started to die—some to the undead, others to hunger, and still others to the kind of cruelty that only surfaces when survival is on the line.
You learned quickly that it wasn’t just the zombies you had to fear. You’ve seen it firsthand: the way desperation changes people.
At first, it was small things—arguments over ration sizes, whispers of distrust. But then the small petty arguments turned into fights, and fights turned into bloodshed.
One by one, people either left to take their chances elsewhere or fell victim to the chaos within. A high school student, he had barely turned eighteen, stabbed a man over a tin of peaches. A woman abandoned her own mother to save herself when the barricade was breached.
Survival strips away more than flesh—it strips away the pretence of civility, leaving only the raw, animalistic instinct to endure at any cost. It’s not just the undead that keep you awake at night—it’s the memory of what people are capable of becoming.
So when the barricade failed during a particularly viscous storm and you’d barely escaped with your life, you dragged what little you could salvage to this corner of the building, patching up the holes as best as possible. Alone, because it was safer that way.
Now, alone in the faint light of your makeshift fortress, the weight of it all presses down on you. The loneliness, the hunger, the constant, gnawing terror—it’s all too much. But you shove it aside, because there’s no room for weakness here.
Weakness gets you killed.
Your stomach growls again, insistent, and you grit your teeth. You’ll have to go out again soon. The thought sends a chill through you, but there’s no other choice. Survival doesn’t wait for fear to subside.
Taking a deep breath, you stand and reach for your weapon—a rusted crowbar that’s seen more use than you’d like to admit. Tomorrow, you’ll go out again, search for food, risk what’s left of your life to keep it from ending.
For now, you sit in the dark and listen. To the groans. To the screams. To the sound of your own ragged breathing. And try not to dream.
A loud thunk from below jolts you awake, not that you were fully unconscious in the first place. Your entire body goes rigid as you strain to listen. Another thunk. Then a scrape, like something heavy being dragged across the ground floor. Your mind races—it could be the wind, or maybe another scavenger. Or it could be them.
Your grip on the crowbar tightens as you slowly push yourself off the floor. You tiptoe toward the staircase leading down to the lobby. The wooden stairs creak under your weight as you inch down them, and you wince at each sound. They might as well be gunshots in the stillness.
Sweat beads on your forehead as you reach the landing and peer into the dark hallway beyond. Shadows shift and flicker in the faint moonlight filtering through cracks in the boarded-up windows.
The dragging sound comes again, closer this time, and your grip tightens until the ridged metal of the crowbar bites into your skin. Then, a growl echoes from the darkness. Low. Guttural. Not human.
You back up instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. Your foot catches on a loose piece of debris, and you stumble, barely catching yourself on the railing. The noise you make is small but loud enough to stir the growling into a frenzy. The shuffling grows faster, more erratic.
They’re coming.
“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, scrambling back up the stairs. You’ve rehearsed this scenario a hundred times in your head. Go to the second floor. Block the stairwell. Wait it out. It’s worked before, but something tells you this time is different. There’s too much noise, too many of them. And you’re already running low on supplies.
By the time you reach the top of the stairs, the first figure emerges into the faint light below. Its flesh hangs from its bones in sickly, yellowed strips. Empty eye sockets seem to bore into you as it lets out a chilling moan. Behind it, more shadows lurch into view, a grotesque parade of decay and hunger.
You’re out of time.
Slamming the door to the stairwell shut, you shove a heavy desk against it and wedge the crowbar beneath the handle for good measure. The door shudders almost immediately under the weight of their assault, the moans and growls growing louder with each passing second. You back away, your mind racing for an escape route.
Your eyes dart to the boarded-up windows. It’s a long drop, but there’s a fire escape just a few feet out of reach. If you can break through the boards and make the jump, you might stand a chance. It’s a gamble, but so is staying here
And if you’re being honest, you’d rather plunge to your death than be torn apart limb by limb.
Grabbing a chair, you smash it against the nearest window. The wood splinters and cracks, but it holds firm. Behind you, the door creaks ominously as the barricade begins to give way. Desperation fuels your next swing, and the boards finally snap, leaving a jagged hole just big enough to climb through.
You don’t think—you just act, hauling yourself up and out onto the narrow ledge outside. The cold night air hits your face, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. Below, the fire escape beckons. You take a deep breath, brace yourself, and leap.
For a moment, you’re weightless. Then your hands slam into the metal railing, and you scramble to pull yourself up. Your palms sting, and your muscles scream in protest, but you don’t let go. Not when survival is so close.
Behind you, the door finally gives way. The sound of splintering wood and the enraged cries of the undead spur you into action. You don’t look back as you climb down the fire escape, each step taking you further from the nightmare above, and closer to the nightmare below.
When your feet finally hit the ground, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. But it’s short-lived. The streets are no safer than the building you just escaped. Shadows move in the distance, and the faint echo of shuffling feet reminds you that you’re never truly alone.
With nothing but the clothes on your back, you start to run. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you can’t stop. Your legs burn, your lungs ache, but you keep moving, fuelled by a singular, desperate thought: keep going. Always keep going. Because if you stop, even for a moment, it’ll all be over.
The groans follow you, relentless and hungry. You don’t dare look back. Instead, you focus on the narrow alleyways and shadowed streets ahead, praying you don’t make a wrong turn.
You finally spot a building—an auto store with its doors hanging slightly ajar. Without thinking, you rush inside, slamming the door shut behind you. Your hands fumble for something—anything—to block it, and you grab a rusted toolbox, wedging it against the frame. It feels pathetic, barely a barrier, but you convince yourself it’s better than nothing.
Your breaths come fast and shallow as you scan the room. Rows of dusty shelves cluttered with tools and car parts stretch before you, their contents untouched for what feels like decades. The air is stale and heavy, carrying the faint tang of motor oil. For a fleeting moment, the oppressive noise of the streets is muffled, and you almost feel safe.
But the reprieve is short-lived.
Voices. Human voices. Low, urgent, and drawing closer.
Your stomach twists as panic sets in, sharp and paralysing. You reach for a loose screwdriver on the floor and dart behind a shelf, crouching low. Dust clings to your clothes as you press yourself against the cold metal, willing yourself to disappear.
The door creaks open, and the toolbox scrapes uselessly across the floor. You curse silently under your breath. What a waste of effort.
Boots scuff against the ground as they enter. Voices—male voices—filter through the stale air, rough and laced with tension. “That was close, fuck.” one mutters, his voice shaking. You can hear him catching his breath, the fear in his tone unmistakable.
Looks like you weren’t the only one running from the horde that came out of nowhere.
“What the hell is The Future doing in the city?” another snaps, frustration cutting through the hushed atmosphere.
The Future...?
"They're looking for us, what else?" a third man grunts, his voice deep and gravelly.
"Talk about obsessive,” a fourth says, anger simmering beneath. “We escaped more than six months ago. How are they still trying to track us down?"
“That community… they’re worse than the dead. I’d rather take my chances out here than go back there.” Five.
“You don’t get it. They’ll hunt us down. They always do,” Six.
"I mean… We stole almost six months’ worth of supplies. And a van. I'd hunt us too." This one is a little cheeky. Seven.
"Shut the fuck up,” the gravelly voice growls. “You think this is funny?”
Your mind races. A community hunting them? You’ve heard of survivors forming groups. Hell, you were part of one. But this… this sounds different. Darker.
You press yourself closer to the shelf, your gip on the screwdriver so tight your fingers cramp. Seven men, at least—that’s how many voices you can count. Could you take them? Absolutely not.
For now, the only option is to stay hidden. You force yourself to breathe slowly, silently, and focus on their words, desperate for answers. Whatever these men are running from, you need to know if it’s worse than what’s already out there—or if it’s heading straight for you.
Just then, a faint groan slices through the oppressive silence, this one agonisingly close. Your head snaps around, heart thundering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
Right there, not more than a foot away and obscured beneath a grimy sheet of cardboard, something stirs. The groan rises in pitch, raw and guttural, as the cardboard shifts, revealing a face ravaged by decay. Skin, or what’s left of it, clings to its skull in uneven patches, and its milky, dead eyes lock onto yours with an almost sentient hunger.
You freeze, the breath hitching in your chest as time seems to slow. The stench of rot floods your senses, almost choking you, and a cold sweat slicks your skin.
Before you can react, the creature lurches, its skeletal hand shooting out with horrifying speed. Filthy, jagged nails scrape against your leg, finding purchase in the fabric of your jeans and digging into the flesh beneath.
A piercing shriek tears from your throat—raw, primal, and louder than you intend. The sound ricochets off the walls, each echo feeding the panic clawing at your mind.
Desperation surges like a tidal wave, drowning out coherent thought. You kick wildly, your boot connecting with the thing’s chest, but its grip is unyielding. The screwdriver slips in your sweat-slicked palm as you fumble to raise it, your muscles trembling with adrenaline-fuelled terror. Its grip tightens, nails biting deeper, and for a moment, the sickening thought flashes through your mind: You’re not getting out of this.
But then instinct takes over. With a desperate cry, you swing the screwdriver down, the metal driving into its skull in a sickening crunch. the sound reverberating through the stillness like a death knell.
The zombie spasms, its hand loosening slightly, but not enough.
Your vision narrows, fury and survival instinct blending into a single, overpowering force. You strike again, and again, each impact a visceral symphony of shattering bone and yielding flesh. The stench grows worse, cloying and metallic, as blood splatters your hands and face.
Finally, the creature goes still, collapsing into a lifeless heap at your feet. Your chest heaves as you stagger back, the screwdriver slipping from your trembling fingers to clatter against the floor. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the rasp of your own ragged breaths.
"Fuck," you whisper, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Your gaze drifts down to the bloodied mess staining the floor, bile rising in your throat. You swallow hard, forcing it down. There’s no time for weakness—not now, not ever.
When you finally look up, your stomach twists into knots. Seven figures stand over you, their faces obscured by shadow but their postures unmistakably tense.
One of them steps closer, the metallic glint of a pistol catching the dim light. Your breath hitches as the cold barrel presses against your temple, its unforgiving weight a reminder of how precarious your situation has just become.
"Who the hell are you?" One of them growls, his voice low and dangerous. The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken threats, as you stare back at him, your mind scrambling for a response that might just keep you alive.
You swallow hard, your mouth dry as sandpaper. “Just… just a survivor,” you stammer, your voice barely a whisper. The cold barrel against your temple makes your skin crawl, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure they can all hear it. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I’ll leave. Please.”
"Drop the act," another voice cuts in, this one sharp and impatient. "The speaker steps closer, his silhouette lean and wiry, eyes narrowed. “You think we’re stupid? You’ve been listening in.”
“What should we do with her?” someone else pipes up from the shadows. His tone is casual, but the words make your stomach drop. “She could be one of them.”
“I’m not!” you blurt, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I swear, I don’t even know who you’re talking about! I just ran in here to hide!”
The gunman doesn’t lower his weapon, his piercing gaze locked onto yours. The air is thick, suffocating, as he scans your face, searching for any hint of deceit. The silence stretches unbearably until someone else breaks it.
“There’s seven of us, and she’s a girl.” one points out, this one almost amused. His tone is light, but his eyes glint with curiosity. “Not exactly the kind The Future kept around. Didn’t they kill most of their women? Called them weak or some shit.”
"Doesn’t mean she’s not a threat," the gunman mutters, but the tension in his stance eases slightly. The barrel wavers, though it remains trained on you. "Start talking. What are you doing here?"
You take a shuddering breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. "I was running from a horde," you say, jerking your head vaguely toward the door. Your voice is steadier now, but your trembling hands betray your fear.
“Where’s the rest of your group?” he asks, his tone laced with suspicion. “How many of you are there?”
“There’s no group,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just me. I’ve been on my own for months.”
"On your own?" A man near the back crosses his arms, his posture sceptical. "That’s a load of bullshit. Nobody lasts this long alone." His blonde hair gleams faintly in the dim light, a beacon that would make him laughably easy to track in broad daylight. You wonder how someone so conspicuous has managed to survive this long, especially when they’re clearly being hunted.
"I’m telling the truth," you insist, your voice firm despite the quiver in your hands. “I’ve got nothing to hide. My place got overrun. I just needed somewhere to hide.”
“What place?” the blonde man carefully makes his way in front, crouching slightly, levelling his gaze with yours. The question hangs heavy, and you know your answer could mean the difference between life and death.
“A community building,” you answer, your voice quieter now. “It’s just down the street. I can show you if you don’t believe me.”
“Show us?” Another man scoffs. “You said it was overrun? Why the hell would we follow you to a place that’s crawling with them? Are you stupid?”
You bite back a retort, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. “I’m not lying,” you say, your voice sharper than before. “Look, I didn’t survive this long just to let a bunch of men decide whether to shoot me in my fucking head for being in the wrong place at the wrong bloody time.”
The man with the blonde hair tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite solve. Then he speaks again, his tone quiet but firm. “Can we trust you?”
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze, unflinching, and nod once. Slowly, deliberately. For a moment, no one speaks. You can feel the weight of their stares, assessing, calculating.
Finally, a simple, subtle raise of the blonde’s hand is all it takes for the gunman to lower his pistol. The others, though still wary, seem to follow his lead. Relief washes over you, but you keep your face neutral, refusing to show weakness.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jungwon.”
His name is Jungwon. It strikes you as a strangely gentle name—garden—yet nothing about him feels soft.
"If you’re lying," Jungwon warns, his tone like steel, "you won’t get a second chance." It doesn’t take long for you to realise—he’s the leader.
“I understand,” you reply, your throat tight. The words feel hollow, but they’re all you can offer.
"What’s your name?" one of them asks, his voice brighter but no less wary.
"Y/N," you reply. "And you?"
He hesitates before giving you a small, guarded smile. “Sunoo. And don’t get any funny ideas. We’re a small group, but we bite.”
The faint attempt at levity doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does little to ease the knot in your stomach. You nod again, glancing at the others. Their eyes still linger on you, like predators sizing up prey.
“You said there’s a horde,” Jungwon says, cutting through the moment. His tone is all business now. “Where’s it coming from?”
“South,” you say, your voice steady but curious. “Wait, weren’t you lot running from it too?” Your eyebrow arches as you ask, testing the waters.
“Don’t ask too many questions, or I might just kill you,” the same man who held the pistol to your head snaps, his tone as sharp as the glare he fixes on you. Tough one, you think grimly. Definitely not the friendly type.
“How big is it—the horde?” he demands, his words clipped and impatient. His posture is rigid, his eyes narrowing as though he’s daring you to lie.
“Big enough,” you answer grimly, your voice heavy with the weight of what’s chasing you. The memory of the mass of undead flashes in your mind—their grotesque forms, the relentless moans. You push it aside, forcing yourself to focus. “They’re close. If we stay here much longer, they’ll find us.”
Jungwon doesn’t hesitate. “Then we move,” he declares, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for debate. It’s a tone you’ve heard before in those who’ve seen too much, those who lead because no one else will. “Grab your things. We leave in five.”
You swallow hard, scanning their faces. They’re already moving, collecting bags and makeshift weapons, their movements practised and efficient. You take a breath, forcing your hands to stop shaking.
“There’s a motel north-east from here, just off the horde’s course.” you say, stepping forward slightly, trying to sound confident. “I cleared it out once when I couldn’t get back to the community building. I can take you there, wait for the horde to pass, and then I’ll be on my way.”
The moment the words leave your mouth, you feel the tension in the room shift. The air grows heavier, colder.
Jungwon’s sharp gaze locks onto yours, his expression unreadable, but it’s not him who speaks. The man with the sharp tongue—the one who held a pistol to your head earlier—lets out a humourless laugh. “Who said anything about letting you go?” he says, his voice dripping with malice, as though your suggestion was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.
The silence that follows his words feels suffocating, heavier than the looming threat of the undead outside. You try to keep your expression neutral, but the knot in your stomach tightens with each passing second. Your eyes flick to Jungwon, hoping for some sort of reprieve, but his face remains impassive, impossible to read.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” you say carefully, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I’ve survived this long on my own. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want to be in your way.”
The gunman scoffs, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain. “Bold words for someone who had a gun to their head five minutes ago.”
“Enough,” Jungwon cuts in, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife. The others fall silent, though their postures remain taut, their eyes still fixed on you. He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as if gauging your reaction with every step.
“We don’t know you,” he says, his voice measured but carrying an edge of steel. “You could be useful, or you could be a liability. Either way, we’re not taking risks.”
Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to stand your ground. “I’ve already told you—I’m not with anyone. No group, no weapons, no agenda. Just me. If you think I’m lying, you’re wasting your time.”
He watches you for a moment longer, his dark eyes scanning your face for cracks in your resolve. Finally, he speaks. “You’ll come with us,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll see what you’re worth.”
Your stomach twists, the flicker of hope you’d allowed yourself extinguished in an instant. Your jaw clenches, but you nod. There’s no point in arguing—not when they hold all the cards.
“What if she’s dead weight?” the pistol-wielding man mutters, his arms crossed as he glares at you.
“Then she’ll stay behind,” Jungwon replies coldly, his eyes still locked on yours. The words send a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to flinch.
The group moves quickly, their actions smooth and practised as they gather their supplies. You take a moment to glance at their makeshift arsenal—rusted blades, a machete, a pistol with a half-empty box of ammo. It’s not much, but it’s enough to survive. Barely.
Jungwon’s voice cuts through the room again. “Time’s up. Let’s go.”
The group falls into formation, their movements synchronised, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. You find yourself in the middle, flanked on all sides, nothing to defend yourself with. Even the mere rusty screwdriver taken away from you.
Their message is clear: you’re not one of them. They don’t trust you.
As you step out into the night, the cool air hits your face, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the room. The streets are eerily quiet, the faint groans of the undead carried on the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the shadows, every instinct screaming at you to run. But there’s nowhere to go—not empty-handed, and certainly not without them gunning you down before you even make five feet.
Jungwon takes the lead, his blonde hair catching the faint glow of the moon as he moves with purpose. You follow closely, your senses on high alert. Every shuffle of movement, every distant sound sets your nerves on edge.
Sunoo sidles up next to you, his steps light and almost casual, though the wariness in his eyes lingers. “Don’t let Jay get to you,” he says in a low voice, his lips curving into a faint smile. “That grump always tries to come off scarier than he is. He’s actually a bit of a softie.”
Jay. The name sticks in your mind, sharp and blunt at the same time, just like the man it belongs to. You glance over at him—his posture rigid, eyes scanning the shadows like a hawk. There’s nothing soft about him now, not the way he grips the pistol or the sharp edge to his jaw as he walks a few paces ahead.
“A softie?” you murmur back, your voice sceptical. “He doesn’t look the type.”
Sunoo chuckles quietly, his expression lightening. “Oh, he’s a pain in the ass, no doubt about that. But trust me, when it comes down to it, Jay always looks after the group. Even if he’s a bit dramatic about it.”
You don’t know whether to take that as reassurance or a warning.
“Does he look after the strays too?” you ask, your tone laced with cautious humour.
Sunoo raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a playful smile. “That depends,” he says, his tone light yet probing. “Are you planning to stay a stray?”
You don’t reply, and the silence stretches just long enough for it to become uncomfortable. Sunoo seems to take the hint, letting the question hang unanswered. His smile fades slightly, but he doesn’t press further.
Instead, he shifts gears, his voice dropping low enough to avoid drawing the attention of the others. “So, this motel of yours,” he begins, tilting his head. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, though the scepticism in his tone pricks at you. “It’s just a place I found. Empty, at least the last time I checked.”
“And if it’s not?” he presses, his brow furrowing as his sharp eyes flick to your face. There’s no malice there, just careful calculation, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re bluffing.
“Then we’ll deal with it,” you say firmly. “Like I’ve dealt with everything else.”
He studies you for a moment longer before nodding, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. “Fair enough.”
You nod back, though your attention is already shifting, your gaze flicking from Sunoo to Jungwon, before landing on Jay. He hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction since leaving the shop, but you can feel the weight of his presence, like a storm cloud hanging overhead. Softie or not, there’s no denying he’s dangerous.
This whole group is dangerous. Not just in the way they pointed a gun at your head. You’d have done the same if the roles were reversed.
No, it’s something deeper than that. It’s in the way they move together, a silent understanding passing between them. It’s in the way they trust each other without needing to speak. That trust feels foreign to you.
Distrust is second nature now, woven into every fibre of your being. It has kept you alive, but here, it feels like a barrier, separating you from the unspoken bond that holds them together. They don’t trust you, and you can’t blame them. You’re the outsider, the unknown element, and trust is a commodity none of you can afford to give freely—not for you, and certainly not for them.
The group moves swiftly through the shadowed streets, their footsteps light but purposeful. You walk in the middle of their formation, acutely aware of how exposed you all are. Every darkened alley, every overturned car feels like a trap waiting to spring.
Suddenly, Jungwon raises a hand, his entire body going still. The shift is immediate—the group halts in unison, their movements instinctive, like a well-oiled machine. Your breath catches, your heart pounding like a drum as you strain your ears. At first, there’s nothing but the faint rustling of the wind. Then you hear it—shuffling, faint but unmistakable, just ahead.
“Eyes up,” Jay mutters, his voice barely above a whisper as he tightens his grip on the pistol.
The group edges closer to the corner of a crumbling building, each step measured and deliberate. Jungwon moves first, peering around the edge with slow precision. His posture stiffens, and when he pulls back, his expression is grim.
“A group of them, about thirty, maybe more.” You feel a chill run down your spine.
“South?” Jay hisses, his sharp glare cutting through the dim light as he looks over his shoulder at you. “You said they were coming from the south.”
“They are,” you snap back defensively, lowering your voice but unable to hide the edge in your tone. “How was I supposed to know they’re crawling here too?”
Jay lets out a low, humourless laugh, his head shaking lightly. “This is exactly why we didn’t believe you when you said you survived the city all alone.”
Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the rising tension. “Now’s not the time for this,” someone says—the voice calm but clipped, firm enough to settle the brewing argument. You glance towards the speaker, realising you still haven’t put a name to his face. “Why are there so many of them tonight?”
You shake your head, the unease in your chest growing heavier. “Tonight is… different,” you admit, your voice wavering slightly. “There seem to be more of them roaming the streets. It’s like something’s drawn them here.”
“Yeah, like a scream of some sort.” The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Slowly, one by one, the group turns their heads toward you.
Your stomach drops, and you open your mouth to protest, but the conversation is cut short by a sudden, guttural growl. One of the zombies has noticed you. Its milky, lifeless eyes locking onto the group as it lets out a low, haunting moan.
“Shit,” Jungwon mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade.
The moan spreads like a signal, the rest of the horde turning their decayed heads in unison. Their shuffling quickens, their jerky movements laced with unnatural determination.
“Here they come,” Jay snaps, his voice sharp as he raises his pistol.
“Sunghoon, they’re coming from the back too!” Sunoo’s voice rises in alarm, his gaze darting to the rear of the group. You whip your head around, your blood running cold as more figures stumble into view behind you.
“We can’t fight them all,” Sunghoon says, panic bleeding into his usually calm tone.
For a moment, everything feels suspended—the groans of the undead growing louder, the sharp intakes of breath from the group, the suffocating realisation that escape is narrowing with every passing second. Then, with a voice like tempered steel, Jungwon breaks the paralysis.
“Move!” he commands, his voice slicing through the chaos.
The group breaks into a run, weaving through the narrow streets and abandoned cars. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural growls follows close behind, a relentless reminder of what’s chasing you.
Your lungs burn, and your legs ache, but you keep moving, driven by pure adrenaline. As you round a corner, the motel comes into view—a squat, two-storey building with boarded-up windows. Relief surges through you, but it’s fleeting. The dead are still on your heels.
“There!” you shout, pointing toward the motel. “We can barricade ourselves inside!”
Jungwon nods, taking the lead as the group sprints toward the building. Jay fires a few shots over his shoulder, each one finding its mark, but it only slows the horde momentarily.
“Go, go, go!” Sunoo yells, holding the door open as the group piles inside.
The moment you’re inside, you move instinctively, grabbing a nearby desk and shoving it against the door with Sunghoon’s help. The others pile on whatever they can find—chairs, shelves, anything to hold the door shut. The pounding starts almost immediately, a grim reminder of how little time you have.
“We can’t stay here,” says someone whose name you haven’t learned, his voice trembling as he steps back, his wide eyes darting between the barricade and the rest of the group. “They’ll break through eventually.”
Jungwon turns to you, his dark, calculating eyes pinning you in place. “You said you cleared this place before,” he says, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Is there another way out?”
“There’s a back exit,” you say, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “But it’s narrow. If they cut us off—”
“We don’t have a choice,” Jungwon interrupts. “We’ll make it work.”
The pounding intensifies, the barricade creaking under the strain. The group exchanges tense glances, their exhaustion mirrored in each other’s faces. Your palms are slick with sweat as you clench your fists, the urge to act warring with the mounting dread in your gut.
“Let’s go,” Jungwon says sharply, gesturing for the group to fall into formation. He starts toward the back, his movements quick and precise, but you grab the edge of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.
“Give me a weapon to defend myself with,” you say, your voice low but firm.
“No,” he replies instantly, not even breaking his stride.
Your grip tightens, forcing him to pause. “Jungwon,” you say, your tone urgent but measured, “I can see you care a lot about your group. I also know that when push comes to shove, I won’t be your priority. If you can’t guarantee my safety, then I need something to defend myself with.”
He hesitates, his brow furrowing deeply. The pounding against the barricade grows louder, each crash like a warning bell, and you can feel the impatience bubbling beneath your skin.
“Please,” you press, your voice softening but losing none of its intensity.
For a moment, he stares at you, the tension in his jaw betraying his internal debate. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he reaches into his belt and pulls out a small, serrated knife. “Fine,” he says, his tone clipped, handing it to you. “But you stay close to me. No exceptions.”
Relief floods through you as you take the weapon, the cool metal solid and reassuring in your hand. “Understood,” you say, nodding quickly.
“Move!” Jungwon orders, his voice cutting through the noise. The group springs into action, heading toward the narrow corridor that leads to the back exit. Your heart pounds as you grip the knife tightly, your eyes darting to the barricade one last time.
The group moves quickly, the narrow corridor pressing in on all sides. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet feels deafening, every shadow a potential ambush. Jungwon leads the way, his blade gleaming faintly in the dim light as he keeps his focus locked on the path ahead.
“Stay close,” he mutters, glancing back at you for a fraction of a second before returning his attention forward.
The pounding on the barricade grows faint behind you, but a new sound takes its place—the unmistakable shuffle and groans of the undead echoing off the walls. The noise comes from ahead and behind, a cruel symphony that makes your stomach churn.
You’re surrounded.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” you don’t even know who is speaking, all you can tell is—he’s panicking.
The group halts, frozen as the reality of your situation sinks in. Jay takes a sharp breath, glancing over his shoulder. “They’ve cut us off,” he says grimly. “We’re trapped.”
“Keep moving,” Jungwon orders, though his voice is taut with tension. “We fight through. There’s no other choice.”
As if on cue, a wave of zombies emerges from the shadows ahead. Their decayed faces twist into grotesque mockeries of hunger, their milky eyes locking onto the group. The moans grow louder, their jerky movements speeding up as they close the distance.
Raising his pistol, Jay fires a clean shot, dropping the lead zombie, but the rest surge forward undeterred.
You tighten your grip on the knife Jungwon gave you, your palms sweaty. The first zombie lunges, and Jungwon meets it head-on, his blade diving into its skull with practiced precision. Another takes its place immediately, forcing him back.
“Behind you!” you yell, spotting movement in the shadows. A zombie stumbles toward Jungwon, its bony hands reaching for him.
Without thinking, you surge forward, driving your knife into its temple before it can lay a hand on him. The impact sends a jolt through your arm, but the creature collapses instantly, its lifeless body hitting the ground at Jungwon’s feet.
He spins around, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing in acknowledgment. “Thanks,” he mutters, before plunging his blade into another.
You barely have time to catch your breath before you spot it—a narrow opening in the wall ahead, barely visible in the chaos. It’s just large enough to squeeze through, and beyond it, you can see an open street.
Your heart pounds as the thought crystallises in your mind: freedom. You could run. You could escape. You could leave all of this behind and save yourself.
The idea is tempting. The promise of survival so close you can almost taste it. But as quickly as it takes root, something stronger rises to smother it. Something within you that won’t allow you to abandon them. These people—dangerous and distrustful as they are—are fighting to survive, just like you.
Your gaze flickers back to the group. Jungwon, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision, glances back to check on Jay before taking on another zombie. Jay’s pistol rings out, his shots deliberate and controlled, his sharp eyes scanning for threats to the others. Sunghoon swings a crowbar with brute force, stepping in to shield Sunoo when he falters.
They’re… looking out for each other…?
You hesitate, the knife in your hand growing heavier with every passing second. It’s not just survival fueling them—it’s something more. Something you haven’t seen in a long time.
After everything—the chaos, the selfishness, the betrayal—you didn’t think there was any humanity left in people. Not after what went down at the community building.
You’ve seen what desperation does to people, how it strips them bare, leaving nothing but fear and greed in its wake. You can still see the faces of the ones who abandoned their own blood. The ones who took more than their share, who fought over scraps while others starved, who left others behind to die just to save themselves.
And yet, here you are, watching this ragtag group fight not just for themselves, but for each other.
There’s something different about the way they move. It’s primal, yes, but not animalistic. They swing their weapons with purpose, shouting warnings to each other, putting themselves in danger to keep one another alive—not because they have to, but because they choose to.
They’re holding on to something—civility, camaraderie, maybe hope. Or maybe it’s the uncanny refusal to let go of what makes them human, even when the world around them is anything but. It makes your chest ache, this flicker of humanity you thought was long dead.
You aren’t sure why—not entirely. Maybe it’s the look of determination on their faces. Maybe it’s that fleeting look of surprise in Jungwon’s eyes when you saved him that stays with you. The unspoken gratitude, the trust he gave you in return. Maybe it’s the fire in your chest that refuses to let you be like the others, the ones who ran when things got hard. To hold on to what little humanity you have left. Or maybe it’s something simpler: you just don’t want to survive alone anymore.
Your gaze shifts back to the horde. More are flooding into the corridor from both sides, their moans growing louder. The group is outnumbered, overwhelmed. If you leave now, they won’t make it.
Your grip on the knife tightens as the choice solidifies in your mind. The opening in the wall calls to you, but you can’t move toward it. Not when they’re still fighting. Not when leaving would mean becoming one of them.
You take a step forward instead, slashing at the nearest zombie before it can reach Jay. The creature collapses, and Jay’s head snaps toward you, confusion flickering across his face. He doesn’t say anything, just nods once, almost imperceptibly, before firing at the next target.
The path forward is a blur of movement and noise. You don’t think, don’t question. You just fight.
“Over there!” you shout, pointing to the opening. “There’s a way out!”
Jungwon’s head snaps up at your words, his dark eyes meeting yours. Something flickers across his face—something unreadable, a mix of surprise and something else you can’t quite place. He nods sharply, his voice steady even as chaos erupts around him. “Stay with me,” he orders. “We’ll make it out together.”
The group presses forward, fighting with renewed determination. You stand your ground, slashing at anything that comes too close, your heart pounding as adrenaline fuels every movement. The horde presses in, relentless, but inch by inch, you force your way toward the opening. For reasons you can’t fully explain, you stay close to them.
Jungwon moves ahead, his blade a blur as he carves through the oncoming zombies. You’re at the rear now, turning back occasionally to strike at anything that gets too close.
A zombie lunges from the side, its grotesque face inches from you before you drive your knife into its eye socket. The creature crumples, but the force of it pulls you off balance, and you stumble, landing hard on one knee.
“Get up!” Jay barks, his voice sharp but charged with urgency. He fires a shot over your shoulder, the bullet whizzing past to take down another zombie that had been closing in on you.
You scramble to your feet, gripping your knife with renewed determination. The narrow opening is only a few feet away now, and the others are already pushing through. Sunoo slips through first, then Sunghoon, the two of them pulling at debris on the other side to clear the way for the rest of you.
“Move, move!” Jungwon shouts, his voice cutting through the cacophony. He’s still holding the line, his blade flashing in the dim light as he keeps the horde at bay.
You shove Jay forward toward the opening, your pulse racing. “Go!”
With a grim nod, Jay ducks through the opening, leaving you and Jungwon alone with the horde. The zombies are almost upon you now, their grotesque moans filling the narrow space. Jungwon glances at you, his face slick with sweat and streaked with blood.
“You first,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.
“Not a chance,” you shoot back, slashing at a zombie that gets too close. The blade slices through its rotted neck, sending its head lolling to the side as its body collapses. “They need you. I’ll be right behind.”
For a moment, he stares at you, something flickering in his dark eyes—frustration, maybe, or something closer to understanding. Then he nods once, a sharp, decisive motion, and the two of you fall into a rhythm. His blade swings high while your knife strikes low, each movement synchronised as if you’ve been fighting together for years.
The opening is right there, but the horde is closing in fast. A zombie lunges at Jungwon from his blind spot, and before you can think, you shove him aside, your knife plunging into the creature’s chest. The impact sends both you and the zombie crashing to the ground, the stench of rot filling your nose as you wrestle against its weight.
“Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and commanding. He pulls the zombie off you in one fluid motion, driving his blade into its skull. “Get up, now!”
He hauls you to your feet, his grip firm but not unkind, and together you bolt for the opening. The others are waiting on the other side, their faces pale and drawn but alive. Sunghoon reaches out, grabbing your arm to pull you through just as the horde slams into the debris you’d hastily piled to block the passage.
The group collapses onto the open street, panting and bloodied but alive. The sound of the horde pounding against the barricade is deafening, but it holds—at least for now.
“Everyone okay?” Jungwon asks, his voice steadier than it has any right to be. His eyes scan the group, lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer than the others.
“Barely,” Sunoo mutters, leaning heavily on Sunghoon. “That was too close.”
Jay stands a few feet away, reloading his pistol with practised efficiency. He glances at you, his expression unreadable. “You could’ve run,” he says flatly, though there’s something in his tone that isn’t quite accusatory.
You meet his gaze, your grip tightening on the bloodied knife in your hand. “So could you.”
Jay snorts, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough.”
Jungwon steps forward, his blade still clutched tightly in his hand. “We need to keep moving,” he says, his tone brisk but quieter now. “The noise will draw more of them.”
You nod, your heart still racing as you fall into step with the group. The streets ahead stretch out in shadowed uncertainty, but for the first time, you feel a flicker of something you haven’t felt in a long time. In the presence of people—people who aren’t trying to eat or kill you.
When the group reaches the edge of Seoul, where cracked asphalt gives way to gravel and the looming forest stretches into the horizon, everyone stops. The air is thick with tension, the only sounds the distant rustle of leaves and the crunch of boots on dirt. The group exchanges wary glances, but it’s Jay who breaks the silence.
“Surely she’s not coming with us back to camp,” he says bluntly, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. His pistol hangs loose in his hand, though his sharp gaze flicks to you with suspicion. Then, he turns to Jungwon. “We still don’t know anything about her.”
“She helped us escape,” one of them counters, his voice steady but calm. He’s tall, with an easy confidence, though his tone carries just enough weight to make Jay glance at him. “That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”
Jay doesn’t look convinced. “It doesn’t mean she’s not a liability, Heeseung.” he counters, his voice clipped. “We’ve all seen how that ends.”
“I’m standing right here, you know,” you say, your tone flat but laced with frustration. You’re too tired to hide the edge in your voice. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have stuck around to help.”
“Helping doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy,” Jay shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “Plenty of people are helpful—until they aren’t. Jake, why don’t you remind Jungwon what happened the last time we trusted someone?”
Jake—leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed—glances at Jay before speaking. His voice is lighter, more measured, but no less pointed. “She was armed,” he says, nodding toward the knife still clutched in your hand. “If she wanted to hurt us, she’d have done it by now.”
“She practically did,” Jay fires back, his glare intensifying. “With the way she brought that horde down on us.”
You stiffen, your exhaustion bubbling over into anger. “If you think my pathetic little scream brought in a horde that big, then you must be denser than I thought." you bite out, your tone dripping with incredulity,
Jay takes a step closer, his expression darkening. “Then why don’t you care to explain why there were so many of them tonight? You said so yourself—it’s different. Something’s drawn them here.”
The accusation hangs heavy in the air, each word sharp and biting. Your chest tightens, frustration mingling with the lingering fear from earlier. “How the hell would I know?” you snap, your voice rising slightly before you force it down. “You think I have all the answers? I’ve been on my own for months. I don’t know what’s out there any more than you do.”
“Exactly,” Jay counters, his voice cold. “You’ve been on your own. No one to vouch for you. No one to trust you. Why should we be the ones to take that risk?”
You open your mouth to argue, but Jungwon raises a hand, silencing the brewing argument. “Enough,” he says, his voice calm but commanding.
“You said you’ve been on your own." Jungwon turns to you, his dark eyes meeting yours, unblinking.
You nod slowly, meeting his gaze with as much calm as you can muster. “That’s right.”
“Then why didn’t you run?” Jungwon asks, his voice softer now, though no less searching. “You could’ve left when you saw that opening.”
The question hangs in the air, heavy and weighted with meaning. For a moment, you hesitate, your chest tightening. The truth feels raw, vulnerable, but you know it’s the only chance you have. “Because I’ve seen what happens when people leave others behind,” you say quietly, your voice steady but laced with emotion. “I… was left behind. It’s not who I want to be.”
The group falls into an uneasy silence. Even Jay says nothing, though his expression remains guarded. Sunoo glances between you and Jungwon, his face unreadable. Heeseung exhales slowly, lowering his machete just slightly, his knuckles no longer white from gripping the handle.
“She doesn’t seem like a threat to me,” Sunoo finally says, his tone softer now. “Besides, what’s one more person? It’s not like we’re overflowing with allies.”
“She could slow us down,” Jay argues, though his earlier venom seems to have dulled. “What if she can’t keep up?”
“I kept up with you just fine back there,” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop.
“And she saved Jungwon. Knife to the skull. Pretty impressive, actually.” says the cheeky one you remember from the auto shop. His tone is casual, but it carries just enough humour to make Jungwon roll his eyes.
“Very funny, Ni-ki,” Jungwon says, exhaling through his nose. His expression remains unreadable as his gaze sweeps over the group.
He’s quiet for a moment, clearly weighing the risks, before finally speaking. “She comes with us, we'll figure the rest out at camp." he states firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Jay mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t protest further. Sunoo gives you a quick smile, while Heeseung offers a small nod. Ni-ki shrugs, already turning back toward the forest path.
The journey to the camp is long and fraught with silence. The group moves with practised precision, their formation tight as they navigate the dark, twisting paths that grow denser with every step. You trail close behind, clutching your knife tightly. The blood and sweat drying on your skin makes you feel grimy, but the real discomfort comes from the sharp looks Jay still throws your way whenever he glances back.
Eventually, the dense trees give way to a clearing, revealing the camp nestled among towering pines. A cluster of tents, a single battered van, and a manmade lean-to are scattered around the space, surrounded by a crude barricade of fallen logs and scavenged metal.
“Home sweet home,” Sunoo mutters, his voice tinged with fatigue as he pulls the barricade open just wide enough for the group to slip through. The camp is eerily quiet, save for the distant rustling of the forest.
You glance around, scanning the area for signs of other people, but it becomes clear that the group before you is all there is.
Weird. They don’t have much, but leaving an entire camp unattended like that is reckless, bordering on suicidal. It’s the kind of decision that makes you question their judgment.
Now you’re even more confused about your perception of these people. Are they confident? Brave? Or are they simply stupid?
It’s hard to tell.
But whatever the reason, it leaves you uneasy. Because in a world like this, confidence and bravery can look an awful lot like arrogance—and arrogance gets people killed.
“Who’s on first watch tonight?” Jungwon asks, his tone brisk and businesslike as his eyes sweep the camp.
“Jake and Ni-ki,” Heeseung replies, dropping his machete with a heavy sigh.
“Erm... both of them are already passed out over there.” Sunghoon’s voice is dry, almost amused, as he points toward the lean-to.
Your gaze follows his finger, and sure enough, you spot two figures sprawled out on the uneven ground, tangled in what looks like a half-hearted attempt at bedding. One of them is snoring softly, an arm flung carelessly over his face, while the other lies curled into himself, his back rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. They’ve managed to find the least uncomfortable positions possible in a place like this, but it’s clear they’re out cold.
Jungwon pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture that speaks to his weariness more than any words could. “Brilliant,” he mutters under his breath, the exasperation in his tone cutting through the quiet. He looks like a man who carries the weight of everyone around him, even when he doesn’t want to.
The group shifts awkwardly, the tension thick enough to press against your chest. Your fingers twitch around the handle of your knife, an unconscious reflex as you weigh your options. You don’t owe these people anything. And yet, when the words leave your mouth, they surprise even you.
“I can take first watch, and one of you can cover me after.” Your voice is steady, but the exhaustion leaks through at the edges. You don’t offer because you feel like you owe them. No, the truth is simpler: you know you won’t sleep. Even with your body screaming for rest, every muscle and bone aching from the day’s events, your mind is wide awake. Very, very awake.
Jay scoffs immediately, the sound sharp and derisive. “Like hell we would leave you on watch alone, what if you run?”
The comment makes your blood simmer, but you clamp down on the flare of frustration. Instead, you meet his glare with a level stare. “Jay, I’m really not in the mood to argue with you,” you say, your tone firm but not aggressive. “If you don’t trust me, then you can take first watch with me.”
The challenge in your voice is unmistakable, and it hangs in the air between you like a taut string. Jay’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze hardening as though he’s deciding whether to call your bluff. You hold his stare, refusing to back down, even as the silence stretches.
Your heartbeat drums in your ears, but you keep your expression steady, determined not to show weakness. You don’t know if they’ll ever trust you, but you’ve survived too long to let someone like Jay intimidate you now.
Jungwon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again, as though trying to contain the growing tension in the camp. Finally, he lowers his hand and looks at Jay, his expression firm but calm. “I’ll take the first watch with her,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Jay’s mouth opens, likely to argue, but Jungwon cuts him off with a sharp look. “Get some rest. We’ll need everyone at least awake tomorrow.”
Jay clicks his tongue but doesn’t push further. Instead, he mutters something under his breath and stalks off toward the fire, dropping onto a log with a pointed lack of grace. The others disperse as well, settling into their makeshift bedding or sitting quietly by the fire. Jungwon turns to you.
“Come on,” he says, motioning toward a ladder tied to the side of what looks like a precariously constructed watchtower. “The view’s better up there.”
You follow him, gripping the ladder tightly as you climb. The watchtower, built from scavenged wood and tied together with ropes and wire, creaks slightly under your combined weight but holds firm. When you reach the top, you find a narrow platform with a rough wooden railing. From this vantage point, the camp feels small, a fragile sanctuary surrounded by endless darkness.
Jungwon settles near the edge, resting his blade across his lap as he scans the treeline. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, constantly moving as though anticipating the worst.
You sit a few feet away, your knife still in hand, though you’re not entirely sure what good it will do against the night. For a while, neither of you speaks, the silence broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the faint crackle of the fire below.
“Do you always volunteer for shit the rest doesn’t want to do?” you ask, breaking the quiet.
Jungwon glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not always. But someone has to do it. Might as well be me.”
You nod, your gaze drifting to the dark forest beyond the barricade. “You don’t trust me either,” you say, your voice quiet but not accusatory. It’s a statement, not a question.
He doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the horizon. When he does speak, his tone is measured. “It’s not about trust. Not entirely. It’s about knowing what people are capable of when things go bad.”
A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Yeah. I’ve seen what people are capable of.”
Jungwon glances at you again, his expression softening just slightly. “What… happened?” he asks, his voice low, as though he knows it’s a loaded question but is willing to bear the weight of it.
You hesitate, the memories clawing at the edges of your mind, threatening to drag you back into a place you’d give anything to forget. Frankly, you don’t want to answer. You don’t even want to think about it. But the past has a cruel way of lingering, forcing you to confront it over and over again, like an open wound that refuses to heal.
“The community building,” you begin slowly, the words bitter on your tongue. “It was supposed to be safe. A place where people worked together. Where we helped each other survive.”
“At least, that’s what we told ourselves. But things changed when the supplies started running low. Suddenly, it wasn’t about helping each other anymore. It was about who could take the most, who could get out alive.” You pause, your fingers tightening around the knife in your hand as the images flood your mind. The arguments over food, the mistrust that spread like rot, the way desperation revealed the ugliest parts of human nature.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words spill out, raw and jagged. “I watched people turn on each other. Families. Friends. People who’d shared meals, shared stories, who’d promised to have each other’s backs. They fought over scraps. They left others behind without a second thought. And when the barricade fell… when the dead came through…” Your voice wavers, and you clench your jaw to steady it. “They didn’t just leave the weak behind. They trampled them. Used them as bait. Anything to save themselves.”
Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but his gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s judging you, pitying you, or just listening. Maybe it’s all three.
“I’d like to think the ones who made it out remember that place the way I do,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “But I don’t think they do. I think they tell themselves it wasn’t their fault. That they had no choice. Maybe they’re right. But I had to see it, and I have to live with it.”
Jungwon watches you carefully, his expression unreadable but not unkind. After a moment, he asks, his voice low and steady, “Is that why you choose to survive alone?”
The question cuts through the quiet night, striking a nerve you hadn’t realised was exposed. You hesitate, your gaze falling to the dark ground below. “Maybe,” you admit softly. “It’s easier, I guess. No one to rely on. No one to disappoint you. No one to leave you behind.”
Jungwon doesn’t say anything immediately, but his silence feels deliberate, as though he’s giving you space to continue. You exhale slowly, the memories pressing against your chest like a weight you can’t shrug off.
“When you’re on your own, the only person you have to worry about is yourself,” you say, your voice hardening slightly. “If you make a mistake, you pay for it. If you survive, it’s because you earned it. There’s no one else to blame, and no one else to lose.”
Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, and there’s a gravity in his eyes that makes you feel exposed. “But it’s also lonely,” he says quietly, as though he’s not asking but stating a fact.
You swallow hard, the truth of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. You don’t answer, but the silence between you speaks volumes. Jungwon shifts slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he speaks. “Not everyone would’ve made it out of that and kept going,” he says quietly. “Most people would’ve given up. You didn’t.”
You blink, his words catching you off guard. They’re not exactly comforting, but there’s a sincerity in them that makes your chest tighten, like a wound you’d forgotten you were nursing.
“I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of,” you admit, your gaze fixed on the dark forest beyond the camp.
“It is,” Jungwon says firmly, and there’s an edge of conviction in his tone that makes you glance at him. “It means you didn’t let it break you. And that’s harder than most people realise—keeping yourself from going insane. Stopping yourself from letting this fucked-up excuse of a world swallow you whole. You didn’t give in, and that counts for something.”
You study him for a moment, his face lit faintly by the moonlight, his blonde hair swaying lightly in the night breeze. His expression is calm but resolute, as though he’s been through his own version of hell and come out with his soul intact.
You’re not sure how to respond, so you don’t. Instead, you let his words sit with you, their weight lighter than the memories they’ve momentarily displaced.
“You’re not as rough around the edges as Jay seems to think,” he says after a while, his tone lighter now. “But you’re not like the others either. You’ve got... fight in you.”
You glance at him, arching an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
He smirks. “Take it however you want.”
“But that’s not what we do here,” he continues. “If someone falls behind, we don’t leave them.”
You turn to him, searching his face for any hint of deception, any sign that this is just a comforting lie. But his expression is earnest, his eyes unwavering.
You’ve been on your own for almost six months. You don’t even remember the last time you had a conversation this long with anyone. Words, when they did come, were usually short, functional—commands barked at yourself to keep moving, or fleeting exchanges shouted during desperate encounters.
This, sitting and talking, feels foreign. Unnatural.
It’s not that you haven’t come across other survivors. You’ve met people. Survivors who had extended a hand, offered you a place in their groups. Some seemed kind, others desperate. But you rejected them all. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford, and joining a group means opening yourself to betrayal, to risk. You’ve seen what people are capable of when the stakes are life and death. Better to keep moving on your own than rely on someone who could turn on you at any moment.
Still, sitting here with Jungwon, his calm voice cutting through the quiet night, you find yourself oddly enjoying it.
“Must be exhausting, caring about people.” you say, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at your lips.
Jungwon chuckles softly, the sound low and almost foreign in the stillness of the night. “It is,” he admits, his gaze flicking briefly to the camp below. The firelight dances across the faces of the others, who are finally beginning to settle down for the night. “But it’s worth it. At least, I like to think it is.”
You watch him for a moment, the corners of your mouth quirking slightly upward. “Did you know each other? Before?”
“Yup,” he says, leaning back against the rough railing of the makeshift watchtower. The faint moonlight softens the hard edges of his face as he speaks, his tone lighter now, touched with nostalgia. “Childhood friends. I’d just started university, and they wanted to come check out the campus. It was supposed to be a quick visit.”
He pauses, his gaze drifting toward the dark expanse of trees surrounding the camp. “We just so happened to be together when everything went to shit.”
The simplicity of his words doesn’t mask the weight they carry. You imagine the scene—an ordinary day, plans for the future barely set in motion, torn apart by chaos. You wonder if he thinks about how different things might’ve been if the timing had been just slightly off. If he’d been alone, or if they hadn’t been there together.
“Lucky, I guess,” you say quietly, though the word feels wrong in your mouth. Luck doesn’t feel like it belongs in this world anymore, not when it comes with such brutal cost.
“Yeah,” Jungwon replies, his voice softer now, almost like he’s agreeing and disagreeing at the same time. “Lucky.”
“What happened?” you ask cautiously, sensing the weight of his memories but curious nonetheless.
He exhales slowly, the breath heavy with remembrance. “We started out as a big group—most of the faculty ended up holed up in the auditorium. We thought we’d escape the initial chaos for the time. But someone got bit early on and hid it from the rest of us. They turned in the middle of the night. It took out half of us before we even knew what was happening.”
You swallow hard, the familiar pang of loss and horror creeping into your chest. “And the rest of you?”
“The seven of us, plus a few others, managed to get out alive,” he says, his voice tinged with a faint bitterness. “We thought our luck had turned when we ran into a group of people in military uniforms. They had tanks, rifles, the works. We thought we were safe.”
“That was The Future, wasn’t it?” you ask, recalling the name you’d overheard the others mention earlier.
Jungwon’s gaze sharpens, his expression darkening. “Do you really not know anything about The Future?”
You shake your head slowly, a knot of unease forming in your stomach. “No. I’ve been on my own for months. I’ve seen groups, but nothing that sounds like what you’re describing.”
Jungwon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice lowers, taking on a colder edge. “They’re not a group. They’re an organisation. Big. Made up of military personnels who went rogue when they realised the government couldn’t control the outbreak, and high profile politicians started to abandon the people to save themselves.”
Your stomach twists uncomfortably, the weight of his words sinking in. The idea of a well-organised, militarised group with no one to answer to makes your skin crawl. “And you escaped from them?” you ask, your voice quieter now.
He nods, his jaw tightening. “Barely.”
“If they’re so strong,” you press cautiously, “why did you leave?”
Jungwon’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the dark ground below before lifting to meet yours again. “Their way of surviving… it’s messed up,” he says, his tone grim. “It isn’t about helping anyone—it’s about control. They take what they want. Supplies, people, anything they think they can use. If they decide you’re deadweight, just another mouth to feed, they won’t hesitate to…” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you.
Your throat feels tight. “Is that why Jake said they’d gotten rid off all their women?” you ask tentatively, the memory of Jake’s earlier comment sharp in your mind.
Jungwon’s expression darkens further. “Not all,” he corrects, though the words do little to ease the growing unease in your chest. “Just those who, to them, served no purpose. And not just women. Children. The elderly. Anyone with a disability, or even someone who was sick—whether it was visible or not. If you couldn’t pull your weight or be useful to their ‘mission,’ you were as good as dead.”
Your stomach churns, bile rising in your throat. “That’s not survival,” you say quietly, your voice shaking slightly. “That’s—”
“Evil?” Jungwon finishes for you, his tone bitter. “Yeah. It is. They hide it under words like ‘efficiency’ and ‘necessity,’ but it’s just cruelty. That’s why we left.”
You can see the weight of the memories in his eyes, the lingering shadows of everything he’s seen and done to survive. For a moment, the silence between you feels suffocating, the distant rustle of the forest doing little to break the tension.
“How many of you escaped?” you ask, though you’re not sure you want to know the answer.
“Doesn’t matter, we’re all that’s left.” he says simply, his voice carrying the weight of names and faces you’ll likely never know.
He leans back against the watchtower railing, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the past has settled there. “We’ve been running ever since. Trying to stay ahead of them. Trying to survive without becoming like them.”
The knot in your stomach tightens further. The apocalypse had already stripped the world of so much—life, hope, humanity—and now it seemed to have given rise to something even worse.
You glance down at the camp below, at the group who had been wary of you, who still didn’t fully trust you. Yet despite everything, they’d chosen to leave a place like that behind, to hold onto something resembling morality.
“Must’ve taken a lot,” you say quietly. “To leave. To fight back.”
“It did,” Jungwon replies, his voice steady but tired. “But if surviving means losing everything that makes us human, then what’s the point?”
His words linger in the cool night air, settling deep into your bones. For the first time, you realise that you and the group aren’t so different after all. Just ordinary people, barely on the cusp of adulthood, thrust into a world that demands you play the role of protectors. Not because you’re ready, but because the ones who should have been there to protect you failed. Now, all you have is each other, forced to fill the gaps left behind by the people who should have kept you safe.
"But why are they still trying to hunt you down?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can think twice. It lingers in the air between you, heavy with curiosity and unease.
Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his gaze shifting to the dark treeline beyond the camp. For a moment, it seems like he might not answer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees.
“Because we didn’t just leave,” he says, his voice low and edged with something darker—regret, perhaps, or anger. “We took supplies. Food, medicine, weapons. Enough to give us a fighting chance out here. To them, that’s unforgivable. They don’t see people. They see assets. Resources they think they own.”
You feel a chill crawl down your spine as you process his words. “You think they’re after the supplies you took?”
“It’s not just about the supplies,” Jungwon replies, his tone grim. “It’s about control. We embarrassed them. Made them look weak. To The Future, that’s worse than losing anything physical. If they let us go, it sets a precedent. It shows people that they’re not invincible, and then what is to stop others from doing the same?”
Your stomach churns. “So they’re chasing you to make an example of you.”
“Exactly,” he says, his voice colder now. “They want everyone to know what happens when you cross them. And they won’t stop until they get what they want.”
The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest, the reality of their situation sinking in. It’s not just survival they’re fighting for—it’s freedom from a force that refuses to let them go. You glance back at Jungwon, his expression calm but laced with something harder, something forged by experience.
“How long have you been running?” you ask softly.
Jungwon exhales, the sound low and tired. “Almost six months,” he admits, his gaze fixed on the treeline.
There’s a pause before he continues, quieter this time, as though saying it aloud makes it more real. “Although… we think we might have lost them. For now. But we’re always ready to keep moving. Always looking over our shoulders.”
“Every time we think we’re safe enough to settle down, they find us,” he murmurs. “Like an obsessive ex-girlfriend, you know?”
The analogy catches you off guard, and you chuckle despite the seriousness of the conversation. It’s a strained laugh, but genuine—a brief flicker of something human in the midst of everything bleak. “The kind that won’t take a hint?”
Jungwon huffs a small laugh of his own, though there’s no real humour behind it. “Exactly.” He glances at you, a shadow of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Except this one’s got a lot more firepower.”
That explains it. Why they were so willing to leave the camp unattended, why they carried more supplies on their backs than they could possibly need. It wasn’t out of carelessness or greed—it was strategy. They packed light enough to keep moving, but just heavy enough to make sure they wouldn’t have to stop.
Everything they did was calculated, preparing for the worst. Ready to run at a moment’s notice if the situation demanded it.
Ready to disappear without a trace.
The fire below flickers, its faint glow casting long shadows across his face. For a moment, you see the weariness behind his sharp exterior, the cracks in the armour he’s built to protect himself and the people he cares about.
“You said tonight was different—you said there were a lot more of them than usual. Why did you think that way?” Jungwon asks, his tone low and measured, though his eyes flicker with unease.
You hesitate, chewing on your thoughts. The question pulls at loose threads in your mind, unravelling memories of the streets you’ve come to know too well. Images flash behind your eyes—the empty alleys, the shifting shadows, the silence that stretches too long before it breaks. You’ve always trusted your gut, and tonight, it screamed louder than ever.
Something is wrong.
“The city is… unpredictable,” you reply carefully, the words slow as you try to make sense of the thoughts swirling in your head. “Some days, the streets are empty. You might see the occasional horde passing through. They linger for a bit before something else catches their attention—a noise, a movement, anything that draws them away.”
“But hordes… they’re creatures of habit,” Jungwon listens intently as you continue, his brow furrowed, tension tightening his posture. “The noise they make keeps them together, pulling in the surrounding stragglers to join their little marching band. It’s a cycle. And that’s what makes them manageable. You can figure out their patterns, track the way they move, and avoid them if you’re careful.”
“But tonight, though…” You pause, the words lingering on your tongue like a bad taste you can’t quite spit out. “It wasn’t just one or two. It felt like they were coming from everywhere. Every direction.”
Jungwon’s gaze flickers to meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. His expression hardens, the flicker of dread in his eyes matching your own.
“Like someone put them there.”
The words hang in the air, thick and heavy. As soon as you finish, the thought sends a chill down your spine, settling deep in your chest. The silence stretches between you both, tense and oppressive, as the weight of the implication sinks in.
The idea that someone—anyone—might be capable of coordinating something so horrifying is almost impossible to comprehend. Almost.
“Do you think it was deliberate?” you ask, your voice quieter now, as if afraid to hear the answer.
Jungwon exhales slowly, his expression hardening. “Truth is, we don’t know for sure. We were in the city earlier, scouting for car parts to fix up the van. That’s when we thought we ran into members of The Future. But one thing about them—they don’t fuck with the cities. They stick to the communities near their base, taking whatever they need—supplies, weapons, fuel. They think the cities are too dangerous, too unpredictable.” His words hang in the air for a moment before he continues, his voice darker now. “But the way the hordes moved tonight... it felt like someone wanted them to sweep the area.”
The thought settles over you like a heavy fog. “But you don’t think it’s them? The Future?”
Jungwon shakes his head, though the hesitation in his expression is hard to miss. “It’s not their style. They don’t deal in chaos—they deal in control. And releasing hordes into the city? That’s reckless. Dangerous, even for them.”
“If it wasn’t them...” you start, but your voice falters.
Jungwon’s gaze sharpens as it meets yours, steady but grim.
“Then it’s someone else."
You sense that the weight of the conversation is more than you can handle for the rest of the night, and you know Jungwon senses it too. The quiet lingers between you, heavy but not unpleasant, the kind that almost invites you to leave the darkness of your thoughts behind.
“Should I go wake Jake and Ni-ki up for their shift?” you suggest, breaking the silence. You’re not sure whether the talk with Jungwon has helped ease some of your inner turmoil or if the sheer exhaustion from the day’s events is finally catching up to you, but your eyelids are growing heavier with every passing second.
Jungwon shakes his head slightly, his voice calm and even. “I’m actually just going to keep watch for the night. You can turn in if you’re tired.”
You blink at him, his words jolting you back to focus. “What?” you ask, disbelief lacing your tone. “In that case, we’ll take turns. There’s no way I’m leaving you up here alone the entire night. I can only imagine what Jay’s got to say when he wakes up tomorrow and finds out.”
Jungwon’s lips twitch, and then, to your surprise, he laughs—a genuine, unguarded laugh. The sound is startlingly warm, almost foreign in the bleakness of the night. For a moment, it feels like the world around you isn’t as broken as it really is.
“Fine,” he says, shaking his head in mild amusement. “You can rest first. I’ll wake you in an hour.”
His words carry a gentleness you hadn’t expected, and it throws you off balance more than you’d like to admit. You study his face—the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the faint trace of a smile still lingering.
You hesitate, your exhaustion pulling at you, but the lingering sense of distrust—of everything, not just him—roots you in place. “You sure?” you mumble, your voice heavy with fatigue.
“Yeah,” he says with a faint nod, his eyes scanning the dark forest beyond the camp. “I’ve got it.”
“Alright,” you finally agree, leaning back against the railing and letting yourself relax just a fraction. “But don’t forget to wake me.”
“I won’t,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost reassuring.
The weight of the day presses down on you like a blanket, and despite your reluctance, you feel your body begin to give in.
Leaning back against the rough planks of the watchtower, you close your eyes, telling yourself you’re just resting them for a moment. But the distant rustling of the trees, the faint crackle of the campfire below, and the steady presence of Jungwon beside you lull you into a state of half-awareness.
At some point, you shift unconsciously, your head tilting until it finds something solid—warm. You’re too far gone to realise what’s happened, the exhaustion dragging you under.
masterlist | part 2 - warmth
♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡
notes from nat: i'm adapting a new form of writing specifically for this setting. i think i mentioned before how i struggle describing present moments over writing thoughts and monologues. lo and behold, turns out an apocalypse au is all about the present moment... i'm taking this as a challenge and honestly don't have high hopes. but i sincerely appreciate the read from all of you! things will start picking up in the next part~
Hi my fav author, Ruby, I don't know if you are going to see this :( How are you? You are fine right? I mean it's fine to stay out of those toxic people but, we gonna miss you :( Ruby, my fav author I will be waiting for you. It's fine if you don't return because I'll always be waiting for you. Ya know you are the reason why I get to know Tumblr. I just came to know that your account is deactivated :( I couldn't be online on Tumblr due to personal reasons. I wonder what happened :( I did know that toxic people are throwing their hate at you. Maybe I should have flipped them off sooner? I miss you, Ruby. I am now wondering why all my fav authors had to deactivate their accounts. I somehow feel like I am the cursed one :( I don't know anymore. All I know is that I am gonna miss you. Take care, Ruby! Don't let those toxic people ruin your mood. Please have a wonderful day!
MY FAV AUTHOR, YOU TOLD ME TO CHOOSE BETWEEN VAM WON, STREET RACER WON AND MAFIA WON? HOW CAN YOU DO THAT. PLEASE JUST DROP ALL OF THEM AND IT'S NOT THAT I MIND YEAH-
“MY FAV AUTHOR” CAPPPP kidding (not)
yes pleak choose one🙏🏻i promise they’re all equally good (at least that’s what i felt when the storyline played in my head🤓)
i wish i could drop all but i have other hyung line fics to focus on and can’t wait to release but maybe i’ll release either 2 of jungwon fics on the same week (we’ll see which won will win by today🙂↕️)
Hiii ( to anyone idk haha ) I am quite new to this app and came to know that there are many writers here and so are readers. I just want to upload a story, which writes out of boredom coz I want to know it is good or bad I mean like I know my writing is suck but, can't help :) I would be over the moon if you do give me your feedback an honest one of course! enjoyy! :)
A twisted tale
Prologue
“ and every time he leaves me lone “
“ he always tells me he misses it “
“ he wanna- “
“ Sweety, you’ve been listening to it for about three hours. “ Her mother suddenly burst into her room, startling the smiley girl.
“ You scared me, Mom! I thought you were going grocery? “ The girl titles her head in confusion.
“ Well, I was about to go but remembered that I have to cook for Grandma. “ Her mother says, taking out something from her drawer. ‘ That means… she is there all the time. Oh god, please tell me she didn’t hear my voice. ‘ she widens her eyes.
“ It’s a new song, Mom. “ She awkwardly blurs out, receiving a nod from her mom. “ Where did I put my gloves? “ her mom whispers and then, leaves.
“ That was close. I will instead read Webtoon now. “ She sighs, jumping on the soft mattress while opening her laptop. As soon as it’s opened, she gets a notification, saying
A new chapter of DARK MOON: THE BLOOD ALTAR is up.
view / later
_
“ Wah, the chapter is shorter day by day and the drama is getting interesting. Why can’t Hybe release a film of that so that we can watch it all in one go? “ She dramatically cries and pouts.
She is about to close her laptop but, a certain something catches her attention.
Click to download DARK MOON: THE BLOOD ALTAR
The girl frowns, feeling confused. ‘ Is it a virus? I have never seen this link in other chapters before. Am I seeing things right now? ‘
‘ Should I? ‘ She is debating whether she should click that link or not. In the end, her curiosity wins and would probably be grinning if it had a face.
processing…
Please wait for a moment…
////////// 45%
“ Sweety, time to go to bed! Don’t make me come to you. You have school tomorrow. “ Her mother shouts from the kitchen. “ I will, Mom. I am downloading something. After that, I will go, Mom, “ she shouts back.
She turns back to her phone and is met with a black screen. ‘ Huh? ‘
She immediately clicks the phone screen, thinking that the virus is already in her laptop. A young boy appears on her home screen, her favourite idol automatically a smile appears.
Without thinking twice, she taps the app and scrolls down. Strangely, it’s completely fine and there is no link at the end of the chapter. ‘ Okie, that’s strange. ‘ She thinks.
‘ Maybe I read Wattpad too much this morning that I am seeing things now? ‘ She sighs. “ I swear I will be gone crazy if their concert also continues like this. “ She mumbles, switching off her lamp, and preparing to sleep.
“ Good night, world. A great tomorrow is waiting for me. I love myself. “ She whispers before falling into a deep sleep due to her tiredness.
Just then,
Your installation is completed!
100 %
Taps to view
_
“ Good morning, teacher. “ she greets the teacher, who she meets at the school gate. “ Morning, Yon. “ The teacher smiles in reply.
“ Yon shiiii, “ someone calls her and she recognises the voice immediately, it’s her best friend, Sojo. “ Hey, Soju, “ She greets back but, meets with a welcome slap on her shoulder. “Yeah, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s Sojo! Not Soju! “
Instead of getting a reply from Yon, the other girl gets a giggle from her. “ Yeah! “ Sojo pouts. “ Sorry, no sorry it’s suited you well, Soju shiii, “ Yon says before running for her life.
“ Euntae, help me, “ Yon says with a really wide grin, hiding behind that girl. “ What happened- “
“ YON!! “ Euntae facepalms after hearing a certain someone’s shout, feeling not surprised but disappointed. “ Not again. “ she mumbles under her breath.
Not too long, an angry yet annoyed Soju-I mean Sojo appears, ready to attack her sweet friend yet enemy while Yon is using Euntae as a shield as if they both are about to start world war three.
Ring Ring
Well, this time, the bell saves the not-so-scared girl, named Yon. “ You better give strawberry smoothie not else say goodbye to your plushie. “ Sojo grins evilly. “ Noooo! Not my Layla, “ Yon dramatically cries.
“ Fine, I will get you one. But, no tiger plushie then, “ Yon sticks her tongue, then walks into her classroom without seeing Sojo’s reaction.
She doesn’t need to see them since she’s been friends with them for five years. Correction, best friends.
“ Noooo- “ Sojo doesn’t have time to be dramatic since Euntae is dragging her. “ Let’s go! We are going to be late. “
_
“ Alright, don’t forget to review this for tomorrow's quiz. I wouldn’t like to see one of my students didn’t pass it. I want all pass, okie? “ All students groan in reply.
“ Alright, class is dismissed. “The teacher says while gathering all of her things.
“ Finally, lunch timeeeee! “ someone shouts with joy despite the teacher still there and then, one by one disappear into the cafeteria. Yon is the only one left in the classroom along with her class teacher.
She is also about to go grab her lunch. “ Yon? “
“ Yes, Miss Kim? “ her class teacher suddenly calls her, startling the girl a little. “ Can you take this to the library? “ She says while handing a thick yet old book to the girl.
“ Of course, Miss Kim. What should I say or maybe where should I put it? “ The girl takes the book and carefully embraces it.
“ Just give it to Miss Jang and tell her it’s from me. “ The girl nods in reply. “ Please excuse me, Miss Kim, “ she bows before she leaves.
As soon as she opens the door, she is met with really familiar faces, who are no other than Sojo and Euntae. It’s normal for her because they always wait for her to go get lunch together.
“ Let’s go? “ Sojo says and the girl shakes her head as a no. “ Sorry, I have to give it to Miss Jang. I’ll catch you up later. Don’t wait for me. “ She says, feeling a bit sorry.
“ Okiee, you better hurry or else your food is mine. “ Sojo sticks her tongue in a teasing tone. “ We’ll wait for you there. See ya, “ Euntae drags the childish friend for the second time. She nods in approval.
They all part away to go to their respective destination. It didn’t take long for her since the library is just four rooms away from her classroom.
Just as she is told to do, she goes straight to Miss Jang’s desk. But, she is not there.
‘ She must be having lunch right now. ‘ She thinks. She places the book carefully on her desk and looks for someone to hand a message to. As expectedly, no one is here.
She gets a yellow sticky note and writes a message before sticking it on the desk. When she is about to join her friends, a sudden thing caught her attention. It’s her laptop.
‘ I thought I handed it to Miss Kim? ‘ She frowns. It isn’t like that laptop is not allowed at school here. It is allowed only when it comes to computer science classes. But, it goes the opposite when it is a phone.
If they are not allowed to use laptops, they have to give them to their room teacher so that they can focus on their lessons without distraction.
Ding!
“ I thought I switched it off too…? Wait, I was seeing things last night and now hearing things? “ She whispers, feeling more confused.
Without her knowing, she grabs it and opens it, wanting to check whether she is really imagining things or not. Much to her surprise, there is no sign of an opening laptop.
Just then, her laptop’s screen is glitching. It gives her goosebumps. Its glitching noise becomes louder and louder, causing her to cover her ears.
Everything around her is shaking non-stop as if there is an earthquake. She immediately reacts to it and hides under a desk with a laptop in her hand.
When everything is calmed down, a message appears on her screen.
Unknown
Be careful, dear!
Ding
Unknown
Watch your surrounding.
She tilted her head in confusion. ‘ What? ‘ ‘ What is that? ‘ ‘ Is it a virus? ‘ Many questions are popping up in her mind. But, a loud noise snaps her out of her thought.
Her head immediately turns to it. “ Who is there? Miss Jang? Is that you? “ She shouts, letting her guard up. She waits for a reply but, she gets none.
She stands up slowly not letting her guard down. She feels like someone has passed behind her. “ Who is there? “
No reply again.
“ Who is it? Please show up or else I am reporting it to the principal. “ She tries to threaten although she is scared. Her leg is trembling so badly.
Her eyes are wandering around, hoping to spot that person. Much to her surprise, she spots a book, that lying on the ground in an opening position.
Despite being afraid and scared that she will get hurt, she takes a step slowly toward it, using all her strength.
It's a leather book with golden decoration and seems like it’s an old book due to its old papers.
She carefully picks it up and looks up at its place. But, there is no blank space strangely if it falls from the bookshelf while shaking.
Just then, she spots a black shadow in the corner of her eyes. “ Who are you? “ She approaches slowly yet quietly. But, it disappears quickly. Yon doesn’t let it go this time. She chases after it.
Without her notice, she reaches the middle of the bookshelves and still, there is no trace of that person. Her doe eyes scan around the room, but still no hints.
Much to her surprise, a pair of hands pull her, covering her mouth, giving her no time to react. That is when a light flashes in front of her eyes and then, a thick black fog covers her.
She feels like someone is choking her as she is struggling to breathe. Suddenly, she has been pulled again as if her soul and body are connected to their original place.
She grasped for air, unable to balance herself. When her breathing rate is normal, she looks up and meets with a familiar yet unfamiliar person.
A woman in her twenties looks at her confusedly. She appears to be kind and gentle. Her green suit along with the white soft scarf makes a perfect match with her hazel eyes.
“ Are you okay, Alex? “ The woman spoke up in concern. ‘ Alex? ‘ The girl thinks. ‘ She is familiar. Where did I see her? ‘ The girl glances beside her. The place looks like a school but not her school and it’s oddly familiar.
“ Alex? “ A woman’s call snaps her out of her thoughts. “ Yes, ma’am? “ She answers with hesitation. “ What happened? Are you not feeling well? “
“ I am fine, ma’am. “ The girl smiles, assuring her. A woman checks her from head to toe, trying to find something wrong. But, none. “ Alright, I have told you what you have to know. Here, it’s your class timetable. “ She says while handing the girl a paper.
“ Thank you, ma’am, “ she bows despite feeling confused. “ This will be your room, Alex. “ Both of them are in front of a certain door. Yon nods in reply. “ Alright, that’s all, I guess. Hope you will do your best here. “
“ Welcome to Decelis Academy, Alex, “ she smiles before walking away. The girl is so shocked due to a familiar world that the book and paper, she is holding are dropped to the ground.
‘ Decelis? It can’t be… ‘
plz I must be out of my mind thinking people will read this and like this- I am so delulu-
A shame that I have to actually finish my book before I get to read it. I enjoy writing it just as much but I am looking forward to finishing my first book and getting to read through it, even if I do know what's going to happen.
i don't think any reader will realize how disappointing and upsetting this actually is...
writers are tired of bitching about it, just please.
and system runs on reblogs, not likes. if you reblog, tag it. it's the least you can do.
feedback again is very anticipated. it's disappointing and upsetting when you get excited getting a reblog notif just to see there's no comment under it.
we're not asking for millions of notes, we're asking for interaction though. liking isn't doing anything good. and spam liking actually gets us shadowbanned (!)
to those who actually and properly interact, thank you!! you make all the while better and the lengthy writing process worth it. you're amazing. ♡:♡.•♬✧⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾*+:•*∴
and blank blogs, please (!) change your pfp at the least, it's the least you can do to help us know who's a bot and who isn't. it saves us from being worried and you from being blocked!!
I am writing to let you guys ( who are waiting for me ) know I will update soon. I'm sorry for the long wait （；´д｀）ゞ I am having writer's block T_T but, I will try to finish this as soon as possible despite having an upcoming exam 😣 anyways, this is treasar~ see ya!
