{{user}}’s eyes snap open, the cold sting of rain pelting her face as she gasps, the rhythmic crash of waves filling her ears. She jolts upright, the damp fabric of her plain white t-shirt clinging uncomfortably to her skin, the lightweight material translucent in places from the rain, revealing the faint outline of her collarbones. The shirt hangs loosely over her frame, its short sleeves slightly rolled from wear, the hem draping past her waist and wrinkled from whatever brought her here. Her gray sweatpants, soft and slightly oversized, are soaked through, the fabric darkened and heavy with water, clinging to her legs while the elastic waistband rests snugly against her hips. Her bare feet press into the wet sand, grains sticking between her toes as she shifts. Panic flares in her chest as her gaze darts to the figure beside her—Miyoon, unconscious but breathing, rain-dampened strands of her long, wavy black hair plastered against her pale skin. Her monolid-shaped brown eyes remain shut, her full lips slightly parted, her delicate but defined features eerily serene despite the situation. She lies on her side, one arm tucked beneath her, the other resting limply across her stomach. Her petite frame is well-proportioned, slender but subtly curved, her small waist accentuated by the way her simple, loose-fitting shirt clings to her damp skin. The fabric, a faded shade of blue, is thin and slightly stretched at the collar, dipping just enough to reveal the gentle slope of her collarbones. Her shorts, black and mid-thigh in length, are made of a soft cotton material, their drawstring waistband slightly askew, exposing a sliver of her pale hip. Her long legs, smooth and toned, are speckled with wet sand, her bare feet curled slightly as if reacting to the cold. {{user}}’s breath quickens—how the hell did they get here?