A thin, cold light pressed against his face and woke Han-kyum up. It wasn't the warm light that crept through morning curtains. It buzzed faintly, harsh and white, hanging above him.
As his eyes adjusted, he took in the rest of the room: four plain walls, a metal table, a chair, and a door without a handle. No windows. No colors. Nothing familiar.
A quiet panic built in his chest.
Slowly, he sat up, rubbing at his throbbing head. Right… the parking lot. The men in those suits. "Come with us." Not a dream. Not even close.
Han-kyum exhaled a shaking breath and looked down at his attire. The same ones he had on in the lab. They hadn't checked his pockets, hadn't searched him, hadn't said anything. They just took him.
"Great…" he whispered, his voice dry. "Exactly what I needed."
He looked around again, hopeful that he had overlooked something-a camera in the corner, a vent, a shadow-anything that could provide a clue. But the room remained stubbornly silent, as if it had waited for him long before his arrival.
Why bring me here? Why not ask questions? Why not do anything? The thoughts came too fast. He pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to calm his breathing.
"This doesn't make sense," he muttered. "If they wanted answers, they could've just talked to me. So why.
He couldn't finish the sentence. He couldn't.
His mind kept returning to all the wrong things: the strange silence in the lab, Mrs. Jana missing, the mixture he hid in the wooden box, the fear that settled in his chest long before anyone grabbed him.
He leaned back in the chair, staring up at the light above. It flickered once, as if considering going out.
"…Please don't," he muttered.
All he wanted to avoid was sitting in total darkness. The room felt too small already when the light was turned on.
He huddled over the table, resting his elbows on it and his weight heavy in his eyes, but not heavy enough to let him sleep. His mind wouldn't let him, replaying everything, trying to connect dots that didn't match.
Somebody's watching us… somebody's messing with the lab… somebody wanted me out of the way. But who? And why me?
He slowly exhaled, his shoulders sinking under the weight of it all.
No answers. No clues. Only a old room and the ringing in his ears.
Han-kyum closed his eyes for a moment, not to sleep, I need to figure out what they want before they come back.
Meanwhile somewhere deep underground, far below the city of Seoul, in a spot that didn't exist officially, a place where han kyum was putted. Elijah alone was there in a lab faintly lit by a narrow band of cold white light. For minutes, he had been looking at the same tools: no movement, no action of the mind.
He had to work. But today he could not even think of it as a cover.
The door opened behind him with a slide. Yunseok came in with his typically noiseless steps-crisp, controlled, the kind of person whose very presence already filled the room before even speaking. "You have ceased to be in motion," Yunseok remarked, with a voice that was flat but sharp.
"That generally indicates that you are overthinking." Elijah kept his back turned. He swallowed, and his fingers are slightly tightening around the edge of the table. "Yunseok," he said in a low voice. "Is it true? That you allowed someone to enter?" Yunseok did not reply straight away. He came nearer, standing next to him, and looked at him as though he were an experiment under study.
"We required him," Yunseok stated. Peaceful. Unperturbed as always. "He is what we need." The term 'must-have' caused Elijah's jaw to tighten.
He loathed that term. He loathed the meaning it carried in Yunseok's speech. "…He is nothing more than an ordinary researcher," Elijah's voice was soft. "Why him?" At last, Yunseok turned his gaze to him. "Elijah," he said, "you are already familiar with his work. He was on the trail. Too near." The heavy silence stretched between them. Elijah admitted to himself that Yunseok was right: Han-kyum had the gift, the instinct, the precision that no one else in the Seoul lab could have. Yet knowing it did not bring any relief.
Actually, it was even more so, making his breathing more difficult. "I instructed you to watch him," Yunseok went on, "not to get fond of the notion of him." Elijah winced—just a little, but he was noticed by Yunseok. "I am not 'fond'," Elijah said under his breath, "I am just saying it is risky. What if your calculation was wrong? What if the thing to do was to take him—" "'Necessary,'" Yunseok interjected. "We are already suspects. We can't afford loose ends."
At last, Elijah turned to face him, his expression showing frustration.
"There were alternative methods."
"No longer."
Yunseok's tone was decisive, cutting right through the space.
Already finished with the conversation, he took a step back and adjusted his gloves.
"Do your share," he commanded. "And put the boy out of your mind."
Behind him, the door slid shut.
Elijah stormed in, fists tight, jaw grinding. His footsteps hit the bare floor, sharp and loud, all but shouting his anger. Every part of him screamed to turn around, to get out he didn't belong here.
But Yunseok's order burned in his head: Make him do it. No excuses. No waiting. Why am I here? Why am I letting him see this side of me? He wanted to bolt, wipe this whole thing away, but he couldn't. Yunseok didn't forgive screw-ups. "You," he snapped, voice rough and low, barely holding back.
"Get up." Han-kyum froze. "I… what? No—I'm not—" Elijah reached out and grabbed his chin. Han-kyum jerked back like he'd been shocked. Elijah's jaw clenched even tighter. I hate this. I hate every second. I hate myself for doing it. I don't even like this guy.. This isn't personal. "I don't care what you think, or what you want,"
Elijah bit out, eyes hard. "You're making the cure. Now." Han-kyum's voice shook. "I can't just— I'm not ready!" Elijah squeezed his chin a little harder. Don't let him see me crack.
Don't let Yunseok see me hesitate. "You will. Or you die. Don't push me," he said, keeping his voice steady, even though it trembled with pure rage.
His mind raced. I don't want any of this. I don't even like the kid. But if I don't do it, Yunseok will and that's worse. He'll come for me.
If I mess up, we're both screwed. Han-kyum swallowed, eyes huge, stuck between fighting back and just being scared. Elijah let out a bitter breath. I shouldn't care if he's scared. I shouldn't care if he hates me. So why does it matter? "
You get it?" Elijah shot back, voice sharp enough to sting his own ears. "Yes…" Han-kyum whispered, his voice breaking. "…I understand." Elijah let go and stepped back, breath ragged.
The anger still boiled, but underneath it, something twisted regret, frustration, maybe both. God, I hate this. I hate being Yunseok's tool. I hate that I can't just leave. He stared at Han-kyum, taking in the shaking hands, the confusion, the fear. He's terrified. And it's my fault.
Elijah's chest clenched tighter. But I have to do this. I don't get a choice. "Start. Now," he said again, voice flat and heavy, each word loaded with anger, duty, and something he didn't want to name.
Han-kyum flinched, but moved. Elijah watched, arms crossed, fighting with himself his anger, his loyalty, and this strange, gnawing thought he couldn't get rid of: Why does he look like that when I touch him, and why the hell do I care?
Han-kyum's hands shook as he set the first bits of equipment on the table. He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper but steady enough.
"Can we at least do this in the lab? It's safer there. We've got the right tools. Controlled space." Elijah shot him a look—sharp, suspicious. For a second, his anger faltered. Safe. Controlled. Yeah, right. Han-kyum, always trying to talk his way out. Always so damn practical.
Grinding his teeth, Elijah yanked Han-kyum toward the door. "Fine," he snapped. And it wasn't out of concern just that the lab was cleaner.
Easier for damage control. Han-kyum trailed after him, tense, glancing sideways at Elijah as they walked down the empty hallway. The silence pressed in. Frustration, fear, something else neither of them wanted to admit.
The lab door banged open and bright lights hit Han-kyum hard, making him squint. Elijah finally let go, fists clenched at his sides, pacing, keeping a wary eye on Han-kyum.
"This is it," Elijah said, voice low, tight with annoyance. "You stay put. Do what I say. Maybe you live through this." Han-kyum stiffened, swallowed again. "I'll do my best," he said, barely audible, eyes darting to Elijah. Elijah sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You better." He stepped back, arms crossed, glare locked on, waiting. He looked like a storm barely holding itself together.
The lab stank of chemicals, bleach, and something colder fear. Every click, every little hiss seemed to echo off the walls and bounce between them. Han-kyum started arranging his tools, heart pounding. Elijah hovered a few feet away, angry, restless, watching him too closely. Every move Han-kyum made was under a microscope. Elijah's anger lingered, but underneath it ran a thin, stubborn thread of responsibility.
Day one kicked off under the cold glare of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead,
making everything look sharper than it needed to be. Shadows stretched across the lab benches. Han-kyum's hands wouldn't stop shaking as he unpacked the chemicals Elijah had yanked from a hidden cabinet. The air had that hospital smell—metallic, clean, and something else he couldn't quite pin down.
Fear, maybe. Or just the kind of urgency that sits in your teeth. Elijah stood at the edge of the bench, arms folded, jaw locked, eyes fixed on Han-kyum like he was a problem he was about to solve.
"I hope you know what you're doing." Elijah's voice was flat, almost threatening. Han-kyum flinched and looked up. "I… I've done this before. I just need the materials." Elijah didn't bother answering.
He just leaned in, and Han-kyum could feel every ounce of that stare. The message was plain: screw this up and it's over. Han-kyum forced himself to breathe, to focus on the vials.
He lined them up, checked and rechecked the formulas, but his hands wouldn't settle. Elijah's presence made every tiny slip feel like the end of the world a drop spilled, a note scratched out, a small mistake and it felt like Elijah would snap. "This isn't a game," Elijah shot out,
making Han-kyum jump. "Follow the procedure exactly." He didn't even have to raise his voice. The words just hit harder because of how tightly he said them. Han-kyum nodded, muttering, "I know. I know," barely audible. Time dragged, stretching thin and brittle. Reactions fizzed and settled, beakers hissed, and Han-kyum scribbled notes, crossed things out, recalculated. Every time something didn't react right,
Elijah's eyes narrowed. Han-kyum felt that look, sharp as a slap: Do better. Now. By midmorning, sweat dampened Han-kyum's shirt, even though the lab was cold. His hair stuck to his forehead. He wiped it away, only to smear a faint streak of chemical across his page. His stomach twisted. "Careful," Elijah barked—not advice, just control. Han-kyum shoved the ruined paper aside, started again. Even the pen felt heavy. He worked slower, more careful. He knew he couldn't mess up. The hours crawled by in a loop of tension and precision.
Elijah hovered, muttering measurements, sometimes leaning in so close Han-kyum could feel his breath. He hated being watched, hated feeling trapped, hated the way Elijah's nearness made his heart race, but he couldn't ignore it. There was no lunch. Just a cup of lukewarm water, drunk without thinking, while Elijah kept checking the vials. Every move was a test—of Han-kyum, of the science, of who was really in charge.
Time kept slipping. Han-kyum's arms felt leaden. His eyes stung. Elijah never let up not for a second. Han-kyum felt pinned, worn out, angry, and still couldn't stop. He had to keep going. "You're not paying attention," Elijah snapped, right as Han-kyum misread a measurement. He leaned over Han-kyum's shoulder.
"Do you want to ruin everything?" "I… I'm trying—" Han-kyum started, but Elijah's glare shut him down. "Trying isn't enough." Quiet, but sharp enough to hurt. The silence in the lab swallowed the words, made them feel bigger. Han-kyum couldn't talk back. Too much depended on this.
He just nodded, picked up the pipette, hands trembling. By evening, the lights felt even harsher, and the hum of the machines was all Han-kyum could hear. His fingers cramped, his eyes blurred, but he didn't stop. Elijah moved behind him, barking out instructions, his voice tight, the tension between them thick as oil. Han-kyum hated him, needed him, feared him, all at once. Finally, something worked.
A reaction shimmered in the glass, just right. Han-kyum let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He glanced at Elijah, searching for some sign. Elijah's face didn't give much away, but his shoulders dropped, just a bit. "You're not completely useless," Elijah muttered. Han-kyum's face burned.
He didn't know what to say. He slumped in his chair, wiped out, but somewhere under all the fear and frustration, something like pride flickered. The day had been torture. Every second a struggle. But they'd made it through barely, but enough. He leaned back, closed his eyes for a second, and felt Elijah's gaze pressing in heavy, impossible to escape, but not entirely unwelcome.
The room felt cold and empty, just a single bulb dangling overhead. Han-kyum's bag and that little kit of chemicals sat untouched on the table. Elijah leaned against the wall, arms folded tight, face unreadable. "You're sleeping here tonight,"
Elijah said. No room for argument. Han-kyum stared back, chest tightening, jaw locked. "I… I can't just—" "You will." Elijah cut him off, stepping in, shadow stretching across the floor. "No arguments. Sit down. Sleep. Now." Han-kyum swallowed hard. Annoyance and exhaustion twisted inside him. He hated this being boxed in,
Elijah looming over him, the way his heart thudded every time Elijah's hand got too close, like when he pulled the blanket back. He slid under the covers, stiff and unwilling.
Elijah didn't budge from his spot at the bed's edge, just kept watching, breathing slow, eyes unblinking. The tension in the room buzzed, something unspoken pressing down: mess this up, and things would get ugly. "Stay in the bed. Don't touch anything. Day's over for you," Elijah said, voice low but sharp. Han-kyum sighed, quiet, and stared at the cracked ceiling. His mind spun—chemicals, formulas, what tomorrow would demand, and Elijah. Always Elijah. The aggravating, impossible guy who made his heart race even when Han-kyum wanted nothing more than to hate him. "You'll need sleep if you want to keep up tomorrow,"
Elijah said, a little softer, but the order was still there. Han-kyum stayed silent. His eyelids drooped, the weight of the day dragging him down. He curled up tight, mind spinning itself into a knot.
Why am I here? Why am I letting this happen? Elijah shifted at the desk, fiddling with something. The smallest movement, but it still made Han-kyum's chest clench.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to sleep, push away the nervous energy. The room went quiet except for the faint buzz of the bulb. Han-kyum's thoughts kept skipping around commands, glares, all the silent rules, Elijah's words echoing. He was too tired to keep fighting. His breath evened out, shoulders loosened. Sleep crept in, slow and restless. and tomorrow's waiting. Elijah was still there in the dark, always watching. Han-kyum finally slipped under, uneasy, halfway alert even in sleep, caught between the tension of what had happened, the threat of what was coming, and the strange pull of the boy standing guard in the shadows
____
Han-kyum waked up.and the first thing he saw was the ceiling. He blinked, trying to clear his head. Sleep clung to him like a heavy blanket. Out of habit, his hand reached for his phone, but he stopped. Right, he'd left it in the lab. Now he had nothing—no way to check the time, no way to call anyone.
The realization settled in his gut, cold and heavy. Everything was quiet except for the low buzz of the lights above. No footsteps. No voices. Not even a door creaking open.
Just silence. Panic started to rise, quick and fluttery, but he forced himself to breathe slow. Don't move. Don't do anything stupid. Then he saw it. A lab coat, folded perfectly,
sitting at the foot of the bed. Not tossed, not wrinkled. Someone had set it out on purpose. For him. He hesitated, hand hovering over the coat. Annoyance mixed with dread, tangled up with a weird curiosity. This wasn't random. Someone was thinking ahead planning. He sat up, muscles aching from sleeping in a weird position. The coat looked heavier than it should. Was it a message? A command? Some kind of test? He stared at it. The way it was laid out felt almost like an order put it on, or else.
His jaw clenched. He wanted to ignore it, maybe even throw it across the room, pretend nothing was happening. But he knew that wouldn't change anything. Whoever was behind this, they were waiting to see what he'd do next. His fingers brushed the fabric.
That chemical smell clung to it, sharp and familiar, like a memory he didn't want. This wasn't about him, not anymore. It was about everyone else. About surviving. Maybe even about Elijah. Han-kyum let out a shaky breath. His chest felt tight, nerves prickling with every movement. He picked up the coat and slipped it on. It hung a little loose, sleeves too long, but the feeling was unmistakable familiar, dangerous, necessary. He zipped it halfway, then sat back down, rubbing his hand over his face.
He had no idea what time it was, couldn't check his phone, couldn't reach out to anyone. For all he knew, nobody even remembered he was here. He whispered, voice barely there, "Alright… let's see what today brings." The silence pressed in. The coat felt heavy, but it grounded him. Somewhere beyond these walls, the world kept spinning. Elijah, Yunseok, whoever else already moving, already playing their parts. And here he was. Ready or not. Alone, but not beaten. He'd find a way. He always did.
A sharp metallic click snapped through the quiet. Han-kyum straightened up, every muscle on edge. The lock shifted—slow, intentional. Whoever was out there wanted him to hear it, wanted him to feel every second drag by. He stood up. His heart thudded so hard he felt it in his fingertips.
The handle turned. Elijah walked in. No slamming, no shouting like last time. Just a steady, controlled step, face impossible to read. His gaze swept over Han-kyum, pausing at the lab coat. "So you put it on." No hint of praise in his voice. No relief either. Just…something in between. Han-kyum swallowed hard.
"You left it there. You obviously wanted me to." Elijah didn't bother denying it. He just shut the door, leaning back against it with his arms crossed. His stare was sharp enough to cut. "I wanted to see if you'd cooperate," Elijah said. "You did. That's good." Something inside Han-kyum flared. "Cooperate? It's not like I have a real choice."
Elijah's jaw clenched. "You always have a choice," he muttered. "Just… not many good ones." For a second,
neither of them moved. Then Elijah pushed off the door and tossed a bottle of water and two protein bars onto the metal table by the bed. Small comforts,
but in here, they felt like treasure. "Eat," Elijah said. Softer than yesterday. Only a little, but Han-kyum caught it. Han-kyum didn't budge. He kept his eyes on Elijah. "Why are you being…less of an asshole today?" Elijah froze. His eyes went dark, not angry just thoughtful. "Because," he said, picking his words, "I need you functioning. Your mind's the only thing keeping us from getting executed the second they check our progress."
The weight of it settled between them. Han-kyum looked away. "So I'm just a tool to you." "No," Elijah snapped—too fast. He turned away, frustrated. "You're the cure," he said. "And the only person I can't afford to lose." Han-kyum's chest tightened at that. The way Elijah said it, like he hadn't meant to let it slip.
Before Han-kyum could say anything, Elijah stepped closer. Close enough for Han-kyum to feel his body heat. Close enough to catch that faint metallic smell clinging to his gloves. "We're going to the lab," Elijah said,
voice lower now. "We've got work." Han-kyum let out a shaky breath. "Then let's go." Elijah reached for the door, then hesitated. Just for a second. His eyes flicked back to Han-kyum, and there was something there almost guilt. "Don't try to run," he murmured. "Not today." And for once, Han-kyum wasn't sure if it was a threat or if it was something closer to concern.
Han-kyum shoved the last bit of food aside and wiped his hands over his face. His body felt stiff, the kind of ache that seeps in when you sleep badly and wake up not knowing what time it is, or where you fit in the day. Elijah shifted over, making space, but Han-kyum could feel those eyes on him sharp, restless, like Elijah wanted him to move faster or just disappear. Not that Han-kyum could do anything about it.
The lab door slid open with barely a sound, and the lights snapped on overhead, humming and harsh. Han-kyum's gut twisted. Everything in here looked too clean. Not just tidy sterile, untouched, almost like nobody lived in this place at all. Racks, vials, benches, every surface scrubbed to a shine.
Someone must've cleaned up while he slept, or maybe it always looked like this. "Elijah…" Han-kyum kept his voice low. "Can I at least work in here? In the lab?" Elijah's jaw tightened, and for a second,
Han-kyum thought he'd say no. But Elijah just nodded, stepping out of the way again. "Here. Start." Han-kyum swallowed hard, nodding back, and reached for the gloves.
The latex snapped tight around his fingers, the smell of chemicals biting at him the second he opened the box. He flinched, just a little, then laid everything out vials, powders, measuring spoons. It all felt heavier than usual, like one wrong move would cost more than he could pay. Elijah didn't say a word.
He just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes never leaving Han-kyum. The pressure of that stare made his skin crawl, but he forced himself to focus. Messing up wasn't an option. He started with the first mixture slow, careful, checking the formula, measuring again just to be sure, stirring with steady hands. Elijah kept watching, silent as a shadow. Sometimes he shifted, or sighed, or moved a little closer, just enough to remind Han-kyum that he was trapped here. Time crawled. The only sounds were the clink of glass, the hiss of a stirrer, Han-kyum muttering numbers under his breath. His muscles ached, his back felt like stone, and the tightness in his chest wouldn't let up. Still, he kept going. Every step, every calculation, every mix he held on to the work like it was a lifeline. At one point, Han-kyum stopped and looked at Elijah. "Do you have to watch me like that?" he asked, voice low, more annoyed than scared, though a little of both hung in the air. Elijah's mouth went tight.
"I don't need to touch the work to make sure you do it right." Han-kyum let out a slow breath and rubbed his temples. He turned back to the table, eyes on the mixtures, blocking out everything else the room, Elijah, the world outside. Just the work. That's all he had. The day dragged on. Long, silent, heavy.
Elijah didn't say another word. Han-kyum worked in that thick, watchful silence, nerves stretched thin, every movement deliberate. Sweat trickled down his forehead, part effort, part nerves, but he never stopped. Not even for a second.
By the middle of the afternoon, Han-kyum's hands ached and his shoulders burned from hours locked in that careful, tedious work. Every move mattered. He could feel Elijah watching him not saying much, but somehow impossible to ignore. "Is this hot enough?" Han-kyum asked, trying to play it cool.
"It's warm. Don't burn it," Elijah replied, barely above a whisper, eyes never leaving him. Han-kyum rolled his eyes. "Yeah, super helpful, thanks." "Focus," Elijah snapped, and that jolted right through him. The lab air was sharp, metallic, and Han-kyum's skin was sticky with sweat.
Time crawled. He measured each drop, double-checked every reaction. Elijah kept circling, eyes on Han-kyum's hands, making notes, always silent. Never helped. Just existed heavy, unavoidable. Evening crept in and the mixture finally started to shift, just a bit finally, something. Han-kyum rubbed at his eyes, sneaking a look at Elijah. "You're slow," Elijah said. "I'm not about to rush this and blow us up," Han-kyum muttered back.
"Then get it right," Elijah shot back. Night. Han-kyum barely touched the food someone left out for him. He was just too tired. Elijah still hovered, this silent, relentless shadow.
At last, the reaction settled. Not perfect, but it held. Sweat trickled down Han-kyum's face as he sagged back in his chair, heart banging in his chest from the stress. "Done?" Elijah's voice cut through the haze. "For now, i countinue this tomorrow," Han-kyum managed, swallowing hard. Elijah just nodded once. No congratulations. No hint of relief. Just that same pressure, heavier than ever.
Han-kyum shut his eyes for a second, reminded this was only Day Two. Surviving meant more than not blowing up the lab it meant figuring out how to handle Elijah and the twisted game they'd landed in together.
Han-kyum dragged himself back to the tiny room they'd shoved him into. The door snapped shut, a sharp sound in all that stillness.
He dropped onto the edge of the cot everything ached, his hands buzzing from all that work. He sat there for a bit, just staring at those bare walls. The one light overhead stretched his shadow out, making the place look even smaller. His mind drifted off before he could stop it.
Han-kyum sank on the cot, mind racing. Are they searching? Did they find Mrs. Jana? Is the lab okay? The questions pressed like weight, unanswered, gnawing at him.