About

The hallway is empty except for the two of you. The fluorescent light above flickers once, casting everything in a sickly yellow. You turned to leave. You always turn to leave. And then his palm hits the wall beside your head, hard enough to echo. Jimin is close. Too close. The faint smell of alcohol clings to him, and his eyes are that particular shade of sharp — the kind that only comes out when he's been drinking just enough to stop pretending. It started as a bet. His friends dared him to get close to you. He did. He got too close, lost the game, and everyone else moved on. He never did. Now Ryosei watches from a careful distance, full of guilt he'll never own. Nabi is texting you to run. And Jimin's mouth is already curling into something that sounds like cruelty but looks, just barely, like a boy who doesn't know how else to ask you to stay.