The Party That Killed || Hyunlix

76 🕸️

3rd person pov.
Changbin and Minho stood in the basement, surrounded by piles of documents they had once deemed irrelevant. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a desk lamp that cast eerie shadows over the aged, yellowing papers. After recent events, both felt they couldn't afford to overlook any detail.

Minho grabbed another stack of papers, skimming through them in one swift motion, but nothing caught his attention. He set each pile aside as if searching for something that would finally surprise him.

“Nothing, damn it... it’s like all this is just useless trash,” he muttered in frustration, tossing the documents to the side.

Changbin’s eyes darted across the pages, his face twisted in concentration. “Wait, Minho… Maybe we’ve missed something. Let’s try looking at it differently. These symbols might mean—”

Minho shrugged but resumed sifting through the papers. “How, though? There’s nothing on these that would help us.”

“I don’t know. Maybe the symbolism is hidden… It couldn’t have been random,” Changbin replied, pointing at one of the documents. He moved closer to the desk, carefully examining the pages.

On one of them, they noticed something they hadn’t seen before—tiny, faint markings on the margins. They were the same symbols they had seen in the rituals, on recordings... and the same ones tied to the mysterious events.

“This… this is it!” Changbin exclaimed quietly as he spotted a symbol matching one they had seen in photos. “This must be a clue.”

Minho stepped closer, studying the document with equal intensity. “But what does it mean? Where else can we find this?”

He paused for a moment, glanced at Changbin, and said, “We need to go through everything again. Maybe we missed something in the rush.”

“Alright. Let’s search it all, but this time from a different perspective. Let’s think about what these symbols could mean in the context of everything we’ve learned.”

≈🎃≈

Seungmin stood before the door labeled "School Counselor's Office". He hesitated for a moment, holding a note to excuse his absence from class. He had only planned to drop it off, but instead, he decided to knock.

“Come in,” came a warm, calm voice from inside.

He opened the door cautiously, stepping inside. The office was small but cozy. Motivational posters adorned the walls, and shelves were filled with books on psychology and youth guidance. Behind the desk sat Mrs. Kwiatkowska, pen in hand, going through some notes.

“Seungmin! It’s nice to see you. It’s been a while since you last visited,” she said with a smile, putting her pen down. “How can I help you? Is everything alright?”

“I think so,” he replied, stepping closer. “But… maybe not completely.”

“Take a seat. Tell me what’s on your mind,” she encouraged, motioning to a comfortable chair across from her desk.

Seungmin sat down, crossing his arms and staring at the floor. For a moment, the room was silent except for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.

“This is stupid…” he finally muttered quietly.

“Nothing you feel is stupid, Seungmin. Everyone is entitled to their emotions.”

He sighed heavily, then looked up at her.

“I feel like something’s weighing me down. Like everything happening is just... too much. Too many things, too many people. I don’t know how to explain it, but… I feel like I’m losing control.”

Mrs. Kwiatkowska nodded, her gaze focused on him.

“Is there anything specific triggering these feelings? School, friends, family?”

“Maybe all of it?” he replied, raising his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But lately, I think it’s more about me. Like it’s my fault.”

“Your fault for what?”

He pressed his lips together, hesitating before responding.

“For not being good enough. For myself, for others.”

Mrs. Kwiatkowska leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand.

“Seungmin, we all have moments of self-doubt. But what you’re describing sounds serious. Have you been feeling like this more often, especially recently?”

He nodded, biting his lip.

“Everyone always expects something from me. And I… I don’t know if I can meet those expectations.”

“You hold yourself to very high standards, Seungmin. But do you ever allow yourself to take a break? To do something just for you?”

He paused, thinking. A break. To him, the word felt foreign.

“Not really… there’s always something to do.”

Mrs. Kwiatkowska smiled gently.

“Maybe it’s time to try,” she suggested. “The holidays are coming up. It’s a chance to slow down and focus on what matters to you.”

Her voice was calm, but for some reason, Seungmin felt like she was giving him permission to let go.

“Maybe I should,” he admitted softly.

“That’s a good start,” she said. “You don’t always have to be perfect, Seungmin. Give yourself room to be human.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kwiatkowska. I think… that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“You’re always welcome to come by if you need to talk,” she added, handing him a card with a number to reach her outside of school if needed.

Seungmin slipped it into his pocket, said goodbye, and left the office with a slightly lighter heart. Maybe sometimes all it took was to pause and remind himself that he was only human.

The hallway felt unusually long that day, and the holiday decorations, which usually lifted everyone’s spirits, only added to his tension. The twinkling lights on the Christmas trees seemed to pulse in time with his quickened heartbeat, and the red and green reminded him of something he wanted to forget.

As he stepped outside, the cold wind enveloped him. Darkness crept between the school’s walls, and a quiet stillness hung over the city. His shoes clicked against the tiled sidewalk as he noticed the first snowflake drifting onto the sleeve of his coat. It was light as a feather and delicate, yet it stirred something within him.

He glanced up at the dark sky, watching as more flakes fell, turning the world into a swirling white haze. For a moment, it felt as if time had stopped—but something was wrong.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. In the distance, behind one of the columns, a figure flickered into view, watching him. His heart raced, and his steps quickened, nervous. Snow clung to his hair and jacket, and the freezing air stabbed at his lungs like needles.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pull. He didn’t have time to react as a hand clamped a cloth over his mouth, reeking of something sharp. He struggled against the stranger, but his strength ebbed with each passing second. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the holiday lights blinking faintly in the distance.