kidnapper's protection | seongjoong

8

Seonghwa hadn't expected the night to feel so long.

The first few hours after leaving the café with Wooyoung were manageable. He walked aimlessly through the streets, trying to convince himself that he just needed time to figure things out. But as midnight crept closer and the streets emptied, the reality of his situation hit him hard.

He was homeless.

He sat on a cold bench in the park, hugging his duffle bag close to his chest. The night air gnawed at his skin, slipping under his thin jacket. It was only October, but the chill felt sharper than usual, probably because there was no warm bed waiting for him this time.

He checked his phone, scrolling through old messages from his professors and classmates. Some assignments were due tomorrow. Tomorrow. The world hadn't stopped because he lost everything. Law school was still breathing down his neck, relentless and unforgiving.

Seonghwa exhaled through his nose, trying to keep the panic from spreading. He'd worked so hard to get into this program, balancing grueling classes, endless reading, and internships. Now, he was expected to keep doing it—just without a home. Without a family.

He knew he needed sleep, but the thought of sleeping out in the open felt humiliating. A law student sleeping in a park—how ironic. All those lectures about human rights and the dignity of every person, and here he was, barely clinging to his own dignity.

At 3 AM, he gave up. He found a 24-hour convenience store, its fluorescent lights flickering above rows of cheap snacks and instant meals. He walked in, shivering, pretending to browse the shelves just so the clerk wouldn't ask questions.

His stomach growled, but the cash in his pocket was all he had left, and it had to last. He grabbed a single energy bar and a bottle of water, knowing it wasn't much but it would have to do.

The clerk didn't even glance at him as he paid.

With nowhere else to go, Seonghwa sat at one of the tiny tables in the corner of the store, tearing open the energy bar and chewing slowly. It tasted like cardboard, but at least it was something.

The hours dragged. By 6 AM, the streets were coming alive again—early risers heading to work, delivery trucks unloading crates. He stood and slung his bag over his shoulder, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He still had a full day of classes ahead.

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Walking onto campus felt surreal. He looked the same as always—long hair tucked under a beanie, an oversized sweater covering his crop top—but everything else was different. The other students rushed past him, chatting, laughing, stressed about upcoming exams. They had homes to go back to. Families waiting for them.

Seonghwa wondered how long it would take for someone to notice he wasn't sleeping well. Or eating well. Or functioning at all.

He arrived at his first class just on time. The lecture dragged on for two hours, the professor droning about case law and judicial precedent. Seonghwa's mind drifted, exhaustion pulling him under, but he forced himself to stay awake. Stay sharp. Don't fall behind.

When the professor handed back their midterm exams, Seonghwa barely looked at his grade—he knew it was good. He always did well. But instead of the usual sense of accomplishment, he felt...nothing. What was the point of good grades when everything else in his life was falling apart?

During lunch, he found an empty table in the library and sat there, not bothering to eat. His classmates passed by without a second glance. He overheard a group nearby talking about their plans for the weekend—a party, a trip home to visit family.

Seonghwa stared at the books in front of him, the words blurring together. Where the hell was he supposed to go tonight?

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By late afternoon, Seonghwa was running on fumes. He'd attended all his classes, participated in discussions, and kept up the facade of a hardworking student. But inside, he felt like he was unraveling.

As the sun began to set, Seonghwa wandered through the city again. He passed by restaurants and cafés filled with people—friends sharing meals, couples holding hands.

His stomach twisted with hunger, but he ignored it. He knew he couldn't afford to sit down at any of those places, even for a cup of tea. He found himself back at the convenience store around 9 PM, just like the night before.

The same tired clerk gave him the same uninterested glance as he grabbed another energy bar and a bottle of water. It was like déjà vu, except worse. Because this wasn't just one bad night—this was his life now.

He found another park bench, huddling against the cold as he tried to close his eyes. The sounds of the city buzzed around him—cars honking, people talking, distant sirens—but none of it made him feel less alone.

Just get through tonight, he told himself. One night at a time.

But deep down, he knew that wasn't sustainable. He couldn't survive like this forever. And the worst part? No one knew. No one cared.

Not his classmates. Not his teachers. Not his family.

The thought weighed on him like a stone, dragging him deeper into the void.