WILTED | SEOKSOO FF

PART 08

Jisoo sat on the freezing bathroom floor, his back pressed against the wall, the cold tiles biting into his skin. The little plastic stick in his trembling hand felt heavier than it had any right to be. Two faint pink lines stared back at him like tiny, accusing eyes. They weren’t just lines; they were his whole life, rewritten in a single moment.

Pregnant.

His breath hitched, his chest tightening as the weight of it all came crashing down. “No,” he murmured, shaking his head as though sheer denial could erase the evidence. But the lines remained, steadfast and unyielding.

Tears welled up, blurring his vision, spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. His free hand drifted instinctively to his abdomen, as if the fragile miracle within him could offer comfort. “How could this happen?” His laugh came out wet and bitter. “I know how, obviously,” he muttered to the empty bathroom. “Thanks, Seokmin, for your impeccable timing and zero regard for this.”

But even his sarcasm couldn’t shield him from the truth—a truth so pure and fragile it made his heart ache. Despite the chaos, the fear, and the darkness of his life, there was a flicker of light growing inside him. It was surreal, overwhelming, and for one brief, fleeting moment, beautiful.

Then reality hit like a freight train.

“What the hell do I do now?” he whispered, his voice cracking. He wanted to scream, to cry, to laugh hysterically at the sheer absurdity of it all. Instead, he just sat there, clutching the test like it was the only anchor in a storm he couldn’t escape.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions—terror, disbelief, anger—but also something unexpected: hope. The thought of ending his life, once a constant shadow, began to fade. He couldn’t do it. Not anymore. There was someone else to think about now, someone who needed him.

Late one night, as Seokmin snored in a drunken stupor on the couch, Jisoo sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of tea that had long gone cold. The dim light overhead flickered ominously, casting jagged shadows that seemed to mock his indecision.

He stared into the mug like it held the answers to all his problems. “Disappearing sounds great in theory,” he muttered, tapping his fingers against the table. “But where do people even go when they want to vanish? Witness protection? A secret cabin in the woods? Or maybe I just fake my death. That always works in the dramas.”

But no matter how many absurd scenarios he concocted, the truth remained: Seokmin would find him. He always did. His possessiveness was like a leash, tightening every time Jisoo tried to breathe freely.

His hand drifted to his stomach again. The thought of Seokmin ever laying a finger on the baby made his blood run cold. “Not an option,” he murmured, his voice hardening. “I’ll protect you. Whatever it takes.”

The next morning, Jisoo decided to test the waters. As they sat at the breakfast table, Seokmin scrolling through his phone and ignoring him as usual, Jisoo cleared his throat.

“Seokmin,” he began, keeping his tone light, “if something… happened to me, what would you do?”

Seokmin looked up, one eyebrow raised, his lips curling into that smug, infuriating smirk Jisoo had grown to loathe. “Something like what? Burning the toast again?”

Jisoo forced a laugh, though it came out strained. “No, I mean… if I weren’t around anymore.”

The smirk vanished, replaced by a dark glint in Seokmin’s eyes. He leaned forward, his voice low and cold. “You’re not going anywhere, Jisoo. Don’t even think about it.”