Chapter Text
Unlike some, Baek Kyung wasn't lucky enough to be struck by divine intervention one day and come to accept the nature of his reality overnight. No, the suspicion that something wasn't quite right seeped into him slowly, like grains of sand slipping through the narrow throat of an hourglass. With no one to explain to him what the hell it all meant, he was left trying to piece together the bigger picture all on his own. Luckily for him, though, his suspicions awakened before the turn of the first page, which gave him plenty of time to wrap his head around the facts before anything of real consequence happened.
It all began on a night that smelled of salt and fresh parchment. The tide crept over the sand with the weary sigh of something ancient. Each wave erased his footprints the moment they appeared, as though the universe refused to acknowledge his presence just yet.
He could neither recall how he'd arrived, nor where he was meant to go. The world stretched out before him, hushed and hollow, and he found himself staring into the horizon as though the sea might whisper the answers he sought. It was then that he noticed how unnaturally bare the seaside was—the sky hung over the water like an empty canvas, the stars gone missing. The moon shone alone, too white, too precise, like a lamp in a theatre that had forgotten its play.
Has the sky always been this empty? he wondered, And why does the moon look so odd?
A sound broke the stillness—the splash of water behind him. Kyung turned, and the world seemed to hold its breath with him.
A girl stood in the waves, the sea lapping gently at her thighs. Her school skirt fluttered in the wind; her hair, long and black as midnight ink, drifted around her face like a silken curtain. She tucked a strand behind her ear and looked up.
Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the ocean fell away.
She stared at him for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of him. Then, her lips stretched into the brightest of smiles, eyes twinkling in the moonlight.
Kyung felt as though the ground had been pulled out from beneath his feet. He found himself utterly mesmerised by the angelic sight before him and stared on unblinking, afraid that he might be imagining her—that she would disappear if he looked away. Moonlight reflected off the sea to illuminate her figure, casting a heavenly glow around her. Her hair fell over her face but her eyes still shone through the dark strands, sparkling with the light of a million galaxies.
He understood then why the sky was empty. The stars were there, on Earth—fallen, fractured, and hidden away in a human vessel. They were with him. Kyung began to sympathise with Icarus—the blinding warmth that she emanated called to him and he wished for nothing more than to fly straight into her scorching embrace, as if that was exactly where he belonged.
The girl splashed water in his direction—an invitation for him to join her. When the cold droplets assaulted her instead of reaching him, she squealed and jumped back with a laugh. The joyous sound beckoned Kyung closer, luring him toward the sea.
He made a move to join her, but the coastal breeze seemed to be against their meeting. It knocked him back a few paces, forcing him further away from the shore. He winced as a sharp pain jabbed at his mind, his eyes squeezing shut while a hiss slipped past his gritted teeth.
After the ache died down, Kyung looked up toward the sea again. The horizon was empty. So was the sky. There wasn't a single figure or star or cloud in sight. As usual, he was alone.
Has the sky always been this empty? Kyung wondered, turning away from the water and continuing on his way along the shore, features once again pulled into his signature scowl. Where have all the stars gone? And why...why do I feel like I'm forgetting something?
Alas, it was a long, long time until he remembered.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
Term started. His days moved cleanly and predictably, like beads on a string—classes, tennis practice, lunch as A3, silence in the car on the way home. Everything felt set. He didn't think about why he said certain things, why his hands sometimes turned violent, why anger came so easily and regret followed too late.
He didn't think—he simply was.
But then, one afternoon, Kyung blinked and realized he couldn't remember walking from the classroom to the courtyard. He was just there, mid-conversation with Dohwa, sunlight pressing sharp against his eyes. He scowled. The moment before had vanished from his memory entirely, erased like chalk from a board.
"What time is it?" he asked, unsure why the words felt strange. His tongue felt heavy, pins and needles in pricking the roof of his mouth.
Dohwa just laughed and said something easy, forgettable. But Kyung's stomach twisted. The laugh sounded too practiced, too much like a line.
That night, he tried to recall what he'd eaten for lunch. What they spoke of in the A3 hideout. If he had attended tennis practice. He couldn't remember any of it.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
He blinked, finding himself sitting at the dinner table back at the Baek Manor. The crystal chandelier sparkled overhead, casting rainbows over the pristine white tablecloth.
Baek Daesung sat at the head of the table, his famous maroon suit crisp, dominating the monochrome scene with its sharpness. Of course he had to be the only one in colour—he was constantly chasing ways of proving he was worth more than everyone around him.
He had just finished reiterating for the thousandth time that unless Kyung wanted to be kicked out with nothing but the clothes on his back, he should put more effort into keeping his arranged fiancée happy. According to him, the efforts so far had been pathetic and more than deserving of another round of what he liked to call "discipline", which was sure to come once the plates were empty.
Ra Hyeyoung, the woman who was living in a stolen future, sipped on her expensive red wine and stared at Kyung disdainfully from across the table as if he was the root of all her problems. He probably was.
Joonhyun, their precious golden child, began boasting about his recent academic achievements in a futile attempt to dispel the tension suffocating the dinner table.
Kyung zoned out, focusing on sawing at his steak. He was too busy trying to figure out why on earth he was being forced into an arranged marriage at 17 to care about how many marks Joonhyun had scored on his recent maths exam.
The meat felt like rubber on his tongue. Something jabbed at the back of his mind, the feeling growing worse the longer that he remained lost in thought.
Why am I being forced into this stupid arrangement when I'm only 17? Shouldn't my grades matter more than my marital status at this age? What about my own plans for the future? And who am I even marrying? And why—
A breeze forced its way into the Baek household through an open window, brushing past him like a hand on his back. Kyung shivered.
Ah, he thought, suddenly remembering the answers to his questions, Eun Danoh.
That's who he was betrothed to—Eun Danoh.
His childhood friend, Eun Danoh.
His sick childhood friend, Eun Danoh, who was the apple of her father's eye and had been utterly obsessed with Kyung for the past 10 years for reasons unknown. It wasn't like he had ever treated her kindly enough to warrant such undying affection.
"Pick her up tomorrow morning and escort her to school," Daesung ordered from across the table, not bothering to look away from his meal. "I promised Eun Mooyoung that you would look out for her, so don't you dare make me out to be a liar who cannot uphold his end of a bargain. Do you hear me?"
With another light shiver, Kyung finally remembered why he was being forced into tying the knot with Danoh. Her father was a very influential man and Baek Daesung wished to expand his business empire through him. The only way to convince Eun Mooyoung to cooperate was to have his darling daughter put in a good word for him, and she would only do so if they granted her lifelong wish to be the young Mrs Baek.
"Whenever you're around that brat, indulge her," Daesung continued, jabbing a fork at Kyung across the table in threat. "Do what you must to keep her happy. I'm sick and tired of hearing old Mooyoung whine about how you don't pay enough attention to her. Play your part properly—I will not have my plans fall through because of your rotten attitude and laziness."
Maybe if you weren't so rotten yourself, I wouldn't have turned out this way, Kyung thought bitterly, jabbing at his steak with a bit more force than was necessary. It was a wonder that the plate remained intact after such an assault. They say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and they're right. I'm turning into the same kind of monster as you without even trying to.
"Baek Kyung," Daesung's voice scraped against his ears, "Have I made myself clear?"
"Crystal," Kyung muttered, abandoning his attempts to finish the meal and pushing away from the table. "Please excuse me. Lots to do. Notes to make on how to live under the heel of a wife I never chose and all that."
He dodged a flying fork on his way out, leaving the trio to naturally fall into amicable conversation in his absence as it always did.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
The next time he opened his eyes, he found himself in the A3 hideout, absent-mindedly playing with a tennis ball. Glancing around while trying to figure out how he had managed to sleep-walk to school, he found his friends locked in an intense stare-down. Poker-faced Oh Namjoo swatted curious Lee Dohwa's hand harmlessly when the latter finally reached towards a pyramid of strawberry milk cartons piled up on the coffee table between them.
"Don't touch," Namjoo said, staring the Lee boy down. "These aren't for you."
"Can't I just have one?" Dohwa pleaded while eyeing the cartons hungrily, his hands clasped together. "You bought the snack truck's entire supply!"
"Drink something else. Try water."
"You don't even like stuff like this," Dohwa huffed, throwing his hands in the air, "You always complain that milkshakes and juices and the like are too sweet!"
"It's not a crime to try something new."
"It is when it's you!"
Kyung silently agreed, watching as Namjoo peeled back the foil before forcing the sickly sweet drink down his throat. This isn't like him. Namjoo hates trying new things...comfort and consistency, that's his thing. What's up with him today?
Before he could voice a single thought, the A3 hideout door swung open to reveal a black-haired girl standing with her hands on her hips in the doorway. Her name badge caught in the sunlight—Kang Soojin. "Oh Namjoo, where are the worksheets?" she demanded, glaring down her nose at him. "Miss Lim just gave me an earful saying she hasn't seen them."
"Don't you know how to knock?" came Namjoo's dull response. Then, "You're not supposed to be here. This room—"
"'Belongs to the A3'—I know, I know," Soojin cut him off with a casual roll of her eyes. "Just admit that you didn't submit the Biology worksheets like I asked you to. It's important to have a valid reason before hitting someone, you see, otherwise the court won't be so lenient."
Ah, Kyung remembered, Kang Soojin—front row, sits by the door. Namjoo's Chemistry partner and long-time academic rival. Or something like that, anyway.
An uncomfortable pressure built at the base of his skull from the memories flitting through his mind. Forcing his thoughts to quiet, he rolled the tennis ball in his hand and glanced between the tense pair.
Soojin huffed impatiently when no one offered her a response to her demands and stalked into the room. "You know what? Forget it—it'll be quicker if I just have a look myself."
She sifted through drawers and opened various cabinets as if she owned the place, sending an offhanded 'don't mind me' over her shoulder. Too stunned to speak, Dohwa gaped at her from his seat as if witnessing paranormal activity in broad daylight. Kyung watched her for a few seconds before losing interest, shifting his gaze to Namjoo only to find him watching the girl with an unreadable expression on his face that was quite far from his usual blank face. Huh. That's new.
Namjoo lowered his gaze to the empty carton of strawberry milk in his hands the second he realised he had been caught staring. He took a sudden interest in the label, studying the tiny words scribbled on it intently as if preparing for an exam on the milk's sugar content and production process.
Before Kyung could call him out on his suspicious behaviour, Soojin let out a triumphant 'ha!' and turned around to flourish a wad of paper in Namjoo's direction. "I knew—I knew you didn't submit them!"
"Use your inside voice, Kang."
"—Can't ever trust you to actually help—your word of promise means nothing after all, huh? I asked you to do one thing—"
"Watch your tone—"
"—One simple thing and you can't even handle that much—"
"Kang Soojin—"
"—Last time I trust your lying, backstabbing ass with anything—"
Kyung barely saw more than a flash of navy blazers as the girl flew out of the room with a shriek, Namjoo hot on her heels.
Finally thawing from his shock a minute later, Dohwa turned to him. "Did you...did you see that? Namjoo made a face. He had an expression on his face for a whole minute—did you see? Kyung? Tell me you saw what I—"
"Namjoo doesn't make faces," Kyung said flatly, trying to focus on the texture of his tennis ball rather than the dull sting in his skull.
"But I definitely saw—"
"Hey, look—he left the strawberry milk unguarded. He won't notice a few missing if you act quick."
And just like that, Dohwa's attention was stolen entirely by the tower of sweet strawberry goodness, their friend's out-of-character mannerisms forgotten. For now.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
Kyung found himself by the sea, beneath a starless sky.
He didn't remember deciding to come here but his feet dragged him forward all the same, carving long trenches in the sand behind him. The cold coastal air numbed the throbbing in his cheek and dried the thin line of blood at the corner of his mouth.
His body barely held itself upright as he staggered along the water's edge. His ribcage felt like it was collapsing inward, each inhale scraping raw against bone. All he wanted was to curl into the earth, bury himself beneath the shifting sand, and disappear.
He didn't understand what he'd done wrong. He listened in class. Excelled at tennis. Kept his head down, played the dutiful heir, never asked questions that mattered. He even tried—in quiet, fumbling ways—to look after Danoh. He was the first to rush to her when she collapsed. He ignored his own nausea to linger by the door of the infirmary whenever she collapsed, just in case she asked for him.
His name had never been so golden in the mouths of others, and yet his father still managed to find fault with him. He couldn't recall what it had been this time.
A sigh escaped him—more shudder than breath—and he wandered closer to the water. Something deep within him lured his soul toward the waves, some instinct older than the world he knew, older than the script he served now.
He glanced over the horizon, wondering where the stars had gone. He scowled at the oddly pale moon and looked back at the waves as if expecting them to shift, to answer, to bring someone forward—
"Kyung-ah!" came a cry mere seconds before someone knocked into his back, arms wrapping tightly around his torso. Pain exploded across his ribs and he gasped, the sound sharp enough that the person recoiled instantly, as if burned.
His knees buckled. He sank into the sand, one arm curling around his middle, trying to hold himself together. Someone knelt before him but he couldn't see who—his eyes had squeezed shut, jaw clenched against the groan clawing its way up his throat.
Cold fingertips gently brushed back his hair, cupped his cheeks, swept a thumb tenderly over the cut on his lip. The touch was too gentle, too careful, dangerously kind.
Kyung jerked away, heart thudding. If he let that softness linger, even for a breath, he was afraid something inside him would shatter beyond repair.
He forced his eyes open. A girl knelt in front of him, hair falling in dark, silken curtains around her face. Through the strands, her eyes shone — wide, worried, filled with a depth that startled him. They held a thousand galaxies and spoke a thousand tales. Kyung wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to drown in their light—her light.
Her gaze darted over his injuries, finding each one easily even in the dark. She fiddled nervously with her fingers, restraining the urge to reach for him again. "Kyung-ah..." she whispered, voice trembling.
"Fine," his answer scraped out of him, thin and broken. He didn't know why he was bothering to reassure her. "I'm fine."
She shook her head slowly, refusing to believe his lie. For a moment, it looked like she was going to say something—argue with him, perhaps, or fret over his state some more—but then she decided against it.
Instead, she got to her feet and stretched her hand out toward him in a silent invitation. He hesitated and so she offered him a gentle smile, waiting patiently for him.
Throwing all caution to the wind, Kyung placed his palm over hers and allowed her to pull him to his feet. The wind rose, his body ached, and a dull pain nagged at the back of his skull—but oh, none of it mattered. Her hand in his was warm, and his reflection in her star-filled eyes was softer and kinder than he remembered himself to be.
In a daze, he let her lead him toward the water. The cold waves lapped at his toes and soon swallowed his ankles, but he hardly felt it. He followed her deeper, their hands intertwined, her presence steady beside him. With each wave that broke around his legs, something in him eased—like a century-old knot being unravelled.
"Kyung-ah," she called out to him with another dazzling smile. She traced the outline of her smile with the tip of a finger, silently urging him to smile back at her.
I can't, he wanted to refuse, Not like that. I don't remember how.
But before he could say a word, she leaned closer, whispering his name again softly as if telling him she would stay regardless. Warmth bloomed, unfamiliar and fragile, spreading through the hollowness in his chest.
The corners of his lips lifted into something foreign, something he wanted to share with only her. But with a breeze made as though by rustling pages, the horizon was empty once more.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
Kyung began wondering if he was losing his mind at some point mid-June. Maybe his father had beaten the last of his working braincells out of him at some point. It seemed to be the only logical explanation to what he was experiencing.
He noticed the way the world seemed to skip from one event to another, as if certain moments were worth more than others in the eyes of greater beings. He caught the moment people froze, sounds flattened, and the sharp click of reality resetting around him. And every time he felt that chilly breeze wash over him, he found himself positioned differently, his expression arranged into something he hadn't chosen.
He began testing it. Leaving his pencil slightly off-centre on the desk, wearing his grey hoodie back-to-front, writing small notes in the corner of his notebook—if you're reading this, you're not crazy.
Every time the world moved again, the notes disappeared.
And then there was that heavy feeling that sometimes settled over him, as if his limbs were tied and his tongue belonged to someone else. He would open his mouth, and lines he didn't mean spilled out. Words that hurt Danoh, banished Joonhyun, angered his father. Words that made him sound crueller than he believed himself to be.
Afterward, when everyone turned from him, something deep in him ached. He couldn't name the ache, but he wished it gone.
The more he tried to understand what was happening, the more anomalies he noticed. Chairs that floated in mid-air in the classrooms, doors that opened on their own, voices that whispered from empty hallways. Everything dimmed in the in-betweens—the colour drained from the world and the air grew still.
It terrified him.
Because in those in-betweens, when the world quietened, all he could do was recall every cruel thing he had said or done. Every time he'd spat a curse at someone over something stupid and every fight he'd started for no reason in particular. He was a product of his father—he knew that well—but was he really so cruel?
Sometimes, when Danoh's hands wound around his arm or Joonhyun's head peeked into his bedroom, something inside his chest tried to respond, to reach out—and then the world clicked, and he was saying something sharp, something that made them turn from him. He always wound up alone.
Maybe that's what the higher being toying with his puppet strings had in mind. Maybe that was the plan—to leave him isolated, trapped in an endless nightmare with no way out and no one to offer help. Maybe his destiny was to spend eternity clawing at his sanity somewhere the light didn't reach.
A horrid fate, but what could he do? Day by day he felt himself being shaped into the same type of monster that had raised him by something more powerful than he would ever be.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
It wasn't long before Kyung started to hate his reflection. It looked like him, but the eyes were too distant and the movements slightly delayed—like he was watching someone else wear his skin. It was a horrid, terrifying sight.
He started avoiding looking at mirrors, car windows, puddles—anything where that thing showed up. He couldn't even have a drink in peace, the distorted image on the surface making him feel sick.
Late one chilly evening, he zipped up his hoodie and eyed a mental institute flyer stuck to a lamppost on his way to nowhere in particular. Briefly, he wondering if they accepted walk-ins.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
On the morning of Seuli High's school trip to the Ancient Village on the other side of the country, any excitement the day promised was quickly suffocated in the car on the way to the train station. Eun Mooyoung pushed back the investment, and Baek Daesung had no one else to blame for it than Kyung.
While he vented his fury on the leather upholstery behind Kyung's head, the boy wondered what unforgivable sin he had committed in a past life to deserve his fate in this one.
"Haven't I told you numerous times to look after Eun Danoh?" Daesung hissed through clenched teeth, his fist slamming into the seat again. The whole frame jolted with the force, and Kyung flinched away.
He found himself grateful for the barrier between them, no matter how small it was. If they'd been in the privacy of their "perfect" home—behind a locked door, out of sight—Kyung knew he would already be struggling to breathe.
"I am," he replied, keeping his voice low to not bait more anger than he could handle.
"If you are, then why haven't you visited her in the hospital?" Daesung ground out. "She must have told her father how disappointed she was that you never came to see her. Don't you know how much he cherishes the brat?"
"I know—"
"You could say that the fate of my business lies in her hands! I asked you to do one thing—one thing—and you were incapable of managing even that much!" Another blow. Leather groaned. "Was it really that hard? All I asked was for you to keep her happy—to cater to her needs and play along with her whims! What, pray tell, was so difficult about that?!"
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sick of your apologies!"
"I did my best—"
"It wasn't enough!" Daesung's roar split the air, sharp as glass. "The old fool has delayed his investment again! If my business plans fall through because of your negligence, boy, you'll be out on the streets quicker than you can say 'tennis'!"
Kyung swallowed down the instinct to defend himself, to explain, to plead. Experience had taught him that nothing good lived on the other side of talking back. Silence had always been the better option.
His fingers curled around the edge of his seat, knuckles blanching under the strain. Take me away, he prayed to whoever would listen. Zap me somewhere else. Let me blink and find myself asleep in class. Or with Danoh—I'll put up with her crying this time, I swear. Just...just take me away. Please, just—
"Listen here, you will woo that brat if it's the last thing you do—do you hear me?!" Daesung snarled, reaching around the seat to smack Kyung across the cheek with a rolled-up document. Paper shouldn't have hurt that much, but anything that wound up in that man's hands became capable of inflicting harm. "Speak, boy!"
Kyung lowered his eyes to his lap, resisting the urge to cradle the throbbing side of his face. He forced out a quiet, obedient "Yes, sir," and retreated back into the safety of silence—like he always did.
His father returned to muttering insults through his teeth—like he always did.
The driver stared straight ahead, expression empty, pretending to be deaf—like he always did.
Kyung turned his head toward the window. The horizon stretched wide and pale, painted in colours too soft for the cruelty inside the car. As he stared out at the bright morning, he found himself inexplicably longing for stars.
It's daytime, idiot, his own mind chided him. There won't be stars for hours.
Still, he pressed his forehead to the cool glass and wished for them anyway.
CLICK.
The car lurched to a stop. Kyung blinked, dazed, finding the train station already looming before him. Thank God.
He slipped out of the car in one breath, shutting the door with more force than he meant to. He turned to leave, but his body betrayed him—pivoting back, his spine folded into a rigid, perfect bow of ninety degrees. His limbs were numb, tongue heavy in his mouth. Ah, he thought, Another blip.
The soft whir of a window rolling down scraped across his nerves. He straightened.
Baek Daesung regarded him with disdain over the top of the tinted glass. "You're useless," he spat, turning away as if he found the boy—his son—revolting. "Had I known you would turn out to be such a lost cause, I wouldn't have bothered with you all these years."
Kyung's fingers curled around the straps of his black bag until the fabric bit into the skin between them. Don't react. Don't flinch. Don't give him anything. His knuckles drained of colour, whitening with the force of his grip, but he didn't loosen it. Pain was familiar. Manageable. Expected.
"Find a way to fix the mess you made by the end of this trip," his father added, voice dropping to a low, simmering threat, "Or so help me..."
He never finished the sentence. He didn't need to. Kyung knew full well what disobedience and failure would cost him.
The window slid back up and the car drove off, leaving the boy alone on the curb with the echo of the unspoken promise sending an involuntary shiver through him.
CLICK.
Kyung's expression fractured for a second—just long enough for a sliver of hurt to flicker across his eyes. The pitiful look was gone before he noticed, his face naturally rearranging itself into its usual scowl in an act of self-defence.
He felt lightheaded, sick to his stomach. His chest ached with a deep, bruising pressure, as if he were the one with the heart condition and not his arranged fiancée.
The idea of boarding a train and pretending to enjoy a school trip in this state felt absurd. The whole purpose of the trip was to help students unwind after midterms—how was he supposed to relax when he was still choking on the remnants of his father's disgust?
Then again, maybe the trip was exactly what he needed. A temporary escape. A handful of days where he could hide in a place Baek Daesung's shadow couldn't reach him.
Kyung turned toward the station entrance and started toward it, a newfound determination in his steps. Even if it was a brief holiday, he would make the most of all the rest it offered while it lasted.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
The train platform was bright with noise and movement—students dragging suitcases, teachers waving lists, the metallic sigh of departing engines. Laughter echoed off the walls in bursts, and the air carried the warm scent of bread and coffee from an arrangement of cafes dotted at the edges of the hall.
Walking with his hands in his pockets, Kyung kept his head tilted slightly down. The noise grated against the hollow inside his chest. Dohwa bounded beside him, lugging a suitcase larger than anyone could need for a four day trip and radiating his usual careless joy. He prattled about some incredibly mundane breakfast incident, which Kyung could never hope to experience and chose not to listen to. Namjoo strode ahead of them both with one earphone in, indifferent to the world as always but leaving himself partially open to conversation if they chose to include him.
Kyung should've felt something—excitement, boredom, irritation—something. But instead he felt scripted again. Each step and each turn of his head landed with mechanical precision as if he was dancing a routine he had practiced since birth.
They found their seats toward the back of the carriage. Dohwa took the window seat immediately, pressing his face against the glass like a child and animatedly commenting on what their classmates were doing in the line outside. Namjoo sat beside him, across from Kyung, his eyes half-closed and fingers rhythmically tapping his knee to music only he could hear. Kyung leant back against the seat, trying not to think about how perfect this arrangement felt—like a photograph being posed.
And then the air eased, as if they were no longer of interest to whoever commanded their puppet strings. He slumped back, losing the rigid posture. Namjoo took out his phone to text someone.
Dohwa was the only one loyal to his staged position. He glanced over the platform beyond the glass excitedly, not wanting to miss a single detail.
"Can you believe it?" he asked, "Finally, a trip. I was wondering when we'd get to go somewhere—I thought Yangyi had screwed up Jeju last year so badly they'd never let us go anywhere ever again. But can you image? The Ancient Village—they say it was where royals went to have affairs with people they couldn't possibly invite to their court. According to my research, there was a rumour that even a foreign affair took place there! And we'll get to see the beach—the beach, Kyung! I haven't been to the coast in years. Do you think they'll fashion up some scenic arc by the shore? Like fireworks and candlelit dinners and all that? Maybe some grand confession will take place at some point."
"You sound insane," Namjoo said without looking up from his phone.
"Do I?" Dohwa grinned, completely unperturbed. "Maybe I am. But haven't you noticed? There's been a pattern recently. Class projects, the careers fair, now summer camp—all great backdrops for something important to happen. Feels like we're living inside a story sometimes, doesn't it?"
Kyung's eyes flicked toward him. The words struck too close to something he didn't want to acknowledge, and the look in Dohwa's eyes was too hopeful for this to be mere casual chatter to fill the silence.
He could almost feel the eyes of the unseen—whatever it was that watched them, wrote them, controlled them—waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see if he'd break from the lines he was meant to follow.
But he wouldn't. Not yet. He had seen the way the world corrected whatever it didn't like—words, smiles, gestures. He wasn't too fond of having to repeat the same cursed day for an eternity so he decided to just keep quiet, pretending he didn't have a clue. It wasn't like he knew enough to have a serious discussion about it anyway.
He forced out a small, disinterested breath. "You read too many webtoons."
Dohwa paused for a moment before laughing, a hint of disappointment among the usual joyful notes. "Maybe I have. But if we were in one, we'd all have our own fandom. I'd be the type they call 'a warm mug on a cold night', reserved for the romantics. You'd be the typical bad boy, obviously—the type of character that usually has a tragic backstory or insane secret."
Kyung's breath wedged itself in his throat, but Dohwa didn't seem to notice.
"Readers would probably fantasise being the only one you'd change for and all that. And Namjoo..." he studied the quiet boy for a moment, "Uh...well, Namjoo would have a fandom too. Not sure what vibe they'd have though. Probably the motherly type who can do the talking for two people and drag him around everywhere since he barely leaves his house."
Unimpressed by the analysis, Namjoo lifted his gaze from his phone to demand an explanation. Kyung turned to the window while the two bickered, watching the platform slide away as the train finally began to move. The vibration under his seat was steady, hypnotic. Outside, the scenery blurred into motion, but inside, everything felt painfully sharp.
He leant his head back and closed his eyes, willing himself not to overthink. So what if they lived in some story? It had nothing to do with him. It's not like he was required to save the world or embark on some quest...he was just some guy in high school. He probably didn't even have more than a couple of lines in the book.
With that thought in mind, he ceased his pondering and tried to catch some sleep.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
The air was a little chillier by the time the train screeched to a stop at the halfway point. Warm light spilled through the windows, gilding every face with that fleeting, cinematic glow that made everything look softer than it really was.
Students stretched, gathered into their usual groups, and poured out onto the platform in waves of chatter and laughter. The air outside was crisp and smelled of freshly-cut grass mixed with the sweetness of pastries.
Kyung moved along with the line without much thought, arms crossed over his chest. Dohwa walked ahead, insisting that he was suffering from coffee deficit and needed an iced americano as soon as possible. Namjoo, who usually didn't appreciate anyone marching ahead of him, let him be as he was far too busy reading something on his phone.
"Come on, you two!" Dohwa called over his shoulder, impatient as a toddler in an amusement park. "They'll sell out by the time you guy make it to the doors!"
Kyung didn't answer, studying those around them. The same groups always clustered together, it seemed—the Ae girls who fawned over him, the Jin girls who were Namjoo's devout followers, the trio of clowns that called themselves Y3 and parodied him and his friends...typical cliques through and through. Their conversations looped when no one was listening, smiles flickering in and out like lines cued by an invisible director.
He wondered how many of them were aware. Probably none.
"Hurry up, Kyung!" Dohwa huffed, already tugging at the doors of a coffee shop way up ahead.
Kyung sighed and forced his feet to move quicker, tugging Namjoo along with him.
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None was happier than Dohwa, who sipped on his iced americano with a big grin on his face as he trailed after Kyung. They were looking for something less...exotic to eat when Kyung suddenly felt a rush of pins and needles shoot up his arms.
CLICK.
A blueish-green tint washed over their surroundings as if someone had applied a filter over the lens illuminating their world. The same routine—his chest tightened, limbs became numb, throat dry.
A hand brushed his arm and Kyung's body pivoted to find Danoh looking up at him with that shy, earnest smile she always wore in these moments—gentle, hopeful, and painfully vulnerable.
His hand swatted hers away. Not hard, but enough for him to wonder if it had hurt her regardless. She bruised far too easily.
"What are you doing?" he found himself asking, his tone flat and cold as if there was no history between them at all.
Danoh held out a small striped pink bag, her lashes fluttering delicately, her smile blooming as though he were the only person in her universe. Kyung accepted it in silence, eyes darting past her to the crowd forming around them. Wonderful. Not only would he be forced to play the villain, but half the class would get front-row seats.
Shyly tucking a strand of her black hair behind her ear, Danoh's cheeks warmed with shy anticipation. "It's a gift."
He almost cut his fingers from how roughly he tore into the packaging, crumpling the paper in his hand without care. Inside lay a red flower keychain—trumpet creeper. The same flower that haunted his dreams sometimes.
"Do you seriously expect me to carry something like this around?" the words spilled from his lips like venom.
"Oh? Well, I thought—"
The keychain slipped off his finger, clattering to the floor. His foot crushed it unceremoniously into the gravel. "Don't buy me garbage like this," he spat, throwing the crushed wrapping at her feet.
He was forced to continue on his path, but he couldn't walk quickly enough to miss the moment she began to cry. A soft, pitiful noise. The song of heartbreak.
He could do nothing. Not with the barbed wire curled around his neck and the puppet strings binding his limbs, forcing him into the next step, the next line, the next scene.
CLICK.
He paused outside the kebab shop, jaw set.
Dohwa lingered beside him, studying him with a perceptive softness that made Kyung want to banish him to Namjoo's side instead. He finished his coffee and binned the plastic cup. "You know...you really should apologise. That was pretty harsh, what you said to Eun Danoh just now. She picked the gift out with care—"
"Later," the word rasped out of him, scraping raw on its way up his throat. He shoved the door open, stepping inside if only to get away from the several pairs of eyes burning into his back. "Do you want food or not?"
With a sigh that held both resignation and quiet understanding, Dohwa followed him in without argument.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
With most of the class feeling well-rested and full, the teachers began to herd them onto the bus that would take them to the hotel. Students shuffled into their seats in loose clusters of chatter, the post-lunch haze settling over them like a warm blanket.
A dazed Namjoo emerged from the crowd at last, sliding wordlessly into the booth beside Kyung and Dohwa. He had vanished for most of the break and now sat staring blankly at a box of sotteok-sotteok as though it had personally wronged him. Whether he was ignoring Dohwa's interrogation about where he had gone or simply not processing it, they couldn't tell.
The bus had barely rumbled into motion when Namjoo shot upright without warning, weaving down the aisle to present the snack to Yeo Juda. Kyung watched the exchange only long enough to glance past them at Danoh, who was—by some cosmic coincidence or the Writer's convenient staging—sitting in the same booth.
Her eyes were still rimmed red with eyeliner smudged at the corners. Judging by her animated gestures and bright expression, however, she seemed to have bounced back from their earlier encounter. Good for her. Or good for the story. Either way.
"Oh my god—cows!" Dohwa squealed, elbowing Kyung in his excitement. "Look, look!"
Kyung sighed and dutifully turned his head toward the window. A cluster of spotted cows grazed lazily in the field, entirely unbothered by the busload of teenagers screaming about their existence. He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement before Dohwa could jab him again.
His dream of getting any real rest on this trip drifted farther and farther out of reach with every kilometre they travelled.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
Shin Saemi's sandwich raffle and Kim Banjang's monotone charades suddenly felt like masterpieces in hindsight—because nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the monstrosity that was Ahn Soochul's karaoke suggestion. While spending the journey in silence wasn't exactly ideal, Kyung found the idea of a bus party far more horrid.
The moment the suggestion left Specky Soochul's mouth accompanied by the presentation of a microphone and speaker combo, chaos erupted. The aisle filled in an instant, students tripping over each other, limbs flailing and voices clashing in a cacophony of noise that made Kyung's ears ring.
He might have survived it—barely—if even one other person shared his sentiment on the matter. Dohwa, as expected, was a lost cause. The Lee boy dove straight into the centre of the mosh pit, twirling and screech-singing as though auditioning for a musical no one asked for. His participation in the chaos came as no surprise.
But Namjoo? Uptight, poker-faced Oh Namjoo who though expressing interest in anything other than money was beneath him? Watching his shoulders bounce to the beat of TWICE's Fancy You felt like a personal betrayal.
Kyung sank deeper into his seat, jamming his earbuds in with all the desperation of a man clinging to the last thread of sanity. He fixed his gaze on the vast yellow plains rolling past the window, refusing to make eye contact with any of the shrieking, dancing gremlins occupying the aisle.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
When the hotel finally came into view—a sleek, modern building perched against the cliffs—the entire bus erupted in a fresh wave of cheers. The sky had dimmed into a deeper shade of blue, the sun stubbornly tucked behind thick clouds as though refusing to participate in their holiday.
The second-year students spilled onto the curb in a loud, chaotic flood, luggage thudding against pavement, excitement ricocheting off every surface.
"Five-star! Would you look at this place?"
"Do you think we'll get rooms with a view? I want to fall asleep listening to the waves!"
"Yah, gang! Selfies first—unpack later! Get in here—closer, Iljin!"
Dohwa bounded on ahead, dragging two bags at once—his own and Namjoo's, who refused to carry anything heavier than his phone. Teachers barked instructions from the front of the line, clipboards raised like shields as they tried to wrangle the chaos into three tidy rows.
"So," Namjoo glanced at him as they shuffled forward, "You're not interested in Eun Danoh? Not even in the slightest?"
Kyung frowned. "Where did that question come from?"
"Friendly curiosity," Namjoo shrugged before tilting his chin toward the scene ahead. "That, and things would get messy if you and Dohwa start fighting over her. I like the quiet, you know."
Up ahead, Dohwa had one arm wrapped around Danoh's shoulders while the other clamped tightly over her mouth. She flailed about in his hold, waving her fists and yelling gibberish at the sky, the pair of them making enough of a spectacle to draw several concerned glances.
Kyung turned away, uninterested in whatever they were up to. "I don't like her. He can go ahead and shoot his shot, if he hasn't already."
"You don't care?"
"No. Why should I?"
"She's your fiancée—"
"Arranged," Kyung corrected, his voice a little sharper than he intended. "Arranged fiancée. Don't forget that I was forced into that engagement."
"But when you were kids, didn't you—"
Kyung silenced him with a scathing look. "I don't care," he insisted, "Whether or not Dohwa's interested in her, wins her heart, marries her—whatever. I don't care, okay? If anything, I'll be rooting for them. I'll skip around throwing flower petals at their wedding and be the first to give them blessings for a bright and happy future."
Namjoo pressed his lips together, clearly fighting a smile at the mental image of Kyung skipping through a wedding hall, flinging petals around like a deranged fairy. "Alright," he murmured, "no need to get mad. Like I said—just friendly curiosity."
Kyung hummed in response and the conversation died there, swallowed by the chattering crowd and the anticipation of what lay beyond the hotel doors.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
Naturally, A3 were assigned to the topmost floor of the hotel, which turned out to be less a suite and more an entire luxury penthouse. It looked as though four or five rooms had been merged into one sprawling flat, stuffed to the brim with any odd trinket that was worth far too much to serve as a hotel decoration. There was a jacuzzi tucked into one corner, a full game room in another, and a massive balcony split into two sections: a lounging deck with sunbeds and a private pool that glittered faintly beneath the dusk light.
Everything looked like it had been curated by someone with far too much money and absolutely no restraint. Designer furniture arranged like an interior design exhibit, vases overflowing with expensive bouquets on nearly every surface, and an entire wall made of glass—floor to ceiling—offering a perfect view of the horizon where sea and sky melted together.
Kyung had expected nothing less considering their parents' donations to the school, so he didn't linger to admire any of it. The moment he and Namjoo stepped inside, he made a beeline for the nearest bedroom. There was no point comparing them; he knew they were all identical displays of excessive wealth.
He shut the door behind him and tossed his bag in the vague direction of a chair, not bothering to check where it had landed. Instead, he kicked off his shoes and all but collapsed onto the massive double bed in the centre of the room. The mattress welcomed him instantly, soft enough that his shoulders loosened on contact. He let out a long, contented sigh, sinking deeper into the sheets as the tension drained from his body.
Finally, he thought. Peace and quiet.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✨ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
So much for "peace and quiet".
He had only just managed to doze off into an unusually comfortable sleep when excessive hammering to his door jolted him upright. He opened it no more than a crack, knowing that any more would give him enough space to reach out and strangle the bright-eyed violinist who had woken him.
"Look," Kyung huffed as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, "If you want to confess to Danoh during this scenic retreat, then you can do it without me being there to witness it."
"I—what? No—" Dohwa spluttered, his cheeks turning rosy, "Me and Danoh aren't—why would you even think—"
"You two looked rather comfy earlier," Kyung shrugged nonchalantly, opening his door a fraction more so he could lean against the doorframe. "Everyone saw it. Look, I don't care what's going on between you two—honest. But whatever it is, can you keep me out of it? Ask Namjoo—"
"No—no, listen to me—you've got it all wrong!" Dohwa insisted, fumbling and flailing his arms. "I don't like her, I promise! And Danoh doesn't like me either—we're friends, okay? Or—I don't know—is acquaintance a better word? We're in the same boat at the moment due to...er, various circumstances and...things you wouldn't understand because you're not aware—but I swear—I swear it's not what you're thinking."
"As I said, I don't really care. If you like her then you have my blessing to pursue her. If you don't then you don't."
"I don't."
Kyung pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, fine. Forget it. Why were you trying to break my door down?"
"Huh—oh! Yes—Danoh's looking for you. She wants you to meet her by the bank."
"I'm resting."
"Yes, but she wanted to discuss something before the Stage—"
CLICK.
Kyung blinked and found himself leaning his bare back against the glass wall of the balcony, chilling in the pool with a drink in his hands—some sort of bubbly apple concoction. I suppose there wasn't enough time, he thought as his body shifted on its own, turning toward the distant path behind the hotel where a swarm of fangirls shrieked his name. Their volume doubled at his mere glance.
Without control, he set the drink aside and stepped out of the pool, water dripping off him as he pulled on a grey hotel robe. His feet carried him back into the penthouse. Dohwa appeared in front of him, looking strangely collected for someone who had resembled a tomato and fumbled for words mere minutes ago.
"Baek Kyung, why are you here? Eun Danoh was looking for you."
"I don't care," he heard himself snap, the familiar scripted annoyance rolling off his tongue effortlessly. He didn't choose to walk toward his room, but his body moved anyway—obeying Stage directions rather than intentions.
He briefly glanced over his shoulder at the scene he was being made to leave. Namjoo was glaring holes in the seaside view from a seat by the glass wall, and Dohwa shifted awkwardly when he noticed the brunet.
"I'll step out for a bit," Kyung added, though neither of them reacted. The world around the two boys was already blooming with colour while the light around him dimmed—setting the stage for an upcoming private moment he had no place in.
Feeling just as unnecessary here as he did back home, Kyung blinked again—and with a sharp CLICK, found himself transported to the coast.
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