╰┈➤In a world where the line between life and death blurs, a girl named Kwon Dae is haunted by the tragic loss of her five childhood friends, in a devastating car crash. Three months after their funeral, Dae's nights are filled with vivid visions an...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
╔══════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══════╗
"Meet me in four days. Friday. 7:30 p.m. Got it?"
Jeongin opens the front door, and the cold night air rushes in, brushing against our faces. I shiver at the sudden chill, nodding silently to his instructions. "Yeah, got it."
"You're pretty cute, not gonna lie."
A strangled sound escapes my throat as I whip my head toward him, my eyes wide with disbelief. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect his words have on me, before gently shoving me forward, signaling for me to leave first.
"Not everything you hear is true, Dae-ah" he murmurs, his voice calm yet playful. "You're way too stubborn... not my type."
I roll my eyes, stepping out of the house and making my way to the gate, my cheeks still aflame. Men are a bunch of disappointments to this planet. "You're not my type either."
Jeongin leans against the doorframe, a playful smile dancing across his lips as he watches me walk away. "Call me if anything unusual happens. My number's saved in your phone."
I shoot him a thumbs-up, shoving my hands deep into my pockets as I continue down the path, my mind buzzing with questions. I don't even bother to ask how he managed that little feat, considering my phone has been nestled in my pocket the whole time. He does witchcraft—what can I expect?
I hear Jeongin sigh as the front door finally clicks shut behind me. The cold night air bites at my skin, and I shiver, rubbing my arms for warmth. Just the thought of the hour-long journey ahead makes exhaustion settle deep in my bones, and for a moment, I completely forget what has transpired on these very streets earlier. My legs carry me on autopilot, guiding me toward my destination without a second thought.
Upon arriving at the bus stop, I grasp the handles and step inside, scanning the already crowded interior for a vacant seat. My eyes sweep across the rows, searching for an empty spot among the sea of late-night commuters.
The bus is packed like sardines, and the air reeks of sweat mixed with cheap perfume, an unpleasant cocktail that makes me wince. I try to maneuver through the crowd, hoping to find a spot that isn't quite as suffocating, but it feels like an impossible mission. With a quiet grumble, I give up and grab onto one of the handles, my eyes drifting toward the tinted windows.
Taxis at this hour would have left my wallet crying, so I have to make do with the bus, crammed as it is.
The ride may not be the epitome of comfort, but the night scenery whizzes past me—a blur of vibrant shops and shimmering streetlights merging into a neon tapestry that makes the ordeal somewhat bearable.
