kidnapper's protection | seongjoong

9

The second day was worse.

Seonghwa woke up on the same bench he'd crashed on the night before, his limbs aching from the cold. A couple of joggers passed by without a glance, their earphones blocking out the world. He rubbed his numb hands together, trying to generate some warmth, but it didn't help much.

He dragged himself to campus, forcing one foot in front of the other. His duffle bag hung from his shoulder like a burden he couldn't shed. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that he should just drop it and stop pretending—stop trying to act like he had everything under control. But he didn't.

Not yet.

He ducked into the bathroom of a building on campus, locking himself in a stall. The cold water he splashed on his face was a poor replacement for a shower, but it would have to do. He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing as he found tangles. You look fine, he told himself in the mirror, though the dark circles under his eyes said otherwise.

When he stepped into the hallway, he was greeted by stares—not the curious, friendly kind, but the judgmental ones. The ones that told him everything they thought about his appearance without a single word.

He wasn't surprised anymore.

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In class, the professor announced that group presentations would begin next week, and Seonghwa's heart sank. He hadn't even started brainstorming for it. Normally, he'd be ahead of schedule, the overachiever in every project. But now, his focus was slipping, scattered by the sheer effort of just surviving.

During a break, he wandered to the student lounge, hoping for some reprieve. A couple of classmates glanced his way, but no one invited him to join them. Their whispers followed him like a shadow—"That's the guy who dresses weird, right?"

He tried to ignore it, tried to convince himself it didn't matter. But every word stung, a reminder that no matter how hard he worked, it would never be enough.

His stomach growled again, sharp and insistent. He hadn't eaten anything since the night before, but he couldn't afford to spend what little cash he had left. He sat down at the far end of the room, away from everyone else, and scrolled through his phone as a distraction.

A notification popped up—a reminder about an internship interview he'd scheduled for tomorrow.

How the hell am I supposed to look presentable for that?

The thought of walking into a law firm in wrinkled clothes, with unwashed hair and exhaustion written all over his face, filled him with dread. Law was all about appearances, and Seonghwa knew better than anyone that people like him—those who didn't fit the mold—were never given second chances.

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After his last class, Seonghwa met up with Wooyoung again. The sun was already setting, casting long shadows across the campus. Wooyoung waved at him from across the quad, his usual bright smile faltering as he got closer.

"Hyung, you look worse than yesterday," Wooyoung said bluntly, scanning him from head to toe. "Did you even sleep?"

Seonghwa gave a half-hearted shrug. "On and off."

Wooyoung's brows furrowed. "You can't keep doing this, you know. You're going to burn out."

"I don't really have a choice," Seonghwa replied, his voice flat.

Wooyoung stared at him for a moment, his playful demeanor fading into something serious. "Look, Hyung, I mean it—come stay with me. At least for a few days. You're not some superhuman who can survive on no sleep and two energy bars."

Seonghwa shook his head. "I told you, Woo. I'll figure it out."

"And I told you that's bullshit." Wooyoung's voice was sharp, but there was no anger in it—only frustration and worry.

Seonghwa gave a small smile, trying to reassure his friend. "I'll be fine."

"You're not fine, Hwa," Wooyoung muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You're—" He stopped himself and sighed. "Okay. I won't push, but I'm serious—my door's always open."

"Thanks, Woo," Seonghwa murmured, meaning it. Wooyoung's presence was one of the only things keeping him grounded.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the other students filter out of the building, heading home for the night. The thought of them going back to warm beds and home-cooked meals made Seonghwa's chest ache.

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When Wooyoung finally had to leave, Seonghwa waved him off with a tired smile and wandered back to the park. The cold bit into his skin even more viciously than the night before, and he knew that winter would come soon.

He curled up on the bench, pulling his jacket tighter around him. His duffle bag served as both a pillow and a shield—something to hold onto in a world that seemed intent on leaving him behind.

He thought about dropping out of school. Just for a second. It would be so easy to let go, to stop fighting, to disappear. But the thought terrified him even more than staying. If I give up, what else do I have left?

The wind howled through the trees, rattling the branches above him. Seonghwa squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to take him. But it was hard to rest when your mind wouldn't stop racing—when every thought was another reminder that you were alone.

He felt the weight of it all pressing down on him—his parents' rejection, his teachers' judgment, the constant struggle to keep up with school. It was too much, and he was so tired.

But there was no other choice.

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

And with that, he drifted into a restless, dreamless sleep, unaware of the storm that was about to change his life forever.