seventeen

The fog clung to the city like a secret. It curled along the gutters, weaved through alleyways, pressed low over the campus until the buildings looked like they were sinking into it. 

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets were still slick with leftover water, and the clouds overhead showed no signs of breaking.

Seong-je's hoodie did little to keep the damp chill off his skin as he walked down the half-abandoned street on the outskirts of the city. Old posters flapped weakly from lampposts, weathered and forgotten. Rusted metal gates groaned in the wind. Cigarette butts and crushed beer cans littered the cracked sidewalks.

The place hadn't changed. Not really.

The old warehouse district. The unofficial home turf of the Union back in high school, the place where bad decisions were made, where fists flew, where Baek Jin's name still carried weight like a threat, even now.

Seong-je hadn't been back here in over a year.

And yet, here he was. Cold, tired, frustrated, and spiraling.

His fight with Minjae two nights ago still echoed in his mind and in his bruised knuckles. The threat beneath Minjae's words, the implication that the Union wasn't dead, that maybe it never had been, that gnawed at him like a dull blade pressing under his ribs.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd left that life. Walked away. Burned those bridges. Swore never to crawl back into the mess that had cost him everything, Y/N included.

But now... now it wasn't just about him.

It was about her. About the look on her face when Minjae's texts started creeping in. About the way her voice cracked when she said she didn't know whom to trust. About how small and tired she'd looked at the amphitheater, wrapped in fog and old memories.

If the Union was circling again, he needed to know.

The problem was, he didn't know where to start.

The old faces were gone. Baek Jin was long out of the picture. The ones who hadn't graduated had drifted off, disappeared, or worse. The warehouse doors were padlocked, windows shattered, walls covered in layers of graffiti that screamed out warnings to anyone dumb enough to linger.

Seong-je walked the perimeter twice, hands buried deep in his pockets, eyes scanning for signs of life. A few rough-looking guys loitered near the street corner, smoking under the awning of a run-down corner shop. 

Their eyes flicked toward him, wary, calculating, but no recognition sparked. They weren't Union, not the ones who mattered.

His stomach twisted tighter.

It was like chasing ghosts. The Union was always more rumor than reality. A whisper of violence in the halls. A shadow behind the school fence. A name was dropped in fear. You never saw the whole picture, only the aftermath.

And now? Now they were hiding even better.

After nearly two hours of wandering the fog-choked streets, all he had to show for it were damp shoes, cold hands, and frustration simmering just beneath his skin.

Seong-je kicked a loose pebble down the sidewalk and turned back toward campus, jaw clenched tight.

He'd have to find another way.

The buzz of students filled the campus pathways by the time he got back. People hurried between classes, their umbrellas dripping onto the stone walkways, laughter and conversation cutting through the fog like static.

Seong-je moved fast, weaving through the clusters of students, his sharp eyes scanning the crowds automatically.

Looking for her.

It wasn't conscious anymore. It was muscle memory.

By the time he reached the main lecture hall, students were already filtering into the building, the low rumble of conversation blending with the click of doors and the shuffle of backpacks.

He ducked inside, slipping into the back row of the auditorium just as the professor started droning about assignments.

His eyes scanned the rows.

No Y/N.

His pulse spiked.

She never skipped class. Tired, hungover, upset, didn't matter. She always showed up.

A knot twisted in his chest as he tapped his fingers against his thigh, restless. The lecture dragged on in a fog of words he didn't care about, his foot bouncing anxiously beneath the seat.

The second they were dismissed, he was up and moving.

Jisoo was easy to spot, her brightly colored hoodie standing out like a warning sign. She was walking alone, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, her sharp eyes flicking up the moment she spotted him cutting through the crowd toward her.

Before she could even say anything, Seong-je fell into step beside her. "Where is she?"

Jisoo arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Hello to you too."

"Where is she?" His voice was quieter now, but sharp-edged, lined with frustration and... worry. More worry than he liked to admit.

Jisoo studied him for a second, then sighed. "She's sick."

Seong-je frowned. "How bad?"

"Cold, fever... you know how she is. Stubborn." Jisoo took a sip of her coffee. "Didn't want to tell anyone. Barely let me drag her to bed this morning. She looks miserable."

The knot in his chest twisted tighter.

"She didn't text me," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Jisoo snorted softly. "Don't take it personally. You know how she gets when she feels weak."

Seong-je's jaw clenched. "She's not weak."

"No," Jisoo agreed easily. "But she sure as hell thinks she has to be."

The truth of that settled heavy in his chest.

Without another word, Seong-je turned, already pulling his hood up against the damp air as he headed toward the convenience store.

The soup wasn't much. Some basic broth, a few packs of crackers, a bottle of sports drink. But it was something.

The woman at the register barely glanced at him as he shoved the money across the counter, his mind already racing ahead.

Y/N sick. Fever. Alone in her dorm, probably too stubborn to ask for help. Probably freezing. Probably too dizzy to even stand up properly.

His stomach twisted with frustration, guilt, and something heavier, something that had been gnawing at him ever since Minjae started circling like a vulture.

He adjusted the plastic bag in his grip and picked up his pace, cutting across campus with quick, purposeful strides.

The fog curled low along the walkways, swallowing his footsteps, blurring the edges of the buildings like a half-formed memory. His sneakers slapped wetly against the pavement as he took the shortcut behind the art building, his heart hammering harder the closer he got to the dorms.

By the time he reached her building, the plastic bag was digging into his palm from how tightly he gripped it.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, ignoring the lingering ache in his bruised knuckles from the fight, ignoring the knot of frustration still sitting low in his gut from the Union, from Minjae, from everything.

None of it mattered right now.

All that mattered was that she was sick, alone, and too damn stubborn to ask for help.

He knocked softly at the door, the weight of the day pressing hard against his chest.

The door cracked open a moment later, Jisoo standing there with a knowing look in her eyes.

"Took you long enough," she muttered, stepping aside.

Seong-je didn't respond.

His eyes locked immediately on Y/N, curled beneath a mountain of blankets on her bed, flushed cheeks, glassy eyes half-lidded with fever, her messy hair sticking to her forehead.

The worry hit him harder than any punch Minjae could've thrown.

Bag still in hand, he stepped inside, his pulse racing, every sharp, protective instinct firing in his chest like a warning siren.

Nothing else mattered right now.

He was here.

And he wasn't going anywhere.