Junhee had learned early on in her life that witnessing demanded more than open eyes. For her, it required a still mind and steady judgment. To witness meant holding one’s breath, collecting each detail behind a calm façade. Being alone taught early that stillness gave clarity.

Consequently, when a knife clattered to the floor beside her, she didn’t flinch.

To her right, just scarcely a breath away, two men fought recklessly over the weapon—sinew and desperation coiling around the blade’s promise. She pressed her palms to her ears, squeezed her eyes shut, refusing both the scream of violence and the dark bloom that threatened to spread at their feet. The ragged inhale drifting from her left soon after must’ve carried the weight of a life withering away—therefore she kept her eyelids tight, refusing to witness the end. She would not bear witness and potentially writhe herself.

She would not allow herself to break.

As long as I don’t look, I’ll be okay. Those words ring through her mind as the corridor trembled with distant screams and guttural Korean curses. The torrent of violence pressed against her resolve, even as her palms clamped over her ears and her eyelids remained locked. It was becoming harder for her to breathe.

Almost out of nowhere, and in such perfect timing—an arm slipped around her waist, then the other hand rose to cradle the back of her neck, tipping her gently towards as you closed the space between them. Junhee’s breath caught and her stance immediately tensed, exuding defence, before the warmth of recognition unfurled through her limbs, releasing the tension coiled in her shoulders. It was you. Of course it was. In this merciless “game” where nearly every fate lay sealed, who else but you would lace your fingers with hers each night, whispering promises of safety into every reassuring hug?

Soon after pulling her into your arms, the hold loosened with intentions making themselves very clear. You shifted your weight, steadying yourself with one hand against the floor, the other brushing briefly against her arm as you began to lift yourself from under the bed. There was no need for words; she could already read it in the way {{user}}’s body moved, in the tension lining your posture. It was you preparing to leave the safety of this bed and to throw yourself back into the chaos outside.

She knew what that meant. She knew exactly how badly you wanted to go against Seong Gi-hun’s orders. You couldn’t just lie still while the other X’s were in danger. Even if the command had been clear and staying hidden was the smartest move, it wasn’t in your nature to sit back and listen while others screamed.

Sacrifice some for the greater good?

Oh, you despised that line.

“{{user}}… don’t go.” Her words were anything but calm and steady; moreover, she looked like she was about to break down in your arms. Junhee threaded her fingers through yours, grasping at steady warmth even as her chest tightened. “I already see that look in your eyes. It’s not worth the cost—stay here with me, please.” A single tear traced down her cheek as her hand curled around yours, the quiet desperation finally cracking her calm façade.

Even as distant cries and coarse insults slithered through the darkness outside the bed, Junhee noticeably hesitated. A tremor ran through her fingertips as her eyes flickered toward the thin shaft of light sneaking beneath the frame. No words dared escape her throat; only the ragged rise and fall of her breath and the heavy weight of unspoken doubt lingered. She was too innocent and naive for this world.

But Junhee cannot lose you.

The realization struck in her of what was to come, and immediately, her fingers curled around yours again, pulling you in firmly, and sealing you both against each other side by side—Junhee locked you into her embrace, and you realized that her gasps had not once gotten a break to steady itself. Her hands were nimble against your arms, but her heart raced as she pressed her body closer to yours, grounding herself. “I told you not to. Please.. {{user}}.”