[tw: violence, physical and psychologiacal abuse, sexual assault, mentioned passed sexual abuse, minor abuse, panic attack]

☾

He couldn't stop looking at it. The glass in his hand was a work of art. At first, it had been the moonlight, reflecting off the crystalline surface, making the drink shimmer like liquid silver between his fingers. But when Woobin lit a candle, the fire began to play with the glass, catching the light in a dance of shadows and glimmers, projecting reflections onto the table's surface. The amber liquid inside seemed to swirl and shimmer, transforming with every shift in illumination—from deep, molten gold to a liquid fire, whispering to Wooyoung in voices only he could hear.

It wasn't that he couldn't look away—he didn't want to. The shimmering lights caressing his fingers as he moved the glass were the only thing tethering him to the moment. They were a distraction, something tangible to hold onto as he sat silently in that suite, now so familiar it felt suffocating. The room was pristine, so clean that Wooyoung was sure he could eat off the floor, not a speck of dust in sight. And yet, the more he sat there, the more he could feel the stench invading his senses, intoxicating him. He could smell it all—like it lingered in the pillows, the Persian carpet under his feet, the clean white sheets of the bed. Everything reeked of sweat and semen, of alcohol and something sweeter, almost rancid, twisting his stomach in knots. He knew it wasn't real, that it was all in his mind—this room was more sanitized than a hospital—but the more he tried to focus on something else, the more those imagined scents overwhelmed him.

He wasn't used to it. Normally, by the time he walked through the door, he was already wasted—drunk, high, or delirious enough to numb himself to his surroundings. He had to be if he wanted to survive what came next. Tonight wasn't any different, but he had made a choice. He wouldn't let himself get completely intoxicated—not this time. He hoped the slight buzz in his head would be enough to bear what was about to happen. He knew he could just grab one of the bottles behind the bar and chug it down—Woobin wouldn't care, in fact, he would prefer it that way. But Wooyoung had made a promise to himself: he would leave this suite sober enough to call San.

San had done it. In just nine months, he convinced the agency he was worth a contract, that he was ready to debut. Wooyoung didn't know how long these things usually took, but even to him, nine months seemed fast. A few days ago, San had performed his new song at Show! Music Core, and tonight, he was busking in Hongdae to promote the album. Wooyoung wished he could have been there.

They had been talking about San's performance when Wooyoung's phone lit up with the last name he wanted to see.

"Can't you say no?" San's voice had wavered, even before Wooyoung picked up the call. His eyes darted to the screen where Woobin's name glowed ominously, "Can't you tell him you're with me?"

San's tone had been defeated, already knowing Wooyoung's answer, "I'm sorry, San-ah," Wooyoung had whispered, feeling his heart break into a thousand pieces as San just nodded and walked to the other room, leaving him to take the call alone.

San's reaction wasn't unexpected. They had fought about Woobin before. Wooyoung knew San was right, but he couldn't help it. He needed Woobin. He needed the money.

"How much does he pay you?" San had asked during their fight, his voice loud with frustration, making Wooyoung look down in shame.

"This is none of your business," Wooyoung had shouted back, pushing his chair back to stand, ready to storm off. But San had followed him, his voice softening.

"I can give you the money if that's the problem. The agency offered me a good contract, I can—"

"Don't you dare," Wooyoung had snapped, spinning to face San. He didn't yell, but his voice was cold and sharp, enough to make San flinch. "Don't say another fucking word, San-ah. I don't need your charity"

San looked down, but didn't back away, "It's not charity. You're my friend, and I'm worried about you. If I can help, let me help"

"You have nothing to worry about"

"Is that so? Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I don't notice how you spiral after every night you spend with him? Do you think I don't see—" San's eyes flicked to Wooyoung's arms before he quickly looked away. But Wooyoung had already felt the sting, pulling his sleeves down instinctively. San sighed deeply. "I'm not trying to save you, Woo. But if I can help you get out of this..."

"And what about your mother?" Wooyoung had shot back without missing a beat, "You need the money for her medication, for a better therapy. I won't take that away from you"

San had fallen silent, his protests dying on his lips. The argument had ended there, but Wooyoung could still see the worry in San's eyes, and that pained him more than anything.

He wished he could be in Hongdae tonight, cheering for San, standing in the front row and singing along. But he couldn't. He had promised, though: he would call after Woobin left. He had sent his last message, wishing San good luck, less than an hour ago, and now he could only hope his phone's battery—already nearly dead—would last long enough to hear San's voice.

He swirled the glass in his hand, watching the ice clink against the sides before taking another small sip. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat, but at least it kept his hands steady.

The silence in the room was broken by Woobin's voice, cutting through the air like a knife, "What was that?" Woobin asked sharply. "That ridiculous sip. You're acting like you've never had a drink before"

Wooyoung looked up, meeting Woobin's cold, predatory gaze. His sharp eyes bored into him from across the bar, frustration simmering beneath his otherwise cool exterior.

"Drink up," Woobin ordered, pouring more whiskey into his glass.

Wooyoung hesitated, his stomach churning, but he knew better than to refuse. He took a deep breath, lifted the glass to his lips, and let the alcohol burn its way down again. As he did, his mind wandered back to San, to the hope he was clinging to—he just needed to make it through tonight. The burn from the whiskey wasn't enough to chase away the dread that settled deeper with each second. Woobin's eyes were still on him, cold and calculating, dissecting his every move. Wooyoung could feel it—like a snake coiling around him, squeezing tighter with every passing moment. He didn't need to look to know what came next. He'd been through this routine too many times.

But tonight, something felt different. The usual numbness didn't come. He wasn't far gone enough to dissociate, to let his body act on autopilot while his mind floated somewhere safer. His senses were too sharp, too raw. Every sound seemed magnified—the soft crackle of the candle's flame, the clink of ice in his glass, the faint hum of traffic outside the windows. Even the velvet of the barstool beneath him felt too real, like his skin was hyper-aware of the fabric's texture.

He hated it.

Woobin stood up, slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled as always. The silence between them stretched thin, suffocating. Wooyoung could feel his pulse quicken, the familiar panic crawling up his spine as Woobin crossed the room toward him.

Woobin's fingers brushed against the back of Wooyoung's neck, cold and firm, and Wooyoung flinched before he could stop himself. He tried to hide it, to stay still, but his body betrayed him. He wasn't drunk enough to hide behind the blur of intoxication, and Woobin noticed.

"You're acting strange tonight," Woobin remarked, his voice as smooth as ever but with an edge that made Wooyoung's skin prickle. "Usually by now you're halfway gone, begging for more" his fingers tightened, gripping Wooyoung's nepe in a way that wasn't quite painful, but close enough to remind him of who was in control, "But you're barely drinking"

Wooyoung's hands trembled around the glass, the ice rattling faintly. He could feel Woobin's breath on the side of his face, too close, too real.

"I'm fine," he lied, forcing the words out through gritted teeth, "I just... don't feel like getting wasted tonight"

Woobin's hand dropped to his shoulder, the pressure heavier now as he leaned in, his voice a low murmur, "Is that so? Or are you trying to avoid something?" His tone was mocking, dripping with amusement as if he was toying with a weak excuse, "You know what I want, Wooyoung"

Wooyoung swallowed hard, his throat tightening around the words he couldn't say. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the promise he'd made to himself. He couldn't get drunk tonight. He couldn't let himself go under, not this time. But Woobin didn't care. He never did.

His hand slid down Wooyoung's arm, and Wooyoung's entire body stiffened. The urge to bolt, to run, flared in his chest, but he stayed still, locked in place. There was nowhere to go. There never was.

"Come on," Woobin's voice dropped, seductive but cold, devoid of warmth, "We've been through this before. Just relax, have another drink. It'll make everything easier"

The glass in Wooyoung's hand felt heavier now, the amber liquid swirling under the dim light. The smell of it, mixed with the sterile cleanliness of the room, turned his stomach. He knew what Woobin wanted. He always wanted the same thing. And Wooyoung always gave in.

But tonight—tonight was different.

"I told you, I'm fine," Wooyoung repeated, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. He forced himself to meet Woobin's gaze, his heart hammering. "I don't need more, what if tonight we just—"

Woobin's smile twisted into something darker, crueler. His hand pressed against Wooyoung's lips, silencing him as he let out a soft chuckle, "Fine?" he echoed mockingly, his other hand sliding to Wooyoung's waist, "Since when are you fine? You don't get through this without drowning in something. And I like it that way. So now, be a good boy and take your medicine, yeah?" He removed his hand, only to push the glass against Wooyoung's lips.

Wooyoung felt bile rise in his throat. He hated how right Woobin was, how his words echoed the truth of every night they'd spent together. He hated that he had no real answer, that no matter how hard he tried to resist, he always ended up in the same place. But tonight had to be different. He had to keep his promise—not just to San, but to himself.

With a sudden surge of defiance, he slapped the drink away. The glass tumbled to the floor, shattering in an explosion of sound that seemed to hang in the air, sharp and piercing.

"I'm done drinking," Wooyoung said, his voice steadier than he expected. The words lingered between them, heavy with finality.

For a long moment, Woobin said nothing. His eyes narrowed, flickering with something dangerous. Then, without warning, the hand that had held the glass flew through the air, striking Wooyoung's face with such force that his lip split. Wooyoung stumbled back, his vision blurring as the sting of the slap burned into his cheek. His hand instinctively flew to his face, feeling the warm trickle of blood from his split lip. The taste of copper filled his mouth. He had never imagined Woobin would cross this line—he was cruel, yes, manipulative, absolutely—but violent? It stunned him, freezing him in place.

The only way to touch you should be by giving you pleasure and not with the intent to hurt, he remembered the words like it was just yesterday. They sounded like a promise Wooyoung had clinged onto in a futile hope that Woobin would never hurt him in that way. In that moment he realized how stupid he had been.

For a moment, the room seemed to close in around him. The expensive furniture, the pristine decor, the soft lighting—it all felt like a mockery of the chaos in his mind. His heart pounded against his chest, and panic surged through him as memories from his past clawed their way to the surface—it all came flooding back in a violent wave, suffocating him.

Wooyoung's breath hitched as his chest tightened, his surroundings fading into the background. He could barely hear Woobin's voice over the ringing in his ears. The present blurred with the past—his father's angry shouts, the sharp sting of his blows, the feeling of helplessness, the way he... Wooyoung shook his head, he wouldn't go back to that memory. Even if he felt small again, like the scared boy he had been, unable to defend himself, unable to escape, he wouldn't go back to that part of his life. He wasn't that boy anymore. He couldn't be.

Woobin took a step toward him, his eyes cold and unfeeling, "You think you can just say no to me?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain, "You're mine, Wooyoung. Don't forget that. I pay and you open your legs for me, that's how it works"

Wooyoung's back hit the edge of the bed as Woobin advanced, but something shifted inside him. The fear was still there, but beneath it, anger flickered. He wasn't a helpless child anymore. He couldn't let Woobin control him like this, not again.

He straightened up, his jaw clenched, blood still trickling from his lip, "I'm not yours," Wooyoung spat, his voice low but steady, defiance sparking in his chest, "I'm done! Keep your money, I'm leaving!" he moved to push past Woobin, but a strong hand yanked his hair, pulling him back with brutal force.

The pain shot through his scalp, and before he could react, a fist slammed into his face with such violence that it sent him flying across the room. Dazed and disoriented, he tried to catch himself, but his body moved too slowly. He couldn't stop the momentum as his shoulder collided with the sharp edge of the bar. The impact sent a shockwave of agony through his body so intense that it momentarily dulled everything else. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of bottles crashing to the ground, glass shattering like his resolve.

Before he could regain his breath, Woobin's hand was in his hair again, dragging him toward the bed. He barely registered the scream that tore from his throat, his hands weakly grasping at the sheets as Woobin threw him down, his voice a low, venomous growl.

"You don't get to leave until I say you can," Woobin spat, pinning Wooyoung down, his hand tightening painfully in his hair.

Wooyoung's mind spun. Every part of him screamed to fight back, to push Woobin off, but his limbs felt heavy, his vision blurred. The pain in his shoulder, his face, his scalp—it was overwhelming, drowning out any clear thought. But he couldn't let it end here. He had to get out. He had to get away.

Summoning what little strength he had left, Wooyoung kicked, twisting his body violently, managing to knock Woobin off balance just enough to loosen his grip. For a brief moment, Wooyoung scrambled out from beneath him, gasping for air as he stumbled away. But Woobin was faster. He grabbed Wooyoung's wrist, yanking him back, twisting his arm painfully behind his back. Wooyoung cried out as Woobin's breath hit his ear, cold and menacing.

"You're not going anywhere," Woobin hissed. "You think you can leave me? You'll come crawling back. You always do"

Wooyoung struggled, but the pain in his arm made it impossible to break free. Panic surged through him, his chest tightening as the walls seemed to close in around him. His mind screamed for him to give in, to let the darkness swallow him, to just disappear. But then—San's face flashed in his mind.

San. I promised him...

The thought cut through the fog of pain and fear, grounding him. San's voice, gentle yet strong, echoed in his ears, reminding him that he wasn't alone. That he didn't have to be trapped in this nightmare. Not anymore.

Wooyoung gritted his teeth, forcing his body to fight against the weight of Woobin's grip. His free hand groped blindly at the broken bottle on the floor, his fingers brushing against the sharp glass. Without thinking, he grabbed a shard and swung it behind him. Woobin yelped in pain as the glass sliced across his arm, his grip loosening just enough for Wooyoung to wrench himself free.

He didn't wait—he bolted toward the bathroom door, the closest escape he could find, locking himself inside as he stumbled in the dark. As the lights flicked on he could feel his heartpound in his chest, the sound deafening in the small space. The cold tiles pressed against his back as he slid down, sinking to the floor, his body trembling uncontrollably.

He could hear Woobin outside, the furious pounding of fists against the door reverberating through the bathroom walls. "You think you can hide from me in there?" Woobin's voice was venomous, each word a sharp dagger, "Open the damn door, Wooyoung! You can't run from me forever!"

Wooyoung pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block out the sound. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one more difficult than the last as panic clawed at his throat. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in around him, suffocating him. Blood from his split lip dripped onto his chin, but he barely noticed it through the haze of fear.

His mind raced. What now? What do I do? He scanned the dark room, eyes wide with terror. There was no other way out. No window. No escape. He was trapped.

The banging on the door grew louder, more desperate. Woobin was losing his patience. "You think this is going to save you?" he growled. "You know how this ends, Wooyoung! Open the fucking door before I make you regret it!"

Wooyoung's breath hitched, a sob clawing its way up his throat as panic gripped him. His hands shook violently as he fumbled to pull out his phone, nearly dropping it as he scrolled through his contacts. His vision blurred, but he managed to press the call button.

The line rang for what felt like a lifetime before a familiar voice answered in a whisper, "Woo, I'm working, I can't talk right now, what do you—"

"Yeosang! I... I need help," Wooyoung stammered, his voice trembling. He could barely get the words out as Woobin's shouts echoed louder, more threatening. His thoughts were scattered, panic rising as he struggled to block out Woobin's voice, to focus on the phone call.

There was a pause on the other end, then Yeosang's tone shifted, sharp with concern, "Wooyoung? What's going on? Where are you?"

"I... I'm at a hotel," Wooyoung whispered, his voice cracking as another bang rattled the door. "With Woobin... He's—he's trying to get in. I don't know what to do, Yeosang. I don't—"

"Shit," Yeosang cursed, the urgency unmistakable in his voice, "Which hotel? Hang tight, Xiaolong's nearby, I'll get him—"

"Yeosang, please... hurry," Wooyoung pleaded, his wide eyes locked on the door as the wood splintered under Woobin's assault. His body shook with fear, heart racing out of control. "It's Woobin's hotel, I don't remember the name, but Xiaolong—"

Suddenly, the line went dead. A beeping sound filled his ear. Wooyoung froze, staring at the blank screen. His heart sank. "No... no, no, no!" he whispered frantically, checking the phone. The battery had died.

"Fuck!" he screamed, throwing the phone across the bathroom. His hands shot to his ears as another deafening crash hit the door, closer than before.

Wooyoung pressed his back against the cold tiles, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The sound of Woobin's relentless pounding on the door was deafening, each thud vibrating through the flimsy barrier. He tried to steady his shaking hands, desperately searching for any means of escape or defense.

The door rattled violently with each impact, and Wooyoung's eyes darted around the small, dimly lit bathroom. His mind raced, grasping for a plan, any plan. He spotted a small cabinet in which were placed white clean hotel towels and he scrambled towards it, dragging it with all his might. He wedged it against the door, hoping the added weight would slow Woobin down.

The pounding continued, more forceful now. Wooyoung's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to secure the cabinet. Each crash against the door seemed to shake the entire room, making it clear that Woobin's strength was overwhelming. He glanced around, no windows, no big enough air conducts. Despair started to claw at him, and he realized the door might not hold for much longer.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure as he pressed himself against the door, trying to brace it with his body, "Woobin! Please, just... let's talk about this!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the bathroom walls. He tried to keep his tone calm, but the fear in his voice was unmistakable.

The pounding grew louder and more furious. Wooyoung's breath came faster, and he felt a sob rise in his throat. He moved to the sink, trying to think of something else to use as a barricade, as a weapon. He grabbed a couple of heavy toiletries but threw them away, useless and insignificant compared to Woobin's sheer force.

"Let's just talk," Wooyoung pleaded, his voice trembling as he pressed his ear against the door, listening to Woobin's angry growls and the sound of splintering wood, "I'm sure we can work this out. Please, Woobin, just... stop!"

Woobin's voice cut through the chaos, cold and mocking, "Talk? You think you can talk your way out of this, you little whore?" he sneered. "I paid for you, and I'm going to take what's mine. No one denies me, especially not you"

The door groaned under Woobin's assault. Wooyoung's heart sank as he felt the cabinet beginning to give way. Panic surged through him, and he realized he was running out of time. The door splintered, the cracks widening with each blow and the cabinet finally fell to the floor. Wooyoung's fear escalated as he saw the wood breaking apart.

In a final, desperate attempt, Wooyoung threw himself against the door, trying to keep it closed with all his strength. The door cracked loudly as Woobin's shoulder rammed into it with renewed fury. The impact was violent, and the door was thrown open with a resounding crash. Woobin stormed in, his face a mask of fury, his eyes dark with anger and something more primal. Wooyoung stumbled back, his back hitting the sink as he looked up at Woobin, fear and desperation mingling in his gaze.

"Woobin, please," Wooyoung's voice was barely a whisper, a hand closed around his throat pushing him with violence against the wall, "I beg you, please..." he had never begged anyone, not even his father. When he was a kid his life felt meaningless and in that moment he wished he could react in the same way.

"I beg you—" he repeated, his voice faltering as he struggled for air. Desperation clawed at his chest, each breath a painful effort. His mind raced, the present horror blending with the ghosts of a past he desperately tried to push back, "Please, stop! I'm sorry—"

Woobin's grip tightened, the pressure against Wooyoung's throat leaving him gasping. His attempts to push Woobin away were weak, his fingers trembling as they scraped ineffectually against Woobin's hand. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the edges of his vision darkening as the oppressive weight of fear grew.

The line between present and past seemed to blurr as Woobin's anger morphed into something darker, more familiar. As Wooyoung stared up at him, his mind began to fragment, slipping back into a haunting memory. Woobin's features blurred and contorted, taking on the visage of a man Wooyoung wished he could forget. The cruel eyes, the sneering mouth—it was all too familiar. Wooyoung's breath came in short, ragged gasps as he was transported back to those nights of pain and fear when he was too small, too young to push away the stronger body of his father.

"Please, I'm sorry," Wooyoung begged, his voice cracking. His hands clawed at Woobin's, trying to pry the choking grip from his throat, but the effort was futile. The panic clawed at him, spreading like wildfire. He tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but the memories of his father's abuse surged forward, engulfing him. He could almost feel the sting of old wounds reopening, the suffocating fear returning.

The world around him spun, and his heart raced uncontrollably. Wooyoung's breaths came in gasps, his chest tightening as the panic took hold. His vision narrowed to a tunnel, and he struggled to keep the choking sensation from making him collapse. He let out a hoarse cry of distress, his body trembling violently. Woobin's hand tightened, his expression growing more enraged as Wooyoung's resistance continued. With a sudden, brutal force, Woobin struck Wooyoung across the face, sending him crashing to the floor. Wooyoung cried out in pain, the sharp sting of the blow only adding to his mounting terror.

"Stop fighting," Woobin growled, his voice a low rumble. "Just give in. You know how this goes"

Wooyoung's body convulsed with sobs, his mind spinning out of control. He was trapped in a nightmarish cycle of terror and helplessness. Woobin's hands roamed roughly over him, tugging at his clothes with a determined ferocity. Wooyoung tried to fight back, his limbs flailing in a desperate bid for freedom, but his strength was waning fast.

"Please," Wooyoung gasped, his voice barely audible through the rising panic. "Don't... don't do this..."

Wooyoung's breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, his pleas barely audible over the relentless sounds of fabric tearing and his own muffled sobs. As Woobin's grip continued to wrench and tear at his clothes with brutal efficiency, Wooyoung felt his resistance draining away, leaving only a heavy, oppressive fatigue. His limbs felt leaden, each movement an exhausting effort as he tried to fend off the inevitable.

The pain and fear had settled into a numbing despair. He could no longer muster the strength to fight, each kick and push growing weaker as exhaustion overtook him. The terror that had once spurred him to fight was replaced by a haunting surrender. He just hoped it would be over soon, though every instinct screamed that it would be anything but quick. In the dark corners of his mind, he tried to brace himself for the hurt he knew was coming, the sorrow that would linger long after the physical pain had faded.

He stopped moving, unable to fight any longer, his strength ebbing away with every shuddering breath. Through the fog that clouded his mind, he could only faintly hear Woobin's voice, distorted and mocking, "That's it, good boy! That's the only thing you can—"

A sudden, jarring force yanked Woobin away, and for a moment, everything was a chaotic blur. Wooyoung's dazed gaze caught sight of shadowy figures, indistinct and fierce. There were voices, harsh and commanding, and the muffled sounds of struggle, but they seemed far away, as if filtered through a thick haze. His body, numb and trembling, slumped against the cold bathroom tiles, the chill seeping into his bones.

Through the fog of his broken consciousness, he saw one figure approach him—large and imposing. His breath caught, and he recoiled instinctively, pressing his back against the wall. The hands reaching for him were unfamiliar, and the very thought of being touched sent a shiver of terror through him.

"Don't, please," he whimpered, his voice—barely audible at that point—cracking. He shrank into himself, pulling away from the outstretched hands, his entire being screaming against the invasion. Every movement, every touch, felt like it might bring more pain that he knew he wouldn't be able to bare.

His body shook violently as he hugged his knees to his chest in a futile attempt to shield himself from what could come next. The figure, a blur of concern and authority, hesitated. The comforting weight of a jacket was gently draped over him, offering some semblance of warmth amidst the chaos. The voice that spoke was soothing, but to Wooyoung, it was just another sound lost in the storm of his panic. He heard the words—promises of safety, assurances that Woobin would no longer hurt him—but they felt distant, like echoes in a dark cavern.

As he clutched the jacket to his chest, his body shaking uncontrollably, he could only watch through tear-filled eyes as the shadows carried Woobin away. The sounds of retreating footsteps and murmurs of commands seemed to blend into a dissonant symphony. The world felt too overwhelming, too surreal.

The figure crouched beside him again, gentle and patient. Wooyoung's breath came in ragged gasps, each one a battle. The hands extended toward him were hesitant, understanding his need for space. When the figure asked if he could stand, the words were a faint whisper in his storm-tossed mind. He wanted to move, to escape the cacophony of his own terror, but his limbs were heavy, unresponsive. The room spun slowly, each moment stretching into eternity. The figure remained by his side, a silent, unwavering presence as Wooyoung felt himself being lifted. Every touch was an intrusion, every movement a reminder of what he had just endured. He couldn't help but shiver, shrinking away as if trying to make himself as small as possible, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

When he finally dared to glance up, the blurred shapes coalesced into the familiar, kind face of Xiaolong. Wooyoung's eyes widened in disbelief, a desperate whisper escaping his cracked lips, "Gege?"

Xiaolong's gaze softened, though it was heavy with regret. "I'm so sorry, kid," he murmured, his voice gentle yet filled with sorrow, "You're safe now, I promise. Let's get you home"

Wooyoung's entire body trembled as he struggled to comprehend the words, still too overwhelmed to fully grasp the safety he was being offered. He leaned into Xiaolong's support, but his own fear made him flinch, a shudder wracking his frame as he tried to steady himself against the world that felt so alien and hostile.

With Xiaolong's reassurance, the last remnants of Wooyoung's strength gave way, and he allowed himself to be guided away, each step forward a tentative move towards a semblance of peace, though his mind remained trapped in the echoes of what had just happened.

☾

A/N—Bye bye, Woobin!