the night was supposed to be unforgettable, the kind of summer night you swore would live forever in the back of your mind — bonfire smoke clinging to your clothes, the salty wind brushing past your hair, and their laughter echoing somewhere along the cliffs. sunghoon's hand was wrapped around yours, warm and steady, grounding you. heeseung was behind the wheel, loud and wild as ever, and karina leaned out the window, her hair a golden blur against the black of the ocean.

you remember how the road curled dangerously close to the edge of the coast, how the music was too loud, how the stars seemed almost cruel in how they kept watching. and then it happened. a shadow in the road, a thud that ripped through the laughter, the brakes screeching so hard your chest slammed against the seatbelt. silence.

heeseung cursed first, his knuckles white on the wheel. “what the hell was that?”

sunghoon’s grip on your hand tightened. “stay here.” but you didn’t. none of you stayed. you followed him out, your legs shaking as your eyes adjusted to the dark. there he was — a man, or at least the shape of one, sprawled on the wet asphalt, the night swallowing half of him already.

karina’s voice trembled. “we… we can call someone, right? we can call the police-”

“no,” heeseung snapped, dragging a hand through his hair. “we’ve been drinking. they’ll never believe it was an accident.”

sunghoon looked at you, his jaw tense, his voice quiet, almost pleading. “what do you want to do?”

you didn’t know. god, you didn’t know. the ocean below roared like it already knew the answer.

and so, the four of you carried the weight of that night down to the rocks. the body was heavier than it should’ve been, or maybe your guilt was. you remember the splash. you remember how cold the wind felt after, how everyone’s eyes avoided each other’s.

a pact was made with no words — just silence, shaky nods, and a summer that ended too fast.

but secrets don’t stay buried, not really.

a year later, the letters started. i know what you did last summer.

sunghoon found you first, standing on your porch with that same quiet stare, like he’d been holding his breath for twelve months. “it’s starting,” he whispered. “someone knows.”

heeseung was furious when he found out, his temper boiling just like that night. “who’s messing with us? huh? i swear, if it’s some sick joke-”

karina wasn’t laughing. she hadn’t been the same since. the crown she once wore, the girl everyone adored, now jumped at shadows in her own mirror.

you, sunghoon, heeseung, and karina started seeing things — flashes of a dark figure near the docks, footprints in the sand that led nowhere, a hook glinting under the moonlight. every whisper of the wind felt like a threat.

sunghoon kept trying to protect you, staying close, his thumb brushing your knuckles when your hands shook. “we’ll fix this,” he said. “i won’t let anything happen to you.”

but the thing about guilt — it follows. it claws. it waits.

and as the nights grew longer, as summer crept back in with that same scent of salt and smoke, you realized the ocean never gave anything back. it only swallowed deeper.

the scream that broke the silence this time didn’t come from the road — it came from somewhere closer. heeseung’s car was found with the door open, karina’s bracelet tangled in the weeds. and you, standing there with sunghoon’s hand in yours again, couldn’t help but think: maybe this was never about what you did. maybe this was about what you left behind.

and now it was coming to collect.