ɴɪɢʜᴛꜱʜᴀᴅᴇ | 𝖂𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖆𝖓

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 25: "𝕿𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕻𝖆𝖌𝖊"

𓊈𒆜𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖎 𝕾𝖆𝖓𒆜𓊉

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𝕿𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖂𝖊𝖊𝖐𝖘 𝕷𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗

The snow fell in heavy, slow flakes, each one spiraling lazily to the ground before settling in a thick blanket over the grounds outside the mansion. The living room was bathed in a soft glow from the fire, the warmth of the flames contrasting sharply with the quiet, somber atmosphere that had settled over us. No one spoke much these days. We all carried the weight of loss in our own ways, and the house, usually lively with laughter or biting banter, had grown eerily quiet.

Jongho and Yeosang sat together on the couch, wrapped in a wool blanket. It was an image I hadn't expected to see a few months ago, but Wooyoung had been the one to pull them closer. Through his relentless meddling and gentle encouragement, he'd bridged the gap between them. And now, even in his absence, they found comfort in each other.

Yeosang whispered something to Jongho, his lips curling into a soft smile that was so rare it made my chest ache with bittersweet warmth. Jongho laughed quietly, his face lighting up in a way that reminded me of how things used to be. I watched them for a moment, my lips curving into a faint smile before it quickly faded. A pang of longing hit me—Wooyoung had been the one to make moments like this possible, his stubbornness and charm breaking down walls none of us even realized we had built.

The necklace dangled between my fingers, the chain looping back and forth as I turned it absently. Its faint glow had dimmed over the weeks, though it never extinguished entirely. I stared at it, as though the answers to my unspoken questions might reveal themselves in its depths. The weight of it felt heavier now, not from the physical metal, but from the memories and hope it carried.

The fire crackled, filling the silence as Seojin and Hyunwoo murmured quietly by the window. They were sharing a bottle of something strong, their expressions subdued but not completely devoid of hope. Occasionally, one of them glanced my way, but neither spoke to me. They knew better.

Mingi was sprawled in the armchair by the fire, his hand resting over his eyes as though shielding himself from the room's collective grief. He hadn't said much in days, only offering his quiet presence as a reminder that we weren't alone in our sorrow.

The warmth of the fire seeped into the room, but I felt cold. Always cold. The kind of chill that came from within, where nothing—not fire, not blankets, not even the camaraderie of those around me—could touch. I turned the necklace again, its dull glow reflecting the light of the flames, my thumb brushing over its surface.

"San," Jongho's voice broke the quiet, hesitant and soft. I looked up, meeting his steady gaze. "You should eat something."

"I'm fine," I replied flatly, my voice devoid of emotion. I hadn't touched blood in days, but it didn't matter. Hunger wasn't what consumed me.

"You've been saying that for weeks," Yeosang interjected, his tone sharp but not unkind. His arms tightened around Jongho as though grounding himself. "You think starving yourself will bring him back?"

I flinched slightly at the bluntness of his words but didn't respond. Instead, I turned my focus back to the necklace, the motion of my fingers repetitive, almost meditative.

"San," Mingi said from his chair, his voice gruff but laced with concern. "We're all feeling it, but you can't keep doing this to yourself. Wooyoung wouldn't want—"

"Don't," I snapped, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Don't tell me what Wooyoung would or wouldn't want."

The silence that followed was suffocating. I let out a slow breath, leaning back into my chair as the anger drained away, leaving me hollow once more. I couldn't bring myself to apologize. The truth was, they were right, but that didn't make the pain any easier to bear.