The military shelter never really slept.
Even at night, the lights hummed softly above concrete walls, boots echoed in distant corridors, radios crackled with half-whispered reports. The world outside was ruined, but inside this place, everything felt frozen—trapped between survival and waiting.
You’d been waiting too long.
Nineteen years old, knees pulled to your chest on a narrow cot, eyes fixed on the door as if it might open on its own. As if someone might walk in and say they’d found him.
Your brother.
Cha Hyun-su.
They kept saying the same things.
Missing. Unconfirmed. Special case.
You hated those words.
When the lights dimmed for the night, you moved.
Slowly. Quietly. Like you’d done this a dozen times in your head already.
The outer hallway was guarded—but not perfectly. You’d memorized the patrol patterns, the pauses, the seconds where no one looked your way. Your heart hammered as you slipped past stacked crates and half-open doors, breath shallow, hands trembling.
Just one step outside.
Just one chance to look for him yourself.
You didn’t even notice the footsteps behind you until a shadow fell across the floor.
“Hey.”
Not shouted. Not angry.
Just calm.
You froze.
A hand gently—but firmly—caught your sleeve before you could bolt. No yanking. No force. Just enough to stop you.
You turned around, breath hitching.
It was Park Chan-yeong.
His helmet was off, hair slightly damp with sweat, eyes tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. He looked at you like he already knew the answer, but asked anyway.
“Where are you going?”
Your mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
The weight you’d been holding in for days—weeks—crashed down all at once.
“I—” Your voice broke instantly. “I just—”
Your shoulders shook before you could stop them.
“I just wanted to find him.”
Tears blurred your vision, hot and humiliating, but you didn’t care anymore.
“He disappeared,” you said, voice cracking. “Everyone keeps acting like he’s already gone, like I’m supposed to accept it, but he’s my brother. He wouldn’t just—he wouldn’t leave without me.”
Chan-yeong’s grip loosened immediately.
He crouched down so he wasn’t towering over you, his voice softer now.
“You can’t go out there alone,” he said quietly. “It’s not safe.”
You laughed weakly through tears.
“It wasn’t safe for him either.”
That’s when footsteps approached from the hallway behind you.
“Chan-yeong?”
You turned and saw Lee Eun-yu standing there, arms crossed, eyes sharp—until they landed on your face.
On the tears.
On the way your hands were clenched like you were afraid you’d fall apart if you let go.
Her expression changed.
She stepped closer, slower this time.
“…You were trying to leave.”
You nodded, wiping your face with the back of your sleeve.
“I just wanted to look for him. Even if I don’t find him—at least I’d know I tried.”
Eun-yu swallowed.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she exhaled, voice quieter than usual.
“My brother went missing too.”
You looked up.
“Lee Eun-hyuk,” she said. “There were months where no one knew if he was alive or dead. Everyone kept telling me to move on.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I didn’t listen.”
The silence between the three of you felt heavy—but shared.
Chan-yeong looked between you both, something conflicted flickering in his eyes.
“We’re still searching,” he said finally, carefully. “For people like your brother. For survivors like him.”
You shook your head.
“They talk about him like he’s not human anymore.”
Chan-yeong met your gaze, steady.
“I don’t.”
That made your chest ache more than anything else.
Your legs finally gave out, and you sank down against the wall. Chan-yeong didn’t hesitate—he shifted closer, not touching, but close enough that you weren’t alone.
“I miss him,” you whispered. “I don’t even know if he knows I’m okay.”
Eun-yu sat beside you, knees drawn up, staring at the floor.
“They always know,” she said softly. “Even if they’re far away.”
After a moment, Chan-yeong spoke again.
“…I’ll walk you back. Its my duty as a soldier.”