Jasmine.
It cut through the dust and dead air of the power-saving corridor. Faint. Warm. Coming from Unit 1419.
Jae-min stood in front of her door. The hallway was dead silent. No hum from the central AC. The building management had cut power to the non-essential corridors at ten to save money. Only the faint orange glow of the emergency exit signs lit the space, casting long, distorted shadows across the polished tile. 35°C. The Manila summer pressed against the building like a fever that wouldn't break.
It smelled like jasmine. And dust. And her.
In his pocket, his fingers brushed the cold steel of a key. Alessia's spare key. She had given it to him three months ago.
"In case I lock myself out after a night shift," Alessia had said, her lazy smile, the press of the key into his palm, her fingers closing his around it, lingering for half a second too long.
He could just walk in. But he knocked. Three raps. Quiet, a rigid, desperate restraint.
Footsteps inside. Soft. Hesitant. Then the familiar rhythm of her gait, measured, confident. The peephole darkened. She was looking out.
The door opened a crack. A chain lock held it in place. One blue eye peered through the gap.
"Jae-min?" Alessia asked, a sleepy, drowsy confusion. "It's midnight."
"I know. Can I come in?" Jae-min asked, a quiet, urgent need.
A pause. The eye studied his face. The dark circles carved into his skin. The hollow cheeks. The tight jaw.
The chain slid. The door opened. Jae-min stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
He pulled her against his chest. Hard. His arms locked around her like she would vanish if he let go. His face buried in her hair. Jasmine and warmth and the steady drumbeat of her pulse against his ribs, a raw, overwhelming relief.
White oversized t-shirt against his palms. Bare legs. Loose indigo hair against his jaw. She was warm. She was alive.
Alessia stiffened. Her arms hung at her sides for a moment. Then they rose. Her palms pressed flat against his back. She didn't speak. She just held on, a quiet, anchored patience.
"I was sleeping," Alessia murmured against his chest, a quiet, sleepy concern. "Is everything okay?"
"No," Jae-min whispered, a raw, cracking grief.
Alessia pulled back. Looked up at him. Her posture shifted. Her gaze sharpened, a swift, clinical alertness.
"Is this about your family? The breakdown?" Alessia asked, stepping aside, a quiet, concerned warmth. "Ji-yoo told me you've been stressed."
"It's not a brief breakdown," Jae-min said, a heavy, immovable certainty.
"Then what?" Alessia asked, a calm, probing patience.
Jae-min walked past her into Unit 1419. The apartment was a mirror of his, same layout, same dimensions. But it wasn't a bunker. It was a home. Potted plants on the windowsill. Framed medical degrees on the wall — University of Santo Tomas, Faculty of Medicine and Surgery, the seal embossed in gold. A wool blanket draped over the couch. The smell of lavender detergent and chamomile tea.
It felt warm. Human. Everything his apartment wasn't anymore.
Jae-min stood in the middle of the living room. Didn't sit. Didn't move. His hands were trembling at his sides. He shoved them into his pockets.
Alessia closed the door. Walked past him. Sat on the edge of the couch. Tucked her legs under her. Those blue eyes watching him with patient, unwavering calm.
"You're scaring me, Jae-min," Alessia murmured, a quiet, steady concern.
"I know," Jae-min whispered, and there was no wall in his voice.
"Is this about your parents? Ji-yoo mentioned they're flying home soon," Alessia murmured, her voice softening.
"In two days," Jae-min said, a raw, aching weight.
"Then what?" Alessia asked, a patient, steady probe.
Jae-min looked at her. Those calm blue eyes. The indigo hair falling over her collarbone. The gentle rise and fall of her chest under the thin white shirt. The pulse beating visibly in her throat.
He memorized it. Every detail. Every curve. Every breath, a desperate, devouring focus.
"Alessia," Jae-min choked, his voice cracking on the first syllable.
"Yes?" Alessia asked, her brow furrowing.
"I need to tell you something. And after I tell you, you're going to think I'm insane. You might call the police. You might never speak to me again," Jae-min said, the words rushing out now, tumbling over each other, a frantic, desperate urgency.
Alessia didn't move. Just watched him. Calm. Steady.
"Okay," Alessia murmured, a small nod, her expression unreadable.
"I'm not going to explain why I know this. I'm just going to tell you. Can you do that?" Jae-min asked, a taut, urgent plea.
"Okay," Alessia declared, quiet, steady, a doctor's composure anchoring her voice.
Jae-min sat down across from her. On the wooden coffee table. Close enough to touch her knees. Close enough to smell the lavender on her skin.
"In two days," Jae-min trembled, his voice shaking but certain, "the temperature in Manila is going to drop to minus seventy degrees Celsius."
"What?" Alessia asked, a sharp, incredulous blink.
"In the middle of summer. It will happen in less than four hours when it starts. The power grid will fail two weeks later. The government will collapse. The military will fragment. Millions of people will freeze to death in the first week," Jae-min murmured, each word deliberate and heavy.
"Jae-min," Alessia murmured, her expression unreadable, processing.
"Billions will die. Globally. It won't stop. The cold won't stop. Ever," Jae-min said, a grim, absolute certainty.
Alessia stared at him. Her face was pale. But she didn't interrupt. Didn't flinch. Just listened, a focused, analytical intensity.
"I know the exact date it happens because I've already lived through it," Jae-min said, a raw, shattering weight.
Silence. The clock on the wall ticked. Once. Twice. The sound deafening in the quiet room.
"What do you mean, lived through it?" Alessia whispered, a shaken, incredulous disbelief.
"I died, Alessia," Jae-min murmured, a raw, cracking grief.
"Say it. Make it real. Make it irreversible," Jae-min thought, a desperate, shattering resolve.
The air seemed to freeze. The lavender smell turned to nothing. The warmth drained from the space between them.
Alessia went completely still. Her hand drifted to her throat. Her fingers pressed against her collarbone.
"Don't describe the blood. Don't describe the gore. Just tell her enough. Just tell her what matters," Jae-min thought, a rigid, disciplined restraint.
"You died too, Alessia," Jae-min murmured, a raw, tearing grief.
"No..." Alessia whispered, a raw, horrified denial.
"You died in the hallway. Right outside my door," Jae-min choked, a raw, tearing grief.
"Stop..." Alessia choked, a shattered, desperate protest.
"They had already destroyed you by the time I found you," Jae-min rasped, his voice catching, a savage, bleeding grief.
"What I remember most is that you were still holding my hand," Jae-min said, the words coming out slow and broken and raw. "My fingers were shattered. My throat was torn open. I was ten feet away. And you were still holding on. Your grip was weak. Getting weaker. But you wouldn't let go. Even when there was nothing left of you to hold with."
He dropped his hands from his face. Looked at her. His vision was blurred with tears he hadn't felt coming.
"Your lips moved. I saw them move. I'll never know what you were trying to say. The cold stole the sound before I could hear it. That's what I can't," Jae-min whispered, the words dissolving.
Alessia's eyes were wide. Wet. Her lips were trembling. But she didn't look away. Didn't run. Just sat there, her hands gripping her knees so hard her knuckles were white.
"How?" Alessia asked, one word. Small. Shattered.
"I don't know," Jae-min murmured, a bitter, helpless admission. "I died. And then I woke up. March seventeenth. Six forty-seven AM. In my apartment. Twenty-eight days ago."
"March seventeenth," Alessia murmured, repeating it, processing.
"The same morning. The same alarm. The same sun through the window. But I remembered everything. The cold. The blood. Your hand in mine. All of it," Jae-min said, the words spilling out like water from a cracked dam.
"My regression is like a cassette tape. I can rewind it… but the tracks are fixed. They always play in the same order," Jae-min thought, a bitter, resigned certainty.
Alessia stared at him. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"That's impossible," Alessia murmured, a sharp, rational disbelief.
"I know," Jae-min murmured, a quiet, defeated acknowledgment.
"People don't come back from the dead," Alessia said, a sharp, rational disbelief.
"I know," Jae-min whispered, a raw, heavy acceptance.
"This is," Alessia whispered, her voice rising, not angry, but desperate, "this sounds like psychosis. Trauma-induced dissociation. You could be experiencing a break from reality."
"Alessia," Jae-min whispered, cutting her off, his voice quiet but unshakable. "I know what I sound like. I know what this looks like. I've had twenty-eight days to convince myself I'm insane. I couldn't. Because insane people don't know the exact temperature at which human blood freezes black."
Alessia flinched.
"In two days, my parents board a flight from Incheon. Korean Air Flight KE627. It will lose contact over the Alishan Mountains. Flash freeze. Blizzard conditions. No survivors," Jae-min stated, each word precise. Clinical. The voice of a logistics manager reading a shipping manifest, except his eyes were bleeding. "I've tried eleven times to stop it. Lawyers. Embassies. Anonymous tips. A bomb threat that almost got me arrested. Two point four million won in fees and bribes. Nothing works. The plane still flies. The mountain still takes them."
"Eleven attempts. Eleven failures. The tracks are fixed. They always play in the same order," Jae-min thought, a bitter, annihilating despair.
Alessia's face crumbled, a raw, shattering grief.
"Jae-min..." Alessia choked, her voice breaking. "Have you told them? Your parents?"
"I called them," Jae-min choked, his voice cracking. "My father... he didn't believe me. He thinks I'm stressed. He told me to take care of Ji-yoo. He's making adobo when they get here. The one I like."
"I love you. The last conversation I will ever have with him. And I couldn't tell him why I was saying goodbye. I couldn't tell him that in two days his voice would be silent forever," Jae-min thought, a raw, annihilating grief.
A tear rolled down Alessia's cheek. She didn't wipe it away.
"Ji-yoo knows?" Alessia asked, her voice small.
"I told her on Day 1," Jae-min said, a heavy, reluctant admission.
"And she believes you?" Alessia asked, searching his face.
"She's my twin. She knew something was wrong the second she saw my face," Jae-min murmured, a ghost of a smile crossing his face, gone before it could form. "She's been preparing with me. She's the one who convinced me to tell you."
Alessia stared at him. Long. Hard. The silence stretching between them.
Then she exhaled. A slow, shaky exhale, a tentative, fragile surrender.
"Show me," Alessia murmured, a quiet, steady demand.
"What?" Jae-min asked, a startled confusion.
"You said you've been preparing. Show me," Alessia declared, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice steadying. "If this is real, you'll have evidence. Something. Anything."
Jae-min looked at her. Then, without ceremony, without explanation, his hand rose and reached into the empty air beside him.
His fingers disappeared past the second knuckle. The space around his wrist shimmered — a faint, dark ripple in the fabric of the air, like reality had a pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper. Handed it to her. The motion was absent. Casual. Like reaching into a drawer.
Alessia's eyes went wide. Her mouth opened. She stared at the space where his hand had vanished. Then at the paper in his palm. Then back at his face.
"What the fuck?" Alessia whispered, a stunned, disbelieving shock.
"It's a long story," Jae-min murmured, a flat, exhausted dismissal.
Alessia took the paper. Her hands were shaking. But she unfolded it. Read it.
It was a list. Dates. Temperatures. Locations. Event predictions.
Day 30: -70°C. Manila.
Day 32: Power grid failure. Luzon.
Day 35: Government evacuation attempt. Failed. 40,000 dead at NAIA.
Day 38: Martial law declared. Dissolved 6 hours later.
Day 45: Estimated 80% mortality rate in Metro Manila.
Day 73:
He had stopped writing at Day 73.
Alessia read the list. Her hands were shaking. But she didn't call him crazy. Didn't tell him he was hallucinating. She just read it. Every line. Every number.
"This is... incredibly specific," Alessia whispered, a shaken, rational awe.
"I lived it," Jae-min murmured, a flat, certain weight.
"If you lived it," Alessia murmured, looking up, her blue eyes red-rimmed but sharp, "then why are you here? Why are you telling me instead of—"
"Because you died," Jae-min rasped, the words raw. "You died holding my hand and I never told you how I felt. I had three months in the first life. Three months of hallway conversations and sinigang at your door and terrible pancakes and I never said the words. Not once. I was too much of a coward. And then you were dead and I was dead and the words died with us."
The dam broke.
Jae-min buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook. A sound came out of him that wasn't quite a sob and wasn't quite a scream, something primal and broken, a raw, annihilating grief.
He cried. Not quietly. Not with dignity. Ugly, desperate, heaving sobs that wracked his entire body, tears and snot running down his face, his hands trembling against his eyes.
Twenty-eight days of ice and calculation and stockpiling and pretending. It all came out now. In her apartment. In front of her. The dam had burst.
"He's breaking. The man who never flinches. The man who looks at me like a statue with dead eyes. He's breaking over me," Alessia thought, a warm, aching tenderness softening her composure.
Alessia stared at him. Tears streamed down her face. Silent. Fast. Her chest was tight. Her throat was closed.
"The man who left sinigang at her door. The man who carried her home when she collapsed. The man who stayed until dawn." Alessia thought, a warm, aching tenderness softening her composure.
He was breaking. Right in front of her.
Alessia stood up. Slowly. Her legs were shaky. She closed the distance between them. Stopped inches away. Looked down at him, this tall, broken man, a quiet, anchored compassion.
She reached out. Her fingers touched his shoulders. Warm. Gentle.
Jae-min flinched. Hard. His whole body jerked like he'd been burned.
"Don't be kind to me. I don't deserve it. I let you die. I watched. I didn't say the words. I was a coward," Jae-min thought, a bitter, self-loathing despair.
"Shut up," Alessia said, her voice firm despite the tears.
She slid her hands from his shoulders to his face. Cupped his cheeks. His skin was wet with tears. Cold. Trembling.
"Her hands. Her surgeon's fingers. She's touching me. She's alive. She's real," Jae-min thought, a desperate, overwhelming relief.
"I'm not going to run, Jae-min," Alessia whispered, her blue eyes boring into his, red-rimmed, swollen, but absolutely steady.
"You should," Jae-min whispered, barely audible.
"I'm not," Alessia murmured, her voice iron.
"Alessia," Jae-min murmured, starting to argue.
"Shut up," Alessia murmured, cutting him off.
She pulled his face down to hers. And kissed him.
Not gentle. Not hesitant. Certain. Deliberate. Her lips pressed against his with the steady, unwavering force of a woman who had made her choice. Her fingers dug into his jaw, holding him in place.
Jae-min froze. Every muscle in his body locked. His mind went blank. The sob died in his throat.
Then something inside him snapped. Not the cold. Not the grief. Something else. Something warm. Something alive.
He kissed her back.
His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him, hard, desperate, crushing her body against his chest like he was trying to merge them into one person. One hand slid up her back, tangling in her loose indigo hair. The other pressed flat against the small of her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin white shirt, the soft ridge of her spine beneath his palm, the steady drumbeat of her heart against his ribs.
His mouth found her jaw, her neck, the sensitive spot below her ear where her pulse hammered against his lips, warm, fast, alive.
"Warm. She's so warm. She's alive and she's warm and she's kissing me and I'm not dead and she's not dead and this is real," Jae-min thought, a fierce, overwhelming joy flooding his chest.
The kiss deepened. Her hands moved from his face to his hair, her fingers tangling in the black strands, pulling him closer. Her body pressed into his, the soft curves of her chest flattening against his rigid muscles. He could feel her heartbeat against his ribs, fast, strong, alive.
They broke apart. Gasping. Foreheads pressed together. Her breath was hot against his lips. His breath was ragged against hers.
"Jae-min," Alessia rasped, barely a whisper.
"Don't talk," Jae-min rasped, his voice raw and broken and desperate. "If you talk, I'll remember this is real. And if it's real, it can be taken away. Just don't talk. Just—"
He kissed her again. Slower this time. Less desperate. More deliberate. His lips moved against hers with the careful tenderness of a man memorizing something he knows he might lose. His hand traced up her spine, feeling each vertebra, counting each breath.
Her fingers traced his jawline. Her thumb brushed his cheekbone. Slow. Gentle.
They broke apart again. Her forehead rested against his. Their breathing was synchronized. In and out. In and out.
"I love you," Jae-min whispered, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them, barely a whisper, cracked and broken and raw, the words he had carried like a stone in his chest for three months.
Alessia pulled back. Looked at him. Her blue eyes were wide. Red. Wet. But her jaw was set. Determined.
"I know," Alessia declared, her voice steady despite the tears.
"You know?" Jae-min asked, blinking.
"I've known since the night Kiara left," Alessia murmured, a quiet, steady certainty. "I brought you sinigang at midnight and I sat outside your door and I didn't say a word and I didn't ask for anything and I just—"
She paused, her voice cracking. "I just sat there. In the dark. Because I didn't know how to be near you without being consumed by you. I'm a doctor, Jae-min. I recognize obsession when I see it."
Her voice broke on a sad smile.
"She knew. She always knew. I thought I was hiding it. I thought I was being subtle. She saw through me from the beginning," Jae-min thought, a warm, humbling realization.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Jae-min asked, a fragile, vulnerable hope.
"Because you weren't ready," Alessia murmured, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "You were broken. You were hurting. You needed to heal on your own. I wasn't going to force you to say something you weren't ready to say."
— • • • —
Jae-min stood. Walked to the couch. Sat down. Then he reached for her. His hands found her waist and pulled. Alessia slid onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, straddling him, her face inches from his. She was taller than him like this. Looking down at him. Her indigo hair fell around them like a curtain.
They were so close she could feel his breath on her face. Warm. Ragged. He could smell the chamomile tea on her lips, the salt of her tears, the lavender detergent in her hair. Every exhale brushed against his mouth. Every inhale drew him deeper into her orbit.
His hands settled on her hips. Firm. Possessive. His fingers pressed into the soft skin above the waistband of her shorts, pulling her closer until there was no space between them. One hand slid lower. Squeezed. His palm filled with the curve of her, the grip instinctive, claiming, a fierce, possessive grip that wouldn't let go.
Alessia didn't pull away. Her fingers found the collar of his jacket. Straightened it. The same gesture she always made.
"April fifteenth," Jae-min whispered, his breath warm against her lips. "Four PM. The temperature starts dropping at exactly four PM. Come to my unit. If nothing happens by then, you can go back to yours after. But if I'm right—"
"You're right," Alessia whispered, a quiet, unwavering certainty.
"How do you know?" Jae-min asked, a fragile, desperate hope.
"Because your hand disappeared into thin air and you pulled a piece of paper out of nothing. Because you know the exact temperature blood freezes. Because you've been crying for twenty minutes and you haven't once asked me to believe you. People who lie want you to believe them. People who tell the truth just want you to listen," Alessia whispered, her blue eyes locked on his, steady, certain, sure.
Jae-min's grip tightened on her hips. His thumb traced a slow circle on the bare skin just above her waistband. He pulled her closer. His forehead pressed against her collarbone. His breath was warm against the thin cotton of her shirt.
"The way I died," Alessia whispered, her voice quiet now, steady despite the horror.
"No," Jae-min whispered, his voice dropping, a wall.
"Good," Alessia declared, her jaw tightening. "Then I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
She reached up. Straightened his collar. Clinical. Warm. Hers.
"Go home, Jae-min. Get some sleep," Alessia murmured, a small, sad smile crossing her tear-stained face. "I'll be at your door when it happens."
Jae-min didn't move. His hands stayed on her hips. His face stayed pressed against her collarbone. He breathed her in. Jasmine and warmth and the woman who was going to die in a hallway if he failed, a fierce, possessive refusal to let go.
"Go," Alessia whispered, her fingers threading through his hair once, gentle.
He let go. Slowly. Like peeling his own skin off. He stood. She slid off his lap. Her bare feet touched the floor. She walked him to the door. Opened it. Looked up at him.
"I love you too. For the record," Alessia declared, her voice steady despite the tears.
The door closed.
Jae-min stood in the hallway. Staring at the wood grain of her door. His lips were swollen. His eyes were red. His chest ached with something that wasn't grief.
"Alive," Jae-min thought, a warm, fragile hope.
— • • • —
11:55 PM. 14th Floor Corridor. 34°C.
Jae-min moved down the corridor. On his toes. Each step placed with the careful, deliberate silence of a man tip-toeing like a thief through his own hallway. He pressed his back against the wall. Slid along it. His eyes darted left. Right. The hallway was empty. The fluorescent lights were off. Only the orange emergency exit signs glowed.
"Ten feet. Just ten feet. Get inside. Lock the door. Ji-yoo's asleep. She has to be asleep. It's midnight. She's definitely asleep," Jae-min thought, a desperate, irrational optimism.
He reached Unit 1418. Swiped the card. The steel bulkhead clicked open with a sound that seemed catastrophically loud in the dead corridor. He flinched. Slipped inside. Closed it behind him. Engaged the three deadbolts. Each metallic clang echoed through the dark apartment.
He stood in the entrance. Breathing. Composing himself. Trying to rebuild the ice that had shattered in Alessia's living room. His face was a mess. Eyes swollen. Lips red and slightly puffy. Tear tracks drying on his cheeks. His hair was disheveled where her fingers had run through it.
He took one step toward the living room. The floorboards creaked.
"Oppa," Ji-yoo said, her voice dangerously calm.
Jae-min's entire body seized.
He startled like a cat, spine rigid, arms flying up, shoulder blades slamming into the door with a metallic bang that rattled the deadbolts.
His black eyes were wide as dinner plates, his jaw dropped, his heart hammering so hard he could taste it in his throat.
A single figure sat on the kitchen counter. Legs crossed. Arms folded. The faint blue glow of the refrigerator light caught her features, the sharp jaw, the dark eyes, the waist-length ponytail spilling over one shoulder. She was holding a glass of water. Sipping it slowly. Watching him like a hawk. A predator watching prey walk into a trap.
"Ji-yoo," Jae-min said, his voice coming out rougher than intended.
"He's been crying. His lips are swollen. His hair is messed up. He smells like jasmine. He was at Ate Alessia's. He was doing something other than surviving," Ji-yoo thought, her eyes scanning his face with the slow, forensic precision of a twin who could read him better than any lie detector.
"You look... different," Ji-yoo said, sipping her water.
"I was in the hallway," Jae-min said, his voice flat.
"Lying. Terrible lie. She can see right through me. She always could," Jae-min thought, a resigned, defeated certainty.
"For an hour and a half?" Ji-yoo asked, sipping her water.
"I lost track of time," Jae-min said, the lie transparent, a flat, unconvincing dismissal.
"At midnight?" Ji-yoo asked, pressing.
"Couldn't sleep," Jae-min whispered, weaker.
"In Ate Alessia's apartment?" Ji-yoo asked, closing the trap.
Jae-min's jaw tightened.
"How did you—" Jae-min started.
"Oppa," Ji-yoo said, hopping off the counter, landing silently on the balls of her feet.
"He's cornered. He has no escape. This is going to be beautiful," Ji-yoo thought, a gleeful, predatory anticipation.
She walked toward him. Slow. Deliberate. Each step measured. Her dark eyes never left his face.
"Let me see if I can guess what happened," Ji-yoo said, circling him like a shark.
She stopped directly in front of him. Looked up at his swollen lips. Her eyes widened with theatrical shock.
"You kissed her," Ji-yoo said, the word landing like a verdict.
Jae-min said nothing.
"Caught. Completely caught. There's no way out of this," Jae-min thought, a resigned, mortified surrender.
"OH MY GOD," Ji-yoo screamed, clapping her hands together, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch. "YOU FINALLY DID IT. YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT. I'VE BEEN WAITING THREE MONTHS FOR THIS. THREE. MONTHS."
"Ji-yoo," Jae-min said, trying to push past her.
Ji-yoo grabbed his face. Turned his head left. Then right. Examining the damage with clinical precision.
"Swollen lower lip. Minor capillary burst on the left side. Slight grazing on the chin from stubble. Dried tear tracks on the left cheek but not the right," Ji-yoo narrated. "Duration: approximately thirty to forty-five minutes. Intensity: moderate to aggressive. Frequency: multiple sessions."
Her thumb brushed across his lower lip. Possessive. Checking. Then she blinked, and the possessiveness vanished behind the grin.
"Ji-yoo, stop," Jae-min whispered, squirming.
"LIAR," Ji-yoo screamed, releasing his face with a shove, but she was grinning, the bright, genuine grin of a sister.
"Oppa," Ji-yoo whispered, her voice softening, the teasing dropping, a soft, genuine warmth.
"He finally did it. He finally said the words. He finally stopped being a coward," Ji-yoo thought, a fierce, aching joy.
"I'm happy for you," Ji-yoo said, the words genuine, no teasing.
"You are?" Jae-min asked, stunned.
"Of course I am, you emotionally constipated disaster," Ji-yoo choked, punching him in the shoulder, not hard, just enough to make a point. "You've been in love with her since she moved in. You stared at her through the peephole. You memorized her schedule. You once stood in the hallway for twenty minutes trying to decide whether to knock because she left her curtains open and you could see her reading on the couch."
His face burned, a deep, mortified flush.
"You saw that?" Jae-min asked, his face burning.
"I see everything, oppa," Ji-yoo said, patting his cheek, condescending, affectionate, utterly merciless. "I'm your twin. I share your DNA. I know when you're hungry before you do."
She stepped back. Crossed her arms. Studied him with the satisfied expression of a cat that had just caught a particularly stupid mouse.
"Now," Ji-yoo said, her voice shifting back to business. "Did you tell her about the apocalypse?"
"Yes," Jae-min said, guarded.
"And she believed you?" Ji-yoo asked, her eyes widening.
"Yes," Jae-min said, a ghost of something crossing his face.
"And she's coming to the bunker?" Ji-yoo asked, her eyes bright.
"Yes," Jae-min said, the word carrying everything.
Ji-yoo nodded slowly. The grin faded into something sharper. Colder.
"Good," Ji-yoo said, her voice flat.
"Now we have a doctor in the bunker. A real one. Not me pretending to know first aid because I watched a YouTube video once. She can treat wounds. Manage infections. Keep us alive when the cold tries to kill us," Ji-yoo thought, a pragmatic, warrior's satisfaction.
She turned away. Walked toward the kitchen. Poured herself another glass of water.
"Also," Ji-yoo said, not looking back, sipping her water casually, "I approve. She's the only person on this planet who can handle your brooding bullshit without stabbing you. That makes her a saint."
She took a long sip. Set the glass down. Finally looked at him over her shoulder. Her dark eyes were bright with mischief.
"Congratulations, oppa," Ji-yoo said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. "I expect a wedding invitation by the end of the apocalypse. If you break her heart, I will put you in the void myself."
She picked up her glass. Walked to her room. Paused at the door. Looked back over her shoulder. The playfulness had drained from her face, replaced by something rawer.
"Oppa?" Ji-yoo said, her voice dropping to something softer. Almost vulnerable.
"She makes you smile. I haven't seen you actually smile in weeks. Not the fake one, the real one. Don't let that go," Ji-yoo whispered, a rare, unguarded tenderness.
A beat.
"Also, you're mine first. Before her. Before anyone. That's just the hierarchy. Don't forget it," Ji-yoo declared, a fierce, possessive certainty.
The door closed with a soft click.
Jae-min stood in the dark apartment. His face was burning. His lips were still swollen. His chest ached from crying and kissing and the emotional whiplash of having his sister dissect his love life like a frog in biology class.
But something warm was glowing in his chest. Small. Fragile. Like a pilot light in a frozen furnace.
His phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number.
Jae-min walked over. Picked it up. Read the screen.
[Unknown]: Interesting visit, Mr. Del Rosario. The doctor is quite beautiful. It would be a little ironic if something happened to her. - N
Jae-min's blood turned to ice. The warmth died.
"You want to threaten her, N? Come to my door, then. I have a surprise waiting for you too," Jae-min thought, a cold, annihilating fury.
He set the phone face-down on the counter. Stared at the dark screen.
They were watching her now.