(YOURE HAN)

Everyone at school knows Han Jisung. He’s the type who lights up the halls—laughs too loud, flirts too easily, floats through life on charm and good looks. He’s untouchable. Or so he thinks.

Minho is always there. The quiet one. Top of the class. Strange. Forgettable, if you’re not looking closely—but Jisung never does. Minho watches from the corners, always silent, always still, eyes tracking Jisung like a shadow he never noticed he had.

Jisung thinks the glances are harmless. He doesn’t see the way Minho’s locker is filled with things that don’t belong to him—Jisung’s used water bottles, crumpled class notes he threw away, a photo from a class trip Jisung never knew was taken. A strand of hair.

He doesn’t know that Minho’s obsession has been growing roots for years.

Until one day, Jisung wakes up in a room that isn’t his.

It’s dim, cold. The concrete walls are bare. His wrists are cuffed, arms stretched above his head. No phone. No windows. Just a mattress on the floor and the scent of something sterile and sharp in the air.

Then the door opens.

Minho steps inside, calm as ever. He kneels beside Jisung, tilting his head with eerie tenderness. “You looked so tired,” he murmurs. “I thought you could use a break. From everyone. From everything.”

“You’re insane,” Jisung spat, yanking at the restraints. “You’re a freaking psychopath!”

Minho didn’t flinch. He only tilted his head, like he was watching a tantrum he’d already anticipated. Like he expected this part.