Chapter Text
Jisung knew better.
New places, loud crowds, people he didn’t know, there were reasons he avoided this stuff. Reasons that usually kept him in his room, in control, in the quiet.
But something had tugged at him tonight. Curiosity, maybe. Or that stupid restless voice in his head that kept saying ‘try something different.’
So here he was.
'What the heck were you thinking, this is wrong, this isn’t you, you are not supposed to be here and everyone knows it…'
The same thoughts looped in his head as he stood by the kitchen counter, silently sipping a Sprite and pretending not to exist, hoping that the others in the kitchen weren’t looking at him and thinking he was some weirdo loser who decided to crash.
He was sure they knew.
Of course they knew.
He wasn’t like them. He didn’t go to parties. He didn’t know what to do at parties, he had never drank or smoked. The laughter and music bleeding in from the other rooms only made his chest tighter, like the whole house was closing in on him.. He was so out of his element, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. He couldn't help but want to blame Seungmin for his current situation even though the only person to blame was himself.
They were walking out of study group when Seungmin casually threw it out there:
“Hey, I know it’s probably not your scene, but I figured I’d offer. My friend’s throwing a party tonight—thought maybe you’d wanna come sit awkwardly on the couch with me since I kinda have to show up. You said you’ve been wanting to try new stuff... y'know, get out more.”
Jisung’s gut reaction was an immediate, silent nope .
The idea of going to a party at some stranger’s house sounded like his own personal nightmare, so he’d done the responsible, anxiety-driven thing: lied about having too much homework (which wasn’t entirely false), mumbled a “wish i could, maybe next time,” and hoped that would be the end of it.
Seungmin didn’t push, just said he’d text the details in case Jisung changed his mind.
For the rest of the afternoon, Jisung tried to forget about it. But the more he thought about what the night could be—the people, the stories, the possibility of actually having fun—the more it gnawed at him. By 7 p.m., regret had fully set in and he threw his usual internal pity party of feeling like a failure for never going out, for always hiding, for being the weird homeschooled church kid who never quite fit in. His textbook sat open, but he wasn't studying anymore. He was just sitting there, stewing in his own disappointment,
And then—
The chime of his phone startled him. It was Seungmin.
[Seungminnie: 1387 Sherwood Lane, just in case you changed your mind hyung.]
That was it. One little text. And somehow, it flipped a switch in his brain.
For five full minutes, Jisung mentally paced in circles—wrestling with the sudden, absurd urge to actually go. ‘ Was this a sign? A cosmic nudge from the universe? This is your shot, Han. You said you wanted to meet people. Do something new. Be someone else for once.’ And before he could talk himself out of it, he replied.
Then it was like he was living the fantasy of someone else’s life. He got dressed. Ate dinner. Called an Uber. Spent the whole ride subconsciously chewing his nails and staring out the window like he was in some indie coming-of-age movie.
And for some reason he didn’t feel like chickening out.
He was… excited. Weirdly hopeful. It felt like maybe—for once—he was doing something right.
Even as the Uber pulled away, leaving him standing alone outside a pulsing house full of strangers, the buzz of adrenaline was still stronger than the anxiety.
That is, until he pulled out his phone to double-check the address—and realized something horrifying.
He never texted Seungmin back.
He never actually sent the reply.
Now, surrounded by drunk, screaming college kids and awkwardly shifting his weight on a sticky kitchen floor, Jisung seriously regretted everything. He wished he could go back and shake some sense into his past self from a couple hours prior, like the sea of people being pushed around the dance floor in the living room. Maybe even smack him around for not staying in the perfect bubble of comfort that is his bedroom. He clutched his Sprite with trembling hands, scanning the crowd for what had to be the thousandth time, praying to catch a glimpse of Seungmin. No luck. He fired off another desperate text—the latest in a long, unanswered string over the past 20 minutes.
His legs started to shake. His breathing grew shallow. The panic, which had been quietly bubbling under the surface since he walked in, was now boiling over.
Everything hit at once.
The pounding bass. The shouting. The press of sweaty bodies. The thick, smoke-filled air. It all closed in like a wall.
His body moved before his brain did, feet propelling him forward in a clumsy attempt to escape. No idea where to go—just out . Anywhere but here.
He barely made it out of the kitchen when a drunk girl stumbled straight into him, sending him backwards right into another guy. For a moment, he was just grateful he didn’t fall on his ass. That was short lived when he felt the cold liquid spilt down his back and he’s being shoved forward.
“What the fuck, watch where youre going you fuckin idiot!” Jisung turned, heart already in his throat. The guy glaring at him was tall, sharp-eyed, holding an empty cup and wearing what used to be his drink down the front of his shirt. He would’ve been stupidly attractive—buzzed blonde hair, a brow piercing, dangerous eyes—if he didn’t look like he was about to commit murder.
Jisung tried to apologize, he tried to do anything, but he froze and he couldn’t get a word out. He just stood there, wide-eyed and shaking, as his throat closed up and tears started to sting his eyes. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
The guy’s expression shifted from pissed to… uncomfortable. Then annoyed.
If a side eye could kill-
“Oh don’t fuckin’ cry, Jesus, it’s not that serious—”
But Jisung didn’t hear the rest. His body kicked into survival mode before his brain caught up. He spun around and bolted, pushing through the crowd like it was a fire he needed to escape.
He passed through the mass of people as fast as he could and ended up in a hallway.
Shit. I was trying to leave, not go deeper in.
And then, like muscle memory from childhood, he mentally scolded himself for cursing.
He grabbed the first door handle he saw.
Locked.
The next one opened. He stepped in without looking up—only to be met by three furious girls screaming at him to get out.
“Fucking perv!” one of them shouted as she chucked a shoe at him. It missed. Barely.
Jisung slammed the door shut, mortified.
Next door.
Locked.
Finally, he looked up and saw it—at the end of the hall. A door with a small window. The backyard.
Freedom.
He started toward it, hope blooming in his chest—until he noticed the shadows behind the glass. Two people. One leaning against the door. The other pressed up way too close.
The door was thumping rhythmically.
Then it clicked. There was no way he was gonna interrupt that .
He was immediately flustered and panicked and spun down another hallway, breath shallow, vision blurring. He kept going, stumbling along the wall, heart in his ears, tears clouding everything. He couldn’t even tell what direction he was heading anymore—just that he had to get out before he fully broke down in front of everyone.
If Seungmin found him now, it would be beyond mortifying.
And yet, Jisung still prayed for it. For his friend to suddenly appear and pull him out of this mess, but he couldn’t shake the sting.
Seungmin had invited him—and then never showed. Never responded. Never warned him. Had he just forgotten? Ditched him?
Where could he be that he hadn’t seen a single one of Jisung’s texts?
Jisung turned another corner, breath still shaky, the walls of the house beginning to blur together—until something new caught his eye.
A staircase.
Not down. Up.
At the top was a single door, tucked away like it didn’t belong to the same loud, chaotic house. For a moment, everything else—the pounding bass, the screaming, the claustrophobic press of bodies—faded into a muffled background hum.
The world went quiet in his head.
A dim light shined in front of the door. Stickers and taped-up signs littered its surface, but Jisung’s brain was too scrambled to read them.
He didn’t know what he was doing—he just moved.
His feet hit the first stair like they were on autopilot, hands catching the railing as he practically dragged himself upward. Every step felt like the staircase was stretching out in front of him just to mess with him. The noise of the party still thundered behind him but it all started to blur into static. The only thing that felt real was the door at the top.
His breath was ragged, shallow. His chest tightened more with each step, but he kept going. Clutching the railing tighter. Willing himself up. Just get there. Just get to the door.
By the time he reached the landing, his legs were trembling. He reached out, fingers fumbling for the knob, slick with sweat. His heart slammed against his ribs as he twisted it.
Please be unlocked.
It was.
He yanked the door open—just wide enough to slide through—then slipped inside like a ghost sneaking out of a nightmare. His back hit the door as he shut it fast, the soft click of the latch sounding like salvation.
Jisung stood there, frozen. Then slowly, he slid down, his back dragging against the wood until he hit the floor. Knees bent, arms limp at his sides.
His eyes squeezed shut.
His breathing was uneven, too fast, like he couldn’t get enough air. Like even though he’d finally escaped, his body hadn’t realized it yet.
He sat there like that—pressed against the door, shaking, trying not to completely fall apart.
The first thing that brought him away from the panic in his body was the scent.
There was cinnamon in the air, rich and warm, but beneath it lingered a sharper scent—earthy, herbal, and a little smoky, it clung to the walls like incense, mellow and rich in a way that made his pulse slow just a bit. for a moment, it was enough to anchor him. He clung to it, letting the fragrance settle into his lungs as he forced his breathing to slow.
Then his sanctuary was shattered—
“Can I fuckin’ help you?”