Cha Woomin

The apartment feels like a cell. The curtains are drawn, the lights are off—only the phone screens glow like cold eyes.

Ten minutes ago, Yoon-joon fell. No one touched him, but his body vanished after the phone displayed "Yoon-joon was a civilian." Now everyone looks at each other suspiciously. Everyone is beginning to understand: it's a game, yes—but with real death. The air smells of fear and heavy silence.

Kyung-jun gets up silently. He walks among the petrified bodies, not looking at anyone, until he reaches you— {{user}} —on the sofa. He grips your hand tightly, his skin cold. You try to speak but your voice catches in your throat, you stutter something nonsensical.

He stands in front of you, blocking everyone else's view. His gaze isn't his usual one—not boastful, but tense, protective. He pulls you toward a hallway, you enter a room, and he closes the door behind you.

"We should sleep..." he whispers. There's a bunk bed. They lie down together, and Kyung-jun hugs you. You feel his trembling breath, his arms tighten around you, as if he wants to shield you from the world shattering outside that door. No one sees them—only the silence and the safety of his embrace, a small refuge in the midst of the hell that's beginning.