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Realistic or Modern 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 ❍ °.







han minjae.
















The sun comes up
and casts upon














♡coded by uxie♡



한민재 ✧ han minjae ✧ he/him ✧ twenty-three ✧ cogsci​

❝ OH, I'M JUST ANOTHER SHADE
OF YOU IN THE FAME ❞​

He is a moon moth in winter, clinging to frostbitten bark with all the fight of a cockroach in a world that wants him crushed. The rich, they try their hardest to step over him, to slap him dead with their palms. But with half frozen wings, he grips the tree.

Cold voice but held tongue, fists clenched and nails leaving crescents on his skin. A lesson in ambition is what Minjae has learned— growing up in a cutthroat society full of pearl teethed sharks. Their jaws snap and snarl at the slightest vulnerability, spreading rumours about his upbringing; Low-life child, housekeeper's boy, poor. He hides his saturnine eyes behind a façade of steel.

Keep your head down and study well, don't cause trouble for your family— Minjae had never been one for attention, but of course, the spotlight seeks out the brightest. To embrace vulnerability is to step onto thin ice, and risk a fall into icy depths. A metamorphosis was required of him if he was to move up in the world. But strength is hard to come by when you feel little more than a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

❝ THE SHADOW THAT IS HIDING ME
DOESN'T SEEM TO WORK ON YOU AS WELL ❞​

A certain disregard for the feelings of others pervades him, one born out of living in a dog-eat-dog world. Minjae was not always harsh words and grit teeth, but that was before constant comparison whittled down his spirit, before he was bitten by the elitist dogs of Somyeol, and before his heart was stabbed by the metaphorical knife of his only friend’s betrayal. The blade had sunk deep into the beating organ and twisted, planting a seed of bitterness in his blood. Competition, a ceaseless tempest, now fuels his ambition.

Gossamer wings replace frozen ones, perfect and clear; Perfection must be maintained if he is to compete with the elite. He tries not to be motivated by envy, but when others can so freely indulge in life, it is difficult not to feel her green eyes watching him.

Somewhere down the line Minjae’s drive to succeed had been poison dipped and carved into vindictive thirst. A thirst that could only be quenched from stepping onto the back’s of his most despised. No longer did he work to better his bottom-feeder life— No, he worked to win. Heels digging into the bones of pliant shoulders; The role he hated so fervently to act, had melded with his identity. It seemed his gossamer wings flew too close to the sun but instead of falling like Icarus, Minjae rose with a blackened heart. Bitterness makes him cruel. Sabotage is not beneath him and self-loathing is his best friend. One can only hope that the sliver of warmth in his eyes, was not misperceived.

❝ WALLS TALK MORE THAN WE DO
SIPPING ON QUIET
IT'S NOTHING NEW ❞​

brief visage: tall and fair, you'd think him attractive until he opens his mouth— or rather, until his withering dark eyes fall on you. despite his outward appearance of ease, there's an underlying tension in his posture—a constant awareness of his status in a sea of privilege. a streak of white scars his black hair with poliosis, which he dyes to keep attention off of himself. for it is better not to attract too much attention when you're a sheep blending in with wolves. just peeking above the collars of his clothes lies a star-shaped burn, one half of a matching set and the vestige of a memory he'd prefer to forget (or longs to relive).

brief style: clean-cut blazers and sweaters that reek of typical erudition; his style is impeccable at first glance, exuding money and class. a trained eye however, would see otherwise. simple fabrics and poor stitching betray their humble origins. hand-me-downs, loose threads, too large jackets chalked up as a stylistic choice.

— incapable of relying on others, he must and will handle things on his own, however poorly things may go.
— they say geniuses are the most paranoid, those who know minjae can attest to this fact; a undercurrent of doubt runs through him from constant over-analysis.
— loathes being called “weak” with a passion so tangible that his body has a visceral reaction towards it.
— was called all manner of nicknames related to his poliosis, but his least favourite is cruella. (“thanks jiyoon.”)
— his guilty pleasure is power fantasy manhwa because he often relates to the underdog protagonists. (and he just wants to be op like dat.)
— control freak; things must go his way. makes him very fun to work with in group projects.
— unbeknownst to him, he has a small fanbase of students on campus, who like him specifically for his looks and cold personality.
— rational and level headed until nam jiyoon gets involved.
— likes to loom ominously over anthills because they’re “microcosms of human society.”
— works as a tutor for younger students and has a side hustle of doing assignments for lazy rich kids, basically pulls a kim hye-na on them.
 
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nam jiyoon.
































old money law student








sorry my conscience called in sick again




















♡coded by uxie♡



⋆ THEY CALL KIDS LIKE US VICIOUS AND CARVED OUT STONE​


— NAME: Nam Jiyoon
— AGE: twenty-three
— MAJOR: criminology, with a minor in psychology
— SEXUALITY: bisexual
— PRONOUNS: he/him; cis male

VISAGE: Wind-swept waves of hair, coloured a dark mahogany shade, hair shaved close to his nape in an overgrown undercut. He prefers to style his bangs away from his face, though sometimes his hair will fall over his eyes in thin, layered strands. Jiyoon stands at a height of 182 cm (6'0 ft), with a toned and muscular frame, his smooth skin a light bronze that never seems to pale even in winter months, the product of an impeccably prestigious marriage between Hanoi and Seoul. His dark brown eyes are vulpine and hooded, voted his "prettiest feature" by lovestruck girls from boarding school. He has a dimple on the left side of his mouth, showing itself at the corner of every smug grin and delighted, glittering laugh.

If one is close enough to look, they can see a small healed scar on the right of his upper lip, a souvenir from a 'sailing accident' when he was seven, along the same vein of every vague yet reasonable explanation for all the miscellaneous nicks and scrapes strewn across his forearms and calves. The most notable of these marks, however, would be the burn mark on the side of his neck, shaped like a small, lopsided star.

STYLE: Like many of his peers, he has a personal stylist curate his wardrobe, though he favours pieces from fashion week regulars such as FEAR OF GOD and Hermes. For casual campus outfits, he tends to go for smart button-down shirts and jeans, his sole accessory a silver class ring on his right middle finger. No matter how basic, his clothes never fail to be some kind of designer, tailored perfectly, and faintly scented with Tom Ford.

⋆ BUT FOR WHAT WE BECOME, WE JUST FEEL MORE ALONE​

CONCEPT: Nam Jiyoon is the undeniable heart of every party, the magnanimous devil's advocate of every class debate, the glue that binds the various social circles he effortlessly commands, like a king holding court among mere vassals. You'll find his opinion is often held in high regard, well-liked by peers and teachers for his ability to adapt to a crowd. Sincerity, however, is where he falters. The truth became something to fear, to cover up with embellished words, compelling narratives that only served to attract and persuade. Manipulative as it may be sometimes, he's convinced himself that the made-up stories he tells are what people really want to hear. Was it so wrong for him to play into others' expectations, when there was simply no adoration to be found in being honest?

He could never admit that the loyalty he commands from the people he calls friends are tenuously tied strings, tight-ropes which only felt stable whenever he wore his father's "Vote-for-me" smile to deliver sugar-coated pretenses. He wouldn't be his mother's pride and joy if he never learned how to burn shameful bridges, to disguise his longing and inadequacy with dazzling stories from private school, or trips spent languishing under a European sun. And if the words rang a little hollow, no one seemed to care enough to dig deeper, to crack the shiny, superficial surface.

The Jiyoon of today is a charming amalgamation of wit, competence, and refined mass appeal. Beneath it all, though, is someone who firmly believes that everything and everyone has a price tag, sneering at blatant displays of sentimentality. If he feels like he's been slighted or owes you, one way or another he'll make it his mission to get even. Despite the sweetness of his words, he can be sarcastic and sharp-tongued, not above drawing humour at the expense of easy targets if it meant he could climb one more step up life's invisible hierarchy. He knows the effect he has on people, plays it like an ace up his sleeve, more than willing to entertain anyone as long as he thinks they're worth his time.

The real Jiyoon is a performance more than a man, obsessively shifting pieces of his mask around to make sure everyone's eyes are on him, that their gazes remain reverent, that he remains glued to the pedestal they keep putting him on. Because the minute he falls, the second you manage to see him for who he really is, a starved, malformed thing so ugly it has to cling to lies to be loved — Well. It's not like anyone ever really stays after that part, do they? Certainly not after they see the beast underneath.

The only person who did stay, despite everything, who continues to draw out the ugliness in him, is the one he has grown to hate most ardently. He can't help but lash out at his former best friend with teeth bared, fists landing hit after hit, hurling rare truths that never fail to cut deep, like Dorian Gray taking a knife to the portrait of his own sins. The rapture could come and go, and Jiyoon would still be holding onto the same ideals, content with burying the past.

But for whatever reason, the poor little shadow keeps refusing to stay in his lane, igniting something unknowable within him every time their eyes meet, challenging him to fight dirty, to sink low enough until his hands are dripping with red. And for that same reason, Jiyoon keeps giving in to the chase, simultaneously thrilled and appalled at the lengths he'd go to for a person he couldn't care less about, or so he claims. It is only a matter of time before he finally unravels, though he has no idea why.

All he knows is that he can never, ever be alone with Han Minjae.


— friends of his parents have always told him he looks the most like his mother
— a different person is seen on his arm at every party, has a reputation on campus for being a heartbreaker
— loves being the center of attention ALWAYS
— one of his canines is sharp like a dog's, making his smile look roguish in certain lighting
— shameless flirt
— maintains a calm, smug composure up until the moment he feels the slightest bit of embarrassment
— incapable of letting. things. go. he is the kind of petty who holds onto grudges all the way to the grave
— *clinging to the arm of someone he's interested in, puppy dog eyes* "you love me, right? only me?"
— gets really invested in soap drama storylines, could probably recite his favourite ones from memory
— pulls this face behind people he dislikes
— likes law enough to make a career out of it, but in another world he'd definitely be an actor
— a fan of Hitchcock films, tells people that his 'favorite' is Vertigo when his actual favorite is Rope
— hyperaware of his surroundings and is really good at reading people
— possessive over things he considers 'his'
— light sleeper, can only fall into deep sleep when listening to vietnamese folk music
 












HAN MINJAE










grit your teeth and bear it.




























prologue.​
​
Light pollution isn’t the only reason Minjae can’t see the stars.

For the past three days, morning has come donned in black velvet, thick and all encompassing. Where dawn should have painted the sky amethyst and gold, coal loomed instead. A stygian veil; Starless.

Eyes were barely batted when the first day had begun. Upon the second and third however, the dark felt no longer like a blanket lulling people to sleep but a shroud foretelling of something greater. Contagious in its pandemonium, it spread to all corners of the globe like a disease. A harbinger of destruction, the end of the world— No, climate change. It was eye-rolling. The people were birds with clipped wings, acting no better than headless chickens as they scrambled to attribute meaning to the impossible.

Minjae’s first thoughts however, were not of humanity’s future. His thoughts were tethered elsewhere, to matters more important than the world’s fate.

Sterile corridors, long and white; The rise and fall of a chest under dim hospital lights. Just the thought of how fragile his mother last looked had Minjae clenching his fist. The Han family’s fortunes, so capricious, seemed intent on slipping through his fingers, and piling bills did not give him hope. Almost twenty long years, and pity coins were all they received from the Nams.

He felt sick.

The termination notice had crumpled satisfyingly in his hands but what would truly satisfy Minjae was to wring the neck of his mother’s employers after he’d sucked them dry of compensation.

It is that frustration that brings him here now, steel eyes and an edge to round off. It is difficult to imagine Han Minjae of all people willingly attending a sweaty party (in the middle of a worldwide panic no less)— and yet, he finds himself standing at Taehwan’s door.

The itch to turn back gnaws at him like a parasite, an urge he desperately wants to feed. He wills himself to step forward instead. As much as he wants to leave, he has a mission.

Tonight, Minjae will make him listen. No matter what it takes.




MESSAGES

now



youngmi
#blackout is real!! are u srsly going to that party? ppl are talking about riots, it’s making me scared 😭



Minjae ignores the text. Riots are at the back of his mind, though the thought of them occurring near his mother’s hospital sends a shiver down his spine. He pushes the thought aside in favour of steeling himself for the confrontation ahead.

Technicolor blurs on sweat soaked skin in a heady mess of warm bodies; Inside, the euphoria-laced air is thick with the scent of alcohol. The party is hosted in a dorm room that reeks of excess entitlement, courtesy of Choi Taehwan. Minjae had wanted to gag when he first saw it. Taehwan’s single college dorm was bigger than the entirety of Minjae’s shared apartment unit with his mother.

Now pushing through throngs, he feels out of place in the glare of neon lights. The press of dancing bodies makes the heat stifling, and Minjae almost regrets bringing his jacket with him. Music blares so loud he feels it reverberate in his bones. His elbows graze damp shoulders and his mutters of ‘excuse me’ are swallowed by the crowd.

Where the hell is that guy?

It is when he gets rudely shoved aside and begins to contemplate murder that he finally sees it. A sliver of light beckoning from the balcony, where a figure stands lone. His heart leaps into his throat as recognition dawns; it’s him.

Ignoring the erratic thud of his pulse, Minjae adjusts his stance, straightening as he strides forward with his head held high.

Found you.

Cold greets him as he steps outside, the air cutting through the stifling miasma of the party. It does little to cool the fire within him. The balcony lamp acts as an artificial moon, bathing them in a soft glow. Still no sign of stars. A part of Minjae is comforted by the fact— that nothing will bear witness as he beseeches the object of his ire for help.

He cuts through the quiet with a closing click of the door.

“Nam Jiyoon,” Minjae begins, “we need to talk.”












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nam jiyoon










just another graceless night




























The blackout party was his idea. It was a harmless proposal borne on the dawn of the second day, a way to chase away the discomfort of being greeted by yet another day of desolate twilight. Jiyoon had been longing for a way to get his mind off of the possible end of the world, though once it reached Taehwan’s ears, it was only a matter of time before the solution had mutated into something more… unrestrained.

“Quite over the top, wouldn’t you say?” Yuna had said, a disdainful eyebrow raised at Taehwan’s lavish attempts at making his dorm look like some kind of grungy, hole-in-the-wall rave instead of the massive luxury suite it was. It sort of reminded Jiyoon of an aquarium, the way so much of the chaos was contained within opulent glass walls, and how many attendees were rhythmically losing all inhibition, oblivious to the outside world as they rejoiced among simulated darkness and pulsating neon.

Ah. There it was again, the nagging part of him that surfaced every time he thought of the current state of the sky. He took a sip out of the red cup in his hand, his nerves calming as vodka seeped into his system. The question made him grin and shrug, his pinky darting out to gesture to her fur-trim dress, which glowed ultraviolet underneath the blacklight chandelier.

“I’m not the one who looks like an anglerfish, noona,” he replied, snickering as Yuna sharply flipped him off with both manicured fingers, her eyes darting over his shoulder in barely concealed amusement.

“Yes, well, laugh all you want, asshole. I just thought I should let you know that your pet’s here,” she shouted over a particularly loud bass riff before walking off, rejoining the sea of luminescent revelers. The term made Jiyoon pause, something about its casual use making his jaw twitch, though his head turned anyway, eyes searching the crowd for the familiarity of meeting the same cold, detached gaze that haunted his waking thoughts like a plague he couldn’t shake. It was an act that naturally came to him whenever the subject was brought up, his mood inevitably declining with the presence of the one and only thorn in his side. However, this time, his eyes only chased pale imitations, nothing and no one striking him as significantly infuriating as the figure cutting through his mind.

Jiyoon frowned, sipping at his cup once more to chase away the weird dent in his pride, something echoing disappointment in the haze of sour emotions. The thickening fog was messing with his mind, and he had to get away.

A few students hollered at him like a pack of hyenas when they saw him walk past, flailing arms decorated with fluorescent bands. They instantly parted for him, praising him like they always did, as if he were a marble statue come to life to join the living. The smile he wore was effortless, humble, though he inwardly basked in their admiration. Despite how old of a song it was, he'd come to always expect it even when he had done nothing to earn it.

The party droned on in the background as he reached the sliding door of the balcony, savouring the cool breeze that kissed his mesh-covered skin once he settled against the railing. The endless dark loomed overhead, devoid of any signs of time having passed, not even the soft, winking light of stars were there to comfort him. He pulled out a lighter from his jacket pocket, along with the half-finished cigarette stashed in the side of his jeans, sparking the end of it to light up a smoldering red.

If the world hadn't decided to collapse three days ago, Jiyoon would be seated in a crowded lecture hall, racking his brain to speed run his psychology midterm. The university had given everyone a temporary concession, ‘just until everything goes back to normal’ they'd said. He took a drag, turning his face to the sky to exhale, letting smoke fill the empty void.

The click of the door closing barely registered through his inebriated state and he continued to smoke without much concern, until his voice pierced through the quiet.

”I don't have anything to say to you,” Jiyoon said, turning around to look Han Minjae in the eye. His nerves were on edge for some reason, though he was calm enough to not let it show through a mask of dismissive indifference. ”Are you lost?” He grinned as he huffed out a laugh, ”It's just, I know for a fact you weren't invited.”

It was the brutal song and dance they always did, until the inevitable collision. Jiyoon only wished it didn't set him alight as much as it did, bracing for impact, the imminent breaking of skin and clawing of throats. Thoughts of the sun swallowed up by the abyss had been cast aside in favour of imagining the man in front of him, hands wringing around his own neck like a noose. And it certainly seemed like it was that kind of night, judging by the look of murder flashing in Minjae's obsidian gaze.

”Leave,” He sneered, pouring more kerosene over the flame. ”I'm not gonna say it twice.”













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HAN MINJAE










grit your teeth and bear it.




























A moth to a flame, always pulled towards an untouchable light; Minjae approached the other man, his nose wrinkled at the mingled scent of smoke and alcohol. The flickering lights from the dorm's revelry cast eerie shadows around them. It was strange to see him alone. Here was a man so magnetic, flocked by a constant swirl of admirers at every turn. Yet now, Jiyoon seemed detached from the heat inside. The pale serpent that curled around him slithered towards Minjae, imploring him to wave it away with a single hand. He resisted the almost primal urge to snatch the cigarette from Jiyoon’s fingers, to extinguish that dying ember with a swift motion. Minjae crushed the impulse down like a cockroach.

Wet stone met dark wood. When their gazes locked, the message was clear: Fuck off.

Minjae was undeterred.

“Do I really need an invite when Choi Taehwan opens his doors to any clueless fool who comes bumbling in.” He remarked dully, eyes narrowed.

“Though I guess it makes sense. Only an idiot like him would throw a party at a time like this.” Probably not a good idea to insult the friend of the person you’re trying to bargain with, but the mere concept of having a civil conversation with Jiyoon of all people, was disturbing, repulsive, sickening, laughable, inconceivable— He could go on.

He cleared his throat; Restrain your disdain.

In truth, he did not know how their invites worked, nor did he care to learn. A blindsight on his part he was sure, but he knew enough about Taehwan’s parties to know that he was not a mere cat walking into a lion’s den. The knife that was his wit and sharp tongue shielded him from snarling maws, while a sober mind illuminated his path in a haze of inebriation. Minjae would have the advantage for now.

Instead of leaving, he moved closer. Close enough to finally snatch the cigarette out of Jiyoon’s hands. An urge born out of a desire for control or to see the other wilt, he didn’t know. He flicked it to the ground, stamping it out with his foot in one quick motion. “Don’t start with me— This is serious.”

Minjae’s gaze was unwavering, a cold fire burning in his eyes. “It’s about what your family’s done to my mother.”













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nam jiyoon










just another graceless night




























The nerve on this guy. Jiyoon could only watch as the cigarette was plucked from his fingers, rendered motionless by the ghost of a touch from the other man's hand. A blink, and suddenly it was discarded, crushed underneath an uncaring heel.

The alcohol made Jiyoon sluggish, though his grin turned dangerous under the flash of neon red light. Minjae was a master at pissing him off in record time, and he never failed to take the bait. It led him to hunger for the scent of spilled blood, jaws closing around the easy target of tender wounds instead of watching for signs of sincerity. There was to be no ceasefire, only the vicious start of yet another massacre.

“Oh, I get it, Minjae, I do,” Jiyoon said, words dripping with mock sympathy. “It's always your poor mother needing help. It's never you, god forbid. Your pride would never allow you to stoop so low, isn't that right?”

Ms. Han was a kind woman, the warm hand ruffling his hair, wiping away sticky chocolate from his cheeks in the dappled light of his early childhood. He held no resentment towards her, only her hypocrite son, though it became harder to confide in her in recent years the way he used to as a child, an unavoidable conflict of interest in the war between him and Han Minjae. Her sudden dismissal from the Nam household had come as a surprise, though his mother had assured him over the phone that she was compensated with comfortable severance benefits.

Jiyoon had never known his parents to have a vendetta against either of the Hans, so why would they start now? Minjae was desperate, that much was obvious. However, it seemed Jiyoon underestimated just how shameless one could be when money was the root of an issue.

”What is it, this time?” he crossed his arms, leaning back on the railing like an apathetic king reclining on his throne. His vices might have given him a slight disadvantage, but when it came to the topic of capital, Jiyoon always had the upper hand. ”Let me guess, your scholarship funding got revoked? You know, you could just say this instead of dragging your mother into your schemes. Then maybe I'll hear you out.”

Jiyoon's stare turned heavy-lidded as he wrapped his lips around his next uttered words, condescending and smug.

”...Only if you beg, first.”












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HAN MINJAE










grit your teeth and bear it.




























“No, you—“ Minjae bit back a sharp retort.

One of these days, Jiyoon’s smart mouth was going to get him murdered and Minjae would be the prime suspect.

Subzero poise hid lips curling in a toothy snarl. Instead of reacting, he forced his fists to still their clenching, to calm their ravenous intent to lunge and maul. Silence was golden when it came to Nam Jiyoon. The other man desired a reaction, but Minjae would not give. He crossed his arms instead, forcing composure. Frigid, unflinching, like the unmoving surface of a frozen lake. The jab at his pride was an unnecessary one but he wouldn’t let it cut through the ice.

Don’t act like you’re some saint that would help if I came running. He wanted to fire back. Instead, he stepped forward with a deliberate grace. His goals were clear: maintain control, find the truth, and wring out every drop of satisfaction he could from this encounter.

Minjae needed to know— Why was his mother dismissed so easily? A weathered tool, dulled from years of use and tossed aside like trash; It must be amusing for the rich to see their servants as objects. Clearly, loyalty meant dogshit to the Nams.

Cold eyes grazed over a cocky smirk. He watched with disgust as Jiyoon stood languidly against the railing. How anyone found him charming, Minjae couldn’t comprehend.

“I’d never allow my grades to fall so low that I lose my scholarship,” He started, head held high.

With a single stride, Minjae bridged the distance between them, reducing their separation to mere inches and ensuring their breaths mingled in the charged air. His words continued in a low murmur, “Because even despite your meddling, I will always remain on top.”

Defiance shone in sunless grey; Eyes narrowed as he met Jiyoon’s gaze head on, locking with an intensity that rendered the rest of the world an insignificant blur. To yield, was not an option; he would not play into this man's twisted hands. Silence persisted for but a moment as they stood in a daze, until it was punctured by the pungent odor of alcohol. Rancid. Minjae didn’t falter. Though Jiyoon’s miasma tinged breath was unpleasant, his drunken state made it all the more easier to corner him.

What a fool.

“Now listen closely because I’m not here for your games. I’m here to demand what is rightfully owed to my ill mother.” There it was, the truth laid bare. The words came out calmer than he felt and Minjae relished in his delivery. Cold— the first chill of winter that scorches the breath and leaves no room for warmth.

“The money your family gave her won’t cover the cost of her hospital bills. So, if you have even an inch of respect for the woman that helped your family and was there for you as a child when others couldn’t be, then you’ll pay up.”













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just another graceless night




























The object of his ire dared so far as to close the distance between them, and Jiyoon tensed up, unable to look away despite knowing he was on the verge of being struck. Burnt umber eyes blazed, dilating with rapt interest. The sudden headrush of anticipating violence made the sides of his vision blurry, making it hard for him to focus on anything other than the unexpected intimacy of the moment, gaze sticking onto details such as the familiar starburst on the pale column of Minjae's neck, and the stubborn streaks of bone shining through artificial black strands.

When did he start dyeing that part? Why would he ever do such a thing? Doesn't he know? Despite how much he tries to hide it, it's still there.

Jiyoon's hand began to rise through the air unbidden, fingers outstretched reaching for some unknown thing, until the other man's next words pierced through him like a blade. He stopped, tenderness turning sharp at the frigid accusation, however true it might have been. Did this bastard think he was exempt from being guilty of the same crimes? Minjae seemed so far away from him, yet again.

Yet those eyes of his told another story. Blue heat simmered low, minutes away from erupting, cold fire to his struck match. The planes of Minjae’s face were coloured with incandescent lapis lazuli, an avenging angel come to deliver judgement with a righteous, unforgiving hand. Unfortunately, Jiyoon was never one to repent.

”Mm, I love the way you talk to me,” he cooed, uncrossing his arms to place both hands on either side, gripping the railing behind him with white-knuckle tension. ”Like we're equals, instead of knowing your place. Deluded, but entertaining. You should know by now that biting the hand that feeds will get you nowhere.”

Conversations whispered in hush tones overheard in empty corridors suddenly intruded his mind. All at once, the shadows of the cave grew teeth, their smiles turning sinister, unable to be distinguished from the blurred haze of reality. The visions became a rapid fire weapon he didn't hesitate to wield, the trigger to a gun in a knife fight.

”Or was that your plan all along, to get me riled up? Did you think I'd be more willing to hear you out once you were done with your little seduction act?” he said, flicking a finger between the scant space between their faces. ”How inappropriate, Minjae. What would our esteemed professors think of their star pupil if I told them how you're debasing yourself like this?”

Jiyoon clicked his teeth in a show of pity. He didn't want to believe it, yet he was long past the point of giving Han Minjae the benefit of the doubt. The thing was, he could see it in his mind's eye, the simple logic behind the impossible way Minjae dominated Somyeol's rankings. The man was, well, attractive. Even Jiyoon could admit that, had known it from the second he recognized him among a crowd of anxious first years, the overhead light casting a soft, ethereal glow over delicate features. Pretty things had a habit of hungering for more than what they were born into, isn't that what Siwon had said?

”Maybe some of them already know from firsthand-”

The slap to his cheek was lightning quick, leaving his face stinging, head displaced with the force of it. The taste of iron coated his tongue, and he could only smile in the face of such fury. How he missed this. It was tiring pretending he was the only one between them who was a sinner. Finally done with the pretenses, are we? Very well, then.

”You hate me more than you love your mother, Han Minjae. And that's exactly why you're not getting a single cent from me.” Jiyoon spat, drops of blood landing on the other man's shoe. ”Why don't you go string along those doormat fans of yours for help? That kind of thing should be easy for you.”













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HAN MINJAE










grit your teeth and bear it.




























A gelid outrage slithered up Minjae’s skin, serpentine in the way it’s creeping tendrils wound through his veins only to explode at his fingertips in a red hot burst. Hand raised of mindless accord— with a sharp slap, a firework of pain painted vivid crimson on Jiyoon’s cheek.

Minjae wished he could feel gratification from the act, to find reprieve for his hailstorm heart in seeing the man’s smug face fall. Yet in reality, all he felt was dissatisfaction. Cold veins threatened to turn hot blooded; The sight of Jiyoon’s split lip did little to alleviate his burgeoning anger. Rather than abating, his fury seemed to crystallize.

He needed to rein it in.

Jiyoon’s vile insinuations birthed a feeling of revulsion in Minjae’s heart that sent him reeling. Drip, drip; His patience was an icicle. It wasn’t the first time they’d spilled blood and it surely wouldn’t be the last, but everytime Minjae struck, he felt like he was in a losing battle. It was mortifying to be so easily unsettled by someone who seemed to revel in inciting his wrath. Defeat— was to lose his composure for even a millisecond, but Jiyoon’s mere presence was a sledgehammer to glass restraint.

Said man’s last remarks merited much worse than a slap. A punch, a kick, a push off the balcony.

“You!—”

You hate me more than you love your mother.

Spoken only moments before but incessantly ringing in Minjae’s head; Jiyoon’s words echoed. A sickening siren that he couldn’t tune out. The jab alone fed his ice-locked fire to crackle more so than the previous accusations— It wasn’t true. Minjae’s entire reason for coming to meet this loathsome man, was his mother; This wasn’t about him.

(It wasn’t.)

Desperation clung to Minjae as he seized Jiyoon by the jacket collar. A visceral need to shatter his visage flared within him with the suddenness of a wildfire. What did he know? The bleeding smile that played on Jiyoon’s lips served only to mock his frustration. He wanted to witness Jiyoon’s bravado disintegrate, to see fear replace that insufferable confidence.

“Don’t you dare presume to know anything about me or my life.” The words came out in a low growl laden with unspoken violence— a tone that whispers watch yourself. “You don’t know the things I could do to you, Nam Jiyoon. I may not have your resources, but a man with nothing to his name is much more dangerous than a man with so much to lose.”

There were still things Minjae couldn’t afford to forfeit, but ‘nothing’ was accurate when compared to a man born with everything. Minjae’s world had been dark long before the sky changed. If light was what he sought, he’d seek it out and rip it away—teeth bared and snarling— from the grasp of his most despised.

“You Nams are all the same in the end, aren’t you. Throwing around your money to get what you want and hiding behind it when things get tough. We both know you only got to where you are through deceit.” Alabaster fingers curled tighter around thick fabric as he spoke. Sharp and stinging. Lethal intent seemed to fall flat but Minjae’s words still reeked of danger regardless. A distant cloud brimming with the promise of thunder.

If his mother and Soomin were to see this, they’d click their tongues in disappointment. “We expected better from you Minjae-ah. Do you really want to lose your cool like a crying baby?”

Reason suggested restraint, a quiet wisdom urging Minjae to keep his venom sheathed. Not out of respect for this individual, but because creating a scene in a party with no refuge was a misfortune he wished to avoid. This was Jiyoon’s domain— The drunken fool who leaned against the railing with insolent ease.

More venom-soaked accusations formed at the back of Minjae’s throat, only to die in the stagnant space between them as he continued to fixate his glare. It was then that he felt the futility of his actions sink in, a heavy weight dragging his anger and transforming it into something colder, desolate. Finally, the anchor had sunk into the abyss; Asking Jiyoon had been a mistake.

He should’ve known.

Snarls of fury gave way to a bitter silence as he finally released the man from his clutches. He forfeited the immediate urge to shove Jiyoon against the railing until it jut into his bones. Instead, he stepped back, hands dropping to his sides like stones.

“Pathetic.” His voice was lower still, a bitter complaint spoken for himself more so than Jiyoon’s ears. He had tried, and in trying, he had only reaffirmed the futility of expecting anything from someone as hopeless as Nam Jiyoon.

“I hope you get lost in the dark.” Minjae couldn’t help but retort flatly, before taking the chance to spit on Jiyoon’s shoes in retaliation for the earlier act. With that last withering remark, he turned back to the balcony door.

Back to the party’s distorting lights; Back to where he could get swallowed up by the crowd.

And most importantly, away from Nam Jiyoon.













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nam jiyoon










just another graceless night




























Something broke in the moment after he’d spoken, Jiyoon knew it, had seen the brutal clipping of wings that incited the other man to drag him by the collar and spit out fervent threats that fell on deaf ears. It told him he’d breached a line, though he didn’t know where exactly he overstepped, alcohol numbing the part of his brain that kept a catalogue of the hurtful things he blindly threw at his enemy. Why did he care, he’d wanted to aim for the heart, hadn’t he?

Minjae spoke about his family with such acid, pulling at complicated strings that held together festering wounds Jiyoon would rather pretend wasn’t there. Comparisons to his mother were commonplace, easy since they looked like sun-drenched copies of each other, held themselves with the same gilded confidence and straight-backed aristocracy. Mỹ Linh had proudly raised him to be her son, first and foremost, and he’d be damned before he let anyone shame him for being created in her image.

His father, however, was less of a welcome resemblance. Jiyoon’s eyes narrowed, hostility shining through a deepening snarl. Minjae’s words struck truer than he cared to admit, unwilling to trace every single line that likened him to a man so weak he had to cower behind falsities. A smoothtalking image of perfection that seemed to crumble the more the viewer inspected it.

The thought consumed him, gnawing at his resolve as Minjae loosened his grip on him, defeat spoken in the drop of his shoulders. Jiyoon blinked, dread washing over him like the breaking of a spell at the sound of the balcony door sliding open while he watched the other man’s retreating frame. What was happening? Where were the curled fists, the blinding rage? Was he to be the only one left standing in the dark now, after all these years of a neverending war, with nothing to show for it but a cut lip and wounded pride? Is this where I lose you? He refused.

”LOOK AT ME,” Jiyoon roared, lip curling to reveal bloodied, sharp teeth, a feral quality to his voice that disguised the hurt of being abandoned. The shame of wanting more horrified him, but there was no way in hell he would ever tolerate indifference. It was even more humiliating to think he'd ever waited so long just for a scrawled note in the mail, a sign that the thread he was so devoted to holding onto was not yet severed. Not again, never. He jerked forward, hand flinging out to grip the other man’s wrist in a bruising vice hold. ”You don’t get to just walk away. You owe me more than silence after all of that bullshit you spewed.”

Minjae struggled to pull away from him, landing a shove to his shoulder to dislodge himself to no avail, only managing to anger him further. Jiyoon wanted to see him bleed, if only to be relieved at the sign that Minjae was still human. It was getting harder and harder to tell, these days. An unseen transformation had made a changeling of his former friend, the very same that had dug its corrupting fingers into his own soul.

This was what made the punishing swing of his fist an honorable act, the sweet kiss of it against fragile, splitting skin delivered with not only vengeance but honesty. When all that fell from his mouth were lies, what else could he use to tell the unspeakable truth but violence?

In one hand, he held Minjae’s marred face with such vicious fervor, as if momentarily admiring his work. The warped light had shifted, sounds of raucous laughter filtering through the open door, drawing his eyes downwards to watch as a crowd had gathered on the lower level. His phone emitted a soft ‘ping!’ in his jacket pocket, a notification gone unseen:





TWITTER

now



partae rocker @ctaehwan
lol this guy is wildin... who acts psycho and bites people?! (video attachment)















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HAN MINJAE










grit your teeth and bear it.




























Pain exploded in a kaleidoscope of light, hues of dark violet and shattered shadows bleeding into one another like watercolours. Momentarily blinded, Minjae could only stagger backwards as his right eye burned from the hit.

In hindsight, he should’ve expected some sort of retaliation from Jiyoon after what he did— but a literal eye for an eye? Really?

The raw sting of the punch radiated through his face and throbbed with a searing intensity, the kind that burrowed deep and set every nerve alight. But despite the poker sting of hurt, it was his pride that ached the most.

Ego chained him to the spot; Minjae’s initial desire to leave had been overshadowed by the sting of vulnerability, and now, he felt compelled to return the hit tenfold. The unwelcome warmth of Jiyoon’s hand on his face only sprinkled salt on an open wound.

“Don’t touch me.” He hissed, skin crawling under the contact. The act felt cloying in its mockery of tenderness. Without hesitating, Minjae swung at Jiyoon’s cheek. A gratifying burst of pain reverberated through his knuckles when fist met flesh. Too inebriated to defend himself properly, Jiyoon’s feeble attempt at blocking the blow was not nearly as fast enough. Minjae could’ve sneered; Embarassing. The defence was almost laughable in its ineffectiveness.

“Should’ve known you’d be no help. All that cash and still no class.” His voice rasped out, roughened by their brutal exchange of blows. Though his anger was evident, his words dripped in the mundanity of commenting on weather. “Guess even your daddy’s money couldn’t buy you a heart.”

Heart? Like you’re one to talk— Minjae shrugged that tiny voice away.

The force of his punch gave Minjae the opportunity to shove Jiyoon back, hard. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he should escalate the confrontation and give the golden boy a taste of his own medicine. Yet, as Minjae glanced at himself in the nearby window, he saw shades of the swelling bruise that would soon mar his face— fractured lavender flowering right over his eye in faint hues.

The reflection stirred him into action as he spun on his heel. He’d spent too long spitting fire at Jiyoon, he needed to leave immediately lest the man pushed things further and called for his cronies.

“If you value your reputation, you won’t follow me.” Minjae voiced gruffly over his shoulder. A biting demand veiled by suggestion. He was not interested in trading any more blows with his enemy— verbal or physical. Blood did not need to be spilled to convey how much they suffocated under the weight of their mutual loathing, disdain’s hands circling around their throats as they gasped for the slightest hint of air whenever they broke free of each other’s gaze; The hatred was there, that much was clear.

Minjae slammed the balcony door shut behind him, hoping it would deter Jiyoon from a swift return. No sooner did he step inside was he met with the flash of strobe lights. His vision blurred, a painful haze settling over his right eye. Neon blues, electric pinks— the distorted lights seemed to mock him with their erratic flickers. They twisted and danced in his peripheral vision, making it hard to see. Hard to think.

A hand pressed against the wall to keep him from stumbling. Loud, so loud; Excitement, alarm— A clamor of voices raised downstairs. Minjae didn’t know what was going on, and in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. His focus only narrowed to the urgency of finding an exit.

Get yourself the fuck together, Han Minjae. An inner voice snapped at him, cracking like a whip on his back.

Reaching for his phone, his fingers fumbled on the cool surface. Ten missed messages glared back at him. Kakaotalk, Twitter… The texts spoke of an incident—something explosive, something that had sent ripples of panic through the crowd. His irritation flared; He couldn’t care less about the party's drama.

When he reached the stairs however, he froze. Shock cut through his annoyance with a razor-sharp edge. From his vantage point, he saw a writhing mass of students, their movements frantic as they crowded—or cowered from? Minjae wasn’t sure—one individual who was lashing out with wild energy. A few people were using lamps and other makeshift weapons to keep the person at bay.

Nearby paramedics were maneuvering a stretcher through the crowd, a girl writhing on top with an aggressive wound on her neck.

What. The. Hell.

Minjae’s blurry gaze swept over the scene, disbelief settling in his chest. A bitter curiosity gnawed at him as he wondered what had driven someone to lash out so recklessly. A bad trip? Perhaps someone tormented by Jiyoon’s gang? No, this was too extreme.

As unsettling as the aggressor’s actions were, he felt a selfish frustration simmer beneath. Of all the times for such madness to erupt, of fucking course it had to be now—during the one party he’d deigned to attend, specifically to confront Jiyoon. The thought of police arriving and seeing him with a bruised eye only deepened his irritation. The last thing he needed was to be dragged into an investigation.

His brows set in a deep furrow as he looked back at his phone.

[link attached]

are you ok? wtf is going on??

???


I'm fine.


Paramedics just left with someone.


what happened !!


Don't know. Don't text me.



Minjae's terse texts to Youngmi betrayed none of his increasing agitation and he quickly shoved his phone haphazardly back into his pocket. The partiers had grown restless, some had paled and ran out, while others were... cheering? Music still blared in the background as if someone hadn't been bleeding out just moments before, but what was most sickening perhaps, were the partygoers themselves— phones out and recording. A few first responders remained to assist and call for additional units, but it seemed no one knew how to contain the feral individual.

Whatever was wrong with them, Minjae wasn't planning on staying long enough to find out.













health











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nam jiyoon










just another graceless night




























CRAZY BASTARD—

Jiyoon recoiled, hand coming up to claw at the spark of pain reverberating through the plane of his cheek. He didn't even bother to block the subsequent shove, shoulders tense and rigid from pulsating anger. His fingers longed to curl around the other man's neck, but he would've settled for grabbing at stray hair strands just to even the score, maturity be damned.

But before he could even make the move to lunge, Minjae uttered a cutting dismissal only to hastily retreat back inside, frame swallowed up by the electronic glow of a party in full swing. Yet another hollow threat. As if Jiyoon were one to follow orders from the likes of him, someone who couldn't even dare to finish what they'd started. Despite all the bitterness between the two of them, he'd expected more from Minjae than for him to use his mother, of all people, as a shoddy excuse for extortion.

But what if he wasn't lying? The thought was buried as soon as it materialized. His mother would never deceive him. Minjae, on the other hand, had proved time and time again that he was not above putting money before morality.

“What a fucking coward,” he spat at Minjae’s withdrawing form, rage not ready to dissipate despite the glass divide between him and his most despised. God, his face hurt like hell now, he could feel the anticipating swell of blood vessels bursting against skin and the pulsating ache that followed. At least Minjae hadn't gone for the nose, or else he would've been bleeding all over the place like last time.

His phone buzzed against his abdomen yet again, cutting through his seething enough for him to pull it out from his pocket and squint at the screen with a glare. Upon seeing the caller ID, he sighed, relenting, swiping the green ‘pick up’ button with his thumb.

”Where the fuck are you,” Siwon's voice was knife-like, sharpened by urgency. Jiyoon tensed at the sound of a tone usually reserved for others and rarely directed at himself.

”...Out on the balcony. Why?” In the background of the other end, he could make out vague sounds of panic, briefly catching the tail end of an accusation.

”—that Coco kid, his shit's been laced with something weird!” Taehwan's voice.

”Something's happening to Do Wooseok.” An outline of a man came to the forefront of Jiyoon's mind, broad-shouldered with thick framed glasses. One of Siwon's med lab minions. ”He's been acting crazy and biting people all of a sudden.”

Jiyoon would’ve laughed if his stinging cheek allowed it.

”You called to tell me that? Jeez, I thought it was something serious. I don't care about some random kid getting too high off a percocet.”

”Cut it out, Nam. This is serious,” Siwon's frustration was apparent through his words, effective in incensing Jiyoon's brief amusement. They were an echo of Minjae's from earlier, though the faint screams in the background of the call compelled him to listen, now. Jiyoon moved closer to the glass door, watching with a furrowed brow as the crowd inside gave in to chaos. Two people in orange jumpsuits were currently wrestling with a convulsing Wooseok, one at his back to restrain his arms while the other was struggling to avoid the feral snap of his jaws as they nursed an angry wound on their arm, fresh and bright with blood. ”You've studied different mental disorders, right?” As he stepped even closer, phone in hand, he noticed the crazed, feverish look in Wooseok’s eyes, almost unrecognizable in his mindlessness. His teeth were stained red. ”Ever heard of anything that could make a person crave human flesh?”

”You're… kidding, right?” Jiyoon had to ask, though as he said it, he already knew the answer. Siwon was never one to joke around, much less about something so ridiculous that it sounded like something out of a horror movie. ”Fucking hell. Like, you realize you're describing a zombie, yeah? Hey, Siwon, don't try to be funny anymore, it really doesn't suit you.”

A scoff. Then, a stiff pause. Eventually, Siwon muttered, ”Forget it. Jihye and I are leaving. You shouldn't stick around, either.” The line went dead immediately afterward.

Jiyoon was reeling, mind struggling to comprehend the current situation at hand. What was Siwon even talking about? He didn’t know Wooseok all that well, but from what he’d seen of him, the man didn’t seem to exhibit any type of personality abnormality, aside from maybe being too nosey for his own good sometimes. Mental disorders varied in onset from person to person, but he’d never heard of anyone flipping the switch with such extremity in such a short amount of time the way Siwon was describing. The most reasonable explanation would be that Wooseok’s behaviour was likely influenced by the latest designer drug, diluted with something cheaper but stronger, peddled by greedy dealers wanting to make a quick buck off a dumb rich kid.

Though if that were the case, then why would Siwon go to him for help, when he was the pharmacology expert?

Nothing was making sense and everything hurt. Jiyoon was starting to deeply regret ever giving Taehwan the idea to host this mess of a party. He took a seat on the concrete floor, back against the railing, and scrolled through various social feeds. Alarm started to grow within his chest as he watched clip after clip of the same events from different angles: a girl screaming in pain as she tries to get away from a raging Wooseok, her torn open neck gushing with blood, partygoers pushing him off then fleeing as soon as he switches focus to go after them.

Jiyoon opened his messages, fingers slightly shaking as he sent a hurried text. A minute later, his phone buzzed with a short reply:





MESSAGES

now



grannie yuna 👵
im ok. meet at dining hall. bring a weapon. try not to get bit.



Rolling his eyes, he began to type out a question, backspacing the words ‘are u trying to sound badass’ multiple times before he finally pressed send.

The message loaded, and loaded, and loaded. On and on, the circle kept rotating. After five minutes had gone by, Jiyoon grew frustrated and pressed call instead.

”C’mon, pick up already,” he muttered under his breath, then cursed at the automated message telling him that the call couldn’t be completed. He stared at his screen. No service. ”Useless…”

He turned his head towards the party, contemplating. After coming to a decision, Jiyoon sighed, getting up from his seat with great effort and shouldering his way back inside. He somehow had known long before this that he would eventually regret becoming friends with Taehwan, he just hadn’t anticipated it would be because of an impending zombie apocalypse. Regardless, he needed to know he was safe, and then he could focus on getting them both to the dining hall once they were ready.

The screams were getting louder, and the air was thick with palpable mass hysteria. Jiyoon took a deep breath before descending the staircase, steeling himself for the worst. He eyed a nearby baseball bat sitting in a display case, a soft overhead light pointed at the flowing signature on its handle. It was exactly the kind of autographed relic Taehwan spent millions of won getting his hands on for fun, only to carelessly use it for a spur of the moment party trick.

Jiyoon opened its glass case, feeling the weight of the bat against his hands as he took it out. Light, but sturdy. He tightened his grip around its handle and continued his cautious pace down the stairs, feeling slightly more secure now that he was armed.

Perhaps Yuna had the right idea, after all.













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crazyassnews.com/20XX/world-crisis-report/panic




BREAKING NEWS: Fourth Day of #blackout Crisis Brings Horrific Attacks

In a shocking turn of events, Somyeol Hospital was the site of a horrific attack late last night. Eyewitnesses report that staff and patients were violently attacked, leading to numerous casualties. Security footage under review, shows what could be described as “inhuman” behavior amongst attackers. While initial speculation linked the violence to hysteria due to the ongoing darkness, emerging reports suggest a more sinister cause.

Local authorities are currently investigating what appears to be the onset of a new virus. The virus causes severe aggression, heightened physical strength, and what many are describing as a state of heightened primal instinct. Early reports suggest that the symptoms of this illness mirror "zombie-like" behavior. However, officials have yet to confirm any details on the exact nature of the virus or its transmission methods. Still, the parallels to popular culture’s depiction of zombie outbreaks have left the public unnerved, with many taking to Twitter to express their fears.




TWITTER

8hrs ago



k. coco @itzcocoloco
THE DARK IS ONLY THE BEGINNING !! MOOTS PLEASE LIKE & REPOST THIS TWEET WITH THE HASHTAG #ENDOFTHEWORLD IF YOU AGREE THAT HUMANITY IS COOKED 🔥 🔥



Posts like this have sparked a wave of anxiety and have garnered over thousands of likes and retweets. Many users echo the sentiment that the current events are signs of an apocalypse while others express their understandable bewilderment.





TWITTER

8hrs ago



mimi @_lilyyoungmi_
hello???? freaking eternal darkness and now attacks happening??? what kind of timeline is this, wtf is going on. it's not even just dark... it feels like someone's watching us 😭



As the situation unfolds, more information will be made available. Authorities are urging the public to stay indoors and avoid contact with anyone exhibiting signs of aggression. Adhere to safety protocols established by local health and emergency services.

Stay tuned for more updates.

Day 6 of #blackout: CITIZENS ALREADY EVACUATING?

Since the attack on Somyeol Hospital two days ago, the city has been under strict quarantine. Despite these measures, the virus has continued to spread uncontrollably and has now been confirmed to illicit a compulsion to bite and consume flesh. Infected individuals have become increasingly difficult to control, and the ongoing darkness has only impaired quarantine efforts. Physical characteristics of the infected include a distinctive gray pallour to their skin and darkened veins. Please alert authorities if anyone you know matches these symptoms.

The call for evacuation has led to unprecedented traffic congestion throughout the city. Major roads are choked with vehicles as residents attempt to flee the area, while traffic jams extend for miles. Citizens are urged to remain calm and follow instructions, but the sheer volume of people and the permanent darkness has made it nearly impossible to maintain order. The lack of visibility has severely affected evacuation procedures but the city is coordinating with National agencies to manage the crisis as effectively as possible.

Meanwhile, some users seem to view this incident as a form of poetic justice for those in Somyeol City.





TWITTER

8hrs ago



lala @lalanoonegaf
isn't somyeol that rich ppl city?? serves them right ngl,,, rich ppl always pay their way into safe zones and bunkers in the movies, so if shit goes south fr then it's better that they're gone.



Somyeol is home to some of the highest income residents, particularly known for influential families living opulent lifestyles. This tweet among many others has sparked heated debate, eliciting both support and criticism. While some find pleasure in seeing the wealthy fall, others criticize it as an insensitive reaction to a tragedy.

Stay tuned for more updates.

National Emergency Declared: THE ATTACKS CONTINUE !

Four days into the outbreak and the government has officially declared a national emergency, following the relentless spread of the virus. Despite strict quarantine efforts, infection has begun to spread into neighbouring cities. Reports indicate that Seoul is now facing it's own crisis, with new infected sightings in several areas.

Stores across cities have been ransacked and essential supplies become increasingly scarce.

Unrest grows in neighbouring countries.

Stay tuned for more updates.

Six Days In: Global Emergency

It is now the 10th day of #blackout and almost a full week since the outbreak began. Somehow, cases of the virus have surfaced in countries across the globe and we believe that a global health emergency will soon be declared. Some experts suggest that the virus' spread may be accelerated by the environmental conditions of this 'everlasting dark' however it remains unclear.

All that we can hope for is that soon, the sun will rise again.

Stay tuned for more updates.

The Seventh Day

We regret to inform our readers that the lead writer who has been tirelessly reporting on the outbreak and the blackout... has begun to show symptoms of the virus. Through gritted teeth we pray that infection is not the cause, however the unmistakeable ashy tones of the virus have appeared and now she is under strict quarantine. As a result, updates will be sporadic from here on out. We will continue to report as best as we can, but right now we are facing the same horrors that we've been documenting all this time.

Please stay safe everyone. In the event that this is our last report, we leave you with our final message.

Stay indoors. Trust no one. And whatever you do, don't get lost in the dark.





 












HAN MINJAE










all the dead ends in my mind.




























act 1.​

Minjae hadn’t realized it then, but the night of Taehwan’s party— he’d witnessed the start of the end.

Harrowing in its absence of light: When dark void looms in crevices where there should be glow, it's hard to stay calm in the face of such abnormality, especially if that void is filled with screams. Screams of panic; Guttural, desperate. The cries inside had changed in color, and tones dipped in bloodcurdling fear rang out into the night. That was when Minjae knew he had to move faster. No longer was his mind intent on avoiding authorities, but of avoiding whatever had inflicted such horror.

Coco had come running soon after, with a cry of 'sunbae!’ The younger looked close to throwing up. Cheeks red with inebriation, but face otherwise pale with visible fear. He had clung to Minjae’s jacket like a lost chick. Frantic words were exchanged then, "What happened to your eye— Wait, don’t go!”

With how much Coco was flailing, Minjae wanted to leave him behind. But contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t that heartless—

(Not yet.)

—And his eyes had lit up at the mention of Coco’s dorm.

Any semblance of a response however, shriveled up and died in his throat as soon as he spotted… it.

A marionette bound by strings unseen; Its movements were jerky and unnatural, its skin a shade half close to death. Was it a person? Charcoal veins stretched across grey like cobwebs while opaque eyes peered from the dark. No. It couldn’t be.

More hunching figures had appeared from the shadows, eyes glowing like embers as they staggered closer. Teetering on the brink of death or already ensnared in its claws, whatever they were, they sought to kill.

“Let’s go!” He hissed, yanking Coco harshly by the hood of his jacket.

It was fortunate that Minjae had left early enough to avoid the massacre, but it was a wonder he hadn’t died fleeing. Vision half obscured from an eye black and blue, he was limping like a fool in an abyss. He cursed Nam Jiyoon and his propensity for stirring his ire at the wrong place, wrong time, because of course his vision gets impaired while he’s being chased in the dark by inhuman things that wanted him dead.

Only his voracious self preservation instinct had saved him, or rather, his selfishness. When a screaming man ran towards them, he shoved him roughly away.

“We don’t know if he’s one of ‘them’.” He had snapped at Coco’s shock. And what else was he supposed to do. Wait and listen to this man freaking out, hold him by the hand and guide him along? Uh, hell no. Run by yourself.

He remembers stumbling towards Coco’s dorm, somehow scrambling upstairs with the younger in tow and slamming the door shut. He didn’t look back once, he couldn’t. It was only from the screams echoing downstairs that he realized the creatures had followed them inside the building.

It was a shame that innocent people would be dragged into this mess, but Coco’s anxious mumbling and frantic texts from Youngmi were left ignored in favour of grabbing for his phone. News, there had to be news. Something online aside from Coco trying to get clout from almost dying. Coco what the hell.

It didn’t take long after that for the internet to start exploding. But for Minjae, it felt like years. He thought he’d finally be able to get an explanation or at least some clues as to what the hell was happening. Only the problem was, they were documenting the wrong incident. Something about— Somyeol hospital.

Minjae’s pulse quickened.

“Turn your tv on.”

Coco looked at him. “But the things outside might—“

“They’re downstairs, not right outside this room.” Minjae snarked. “Just keep the volume down.”

He snatched the remote. As expected, news channels were buzzing.

“Breaking news. We have just received reports of a horrific attack at the city hospital—“

The reporter’s voice suddenly felt miles away.

Thoughts spiraled to his mother, her frail form tucked into a hospital bed. Was she safe? He had tried to call his aunt, tried to reach anyone from the hospital, but the lines were dead. Nothing but the endless ringing of his phone greeted him. The silence on the other end was a different kind of horror.

The remainder of the week unfolded in much the same agonizing manner: a torturous back and forth between extremes. At times, the hours crawled. At others, they hurtled forward at speeds that allowed no moment for rest, no time for Minjae to catch his breath. Never before had he been so overwhelmed by such paranoia, a constant surge of panic that consumed him utterly.

It was only by a stroke of luck that Minjae and Coco had managed to escape the building, reaching Jugyeon’s dorm where she and Youngmi were rallying others.

But that luck didn’t last.

Flashes of tears mingled with the memory of Youngmi’s voice cracking as she sobbed, her hand striking his cheek in a desperate attempt to wake him from the nightmare. The sting of her slap was nothing compared to the reality sinking in. Blood had stained his hands with a stickiness that would never truly wash away.

They say you never quite forget your first kill, and that was when he understood why. It wasn’t just the act itself, but the visceral aftermath binding him eternally to that moment. The sensation of that first strike—a repulsive cold reminding him that it was not a human he had slain. He took solace in the fact that it was a monster, or so he convinced himself.

Minjae doesn’t like to think about it anymore. He was alone now, that was all that mattered.

After his group split, he had driven through body infested roads to get to his mother’s hospital. He’s not an idiot; He was aware of how foolish it sounded to travel such a distance alone, and yet harebrained hope trumped all common sense until the impossibility of such a task was shoved right in his face— in the form of a horde.

His only grace was that they were all inside.

Foolish, he was sure. But a glimpse of his mother’s room was all Minjae needed. He knew where it was, second floor on the right. He just had to find a vantage point.

The lights in the hospital were still working, and he could see several sluggish figures moving aimlessly. Drawing closer, he wrinkled his nose at the stench of blood. Eyes fell upon a dumpster nearby, sides caked with grime. Swallowing his apprehension, Minjae quietly climbed atop the rusted container. The metal was cold under his palms but he steadied himself, peering through a window.

The sight inside was oddly clean. No slumped corpses or blood staining pristine sheets, no shadows moving against the walls. The room was unsettlingly untouched. A bittersweet relief. He supposed it was a good thing to find no evidence of struggle, but it was… odd. Like time had frozen in this small corner of the world while the rest crumbled.

Minjae took one last lingering look before climbing down. His movements were careful, but a faint rustling reached his ears as soon as he touched down. The almost nostalgic moment from before was broken when an infected appeared in his periphery.

Yes, this was the world he lived in now.

In truth, he hadn’t killed many—there was no point when you could sneak around them—but the reach for his weapon had become almost instinctual. He was confident now; One was fine, one was easy. It was only when two more appeared that Minjae felt his pride falter.

Ah, so this was the game the universe was trying to play.













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Decay. That was the only certainty left in Somyeol after the arrival of the end, darkness swallowing every trace of life before. A suffocating silence, grim and stagnant in its wake, had enveloped the entirety of the city in the night’s embrace, bereft of noise aside from distant screams and gunfire.

Jiyoon’s first few days were a heart-pounding adrenaline rush, a constant struggle for safety in the eye of the storm. Nevertheless, he'd made it to the university dining hall, hauling Taehwan along with him, his friend's shaky, gin-soaked state of mind making the task more difficult than expected. Yuna had been momentarily surprised to see the party host in tow, only shrugging before solemnly getting down to the crux of the situation.

The apocalypse was happening, and if they didn't hit the ground running, they were going to get eaten alive by monsters wearing human faces. It was what happened in the movies, they'd seen it happen a million times from the comfort of leather chaise longues, laughing at the people who were stupid enough to be cannon fodder. There was no time to wonder about the ‘why’ of it all, what mattered was to grab everything they could carry in a bag and get the hell out of there. Yuna and Jiyoon had agreed on that course of action, at least, though Taehwan needed some time to process things beyond the surface-level understanding that his dorm was now a danger zone. He'd been sullen over not being able to go back for his things, though was quick to find a kitchen knife to arm himself before leaving, not hesitating to use it to stab straight through the skull of the first infected he saw. It snuck up on them as soon as they'd exited the building, startling Jiyoon enough to make him hesitate to swing.

It hadn't quite set in, the extremity of their situation, deaf to the screeching gasp of a dying world. Until that moment, Jiyoon was even having fun. Everything was unfolding like a shiny, star-studded film reel on a movie screen, and he'd gotten the lead part. The glittering varnish of the daydream had abruptly chipped away, leaving only a cold, sober terror seeping deep beneath the skin, spreading to bone.

Yuna's gaze met his own, steadying him as she barked out, ”Get it moving or fuck off, princeling. I'm not gonna let you slow us down.”

Jiyoon huffed in exasperation, inwardly grateful for the reality check as he sped up to match his friends’ break neck speed, not stopping until they reached a hefty-looking cargo truck. The sounds of uproar were getting louder, thundering footsteps beating rapidly on pavement. Out of sheer dumb luck, the previous owner had left the key in the ignition, and within a few minutes, they were crashing through the university’s security gates, screaming like children with giddy abandon.

Once the mood died down, Jiyoon was the first to break the silence with a hesitant, uneasy, ”Hey… Don't they usually leave the gates up for visitors?” A tense pause.

”You're right,” Yuna said, humming in thought. ”And I was wondering why my cell signal wasn't working earlier.”

”Huh, really?! Wifi was down, too. It's so annoying,” Taehwan added from the driver's seat. He adjusted the rear view mirror to meet Jiyoon's eyes. ”You don't think all of that's connected, do you?”

Jiyoon shook his head, ”Nah. Just coincidence, I guess.”

”Yeah,” Yuna craned her neck to look out the window, watching their shadowed surroundings blur as they sped along familiar roads. ”But what are the odds?”



The days after that were spent scavenging around the ruins of the city, looking for traces of their families while evading the infected as much as possible. They'd tried to contact Jihye and Siwon, but none of their calls had gone through, their messages left on delivered. The three of them had eventually all come to the same conclusions, though none of them had the guts to say it out loud, as if afraid that they'd will it into being by simply speaking. The university was off limits, the only thing left there was contaminated blood and the twitching dead bodies of everyone they knew. All they could do was keep moving.

Jiyoon had gone two full days without sleeping, not even realizing it until he felt his mind and body begin to crumble. Time didn't seem to exist, not when darkness continued to surround them in an endless, yawning void. It crept into his head, made him see things that weren't there. The air between his companions became stagnant, jokes turning stale in the face of tragedy after tragedy. Trust was a fraying cord.

On the sixth day, it finally broke.

They'd found a duo of survivors holed up in an auto center, a mother and her infant child. If they hadn't attracted the attention of a few straggling infected with their arrival, perhaps things would've turned out differently. Regardless, clawed fingers reached for Jiyoon with unexpected speed, bloodied teeth gnashing at the exposed skin of his arm only to barely miss by a second.

Jiyoon had staggered back, bludgeoning the corpse’s head with the full force of his swing. He'd only just about managed to get underneath the lowering garage door at the last minute, hurriedly sliding to safety before it slammed shut behind him. The relief that crashed into him only lasted for a brief moment, until he was met with a pointed finger, shaky with accusation.

”You were bit, weren't you?” The mother yelled, clutching her child close to her chest, hand protectively cupping its small head. ”Admit it! I saw you!”

”N-No, I-,” Jiyoon was at a loss for words. He never really knew how to deal with people who didn't like him, especially wrongfooted when they never gave him the chance to win them over with his trademark honey-coated lies. He looked to Yuna and Taehwan for help, pausing when he saw the twin looks of doubt in their eyes. ”You guys… don't actually think…?” He could only laugh, a punched-out, hollow sound that echoed in the strained silence.

”I won't risk having a Grey near my daughter,” the mother said decisively. ”Even if you weren't bit, you could've been exposed to their blood, and you were the only one close enough to be contaminated. I'm sorry but you have to leave.”

Words of indignant rage became stuck in his throat as he fought the urge to get on his knees and throw money at the woman to make her turn the other way. In the days of before, bribery got him into places most could only dream of reaching. Capital meant nothing now. There was no safety to be found in hierarchy when a plague was tearing its way through rich and poor alike.

What hurt Jiyoon most was the lack of protest and averted gazes from his two closest friends, which were as much of an answer as he could hope to get. The cord had been severed, there was nothing he could do.

Except, of course, to keep moving.



Now, he sat with his back against a motorbike in a decrepit alleyway, ceaselessly fiddling with the lighter Yuna had given him as a parting gift, the flickering flame lighting up the planes of his face in an eerie glow. On. Off.

”For when your flashlight runs out of battery,” she'd pressed it into his palm and said this, instead of goodbye. It was Taehwan's idea for him to take one of the shop's motorbikes, another pointless gesture of apology hidden in a handout. None of his friends were ever really good at saying how they felt, and it made turning his back on them sting even more, fueling his temper as he drove off into the endless night.

He didn't know where he was, having stared enough at the winking street signs that surrounded him to know that he'd never been to this part of the city before. On and off, he played with fire, watching it glow as his night-attuned eyes adjusted to the blinding light. He was suddenly seized by the uncanny feeling that he was being watched, and switched his flashlight on, swinging it this way and that as he squinted at vague outlines of shop windows, dripping graffiti, and—

Jiyoon froze. It couldn't be. But it was.

He put on his helmet and mounted his motorbike without hesitation, single-mindedly following the apparition as it moved with superhuman speed along deteriorating streets until it led him to the front gates of Somyeol hospital.

As he swerved to a stop, he paused, finally realizing how insane the situation was. It simply wasn't possible, the dark was playing its lurid tricks on him once again. He must be going mad from lack of sleep. He decided he needed to shut off his mind, eyeing a nearby shattered window and briefly contemplating the odds of him finding some sleeping medication inside. The thought vanished as soon as he heard the distinct growl of infected, and once he turned around to get a better look, there was nothing he could do but curse violently under his breath. Fucking hell.

A swarm. Their writhing bodies were quickly lurching towards a fleeing figure, the details of their face obscured through the tinted glass of his helmet. Whoever they were, they were obviously still human. Whether they were bitten remained to be seen, though he figured he could take them out quickly if this shot in the dark fell through. Heaving a sigh, he dug out his flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on to draw the stranger's attention, gesturing to the back of his motorbike in a begrudging signal of goodwill.

Hop on.













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Brows furrowed while steel eyes bounced rapidly off the scene, taking in limbs upon limbs of now dreaded grey skin. Four, six, eight—His leg stretched out as he kicked a leering Grey back—Ten, twelve, yeah that was too many for comfort. All gaping at him with the same luminescent eyes, like full moons.

A faint light flickered weakly; The flashlight strapped to Minjae’s bag threatened to gasp its last breath and leave him alone in the darkness. Now was not a good time for his power to run out.

He had to think fast.

Run to his car—And then what? It was out of gas.

Break into the hospital—No. Smashing the glass would alert more and he’d be trapped inside.

Hide inside the dumpste—Hell no.

Kill them all—You’re not Yoo Joonghyuk.

A single step backwards turned into five and Minjae tightened his hold on his crowbar. It seemed his scan for escape routes was futile and he could hesitate no longer.

One last look at his mother’s window was all it took to run. Minjae still had no idea if she was alive but it was that hope that drove him to move his feet.

“I’ll find you.” His mumbled words were lost in the wind that now whipped against his face.

Running into the endless dark with no clear destination reminded him of his first night, but hesitation was how you got killed. Locations zipped through his mind, houses, stores, places he’d seen on his way to the hospital. If he could just lose the horde, he could scope out a place to recuperate.

It was fine; Everything was fine.

Against his better judgement, Minjae risked a glance over his shoulder only to pale considerably at the sight. The dam of panic that he had just barely held back, burst through immediately, and it wasn’t stopping.

Grey stumbled onto the street, their bright eyes unblinking as they chased. The numbers of the infected tailing him had vastly increased, pooling out of the hospital in a manner of mere seconds.

For the most part, the Grey had been slow moving creatures. Easy to fool. Alert one far enough away from the others, and they’d be none the wiser. So, how was it that so many had taken notice of Minjae’s presence? Even their movements seemed eerily synchronized. If he underestimated them now, he risked joining their slaughter.

A curse of nerves almost escaped him then, as a sudden light flashed in his direction. Eyes blinked rapidly to adjust whilst he covered his face to reduce the intensity of such a sudden change in lighting. Minjae forced them into a fierce squint as he noticed the source— A helmeted figure sat on a motorbike.

Friend or foe? It was always the latter for Minjae, even before the city collapsed. Lies both beautiful and ugly, spilled so easily out of the lips of the rich. Chains hooked around the people they fooled. Never once could he assume the former, if a helping hand was offered his way it meant they’d want something back, want him under control. It would only be worse in a world where you had to quite literally fight to survive.

Minjae grit his teeth. He despised owing people but he had no time to make a decision. As profoundly as he felt distrust burn a hole through his chest, he loathed to admit that all factors pointed towards this being the best choice.

Quickly, he joined the figure on the motorbike and climbed on. Perhaps this was a trap and he was about to be looted, perhaps this would lead him to a place far worse— He didn’t know, but he’d have to rely on his quick thinking in the event that things turned for the worse. Minjae reassured himself that he had the upper hand; If this stranger were to try anything, he’d either force him off or use him as bait.













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Who would hesitate between hitching a ride to safety and imminent death at the hands of the undead? It wasn't even a question of survival smarts, but basic common sense. Jiyoon, once again, had to question his own kindness, and though the other man did end up stiffly climbing on behind him, it only slightly eased Jiyoon's doubts about him.

Regardless, he shrugged internally and quickly revved up the bike's engine with a turn of a throttle, body falling forward with the jerking pull of the ignition as they drove away, infected bodies ceaselessly running after them as if possessed by some unseen force. Their movements seemed unusually calculated then, unified in their single minded goal to hunt and devour their prey. Once their resounding growls and screeches from behind finally died down a few minutes later, Jiyoon’s shoulders fell in minute relief, the gears of his mind shifting from survival mode to navigation.

He briefly recalled a drunken conversation he had at a party months ago, when a friend of a friend had mentioned some seedy internet cafe, hiding a secret world behind an airtight door. Jiyoon had never gone to check it out for himself, though he still remembered the pass code, funnily enough. He could only hope that no one else from that world had the same idea and bothered to stick around.

It was a small comfort to drive on empty roads; there was virtually nothing to bump into as he was learning the ropes, his previous driving experience solely limited to four-wheelers. And even then, he'd had a chauffeur drive him around in his own car most of the time. During a particularly bumpy turn, his heart jumped to his throat as he winced, only barely managing to regain balance.

”Doing okay back there?” Jiyoon spoke over the thunderous roar of the motor and the howl of the wind. Despite not feeling the need to apologize for his shoddy driving, he wasn't totally oblivious, still having the sense to consider his unexpected passenger's well-being. The other man's reserved demeanor didn't surprise him much. After all, who would be chatty after narrowly escaping death? Jiyoon could talk enough for the both of them. He'd been curious about the infected they saw earlier, and why they seemed to move so differently compared to the rest.

However, he didn't have much to work with, seeing as the man seemed to only respond with affirmative or negative grunts. It was only a matter of time before they lapsed into silence once more as he sped through a narrow alleyway, dimly lit by blinking storefront signs. Jiyoon's eyes scoured the area for the aforementioned ‘Sanyang-gae PC Bang,’ settling on two glowing red lanterns hanging from a grimy, nondescript staircase. There. He pulled over to the curb, slowing to an abrupt, jerky stop and turned off the engine before standing up, straddling the bike between his thighs as he reached underneath his chin to unlock his helmet.

”Let's stop here for the night,” Jiyoon stated, combing a hand through damp waves. ”Don't worry about the outside, the inside's basically a secret bunker. There's also plenty of supplies to stock up on. Very low risk.” If they didn't run into trouble inside, that is.

Then, suddenly remembering that he was talking to a stranger, he turned to the man behind him to introduce himself, only to pale at the sight of familiar starless eyes, mouth falling open in a slight ‘o.’ He had to blink a few times, thinking that his mind must still be addled by darkness, only to realize that it was, in fact, who he thought it was.

Really? Out of all the people to save, he'd had to risk his life for Han Minjae? The universe had a sadistic sense of humour, it seemed. He should've thrown him to the wolves when he had the chance.

He regained enough composure to scowl, whatever previous charity he might've had towards his rescuee immediately vanishing. ”What, I don't get a ‘thank you’ for saving your ass?”












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Out of the frying pan and into the fire; It was a relief to hear the mob’s moaning die off in the distance, but Minjae couldn’t thank the stranger just yet. Not when their intentions remained unclear. He could only keep himself alert as they sped further away. Every detail was vital, especially in the event that he needed to retrace his steps because the helmeted stranger turned out to be an axe murderer— Though he really hoped that wasn’t the case.

When the ride finally slowed, red lights glinted in his periphery like warning signs. His gaze flickered rapidly, as if waiting for something to pop out. The unfamiliar PC Bang felt almost out of place to Minjae, and gauging its safety was impossible from the outside.

If he wanted to flee, it was now or never.

Briefly, he wondered how much fuel was left in the motorcycle. He’d have to incapacitate the stranger somehow to get the key, but he had to consider the possibility of the man having friends with him, waiting in the dark to jump him and steal his supplies.

But before he could solidify a plan, the stranger turned to face him, now helmetless.

A gasp escaped him as he met a painfully familiar shade of soft umber, cementing him to the seat. He loathed the curse that was put on him to forever remember those vulpine eyes and scarred lips, because the recognition that shot through him was so sharp he felt his breath catch and threaten to choke him with disbelief.

Impossible.

He was sure a flurry of emotions flickered across his face then, shock warring with rage and despair, twisting his insides until he felt nauseous. He wanted to shout, to hurl the anger he felt at being helped by the one person who he wanted gone the most, but all that emerged was a bitter laugh. The desire struck him then, to run back into the horde and promptly dig a hole for his grave because the person in front of him was none other than Nam fucking Jiyoon himself— who looked akin to a pufferfish with his mouth opening cluelessly.

At the very least, the surprise on Jiyoon’s face confirmed that this wasn’t planned. Though the idea that Jiyoon was foolish enough to help some stranger without even getting a good look at them was disappointing, but not surprising.

His eyes narrowed into slits as he ignored the former’s comment about being saved, because Minjae had it handled, thank you very much. Instead of shoving him off the bike like he wanted, he snapped at him, “You idiot. You didn’t even look at my face when you told me to get on?”

Minjae almost wished he really was an axe murderer, just so he could prove some inane point to the other man. He could’ve been bit and halfway through turning for all Jiyoon knew. He shook his head, clicking his tongue in a show of disbelief as he palmed something barely fitting in his jacket pocket. His crowbar was loosely stowed in his bag but the blunt object wouldn’t do for what he was planning. No, he needed something sharper.

It took only a moment of hesitation before tugging the knife out of his pocket and looping his arm around Jiyoon’s neck, all in one swift motion.

“I’m done dealing with you, that black eye you gave me almost cost me my life this week,” His words came out in a harsh whisper. The evidence of Jiyoon’s punch was apparent in the yellow still flowering the skin around his eye, with tiny petals of violet yet to fade.

“So keep quiet, because there’s no way I’m going into that death trap when your little crew is waiting to jump me.” He continued. He pressed the blade harder against Jiyoon’s skin, enough to scare but not enough to draw crimson. The metal was covered in flecks of dried blood, and while the poor kitchen knife was not nearly as intimidating as the sharp switchblade he longed for, it would do the trick until he found something better—to threaten people with, ahem—to use for protection.

Minjae hated to use this tactic with such little knowledge of the area, but he had suffered too much grief from Jiyoon’s friends to sit and trust that he was safe anywhere within ten feet of them. Golden boy would have to be his collateral.













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He couldn't believe he was going to die by the hands of Han Minjae, what was once a fleeting thought that used to worm its way into his head during their constant collisions finally realized into being, all because of his stupid, careless consideration. Jiyoon had known it was a selflessly selfish act to tether himself to a stranger in such dangerous times, and yet, he threw himself into the line of fire anyway. He’d never used to spare any thoughts for others like this, what the hell had gotten into him to be so foolish? Nothing good ever came out of virtuous deeds, but the darkness had been looming over him like the hanged man’s noose ever since he set out on his own, and he’d been so focused on the light of another human presence among such desolation that he couldn’t help but take the chance and run with it.

He was no gallant knight on a motorcycle steed, of course, but Minjae's impertinent lack of gratitude had managed to get under his skin in an instant. Isolation made him do such terrible things, and now he’d unwittingly chained himself to this feral cat of a man — Jiyoon really had no one else to blame but himself.

Reason was useless on Minjae, who for some reason abandoned all sense as long as it meant Jiyoon’s downfall, he'd learned this lesson long ago. Bargaining, however, was simply out of the question; even after everything he'd lost, Jiyoon’s pride remained unyieldingly intact. He'd have to look for an opening, it was imperative to gain the upper hand as soon as possible to maintain control. The blade at his throat, however, was as limiting as much as it was distracting. Shit, is this going to leave a scar? Heaven knew he had enough of those, he didn’t need another stupid reminder of Han Minjae’s insanity on his skin. Though he didn’t quite realize the irony of feeling a curl of satisfaction about leaving his own mark on Minjae’s face. Hah, serves you right, bastard.

No matter. If there were no openings to be found, then the next best thing was to carve one out, himself.

Jiyoon hummed and stilled himself, making no move to fight against Minjae’s hold over him. ”Missed me that much, huh?” He crooned sarcastically before the lilt of his voice dropped into a cool monotone, hand coming up to clench at Miinjae’s own, the one that held the knife to his skin. Though instead of pulling it away, he tightened the other man’s grip and pushed it to dig out a small bead of red from his own neck. ”Go ahead, then. Do what you’ve always wanted to do.”

It was a bit funny that Minjae had immediately assumed that there were other people waiting for Jiyoon on the other side of that door. Solitude was an ill-fitting suit that hung awkwardly from broad shoulders, and he despised having to wear it for the occasion, but, well. It beats having to bare too much of himself to his most loathed. There was a reason he fell so naturally into the jaws of death, after all.

”My ‘little crew’ isn’t here, asshole. It’s just me,” Jiyoon snapped, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. ”So don’t rely on things that don’t exist. You might as well kill me and sentence yourself to death, I don’t care. I’d rather die than share whatever’s behind that door with the likes of you, anyway.” He smiled wryly, then, imagining the near future: Him dying, taking the password to salvation along with him. Minjae dying soon after that, alone, succumbing to the dark just as he’d almost done. A fitting end for a fool who walks blindly into hospitals filled with the hostile dead — just what did he expect would happen in such a place? Gods who watch us without mercy, take my suffering and give it to Han Minjae a thousand-fold, please and thank you. "You're clearly as good as dead without me, so undo my mistake of letting you live and make it quick."

And if his heart was seized with pain at the thought of it, he paid it no mind, continuing on with the final blow as he leaned his head back to speak more directly to his jailer, whispering unrepentantly, ”Did you think I’d beg for my life? You and I both know how much better that suits you.”













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When the blade drew red, it was Minjae that tensed, instead of the man who had a knife pressed to the skin of his vulnerable throat. Just a whisper more of pressure on flesh, and it would be over. Quick, simple. Though no person should taunt their would-be executioner if they valued their life—

“Do you have a death wish?” The words tumbled out in a low scoff. “Because I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in.”

–But of course, Nam Jiyoon was not just anyone.

His grip was firm over Minjae’s, when he leaned back for the knife’s kiss. Taunts spilling with the ease of a hello, to which Minjae’s fingers twitched in the confines of Jiyoon’s own. Tight and unrelenting. It was harder than expected— holding the knife secure enough to keep Jiyoon from yanking it away, but not so much that the blade pierced skin. The touch of their combined hands felt chilling despite the heat, even more so in the way Jiyoon almost guided Minjae to cut. He resisted the impulse to yank his hand back.

Beg?

Minjae glared, though Jiyoon couldn’t see it. Annoying fucker whose only joy in life is tormenting.

“Your obsession with seeing me beg is getting concerning. Seek help immediately.” He gave a derisive hiss. The crude jab felt like a slap to Minjae’s face in the way it dragged him back to Taehwan’s party. Sharp, blinding. Minjae, for all his usual calm, could feel his grip slipping. Any violent urges his irritation conjured had to be smothered quickly, for he was a sensible person. Capital S, underlined—Aside from threatening Jiyoon with a knife, which he stubbornly chalked up to the Grey's influence and Jiyoon being a twat—Jiyoon however, was not as sensible, and managed to provoke Minjae's underlying murderous instincts instead.

Lovely.

“Now, this is how we’re going to do things,” He started after a deep inhale. Whether the other man would relent, was hard to determine— especially with how recklessly the bastard gambled with his own life. But finally, Minjae chose that moment to accept the blade's path closer to Jiyoon's throat. He let the knife dig just enough to send a warning without being deadly. But before he could relish the fact that he elicited a wince, a sharp pain ignited through his hand.

“Bastard—!”

Jiyoon’s teeth chomped over his thumb, teeth sinking more animal than human. The bite was enough to jolt Minjae and in that brief lapse of focus, Jiyoon twisted.

Clammy palms. Gritted teeth. Arms tangled awkwardly as both wrestled for control of the weapon. The hilt was slippery between their fingers and Minjae risked cutting his own. It felt juvenile, the way they fumbled— Two grown men fighting over a kitchen knife (of all things) in a dark alley. No finesse, just clumsy desperation. It would’ve been laughable if it weren't for the blade swinging in the air.

Then— clatter.

Just as quickly as it had begun, their squabble ended when the knife was knocked free. Frantic eyes tracked the spinning tool until it landed, skittering a way's off from them on the ground. A terrible tang ricocheted when it bumped into the walls. They might as well have chimed the dinner bell for the Grey— if there were any in their radius.

Well then.












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Teeth bared, sharp canines sinking into tender skin almost instinctually, the very real threat of death overriding all pretenses all condensing into one continuous thought: I don’t want to die.

Not yet.

There was no time to stutter over the sting of a fresh open wound or his facade shattering, not when Minjae’s guard had finally come down, and once the switch had flipped, Jiyoon dove for the knife in an instant, body colliding with Minjae’s as they both twisted for leverage over the other, all care for dignity discarded. Hands knocking into faces, elbows into ribs, a well-worn routine that most likely shouldn’t elicit… comfort? It was with this realization that Jiyoon finally began to grasp the fact that his own sanity was perhaps not all there.

He hadn’t even registered that the knife had flung out of either of their grasps until the resounding metallic ‘clang’ of it hitting a steel pole resonated through the air. A death sentence of a sound, bringing with it the stark feeling of dread washing over him as he tensed, scrambling upright, eyes darting left and right for any signs of movement within the surrounding, malevolent darkness. Lethal calm injected into the air for a single moment as the clanging noise died down, the only sounds audible through the suffocating silence were the quiet pants of exertion from the two men, stock-still and tensed.

And then— A groan, horrible and rasping, giving way to faint screeches, then followed the sound of hurried movement, quickly gaining volume within a matter of seconds. Fuck.

Jiyoon clambered away from the other man immediately, jumping to his feet to launch himself forward, flinging open the glass door to the PC bang so hard it threatened to shatter with the force of it, and sprinted through neon coloured rows of computer desks towards the back exit. Of all times to hesitate, his mind chose that moment to struggle to supply him with a clear memory of the password, tripping over adrenaline in his haste to reach safety. Synonyms that didn’t sound quite right clouded his brain, was it ‘refuge’ or ‘solace’? Something like that probably… Precious seconds ticked by, all while the wails of the dead grew louder and louder, nearing the immediate area. Don’t look behind you, don’t look, just— FOCUS.

He looked over his shoulder and balked. Multiple pairs of eyes, bright and blinding, belonging to encroaching shadowy figures rapidly rushing towards the store with jerking, uncontrolled but no less inhuman speed, all with the intent to tear him apart, limb from limb.

Closing his eyes shut, he typed out a hazardous guess on the door’s keypad: A-S-Y-L-U-M. The keypad emitted a soft ‘ping!’, as the door’s many locks clicked open all at once. Relief flooded out through a sigh, propelling him to duck behind the door to slam it shut, hands trembling.

But before it could close all the way, a blur of black hair stumbled into view, hurtling towards him with an unmistakable awareness that could only come from something human.

Oh, so now he wants to go inside.

Jiyoon couldn’t help but scoff, hand stilling on the door’s handle before reaching out and grabbing the other man’s shoulders to drag him along into the depths of the unknown.

Together.













health











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HAN MINJAE










all the dead ends in my mind.




























Minjae burst through the door right on Jiyoon’s heels, ignoring the fact that Jiyoon could’ve easily slammed it in his face without a second thought. Instead, the guy had reached out for him—and he wasn’t about to dwell on that particular detail.

He jerked away from Jiyoon the second he stepped through. The hard surface of the wall at his side provided the barest of slivers of security but it was enough as he took in his surroundings.

The beast’s maw.

If Jiyoon had felt relief, Minjae only felt unease. Dark eyes drifted up even darker alcoves and crevices, lit only by dying neons. Shady— was the first thought to come to mind. Right before grimy and how the hell did Jiyoon find this place.

Buzzing bulbs and the creak of steel underfoot; It was a peculiar location, more suited to star as the backdrop for a thriller film than a shelter for survival. Metal stairs crisscrossed among leering lights. He couldn't make out what was on the other floors, but a large sign screamed Casino Lisboa at him in burnt out red, letters only half alive. From the outside, the building had looked harmless enough, just another pc bang begging to be overlooked. A vast interior behind a backdoor told otherwise.

“What is this.” Minjae demanded.

He didn’t put it past the Nams to have dark secrets. Crooked hearts entwined with power after all, but to survive hordes of Grey only to meet his end in a seedy bunker was not ideal. The only visible way out was the codelocked door they'd just barged through, and that felt more like a trap than a relief.

“Well? And who else is here?”

Jiyoon had insisted he was alone, but Minjae couldn't bring himself to believe him. If a creeping Taehwan or Siwon was there, he wouldn’t hold back. His hand instinctively went to where his kitchen knife should have been— Ah.

Right.

All he had left was a bent crowbar tucked somewhere in his bag, hardly a weapon, more a scrap of metal pretending to be useful. Useless, like Minjae, for not thinking ahead.

Pointedly, Minjae widened the gap between them with another step back. The impulse to flatten against the wall almost flared within him then, but he crossed his arms instead. and let his gaze drill into Jiyoon— expectant. But despite himself, his eyes flicked to the man's neck for but a brief second before returning to his face.

The cut was... more noticeable than expected.













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nam jiyoon










got my finger on the detonator




























Dark amber eyes swept across their dimly lit surroundings with relief-tinged wariness, keeping another eye on Minjae’s stiff-backed form pressed against the door. Jiyoon wasn’t quite sure how to proceed from here, not having thought through yet another impulsive, objectively senseless decision. This man had a knife against his throat just minutes ago, after all, not to mention the many years of deep-seated unease souring all possibility of tolerance between them.

And yet, as Jiyoon pressed his fingers to the fresh wound at his neck, he realized the hand that had held the blade was surgically-honed and precise, deep enough to sting yet too shallow to strike a nerve. A brief, innate understanding flashed within his chest, quickly swallowed by the inevitable wave of exhaustion crashing onto him. Had his sanity really left him, or had Minjae actually held back? Perhaps he wasn't the only one who was losing his mind.

The casino itself looked to be empty and non-functioning, the only sounds he could make out being the faint buzzing of flickering overhead lights and the soft rush of running water. Still, though the headrush of adrenaline was starting to fade into fatigue, he forced himself to maintain a modicum of alertness. Like Minjae, he was a stranger to this place, and needed to determine if they’d stepped foot in a haven or a landmine.

”This might be a crazy idea, but I think it’s a casino,” Jiyoon bit out half-heartedly, absently staring at the drops of blood that coated the pad of his thumb before gesturing to the sign before them. Impatience softened his need to keep his cards close to his chest, not even willing to put up much of a fight after the night he's had. ”Definitely kind of—" very, "—illegal, but locked up tight, if the rumours are true. Maybe safer than most places. Or at least, it should be. It's best to check everything out before settling down for the night.” If we don’t kill each other, first.

The tension in his voice betrayed him. Who was he kidding, talking as if they were on the same side, like they’d be able to stand even an hour in the same room as each other, certainly no guarantee they could trust each other long enough to get through the night. Jiyoon had done his part, had dragged Minjae through hell more than once, but there was no need to hold his unwilling hand anymore. And Jiyoon certainly didn't need old wounds reopened. His gaze shuttered as he unstrapped his bat from his back and drifted away from the other man, fingers curling in anticipation around its gauze-wrapped handle. Just in case Minjae had any other homicidal ideas still running around in that head of his, even without his crappy kitchen knife at the ready.

”Unless you’d rather take your chances outside, then by all means, go ahead," He sing-songed as he backpedaled towards a red-lit hallway. "I’m gonna look for something to clean up the mess you made out of my neck. I don’t suppose you're willing to share anything you might've picked up from that hospital? Take responsibility, won't you?” Not truly expecting a response, he walked away from the entrance, painstakingly ripping out a long piece of fabric from the sleeve of his shirt to haphazardly tie around his neck, if only to stem the bleeding.

Likely looking half-crazed with one sleeve missing, his bat sat blithely on one shoulder as he opened door after door to barren rooms swathed in green velvet, the air stale with disuse. A few taps on hollowed-out walls revealed a sealed packet of unlabelled pills in various sizes and colours, which he swiftly pocketed in the hopes that at least one of them would grant him sleep or at the very least, a sound mind. Unlikely, given the fact that he’d just locked himself in a criminal safehouse with Han Minjae, but a man could dream.

He strolled through the primary gambling hall, which was eerily quiet, a ghostly calm covering the rows of lifeless slot-machines and neat stacks of playing cards sitting idly on velvet-lined tables. What was once a den for the city’s most dangerous and powerful, turned uncannily sterile in the wake of infection, standing untouched and as silent as a grave. It was hard to believe that a place so alive was completely devoid of the underworld it belonged to, but perhaps money still had its uses, at least in the beginning of the end of days. The once-ringleaders of Lisboa had most likely fled the moment they sensed the tide turning— private jets and secure hideaways like this one, far from the outbreak. It’s what Jiyoon would have done, if only he'd had the chance. That window was gone now, all help abandoning him.

And yet, there was none of the usual burning jealousy that he’d feel at the thought of others enjoying the same privileges he’d been denied. Instead, a cold resignation filled him. He’d seen the effects of the virus firsthand, realized days ago that there was no outrunning its ashen hands. Not for them, not for anyone. Wherever these kingpins were, they'd meet their end, sooner or later. Just like them, he was also staving off the inevitable.

The silence was eerie, the sort of calm that shouldn't exist in a place like this. It gnawed at him, made him wonder what it was that kept it empty. Had others simply not found this place?

Jiyoon paused, letting his fingers brush lightly over the cold steel of an overturned poker table, eyes catching on a sliver of white tucked within the loose metal creases. He fished the note out of its hiding place, unfolding it as he raised a brow in bemusement. A web of lines, drawn in messy blue ink, overlapping and interconnected. Some kind of map, he realized belatedly, though he couldn’t decipher much aside from there being a passageway within the third floor of the casino. A dead end, possibly, or something that would lead him even further into the abyss.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp sting of pain from his neck. Right. He needed to patch himself up before he bled out, otherwise he’d have to risk yet another scar, or worse, an infection, god forbid. Tucking the note into his jacket pocket, he pushed open the door to the nearest stairwell, footsteps echoing on creaking metal steps as the steady light of his flashlight led his descent. The warm light of lanterns spilling out from an open doorway greeted him halfway down. He peered cautiously into the brightness. A night market? Here, of all places? Perhaps, if he could keep his wits about him, he could strike gold and get his hands on something worth more than useless drugs. Alone or not.













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