Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everyone knew Geum Seongje and Yeon Sieun were never a good match. And maybe that was true, at least, that’s what Sieun told himself.

The first time they crossed paths wasn’t in a classroom or on the street, but in the suffocating quiet of the local museum. Sieun hadn’t even wanted to be there. He and his newly formed “friends” had landed themselves detention, and their punishment was to spend Saturday morning of community service at the museum for some youth cultural events.

Not that they were doing much of it and somehow Sieun managed to control himself from stabbing anyone with a pen until lunch.

Baku was in the middle of an exaggerated retelling, waving his chopsticks around like props.

“I’m telling you, they wanted me to call. Two numbers—no, three! And one of them even—”

“They’re fake,” Hyuntak cut in flatly, not even glancing up from his tray.

Baku snapped his head toward him, scandalized. “You don’t even know that!”

“I don’t need to. Look at you. No girl’s risking their dignity for that outfit.” Hyuntak jabbed without mercy, slicing every sentence in half with surgical precision.

Juntae, chewing lazily on his food, wore a smils that spoke of pure entertainment. He didn’t need to join in, the spectacle was more than enough.

At the far edge of the table, Sieun sat in silence. He wasn’t really part of the chaos, but he didn’t leave either. He let the noise wash over him, half-listening, half-feigning disinterest, a reluctant witness to his friends’ constant bickering. His eyes remained cool, his posture distant, but if one looked closely enough, there was a flicker of quiet amusement there.

And then it happened.

Baku, caught up in his dramatics, flung his chopsticks too wide. The cheap wood slipped free, flying in a perfect, mocking arc before landing squarely against Sieun.

A blotch of buldak sauce splattered across his hoodie.

For a beat, no one moved.

“…Buldak sauce is really hard to get out,” Juntae observed mildly, breaking the silence.

“Juntae, take his chopsticks away!” Baku hissed, pointing at Sieun in panic. “I heard people said he stabbed others with chopsticks and stuff.”

Sieun’s eyes flicked toward him and let out a sigh. He didn't say anything and simply rose to his feet.

“I’m going to the restroom.” His voice was low, flat. He left them behind without another word, food untouched.

The museum bathroom was cold, with its fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Sieun stood at the sink, wetting paper towels to scrub at the dark stain on his hoodie. His reflection in the mirror scowled back at him, annoyed at the world and everyone in it.

While Sieun going out of the bathroom, he saw him.

Geum Seongje was crouching and leaning against the wall of the public restroom, eyes glued to the screen of his phone, playing some mindless game while pretending he had a purpose.

He finally stand up and Seongje didn’t wait for permission. He raised his phone and clicked to take a picture of this newbie. Sieun didn't even blink, didn’t move. His face didn’t even shift.

"You really have a sad eyes", Seongje looked back at the photo, admiring the shorter boy.

“You shouldn’t hang out with the wrong crowd,” Seongje added casually, scrolling through his camera roll as if Sieun had asked for advice.

“Do you know me?” Sieun asked calmly, his gaze cool and distant, like Seongje was some random guy in a hallway.
Seongje’s lips curled.

Three seconds.

Geum Seongje had a rule. If someone didn’t lower their gaze within three seconds, he’d beat the living shit out of them. It wasn’t about pride, it was about instinct and pure dominance.

“This punk really doesn’t look away,” Seongje muttered, more amused than annoyed.

One. Sieun’s gaze didn’t falter.
Two. He blinked but still looking at him.
Three. Still staring.

Then he swung. A clean, sharp punch aimed for the side of the his head.

But Sieun stepped back just in time with precision. He moved like he’d done this a thousand times before. In the same motion, he shoved Seongje sideways. Hard. The impact slammed him into a cubicle door, rattling it on its hinges.

For a moment, Seongje stared. He was stunned, not because of pain, but because this boy really fought back.

“I just came to say hi today,” he said lightly. “So let’s stop here.”

Seongje took one step back while laughing.

“I’ll see you later,” he said with a grin that bordered on predatory before walking away.

That was how Yeon Sieun first met Geum Seongje.

⸻

They were never a good match. Everyone could see it.

There was one time Sieun was bent over his notes as he focused on trying to get the English words in his brain when Seongje swaggered at the more secluded area of the park, which Sieun didnt even know when Seongje arrived. He plopped at the seat in front of Sieun, leaned forward, and shoved Sieun’s notebook closed with one hand.

“You actually take this seriously?” Seongje asked, voice dripping mockery. “You have good grades but how the fuck did you end up in Eunjang?”

Sieun’s fingers tightened around his pen. “You should leave.”

Seongje’s grin widened, eyes glittering with amusement. “Or what? You gonna hex me, White Mamba?”

Sieun’s jaw tightened. “You're annoying.”

“Heard that a lot, you're not special,” Seongje replied, leaning back lazily. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Sieun just ignored him for the most of the time Seongje was there.

⸻

It had come to a point where it was unbearable for Sieun.

It started with Seongje picking on Hyuntak again. They had wandered into the narrow alley they usually used to cut through campus grounds, and Seongje had Hyuntak cornered against the cold brick wall, hit him few times before Hyuntak staggered. Seongje's foot pressing casually against his knees. His infuriatingly smug grin spread like a warning, daring anyone to intervene. Juntae had been shoved aside, his whines as he was forced to watch, helpless, the scene unfolding like a slow-burning storm.

“Cry a little louder Gotak, maybe the precious Yeon Sieun will come save you,” Seongje drawled, the mockery sharp as a knife. He leaned closer, pressing harder on Hyuntak’s broken knees.

Sieun’s chest tightened, his stomach knotting. He had reached his limit. Hyuntak muttered curses under his breath and that was all it took. Without thinking, Sieun pulled a pen from his pocket and drove it down onto Seongje’s left foot. The tip sank just enough to make Seongje stumble and bleed.

Seongje looked down at his foot, then back up at Sieun, eyes blazing—not with pain, but with a dangerous thrill. His grin stretched wider despite the sting. “So the White Mamba does have fangs,” he said, voice teasing, almost challenging.

“Enough,” Sieun snapped, stepping between them, standing rigid. His voice was sharp, cold, and unwavering. “Leave him alone.”

Seongje chuckled softly, tilting his head. “I’ll leave him alone… but not you.”

The words were like a slap. Sieun’s patience, already fraying, snapped. His fists clenched, jaw tight. “Stay away from me.”

He didn’t look back as he stormed off, chest burning with anger, humiliation, and a strange flicker of something he refused to acknowledge.

“You can hate me all you want, but watch where you’re going!” Seongje called after him, his voice carrying a strange mix of warning and amusement.

Sieun ignored him completely, his vision narrowing, tunnel-like, every step driven by pure need to escape. He didn’t notice the traffic light ahead had turned red.

“YAH! YEON SIEUN!”

The world seemed to tilt violently. A weight slammed into his chest. There was a jolt, sharp and sudden, and then darkness swallowed him.

When Sieun opened his eyes again, the world was a blur of asphalt, flashing lights, and distant sirens. He was cradled in someone’s arms, the warmth of blood soaking into his hoodie. The coppery tang filled his nostrils. It was Seongje’s blood.

“Seongje—!” Sieun gasped, panic rising in his throat, heart hammering violently.

Seongje’s eyes were closed, his body limp, completely unresponsive. Sirens screamed closer, flashing red and white lights painting streaks across the scene. Hands grabbed at them, tugging, pressing, lifting them onto stretchers with ruthless efficiency. Every touch felt heavy, as if the world itself pressed down.

At the hospital, the chaos intensified. Fluorescent lights flickered above, the acrid smell of antiseptic mixed with coppery blood stinging Sieun’s nose. Nurses’ voices shouted, calling names, giving orders. The sharp beep of monitors punctuated the haze of panic. Sieun’s own injuries were minor. He had scrapes along his arms and bruises that would fade but Seongje…

The doctor’s voice cut through like a blade, cold and clinical. “We can’t do anything at this point. We don’t know when he’ll wake up.”

The words landed with crushing force. Sieun’s lungs felt like they’d been filled with stone. His body trembled uncontrollably, guilt crawling up his throat like bile. He had stabbed Seongje. He had yelled at him. He had told him to stay away. And despite that, Seongje had still risked everything to protect him.

Somewhere in the haze, Baku’s voice broke through faintly. “Sieun! Hey, stay with us—”

But Sieun couldn’t hold on. The weight of guilt, fear, and helplessness pressed down from every direction, dragging him into a void of darkness that closed around him like a suffocating shroud.

⸻

When Sieun next opened his eyes, it wasn’t the bright glare of hospital lights or the frantic footsteps of nurses that greeted him. Instead, it was the familiar ceiling of his own bedroom. For a long moment, he lay frozen, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs as if trying to break free. The sheets clung to his skin, damp with sweat, every breath shallow and uneven. He reached up instinctively, half-expecting to find dried blood on his clothes, the sharp sting of asphalt against his body, or the heavy weight of Seongje’s limp form in his arms. But there was nothing. Only silence, broken by the faint ticking of his clock.

Then—beep. Beep. Beep.

The sharp sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand startled him back into motion. His hands shook as he fumbled to grab it, almost dropping it onto the floor. His thumb swiped across the screen, his vision still hazy, his pulse deafening in his ears.

“Finally,” came Juntae’s voice, casual, oblivious, as if the world hadn’t just collapsed. “You up? Don’t forget Sieun, we’ve got volunteering at the museum. Ten sharp.”

The words slammed into Sieun’s mind like ice water. He sat up straighter, his head spinning.

Detention.
Volunteering.
Museum.

His gaze shot to the top corner of the phone screen. The date glared back at him in neat, digital font. His eyes darted to the wall across his room, where his calendar hung. The day was circled in bright red marker, mocking him.

His breath caught in his throat. No. This can’t be. His mind reeled, panic clawing up his chest. He was just at the hospital. Seongje had been covered in blood. He had collapsed under the weight of guilt, the memory of his own words echoing like poison: Stay away from me.

So why was he's back here? Why was it this day? Was everything that happened the past 3 months was only a dream?

Sieun’s hands tightened around his phone until his knuckles went white.

“Sieun? Hey, are you there?” Juntae’s voice came again, louder this time, grounding him for a moment.

“Ah…” Sieun swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady though it came out hoarse. “Yes. Yeah, I didn’t forget. I’ll be at the museum later.”

“Good. Don’t make me drag you out of bed.” Juntae hung up with a chuckle, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

But everything was wrong.

Sieun lowered the phone slowly, staring at the date again, his eyes wide and unblinking. His pulse thrummed painfully in his ears, his throat dry. This was impossible. There was no way. He couldn’t have… traveled back in time. Could he?

And yet, today was unmistakable. He knew this day. Every detail of it burned into his memory, because this was the day he first met Geum Seongje.

Chapter Text

Sieun sat on the edge of his bed, fingers pressed hard against his temples. His heart still hadn’t slowed since this morning. How had this happened? How could time twist backward and throw him here again? Back at the beginning, back to when everything started?

He didn’t have the answer, but one thing was clear: if he was really reliving the past, then maybe this was his chance. Maybe the reason he’d been thrown here was simple, to stop Geum Seongje from ending up in a coma because of him.

So he pulled himself together, forcing his hands to steady as he changed into the same hoodie he wore. By the time he reached the museum, the world felt painfully familiar.

Baku was shameless as ever, puffing out his chest to flirt with every girl he saw, and Hyuntak followed with secondhand embarrassment he had to go through as Baku was busy with girls who take no interest with him. Juntae, as usual, wore that lopsided grin as he poses with the kids. Everything was exactly as Sieun remembered it—down to the sunlight streaming through the museum windows, down to the faint buzz of the crowd.

Sieun swallowed his discomfort and let the day unfold. He stood with Juntae at the photo station, dressed in the traditional outfit of a king while Juntae played the part of the scholar. Visitors came and went, laughing, snapping photos, complimenting their costumes. Outwardly, Sieun played his part, offering polite smiles, standing still for photos but inside, every muscle was tight with anticipation.

By lunch, the anxiety was gnawing at him. He sat at their usual spot in the cafeteria, refusing to budge. His plan was simple: stay put, avoid every deviation, keep things under control. When Baku predictably launched into another exaggerated retelling of his morning adventures, Sieun braced himself. And sure enough, history repeated itself. Mid-gesture, Baku flung his chopsticks a little too hard, and the wooden utensil went spinning, smacking against Sieun’s lap. A streak of sauce smeared across his hoodie.

Juntae, chewing idly, only hummed. “Buldak sauce is hard to wash out.”

Baku froze, chopsticks half raised in surrender, as Hyuntak muttered something about being careful around Sieun. Everyone stared at Sieun. He knew what they were expecting, the infamous Yeon Sieun sharp words. Even Baku’s voice cracked as he said, “D-don’t stab me, okay? Hyuntak was the one who made me flung my chopsticks!”

But this time, Sieun just let out a tired sigh. He dabbed at the stain with a napkin, set the chopstick on the table, and said quietly, “It’s fine. I’ll wash it at home.”

That stunned them more than any outburst could have. For once, silence fell. Baku blinked rapidly, half-sure Sieun had been replaced with some gentler clone. Hyuntak raised a brow, unconvinced, but said nothing. Juntae glanced at Sieun as if he sensed something deeper in Sieun’s calm.

By the time they finished eating, Sieun exhaled slowly, relief loosening his chest. No encounter. No detour. No Geum Seongje. Maybe he had managed to slip past fate.

But fate, of course, was never that merciful.

Just as they stood to leave, Baku clutched his stomach dramatically, groaning about his bad luck and announcing he needed the restroom. They were halfway across the hall when a voice stopped them cold.

“Well, well, well… look what we’ve got here.”

The words dripped arrogance. Familiar. Too familiar. Sieun’s stomach dropped.

Geum Seongje leaned casually against the wall near the stairs, hands in his pockets, a predator’s grin stretched across his face. His eyes locked on them like he’d been waiting all along.

“Park Humin. Go Hyuntak,” he drawled, naming them one by one, his tone smug, like he was savoring the moment.

Hyuntak cursed under his breath, shoulders tensing. Baku, despite his stomach ache, straightened, jaw tightening. And then Seongje’s gaze slid past them, landing squarely on Sieun.

“Oh?” Seongje tilted his head, taking a slow step forward. “A newbie? Don’t think I’ve seen this face at Eunjang before.” His grin widened, almost cruel. He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with curiosity, like Sieun was some shiny new toy.

Before Seongje could get closer, Baku moved fast, shoving himself between them. “Stay away from him,” he snapped, surprising even Hyuntak with how sharp his tone was.

But Seongje only laughed, a low, amused sound that made Sieun’s skin prickle. “Relax. I didn't even do anything. But he’s got a punchable face,” His smirk sharpened, his gaze flicking back to Sieun with dangerous amusement. “So my type.”

The words punched straight through Sieun’s chest. His breath caught, a soft gasp slipping past his lips before he could stop it. Because he remembered. Seongje had said that exact same line before. In another time, at another place. He remembered those words when Sieun was visiting Suho at the hospital. Back then, Sieun had brushed it off, but now? Now it felt like proof. Proof that even if he tried to reroute, to dodge, to change the future —fate was obviously pulling them right back together.

And Sieun didn’t know if he had the strength to face Seongje's accident again.

⸻

Sieun had begun adjusting his life around Geum Seongje. Every step, every choice, every detour was calculated with one clear goal in mind—avoid him at all costs.

He knew the places Seongje liked to hang out, thanks to his memories from the past if he could call it that. The PC bang near Ganghak High? Off limits. The streets behind the arcade where Seongje smoked with his Ganghak boys? Sieun never set foot there. His days became a rigid schedule: school, cram school, and then home. Nothing in between, no wandering, no room for a chance to meet Geum Seongje.

He told himself it was safer this way. If Seongje never came close, then maybe the fate wouldn’t repeat itself. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t be the reason Seongje ended up in that hospital bed, pale and unconscious.

When Baku mentioned meeting Baekjin at the bowling alley, Sieun merely shrugged, declining the offer before it could become an invitation. When Hyuntak and Juntae asked to hang out after school, he steered them toward his place instead, pulling out snacks and setting up a console so they could play games until they decided to go home. A safe space. A controllable environment.

But fate, as always, seemed to have other plans.

That night, after cram school, Sieun walked alone under the dim orange glow of the streetlights. His bag was heavy with books, his head foggy from equations and essays. He kept his pace brisk, not paying much attention with his surroundings until he felt it. The unmistakable prickle at the back of his neck. Someone was following him.

At first, he tried to ignore it. It could be anyone. A student heading home. A stranger taking the same route. But the rhythm of the footsteps behind him matched his own too closely, quickening when he quickened, slowing when he slowed. His chest tightened with the revelation.

By the time he reached the junction that split into two narrow alleyways, his nerves were frayed. He turned sharply, ready to sprint the last block home.

But he nearly collided with someone stepping out in front of him.

“There you are,” a familiar voice drawled, thick with smugness. A hand curled around his arm, pulling him in before he could stumble back. “I’m sorry I’m late picking you up from cram school.”

Geum Seongje.

Sieun froze. His breath snagged in his throat, relief and dread clashing violently in his chest. Behind him, the shadowy figure who’d been tailing him glanced their way. But when Seongje tugged Sieun closer, throwing his presence around like a shield, the man simply kept walking, passing them without a word.

Only when the echo of the stranger’s footsteps faded did Sieun let out a shaky sigh. His pulse was still hammering.

“Yah, newbie,” Seongje said, narrowing his eyes as if he had every right to be annoyed. “Why the hell would you walk through a dark alleyway alone at night?”

“I’m fine,” Sieun muttered, trying to wrench his arm free. He wanted distance, air, anything that wasn’t this suffocating proximity. He stepped forward, but Seongje held him arm tighter, stopping him effortlessly.

“No ‘thank you’? I just saved your pretty ass,” Seongje teased, cocking a brow in that insufferably cocky way.

Sieun clenched his jaw. Fighting him here was pointless. “Thank you, Seongje. Now move.” His words came clipped, sharp as glass.

For a moment, Seongje just looked at him. Then, to Sieun’s growing horror, his grin widened. “Oh wow. Newbie knows my name.” His voice dipped with a kind of lazy amusement, as if he’d just uncovered something amusing. “Skipping the introduction, huh? Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun’s eyes flickered, betraying the smallest hint of surprise. He hadn’t meant to slip, hadn’t meant to give anything away. He quickly rolled his eyes, turning his face away as if it didn’t matter.

But Seongje wasn’t done. Not even close.

He fell into step beside Sieun as they started walking, hands shoved casually into his pockets, lips moving non-stop. He talked about nonsense at this point. Seongje yapped about the PC bang tournament he’d crushed last week, about how Hyuntak still owed him a round of sparring (or more like Seongje beating up Hyuntak for no reason), about some teacher he thought was an idiot. His words washed over Sieun like noise, meaningless chatter that made it impossible to think.

Sieun didn’t answer. Not once. His only focus was forward, home, escape. But the harder he tried to create space, the more Seongje seemed to close it, leaning closer, bumping shoulders, filling the silence with his voice.

And all the while, Sieun’s thoughts burned with the same desperate mantra: Stay away. Stay far away.

If he gets too close, the fate won’t change.
If he gets too close, Seongje will still end up in a coma because of him again.

⸻

The evening air was damp and heavy, and Sieun had never felt more at ease walking home. He thought he had done it. He thought he successfully avoided Geum Seongje long enough to let fate take its course without him being involved. He had changed routes, timed his steps, clung to the company of Hyuntak or Baku whenever possible. Even Juntae had walked with him a couple of times. All this effort was for one thing: to keep Seongje safe and out of his life.

But somehow, walking alone with the glow of the evening sun guiding his way had made his relief shattered.

“Yeon Sieun.”

The voice dragged him back to another hellhole of memories called Byeoksan High. His body froze before he could even turn. By the time he did, Jeon Youngbin’s hands were already around his throat.

“You ruined my life and you’re out here smiling? Living like nothing happened?!” Youngbin spat, his grip tightening with each bitter word.

Sieun clawed at the hands choking him, nails digging desperately into Youngbin's skin, but the pressure only grew stronger. His vision blurred at the edges. He could feel the pavement digging into the back of his shoes as his body struggled for balance. He tried to push back, to kick, but his strength faltered fast. Every breath was fire in his lungs, and soon, he couldn’t even draw one in.

And then he heard it. That voice that could grind his nerves raw and still make his chest ache in a way he didn’t want to admit.

“Yah! Let him go!”

His heart plummeted. No. No no no. Not him. Not here. This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not when the accident was supposed to happen to Seongje around this time.

“Fuck! Seongje, don’t come close!” Sieun tried to scream, but what came out was a broken rasp, cut short by the chokehold. His body jerked violently in Youngbin’s grasp, panic fueling his struggle. If Seongje got dragged into this, then fate will found its way around to get Seongje into that damn coma.

But Seongje was already there, fury carved into every line of his face. His foot snapped into Youngbin’s side, forcing the other boy off Sieun with a grunt. The air that rushed back into Sieun’s lungs made him cough violently, but even through the haze, he caught the rough hands steadying him.

“Newbie! Are you okay?!” Seongje’s voice cracked with urgency.

Sieun’s chest burned, but his fear was worse. “Seongje,” he coughed, clutching at him weakly. “Just go. Please, go.”

But there was no time. Youngbin lunged forward again, dragging Seongje away from Sieun by the collar and slamming a fist into his jaw. Sieun could only watch in horror as Seongje wiped the blood from his mouth and smiled before swinging back with a punishing right hook.

“You picked the wrong guy, asshole,” Seongje spat, every punch like a thunderclap against Youngbin’s body.

It should have been reassuring. Union’s top dog, the boy who no one dared touch, was winning easily. Youngbin stumbled back, gasping, bleeding, faltering with every blow. Sieun thought and hoped that maybe it would end there.

But then Youngbin’s hand closed around something glinting on the ground. A crowbar.

Sieun’s breath caught.

“Seongje!” His scream tore through the night.

Too late. The metal cracked against Seongje’s skull with a sickening thud. His body staggered, legs bending like they might give way, but somehow he stayed standing, fists still clenched. Another strike, this time a little lower into his side. Seongje folded slightly, teeth gritted, and Youngbin drove a vicious kick into his abdomen before bolting into the shadows.

The silence afterward was deafening, broken only by Sieun’s ragged breathing. He watched in horror as Seongje swayed, steps uneven but still trying to get back to him.

“Sieun—”

His name left Seongje’s lips as little more than a broken rasp before his body gave way. Sieun caught him on instinct, arms trembling as he dragged them both down to the cold pavement. Their knees scraped against the ground, but all Sieun could feel was the horrifying deadweight of Seongje in his arms.

“Fuck! Geum Seongje!” Sieun’s voice cracked, desperation clawing at every syllable.

And yet, even in this state, Seongje’s mouth curved into a faint, crooked smile. “Thank god your pretty face is untouched,” he muttered, words slurring, before a harsh cough wracked through him. Red spattered his lips, spilling down his chin, staining the collar of his uniform.

Sieun’s hands scrambled frantically across his body, pressing, searching, until they stilled over something hot and slick. His stomach lurched. His trembling fingers pressed harder, only to feel blood pooling, seeping fast through the cracks of his palms.

“When the fuck did he stab you?!” Sieun’s voice broke, raw and panicked.

The sight in front of him blurred, tears mixing with sweat and the haze of adrenaline. He wanted to believe it was just the choking that made his lungs burn, but it wasn’t. Not anymore. His hands shook violently as they tried yet failed to stop the bleeding. Blood kept slipping through no matter how hard he pressed.

Seongje let out a strangled laugh, forcing out words between shallow gasps. “When you were busy watching my handsome face when I fight,” he rasped, and another gurgle of blood choked him.

“Shut up Geum Seongje, just shut up! You’re losing blood, you absolute idiot.” Sieun’s voice cracked as he pressed harder, his knees digging into the ground. “Keep your eyes open, okay? I’ll call for help. Just stay awake. Stay with me.”

But Seongje only gave another weak, broken chuckle, the sound dissolving into a wheeze that rattled deep in his chest. His head tilted toward Sieun, eyes glassy, heavy-lidded but it was burning as he desperate to say something.

“Yeon Sieun—”

That was all. The rest was stolen from him as his body went slack in Sieun’s arms.

“No.” Sieun’s whisper trembled, so fragile it barely sounded like him. He shook Seongje once, then again, clutching him tighter against his chest as if force alone could drag him back. “No, no, no—don’t you fucking do this to me. Not again!” His voice broke into a ragged scream as his tears finally spilled, streaking hot down his cheeks.

The alley spun around him, fading into a blur of shadows and harsh neon. None of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the boy bleeding out in his arms who wasn’t supposed to be here, who wasn’t supposed to be hurt in this timeline. Sieun had done everything he can to avoid this yet here he was, holding Seongje who was not unconscious in his arm again.

It felt like déjà vu, cruel and unrelenting, but it felt worse than before. So much worse.

⸻

The ambulance came in a blur of flashing red and blue. Sieun barely remembered fumbling for his phone, his fingers slipping over blood-slick buttons as he screamed for help. By the time the paramedics arrived, his hands were drenched crimson, his throat raw from shouting Seongje’s name over and over.

Both Seongje and Sieun were rushed to the hospital, Seongje was pale and unconscious as his uniform soaked through with blood. The paramedics shouted orders Sieun couldn’t process, his world reduced to the shallow flutter of Seongje’s chest.

Hyuntak was the first to arrive when Sieun called. He nearly skidded across the hospital floor, his eyes widening as he saw Sieun slumped in the waiting area, shirt stained red, fingers still trembling violently.

“What the hell happened?!” Hyuntak started, but his words died when he saw the blood smeared up Sieun’s arms, bruises staining his throat. Sieun didn’t look up. He just shook, his head bowed low, eyes unfocused.

“I told him to leave,” Sieun whispered hoarsely, voice cracked from overuse. “I told him to go. He wasn’t supposed to—” His words strangled themselves, collapsing into silence.

Minutes bled into hours, each second stretching endlessly until the doctor finally came out. His expression was grim, and Sieun’s chest seized before he even spoke.

“The abdominal wound is critical. He lost a lot of blood. We managed to stabilize him, but…” the doctor’s sigh was heavy, weary. “The blow to his head was severe. A crowbar, you said? There’s swelling in the brain. We don’t know when will he wake up.”

The words dropped like stones into Sieun’s chest, hollowing him out.

He sat there, frozen, as if his body no longer belonged to him. His ears rang, drowning out Hyuntak’s curses, the distant beeping of machines, the murmurs of nurses. All he could hear was the echo of Seongje’s voice, soft but urgent, saying his name before darkness claimed him.

And in that suffocating silence, guilt slithered in, wrapping around his chest like a vice.

Sieun’s vision tilted, the weight of it crushing him until his body swayed. His last thought before the world faded was bitter and broken:

If this keeps repeating… will I be forced to keep reliving this nightmare?

Then everything went black as he finally let go.

⸻

Sieun jolted awake, his body shooting upright as if he’d been pulled out of the depths of water. Apparently in this timeline, he fell asleep on his desk.

His chest heaved, a broken sound escaping him which sounded like half gasp and half sob. His room came into focus only after a long moment, familiar walls and faint morning light filtering through the curtains. His hand flew instinctively to his face, wiping away the cold sweat dripping down his temples.

His eyes darted to the calendar hanging lopsided infront of him, the thick red circle around today’s date staring mockingly back at him. He let out a shaky breath, pressing a palm to it as if he could erase the mark with sheer force.

Again. He was back again.

The pounding in his skull was unbearable, not from any wound but from the exhaustion of repetition. He had only lived through Seongje’s coma twice yet he can already felt his bones hollowing out as his spirit breaking under the strain. The smell of blood still lingered in his mind, metallic and suffocating, each memory clawing back like it refused to let go. Sieun slumped forward, his hand gripping at the edge of the desk, as if grounding himself would stop the world from tilting.

And then, right on cue, his phone rang. The sharp sound sliced through the silence of his room, startling him enough that his hand fumbled before answering.

“…Yes, Juntae,” he rasped, his throat raw. He forced his tone steady, though he sounded more tired than anything. “I know today’s the day for the volunteer work. I didn’t forget.”

On the other end, Juntae laughed sheepishly, his voice casual in a way that made Sieun’s heart twist. How could the world stay so normal when his was stuck on repeat? “Right, right. Well, just reminding since Baku and Hyuntak almost forgot.”

Sieun closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wanted to snap, to tell Juntae that he remembered this day all too well, that he could never forget because this day was burned into him like a scar. But instead, he bit back the words, letting silence drag for a moment before murmuring, “…See you later.”

“See you, Sieun,” Juntae replied cheerfully before the line went dead.

Sieun lowered the phone slowly, staring blankly at the black screen. His hand tightened around it until his knuckles ached. The exhaustion weighed heavy, but the dread was heavier still. He couldn’t keep watching this happen. He couldn’t keep watching Geum Seongje bleed out in his arms, slipping away, while he helplessly replayed the same tragedy.

His gaze shifted to the calendar again, that cruel red circle like a bullseye. This was the day. He had tried to avoid Seongje, to keep his distance, thinking that maybe things would turn out better if their paths never crossed. But Seongje end up hurting so now he had to change his way to save him.

“…Not this time,” Sieun whispered to himself, voice raw, almost like a vow.

He would change it. He would rewrite the day Seongje fell into a coma. He couldn’t let Seongje stray out of reach, not even for a second. If that meant keeping him close, closer than Sieun had ever wanted, then so be it.

Chapter Text

The museum was buzzing with voices, the sound of shoes scuffing lightly against marble floors, the occasional laughter from students drifting through the wide halls. But Sieun barely noticed any of it. His heart felt unbearably heavy, like every step he took only dragged him deeper into the weight pressing on his chest.

He shouldn’t be here again, he shouldn’t have to repeat this moment but here he was, trapped in this cruel cycle. By lunch, his nerves were fraying. He should’ve been content just sticking close to Baku, Hyuntak, and Juntae like before, but the restless thought gnawed at him: Where’s Seongje?

When the boys started dragging him toward the cafeteria, chatting casually about food, Sieun forced a small, distracted smile. “You guys go first,” he said, his tone steady though his hands were tight against his sides. “I’ll catch up. I just need to go to the toilet.”

They didn’t question it because why would they? The boys went ahead, their voices fading as they turned down another hall. Left behind, Sieun lingered, his pulse pounding like he was about to commit some terrible crime instead of simply searching for someone. His shoes echoed against the polished floor as he wandered through the museum, his eyes scanning each exhibit, each corner.

And then he saw him.

Geum Seongje stood out effortlessly, as he always did, even among the crowd. That bright orange jacket was like a flare in the muted tones of the museum, it was impossible to miss. He wasn’t even trying to blend in at all with shoulders squared, expression cocky and presence loud without saying a word.

The sight of him made Sieun’s breath catch, his chest tightening until it almost hurt. His mind screamed that this was just another repetition, another step in a cursed loop, but his heart stumbled at seeing him again.

“…Seongje,” Sieun unconsciously murmured, the name slipping past his lips before he could stop himself. It felt too raw, too vulnerable, and the moment he realized, his eyes widened faintly in alarm.

Seongje, of course, noticed. His head turned with that natural arrogance, a grin tugging at his lips as he strolled closer, the kind of boy who never once thought the world could refuse him. “Oh? The pretty boy knows my name?” He teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

The words snapped Sieun back into himself, his expression shuttering as he forced a cool mask over his face. “Everyone knows Union and you,” he replied flatly, his gaze steady despite the storm in his chest. “I was just...informed.”

Seongje squinted at him, leaning in slightly as if trying to read something deeper from his tone. Then, with a smirk curling his lips, he muttered under his breath, “This punk really doesn’t look away.” His voice held more curiosity than annoyance, as though Sieun’s calm stare was something new, something that caught him off guard.

Sieun held his ground, though his fists clenched at his sides. “Are you going to punch me after 3 seconds?” he asked, his voice level but his heartbeat betrayed him.

That only made Seongje chuckle, the sound low and careless. “So you do know,” he said, amused by Sieun’s sharp tongue. He closed the space between them slowly, deliberately, until his presence pressed down on Sieun like gravity. His smirk deepened, and he murmured, “My three-second rule.”

Sieun’s body tensed, bracing instinctively. He had seen this moment before, over and over, always expecting violence, always ready for it. He waited for the swing, the blow that should have come. But before it could, a sudden force yanked him back by the arm.

“Sieun, you okay?”

Baku’s voice was sharp with concern, his hand gripping Sieun’s arm protectively as he scanned him from head to toe. Sieun blinked, startled, before giving the smallest of nods.

Baku’s eyes narrowed as he turned toward Seongje, his jaw tight. “Don’t fucking come close to Sieun,” he grumbled, voice low with warning.

For a moment, the tension thickened, heavy enough to choke on. And then Seongje broke it with a loud and unhinged laugh, the kind of sound that made heads turn across the room. It was wild, dangerous, and yet oddly exhilarating since he thrived on provoking others.

“He’s pretty,” Seongje drawled once his laughter subsided, tilting his head in Sieun’s direction with lazy interest. “So I’ll see you around more, Sieun.”

With that, he let his shoulder slam deliberately into Baku’s as he passed. He didn’t look back as he walked away, his bright jacket vanishing into the crowd.

Sieun let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders sinking as the weight settled over him again. No matter how many times he replayed this day, no matter how many times he swore he’d do it differently, it seems like fate always wanted Seongje in his life.

If having Seongje in his life can save him, then so be it.

⸻

Sieun had planned it carefully. If he was going to keep Geum Seongje alive this time, he needed to follow his habits. He went to the places he frequented and the hours he disappeared. So when evening came, he stationed himself at the convenience store right beside the PC bang that Seongje often haunted with the Ganghak boys.

He chose a spot near the window, a steaming cup of ramen before him, notebook spread open like he was simply another diligent student squeezing in extra study time. To anyone else, he probably looked harmless and ordinary student. But Sieun’s pen hovered above the paper without moving, his eyes flicking every few seconds to the glass door across the street. He didn’t care about his notes, he was just waiting for Seongje.

The familiar figure appeared soon enough. Seongje strolled out of the PC bang with that casual smug and his gang of rowdy lackeys trailing after him, noisy as ever. They split ways at the corner, tossing their goodbyes, and then Seongje headed toward the store with hands shoved in his jacket pocket.

Sieun dropped his gaze instantly, feigning deep concentration on the lines of his notes as he slurped at his ramen. His heart thudded uncomfortably fast, like he’d been caught doing something illicit even before anything happened.

Sure enough, footsteps slowed near him, and then a low, amused voice broke the air. “Is this my lucky day? Newbie is here.”

Sieun’s head lifted, his expression carefully blank as Seongje halted at the entrance, eyes glinting with curiosity.

“You should play games less,” Sieun muttered flatly, turning another page of his notes. He forced his voice to sound detached and casual, though the words carried an edge.

That earned him a soft chuckle, the kind that prickled at his skin. “Maybe fight less too,” Sieun added, quieter, unable to stop himself.

Seongje tilted his head, grin spreading wider, like he had just been handed the most amusing puzzle. “Are you my mom now?” he drawled, stepping closer so his shadow fell over Sieun’s table. “Or do you just like me that much? Because for a newbie, you really know where to find me. You’re not slick, Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun’s grip on his pen tightened. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, finally, he muttered, “You’re reckless. Someone has to make sure you don’t ruin yourself.”

For once, Seongje seemed caught off guard, blinking as though he hadn’t expected that answer. But the surprise melted fast into amusement. He leaned down to be closer to Sieun's face with a grin. “Or maybe you’re just obsessed with me.” His voice dipped, mocking but sing-song, like he was savoring the accusation. “But hey, at least I have a pretty admirer. That’s a win.”

Before Sieun could even think of a retort, Seongje straightened, gave a cocky wink, and pushed open the door to the convenience store, leaving Sieun staring down at his half-eaten ramen.

Only then did he let out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging. He hated how his heart raced in moments like this, hated how Seongje’s words cut too close to the truth he couldn’t ever admit.

He wasn’t obsessed. He was just trying to keep him alive.

⸻

It was unlike Sieun to step out of his carefully drawn lines, but lately, he had been doing things that made no sense, even to himself. Every day after school, no matter where Seongje wandered, Sieun insisted on walking him home.

At first, he masked it with excuses like "You're on my way." “I need some fresh air.” “Don’t flatter yourself, I just happen to be going in the same direction.” But Seongje wasn’t stupid. His sharp eyes caught the way Sieun’s steps always fell in line with his, too exact, too deliberate.

At first, Seongje found it funny. Amusing, even. He let Sieun trail behind him without protest, curious how far he’d go. Sometimes he deliberately dragged out the walk: slipping into an arcade for an hour, loitering in a convenience store, or cutting through alleys thick with shadows and cigarette smoke.

Sieun followed anyway.

Finally, one night, as the dim glow of a streetlamp cast long shadows across the pavement, Seongje had enough. He stopped abruptly, spinning on his heel so fast Sieun almost walked straight into him.

“Seriously,” Seongje drawled, exasperation laced with mockery. “What the fuck is your deal? Do you think I’ll break if you’re not babysitting me?”

Sieun froze, his throat tightening. He wanted to explain, wanted to scream that he’d already seen Seongje lying pale and covered with blood which later the doctors announced they don't know when he will wake up, that he couldn’t stand watching it happen again but the words lodged in his chest like thorns.

His fists clenched at his sides. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, restrained, almost trembling. “I told you. I’ll keep you alive, whether you like it or not.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Seongje’s lips curved into a sharp and mocking grin, his dark eyes gleaming as he leaned closer, close enough that Sieun could catch the faint scent of smoke.

“Ah yes, sounds like obsession to me.”

Sieun didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t argue, didn’t deny it. Let Seongje call it obsession. Let him laugh. None of that mattered. If tailing him, if being reckless and out of character was what it took to keep Seongje safe from the cruel fate that kept repeating, then obsession it would be.

⸻

The date loomed over Sieun like a shadow that never left his side. He woke with it, ate with it, sat through class with it gnawing at the back of his mind. He counted every hour until it came, heart sinking deeper the closer it drew.

As if fate had mocked him, it's already twice Seongje had fallen in his place. First, the car. Second, Youngbin’s ambush. And both times, Sieun had been useless, nothing more than dead weight pulled from death by someone who wasn’t meant to bleed for him.

Maybe that was the answer. Maybe the reason the loop wouldn’t break was because he was supposed to take the hit. He was supposed to be in the coma. Not Seongje. Never Seongje.

So when the day came again, Sieun didn’t hesitate. He glued himself to Seongje’s side like a shadow. If this was the day fate tried to claim blood, then he would offer his own.

Seongje, of course, noticed that Sieun was being extra clingy on the day.

“At this point, I’m just waiting for you to confess, newbie,” he teased with that crooked grin, tossing a glance over his shoulder as Sieun trailed him down the busy street.

Sieun only rolled his eyes, biting back the words threatening to spill. He wasn’t following for fun or because he was infatuated. He was following to save him.

Seongje eventually stopped at a small roadside stall, bright awning flapping in the late afternoon wind, the smell of tteokbokki thick in the air. He slouched onto the bench and ordered casually.

Sieun sat stiffly beside him, his chest tight. The stall was too close to the street. Too exposed. His eyes flicked constantly between the cars whizzing by and Seongje chewing his food without a care.

“Eat, newbie,” Seongje said suddenly, shoving a paper bowl toward him. “I’m not a bad guy, you know. Can’t just let you stalk me around all day without feeding you.”

Sieun blinked at him, startled at the sudden softness beneath the mockery. He hesitated, fingers brushing the rim of the bowl, but his gaze darted back to his watch. The seconds were bleeding out. It was almost time.

And then, he heard it. The unmistakable screech of tires tearing against asphalt.

His blood ran cold. His head snapped toward the road just in time to see the car careening out of control, skidding straight toward the flimsy stall.

“Newbie!” Seongje’s voice cut sharp through the chaos.

But Sieun was already moving. Without hesitation, he threw himself into Seongje’s chest, shoving him back with all the strength he had. The impact came an instant later as metal slamming into bone and the world exploding into pain as Sieun’s body was flung across the ground.

The breath was knocked clean from his lungs, his ears ringing, but through the haze he could still hear it. He could hear Seongje shouting his name, raw, terrified.

“Shit—Yeon Sieun!”

Sieun tried to lift his head, but his vision blurred at the edges. He felt blood rising in his throat, copper flooding his tongue. He wanted to tell him not to worry, that this was how it was supposed to be. He had saved him. He had broken the loop.

But fate wasn’t done with its cruelty.

With a sickening screech, the car spun, fishtailing, and in a blink it struck again but this time slamming into Seongje when he rushed toward Sieun. The force threw him into the air, body crashing hard onto the pavement.

“No!” Sieun’s voice was cracked and ragged, more a whimper than a scream. He tried to crawl forward, every nerve in his body alight with agony, but his limbs barely obeyed.

Seongje stand up again to went towards Sieun. He staggered once, twice and then collapsed beside him with blood streaking down his temple. His face, usually lit with mischief, was pale now, lips trembling as he fought for breath.

“Geum Seongje!” Sieun gasped, hands trembling as he reached for him. But his fingers were slick, his arms weak, every movement like dragging lead.

Through the blur of his fading sight, he caught the image of the boy beside him, face smeared with blood, but somehow still reaching for him. Even now, Seongje’s hand found his, clutching tight, as though anchoring him in place.

Sieun’s chest heaved, the world tilting, the sound of sirens distant, unreal. His eyes burned, tears and blood blurring together, and just before the dark swallowed him, the last thing he saw was Seongje’s bleeding face.

⸻

The ER swallowed them both whole, doctors and nurses swarming like vultures. Machines beeped. Commands were shouted. Their stretchers rolled side by side, only a thin curtain between them until the nurses pulled it back again, needing the space to work on both boys at once. Sieun’s half-lidded eyes tracked every movement, every panicked adjustment of Seongje’s mask, every bloody gauze replaced on his temple.

A prick of a needle burned against Sieun’s arm and then cool numbness flooded his veins. His lashes fluttered once, twice, and he was gone.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was quieter and dimmer. The fluorescent lights above hummed. The sterile air clung to his throat. His limbs were heavy and uncooperative, but his gaze darted sluggishly to the side and there he was.

Geum Seongje lay in the bed next to his. His head was wrapped in thick gauze, an oxygen mask fogging faintly with each shallow breath.

Between them stood Baku, Hyuntak, and Juntae, their faces pale and drawn. They looked like they hadn’t moved for hours, caught in the gravity of this quiet tragedy.

A doctor’s voice broke through the haze, clipped and clinical, “Yeon Sieun’s condition is serious but thankfully he is stable. He’s expected to recover fully soon.”

Relief barely had a chance to register before the words that followed dropped like a guillotine.

“Geum Seongje, however… sustained severe head trauma. We don’t know when he will wake up.”

The silence after was deafening. Sieun’s chest constricted so sharply he thought his ribs might shatter from the pressure alone. His breath hitched, broke, and the sound that tore from him was jagged, half cough and half sob.

“Sieun, are you okay?” Hyuntak rushed forward, hands hovering helplessly over him as Sieun jolted, clutching at his chest.

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs seized, air scraping thin through his throat. Nurses surged around his bed, voices urgent, adjusting tubes, pressing masks, steadying machines. Hands pushed him flat, cold metal pressed to his chest, and yet all he could think about was the person at the bed beside him.

It doesn’t matter what I do. Doesn’t matter how hard I fight. The world is designed to break him.

The thought throbbed like a curse, louder than the doctors’ orders, louder than the alarms shrieking from the monitor. His vision tunneled, everything blurring to white, until the last thing he saw was the faint rise and fall of Seongje’s chest, still too shallow and still too fragile.

And then darkness claimed him again.

⸻

When Sieun woke again but the sterile scent of the hospital, the metallic taste of blood, the sound of monitors beeping was gone. He was in his own room again, his ceiling fan creaking faintly and morning sunlight seeping through the curtains as if nothing had ever happened. For a moment he lay frozen, unable to breathe, his heart hammering in his ears.

Then his phone buzzed on the desk beside him, the cheerful ringtone jarringly normal. He already knew what it was before he even reached for it, his hands trembling as though weighted by chains. When the screen lit up with Juntae's name, his chest tightened. He knew the words that were coming. He had heard them before, again and again.

“Sieun, don’t forget the volunteer work today,” Juntae’s voice chirped through the line.

The dam inside Sieun broke. His throat closed up, his eyes blurred, and suddenly he was sobbing into the receiver before he could stop himself. His breath hitched, ragged and broken.

“Sieun? Sieun, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Juntae’s tone sharpened with panic. He had never heard Sieun cry. Not once.

“I… I’m tired, Juntae,” Sieun choked out, his voice raw and uneven, the words spilling out without thought. “I really am so so tired.”

There was a pause on the other end, the kind where even silence feels weighted. Juntae’s breath caught audibly. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his words stumbling over themselves. “It’s fine, you don’t have to push yourself. I can tell them you’re not feeling well. Baku and Gotak will understand. They’ll cover for you.”

But Sieun only pressed his forehead against his knees, clutching the phone tighter as his tears soaked his sleeves. They wouldn’t understand. None of them could.

How could he explain that he was trapped in the same three months, watching Seongje bleed out again and again, every loop shattering him a little more? How could he say that no matter what choices he made, no matter how many times he tried to rewrite the ending, Seongje always will always end up slipped through his fingers?

“I—” he tried, but his voice cracked into silence.

On the other end, Juntae filled the emptiness with a softer and gentler tone, like he was afraid Sieun might snap if he pressed too hard. “We’ll come to your house later, after the volunteer work. I’ll tell the teacher you’re really sick, so don’t worry about it. Just rest, okay?”

Sieun’s tears fell faster. The kindness stung almost as much as the helplessness did. He closed his eyes, the weight of exhaustion pressing against his ribs until it hurt. “…Thank you, Juntae,” he whispered, his voice trembling, fragile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Juntae said firmly, though Sieun could still hear the strain in his voice.

When the call ended, Sieun let the phone slip from his hand. He curled back against his pillow, tears wetting the fabric, his chest aching with grief he couldn’t voice. He stared at the ceiling as the fan spun lazily overhead, each turn mocking him with how normal the world looked.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, Sieun allowed himself to say it out loud, though no one could hear:

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Chapter Text

Sieun lay sprawled across his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, heavy breaths. His body felt numb, not from exhaustion but from something deeper, like his very soul had been scraped raw. Maybe this was it. Maybe he wasn’t meant to fight anymore.

He still didn’t understand why the universe insisted on throwing him into this endless cycle, dragging him back again and again just to make him watch Geum Seongje suffer. If no matter how much he struggled yet the ending was the same, then what was the point? Why was he tied to Seongje and reliving his accidents?

The minutes bled into hours as it was slow and suffocating for Sieun. At some point, he realized the exact hour he should have first crossed paths with Seongje, the moment their fates were supposed to tangle had already passed.

Now, in this loop, Seongje didn’t even know he existed. That single fact should’ve given him relief, a clean slate, but instead, dread pooled heavier in his stomach. Because even if they didn’t meet now, he knew what awaited in the next three months. He knew the world will be tilted toward that same cruel outcome.

A hollow scoff escaped his lips. He was trapped in a cage with no key, a story with tragedy ending. At this point, he doubted he’d ever escape the loop. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe he was being punished, forced to carry the weight of watching Seongje fall again and again until his own spirit broke.

The sharp chime of the doorbell startled him. His head turned sluggishly toward the sound, and for a long moment, he didn’t move. But he knew who was coming so he dragged himself up from the bed. He shuffled to the door, rubbed at his swollen eyes and glanced at the screen. On the monitor stood his three idiot friends, huddled together, looking far too concerned for his liking.

When he opened the door, Juntae stepped forward first, his expression soft and worried. “Are you okay, Sieun? We, uh… we got your address from the teacher.”

Before Sieun could answer, Baku rushed past him, pressing the back of his hand to Sieun’s forehead like a mother hen. “You don’t have a fever,” he muttered, squinting at him, “but you surely look dead.”

Hyuntak, hovering just behind, lifted a plastic bag in one hand, his voice deliberately bright. “We figured you haven’t eaten, so we brought fried chicken!”

Something inside Sieun cracked at their fussing. His lips curved into a soft, fragile smile, but enough to make all three of them freeze. It was so rare, so unguarded, that it stunned them into silence. And then, before Sieun could stop himself, his tears spilling over his cheeksmaking the three of his friends panicked.

“Shit, Sieun, are you okay?” Baku blurted, already grabbing his arm.

“Hey, hey, sit down,” Hyuntak urged, pushing him gently toward the couch.

“It’s okay,” Juntae added quickly, his hand hovering near Sieun’s back as if steadying him. “Don’t stress yourself too much. We’re here.”

The next thing he knew, they had herded him onto the couch. Juntae sat next to him, patting his back to calm him down. Hyuntak claimed the floor in front of them, peering up at Sieun with furrowed brows, while Baku busied himself cracking open a water bottle before thrusting it into Sieun’s hands. Their movements were clumsy but full of concern, and Sieun who was already overwhelmed, simply let them.

Silence lingered until Sieun broke it with a quiet question that immediately froze the air. “Did you guys meet Geum Seongje at the museum today?”

The three of them exchanged startled looks, their mouths half-open.

“How do you… know that?” Hyuntak asked carefully. “Wait, how do you even know Geum Seongje?”

“I told him before, about Union and Seongje,” Juntae admitted reluctantly with a frown.

Sieun’s gaze stayed fixed on the half-empty water bottle in his hands. His voice was soft, almost detached. “Seongje’s going to rope Humin into joining Union. That’s why he met you guys, isn’t it?”

Baku leaned back, blinking. “Wait, what? Did you stalk us, Sieuni? Is that why you know everything?” he teased, but his laugh was uneasy.

Sieun only sighed, shrugging with feigned carelessness. “Instinct. I assume Union will always been like that. They’ve always wanted to rope you in.” He paused, then muttered, “I’m hungry.”

That was enough to cut off any further questioning. Baku opened the boxes of fried chicken while Sieun turned on the TV, letting some random drama play in the background just to fill the silence with noise. The four of them settled in around the coffee table, picking at chicken and sipping soda, the tension slowly dissolving into the comfort of routine.

For a little while, it almost felt normal. Almost.

Sieun nibbled at a drumstick, his eyes fixed on the screen but not really watching. He could hear the laughter of his friends as they bickered about which character in the drama was the most annoying, and it gave Sieun a ghost of warmth in his chest. He was still glad to have them, even in this suffocating cycle. But beneath that fragile moment of peace, his decision settled like a stone.

This time, he wasn’t going to plan or fight or chase after fate. This time, he would just live. Day by day. Moment by moment. If Seongje was doomed to fall into a coma in three months, then so be it. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save him. All he could do was breathe and exist until the inevitable arrived.

And really, what was the worst that could happen besides watching Seongje break all over again?

⸻

Sieun had been determined to live quietly this time around, to let the world pass as it would. He went to school, tolerated Hyoman’s endless pestering, accepted the supplements Juntae kept shoving at him—“Magnesium, it helps you sleep, Sieun!”—and sat through the constant bickering between Hyuntak and Baku as they prepared for their upcoming friendly match against Ganghak High.

Hyuntak had whined for days that the boys from Ganghak didn’t treat basketball like basketball at all, but like some strange form of martial arts, full of elbows and shoves. Sieun had just listened in silence, chin resting on his hand, letting their noise wash over him.

What Sieun didn’t know, what the universe had neatly hidden until now, despite him reliving these months for three times already, was that Geum Seongje played basketball.

It wasn’t until he found himself seated on the bleachers during the game that it happened. Juntae, red-faced and full of energy, was yelling himself hoarse for Baku and Hyuntak, while Sieun sat beside him, composed as ever. His gaze fixed on the court without much interest, not until his eyes caught on a figure he hadn’t expected.

Geum Seongje.

He was there, weaving through defenders with effortless confidence, his bright jacket discarded in favor of the team uniform, his movements sharp and controlled, his smirk flashing whenever the ball left his hands. And then, in the middle of it all, he looked up straight into Sieun’s direction. For a breathless moment, their eyes locked. Seongje tilted his head, curious, like he was already trying to figure him out.

“Shit,” Sieun muttered under his breath, his chest tightening. He exhaled a bitter scoff a second later. Of course. Of course the universe wouldn’t let him be. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he avoided, fate was always going to drag Seongje back into his orbit. This connection was stitched into the fabric of every loop.

He didn’t let his face show anything. By the time the game ended with Eunjang narrowly snatching victory by one single point thanks to Baku’s final shot, Juntae was already tugging Sieun’s arm, pulling him down from the bleachers.

“Come on, let’s go see them!” Juntae chattered, waving excitedly at Hyuntak, who was grinning like a fool and flailing both arms in the air. Baku was panting, towel slung around his shoulders, already bracing for Juntae's inevitable praising session.

Sieun who was quiet as always, just watching the three of his friends celebrated, their laughter bright and loud. For a fleeting second, he let himself think maybe he could just slip away unnoticed, until a voice cut through the noise, smooth and teasing.

“Didn’t know Eunjang had such a pretty newbie. Yah, Baku, why would you hide such a face from me?”

The world seemed to narrow as Seongje strolled toward them, still smug despite the sweat on his forehead. He walked like he owned the court, like every step was a claim of territory and his smirk only widened when his gaze slid back to Sieun.

Immediately, Baku moved in front of Sieun, blocking him with a protective scowl. “Stay away from him,” he snapped, his shoulders squared.

Sieun didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on Seongje’s, unblinking.

“This newbie doesn’t really look away, does he?” Seongje drawled, tilting his head again, his smirk sharpening.

“Are you going to punch him now, Seongje?” Baku growled, still shielding Sieun.

“I can’t have his pretty face bruised up, can I?” Seongje chuckled, leaning forward just enough to make it clear he enjoyed the tension. “Besides, why are you defending him this much, Park Humin? Is this newbie your new boyfriend? Should I tell Baekjin this?”

Baku bristled, fists clenching, but Sieun sighed quietly as he noticed Baku's patience thinning. He reached forward and tapped Baku’s back. “It’s fine, Humin. Let’s go. He’s just trying to get into your head.”

Baku let out a frustrated breath through his nose, but he obeyed and already stepping back. “Okay. Let’s go. Come on, Gotak, Juntae.” He grabbed Sieun’s wrist and tugged him along, dragging him firmly away from the encounter.

Sieun allowed it, though as he was pulled forward, his eyes flicked one last time toward Seongje. That same smirk lingered on the other boy’s face, eyes glinting with mischief and curiosity, as he looked like he’d already decided Sieun was worth the trouble.

Sieun prayed silently that this would be the last time. That maybe, if he was lucky, he’d never have to see Seongje again in this loop. But deep in his chest, he already knew better. The universe never let him walk away.

⸻

The bell had rung again when Sieun stepped out of Eunjang High with Juntae. Baku and Hyuntak had been pulled into the teacher’s room for some scolding he assumed, leaving him with only one companion. The late afternoon air was heavy, the streets buzzing with students heading home. It was calm with Juntae yapping about Hyuntak teasing him until the moment he caught sight of a familiar figure leaning casually nearby the school gate.

The maroon uniform was unmistakable. Geum Seongje, Union’s notorious mad dog, was waiting there like a predator waiting to jump on his prey. The grin curling on his lips was enough to set Juntae tugging on Sieun’s sleeve in alarm.

Everyone knew better than to cross paths with Seongje. Everyone except Sieun apparently, who merely glanced at him with the same blank indifference he reserved for nuisances.

“Oi, newbie,” Seongje called out lazily, his voice carrying across the chatter of students. His eyes gleamed with curiosity rather than menace as he pushed off from the wall and began to close the distance.

Juntae’s grip on Sieun’s arm tightened. “Come on,” he whispered urgently, trying to pull him away before trouble erupted.

But Sieun didn’t react. He didn’t even blink. He just kept walking straight like nothing happened with his face unreadable and his steps calm.

Seongje clicked his tongue when he caught up, his tone lowering as though testing boundaries. “Tch. Not even a blink? You’re fearless, really.”

Sieun exhaled a long, weary sigh, choosing to turn away instead of answering. He’d had enough of this game, enough of Seongje’s attention that seemed to follow him no matter what he did. But before he could slip past, a hand clamped around his wrist, halting his steps.

“Geum Seongje!” Baku’s voice rang out sharp as he dashed over, his expression stormy. He pried Sieun’s wrist out of Seongje’s grip, shoving the taller boy back with a scowl. “What the hell is your problem with Sieun?”

Sieun’s temples suddenly pulsed, a dull throbbing starting at the base of his skull. Not now, he grumbled mentally. This was the last place he wanted a scene.

Seongje only tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sieun. Sieun. Why does a guy like you waste your time dating a loser like Humin?” His tone was mocking, but there was an edge of genuine curiosity that unsettled Sieun.

He clamped his mouth shut, unwilling to engage. If Seongje wanted to think he was dating Baku, so be it. Let him believe whatever he wanted because it didn’t matter. Maybe it would even hurt less when the inevitable came, when Seongje lay in that hospital bed again.

“What’s your issue if Sieun really is dating me?” Baku shot back quickly, stepping closer to shield Sieun as he played along without hesitation.

Seongje scoffed, but didn’t deny his interest.

“Now get off Sieun’s back and stop pestering him,” Baku continued, his voice sharp with warning. “And tell Baekjin to quit using Union kids to bother me. I won’t join Union and that’s final.”

Before Seongje could retort, Hyuntak appeared at Sieun’s side, his sharp gaze immediately softening at the sight of him swaying on his feet. “Come on, Sieun, you’ve got cram school.” His voice was gentle and coaxing, as he slipped an arm on Sieun’s shoulder for support.

“I… don’t feel good,” Sieun muttered, his lips barely moving.

Baku’s eyes widened as Sieun’s weight shifted against him, alarm flickering across his face. His hand steadied Sieun quickly.

“Okay, we’ll take you home,” Juntae said firmly, moving closer. But when Sieun lifted his head weakly, his gaze snagged on Seongje’s face. The smugness was gone, replaced by concern. Real, raw concern that only Sieun can see and he hated it. Hated how it twisted in his chest, how it made everything harder.

“Go away, Seongje. Just… let me be,” Sieun finally rasped, forcing the words out.

“So you can talk to me,” Seongje teased after a beat, but the smirk on his lips didn’t reach his eyes.

That was the last straw. Despite Seongje’s provocations, his chaos, his shadow looming over him—he didn’t deserve what was coming. He never did.

So Sieun just let himself go limp against Baku, his body giving out as darkness closed in. He faintly heard Baku’s panicked voice calling his name, the world tilting and dimming, before unconsciousness pulled him under.

⸻

After that day in front of Eunjang’s gates, Sieun never crossed paths with Geum Seongje again. Days bled into weeks, and his absence left Sieun with a strange, bitter aftertaste. Relief, perhaps, because there was no smug voice calling out to him, no mocking grin, no tugging at the edges of his carefully constructed life. Yet beneath that relief was something else, something hollow, like a string pulled too tight and waiting to snap. He didn’t know what to feel anymore.

The memory of the first loop gnawed at him. The way he had fought so hard to keep Seongje away, only for him to appear in the final moment, reckless as he save him again. No matter what he tried, Seongje had always found his way back into Sieun’s life.

So this time, Sieun chose the simplest method: avoidance. Absolute avoidance. If Seongje never saw him, never spoke to him, then maybe fate wouldn’t have the chance to weave its cruel pattern.

On the day Seongje was supposed to fall into his coma, Sieun didn’t even step outside. He shut the blinds, turned off his phone, and stayed in bed, forcing himself into silence. He didn’t go to school, didn’t answer Juntae’s calls, didn’t even bother eating. If staying invisible was the only way, then he would erase himself for as long as he had to.

Hours passed. Morning bled into afternoon, afternoon into night. And nothing happened. The stillness felt eerie, heavy, but safe. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the loop where Seongje survived.

By the time Sieun’s stomach twisted with hunger, the sky outside had gone dark. He told himself it was over. He had made it past the cursed hour. It was 15 minutes to midnight. It was safe. Pulling on a jacket, he slipped out into the cool night air and walked the short distance to the convenience store nearby. The fluorescent lights glowed like a promise.

But fate was merciless.

Just as his hand reached for the glass door at 11:59 pm, something shoved him roughly aside. The impact forced the breath from his chest, and his gaze snapped upward in time to see a maroon uniform from Ganghak High dart past him.

Before Sieun could process it, a metal sign above the entrance, long loosened from its bolts, broke free. Seongje had tried to dodge, arm raised as though shielding them both, but it came down hard, slamming into him.

Sieun’s world went white. “Seongje!” His voice cracked, high and panicked. He dropped to his knees beside him, hands trembling. “Fuck! I shouldn’t have gone out at all today!”

Blood dripped down Seongje’s temple, streaking into his hair and collar, but he still managed a crooked grin. “Newbie? Yeon Sieun? Wow. Didn’t know it was you,” he rasped, as if this were some casual encounter, as if he weren’t bleeding out in front of a convenient store.

Sieun’s chest tightened painfully. His fingers fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it as he dialed for an ambulance. “Shut up! Just… shut up!” he snapped, his voice breaking as he pressed his hands desperately against the wound to slow the bleeding.

But Seongje chuckled weakly, as if mocking death itself. “You think I can sue the convenience store for this?”

Tears burned Sieun’s eyes, though he refused to let them fall. “Do you ever stop running your mouth?” he hissed, shaking, furious at himself, furious at the universe. “You’re dying, Geum Seongje! Can’t you see that?”

The sound of sirens tore through the night air, and relief surged through Sieun. Still, his heart hammered against his ribs, panic clawing at his throat.

Seongje kept watching him, eyes half-lidded but strangely soft. “You sound way too concerned for someone who told me to leave him alone.”

Sieun’s lips trembled. “Can you just shut up already!” His voice was hoarse, but he pressed harder on the wound, as if sheer willpower could hold Seongje here.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Seongje was still conscious, still clinging stubbornly to wakefulness. They lifted him onto the stretcher, movements quick and precise, voices clipped and urgent. And then, just before they wheeled him into the ambulance, his hand found Sieun’s. Not in the iron grip of someone desperate, but gentle. Almost careful, as if afraid Sieun might break if he held too tightly. Too soft for someone slipping away.

“Yeon Sieun,” he whispered. His lips barely moved, but his voice was clear enough. Then his eyes fluttered shut, and the monitors spiked, sending the paramedics into frantic shouts as they rushed to stabilize him.

The doors slammed, the ambulance roared away, and Sieun stood frozen, his hands sticky with blood. His mind spun until something sharp and merciless clicked into place.

In every loop, no matter what, Seongje’s last words before falling into a coma were always the same. Always his name.

“YAH! YEON SIEUN!”
“Yeon Sieun—”
“Shit—Yeon Sieun!”
“Yeon Sieun.”

Seongje always fell into the come because of him. And Sieun’s name was the last thing he ever said before slipping under.

His chest tightened until he could hardly breathe. With trembling fingers, he pulled out his phone and called Baku. His voice was flat, heavy, as if he had already lived through this too many times. “Seongje’s in the hospital. Can you… can you come with me later?” he said quietly.

Baku’s voice exploded with questions, panic spilling through the line, but Sieun barely heard it. He hung up soon after, the weight pressing down until his legs felt heavy. He forced himself toward the hospital, step by step, already knowing exactly what awaited him.

Because this was fate. This was inevitability. No matter how he twisted, no matter how he fought, the ending was always the same.

⸻

Sieun sat hunched forward on the cold bench, elbows pressed against his knees, hands still tacky with half-dried blood. His eyes were locked on the sterile white floor tiles, tracing the faint cracks as though they might give him answers. The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, every second dragging out like an eternity. He wasn’t really waiting for news, he was waiting for the cycle. For that familiar moment when everything would tilt, his body would give out, and he would wake up again on the morning he first crossed paths with Geum Seongje. He let out a slow, tired sigh. This was routine now. He knew how the story went.

The bench creaked slightly as someone sat beside him. Sieun stiffened, but the voice that followed was so uncharacteristically soft it made him lift his head. “What happened?” Baku asked. His usual sharpness was gone, replaced by something hesitant, almost fragile.

“The metal sign at the convenient store,” Sieun murmured, his throat tight. He didn’t look at Baku, just stared at the dried blood staining the creases of his palms. “It fell on us. It hit Seongje.”

Baku’s brows furrowed, concern etched deep across his face. “Are you okay?”

Sieun laughed bitterly under his breath, a sound closer to a sob. “I am. But…” His voice cracked, and his chest lurched forward as if the words themselves were too heavy to keep inside. “I don’t think Seongje will make it.”

The dam broke. His shoulders shook violently as hot tears streamed down his cheeks, and he lifted both bloodstained hands to cover his face. The metallic tang still clung to his skin, and the sight of it against his vision made his sobs sharper, more ragged. “It’s my fault,” he choked out, his voice muffled. “Always my fault.”

“Sieun—” Baku started, reaching for him, but the sound of footsteps interrupted.

A doctor stepped into the waiting area, his expression grave, his tone brisk but not unkind. “I’m sorry. Your friend, Geum Seongje—he’s in critical condition. We’ve placed him in a medically induced sleep. Let’s just… pray he’ll wake up soon.” His words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating, before he excused himself and disappeared back behind the sterile white doors.

Sieun’s heart clenched. The words “pray he’ll wake up soon” rang in his ears like a cruel echo of every loop before this. He knew them. He had heard them, or something like them, again and again. His vision blurred with fresh tears.

Baku didn’t speak this time. He simply pulled Sieun into his embrace, his arms strong around Sieun’s trembling frame. And Sieun let himself sink into it, though his mind had already braced for what was next. He knew his body would give in soon. He knew he’d faint here, in Baku’s arms, just as he had before.

“I’m sorry,” Sieun whispered, not sure if it was meant for Baku, for Seongje, or for the universe itself. The words were barely audible, the last threads of his voice before darkness crept in from the edges of his vision. He felt the weight of Baku’s hold tighten as his body went limp, and then—nothing.

⸻

Sieun woke with a slow, reluctant breath. He lay for a long moment, eyes tracing the familiar cracks in the ceiling until the weight in his chest eased enough to move. He reached over on autopilot and silenced the alarm, the little mechanical beep vanishing like one small mercy.

His gaze drifted to the wall calendar. The day was marked in heavy red ink , the same circle that had become a marker of dreading loop he couldn’t pry himself from. For a second the circle looked almost decorative, ridiculous on the plain calendar. He let out a breath that came out as a sigh more than anything else, the sound small in the quiet of his room.

When Juntae’s name flashed across the screen he still answered without thinking. “Morning, Sieun! Don’t forget today!” Juntae’s voice was bright, chirpy as if nothing in the world had changed. It was the same greeting he’d heard for the fifth time now, the same careless cheer that Sieun want to stop hearing at this point.

“Mm. I didn’t forget,” Sieun said softly, and the words felt rehearsed even to his own ears. Juntae’s See you later! was cheerful, and then the line clicked dead. Sieun blinked at the dark screen and set the phone face down on his desk.

What used to be panic had curdled into resignation. He had spent almost a year living inside this loop. Not a literal year in time, he corrected himself, because the world outside didn’t change but a year’s worth of mornings, conversations, hospital waiting rooms, and that same terrible ending looped through him until the edges of his life had worn smooth.

And now, after so many repeats, something had broken in him. Not his body but the part of him that scrambled to fix things, to plan every route and count every footstep. He had tried avoidance and interference; he had tried sacrificing himself; he had tried befriending and hiding. None of it changed the end. The loops had taught him a terrible truth: he could act until he was raw, and the world would still find a way to bend toward the same outcome.

He felt the surrender come not with a dramatic collapse but with a simple, quiet acceptance. If the loop wanted him, let it have him. If the world wanted to break Seongje no matter what he did, then he would live inside that circle as long as it took or forever if need be.

Sieun pushed himself out of bed at last, the motion automatic. He got ready and dressed in the same plain clothes he always wore, tied his shoes without thinking about the laces, and left his room in a kind of slow, methodical trance.

He made no plans and no lists. Today would come and go like the others; he might interfere, he might not. He might scream at fate or he might watch and be numb.

When he stepped out the door, the red circle on the calendar seemed to pulse in his mind like a heartbeat. He walked toward whatever the day held with a calm so quiet, it was almost detached.

Chapter Text

The day at the museum unfolded with an uncanny familiarity, a repetition that felt like déjà vu made Sieun’s chest tighten. Every step, every sound, every word spoken by his friends was literally like a scene replaying from a memory he had already lived.

Out of all the loops, this one was the most identical to his real timeline, the one before everything broke. It felt less like a reset and more like he had been dropped back into the actual day he first met Geum Seongje. That sense of déjà vu clung to him, weighing on his thoughts. But he didn’t care anymore. His exhaustion dulled every edge of the moment.

When Baku, with his usual careless energy, flung the chopsticks that ended up staining Sieun’s white sweater, Sieun didn’t say anything. Instead, he only sighed and said, “I'm going to the washroom.” The words came out flat, emotionless. Without fuss, he rose from the table and walked toward the restroom, ignoring the way the three of frowned after him.

Inside, the sterile white light flickered faintly above, reflecting off the tiled walls. Sieun bent over the sink, scrubbed methodically using a tissue paper. His movements practiced, almost mechanical. He’d done this before, he knew the outcome and he knew who was waiting. So of course, when he on his way to walk out from the restroom, there he was.

Geum Seongje leaned casually against the wall before the door like he belonged there, bright orange jacket striking against the bland backdrop. That same air of careless confidence surrounded him, but Sieun could see through it now. He always could, ever since he started looping.

“Geum Seongje,” Sieun said softly, his voice low, steady, and unshaken, as if he had been expecting him all along.

At the sound of his name, Seongje’s head turned. A smirk tugged at his lips. “You know my name?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “You’re the newbie that hangs out with Baku, right?”

Sieun didn’t answer immediately. He simply looked at him, and in that stillness, he noticed something he had been blind to before. The way Seongje leaned forward ever so slightly, the way his eyes lingered, the teasing tone that carried more warmth than mockery—Seongje had taken a liking to him from the very beginning. Not just curiosity. Not just interest. Something more. Something dangerously close to romantic.

Sieun almost laughed at himself for realizing it this late, after countless loops and countless near-deaths. Of course Seongje’s eyes had looked at him this way. Of course his words towards him had always carried a subtle weight.

And yet, knowing it now only made the question burn deeper: If Seongje had always liked him, then why did Sieun have to relive this moment again and again? Why did his feelings doom him to fall into a coma every single time? Was it because Sieun was the caused of his coma?

“I think you can stop being Baekjin’s minion,” Sieun said finally, his tone clipped. “Let him settle things with Humin himself.”

Seongje chuckled, low and amused, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls. “You think it’s that easy?” he asked, stepping closer with lazy, deliberate movements.

“I’ll talk to Humin,” Sieun replied firmly.

That earned him a pause. Seongje tilted his head, studying him with sharper intent, before his expression softened into something unexpected. His voice dropped, quieter, as though he had forgotten he was supposed to be teasing. “You have sad eyes,” he murmured, the words falling strangely heavy in the silence.

It caught Sieun off guard, but his tongue was sharp even when his heart faltered. “And you’re going to swing a punch at me if I don’t look away in three seconds,” he shot back coolly.

A grin broke across Seongje’s face, unbothered, almost delighted. “Feisty kitten,” he muttered, clearly entertained.

But before he could step closer, before the tension could stretch into something dangerous or tender, the restroom door burst open.

“Sieun!” Baku’s voice cut through, urgent and worried. He stormed in, eyes flicking from Sieun to Seongje. Without hesitation, he pushed Sieun back, shielding him with his body. His glare landed on Seongje like a warning.

“I’m fine,” Sieun reassured quickly, his tone steady but quiet. “Seongje didn’t do anything.”

“Let’s go. You took way too long, and thank god I came in time,” Baku muttered, his hand firm around Sieun’s wrist as if he couldn’t trust him to stand near Seongje without trouble.

As they turned to leave, Seongje’s voice followed them, playful and edged with promise. “I’ll see you again then, Sieun.”

Sieun didn’t falter. He didn’t look back. His reply was dry, almost lifeless, yet it carried the weight of someone who already knew too much. “Can’t wait.”

And with that, he let Baku pull him away, the echo of Seongje’s smirk chasing him out of the restroom like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

⸻

True to his words, Geum Seongje didn’t let it end in the museum's washroom. He made it his mission to find Yeon Sieun again and he succeeded.

The school day at Eunjang ended the same as always, with the usual noise of students spilling out of the gate in groups. Sieun walked out slowly, letting himself be pulled into the comfortable chaos of his friends. Baku’s voice was the loudest as he complained about the friendly game practice, Hyuntak was teasing Juntae about his handwriting again and Juntae was whining in dramatic tones about how unfair life was.

For a fleeting second, Sieun almost let himself relax into it. Almost.

Then came the voice.

“Newbie!”

It carried across the air like a whip crack, instantly drawing attention. Sieun froze mid-step, head turning automatically toward the source. His chest tightened the moment he saw him.

Geum Seongje was leaning against the brick wall just outside the gate, one leg propped up lazily, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. He looked perfectly at home, like he had been waiting there for hours just for this moment. His uniform from Ganghak was as much a warning as it was a statement, yet his smirk was light and almost playful. The way he exhaled smoke into the cold air made him look untouchable, dangerous, and unbothered all at once.

Hyuntak reacted first, his voice sharp and bristling. “What the fuck? What are you doing here?” His glare was fierce, his protective instincts blazing through.

Seongje chuckled, a low, amused sound that seemed to echo louder than the crowd around them. He tilted his head, eyes zeroing in only on Sieun as if no one else existed. “Relax. I just wanted to talk to your pretty-faced newbie.”

The words were deliberate, bait meant to provoke. Sieun felt the weight of Baku’s steps beside him, already about to plant himself like a shield in front of him again. But before that wall of protection could snap into place, Sieun let out a slow, tired sigh.

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, but with enough firmness to halt Baku mid-step. His eyes didn’t leave Seongje’s. “I’ll talk to him.”

The effect was immediate. Seongje’s smirk broke into the biggest gummy smile, one so genuine it startled Sieun for a heartbeat. He looked almost boyish in that moment, delighted, like he had been waiting for Sieun to acknowledge him properly.

Not indulging the reaction, Sieun stepped forward, brushing past the tense gazes of his friends. He walked straight up to Seongje, close enough to catch the faint scent of cigarette smoke. For a second, Seongje’s grin faltered, his expression flickering into something softer, but Sieun didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“I have cram school,” Sieun said evenly, his eyes cold but his voice steady, each syllable clipped with quiet finality. “So you’d better say whatever you want to say while we are on our way there.”

Then, without so much as a glance back, he brushed past Seongje making the taller boy blink in surprise. For a second, silence hung in the air before Seongje’s lips curved back into a smirk, wide and unbothered, like he’d just been handed the biggest victory of his week. He pushed off the wall with lazy ease, flicking the cigarette to the ground as he trail after Sieun without hesitation.

The sight was bizarre—Sieun walking briskly forward, expression unreadable, while Geum Seongje, Ganghak High’s infamous troublemaker, followed half a step behind him like a puppy on an invisible leash. Baku, Hyuntak, and Juntae just stood at the gate, staring after them like they had witnessed a scene from another dimension. None of them could wrap their heads around the fact that Seongje wasn’t throwing punches or taunts, but instead trailing after Yeon Sieun.

“Should I walk you to cram school every day?” Seongje asked casually, voice light as if he were suggesting something as ordinary as sharing an umbrella. His tone carried no malice, only an odd sort of amusement.

Sieun didn’t slow his steps. “Don’t you have games to play after school?” he asked, his words flat but pointed.

That made Seongje grin wider, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head. “You know a lot about me, newbie.” His voice held a teasing lilt, but Sieun only sighed quietly at the remark.

Of course he knew a lot. Four time loops had forced him to know more about Geum Seongje than he ever wanted—his habits, his quirks, the way he smiled before a fight, even the way he always ended up in a coma no matter what Sieun tried to do. Sometimes, Sieun felt like he knew Seongje more intimately than he even knew himself. And it exhausted him.

Unaware of that depth, Seongje kept talking, his words easy, casual, yet cutting closer to Sieun than he realized. “You look like you should’ve been in one of those polished schools like Yeoil High. So why Eunjang? Did they kick you out for being too perfect?”

“I stabbed someone in previous school with a pen,” Sieun said, his voice half-hearted, as though it didn’t matter.

Seongje laughed, loud and genuinely entertained. “You stabbed someone with a pen? Damn. You look so dainty, I can’t believe you actually did that.” His laughter was light, ringing in the air, and he looked at Sieun like he had just found a secret treasure.

Sieun hummed, not confirming or denying further, his steps finally slowing as the cram school building loomed into view. He stopped at the entrance and glanced at Seongje for the first time since leaving the school gate. “I’m here.”

Seongje leaned forward slightly, that infuriating grin still tugging at his mouth. “I can pick you up later,” he offered smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sieun’s expression didn’t change. “You’re not my bodyguard. I can go home myself.” His words were clipped, final, leaving no room for argument. Without waiting for Seongje’s response, he turned and disappeared into the building, leaving Seongje standing on the sidewalk, smiling like a cat who had just found a mouse too stubborn to run away.

⸻

At first, Sieun stayed quiet, telling himself it was easier this way. If he ignored Seongje, maybe this loop would blur by quicker. But Seongje never let him be. Every day after school, he’d be there, leaning against the wall, waiting. He’d trail behind Sieun to cram school like an annoying shadow, asking him pointless questions, throwing little jabs, anything to get a reaction. At first, Sieun only gave him silence, letting out sighs that sounded more like surrender. But even silence didn’t stop Seongje. If anything, it made him try harder.

Eventually, Sieun began to let his guard slip. It started small with him replying with short words instead of ignoring him completely. A “hm,” here. A sarcastic “really?” there. Then, slowly, his replies stretched into full sentences, his irritation curling into something like banter. Their rhythm became familiar, almost natural, like two sides of the same coin.

His friends noticed first: how Sieun didn’t scowl as much when Seongje was nearby, how his sharp edges dulled when they bickered. Hyuntak even teased him once, whispering that Sieun looked like some tsundere grumpy kitted when Seongje hovered around.

For the first time in all his loops, Sieun began to wonder if he’d been looking at it wrong all along. Maybe it wasn’t fate he had to fight. Maybe it was himself.

Maybe resisting Seongje only tied the loop tighter. He’d already accepted that this life was endless, that he’d never break free, so why waste it pushing someone away who kept finding his way back to him anyway?

So, little by little, he gave in. He walked beside Seongje instead of speeding up to outpace him. He let himself be dragged onto the bus seat next to him, listening as Seongje filled the air with ridiculous stories and gossip only someone like him could carry with such conviction.

One afternoon, as the bus rattled toward cram school, Sieun rested his elbow on the window, gazing out at the fading light. Seongje, sprawled lazily in the seat beside him, suddenly leaned closer, voice low as if sharing a secret.

“Do you know that Baekjin broke Hyuntak’s knee? Because he was jealous of Baku and Hyuntak’s friendship.” His tone was almost gleeful, like he expected Sieun to be shocked.

But Sieun only hummed. “Yeah. I know. I also know you and Hyuntak are childhood friends.”

Seongje blinked, surprised, then let out a low chuckle. “You really know a lot about me, don’t you, newbie?”

Sieun finally turned his head, meeting his eyes without flinching. His voice was quiet, but there was weight behind it.

“I know more than you think.”

Seongje stared at him for a beat too long, the playful smirk tugging at his lips, but there was something else there too—curiosity, confusion, maybe even wonder. And Sieun, for once, didn’t look away.

⸻

The fight wasn’t supposed to be serious. At least, that’s how Seongje treated it. It was just another brawl with some idiot who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He walked away laughing, cheek split open from a shallow scratch, knuckles raw. To him, it was nothing. But when Sieun saw him that night, waiting outside cram school like always, everything inside him froze.

Seongje had his sleeves rolled up with his usual cocky grin, and that’s when Sieun saw it. The ugly, open cut stretching across his arm, fresh blood still sliding down his skin in slow, steady lines.

Before he realized what he was doing, his hand shot out, trembling fingers brushing against the wound. His fingertips came away slick with red. And then, without warning, tears blurred his sight. The tears fell so fast he couldn’t stop them, dripping onto Seongje’s arm, mixing with the blood.

For a moment, Sieun’s vision swam. The world tilted as flashes of the loops crashed over him. The times he’d found Seongje bleeding and almost lifeless. The times he had failed to save him, no matter how hard he tried. His chest tightened so hard it hurt to breathe.

Seongje froze. He didn’t know how to react as Sieun never cried. Not once. He was cold, controlled, unshakable, even when people provoked him. To see him trembling with silent sobs tearing out of him as though the sight of blood had shattered something deep inside him. It rattled Seongje more than any wound ever could.

“Oi, newbie,” he tried, his voice awkward, half-laughing. “I’m fine, really. This? It’s just a scratch. You know I fight all—”

“Can you fucking not hurt yourself, please?!” Sieun snapped, his voice breaking with desperation. His grip on Seongje’s wrist tightened as if letting go would mean losing him to the coma. His face crumpled, tears streaming faster now. “Just until the end of next month. I’m begging.”

For once, Seongje was speechless. His usual grin faltered. He blinked, staring at Sieun like he was seeing him for the very first time. That raw, trembling plea was nothing like the sharp-tongued, cold boy he had been chasing all this time. Slowly, carefully, he pried Sieun’s bloodied hand off his arm and pulled him close, bleeding arm curling around his waist. His other unhurt hand rested gently on the back of Sieun’s head.

“Calm down, newbie,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly soft, almost coaxing. “I’m fine. And I promise you that I won’t fight again. Okay?”

Sieun’s fists clenched against his chest, but he couldn’t answer. The tears wouldn’t stop. And inside, all he could think was that this moment, this small bleeding incident was slipping too close to the date he dreaded most.

⸻

In the days that followed, guilt ate at him like fire. He couldn’t shake the memory of his breakdown, the shame of losing control in front of Seongje of all people. So he pulled away. He avoided Seongje’s eyes when he's next to him, left cram school early, changed his usual route home. If distance could numb the fear, even just a little, then distance was what he’d force himself to endure.

But Seongje wasn’t the type to be pushed away in this timeline. If anything, the sight of Sieun’s tears had lit something stubborn in him. He started appearing more often, leaning against walls outside his cram school, waiting at the gates of Eunjang High, calling out with a loud “newbie!” despite Sieun tried to ignore him. When cold silence greeted him, Seongje only smirked, as though even being brushed off was better than being invisible.

One afternoon, he practically bounded toward him the moment Sieun stepped out of Eunjang High. He shoved his arm forward with exaggerated pride, sleeve rolled high. “Newbie, look! My arm stitches finally came out today!”

Sieun only spared him a glance. His eyes flicked to the pale line on Seongje’s arm, then he hummed softly and kept walking.

But Seongje lit up like he’d just won a prize. His grin stretched wide, eyes crinkling with that infuriating, boyish joy. “Ha! You do care!”

Sieun’s steps faltered just slightly as his heart betrayed him with a traitorous thud.

⸻

The dreaded date arrived like a weight pressing down on Sieun’s chest. He woke up with his alarm blaring, eyes flicking toward the calendar on his desk. The red circle around today’s square felt like a curse carved into his fate. His hands lingered on the edge of the desk, gripping the wood until his knuckles whitened. He knew what would happen. He had lived this story enough times to burn it into his bones. Yet, instead of resisting, instead of running, he found himself exhausted and ready to face it head-on, whatever it brought.

When his phone buzzed, he almost didn’t answer. Seongje’s name flashed across the screen, his voice loud the second Sieun picked up: “Hey, newbie. Wanna hang out?”

For a long moment, Sieun couldn’t breathe. He could say no. He could lock his door, crawl under his blanket and wait for the inevitable alone. But his heart betrayed him. His lips formed the word before his brain caught up. “Okay.”

The day unfolded like a cruel gift. They went to the arcade first, neon lights flashing across Seongje’s grinning face as he hollered over some ridiculous shooting game. He dragged Sieun into rounds of air hockey, losing on purpose just to rile him up. Then came the food stalls, where Seongje devoured skewers with grease on his lips, offering bites to Sieun with exaggerated “ahh~” sounds until Sieun swatted his hand away. Finally, the movie theater—dark, warm, filled with the smell of popcorn. Seongje laughed too loudly at the dumb jokes, leaned too close when something exciting happened and whispered random commentary in Sieun’s ear just to hear him hiss “shut up.”

To anyone else, it was a perfect day. To Seongje, it probably was. But Sieun’s silence was louder than anything else. His replies were softer, fewer. His eyes lingered on Seongje as though memorizing him piece by piece, as if this might be the last time. Inside, Sieun was waiting and counting down the minutes until the sky split open and swallowed him into another loop.

With an hour left, Seongje stood, brushing crumbs off his lap. “Stay here, newbie. I’ll get us some snacks.” His tone was casual, careless, the way it always was.

Sieun watched him leave. The moment his figure disappeared into the crowd, a hollow dread gnawed through him. His breathing quickened. He pressed his palms to his eyes, shaking his head as if he could block it out.

But the memories surged—the accidents, the blood, the hospital ER in loops that only he remembered. By the time Seongje returned, his arms full of drinks and chips, Sieun was trembling, his face buried in his hands, tears streaming uncontrollably.

“What the fuck happened!?” Seongje blurted, nearly dropping everything as he rushed forward. “I was gone five minutes!”

Sieun didn’t answer. He surged forward, grabbing at Seongje’s shirt, clutching him like a lifeline. His sobs tore out of him, raw and desperate. “Don’t ever leave me alone.”

Seongje froze, arms half-raised in shock. “I just got you some snacks—”

“You can’t go anywhere without me,” Sieun interrupted, his voice cracking, eyes wide with terror. “Not today.” His grip tightened until the fabric twisted in his fists.

“Sieun…” Seongje’s voice softened. He crouched down, trying to meet his eyes. “You’ve been jumpy all day long. What is it? What’s with me that you’re so scared of?”

“I can’t tell you,” Sieun choked out, shaking his head. His tears smeared across his cheeks, his chest heaving. “You won’t believe me. Just—please. Just—”

“Just what, Sieun? What is it?” Seongje pressed, his frustration breaking through, but his hand stayed gentle as it hovered at Sieun’s back.

Sieun’s lips trembled, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled free. “I liked you.” His voice was hoarse, but steady enough to make Seongje’s world go quiet. “I had always liked you. I—” His chest clenched.

Maybe this was why. Maybe the loop existed because of him. Because of his ugly, selfish heart. “In another lifetime, I liked you. I was too stubborn. I never said it. I never let myself. And now—”

The words dissolved into sobs. He buried his face against Seongje’s shoulde, voice muffled, raw with shame and grief. “I can’t lose you again.”

For once, Seongje didn’t joke and press for answers. Instead, he let Sieun collapse against him, his hand steady on the boy’s back. His shirt dampened with tears, but he didn’t move away. He simply held him and listened to the broken whispers.

It was quiet for a moment, only the sound of Sieun’s hitched breaths and Seongje’s low reassurances filling the air.

Then a sharp screech of tires split the silence.

Sieun, in the haze of losing his consciousness as Seongje held him tighter, had made a quiet promise to himself: even if he woke up tomorrow in another loop, even if fate reset everything, he wouldn’t run anymore. He would find Seongje. He would confess again and again, no matter how many times it took, even if Seongje had no memories of him in every time loop.

Because loving him was the only truth Sieun had left.

Chapter Text

When Sieun next opened his eyes, the world felt wrong. His lashes fluttered heavily, his vision blurred as if he were staring through water. The ceiling above him wasn’t the cracked one of his bedroom, nor the faintly yellow light of his desk lamp. His heart stuttered.

Where am I? Did I loop again?

The thought stabbed through his dazed mind, equal parts dread and resignation. His chest tightened as if preparing for the weight of another cycle to drag him under. But before panic could settle, a voice cut through the haze. It was low, shaky and almost frantic.

“Sieun? Fuck—Yeon Sieun!”

His eyes strained toward the sound, vision unfocused until shapes formed into a silhouette by his side. He didn’t need clarity. Even in the blur, even in the shadows, he knew that outline, knew it in his bones. His lips trembled before his throat managed to rasp:

“…Geum Seongje?”

The name barely left him when the space around him burst alive. People moved in fast, voices overlapping, hands fussing—adjusting, checking, saying sentences he couldn’t even understand. The edges of his vision darkened further, swallowing the scene piece by piece. He felt himself slipping again, powerless to hold on.

But just before the shadows claimed him, his gaze locked on the one shape that never wavered: Geum Seongje. Tall, frantic, leaning over him with an expression Sieun couldn’t fully see but felt as it was etched with worry, raw and desperate.

⸻

When Sieun wake up again, it was different this time. His mind felt clearer, his eyes adjusting slowly to the soft light filtering through the room. He tried to shift, but his limbs felt impossibly heavy, pinned down by an exhaustion so deep it seemed carved into his bones. A dull ache spread across his body with every small attempt to move.

“Sieun… are you feeling okay?”

He forced his head to turn, slowly, painfully, and there he was. Geum Seongje. Alive. Sitting close, eyes rimmed red as if he hadn’t slept properly in weeks but still managing the faintest, crooked grin. Relief softened his face, but his hands were clenched white on his knees, betraying how hard he had been holding himself together.

“Seongje,” Sieun’s voice cracked on the name, hoarse and rough, but still enough to make Seongje let out a breathy chuckle of disbelief.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that again, Yeon Sieun!” Seongje grumbled, half-scolding, half-laughing, the sound breaking under his throat.

Sieun could only stare at him, drinking in the sight as if he didn’t dare blink.

“Don’t ever sleep that long again!” Seongje added with a huff, tone light as if he were joking but the way his voice shook betrayed the weight behind the words.

Sieun furrowed his brows, confused. “…Sleep that long? The last thing I remember… I was losing consciousness in your hug.”

Seongje froze. For a second, his expression faltered, the smile slipping away. He blinked rapidly, as though steadying himself before he finally spoke, softer than before, almost fragile.

“Sieun… you were in an accident.” His throat worked around the words. “We both had been in an accident but you’ve been… you’ve been sleeping for exactly one year now.”

Sieun blinked slowly, staring at him, the words taking too long to sink in. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first, only disbelief carved into his face.

“…What?”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the steady hum of the machines and Seongje’s unsteady breathing, his gaze never leaving Sieun—as if afraid he might fell asleep again.

⸻

“Stay away from me.” Sieun spat, his voice tight with rage.

He didn’t look back, not once. His pace was quick and unrelenting. His chest felt like it was about to collapse under the weight of fury, humiliation, and something else he refused to name. A hollow ache that clawed at him the harder he tried to bury it.

Behind him, Seongje’s voice rang out, half-taunting, half-serious. “You can hate me all you want, but watch where you’re going!”

But Sieun shut it out, letting the world blur into the background. His focus tunneled in on just one thing: leaving. He didn’t see the red light, didn’t notice the cars already in motion. His legs carried him forward, blind.

“YAH! YEON SIEUN!”

The shout cracked through the air a split second before everything broke apart. A weight collided with his chest, knocking the breath clean out of him. The world tilted violently—screeching tires, horns, the crunch of metal somewhere in the distance—and then pavement met Seongje's back with bone-rattling force.

The impact was deafening.

Baku, sprinting desperately to save Hyuntak, froze at the sight before his eyes widened in horror. “Fuck! Sieun! Seongje!” He bolted forward, sneakers slamming the asphalt.

“Ambulance! I’m calling, I’m calling!” Juntae’s voice shook as he fumbled with his phone, panic seizing his usually steady hands.

Hyuntak, limping heavily from his scuffle with Seongje, dragged himself toward the chaos with his heart in his throat.

On the ground, Seongje groaned as metallic taste start filling his mouth. His chest heaved with effort, pain clawing at every nerve, but his eyes locked immediately on Sieun.

Sieun’s body jerked faintly. It was subtle but the terrifying convulsions wracking his frame before his limbs went slack.

“No, no, no—” Seongje’s voice broke as he reached toward him, bloodied fingers trembling. The edges of his vision blurred, his strength failing. With the sound of sirens far in the distance, both of them slipped under the weight of unconsciousness.

⸻

The hospital hallways were chaos incarnate. Nurses darting back and forth, the metallic scent of disinfectant mixed with the sharp tang of blood that clung to Baku’s clothes. He was pacing furiously outside the ER doors, his sneakers squeaking against the floor tiles every time he turned back on himself. His fists clenched and unclenched, jaw tight as his teeth ground together.

Juntae sat slumped on one of the hard plastic chairs, his phone still in his hand though the call had long ended. His knees were bouncing rapidly, his lips pale as he muttered half-formed prayers under his breath.

Beside him was Hyuntak who was limping from his earlier injuries. He kept a steadying hand on Juntae’s shoulder. He wasn’t much calmer himself, but his eyes followed Baku’s restless figure like he was trying to anchor all of them.

The ER doors finally swung open with a heavy push, and all three of them snapped their heads up. A doctor stepped out, face grave, stripping off his gloves.

“They both sustained head injuries,” he said immediately. “To reduce further swelling and give them time to heal, we’ve placed them in induced comas.”

“Both—?” Juntae’s voice cracked.

“Geum Seongje’s injuries were severe, but currently stabilizing. Yeon Sieun has a significant cranial impact, maybe from the pavement. Neither case is simple.” The doctor exhaled heavily, gaze softening. “There’s no guarantee when they’ll wake up. It depends on their own bodies and their own will.”

The words dropped like stones in the silence.

⸻

Three months later, the first flutter of eyelashes had been so sudden that Baku almost didn’t believe it. Seongje’s fingers twitched, then his eyes cracked open against the too-bright light of the hospital room.

“Geum Seongje?” The nurse rushed forward, adjusting machines, calling for backup.

Juntae had leapt to his feet so fast he nearly toppled over the chair. Relief hit the three of them like a tidal wave.

But the relief didn’t last long.

On the bed beside Seongje, Sieun’s body gave a sudden, violent shudder, like he was being pulled toward consciousness. For a moment, his fingers curled, his chest rose with a sharp intake of breath.

“Sieun?” Baku barked, already moving toward him.

The nurse checked immediately, but shook her head gently. “It’s a reflex. His brain activity spiked the same time when Seongje woke up, but… I guess he’s not ready yet.”

And that became the pattern. Every three months, Sieun convulsed faintly, like something inside him was fighting its way to the surface, but he never truly woke. The doctors said his brain waves showed promise, but they couldn’t predict anything.

⸻

Seongje sat vigil every day after school, his body restless but his eyes heavy with guilt. He had punched, kicked, broke people without blinking but watching Sieun lie motionless because of him was unbearable. His fists that once brought others to their knees now sat uselessly in his lap.

He leaned forward one evening, staring at Sieun’s pale, hollow face. His voice cracked even as he tried to make it sound like a joke.

“It’s been a year since you fell asleep. You can wake up now, spare me this guilt. If you wake up, I’ll confess that I like you. Hell, I’ll even promise to keep my hands off your idiot friends.”

His laugh was bitter, caught somewhere between desperation and affection. He reached out, brushing Sieun’s limp hand with his thumb.

“Or maybe I won’t say anything at all, and I’ll leave you alone. Just wake up, okay?”

He didn’t expect movement. Didn’t dare hope.

But then, Sieun’s lashes trembled. His lips parted with the smallest of breaths. Slowly, painfully slowly, his eyes opened.

Seongje shot to his feet, heart hammering so loud he thought it might burst out of his chest. “Sieun? Fuck—Yeon Sieun!”

He slammed the call button for the nurses, his hand shaking as he leaned over him.

And then, faint, raspy, but clear enough to slice straight into Seongje’s chest—

“…Geum Seongje.”

⸻

When Seongje finished explaining everything—the accident, the induced coma, the year that had passed—Sieun lay frozen against the hospital pillows. His mind was a whirlpool, dragging him under. At first, he thought the loops were dreams born out of his injuries, a fractured mind creating illusions.

But the clarity of those memories, the way each repetition had carved itself into his soul, couldn’t have been just a figment. He remembered every word, every fight, every moment Seongje bled or laughed or smiled at him like it was the first time.

And most of all, he remembered the helplessness. No matter what he did, Seongje always got hurt. Always slipped from his fingers. And Sieun had been forced to carry it, over and over, until it hollowed him out.

His chest heaved and before he could stop himself, tears slipped down his face. The sound of his sob startled both of them.

“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?” Seongje panicked, his voice pitching high as he pushed his chair aside and scrambled to Sieun’s bedside. He cupped Sieun’s face gently, his thumb brushing clumsily at the dampness on his cheek. “Does your head hurt? Tell me where, I’ll get the nurse—”

But Sieun only clutched at his Ganghak uniform and wept harder, trembling.

Seongje’s pulse thundered in his ears. He had seen Sieun quiet, stoic, even irritated—but never like this. Never shattered. He pull Sieun into his embrance and began rubbing slow circles into Sieun’s back while his other hand carding carefully through his messy hair.

Then, through the ragged sobs, Sieun gasped out, “I liked you.”

Seongje froze, every thought grinding to a halt. “What?”

“I—I was—” Sieun’s voice broke into hiccups, his body shaking. His lips pressed together like he was afraid to speak, then parted again only to falter.

“Sieun, hey…” Seongje whispered, his own throat tight. He gathered him closer, rocking slightly, pressing his chin into the crown of Sieun’s head. “Calm down. You don’t have to say everything right now. Just breathe, okay?"

But Sieun wasn’t calming down. His words tumbled out, frantic, desperate, like if he didn’t say them now they’d vanish forever. “You don’t understand, Seongje. I was in a loop. A time loop.”

Seongje stilled, his hand pausing mid-stroke through Sieun’s hair. “…A loop?”

“You kept getting into accidents.” Sieun’s voice cracked, raw from disuse and from crying. “Over and over again, I tried to stop it, I tried to save you, but nothing worked. Every time I woke up it was the same day, the day we met. And it always ended with you being hurt. With you in a coma. I couldn’t—” His breath hitched so hard it turned into another sob.

Seongje’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. A loop? Accidents repeating? It sounded impossible, maybe it was a coma-dream nonsense. But the way Sieun trembled and the terror etched in his voice, this wasn’t just nonsense to him. It was very real for Sieun.

“It was only after I confessed,” Sieun continued weakly, his fists clutching at Seongje’s shirt tighter. “On the fourth loop, I told you. I said I liked you. And then I woke up here.” His face pressed harder into Seongje’s chest, muffling his next words.

Seongje stared down at him, speechless, his heart in his throat. He didn’t understand this “loop,” not really. But he understood the fear in Sieun’s shaking body, the tears soaking through his shirt, the exhaustion in his every word. And so he didn’t ask questions. Didn’t press. He only wrapped his arms tighter around him, holding him as if he could shield him from the world, even from nightmares he doesn't understand.

“It’s over now,” Seongje murmured into his hair, voice thick. “Do you hear me? Whatever you went through, it had ended. I’m alive. I’m right here. And you—” He pulled back just enough to cup Sieun’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You need to get better too so you don’t have to carry it anymore.”

Sieun blinked up at him, red-rimmed eyes wet, lips trembling like he still wanted to argue. But the warmth of Seongje’s hands, the steadiness of his gaze, made something in him falter. For the first time in what felt like forever, Sieun let himself believe that maybe it really was over.

So he leaned forward again, burying his face in Seongje’s chest, and let the sobs run their course, while Seongje kept whispering the same words into his hair:

“You’re safe. It’s over. I’m here.”

⸻

Everytime Sieun woke up, Seongje was there. Always there. The nurses said it was almost uncanny how he would sit through the night in that hard-backed chair, head lolling forward in restless half-sleeps, only to snap awake the moment Sieun stirred and leave when he need to go to school after washing up in Sieun's ward's washroom.

And Seongje witnessed it all: every time Sieun’s lashes fluttered, every time he blinked against the sterile white light, his gaze darting around in quiet panic before finally softening at the sight of Seongje.

At first, Seongje thought it was normal disorientation from a coma. But the way Sieun’s eyes lingered on him, searching and uncertain, like Seongje might vanish if Sieun looked away too long, made Seongje realize there was something heavier there. To Sieun, waking to see him alive and intact felt unreal, like stepping out of a fever dream.

Seongje never pushed him. Not after that first breakdown. He knew the boy in front of him was fragile, held together by trembling threads. He didn’t need confessions or explanations; he just wanted Sieun to breathe again, to stand without fear.

If Sieun returned to his usual cold self, spitting venom at him like before, Seongje decided he would take it gladly. Hatred meant life. Hatred meant Sieun was still here.

Two weeks crawled by before Sieun was finally discharged. His body was weak but functional; his mind, the doctors said, was another matter. The therapist was non-negotiable after few sudden emotional collapse in the ward. Sieun had accepted the condition with little protest—though he rarely spoke about what weighed on him, as if words might unravel him further.

It was a strange limbo they lived in: Seongje was already in his final year of Ganghak, Sieun forced to repeat the school year. It was during one of those hushed walks home from the hospital visits that Sieun dropped the bombshell.

“I want to transfer,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on the pavement. “To Ganghak.”

Seongje halted, staring at him. “Sieun, let’s… think more about this, okay?” His voice was gentle but firm.

“Eunjang’s not perfect, but your friends are there. Or—” He hesitated. “You could transfer to Yeoil High. Baekjin studies there, right? I can ask my dad to help pull some strings, even with your past case. You can study way better there.”

But Sieun only sighed, long and weary. “My friends in Eunjang are all graduating.”

“So am I if you move to Ganghak,” Seongje countered quickly. “And you’re smarter than all of us combined. Ganghak isn’t some paradise, you know. It’s just full of rowdy rich kids who think having money is a personality.” He scoffed, but the bitterness was directed at himself more than the school.

“I don’t like Eunjang,” Sieun admitted as his voice trembled.

Seongje cursed himself immediately. He knew that tremor. He’d seen it before, on the day Sieun confessed about his loop, sobbing as if the world was ending. His heart dropped.

“Is it… because of the loop?” he asked carefully, threading the words as though they might shatter Sieun.

“Yes,” came the soft reply.

Silence stretched between them. Then Seongje exhaled, resigned. “Okay. Then let me talk to my parents. We’ll get you into Yeoil. There's no delinquency there, except for Baekjin but not that his schoolmates know he leads Union. You can start fresh with new environment.”

Sieun lifted his head, eyes wide, almost childlike. “You would do that for me?”

Seongje blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t thought twice before offering. “I owe you at least that,” he murmured, his throat tightening with guilt. “I took a year of your life from you.”

“Not your fault,” Sieun said automatically.

But Seongje shook his head, gaze heavy. “It is my fault. If you hadn’t gotten mad that day, if I hadn’t been an asshole and bullied Hyuntak, you wouldn’t have run off. You wouldn’t have—”

His words were cut short by Sieun’s quiet interruption. “Do you know,” Sieun whispered, eyes lowered, “I rushed away because you hurt my friends and yet, I liked you. I hated myself for it. How could I like someone who punched my friends like it was nothing?” His voice cracked at the edges, bitterness and shame tangled together.

Seongje froze. For once, words deserted him. Then, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, he said, “Well, I like you too. That's why I punched your friends.”

Sieun’s eyes snapped up, wide and disbelieving. “What?”

“I confessed,” Seongje admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Right before you woke up. Obviously you wouldn't know.”

Sieun stared at him. His heart stuttered. The words dragged him back to the loops, to the countless times he had held back, bitten his tongue, swallowed the truth until it rotted in him. He had confessed at the very end before the loop had broken. And here, Seongje was saying he confessed too before he woke up.

“Seongje,” Sieun whispered, his lips trembling. “I confessed to you too. In the loop. During the coma. Right before I woke up too.”

The air went still between them. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, as if the truth had been waiting to catch up to them both.

Sieun’s thoughts churned. So that’s it? The loop existed because we lied to ourselves? Because we couldn’t admit what was already there?

His chest tightened. Then why was I the only one punished? Why did I have to live those endless days, watching him fall again and again, while he—

His gaze shifted towards Seongje. He saw the deep scar at the side of Seongje’s head, hidden beneath his hair. His posture with Sieun was no longer cocky but weighted with something quieter. And his eyes always had that guilt whenever he's with Sieun.

It hit him. Maybe fate had punished them both. He had been forced to relive Seongje’s suffering in endless repetition, and Seongje had been trapped in reality. He had to live day by day, waiting for Sieun to open his eyes despite not knowing when.

Sieun exhaled shakily, the weight in his chest too heavy to voice. Instead, he reached out and laced his fingers quietly with Seongje’s.

Seongje stiffened for half a second, then squeezed back, his thumb brushing against Sieun’s knuckles. Neither of them spoke, but for once, silence didn’t feel like avoidance. It felt like an answer.

⸻

For the first time since he woke up from the coma, Seongje actually allowed himself to rest. He and Sieun were dozing side by side on the bed in his home, the warm hum of the quiet apartment lulling them into stillness.

Earlier that week, Seongje had managed to convince his father to pull strings and move Sieun to Yeoil High. Baku, Hyuntak, and Juntae hadn’t been thrilled about the decision, but Sieun had explained gently that they’d be graduating in just a few months. He didn’t want to be stuck at Eunjang without them. Begrudgingly, they’d accepted his choice.

The quiet was fragile, almost too peaceful. Seongje felt himself slipping into a deep sleep, one so heavy it felt foreign after so many restless nights.

But when his eyes blinked open again, everything was wrong.

He was still at home, in his room but Sieun wasn’t there. The blanket was folded neatly, untouched. The room felt colder and emptier. Seongje called out Sieun’s name, his voice echoing in the silence. No answer.

He wanted to call Sieun to ask where he was when he noticed the date glowing faintly on his phone screen. His stomach dropped. It was the day, the same exact day that he had lost Sieun to the accident.

At first, he barked out a disbelieve laugh. A dream, it had to be. Just a bad dream. But as the hours stretched, every step of his day unfolded exactly the way he remembered. Every detail, every turn, every breath leading him back to the moment of the accident.

And there Sieun was. Crossing the road casually, unaware of what was coming. But this time, he didn't punched and kocked Hyuntak out of attention seeking. The traffic light was green too. Sieun should have been safe. But Seongje caught it, the blur of a car hurtling toward him, too fast, with no intention of stopping.

“Yeon Sieun!” His voice cracked as he lunged forward, yanking Sieun back. But it wasn’t enough. Tires screeched, metal roared, and in the next heartbeat, both of them were hit by the car. Seongje coughed and turn his head towards Sieun before losing his consciousness.

When he woke, his body jolted upright. His chest heaved, his hands trembled. But the world around him hadn’t changed. It was the same morning again. The same date. The same place. The same day repeating.

The second time, he tried harder. He dragged Sieun away yet the ending didn’t change. The accident was inevitable.

By the time Seongje found himself kneeling beside a bleeding Sieun again, his own mind began to unravel. His nails dug into his scalp, clawing desperately as if he could rip himself free from this nightmare. His voice tore out of his throat in a broken scream:

“Not again! Yeon Sieun, please wake up! ”

Fury, despair, and raw terror twisted inside him, each breath felt like a knife stabbing him. He’d rather throw himself in front of the car, rather burn the whole world to ash, than keep watching Sieun’s eyes go dim in front of him. He could feel his consciousness was fading so he let himself fall next to the bleeding Sieun.

Then, his body jerked awake again.

But this time, there was a steady hand cupped his face. A low, familiar voice murmured, gentle but urgent: “Seongje. Hey. Wake up. It’s just me.”

He turned.

And there he was. Yeon Sieun. Alive. Not bleeding in his arms. Not fading into nothing. Alive. Sitting on the bed next to him, hair a mess as his brow creased in concern. Worry softened his features, even though Sieun was trying to hide it behind that usual calm.

Seongje’s breath hitched so violently it hurt. His throat burned as if he’d swallowed fire. And before he could think, he reached out and crushed Sieun against him, arms trembling, holding him so tightly Sieun stumbled into his chest.

“You scared me,” Seongje whispered into his hair, the words strangled, his voice shaking in a way Sieun had never heard before. “God, you really scared me.”

Sieun stilled, then let out a small breath. “You’ve been asleep for hours. I’ve been trying to wake you, but you kept thrashing around like you were fighting demons.” He tried for a laugh, but it came out shaky, thin.

“I was in a loop,” Seongje gasped, still trying to steady his lungs. “Fuck, it felt so real.”

Sieun’s hand lifted hesitantly to pat his back, grounding him the same way Seongje once had. “Loop?”

“I couldn’t even handle it twice, Sieun. And it was only daily loop. You—fuck, how did you survive the three months loop for the whole year?”

Sieun swallowed, his hand still trembling where it rested against Seongje’s shoulder. His tone was quiet but raw.
“Because I had to. Because it was you. I didn’t understand it at first, why I was so desperate to save you. But by the fourth loop… I knew.”

Seongje pulled back just enough to see his face, eyes wide, searching. “You shouldn’t be that concerned for me,” he muttered, guilt and disbelief lacing his words.

“I tried letting go once,” Sieun admitted, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But the accident still found you. No matter what I did.” He gave a small shrug, helpless.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Seongje struggled to calm his racing heart, his pulse still erratic from the loop.

Sieun simply watched him, then offered a sad, weary smile. He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought weighed inside his chest.

He know why he was the one chosen for the loop. If fate had put Seongje through it, he probably couldn't cope mentally.

⸻

Their relationship never had a proper name. No “boyfriend” or “dating” label attached to it. It was just them—messy, complicated, and stitched together with threads of fear, loyalty, and a bond no one else could quite understand.

Strangely, their friends didn’t question it. No one bothered to tease Sieun for suddenly hanging around Seongje, and no one asked Seongje why he was no longer prowling around with Union. It was as if everyone sensed there was something fragile in the middle of it, something they shouldn’t touch.

At Yeoil High, Baekjin took on the role of watching over Sieun in a way that was startlingly out of character. He was always checking in between classes, making sure Sieun didn’t eat lunch alone, hovering in subtle but noticeable ways.

“Don’t ask,” Baekjin muttered once when Sieun almost brought it up. “Park Humin and Geum Seongje are literally on my ass to make sure you’re comfortable before I graduate.”

Sieun only nodded. He didn’t ask again.

Seongje was consistent. He picked Sieun up from school, dropped him off at cram classes, sometimes even sat outside until Sieun was done. For Sieun, the routine was both comforting and terrifying because it felt too much like the loops. Like he was waiting for the cycle to start over again, waiting for fate to snatch Seongje away.

But Seongje kept showing up. He didn’t leave. He pushed Sieun toward therapy when Sieun wanted to avoid it, sat with him in waiting rooms, sometimes even joining in for sessions when the doctor asked. Slowly, Sieun began to breathe easier. Slowly, he began to move on.

Still, one scar they both carried was crossing the road. Seongje always checked and double-checked before taking a single step, making sure every car was stopped, every corner visible. While Sieun, he would froze altogether sometimes. His legs locked, his chest tightened, and all he could see were headlights bearing down. More than once, Seongje had to loop an arm around him, murmur reassurance, and wait until Sieun could move again.

Their relationship wasn’t beautiful or fairytale-like, not the way others might imagine love should be. But it was theirs. A strange codependency bound them together—especially Sieun, who couldn’t go a day without seeing Seongje, as if the world might collapse if he didn’t.

And yet, in learning to lean on each other, they also learned to love each other the right way. Seongje let go of the recklessness that once defined him, leaving behind Union without a second thought. Sieun, meanwhile, embraced the new school year at Yeoil, trying to focus on the future instead of the shadows of his past.

Seongje prepared for university. Sieun prepared for another chance at a normal life.

On quiet afternoons, they would hang out in Seongje’s room, sprawled across the floor or bed, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about nothing. Sometimes the thoughts crept in, regarding the accident, the loop and the way everything had changed. The accident had completely altered the trajectory of their lives. And Sieun knew, deep down, that the memory of those endless loops would never fade. It was carved into him, impossible to erase.

One evening, while Sieun sat brushing Seongje’s hair with absentminded care, Seongje’s eyes grew heavy. Half asleep, he shifted closer, burying his face into the crook of Sieun’s neck.

“Love you, Sieuni,” he mumbled, the words slurred with exhaustion but unmistakably genuine.

Sieun stilled, then smiled faintly. He leaned into the warmth of Seongje’s embrace, the weight of Seongje grounding him. For once, there was no fear of losing him.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Sieun murmured back, his voice soft but steady, “but I love you too, Geum Seongje.”