𝕎𝔸𝕐 𝔹𝔸ℂ𝕂 ℍ𝕆𝕄𝔼 ||𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋||

𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 (R̶U̶N̶-A̶W̶A̶Y̶)

A Chilly Autumn Night, 20xx

I don't know why I'm writing to you. Maybe it's because I can't talk to anyone else about this. Maybe it's because I'm just trying to find a way to make sense of it all. Or maybe it's because I'm afraid that if I don't put these thoughts down somewhere, they'll consume me. I don't know, Yeong-hoon. I just don't know anymore.

It's been about two months now, but the pain is as raw as ever. I can't believe you're gone, that the world continues to turn without you. Sometimes, it feels like I'm living in a nightmare, trapped in a reality that I can't escape. Writing this letter to you feels both therapeutic and torturous. I hope that wherever you are, you can somehow hear my words, feel the weight of my emotions.

It's been a month since he left us, Yeong-hoon. Since Lieutenant Lee sacrificed himself to save us all. A month, but it feels like a lifetime. The wounds on our hearts, they're still fresh, still raw. I don't know how time has the audacity to keep moving forward when it feels like the world has shattered into a million pieces. I don't think time can heal something like this. I don't think anything can.

We were never the ideal friends, were we? We started off again as academic rivals, our parents constantly comparing us, pitting us against each other. It's funny how the people who were supposed to love and support us could be so blind to the damage they were causing. We were mere pawns in their grand game of success, two souls struggling to breathe in a world that suffocated us with expectations.

Despite all that, we found each other, didn't we? In the midst of the chaos, the pressure, we managed to form a bond. Maybe it wasn't the strongest friendship, maybe we weren't the kind of friends who would finish each other's sentences or laugh at inside jokes. But there was an unspoken understanding between us, a silent agreement to be there for each other in the moments when no one else could truly comprehend our pain.

I remember the days when we were just little children - you, me, and Chi-yeol. We were those childhood friends who laughed without a care in the world. Our innocence was a beautiful thing, untainted by the weight of responsibilities and expectations that would soon come crashing down on us. But our parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided that we were wasting our time with childish games. They believed that we needed to focus solely on our studies, as if our worth was measured only by our academic achievements.

And so, our trio shattered, torn apart by the very people who were supposed to nurture and protect us. Our laughter faded, our shared moments became distant memories. We were thrown into the relentless grind of education, our childhood slipping through our fingers like sand. It was as if we were being groomed to become soulless machines, programmed to excel at the cost of our own happiness.

Then, just before the invasion of those wretched spheres, We found our way back to each other again, tentatively reaching out like lost souls seeking refuge. Our connection was rekindled, and though we couldn't turn back time to those carefree days, there was a sense of comfort in knowing that we weren't alone in this madness.

And then, in the blink of an eye, you were gone. The spheres claimed you as their first victim, a cruel reminder of the horror that had descended upon our world. I still remember the shock, the disbelief that tore through me when I was told what had happened to you. It was like a physical blow, knocking the air out of my lungs and leaving me gasping for breath.

It's hard to put into words the agony of realizing that you were gone, that I would never hear your voice or see you ever again. I wasn't there for you when you needed me as I promised you, to hold your hand and tell you how much you meant to me. It was as if a part of me had been ripped away, leaving an emptiness that nothing could fill. I wish I had known sooner, wish I could have been there with you in those final moments. Maybe I could have made a difference, somehow.