Annyeongz One-shots

17. Crimson Silence ( 2 )

The clock on Wonyoung’s desk blinked 11:47 PM in dim red digits. Her eyes ached from staring at formulas too long, and her stomach growled a painful protest. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. Her textbooks were still spread open, notes scribbled in frantic, uneven handwriting. Finals were creeping closer, and she couldn’t afford to slow down.

Still… her body had other plans.

“I need something to eat,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her wallet and slipping on a hoodie.

The air outside was brisk, the streets quiet except for the occasional passing car. She pulled her hood tighter and crossed the empty road to the 24-hour convenience store glowing in soft white light down the block.

The door chimed as she entered, the sterile smell of fluorescent lighting and cup ramen hitting her nose. She made a slow beeline for the snack aisle, absently scanning the shelves for something spicy—something comforting.

Her hand had just hovered over a packet of tteokbokki chips when she heard it.

That voice.

“Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Her heart skipped. She turned, startled, and there he was.

Ahn Yujin.

Behind the counter, dressed in the dull blue-and-black uniform of the store. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair slightly disheveled, a bandage still wrapped around his knuckles.

Wonyoung blinked. “You… work here?”

Yujin didn’t answer at first. He leaned slightly over the counter, his expression unreadable, eyes sharp even under the pale light. Finally, he muttered, “Temporary night shift.”

His voice was low, casual—but guarded.

She took a step toward him. “Your hand… it’s still bandaged.”

Yujin glanced at it, then shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“You were bleeding a lot that night—”

“It’s. Fine.”

His tone was clipped. Not angry, just detached. Wonyoung flinched, not from fear, but from how distant he sounded.

Still, she couldn’t stop herself. “You shouldn’t be working like this when you’re hurt.”

Yujin raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. She didn’t have an answer she could explain. Something about seeing him in front of that door—protecting her with his own body—had embedded itself in her memory like a scar.

He sighed, then leaned back against the register, folding his arms across his chest. “You shouldn't be out this late either. What are you doing here?”

Wonyoung looked down at the snack in her hand. “Studying. Got hungry.”

His eyes stayed on her for a second too long, like he was trying to read her without asking more questions. The weight of everything unsaid between them thickened the air.

She stepped closer to the counter, placing the snack down. “Do you… always work nights?”

“Just until they let me back in school. If they let me back.”

There was bitterness in his voice now—quiet, simmering. It wasn’t loud or explosive. It was heavier. Like a storm waiting behind his calm face.

“They shouldn’t have blamed you,” she whispered.