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Chapter Text

₊ ˚ ‧ ︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵ ‧ ˚ ₊

꒰ bloodshot ꒱ 

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

❝Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.❞

- Friedrich Nietzsch

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main characters 

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Lily Snow

❝What happened to you in the past isn't your fault.❞

————— ୨୧ —————

Jeon Jungkook 

❝I will uncover the truth even if i lose everything that i thought was mine❞

━━━ ୨୧. ݁₊ playlist ୨୧. ݁₊━━━

Stay alive - Jungkook 

╰┈➤ ❝you're my fate, no words can express it enough

even if my feet bleeds, i will be by your side. please, you stay alive❞

Moon - BTS Jin

╰┈➤ ❝you're my earth, im just a moon

and all i see is you

suddenly i wonder, do you really know yourself?

do you know how beautiful your existence is?❞

Still with you - Jungkook

╰┈➤ ❝when will it be? if I see you again

i will look into your eyes and say, "I missed you"❞

Labyrinth - Taylor Swift

╰┈➤ ❝uh oh, i'm falling in love❞

Daylight - Taylor Swift

╰┈➤ ❝i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw you❞

No body, no crime - Taylor Swift

╰┈➤ ❝i think he did it but i just can't prove it,

no, no body no crime,

but i ain't letting up until the day i die❞

Can't catch me now - Olivia Rodrigo

╰┈➤ ❝you can't catch me now,

im higher than the hopes that you brought down,

you can't catch me now,

im coming like a storm into your town❞

Control - Halsey

╰┈➤ ❝and i tried to hold these secrets inside me, my minds like a deadly disease.

and all the kids cried out

"please, stop, you're scaring me".

and i couldn't stand the person inside me

i turned all the mirrors around❞

Castle - halsey

╰┈➤ ❝and there's an old man sitting on the throne,

that's saying i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut,

i'm headed straight for the castle❞

The Great War - Taylor Swift 

╰┈➤ ❝my hand was the one you reached for all throughout the great war,

i vowed i would always be yours, cause we survived the great war.❞

What a heavenly way to die - Troye Sivan

╰┈➤ ❝what a heavily way to die,what a time to be alive,

because forever is in your eyes❞

I know the end - phoebe bridger

╰┈➤ ❝and you had to go, i know, i know, i know, the end is here❞

----- ୨୧ -----

Yes, Lily here can also represent...well, you, the reader. I just decided to give her a name. You are more than welcome to ignore it altogether and replace it with your name in your head. 

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Notes:

Hi, loves! Thanks for clicking on this. It means a lot to me. I've been working on this for months and i'm super excited to finally share it. Please comment, it motivates me to write. 

ENJOY!

Chapter Text

˖  ݁.☁︎. ݁ ˖

━━━ ୨୧. ݁₊ other characters ୨୧. ݁₊━━━

˖  ݁.☁︎. ݁ ˖

Jung Hoseok 

❝Lily, i think something's wrong with me❞

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Park Jimin

❝As a gay scientist...❞

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Kim Seokjin

❝I refuse to be a puppet on a string❞

————— ୨୧ —————

Min Yoongi

❝My family. I have to do this to protect my family.❞

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Kim Namjoon

❝...❞

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Cloverhill

Secrets. Survival. Sacrifice. Welcome to Cloverhill.

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Chapter Text

The boy strapped to the hospital bed didn’t struggle. He had learned long ago that it never helped. The straps dug into his pale, thin wrists, binding him to the cold, padded frame. The surface beneath him offered little warmth to his tiny, shaking body, and the fluorescent lights above glared down at him—bright, angry, almost blinding.

A dozen figures in white coats moved around him, their voices clinical, detached. Machines beeped in a steady rhythm, a heartbeat of the laboratory.

In the corner of the room, a man stood with his hands behind his back. Tall. Cold. Unyielding. His supposed step-dad. Mr. Kim Namjoon.

The man terrified the boy. Everything about Kim Namjoon was simply so cold and unfeeling that the boy couldn't understand how someone could possibly inflict so much fear in people just by their presence.

There was only one way to describe Kim Namjoon. Sharp. Sharp like a knife. But also elegant. He was tall―how tall, the boy didn’t know―just that he towered over everybody else in the room. His hair was dark and thick, styled neatly back from his face. It framed a face built on sharp lines: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a straight nose. 

And his dark eyes. The boy thought his eyes were the most striking thing about him. The cool intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down the boy’s spine everytime he caught him looking directly at him. They held nothing. No warmth. No empathy. Dark eyes that didn’t just look, but assess. His lips were firm, pressed into a straight line, though when they occasionally curve, it was into a smirk that made it impossible to tell if he was amused, mocking, or both. The way his features come together gave him an aura of refinement, almost aristocratic, but with an undertone of danger lurking beneath the polish. It was impossible to tell his age just by his appearance but if the boy had to guess, he'd say that Kim Namjoon must be in his early thirties.

Kim Namjoon always dressed the same way. Dark. Expensive. Elegant. Perfect. Tonight was no different. His suit was black, the fabric smooth and sharp. The coat sat neatly over his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt beneath it untouched by a single wrinkle. The tie, a deep, almost blood-colored red, was knotted with precision. He looked as though the word danger had taken a human form.

The boy lost both his parents in a car crash when he was just a month old and was raised in an orphanage―until now, when Mr. Kim brought him here. The little boy was told he’d been adopted. He thought he’d finally have a family. But he was wrong.

The boy was only seven, but he'd always been a bright child, and he knew enough to understand that this wasn’t an ordinary doctor’s visit. He had never been sick, not to this extent that he’d need to be strapped to a hospital bed. No, he was here for a different reason. He was a test subject. The constant use of words like "subject" and "experiment" by the people around him confirmed it for him.

He flinched as something sharp pierced his arm. A long needle. A clear liquid pushed into his bloodstream. A Scientist, Dr. Lee Jieun, gave him an apologetic look then exchanged a glance with her colleagues. “Beginning Stage Three of Experiment 047,” she announced. 

Her gaze flickered back to the boy, just for a second. And though she said nothing, something in her eyes whispered the words she could never say aloud. I’m sorry.

The boy always liked her, she was almost motherly towards him when it was just the two of them. He guessed she might’ve been in her late twenties. She was beautiful, it was the kind of beauty that felt warm. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat bun, but a few loose strands framed her face. Her skin was smooth, her features sharp enough to show her intelligence, but kind enough to feel safe. 

Unlike the other scientists, she didn’t look at him like he was an object, a puzzle to be solved, a thing to be fixed. She looked at him like a child. Like a boy strapped to a bed who was too small for the pain he had to endure. 

Her eyes were the first thing the boy noticed, and they were the complete opposite to Kim Namjoon's. Deep brown, rich like warm earth, filled with something the other scientists never had. Something soft. Something hesitant. Guilt and regret, even.

But Kim Namjoon had nothing. His gaze swept over the boy the way someone might glance at a broken machine. Calculating. Detached. 

The room was quieter than usual today, the boy noticed. He'd been in this same room before, strapped to the same bed, surrounded by the same people―the scientists. But it was quieter today. And the boy knew why―Kim Namjoon, that's why. The boy wondered if the people around him were scared of this man too. If they, too, wanted to leave but couldn't for fear of him.

Then something went wrong. 

The rhythmic beeping of the lab monitors flatlined. The boy arched in the chair, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. His small frame convulsed violently, his muscles spasming as if something inside him were tearing apart. White-hot pain lanced through his skull, burning his veins, setting fire to his blood. The scientists scrambled to adjust the controls, to stabilize him, but the machines went haywire. Sparks flew. Glass shattered. A gust of static electricity surged through the air, making the hairs on their arms rise.

And then, silence. The boy went still.

His breathing was ragged, his body trembling. The room held its collective breath as he slowly opened his eyes. His eyes—once brown—were now a piercing, unnatural red.

A heavy silence followed. Kim Namjoon stepped forward, his gaze cold and intimidating as he looked at the woman beside him. “Fail? ” He spoke in that sharp yet deep voice that made the boy’s stomach twist.

Dr. Lee hesitated. Then she nodded.

But confusion flickered in her eyes as she stared at the boy’s now unnaturally red eyes. She wanted to voice out her confusion but didn’t know how. That’s strange. The other failed test subjects didn’t experience this side effect, she thought.

Crawford exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. “As expected. A failure.”

The word sliced through the boy’s mind like a blade. Failure. It echoed, bouncing off the walls of his fading consciousness.

Then, the final blow.

“Get rid of him,” Kim Namjoon ordered. “He’s of no use, not anymore.”

The room went still. A few scientists sighed, their heads bowing in quiet sympathy. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. Another test subject. Another failed experiment. But this time it hit different, the guilt and sympathy was palpable as this boy was the first child they ever subjected this cruelty upon.

Mr. Kim turned to leave. But before he could step out the door...

“Sir!” Dr. Lee’s voice was quiet but urgent. She rushed to her boss, clutching a tablet containing the boy’s data, her hands unsteady.

Kim Namjoon narrowed his eyes. “What is it?” 

She handed him the tablet, her voice urgent. “There’s something you need to see. The boy… something unexpected happened.”

And just like that—everything changed.

Chapter Text

Twelve years later―

There is something special about small towns. Maybe it is the way the morning sun paints the brick walls gold, or how the streets smell like freshly baked bread and roasted coffee. Maybe it is the way everyone knows everyone, from the mailman who always slip extra coupons into the envelopes of his favorite customers, to the old man who sit on the same bench every afternoon feeding pigeons as if they are his personal army.

And I love it here.

I have lived in bigger cities before―loud, busy places where people barely spared each other a glance―but here, life felt lived.

The air buzz with greetings and laughter, and people smile at each other just because. It is the kind of place where shop owners leaves handwritten notes on their doors if they have to step out for a while - "Gone fishing. Back in an hour!" (even though there isn't a body of water in sight), and where the local diner owner knows your order by heart.

If you ask me to describe my life, I'd say it is comfortable. Predictable in the best way. Some people would call that boring, but those people probably never had the pleasure of curling up in a bookstore with a cup of hot chocolate while it rains outside.

I live in Cloverhill, a small, cozy town where everyone knows each other's business but pretend they don't. My parents own Snow's Pages, a little bookstore nestled between a bakery and a flower shop. It smells like old books, vanilla, and just a hint of cinnamon from the bakery next door. It feels like home―my favorite place in the entire universe.

And then there's KNJ Lab.

A sleek, glass-walled building standing at the edge of town, looking about as out of place as a designer handbag at a thrift store. It has been there for as long as I can remember. From the outside, it looks fine. Harmless, even. It is government-funded, a state-of-the-art facility that produce medicine for everyday illnesses. People like to say it is a good thing―a beacon of science and innovation. But I am not entirely sure I believe that. 

There is something about that place. Something that feels wrong. Something I can't explain. Maybe it is the way no one ever see the workers outside of their shifts. Or how the building, despite its shiny exterior, always looks gloomy, like it is sucking the warmth right out of the air. Or maybe it is the way my gut twists every time I catch sight of it, a quiet, nagging feeling telling me that whatever is going on in there, it isn't just medical research.

I shake the thought away. This is my town. My home. And right now, it is still full of life, still warm.

My parents are off on a "romantic getaway" to Italy. My dad called it "keeping the love alive" to which I, being his one and only lovely daughter, responded with a dramatic gagging sound. 

That little act left me in charge of the store for a few weeks, which i didn't mind. The store is my happy place. But being an 18-year-old who had decided to take a year off before starting University, I wouldn't have been allowed to say no even if I did mind.

And today, like every other day, is perfectly normal.

I'm at the counter, flipping through a book, when Mrs. Smith―a sweet old lady in her seventies―walks in, holding the hand of her granddaughter, a girl who looks like she's around the age of eight.

I put on my best bookstore owner smile for them. "Good morning! Let me know if you need anything."

The little girl, immediately runs to the children's section, while Mrs. Smith makes a beeline for the romance aisle. A few minutes later, she place a book on the counter.

I glance down at the title to see―Haunting Adelise.

Oh.

I almost chock on air. Hesitating, I glance between the book and Mrs. Smith, who fixes me with a funny look upon seeing my reaction. "Uh, I don't think this is appropriate for ki-"

"Child, it's for me."

I blink. "Oh." Oh. Well, in that case. You go, girl. Love that for you...i guess?

"Do you have the sequel?"

I am not sure what is funnier―the fact that she is boldly buying one of the spiciest books in the store or the fact that she is asking so casually, like she's ordering tea. "Uh―yes. yes. Ofcourse. One moment."

I turn to the romance section, trying to suppress my giggle. 

I hand her the book. She takes it with a nod of approval. 

I hear a choked laugh from behind me and turn to see Hoseok―or Hobi, as i like to call him―biting his lip to keep from laughing.

After paying, Mrs. Smith calls for her granddaughter to get going.

Hobi greets her with a huge grin on his face. "Have a nice evening, Mrs. Smith" 

Then he turn to me. "You should've seen your face."

I sigh. "I was not prepared for that conversation."

"Who knew Old Lil Mrs. Smith enjoys kinky romances," He says with a funny expression on his face.

Hobi, my best friend. The only person who spends more time at the Snow's Pages than me is him.  He looks like if summer and autumn had a child, all warm hues and soft light. His bright orange hair, fluffy and soft-looking, catches the glow of the setting sun filtering through the store windows, and his big, warm brown eyes that curve into half-moons when he laughs. And when he smiles wide, his lips curve in a way that resembles a heart, and his cheeks lift, making the whole expression look extra soft and warm. His smile could outshine the sun.

Hobi is also 18 and stops by everyday on his way back from university. He is not much of a reader, though he does try everyday without fail to pick up a book and try to read it for more than 10 minutes but those have always been failed attempts, so far. His real and sole purpose of visiting here is to keep me company. And I love him for that. He also happens to be my primary supplier of college tea. So, I don't miss out.

✦——————————✦ 

Later in the evening, the bookstore is quiet. Peaceful if you ask me. Hobi is sitting on his favorite spot, his ass with the lowest attention span I've ever seen struggling with a book, while I restock the shelves.

Then i hear the bell above the door chim, and I turn to see Jungkook stepping inside.

I only know his name because Cloverhill is small, and people here have the habit of knowing your business before you did. He moved here a few months ago, supposedly studying law, and while we haven't spoken before, he seems so oddly familiar. 

Jungkook has the kind of presence that demanded attention without even trying. Tall, with boyish yet pretty features, looks like he was ready to walk into a courtroom and outsmart the entire legal system. His black hair is neat, his brown eyes scanning the store, and his whole aura screams I could win a lawsuit against you, and I haven't even finished law school yet.

But right now, he looks oddly hesitant. Like he isn't sure if he should be here at all. His gaze flicker around the shop before finally landing on me.

"Hey," he says. His voice is deeper than i expected, smooth, even. He lingers near the entrance, shoulders tense, like he hasn't decided if stepping inside was a good idea...

"Hey," I reply, watching as he clears his throat like he is about to deliver some world-altering news.

"You-uh, you probably don't remember me."

I frown. Should I? I tilt my head, scanning his face again. There is definitely something familiar about him, but the memory is just out of reach, taunting me like a word on the tip of my tongue.

"Should I?" I voice out my confusion, brows furrowing.

For a split second, something flashes across his face. Disappointment? Annoyance? A mix of both? But just as quickly, it disappears, replace by a cool, unreadable expression.

"It's fine," He says. "I just wanted to check out the shop. I used to-" He pause, shaking his head. "Never mind. Just looking."

Huh. Suspicious. Very suspicious.

I narrow my eyes, arms crossing as I study him. I'm this close to demanding answers, but before I could say anything, he turns and walk towards a nearby shelf, and starts browsing the shelves, effectively shutting down the conversation.

I tap my fingers against the counter, still watching him. He is definitely familiar. Maybe from my past life when I was a princess and he, my devoted knight?

I look at Hobi only to find him already staring at me with a ridiculous grin and mischievous eyes.

"He likes you," he mouths sneakily, pointing his finger at Jungkook and covering his own face from his line of sight with his small book that isn't doing the job quite well.

"Shut up" I mouth back. 

"Oh, he definitely does. He's giving you that 'I knew you before you ghosted me in another life' look." Hobi tries to mouth back using all sorts of hand movements and facial expressions to convey his message. 

"That is not a look!"

"It is!"

I huff in annoyance because it is ridiculous. We don't even know each other well enough. 

As the evening settles in, Hobi abandons his attempt at reading and switches the radio on. It is mostly playing soft jazz, but then the usual broadcast cuts in with a news update.

"Multiple residents near KNJ Lab have reported hearing strange noises late at night. Authorities have dismissed it as wildlife, but officials have yet to release a statement-"

I turn to Hobi. "KNJ Lab? Isn't that where-"

"Yup. Our one and only." he answers. "Where all those weird experiments happen."

Jungkook, who has been flipping through a true crime book, looks up sharply. His gaze flickers to the radio, then to me.

I let out a chuckle, shaking my head and address my best friend. "But don't say it like its true. The lab might sue us for spreading misinformation. Just because we", I gesture between the two of us, "like to gossip and make up weird theories about what happens inside that lab when we're bored, doesn't make them true."

Hobi takes out his phones, and adds while nodding, "This is what watching too much "Stranger Things" does to a person."

I nod in agreement.

"But it could be true. You never know", he shrugs, eyes glued to his phone.

Before I can reply, the broadcast continues.

"While officials claim there is nothing to worry about, some citizens have described hearing high-pitched sounds and seeing unusual activity-"

A shiver runs down my spine. It is probably nothing. Just people letting their imaginations run wild.

Right?

Hobi waves a hand dismissively. "It's probably just raccoons."

"Raccoons don't make high-pitched sounds," Jungkook says, his voice unreadable.

Jesus Christ. He startled me. I forgot he was here.

Hobi shrugs again. "Maybe magical raccoons."

I laugh, but for some reason, the unease in my chest only seem to grow.

Something isn't right.

Chapter Text

Twelve years.

It has been twelve years since the experiment. Since the excruciating pain. Since the last remnants of my old self were burned away, leaving behind something unnatural. Something wrong.

Despite everything, despite overhearing the order to get rid of me which I figure will always cross my mind everytime I see Kim Namjoon, I'm still alive. And I don’t understand why.

I run a towel through my damp blonde hair, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My red eyes stare back—unnatural, and unblinking. 

A freak.

A failure.

The one word I will never be able to forget.

It echos in my mind every time I look in the mirror. Every time I catch the way the scientists look at me when they think I'm not paying attention. Every time I find myself standing in front of the window of my room at night, looking out over the town I have spent my entire life observing from a distance. It's so beautiful that it sometimes make me forget who I am, makes me dream and fantasize―until the view unfocuses and my fantasy shatters as I see myself staring back at me.

The town is warm, lively, human. KNJ Lab is cold, sterile, suffocating. I have spent my childhood within its walls, raised among scientists, fed a strict schedule of study and monitoring. No other kids. No laughter. No games. No warmth. The only people I interacted with were professionals who treated me like a subject first, a little boy second.

For the first nine years, I wasn’t even allowed to step outside. I had watched the world from my window—the bustling streets, the children running freely, the way people embraced and smiled. It had felt like watching another planet.

Then, as I got older, the rules relaxed slightly. Maybe Kim Namjoon saw no need to keep such a tight leash on me anymore. Maybe he simply didn’t care as much now that I had “failed.”

Either way, I took advantage of it.

It was only after I turned sixteen that I finally started sneaking out. At first, it was just short walks at night, slipping past security when they were distracted. Then longer trips, testing my limits. I had no real destination—just a need to be somewhere else. Away from the lab, even for just a few hours. 

And Kim Namjoon knew.

Yet, I wasn’t stopped. No guards were sent after me, no punishments were given. It was like Kim Namjoon had lost interest.

Now, at nineteen, the sneaking out has become routine. And there is one place I keep finding myself drawn to.

One place where, even for just for a few minutes, I could pretend I wasn’t a failure. 

And right now, my mind and body is desperate for a break, an escape from this cruel reality no matter how brief. So, I get dress and head out.

✦——————————✦

The night air bite at my skin, but I barely notice it. I'm exhausted—not just the kind that settles in my bones, but the kind that weighs on my soul. I keep my head low, cap pulled down to shadow my unnatural red eyes. Dressed in all black to hide in the shadows when necessary.

The streets of Cloverhill are alive in the way only small towns can be. The golden glow of the streetlights bath the cobblestone paths in warmth, casting long, soft shadows as people make their way home. I pass by a bakery and the scent of bread and roasted coffee lingered in the air, carried by the evening breeze, mingling with the distant sound of laughter from the town square.

I shouldn’t be here. But I couldn’t stop myself. Not when the only place that ever felt real is just up ahead.

The bookstore comes into view—a small, cozy thing tucked between a bakery and a flower shop. The soft glow from inside spills onto the pavement, casting golden light against the street. And there, moving between the shelves, is her.

Lily.

She is stacking books with the ease of someone who belongs in a place like this. And I wonder what's it like, to belong. She always look like she belongs there, like she is part of the shop itself—woven into the pages, stitched between the spines.

Lily Snow, unlike her last name, is made of warmth. Of golden hours and soft laughter, of the scent of old books and vanilla lingering in the air.

I'm not sure when I had started memorizing her. Maybe it was the first time I saw her, standing behind the counter of her bookstore, humming some tune under her breath, completely lost in the world of words. Or maybe it was the way she smiles to herself when she reads—soft, and unguarded, like the world had never once been cruel to her.

She is sunlight on a winter morning, the kind that melts away the cold without even trying.

Her hair, a shade of midnight black that turns golden brown in the right light, fall in soft waves just past her shoulders, always slightly tousled, as if the wind couldn’t resist running its fingers through it. It frames her face perfectly, strands occasionally slipping forward, only for her to push them back with an absentminded touch.

And her eyes. God, her eyes. Blue, but not just blue. A shade of blue that never stays the same—sometimes as deep as the ocean at dusk, other times as bright as a cloudless sky. Flecks of silver dances within them, catching the light like scattered stardust, making them impossible to look away from. But something makes me feel like if I stare too long, I’d forget how to breathe. 

She is expressive, too. Every thought, every feeling flickers across her face like a story she doesn’t quite know how to hide. She wrinkles her nose when she is skeptical, tilts her head to the side when she is confuse, purses her lips when she is thinking, and when she laughs—really laughs—her whole body leans into it, like she is giving herself over to joy entirely.

She is small, delicate in appearance but never in presence. There is a loud kind of strength in the way she carries herself, in the way she stands her ground without needing to raise her voice. Not to say she wouldn't when needed, she definitely will. My fierce yet soft girl.

And her smile. Oh God, her smile. It isn’t rare, because it seems like she is always actively looking for reasons to smile, and yet it makes me breathless every single time. I imagine what it would be like to have that smile directed at me.

She laughs at something, a sound too muffled for me to hear, but I don’t need to. I can see it in the way her shoulders shake, in the way the corners of her eyes crinkles.

She is always like this. Bright. Full of life. A stark contrast to everything I am.

I exhale slowly, tension easing from my shoulders.

She doesn’t know me. Not really. Doesn't remember. And I'm forever grateful that she doesn't remember. She doesn’t have to know me. 

Because she was the only part of my life I was able to protect from the cruelties of that lab.

She, for me, is like a breath of fresh air I've been yearning for. She doesn’t remind me of cold metal and sterile air. She isn't another reminder that I'm nothing more than a mistake in the shape of a boy. She doesn’t walk like someone waiting for orders. She doesn’t speak like someone afraid of saying the wrong thing. She is everything I'm never be—bright, full of life, so impossibly and admirably human.

She was just her.

And I―trap in a life where I'm nothing but an experiment, where every part of me has been built and tampered with―find that unbearably fascinating.

Maybe that is why I keep coming back.

I was suppose to look for her one last time, make sure she really is okay, and then let her live her normally safe life. But I keep coming back. 

Maybe that is why, even now, when my body screams for rest, when my mind buzz with things I don't understand, I still end up here.

I know I shouldn’t be standing on the sidewalk like some ghost haunting a world it doesn’t belong in. But for a few stolen moments, I let myself imagine.

Imagine what it would be like to walk inside—not as a person from the past she'd forgotten, not as someone hiding behind a cap and the weight of secrets—but as someone who have a right to be there. To be near her.

Imagine what it would be like if I wasn't…me.

If I was normal.

If I could walk up to the counter, say something—anything—to make her smile. If I could stand close enough to see the shimmers of silver in her blue eyes, close enough to hear the lilt in her voice when she talks about books.

If I could tell her my name without it feeling like a curse.

I watch from the sidewalk, engulfed in the shadows. The bell above the door chims as a customer walks in, and for a second, I almost move. Almost follow.

Maybe tonight. Maybe this time, I’ll actually talk to her.

I take a step forward—just one, hesitant, almost instinctive. But before I can even cross the street, someone slams into my shoulder.

The impact was sudden, sharp, snapping me back to reality.

“Oh, sorry, mate,” the stranger apologizes, barely sparing me a glance before continuing down the street.

I froze. My heart, still racing—not from the collision, but from the way it reminded me that I'm not supposed to be here. That I'm not part of this world, no matter how much I long to be.

The weight of it settles heavy in my chest. I drop my gaze, the lingering warmth of the stranger’s brief touch fading too quickly, leaving only the cold behind.

I let out a slow breath and take a step back, retreating into the shadows. The golden light from the bookstore stretches toward me, reaching, beckoning.

But I stay where I am, watching as Lily laughs at something out of sight, her smile untouched by the kind of loneliness that had carve itself into my bones.

But maybe I could try again, I dared to hope. Then she turns, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and the thought of actually speaking to her—of ruining whatever quiet, fragile comfort I find just by watching—makes my throat close.

So instead, I stay in the dark, a boy with red eyes, hidden beneath a cap, fantasizing about a life I would never have.

Watching the one thing that makes me believe—for just a second—that maybe, just maybe, the world isn’t all bad.

Chapter Text

Morning at the Jeon household is always the same—quiet, calm, and efficient. 

My parents, Dr. Lee Jieun and Dr. Min Yoongi are both scientists at KNJ Lab. They leave for work early, come home late, and rarely talk about work. Not because they don’t want to, but because they legally can’t.

Or at least, that’s what they claim.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through the news on my phone while my father moves around the kitchen, making me breakfast. My mother, sitting across from me, stares at me funnily with an expressionless face. Sweet little family, I have.

“Do you have something to say, Mother?” I ask with exaggerated elegance.

"How's that law thing going?" She narrows her eyes at me.

"Mom, we talked about thi-"

"I know, I know." She cuts me off, raising both her hands in mock surrender. "Just wanted to let you know that if you don't like it as much as you thought you would, its never too late to switch to science". Shrugging, she sips her coffee innocently.

I sigh already tired of this conversation. My lovely mother and her attempts to make me a science nerd like herself. 

My dad arrives with my breakfast. A plate of toast, bacons and eggs."Here you go, buddy." He tousles my hair before sitting down with his own breakfast.

 "What are we talking about?" He asks glancing between me and mom.

"Oh, nothing important―Just how your son will probably get end up getting assassinated after he sends a mafia boss to prison."

"Wow, mom, your fantasies of my hypothetical future deaths are getting creative. Last week I remember, it was by the hands of this non existent killer whom i will send to prison and he'll come after me when he's out."

She sticks her tongue out at me in mock annoyance, and I, ever the mature son, stick mine right back at her.

"Okay, okay, " My father intervenes, failing to suppress his laughter. 

"We agreed to let him study what he wants to, honey. He's a smart kid. He knows what he's doing. Besides, there's no saying he won't want to join us in our field later." He pauses to fix me with a stern look to stop me before I could shut down such dreadful assumptions, and turns back to mom. "He has a long way to go. I mean, look at me! I used to rap."

Mom groans but a smile is evident on her lips. "Don't remind me. You even went on that audition with that stupid haircut."

Dad laughs. "I thought it was cool" He shrugs. "What I'm saying is, he'll grow up to be just fine. He's a smart kid."

"Yeah, mom. I'm a smart kid." I stick my tongue out at her again, a habit of hers i picked up ever since i was a kid.

"And you" My dad turns to me. "Don't annoy my wife." 

"She'll beat us both up" He says in a fake whispers, earning a smile from mom.

That is true. She can if she wants too. And she occasionally does, too.

“So how is school?” my dad asks, digging into his breakfast. 

“Same as always.” I take a bite before casually adding, “And how’s work?”

For a split second, the air in the room shifts. Subtle, but I caught it—the way my mom’s hand stilled as she reaches for her coffee, the way my dad's fork stops midway to his mouth. Then, like clockwork, they exchange a look.

It was fast. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I might’ve missed it.

But I'm always looking.

It is the same look they give each other whenever I asks about KNJ Lab. The silent exchange that says: Be careful. He’s at it again. Don’t let one wrong word slip out.

I set my fork down. “You guys do realize I see that, right?”

My dad gives me an awkward smile, then ignores me altogether, focusing on eating. My mom takes a sip of her coffee and smiles too. “Eat your breakfast, Jungkook.”

I narrow my eyes. Suspicious. Extremely suspicious. But I let it go—for now.

After breakfast, I lean back in my chair, cross my arms, and give my parents a playfully suspicious look.

“Your shenanigans will not stay hidden from me.” My dad lets out a chuckle, shaking his head with a sigh.

But mom fixes me with an amused look on her face, only saying, “Good luck with that, Detective Jeon.”

A smirk play on my lips. They think they are untouchable. That I couldn’t possibly figure out what they're up to.

They underestimate me.

✦——————————✦

Being a law student, I think it my duty to investigate and uncover the truth. And what am I investigating? KNJ Lab.

I started a month ago, and while I had find something, I don’t have anything solid. No proof. Just oddities—reports that don’t match official statements, missing records, security footage that mysteriously disappeared.

Something is definitely off.

But the law requires evidence, and right now, all I have are theories.

The thing about me, though? I'm not the type to quit.

✦——————————✦

In the evening, on my way home from university, I make up my mind about one thing. I'm going to stop by Snow's Pages.

It isn’t a random decision. I had actually passed by the shop two weeks ago, catching sight of Lily Snow for the first time again in years. And I had done… nothing.

Not because I don’t want to talk to her, but because I don’t know how.

It has been years since Korea. Years since she had been my friend. Does she even remember me?

As I walk towards the bookstore, memories resurface.

Flashback: Korea, 11 years Ago:

I was seven years old, standing in the school cafeteria, gripping my lunch tray as three older boys loomed over me. Even as three bullies stood ready to beat me up, I remained oddly calm. Strange child, I was.

“Hey, Jeon Jungkook.” The tallest one sneered. “Why do you talk like that? So proper. You sound like an old grandpa.”

The second one poked my glasses. “He probably sleeps with his textbooks, too.”

The third laughed. “No wonder he has no friends.”

I didn’t react. If I had learned anything, it was that bullies loved reactions. Unfortunately for them, someone else reacted for me.

A girl stepped between the bullies and me, hands on her hips. “Hey, dumb and dumber and dumbest,” she snapped, pointing and looking each one of them up and down. “Are you seriously bullying a kid for being smart? That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The bullies were stunned. I was, too.

Lily Snow—short, feisty, utterly fearless and also a living meme.

The tallest one scoffed. “What’s it to you, Bookworm?”

Lily let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, Bookworm? That’s a terrible insult. Try again. Maybe use more than two brain cells this time.”

The boy turned red. What with the other kids laughing and pointing at him.

“Why don’t you mind your own—”

Lily stomped― more like jumped―on his foot. Hard.

He screeched. The other two panicked. And I just stood there like an idiot, in absolute awe.

She turned to me, grinning. “They won't bother you again. Now, come on, Jeon Jungkook. Let’s go eat at our table. Lunch’s on me. Well, not really but you get the idea”.

Those two months with her were the best of my childhood. I wasn’t her best friend—no, she had a whole group. But somehow, she made space for me too. It was rarely ever just the two of us but that didn’t matter. She was definitely my best friend.

Just two months, two amazing months and then it was over. My parents’ work forced them to move abroad. And that was that.

Back to the Present:

And during those two months little Jungkook developed his first crush—not that I had understood it at the time.

I never expected to stay in one place for long. That just wasn’t my life. My parents’ work had them bouncing from city to city like they were on an extended world tour, except there were no concerts, no screaming fans—just a lot of unpacking, repacking, and memorizing new zip codes.

But then, a couple of months ago, they dropped the news: one last move. No more temporary housing, no more wondering if I should bother making friends. Cloverhill will be it. 

My parents had landed jobs at the same company, one that is apparently throwing ridiculous amounts of money at them, which—conveniently—means we are finally staying put.

And I'm not complaining. I like the idea of permanence, of finally having an answer to “where are you from?” that doesn’t require a timeline and a flowchart. But i hadn’t expected her to be here.

Lily. Of all people.

The first time I saw her—two weeks ago, through our car window—I had to do a double take. My parents had been driving us to a seminar on tax fraud, because apparently, that’s what family bonding looks like, and there she was. Just… existing. As if the universe hadn’t just thrown a major plot twist my way.

My brain short-circuited. Shouldn’t she be in Korea? When did she move here? Why didn’t we move here sooner? Did she cut her hair? I remember it being waist-length when we were kids. Either way, it looks nice. It has been eleven years. That's a long, long time. Shouldn’t she be taller by now? I subconsciously let out a quiet chuckle at the thought, only to catch my mom giving my dad a look that all but screams, I told you, the constant moving has finally messed with the poor boy. Maybe we should swing by a psychiatrist, just in case.

I thought I’d never see her again. And I’m not the kind of person who believes in fate. Logically, our reunion is just a coincidence. But if fate is real, it would probably look a lot like this.

✦——————————✦

Now, I stand outside Snow’s Pages, hands in my pockets, staring at the warm glow of the bookstore windows.

This is it. I'm going to talk to her. Before I can change my mind, I step inside.

The bell above the door chims. The scent of old books, vanilla and a hint of cinnamon wrap around me instantly. Then I see her. Lily.

She turns toward me. Breathe, Jungkook, breathe.

But I could see it in her face that she doesn’t recognize me. My chest tightens with the realization, but I force myself to stay neutral. I’d expected this. It has been more than a decade. I have changed. So has she.

“Hey,” I begin, doing my best to keep my tone even.

She tilts her head, eyes scanning my face like a puzzle she can’t quite solve. “Hey.”

She doesn’t remember.

I knew that was a possibility, but for some reason, the disappointment hits harder than I thought it would ― way more than I'd expected.

“You—uh, you probably don’t remember me.” What are you trying to say, you idiot, I mentally cursed myself.

Her frown deepens. She is searching, trying to place me, and for a split second, I think—hope—she might.

“Should I?” she asks.

I shape my features into something unreadable. The last thing I need is for her to see how much that question bothers me.

“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a small shrug. “I just wanted to check out the shop. I used to—” I stop myself. What's the point? “Never mind. Just looking.”

She narrows her eyes at me, evidently suspicious. She always has been sharp. A smile threatens to break across my face at the thought. 

I turn away before she could ask questions because if she was anything like the old Lily, she definitely will, and start browsing the shelves, pretending I'm not hyper aware of her gaze still on me. Pretending it doesn’t bother me that I'm just another stranger to her now.

I should have left. Should have grabbed a random book, made a polite excuse, and walked out. I'm on the verge of doing just that when the radio crackles to life, and the words that follow makes me go still. 

“Multiple residents near KNJ Lab have reported hearing strange noises late at night. Authorities have dismissed it as wildlife, but officials have yet to release a statement—”

I stop flipping through the book I was pretending to read. I try to keep my expression blank, even as my mind race.

Lily says to her friend—Hoseok, I know him from University but we've never spoken before. “KNJ Lab? Isn’t that where—”

“Yup. Our one and only,” he says, her voice dropping slightly. “Where all those weird experiments happen.”

That snaps me out of my act of fake reading, making me look up at Lily sharply. What?

The shock and confusion must’ve been written all over my face because she chuckles, shaking her head and says to her friend “But don’t say it like it’s true. The lab might sue us for spreading misinformation. Just because we like to gossip and make up weird theories about what happens inside that lab when we’re bored doesn’t make them true.”

Relief washes over me on hearing that they were just theories ― but they just might not be that far from the truth. Because I, too, know that something is up. 

Hoseok nods. “This is what watching too much “Stranger Things” does to a person.”

“But it could be true. You never know.” he added.

I exhale slowly through my nose, willing myself to think clearly.

The radio continues. “While officials claim there is nothing to worry about, some citizens have described hearing high-pitched sounds and seeing unusual activity—”

My thoughts are all over the place now. High-pitched sounds? Unusual activity? This isn’t normal. This is bad.

Hoseok waves a hand. “It’s probably just raccoons.”

I speak out before I could stop myself. “Raccoons don’t make high-pitched sounds.”

“Maybe magical raccoons.”

Lily laughs, but I barely hear it. My mind is already elsewhere.

I need to find out what is happening. Because this town might not be as safe as it seems.

Chapter Text

The cold glare of the recording light burns into my eyes, but it isn’t nearly as suffocating as the presence of the man standing behind the camera. Kim Namjoon's gaze is sharp, dissecting, waiting.

It was 7:30 a.m. The sky outside was still gray with sleep. I had barely pulled a shirt over my head when the door slammed open, echoing like a gunshot in the quiet. Kim Namjoon entered without a word, flanked by two men dragging in a tripod, a recording light and a bulky video camera, wires coiled like snakes in their arms.

“You’ll be of some use today,” Namjoon said, his voice flat. Not kind. Not cruel. Just…final.

And just like that, the morning air felt colder. The walls felt closer. And I felt like a specimen about to be put on display.

Now 10 minutes later, fully dressed―in a black button up shirt and black trousers―I sit stiffly in the chair, hands curling into fists against my knees. The tablet in front of me displays a script—neatly written, a confession crafted for me. Words that aren't mine. Words that pins the blame on me for something I hadn’t even done.

I lift my head to gaze at the form of Kim Namjoon towering over me. “What is this?” My voice flat, but inside, unease coils tight in my gut.

Kim Namjoon smiles. It is a terrible thing—void of warmth, all sharp edges. “That is none of your concern. Your job is to face the camera and read it. Of course without making it obvious you’re reading from a script.”

“Why?”

A pause. A slow, deliberate inhale. Then, with a voice like steel wrapped in silk, he says, “For your mistake.”

The unease sharpens into something colder. My jaw clenches. I hadn’t made any mistake—not the kind that needs a recorded apology.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him.

Kim Namjoon’s expression doesn’t change, but the air in the room seems to thin. “Suffice it to say that you’ll be taking the blame for a tiny mistake the Lab made to save its name” He gestures at the tablet. “Read it.”

“No.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Then comes the chuckle—low, humorless. Kim Namjoon steps forward, and I fight the instinct to recoil.

“I expected resistance,” he muses, tilting his head. “You’ve always been difficult. Stubborn. But I assumed, at the very least, you understood self-preservation.”

I exhale sharply. “I’m not going to admit to something I didn’t do.”

Kim Namjoon sighed, as if disappointed and bored. “You fail to see the bigger picture, as always.” He leans in, his voice lowering, sinking into something venomous. “You’ll read it because I’m telling you to.”

I meet his gaze, steady. “And if I don’t?”

The smile returns, amused, condescending, as if deciding that I've already lost.“Do you think I haven’t noticed?” His voice is almost gentle now, but it is the kind of gentleness that comes before a blade. “The way your eyes linger on that bookstore girl?”

I forced myself not to flinch, but my hands curl tighter, fingernails digging into my palms. I freeze. A sudden, terrible weight presses against my chest.

Kim Namjoon, watching me like I'm something amusing—something weak. “It’s honestly pathetic.” He straightens, clasping his hands behind his back. “Love, if that’s what you call it, makes us weak, boy. It’s like poison. It makes you vulnerable. Just look at how I can so easily use it against you right now. And you—” he lets out a quiet laugh, as if in disbelief—“you keep proving to be a failure.”

The word cuts deep, the same way it always does. But I barely hear it this time. My mind is still stuck on Lily. On the fact that Kim Namjoon has been having me watched outside. 

As if reading my thoughts, Kim Namjoon steps closer again, lowering his voice to something dark and deadly. “I wonder,” he murmurs. “What would happen to your little bookstore girl if you continue to be so...defiant?”

Ice crawls up my spine. There it was. The leverage.

A slow smirk curls on Kim Namjoon’s lips as he watches the realization settle. “Read the script, Taehyung.” A pause. Then, with finality, “Or she pays the price.”