𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄; boysnextdoor

Melodies of Solace; woonhak

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Y/N's heart pounded as she sprinted through the empty streets, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. She didn’t stop to think, didn’t dare look back. The echoes of her stepmother’s hateful words still rang in her ears, the sting of her latest punishment throbbing on her skin. This wasn’t the first time Y/N had endured the abuse, but tonight, something inside her had snapped. She couldn’t take it anymore—the constant berating, the endless chores, the complete absence of love. Her stepmother had never seen her as anything more than a burden after her father died, and Y/N knew she had to escape.

Her feet carried her through the darkness, barely aware of her surroundings until she found herself at the park. It wasn’t just any park, though—it bordered the orphanage, a place she’d always passed by on her way to school, wondering what life would be like for those without families. Tonight, it felt like the only safe haven in the world. The streetlamps flickered, casting a dim glow on the playground equipment, making the place look haunting yet strangely comforting.

She slowed her pace and collapsed onto a wooden bench near the swings, clutching her arms around herself as if that would protect her from the cold, both outside and inside. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry. Crying meant weakness, and she couldn’t afford that right now. All her life, music had been her escape, her one source of joy in a world that seemed bent on breaking her. She often dreamed of pursuing music professionally, of leaving her toxic home and building a life where her passion was enough. But those were just dreams—too distant to ever be real.

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to calm her racing heart. That’s when she heard it. A voice. Not just any voice, but a beautiful melody cutting through the night like a soft breeze. At first, she thought she was imagining it. It was too perfect, too pure to be real. But it continued, drawing her out of her spiral of despair.

Y/N opened her eyes and turned toward the sound, her curiosity pulling her up from the bench. Just a few yards away, beneath the large oak tree at the far end of the park, she saw him. A boy, around her age, maybe a little older, sitting with a guitar resting on his knee. His fingers strummed the strings effortlessly, his voice so gentle yet powerful, it seemed to make the whole park come alive.

She hesitated, not wanting to interrupt, but unable to stay away. Slowly, Y/N walked closer, her feet almost moving on their own. As she neared, she saw him more clearly—his face illuminated by the faint moonlight that filtered through the trees. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his eyes, though focused on his guitar, seemed to hold a depth that intrigued her.

“You play beautifully,” she whispered, once she was close enough that her voice wouldn’t startle him.

The boy looked up, his eyes locking with hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. His gaze was kind, not judgmental like she’d grown used to, and his lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice just as soft when he wasn’t singing. “I didn’t think anyone else was out here.”

“I didn’t either,” she replied, glancing around the empty park. “I just… needed to get away.”

He didn’t pry, didn’t ask why, but his expression told her he understood more than she could put into words. Y/N sat down beside him on the grass, still keeping some distance, but close enough to feel the warmth of his presence.

“I’m Woonhak,” he said, strumming his guitar lightly, the melody now more of a background to their conversation.

“Y/N,” she responded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.