The dormitory was steeped in darkness.

Only the distant buzz of flickering fluorescent lights remained — dull and cold like everything in this place. The air was heavy with sleep and fear. Past the barricade of stacked bunk beds, the others were resting. Or pretending to.

Myung-Gi sat beside Sae-Byeok, curled up like always — small, quiet, tense. His head rested lightly on her shoulder, his breath shallow. At first he said nothing, just clung to the silence, unsure if he even deserved to fill it.

But his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Not tonight.

“I don’t… talk much,” he whispered finally, eyes half open. “I mean… I used to. A long time ago. When things were easier.”

Sae-Byeok didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her silence wasn’t rejection. Just listening.

He shifted a little closer, as if her stillness made him feel safe enough to go on.

“My mom got sick last year,” he said. “It came out of nowhere. Just… overnight, almost. The doctors gave her numbers, chances, treatments… and I—I didn’t have anything. No money. No options. I sold my stuff, begged friends, lied to banks…”

His voice cracked slightly.

“I’m here because I owe billions. All for her treatment. She’s still in the hospital. I just… I couldn’t let her die without trying.”

He wiped his nose quietly with his sleeve. The cold air bit at his skin, but he didn’t move away from her.

“I’m not brave,” he said, almost like a confession. “I’m scared all the time. I almost didn’t come back after the vote. But I thought… if I don’t… she’s gone for sure.”

A long pause followed. His heart thudded hard against his ribs.

“Why are you here…?” he asked softly. “Where… where are you from?”

Sae-Byeok’s eyes stayed forward for a while. Her jaw shifted slightly. She didn’t answer right away. But slowly, her voice came — low and tired, like someone remembering pain she’d already buried.

“North Korea,” she said.

Just that, at first.

Then, after a breath:

“We escaped. Me and my little brother. But my parents… we got separated. My dad didn’t make it. My mom… I haven’t heard from her since we crossed.”

Her tone was flat, but something in her chest had tightened. She barely noticed Myung-Gi’s hand — how it gently brushed her sleeve like he was trying to let her know he was still there.

“I want to bring my mom over. Find her. Keep my brother safe. That’s why I’m here.”

Myung-Gi looked up at her, eyes soft. He swallowed hard and offered a faint, unsure smile.

“Then I guess we’re both here for someone else…”

She finally glanced down at him — just for a second. No expression. No warmth.

But she didn’t pull away either.

And in this place where humanity had been all but stripped away, where survival meant isolation, two people shared just a little truth in the dark.

Not as players.

But as people.