Jaewon woke before dawn.
The gray light that slipped through his curtains was thin and cold, brushing across his face like a whisper. His body felt heavy, weighted down by the remnants of a dream that clung to him stubbornly.
The hallway.
The shadows curling along the walls.
Sion.
And the whispers—soft, deliberate, echoing just behind him.
He shivered and pulled the covers tighter. Sweat prickled his forehead despite the cool air. He had thought he could push the dreams aside, dismiss them as imagination. But each morning, they returned, stronger, more vivid.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cold wooden floor. Every creak of the floorboard made him flinch.
It’s just a dream, he repeated silently. Nothing more.
Yet, as he glanced at the mirror across the room, he froze.
His reflection didn’t move exactly in sync. For the briefest instant, the face staring back at him blinked after him, just a fraction slower.
Jaewon swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away.
“Stop it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re imagining things.”
But a small, icy part of him wondered: What if I’m not?
The smell of breakfast drifted up from the kitchen. Jaewon got up, his movements sluggish, mind still wrapped in the fog of his dream.
Jiwon sat at the table, papers scattered around him, a pen in his hand. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in the way he tapped the pen against the table.
“You didn’t sleep well,” Jiwon said, looking up without raising his voice.
Jaewon nodded slowly. “Just… another dream.”
Jiwon’s gaze lingered, sharp and steady. “The school isn’t like your old one. You have to be careful. It’s not just the late hours. There are… things you can’t ignore.”
“What kind of things?” Jaewon asked, voice cautious.
Jiwon didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back, fingers drumming on the table. “People get involved with others… dangerous people. You’re new, and you haven’t seen much yet. Stay out of situations that might seem trivial. Especially after dark.”
Jaewon felt the warning as a weight pressing against his chest. “I’ll… be careful,” he said, though his heart thrummed in anticipation.
He couldn’t tell Jiwon about Sion—not yet.
By the time he left for school, the first light of morning had barely crested the horizon.
The streets were wet from an overnight drizzle. Small puddles reflected distorted images of houses, the sky, and his own uncertain face. He adjusted his bag and walked quickly, boots slapping against the slick pavement.
Even in the ordinary morning, there was a sense of watching. A subtle pressure that made him glance over his shoulder, even when the street was empty.
The school building loomed ahead, gray and imposing. The corridors inside felt colder than the outside air, shadows pooling in corners, stretching like fingers.
Jaewon tried to focus on the day ahead. Classes, the project, the routine. That was supposed to anchor him.
But the weight of yesterday’s library encounter pressed on him—Sion’s gaze, the shadow he had seen, and the echo of his own dreams.
Even at his desk, the sensation lingered. Eyes seemed to follow him across the classroom. The faint rustle of papers, the whisper of chairs, even the ticking of the clock sounded sharper, more deliberate.
Something in the air felt… alive.
During homeroom, Jaewon found himself distracted by the window. Gray clouds pressed heavy against the sky. Rain threatened again, light drops spattering against the glass.
Sion was already seated near the back, as usual. His expression was serene, impassive, but when their eyes met, a faint smirk tugged at his lips—almost imperceptible, like he was aware of something Jaewon wasn’t.
The classroom felt smaller suddenly, the walls closing in around him. Jaewon tried to look down at his notebook, scribbling aimlessly, but his thoughts kept slipping back to the dream hallway, the whispers, the shadow, and Sion.
The weight of inevitability pressed on him.
He’s going to be part of this life now. Whether I like it or not.
Classroom lessons passed, dull and distant. Every word from the teacher felt muffled, distorted, as if he were underwater. His pencil tapped out a rhythm against the desk, a futile attempt to anchor himself in reality.
When the bell finally rang, Jaewon felt a strange mix of relief and dread.
As he packed his bag, the classroom door creaked open slowly.
Sion stepped inside. His gaze scanned the room, landing on Jaewon. The corners of his lips lifted in that same faint, unreadable curve.
“After class,” Sion said softly. “Library. We work.”
Not a request. A statement.
Jaewon’s chest tightened. He nodded wordlessly, his pulse thrumming in his ears.
Sion turned and walked out, leaving behind a subtle chill, as if the room had lost some of its warmth.
Jaewon stared after him, heart hammering, mind racing. He didn’t know why he was so drawn to the boy, why fear and fascination twisted together inside him.
He only knew he would go to the library.
The corridors felt different that morning.
Even though the bell had rung and most students had poured out into the streets, Jaewon’s footsteps echoed too loudly against the polished floors. Every turn of a corner seemed longer, every shadow stretched and shifted unnaturally, like it was alive.
He tried to convince himself it was just his imagination—residual fear from the dreams, tension from yesterday—but a prickling at the back of his neck told him otherwise.
As he walked, he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye—a shadow flicking behind a row of lockers, then disappearing when he turned fully.
No, he told himself. It’s nothing.
But the sensation persisted. He felt eyes on him, lingering in spaces where no one should have been.
When he reached the library door, his hand trembled slightly as he pushed it open.
Inside, the air was colder, heavier. The scent of old books seemed sharper, almost metallic. He stepped cautiously between the shelves, the silence amplified by the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above.
Sion was already there, standing near the far window, gaze fixed outside. The dim light hit his face at an angle that made his pale skin look almost ethereal.
Jaewon swallowed hard. For a moment, he wondered if the boy had somehow known he would arrive early.
“You’re on time,” Sion said softly, voice smooth and calm.
Jaewon blinked. “Yeah… I thought we’d start.”
Sion’s gaze flicked briefly to a book lying on the table, then back to him. “Don’t be nervous,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just spoken with an intensity that made Jaewon’s stomach clench.
Nervous? That was an understatement. His heartbeat thrummed violently, each pulse making the air around him feel charged.
Jaewon noticed small things about Sion that he hadn’t before: the faint tremor of his fingers when he turned a page, the way his eyes followed the light as if tracking something unseen, the subtle shift in his posture when the shadows seemed to stretch toward him.
Every detail was precise, deliberate, and slightly off—like Sion existed partly in a different reality.
As Jaewon set up his notebook, he heard it again: the whispers.
Soft, almost imperceptible. But unmistakably there.
His name, spoken faintly from nowhere.
“Jaewon…”
He froze, scanning the rows of books and the empty corners of the library. Nothing.
Sion looked at him, expression calm, almost indifferent. “You hear it too, don’t you?”
Jaewon’s mouth went dry. “H-Hear what?”
“The voices,” Sion said, gesturing subtly toward the darkened aisles. “They follow. They notice.”
The chill crawling up Jaewon’s spine wasn’t from the air. It was the certainty in Sion’s words. He wanted to ask why, to demand an explanation, but no sound would come.
Sion leaned slightly closer, eyes dark, measuring. “They won’t hurt you… not yet. But if you linger, they will.”
Jaewon swallowed hard. The line between fear and fascination blurred. He had known something about Sion was dangerous, but hearing it so plainly made the danger real, tangible.
And yet… he couldn’t leave.
For the next few minutes, they worked in silence, the tension between them thick enough to make the air feel almost viscous. Jaewon’s pencil scratched against the paper, but he barely registered the words. Every movement Sion made—the tilt of his head, the brush of his fingers against the book—seemed amplified, significant, almost predatory.
A shadow flitted across the corner of his vision. He turned sharply. Nothing.
Sion didn’t look up. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, voice low. “Not of me.”
But Jaewon’s entire body was alert, every nerve screaming. Not of him… but what about everything else?
He realized that the library wasn’t just a room of books. Tonight, in the dim light and with Sion here, it felt alive. Watching. Breathing. Waiting.
Jaewon’s pulse hammered. And somewhere deep inside, he knew this encounter was far from ordinary.
It wasn’t just a project.
It was a threshold.
And he had already crossed it.
Jaewon’s pencil froze mid-sentence.
A movement at the edge of his vision made him flinch. Shadows—long, twisting shapes that didn’t match the rows of shelves—crept along the floor and walls. They pulsed and shivered like liquid, stretching toward him and then recoiling as if sensing his gaze.
He blinked rapidly, trying to convince himself it was a trick of the light, a reflection from the rain outside. But the chill crawling up his spine said otherwise.
Sion, meanwhile, remained calm. He was still seated, fingers lightly brushing the edge of his notebook, expression unreadable. His eyes, however, seemed to flicker with amusement—or something darker—as he watched Jaewon’s reactions.
“You notice them now,” Sion said softly. His voice carried easily, even though it was just above a whisper. “They’ve been here since yesterday.”
Jaewon swallowed hard. “W-What… what are they?”
Sion tilted his head, faint shadows dancing across his face from the dim light. “Not everyone can see them. Most people ignore their existence until it’s too late.”
Jaewon’s chest tightened. He wanted to look away, to shut his eyes and pretend none of this was real. But some inexplicable pull kept his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows.
“They follow,” Sion continued, voice low, almost intimate. “Curious. Hungry. Waiting for something you carry that they don’t.”
Jaewon’s hands clenched into fists. “Why me?”
Sion leaned slightly closer, his dark eyes meeting Jaewon’s with an intensity that made the air around them feel thicker. “Because you’re not like the others.”
The words hit Jaewon harder than he expected. Not a compliment. Not a warning. Just a statement.
And yet, somehow, he felt both terrified and drawn.
The shadows seemed to respond. They twisted closer, but instead of attacking, they hesitated near Sion’s side, as though he commanded them.
Jaewon felt the tension spike between them. Every instinct screamed to run, to escape. But every fiber of his being whispered otherwise.
Then, Sion spoke again, voice softer this time, almost intimate:
“Stay close. Listen. Watch. The world isn’t as simple as it seems.”
Jaewon’s pulse raced, a mixture of fear and fascination surging through him. He didn’t understand what was happening, and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
For a long moment, the library held them in a bubble of suspended time, where the normal rules of space and sound seemed irrelevant.
The shadows flickered again. Whispered Jaewon’s name.
And then, as abruptly as it began, the motion stopped.
The shadows pooled into their corners, still and silent. Sion leaned back, expression neutral once more, as if nothing had happened.
Jaewon’s hands shook. He could barely breathe.
“You’ll learn soon enough,” Sion said quietly, standing. His presence was magnetic, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore.
And then he was gone, moving between the shelves and disappearing like smoke.
Jaewon stayed seated long after Sion left. His heart pounded, and the library’s silence pressed in around him.
He realized something he couldn’t admit out loud: he was not afraid of Sion. Not entirely.
He was fascinated. And that fascination terrified him more than the shadows ever could.
The walk home was unusually silent.
Rain had started again, soft drops tapping against the pavement and rooftops. Jaewon’s boots splashed in shallow puddles, but he barely noticed the sound. His thoughts were tangled in the afternoon’s encounter: Sion’s calm, the shadows, the whispers, and the way the air had felt thick and alive around him.
Even the familiar streets of his neighborhood felt foreign, cloaked in the dim gray light and pattering rain. He kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see something move—something that wasn’t human.
A faint voice in his mind echoed: Jaewon… Jaewon…
He shook his head, trying to dispel it. But the echo persisted, layering itself over the sound of the rain.
By the time he reached home, his clothes were damp, and his hair clung to his forehead. The warmth inside the house was a brief comfort, but it did little to settle the tension coiling inside him.
Jiwon looked up from his laptop as he entered. “You’re late,” he said, voice calm but with an edge Jaewon had come to recognize.
“I… stayed after for the project,” Jaewon muttered, his throat tight. “Library… with Sion.”
Jiwon’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t say anything further, but his silence was heavier than words. Jaewon knew better than to press.
He went upstairs, leaving the warmth of the house behind as if it were irrelevant. His room, usually a sanctuary, now felt like a stage for his anxieties. The curtains were drawn, casting long shadows across the floor, the walls stretching unnaturally.
Jaewon dropped his bag and sat on the edge of his bed, trying to steady his breathing.
But sleep came slowly, reluctantly.
When it did arrive, it brought the familiar hallway of his dreams.
This time, the darkness was denser, the walls closer, pressing inward. Shadows writhed along the edges, whispering his name in voices too soft to comprehend, yet heavy with intent.
And Sion appeared at the end, closer than ever, his expression calm, unreadable—but different. There was a faint intensity in his gaze, a patience that bordered on hunger.
“You shouldn’t have lingered,” Sion said softly. His words carried across the hallway, clear and heavy.
Jaewon tried to respond. To ask questions. To demand explanations. But the words lodged in his throat, twisted by the dream’s oppressive weight.
Sion stepped forward, close enough that Jaewon could feel the warmth radiating from him. The shadows seemed to shrink back, forming a dark halo around Sion.
“Love me,” he whispered, “and you’ll belong to me.”
The words wrapped around Jaewon like chains.
He woke suddenly, gasping. Sweat slicked his hair, his chest heaving.
The rain outside tapped lightly against the window, a mundane sound that contrasted sharply with the intensity of the dream.
Jaewon sat up, trembling. Part of him was terrified. Part of him… wanted to go back.
And deep down, he knew this pull wouldn’t let him ignore Sion for long.
ns216.73.216.143da2
and then Add to home screen.