Segment 131Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeQozxWsobI
Jaewon dreamed again.
It was the same corridor, endless and suffocating, with walls that seemed to breathe. He ran and ran, bare feet slapping against the cold tile, but the end of the hallway only stretched further away.
This time, however, he wasn’t alone.
Behind him, footsteps echoed in perfect rhythm with his. Not chasing, not ahead—always exactly one step behind.
He didn’t dare look back.
When he woke, he was gasping, his body drenched in sweat, the thin sheets tangled around his legs. His heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his throat.
The room was dim with dawn light seeping through the curtains. For a moment, he lay frozen, staring at the ceiling, afraid that if he moved, those unseen footsteps would return.
A crow cawed sharply outside, snapping him out of it. He pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with both hands.
“Not again…”
He checked his phone. 6:12 AM. The battery had drained faster than usual, down to 37%, though he was sure he’d charged it last night.
As he stood, he caught sight of the mirror above his desk. His reflection looked pale, lips slightly parted as if he were still asleep. His reflection blinked a second later than he did.
Jaewon jerked back, knocking into the chair. His bag toppled to the floor with a thud.
He squeezed his eyes shut, counted to three, then looked again.
Just his own tired face stared back.
He let out a shaky breath. “You’re losing it, Jaewon.”
The smell of rice and seaweed soup drifted up from the kitchen. Relieved by the normalcy, he threw on his uniform and headed downstairs.
Jiwon was already seated at the table, sleeves rolled up, hair neatly combed. He had the kind of posture that looked practiced, as though he were preparing to attend a meeting even when eating breakfast at home.
“You’re up early again,” Jiwon said, without looking up from his tablet.
Jaewon slid into the chair across from him. “Didn’t sleep well.”
“You’re still having those dreams?”
Jaewon paused mid-sip of soup. “How do you know?”
Jiwon finally looked up, his gaze steady but unreadable. “You talk in your sleep.”
“What did I say?”
“Nothing clear. Just… whispers. Like you were calling someone.”
A chill ran through Jaewon’s spine. He set down his spoon. “Calling who?”
Jiwon didn’t answer immediately. He glanced back at his tablet, as though choosing his words carefully. “That’s why I told you not to stay out late. The more you let this town inside your head, the harder it is to shake it off.”
Jaewon frowned. “You’re making it sound like the whole town is cursed.”
“Maybe it is.” Jiwon’s tone was flat, but his eyes darkened in a way that made Jaewon’s stomach knot. “Just… listen to me. Come straight home after class. Don’t get involved with anyone who looks like trouble.”
Jaewon bit back the urge to mention Baek Sion. He could still picture the boy in the music room, his pale face framed by the flickering light, the piano playing itself beneath his hands.
Instead, he forced a laugh. “You make it sound like I’m living in a horror movie.”
Jiwon didn’t smile.
After breakfast, Jaewon shouldered his bag and stepped out into the crisp morning air. The neighborhood was quiet, but not in the calm, peaceful way he’d known in Seoul. The silence here felt heavy, like it was waiting for something.
On his way to the bus stop, he passed the same row of houses as yesterday. Their windows seemed darker, their curtains drawn tighter. A woman sweeping her porch paused when he walked by, eyes following him until he turned the corner.
It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.
The bus arrived late, its brakes squealing as it pulled to a stop. Only a handful of students were inside, most of them nodding off against the windows. Jaewon slid into an empty seat near the back and leaned his head against the glass.
His reflection in the window was faint, ghostlike, half-swallowed by the morning light. For a split second, he thought he saw another face layered over his—eyes darker, mouth curling into a smile that wasn’t his.
He blinked hard, and it was gone.
Still, his chest tightened.
By the time the bus pulled up to the school gates, Jaewon’s nerves were frayed.
And the first thing he saw when he stepped off was Baek Sion, standing at the far end of the courtyard, alone as always.
Even from a distance, Sion’s gaze turned, meeting his.
As if he’d been waiting.
[Segment 2]
The air in the courtyard felt colder than it should have been.
Students streamed toward the entrance in pairs and groups, chattering about homework, weekend plans, or nothing at all. But where Baek Sion stood, it was as though sound itself refused to approach.
Jaewon hadn’t meant to stop walking. His feet just froze the moment their eyes met.
Sion was leaning casually against the iron railing, blazer unbuttoned, hair falling over his forehead in soft strands. The early light caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the pallor of his skin. He didn’t move, didn’t blink.
And yet, Jaewon felt the weight of his attention, heavy and deliberate.
For one irrational moment, he thought: He knows I saw him in the music room.
“Jaewon!”
The voice snapped him out of it. Cha Dohyun jogged up from behind, slightly out of breath, his blazer half-off one shoulder. He clapped Jaewon on the arm with a grin that didn’t quite mask his unease.
“You spacing out again? Careful, or the seniors will think you’re weird.”
Jaewon blinked. “Right… sorry.”
Dohyun followed his line of sight and instantly stiffened. His grin faltered, replaced by a cautious frown. “Oh. Him.”
“You mean Sion?”
Dohyun’s hand tightened on his strap. “Don’t—don’t say his name out loud.”
Jaewon frowned. “Why not?”
“Just don’t,” Dohyun muttered, voice low. “You’ll understand sooner or later.” He gave Jaewon a little push toward the building. “Come on, we’ll be late.”
Jaewon let himself be steered inside, but not before glancing back one last time.
Sion was still watching him. And though the distance between them was wide, Jaewon could’ve sworn he heard it—faint, softer than a breath.
His name. Whispered like a secret.
Jaewon.
The morning passed in a blur of lectures. Jaewon tried to focus, but his pen tapped endlessly against the edge of his notebook, his mind pulled back again and again to that single look in the courtyard.
It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was the sense of being marked.
At lunch, he joined Dohyun, Yerim, and Seo Hana in the cafeteria. The chatter around the tables was the usual chaos, but the moment Jaewon set his tray down, Hana leaned across the table, eyes glittering with the thrill of gossip.
“So,” she said, lowering her voice dramatically. “You made eye contact with him this morning.”
Jaewon blinked. “With who?”
“Don’t play dumb. Baek Sion.” Her tone was sharp, almost accusing.
Yerim rolled her eyes. “Hana…”
“What? Everyone saw it. He was staring at Jaewon like—like he already knew him.” Hana leaned closer. “Did he say anything to you?”
Jaewon hesitated. He remembered the whisper, faint and impossible. “No,” he lied.
Hana narrowed her eyes, as if testing him for cracks. Then she sat back, smug. “Good. Keep it that way. Once you let him in, it’s over.”
Dohyun shot her a warning look. “Enough, Hana.”
But she ignored him. “Do you even know what happened last year? The boy who sat next to him? Hospitalized. Couldn’t speak for weeks. The teachers said it was an accident, but everyone knows—”
“Hana,” Yerim cut her off sharply. “That’s enough.”
For a moment, tension crackled across the table.
Jaewon gripped his chopsticks tighter. Hospitalized? Couldn’t speak? He wanted to ask, but the others’ faces told him this wasn’t something casually discussed over lunch.
Still, the seed was planted. And with every heartbeat, his curiosity grew.
He found himself glancing toward the far corner of the cafeteria.
Sure enough, Baek Sion was there, alone, eating with deliberate slowness, as though time itself bent around him.
And when Jaewon’s eyes met his again, Sion’s lips moved—just slightly.
No sound. Just the shape of a single word.
Mine.
[Segment 3]
Jaewon barely tasted his food.
The word echoed inside his head like a curse, though no sound had passed Sion’s lips. Mine.
It didn’t make sense. Why would a stranger—someone he’d never even spoken to—fixate on him that way?
And yet, instead of fear, what Jaewon felt was something more complicated. Unease, yes, but also a tug he couldn’t name. Like he was already caught in a current that would drag him whether he resisted or not.
“Hana’s exaggerating again,” Yerim said finally, her voice softer, gentler. She looked at Jaewon as though trying to shield him from the others’ words. “Don’t let her scare you. He’s just… different. People talk.”
“Different?” Jaewon echoed.
Yerim hesitated. “It’s not all bad. He’s top of the class in music. Plays piano like no one else. But the rest… it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing. Just—be careful. Please.”
Her eyes carried a quiet sincerity that Hana’s gossip hadn’t. Jaewon gave a small nod, though the knot in his chest only tightened.
Dohyun changed the subject quickly, launching into a joke about their homeroom teacher’s crooked tie. Hana groaned and mocked his sense of humor. Yerim laughed softly, though her gaze lingered on Jaewon, worried.
The ordinary rhythm of teenage life wrapped around them again. But Jaewon couldn’t shake the weight pressing in from across the cafeteria.
When he dared one last glance, Sion was already gone. His tray empty, his seat abandoned without anyone noticing when he’d left.
The afternoon dragged. Jaewon scribbled notes automatically, though the words swam on the page. Every now and then, he felt a prickling at the back of his neck, like someone’s gaze was fixed on him. But when he turned, the only thing he found were rows of tired students half-asleep over their desks.
By the time the final bell rang, he felt wrung out.
Most students rushed for the doors. Yerim gave him a small wave before disappearing with Hana, while Dohyun was dragged off by two boys from the soccer club.
Jaewon lingered, shoving books into his bag with sluggish hands. He wasn’t in a hurry. Going home meant facing the silence of that small, creaking house, the way shadows clung to its corners after dusk.
As he zipped his bag, a flicker of movement caught his eye.
Near the back door of the classroom—Sion.
He was standing perfectly still, one hand resting lightly against the frame, his gaze fixed not on Jaewon but on the empty desks as if the room itself held secrets.
Jaewon’s breath caught.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The space between them felt stretched thin, fragile, like glass about to shatter.
Then Sion’s eyes shifted, pinning Jaewon in place.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t curiosity.
It was ownership.
And then, just as suddenly, Sion turned and walked out.
His footsteps made no sound.
Jaewon stood frozen long after he was gone. His bag hung from one strap, forgotten in his grip.
The room seemed emptier without him, but not lighter. As if Sion had left something behind—an imprint, a shadow that clung to the walls.
Jaewon whispered into the silence, almost against his will.
“…Who are you?”
No answer. Just the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
But deep down, Jaewon knew this was only the beginning.
[Segment 4]
The corridors after class felt like a different world.
Most students had already left, their footsteps fading into the distance. Only the faint squeak of a janitor’s mop echoed somewhere on the first floor. The building seemed to sigh with every shift of the wind through the old windows.
Jaewon adjusted his bag on his shoulder and started down the hall. The air was heavier here, colder. The hum of the fluorescent lights flickered above him in uneven bursts.
He told himself to hurry. He had promised Jiwon he wouldn’t linger.
But halfway down the hall, he froze.
A whisper.
So faint he thought it might be the buzz of the lights, but no—the sound shaped itself into syllables.
“Jaewon…”
His blood turned to ice.
He spun around. The hall was empty.
His chest tightened. “Get a grip,” he muttered, voice shaky. “It’s just in your head.”
But when he turned back, his bag nearly slipped from his shoulder.
At the far end of the corridor, a classroom door was open a crack. Inside, something moved.
A figure—pale, still, waiting.
His heartbeat thudded painfully in his ears. He couldn’t make out the face, but he knew. He knew.
Baek Sion.
Every instinct screamed at him to leave, to walk away and never look back. But his feet carried him forward anyway, one hesitant step at a time.
The closer he got, the quieter everything became, until even his footsteps faded. The world seemed to hold its breath.
He reached the door.
Pushed it open.
Empty.
The classroom was deserted, desks neatly lined, curtains drawn against the dull gray light.
Jaewon’s throat went dry. He backed away quickly, pulse racing—
And collided with someone standing directly behind him.
“Careful,” a voice murmured, low and cold against his ear.
Jaewon spun, his back hitting the wall.
Sion stood there, closer than he’d ever been, his expression unreadable, dark eyes fixed on Jaewon as if peeling away every layer of defense.
Jaewon’s voice barely worked. “What… what do you want from me?”
Sion didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to Jaewon’s hand, still gripping the strap of his bag too tightly. Then back up to his face.
Finally, in a tone soft but firm, he said, “Don’t wander the halls alone.”
Before Jaewon could respond, Sion stepped past him, brushing so close their shoulders touched.
And then he was gone, his footsteps silent, leaving only the faintest chill in the air.
Jaewon leaned against the wall, trembling. His knees felt weak, his heart a storm in his chest.
Don’t wander the halls alone.
But hadn’t Sion been the one waiting for him here?
[Segment 5]
The sky had already dimmed when Jaewon finally stepped out of the school gates.
Clouds pressed low and heavy, smothering the last light of the sun. Streetlamps buzzed faintly, casting cones of pale yellow on the empty sidewalks. He tightened his grip on his bag straps and quickened his pace.
Jiwon’s warning echoed in his head: Don’t stay out late.
Every sound was sharper in the gathering dark—the crunch of his shoes on gravel, the rustle of leaves, the distant bark of a stray dog. His nerves stretched thin, snapping at every little noise.
But nothing unsettled him more than the feeling that someone was following.
He forced himself not to look back. If he did, he wasn’t sure what he’d see.
When he finally reached home, the lights were already on. Jiwon was at the kitchen table, papers spread before him, tie loosened after work.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up.
“Sorry. The teacher kept me back.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” Jiwon’s voice was sharper than usual, his pen scratching hard against the page. “This isn’t Seoul. You can’t just wander around here after dark.”
Jaewon swallowed a retort. He didn’t want to admit that he’d lingered because of Sion—that he’d been caught in something he couldn’t explain.
Instead, he muttered, “I’ll be careful,” and went upstairs.
His room felt colder than it had that morning.
He pulled the curtains shut, tossed his bag into the corner, and collapsed onto the bed. Exhaustion weighed on him, but sleep didn’t come easy. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Sion’s face—pale, unreadable, too close.
Eventually, his body gave in.
And once again, the dream swallowed him.
The hallway stretched before him, endless and suffocating. The same as always. But tonight, he wasn’t running. His feet were rooted to the floor.
The air was thick, pressing down on his chest, making each breath shallow.
He felt it before he heard it—someone behind him.
Slow steps. Closer. Closer.
He forced himself to turn.
Baek Sion stood only a few feet away, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the weight of his presence crushed every word from Jaewon’s throat.
Sion’s lips moved, soundless at first. Then the whisper filled the hall.
“You should’ve stayed away.”
The words wrapped around Jaewon like chains, pulling him under. He tried to speak, to ask what any of this meant, but his voice wouldn’t come. His throat was locked.
Sion stepped closer, until Jaewon could feel the ghost of his breath against his ear.
And then, in a voice softer than silk, darker than night:
“Mine.”
Jaewon jolted awake with a gasp, sweat slicking his skin, the echo of that word still burning in his ears.
ns216.73.216.143da2
and then Add to home screen.