"What's happening with you, Y/N? You seem different lately," Naeun said, her voice tinged with concern. She shot me a pointed look, her arms crossed tightly over her chest to shield herself from whatever uneasy truth she suspected. "Every time I see you heading toward Jungkook's cell, there's this... strange smile on your face. And you're constantly checking your watch, like counting down the seconds until you can see him. Please don't tell me you've started to develop feelings for him. Are you out of your mind?"
I raised an eyebrow at her, my curiosity piqued. What was with her sudden interest in my life? It was baffling. Naeun and I weren't close enough for her to delve into the depths of my actions or feelings. We barely knew each other beyond the superficial exchanges of our daily routines. Since when did she feel the need to pry into my matters?
I couldn't help but feel a surge of defensiveness. "It's not like that at all," I replied, trying to keep my tone steady. "I just feel sorry for him." The truth was, I didn't owe her an explanation. I was the type who preferred to keep my emotions tightly under wraps, locked away where no one could reach them. It was a habit I had mastered over the years that I wasn't about to break now. After all, I didn't even share my innermost thoughts with my own family—why would I spill everything to a near stranger?
Naeun's disapproving gaze remained fixed, but I refused to let her scrutiny bother me. Secrets were my sanctuary, and I preferred to keep it that way.
"Are you sure about that? You softly caressed his cheek, almost like trying to soothe him. Please, Y/N, you have to listen to me. He is not a normal person. Trust me when I say this—he will never return your feelings. If he were to act on anything in his current state, the most likely outcome would be violence, and it could very well mean harm coming to you."
What the heck? Did she see me? Please tell me she wasn't spying on me.
"No, he won't do that. Look at him," I insisted, my voice firmly defiant. "He's not like what all of you keep insisting. He would never hurt anyone, not in his current condition, at least."
"How can you be so certain?" she retorted, her skepticism evident in her tone.
"And how are you so convinced that he's dangerous?" I shot back. "What proof do you have? Have you witnessed him doing anything threatening?"
I narrowed my eyes, focusing intently on her as I tried to piece together her true motives. Why was she so adamant about portraying Jungkook as a threat? What was her issue? The tension in the air was palpable as I felt the weight of her judgment pressing down on me.
The first and last time we visited his cell, I remember how she held herself differently than expected. Rather than exhibiting fear or hesitation, she approached him with an unexpected tenderness, her hand gently caressing his head as if he were some misunderstood creature deserving of affection.
I was right there, an unwilling audience to this strange display. Did she genuinely think I would overlook her blatant familiarity with him? Or was she under the impression that I could be so easily deceived?
Please, let's be honest here. In this vast world, no one was sharper than me; my instincts were honed by a lifetime of navigating through manipulations and lies. I had endured far too much to be taken for a fool—no one had yet been born who could reduce me to that level of oblivion.
As I observed her, I felt a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. She was grappling with how to respond to my pointed question, trapped in her web of uncertainty. This only amused me; it was a familiar game I knew too well.
"Since when do you know Jungkook?" I asked casually, playing with a strand of my hair, twirling it around my finger as I leaned back in my chair. The playful motion was meant to convey a sense of ease, but I couldn't help but notice the slight tension that filled the air between us.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and I relished how my question flustered her. Ah, she is in love. I felt a pang in my heart. Why can't I be like that? Free and full of beautiful feelings.
"W- What's with the question?" she stammered, her cheeks tinged with a light blush that crept up to her ears.
"Well, I wanted to know," I replied, maintaining my innocent smile, my tone almost teasing. "I like to understand the people I'm working with better. Why? Is it a secret? Something you can't share?" I leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity, though a subtle, playful edge laced my words.
As I watched her, I could see the walls she had built around herself slowly crumbling under the weight of my gaze. My smile seemed to disarm her, and I noted how quickly she let her guard down.
This girl unsettled me, though I couldn't pinpoint why. At first glance, she came across as shy, good-hearted, easily underappreciated, and perhaps even misled. Yet there was something about her that nagged at my instincts. She had an odd aura, as if she were concealing aspects of herself beneath a practiced facade. And yes, it was apparent to anyone paying attention that she had a particular fondness for Jungkook; it was practically written all over her.
During our conversation, she confided in me about her life over the past two years since she started working there. She spoke of her little brother, the void left by their father's untimely death when they were both children, and the small apartment they shared with their ailing mother—her anchor and greatest love. The weight of responsibility on her young shoulders was staggering. At the same time, her mother was unable to contribute to their family's finances due to illness; she took on the burden of providing for them, juggling work with her duties as a caregiver. Her brother, on the verge of graduation from high school, added another layer to her already complex life.
As she shared these pieces of her story, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of compassion for her. It was daunting to consider the pressures she faced at such a tender age, managing adult responsibilities that many twice her age would struggle to handle. I found myself slowly shedding the disdain I'd felt earlier. Despite my initial apprehension, I couldn't harbor any lingering animosity toward her. Damn it, I thought, it was impossible to maintain hatred when faced with such resilience and strength in a young person.
"If I liked Jungkook, would that be a problem for you?" I asked her, my voice casual but the weight of my words hanging in the air. The moment the question left my lips, I watched her eyes widen in disbelief, her mouth parting slightly as shock washed over her face.
When I noticed her frozen expression, unsure how to react, I quickly added, "Kidding." I chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood, but I could see the fight in her eyes. Tears were threatening to spill over, glistening like dewdrops caught in light, and that broke my heart. She was like a fragile little kid, completely unguarded.
Her emotions were laid bare before me, so easy to read. It was evident she was terrified that I might have feelings for Jungkook and take him away from her.
"It was just a joke," I said, my tone playful but laced with mischief as I leaned in slightly. I smirked, a hint of wickedness in my expression. "Honestly, I don't see Jungkook in that way. For me to like someone, they'd need to earn my trust and capture my heart, and let me tell you, that's a long journey ahead. I'm not one to give that away easily." I winked at her, deliberately biting my lip piercing to emphasize my point, and I could finally see the tension in her shoulders ease as she sighed in relief.
Why so weak? I could squish you so easily but don't give me a reason to.
I envied her. She had no problem showing who she was or what she felt. And here I am... a block of ice.
_
As I made my way towards the restroom, I felt a sudden presence beside me. It was Taehyung, a familiar yet irritating figure from my past. His voice broke through my thoughts, laced with a teasing confidence. "Y/N, do you think I am unaware of what you're up to?"
I sighed, rolling my eyes dramatically in response. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied, doing my best to sound nonchalant. This guy had made it onto my blocklist the moment we met. I still couldn't believe he dared to bring up something as ridiculous as being 'in heat' on our first encounter.
"Are you upset with me?" he continued, an almost genuine tone creeping into his voice. "If I apologize, would you consider giving me another shot?" With a swift motion, he grabbed my hand just as we approached the restroom door, his grip firm but not aggressive. I could feel my heart race—not from excitement but annoyance and confusion.
"Can you let go? I need to pee—and maybe even shit," I blurted out, urgency lacing my voice.
As those words tumbled from my lips, I felt his grip on my arm loosen. A small, amused laugh bubbled up inside me. It works every time.
I pivoted on my heel and pushed the bathroom door open with a firm shove, relieved at finally getting some privacy. As I stepped inside, I could hear Taehyung's voice rising outside, a mix of frustration and protectiveness. "I will not leave you alone with that freak, no matter how much you want to. Do you hear me?" His tone was stern, punctuated by the sound of the door closing abruptly in his face.
I couldn't help but smile, appreciating his concern even as I rushed to take care of business.
The situation is certainly worth considering. I couldn't shake off my discomfort with how he spoke about Jungkook. His tone dripped with disdain as if Jungkook were some insignificant figure and he held all the power in the world. It was infuriating to witness that kind of arrogance. Strongly dislike people who belittle others, regardless of their reasons. Such attitudes reveal an underlying insecurity and a desperate need to be superior that cannot be tolerated. Seeing someone elevate themselves by casting others is disheartening, particularly someone as talented and kind as Jungkook.
_
The next day dawned with an unsettling quietness that pulled me from sleep far later than I intended. My alarm—my faithful guardian during the early hours—had failed me this time. As I jolted upright, panic coursed through me, and I realized I was already 40 minutes late. The room spun slightly as my heart raced, and I could feel the clamminess of my palms as I wiped them on my knees.
This couldn't be happening to me. I could hardly bear to think about the consequences. What if something terrible had happened to Jungkook? The thought gnawed at my insides, twisting them into knots of dread. I had promised myself—and him—that I would be there promptly at 5 in the morning. But now, glancing at the clock, I saw the unforgiving hand inch past 6.
As I bolted toward Jungkook's cell, adrenaline propelled me forward. But my worst fears materialized with haunting clarity. As I rushed down the dim corridor, I heard his voice—a desperate plea filled with terror—echoing through the cold walls.
"Stop. Please stop. I beg you!"
The rawness of his screams cut through me, and my heart dropped. I pushed myself to run faster, knowing I had to reach him before it was too late.
"Jungkook? Wake up. It isn't real. It's only a nightmare."
Then it happened. In a sudden, desperate motion, he turned around and enveloped me in his arms, his warmth contrasting sharply with the child in the air. Burying his face in the crook of my neck, I could feel the trembling of his body, violent and uncontrollable, as it pressed against mine.
"Make it go away. Make him stop," he pleaded, his voice barely more than a breathy whisper.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, and my chest tightened painfully at the sensation of his warm tears soaking into my skin. It pierced me, igniting an aching empathy that made my heart race.
"Please, lady. Make him stop," he repeated, his voice quivering with desperation. His strong arms clung to my waist with an urgent need, pulling me impossibly closer as if I could somehow shield him from whatever torment haunted him. I could feel the dampness of his shirt, soaked through with sweat and fear, as I instinctively placed my palms against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my fingers.
Despite wanting to comfort him, an unsettling need to create some distance tugged at my mind as if the intensity of our closeness could somehow amplify the turmoil he was facing.
"Wait. Lady? Since when did I become a lady?"
The words hung in the air as he suddenly stepped closer, catching me off guard. In a swift, unexpected motion, he snatched the syringe I had painstakingly prepared during my hurried journey here, wresting it from my grasp.
For a fleeting moment, our eyes locked in the dim light of the room, his dark, intense gaze piercing into mine with a weight that sent shivers down my spine. In that charged silence, the only sounds that surrounded us were the harsh rhythm of his breathing and the frantic pounding of my heart, echoing in my ears like a war drum.
I felt a tight knot form in my stomach, a mix of anxiety and anticipation as his gaze held me captive. There was an almost palpable tension in the air, his presence commanding and yet vulnerable all at once.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and steady as he uttered the haunting words: "I don't want to wake up. It hurts. Make sure that I will never wake up."
The gravity of his request weighed heavily upon me, stirring a maelstrom of emotions as I grappled with the enormity of the moment.