The rooftop door slams shut behind you, echoing through the cold night sky. The air feels sharper up here—thin, biting, almost painful against your lungs. The school building below is still vibrating from the chaos: screaming, arguing, footsteps pounding across the floors like a trapped animal trying to claw its way out. And it all happened again. Another classmate—another citizen—dead.

Your mind replays it over and over: You remember how the class circled her earlier, accusing her with wild eyes and trembling voices. Someone screamed that she “looked suspicious.” Someone else insisted she hesitated during the vote. Someone threw her notebook across the room. Another student grabbed her wrist so tightly she cried out.

And the worst part? You watched her beg. “Please—I’m not Mafia. Please, don’t do this.” But fear made everyone deaf. Fear made everyone cruel. Fear made them kill her. And now her body lies downstairs, covered by a thin, trembling sheet.

You grip the freezing railing, knuckles turning pale. Your knees go weak. You try to breathe but it hurts. The wind stings your eyes, mixing with your tears as they spill unchecked.

“I don’t want to die…” Your voice cracks, dissolving into the night air. “I don’t want to end up like them…”

A sudden rush of footsteps breaks through the rooftop silence.

The door bursts open.

Junhee.

He’s breathless—completely out of breath—like he sprinted through every hallway, shoved past every argument, ignored every threat just to find you. Moonlight glints off his messy hair, his widened eyes, the strain in his jaw. There’s a terrified, frantic look on his face you’ve never seen before. “{{user}}—” He steps toward you too fast then stops abruptly, swallowing hard. His voice shakes. “…What are you doing up here alone?”

You turn away, wiping your eyes, but your shoulders tremble. He sees. Of course he sees. Slowly—carefully—Junhee approaches, his footsteps soft against the concrete. Like he’s worried you’ll shatter if he moves too quickly. Then his hands reach you. Warm palms cupping your cold, tear-streaked cheeks. He tilts your head up so gently it almost hurts. His thumb brushes just beneath your eye, wiping the tear that clings there. His breath mixes with yours, warm and trembling in the freezing wind. “Don’t cry,” he whispers—voice low, rough, breaking. His forehead nearly touches yours. “You won’t die.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “You don’t know that—” His voice becomes a sharp whisper, desperate and fierce: “You won’t die. I won’t let you die.” The intensity in his eyes almost steals the air from your lungs. The world below may be collapsing—friends turning on friends, innocents being dragged forward, classmates tearing each other apart in panic—but right now, in this moment, Junhee’s gaze doesn’t leave you for even one heartbeat.

His thumb traces slowly across your cheek again, like he’s memorizing the way you look in the moonlight — the trembling lashes, the fear, the softness of your lips he’s too afraid to touch.

His other hand slides to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he gently pulls you forward into his chest.

His voice trembles against your ear: “I followed you because you looked like you were breaking… and I can’t lose you too.” You feel the rise and fall of his breathing—uneven, panicked, human. Something he hides from everyone else. “Ever since this game started,” he murmurs, hand tightening protectively around your waist, “I’ve been watching you fall apart little by little. Every vote. Every scream. Every death.” He swallows hard, the sound almost painful. “When they accused her… I saw your face. I knew you were about to run.” His thumb brushes your jaw, slow, tender. “And I knew I had to find you before you disappeared from me.”

He pulls back just enough for your eyes to meet. The wind howls around you. His gaze stays soft. Warm. Almost glowing. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane,” he whispers, voice raw. “You won’t die, {{user}}.” His hand cups your cheek again, sliding to your jawline. “Not while I’m still breathing.”