𝓐 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 | 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘖𝘵_13

~10

She hated to show her body. Because all her trauma was imprinted upon her body. All those hurtful scars.

***

Miso had never felt so hollow.
The hours dragged on endlessly. One hour. Two. Maybe more. She had lost count. Her tears had dried up, but the ache remained—heavy, consuming. She was still curled up on the cold floor, arms around her knees, back against the wall, in the exact same spot Joshua had left her. Her breathing was uneven. Her mind a chaotic mess. Guilt gnawed at her like a parasite, feeding on every regret, every broken memory.

They all hated her. She saw it in their eyes—the coldness, the lack of compassion. Once, they would have rushed to her side without hesitation. Now, they couldn't even look at her without disdain.

"This is what I deserve," she whispered to herself.
And with that thought still lingering, her body finally gave in. Her head spun violently, and everything went black.

When Miso opened her eyes again, it was to the warmth of sunlight brushing against her cheeks and the crisp coolness of morning air drifting in through the window. Her eyes fluttered open with a frown. She was no longer on the cold floor. She was in bed—tucked in neatly, blanket pulled up to her shoulders.

Her heart pounded.
Who had done this? When?

She tried to sit up, but a sudden ache shot up from her ankle, making her wince. And then the memories returned—Joshua, his words, his touch, the helplessness.

She gingerly touched her neck and gasped. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against the bruises. The marks. The reminder. Her eyes welled up again, but no more tears fell. She had cried enough.

Dragging herself toward the mirror in the bathroom, she examined her reflection. The bruises stood out—dark, ugly reminders on her pale skin. Her body looked thinner. Her eyes had lost their spark. And that girl in the mirror? She looked like a stranger.

"I can't go out like this," she whispered.

But she had no clothes. No makeup. Nothing that belonged to her. She was trapped—both inside the room and inside her own shattered self.

A soft click startled her. The door opened. Miso quickly limped back to the bed and sat, her back facing the entrance. Her heart pounded wildly.

She heard quiet footsteps, and the soft clink of a tray being placed on the nightstand. She didn't look back. The person left without a word.
She glanced at the tray. Food. But her stomach twisted painfully at the sight. She felt nauseous. She hadn't eaten in days now. Nothing felt right.

The meals kept coming, day after day. But she refused each one. She didn't say a word. Didn't touch the plates. She simply existed, shutting herself out. No one came to check, and she thought—maybe they really didn't care.

But one of them did.

Vernon had noticed. He had brought her meals for three days now, and not once had he seen the food touched. A gnawing unease grew in his chest.

So he found himself standing outside Seungcheol's room, his knuckles brushing nervously against the door before finally knocking.

"Come in," came that unmistakable voice—firm, commanding. Vernon stepped in.

"Hyung... It's Miso," he began, uncertain. "She hasn't eaten in days. I just thought... if this keeps going, her health—"

"I'll handle it," Seungcheol cut in, not looking up from his phone.

Vernon nodded. That was all he needed to hear.

Seungcheol stood shirtless by the window later that day, the towel slung low around his waist after his shower. He stared out blankly, his brows slightly furrowed.
Miso.
Her name alone brought back too many conflicting emotions—rage, disappointment... and something else. Something unexplainable.

He sighed. "One more headache in the name of closure, huh?"

He dressed, grabbing his phone, and made his way down the hallway toward her room.

*

The door was locked. Of course. He placed his finger on the scanner and waited for the soft click. The moment he stepped inside, he saw her shift.

She turned slightly but didn't look at him—only faced the wall again, back stiff. Seungcheol's gaze traveled to the tray on the table—untouched, just as Vernon had said.

He crossed the room slowly and sat down on the couch, setting the tray on his lap. He didn't speak for a moment. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating.

"Why aren't you eating?" he asked, voice low and cold.

Miso didn't reply. She didn't even flinch. He could tell she was trying hard to appear unaffected, but her shoulders betrayed her—they were tense, trembling slightly.

"I'm talking to you, Miso."

Her head finally lifted, and their eyes locked. There it was again—that emptiness in her gaze, the same emptiness he used to associate with strength. Now, it looked like surrender.

When he noticed the bruises on her neck, his jaw clenched. He didn't comment. But the bitter smirk tugging at his lips said enough.

"You've always been stubborn," he muttered under his breath.

He picked up the chopsticks, took a bite of rice, and held it up toward her. She recoiled slightly, lips sealed. Seungcheol's patience began to thin.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

She still didn't move.

With a swift motion, he gripped her chin, tilting her face up to his. His fingers were firm, his grip unrelenting. She winced, but didn't pull away.

"Open your mouth," he said, tone commanding.

Miso obeyed this time—perhaps out of fear, or simply because resisting felt like too much.

He fed her silently, bite after bite. She chewed quietly, her eyes never meeting his again. But Seungcheol watched her closely. She looked too thin. Too pale. Fragile in a way that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

He hated this. He hated that despite everything, some part of him still cared.

After she finished the food, he handed her the glass of juice and waited until she drank it all. Then, without a word, he stood and gathered the empty tray.

Just as he was about to leave, he glanced over his shoulder.

"If you skip your meals again," he said, voice sharp and unreadable, "I won't be this gentle next time."

And with that, he walked out, locking the door behind him.

Miso sat on the bed in silence.

She didn't cry.

She didn't scream.

She just stared at the closed door and whispered, "I just wanted a normal life..."
But that was a luxury she could never afford. Not after the betrayal. Not after the secrets.

She was alone. Again.

And this time, there was no saving herself from the karma she had summoned.

***

How I love writing Seungcheol!