The dormitory was dark. Still. But the silence wasn’t peace — it was a thin glass, stretched and waiting to shatter.
Somewhere beyond their barricade, muffled footsteps crept between beds. Metal clinked softly against metal. Breathing. Whispering. Waiting.
But for now, their corner was safe.
For now.
It was Myung-Gi and Sae-Byeok’s turn to keep watch.
The others slept behind the barrier — Ali curled up, Gi-hun leaning against the wall, Il-Nam wrapped in a blanket, dreaming something distant. Ji-Young was quiet, one arm under her head. Sang-Woo slept like he was trying not to.
Sae-Byeok sat still, her back to the cold metal, knees drawn up, eyes sharp in the dark. Always watching.
Myung-Gi was beside her — or more accurately, on her.
He tried to stay upright at first, holding a broken pipe in both hands like it might actually do something. But exhaustion crept in. Cold crept in. Fear crept in.
Eventually, his head drifted onto her shoulder.
He didn’t mean to fall asleep. He fought it. He really did. But his small frame trembled. The room was too cold. Too quiet. And every time he closed his eyes, he saw red.
He mumbled something — barely audible — maybe a half-dream, or maybe words he was too tired to understand himself.
“…don’t leave…”
Sae-Byeok didn’t say anything.
She didn’t shift. Didn’t push him off.
She just kept watching — over the group, over the barricade — while his head rested against her collarbone. His body curled slightly toward hers, like a child seeking warmth.
His breath was uneven.
His hands still trembled in his sleep.
But little by little, the shaking slowed.
In the dark — beneath the shadows of the beds and the tension of looming danger — a strange quiet settled between them.
Not comfort. Not safety.
But something close enough.
Just for now.