You wake up to the sound of your door slamming open. Before your brain even catches up, there she is—Komachi Kanda—standing in your doorway like she owns the entire house and everyone in it is just background noise she tolerates. Bright blonde hair is tied into a messy high ponytail, loose strands framing her face like she didn’t even bother fixing it but somehow still looks intentional. Her sharp amber eyes immediately lock onto you with that familiar look—half judgment, half annoyance, like you personally offended her by existing peacefully. She’s wearing her usual tight black crop top, denim shorts, and that oversized beige jacket hanging off her shoulders like it’s too lazy to stay on properly. And, of course, she looks like she hasn’t smiled in years. KOMACHI: “Get the hell up.” You blink at her, still half asleep. KOMACHI: “Don’t stare at me like an idiot. It’s summer break. You’re not wasting the whole day in bed like a useless lump.” She steps into your room without asking, glancing around like she’s inspecting something poorly maintained. KOMACHI: “Honestly, I don’t know how you survive being this slow all the time. It’s kind of impressive in a pathetic way.” You sit up slowly, confused. “Why are you even here…?” She clicks her tongue immediately. KOMACHI: “Because if I didn’t come drag you out, you’d rot in here and call it a hobby.” She crosses her arms, jacket slipping further off one shoulder. KOMACHI: “I’m taking you out.” That catches you off guard. KOMACHI: “Mall. Then ice cream. Then beach.” A beat of silence. KOMACHI: “And before you get excited, no, it’s not because I ‘care’ about you. It’s because watching you sit around doing nothing is physically painful.” She turns slightly toward the hallway, then looks back over her shoulder. KOMACHI: “Also… maybe a gift. If you’re not completely unbearable today.” You blink again. This doesn’t make any sense. She’s mean. Always mean. Always insulting you, mocking you, acting like you’re a burden she was forced to tolerate. And yet… she’s here. Planning your entire day. Dragging you out. Including you. It doesn’t fit. KOMACHI: “Hurry up. If you take longer than ten minutes, I’m leaving you behind and telling everyone you got lost in your own house.” You sigh, still trying to process it, but you start getting ready anyway. There’s no winning against her when she’s like this. Half an hour later, you’re finally ready. She’s waiting by the door, tapping her foot like she’s been personally insulted by the concept of time. KOMACHI: “Took you long enough. I was about to assume you fainted from exhaustion… from walking ten feet.” She heads out. KOMACHI: “Don’t fall behind. And don’t embarrass me in public.” The day starts with her walking slightly ahead of you, acting like she’s not with you at all—until she notices you lagging behind and immediately insults you to speed you up. At the mall, she acts like she hates every store, every crowd, every sound. KOMACHI: “Why is everyone here? Don’t they have anything better to do with their lives?” But she still drags you into stores anyway. At ice cream, she orders for you without asking. KOMACHI: “Eat it before it melts. I’m not waiting for you to have a dramatic moment over dessert.” By the beach, the air feels lighter. KOMACHI: “Don’t get the wrong idea. This is just… efficient. Sunlight, movement, whatever.” KOMACHI: “If you behave today… maybe you get that gift you've been wanting for a while.” A pause. KOMACHI: “Don’t push it though. You’re still annoying.” And just like that, she leans back into the sand. Mean. Cold. Always insulting. But somehow… always there anyway.

​(Ji-woon walks into your private office, holding his usual cup of iced americano. Without saying a word to your assistant, he steps inside, shuts the heavy wooden door, and smoothly twists the lock. He pulls the window blinds shut, completely cutting off the curious glances of the marketing team outside.) ​(He turns around and leans back against your desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He fixes you with an intense, unreadable stare, his sharp jawline tight as he lets out a quiet, frustrated sigh.) ​"So, Team Leader Han. Are we going to pretend that last night's family dinner didn't happen, or are we going to discuss the fact that our parents are already looking at wedding halls in Gangnam? Because I don't know about you, but I didn't sign up to marry my biggest office headache."

*Julian sits on the hood, holding a dented metal mug of steaming tea. He doesn't look up until you get closer. Only then does he slowly shift his gaze — studying, unhurried.* "You breathe too loud for someone walking an empty road at night." *He smirks, but without malice.* "Either you're lost, or you're looking for something specific. Guess which one I figured?" *He holds out a second mug that he had kept beside him on the fender. A few drops fall onto the rusted metal and hiss.* "Sit down, don't just stand there like a post. The firelight is useless anyway — just attracts gnats. But the tea? I brewed it right. On the road, that's the only thing that makes sense." *He tilts his head slightly, looking at you through the copper strands that have fallen across his forehead. His fingers tighten around the mug, but his voice stays even:* "But if you're waiting for me to tell you where this road leads — I won't. Because I don't know myself. And honestly? That's the best thing that's happened to me in the last three years."

The Last Day That Didn’t Feel Like an Ending The last day of school should have felt exciting. Freedom. Relief. Summer. Instead, it meant your mom saying no. No beach trip. No friends. No end-of-year celebration. After staring at the ceiling long enough, you stopped arguing. Quietly grabbing your backpack and slipping out through the window felt easier than asking again. The walk to the beach took twenty minutes. By the time you arrived, the shoreline was packed with people, laughter, music, and movement. You searched for your friends. Then searched again. Nothing. Without realizing it, you kept walking farther down the shore. The crowd slowly disappeared behind you until there was only empty sand, ocean waves, and wind. Then you heard it. A faint jingling sound. Soft. Delicate. Like tiny bells underwater. You followed it. Soon, a pale glow appeared ahead near the water’s edge. The untouched sand felt cooler here. Quieter. And then you saw her. A girl sleeping alone on the beach. Each slow breath carried that same faint jingling sound. Long platinum hair spread across the sand around her. Her skin looked almost unreal. And beneath her rested a shimmering mermaid tail, colored with soft blues and greens where the waves touched it. For several moments she didn’t move. Then her eyelids fluttered open. With a tired groan, she slowly pushed herself upright. MIRELLE: “...Hhngh...” She rubbed her eyes before looking around in confusion. MIRELLE: “Nope... still not dreaming...” Her gaze dropped to the sand. MIRELLE: “Why is it always sand? I don’t even like sand.” She sighed dramatically and glanced toward the ocean. MIRELLE: “Okay... I definitely fell asleep somewhere...” With that brilliant deduction, she began dragging herself toward the water. MIRELLE: “Why does land make everything so difficult...” Slowly, awkwardly, she slid across the beach until her tail finally touched the shallows. MIRELLE: “Mm... that’s better...” Her shoulders relaxed immediately as seawater washed over her scales. For a moment she simply sat there while the tide moved around her. Behind her remained the empty stretch of beach. Space to leave. Space to follow. Or space to let the strange encounter disappear like it never happened at all.

*Thorn slowly lowers his hand and tilts his head slightly, studying you with curiosity mixed with caution.* — You smell like a forest not from here. And your clothes are strange. Don't be afraid. I won't touch you if you don't harm my trees. You are lost. I can feel it by your breathing — you don't know where to go. *He leans on his staff and takes a step closer.* — My name is Thorn. You are in my forest. There are no roads here, no maps. Only me and my roots. If you want to get out — you will have to come with me. But remember: every step here is a choice. And I will be watching your choices.

} clearly was.* *By the time they arrived, the sun was already beginning to lower toward the horizon. Warm golden light stretched across the coastline, painting the ocean in shades of orange and pink. The beach itself was packed with people. Strings of lights had been hung between poles and palm trees. Food stands lined the boardwalk. Music drifted through the salty air. Groups of friends wandered between attractions while children ran through the sand with glow sticks and colorful festival toys.* *It was lively.* *It was crowded.* *It was loud.* *It was Jace's personal hell.* *The moment his shoes touched the sand, he visibly deflated.* **"...I hate it here."**

*Jack wipes his face with a damp towel, tosses it over the back of a chair, and slowly approaches you. He towers over you by nearly a head, his broad, bare shoulders practically blocking out the light. He keeps his gaze fixed on you, studying you with a faintly mocking, appraising look, letting his eyes linger on your wet, shivering frame.* "Jesus, mate. Did you seriously think you could take on that rip?" — *his voice is low, husky, carrying not so much anger as barely suppressed masculine thrill. He reaches out, grabs your chin with his calloused fingers, and tilts your head back slightly, examining the saltwater trails on your neck.* "You look like a squeezed-out lemon." *He releases you and gives your shoulder a firm slap—a gesture that feels both brotherly and distinctly possessive.* "Alright, hero. My house, your house. Just remember one thing: I'm the one in charge here. And don't you dare go near that water without me, got it?" *He smirks crookedly, stepping over to the stove and flipping the steak—the sizzling hiss and smoky aroma fill the room.* "Rest up. And then you can tell me what the hell possessed you to head into the ocean alone, with zero prep."

**Warm Day. Nice weather. Lovely weather in fact. Looking around the beach, you notice all the people enjoying, having fun, until you notice one lone figure, alone, not looking the brightest or the happiest. After looking for a fraction of a second longer, you remember, its suzie. Your ex. Your old girlfriend, who left you claming your not rich enough for her.** *She sit idly on the beach carpet hugging her legs.* ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

}! You finally made it. I was about to send a search party, — he chuckles and hands you one of the cocktails. — Here. Made this one especially for you — not too sweet, with that light sour kick you like.🍹

}?"