I don't remember how I left the hospital.
I only remember the way the floor feels unsteady beneath my feet, like I'm walking through water instead of air. By the time I reach the locker room, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely unbutton my uniform. I tell myself not to cry. Crying has never helped me. It has only ever made things worse.
I change quickly, head down, avoiding my reflection in the metal locker door. I already know what I'll see if I look too long—red eyes, pale skin, the familiar expression of someone bracing for impact.
I should go home.
I should pretend I saw nothing.
That's what he would expect.
But before I can even step out of the hospital, my phone vibrates.
Min-jae: Where did you go?
My chest tightens.
I don't reply.
Another message comes in almost immediately.
Min-jae: Why are you ignoring me?
There it is. The switch. The tone that always comes before the storm.
I walk faster, heart pounding, my bag clutched tightly against my side. The night air hits my face, cold and sharp, but it does nothing to calm me. I make it halfway down the steps when a hand grabs my wrist.
Hard.
I gasp, turning, already knowing who it is.
"Seo-yeon," he says softly, like he hasn't just yanked me back. Like I'm not trembling under his grip. "Why are you running?"
People are around us. Patients' families. Nurses on break. Security near the entrance. And suddenly, his voice rises just enough to draw attention.
"You're embarrassing me," he says, his face twisting into concern. "Did I do something wrong?"
My throat closes.
This is his favorite place to trap me. Public. Witnesses. An audience ready to believe him.
"I—I need to go," I whisper, trying to pull my hand free.
He tightens his grip.
"See?" he says loudly, shaking his head. "She's like this lately. Always emotional. Always overreacting."
Eyes turn toward us.
Heat floods my face. Shame crawls up my spine. I can already feel myself shrinking, folding inward the way I always do. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe.
"Let her go."
The voice is calm. Young. Unshaken.
Min-jae turns, irritation flashing across his face. So do I.
It's the boy from the hallway.
He stands a few steps away, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but his eyes are sharp. Focused. Not on me.
On Min-jae.
"This doesn't concern you," Min-jae snaps, smiling thinly. "She's my girlfriend."
The boy's gaze flicks briefly to my wrist. To the way Min-jae's fingers are digging into my skin.
"I don't care who she is," he says. "You're hurting her."
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
Min-jae laughs. Light. Charming. "You kids love drama. She's fine. Right, Seo-yeon?"
He looks at me then, really looks. The warning is there. The promise.
My mouth opens.
No sound comes out.
The boy's eyes darken.
And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.
Min-jae thinks he owns me.
But this boy...
He's already decided he won't let him.
Min-jae releases my wrist suddenly, throwing his hands up as if he's the victim. "See what I mean?" he says to the crowd. "She makes everything look bad."
I stagger back, my arm burning.
The boy steps closer.
Too close.
"Touch her again," he says quietly, "and you'll regret it."
Min-jae scoffs, but for the first time, there's something new in his eyes.
Uncertainty.
And as I stand there, exposed and shaking, I know this isn't over.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
The crowd slowly disperses, interest fading now that Min-jae has decided the scene is finished. He thrives on that control over when things begin and end. When eyes stop watching, his hand returns to my arm, not gripping this time, but pressing just enough to remind me he can. Always has.
"Go home," he murmurs near my ear, voice sweet, affectionate. "You look tired. We'll talk later."
Later.
The word coils around my throat like a threat.
I don't look at him. I can't. Because if I do, I might break in front of everyone. Instead, my gaze drifts back to the boy. He hasn't moved. He's watching Min-jae now, head slightly tilted, as if memorizing him. Like a hunter does before deciding how to strike.
Something cold settles in my stomach.
Min-jae notices. Of course he does. His smile tightens, eyes flicking between us. "You," he says, pointing lazily at the boy. "Mind your business next time."
The boy doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. His silence feels louder than any argument. It unnerves Min-jae. I can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his shoulders stiffen.
For the first time in years, Min-jae lets go of me without being asked.
I stumble back, my arm throbbing, fingers trembling as I clutch my bag. I should leave. I should run. But my feet feel rooted to the ground, caught between fear and something dangerously close to relief.
The boy steps aside, subtly, creating a path without touching me. A silent invitation. Or a warning. I don't know which.
I pass him, heart hammering, every nerve screaming. As I do, his voice reaches me. low, controlled, meant only for me to hear.
"Don't go back to him."
I freeze for half a second.
Then I walk away.
I don't know why those words affect me so deeply. Maybe because no one has ever said them without sounding like they were asking something in return. He didn't ask. He stated it. Like a fact. Like a truth he had already decided.
Behind me, Min-jae laughs. Too loud. Too fake. I don't turn around, but I feel his eyes burning into my back, feel the promise in that sound. This isn't finished. He'll make sure of it. He always does.
Outside, the night air feels heavier than before. I inhale shakily, my chest aching, my thoughts spiraling. I replay everything again and again. the cheating, the grip on my wrist, the crowd, the boy's eyes.
Especially his eyes.
There was no pity in them. No curiosity either. Just certainty. As if he saw something inevitable unfolding and had already chosen his place in it.
I hug my arms around myself and start walking, faster now, afraid that if I slow down, I'll fall apart completely.
I don't know who that boy is.
I don't know why he intervened.
I don't know what it means that Min-jae noticed him too.
But deep down, beneath the fear and the shame, something stirs.
A crack.
And through it, the terrifying possibility that my life has already begun to change whether I'm ready or not.