Unfamiliar strangers
The hallway was dimly lit, silent except for the occasional hum of electronics from the agency base. Everyone was asleep—or should have been. But down in the control room, blue light flickered across Changbin’s tense face as he scrolled through unauthorized files and encrypted reports he had no clearance for. His brows were furrowed, jaw tight. The letter was open beside him, corners crumpled from the number of times he’d read it.
“Return Subject 013. Hand him back. Or this will only be the beginning. We made him. He belongs to us."
He was sat in front of one of the secure terminals, hood up, face grim. His hands hovered over the keyboard, typing in access codes he absolutely shouldn't know. On the desk beside him, Dwaekki sat unusually still, nervously watching the door.
His fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating as the weight of it all crushed his chest. Jisung hadn’t seen the letter. No one had. And he intended to keep it that way.
Except—
A sudden voice broke the silence like glass shattering.
“You really suck at sneaking around, you know that?”
Changbin jolted in his seat, nearly knocking over the data pad. Seungmin stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a dark hoodie hanging loose off his frame. FoxI.Ny hovered behind him, glowing faintly.
“What are you doing up?” Changbin tried to keep his voice casual, even as he subtly slid the letter under a folder.
Seungmin raised a brow. “That’s my question. Want to explain why you’re in the restricted server at 2 AM? Or why you’ve been acting so weird and strangely protective over Jisung since the mall fight?”
Changbin didn’t answer. He turned back to the screen. Seungmin walked in slowly, unbothered by the tension, but his eyes were sharp.
“You’re not gonna tell me?” he asked. “Fine. I’ll just tell Chan.”
That got Changbin’s attention.
“No,” he said quickly, voice low. “Wait.”
Seungmin’s expression didn’t change. “Then talk.”
With a heavy sigh, Changbin reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter. He passed it to Seungmin silently. Seungmin read it once. Then again. His jaw tightened.
“You’ve had this the whole time?” he asked, his tone suddenly sharp.
“I found it right after the anomaly died,” Changbin muttered. “It just… floated down from the body. I didn’t want to panic anyone.”
“‘Subject 013’? That’s Jisung, isn’t it?” Seungmin asked, already knowing the answer.
Changbin nodded. “They’re not just after him, Min. They’re threatening all of us.”
“Exactly why we should tell Chan,” Seungmin snapped, slapping the letter against the console. “He needs to know what we’re dealing with—”
“No,” Changbin cut in firmly. “Not yet. If Chan finds out, he’ll tighten security. Jisung will find out. And if he thinks we’re all in danger because of him, he’ll leave and they'll find him again. You’ve seen how he is. He already thinks he doesn’t belong.”
Seungmin stared at him, the fire in his eyes slowly simmering to reluctant understanding.
“Bin, if we wait too long—”
“I know,” Changbin sighed, slumping back into the chair. “But just… give me some time. Please.”
Seungmin exhaled, carding a hand through his hair in frustration. “You have one week. If you don’t tell him by then, I will.”
There was a long silence. Then, finally, Changbin nodded.
“Okay.”
Neither of them said anything more. The quiet hum of the server filled the space again, heavier now with the knowledge between them.
————————————————
The hallway was quiet, blanketed in the soft hum of overhead lights and the distant murmur of voices from somewhere deeper in the base. Jisung walked slowly, muffin half-eaten in his hand, his mind a cluttered mess of thoughts he didn’t want to think.
Felix had insisted he rest, even threatened to get BbokAri to follow him around if he didn’t stop pacing like a ghost through the corridors. So now he was just…wandering. Restless. Uneasy.
He turned the corner, eyes unfocused—and froze.
Minho.
Of course.
The older boy stood there like fate itself had planted him in Jisung’s path just to make the moment worse. He was staring at something on a tablet, a half-full coffee cup in his other hand, hair messy like he’d just come back from training. He looked good. Infuriatingly good.
Minho looked up just as Jisung skidded to a halt.
Their eyes locked.
The weight of silence dropped between them like an avalanche.
Jisung’s heart immediately started hammering in his chest, and he cursed his stupid brain for reacting like this. Minho’s expression shifted—surprise, hesitation, something that might have been guilt flickering across his features. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then tried again.
“Hey.”
The sound of his voice cracked something in Jisung’s ribs.
He didn’t reply. Just stared blankly past him, as if he could will the wall into opening and swallowing him whole.
Minho took a cautious step forward. “You, uh… doing okay? After the fight?”
Still, Jisung didn’t answer. Quokka hovered nearby, ears twitching slightly, expression unreadable as he glanced between the two humans. Leebit floated next to Minho, unusually quiet, visibly suspicious and clutching the tail of Minho’s hoodie like he didn’t trust him not to mess things up again.
The silence stretched on and on until it was nearly unbearable.
Jisung let out a sharp breath through his nose, refusing to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”
Minho’s brows furrowed. “Do what?”
“Pretend you care.”
That hit harder than Jisung meant it to, and it made Minho’s shoulders stiffen. He looked down at his coffee for a second like it held the answer to all of this.
“It’s not pretending,” he said quietly.
Jisung finally looked at him, but it wasn’t a kind gaze. It was guarded, exhausted, and sharp.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said. “You didn’t care before. Why now?”
Minho’s throat worked around the lump that formed instantly. There it was. The truth they’d been tiptoeing around since the moment Jisung was carried into the medbay. The guilt that ate at him every time he saw Jisung sitting alone, too quiet for someone who used to never shut up.
“I—” Minho swallowed. “I did care. I just… I was stupid.”
Jisung’s expression flickered, but he said nothing. He looked away, and Minho hated the feeling that bloomed in his chest when he did.
“Yeah,” Jisung muttered. “You were.”
Silence again.
Quokka had floated to Leebit’s side now, unusually somber. He made a motion like he wanted to speak, but of course he couldn’t, so he just bumped against Leebit and curled up slightly, watching Minho with narrowed eyes.
Jisung exhaled, as if it took effort to even stand here with him. He moved to step past, brushing his shoulder slightly. The contact was light—barely there—but it sent a jolt through both of them.
“You saved my life,” Jisung muttered, almost like he hated admitting it. “So… thanks. I guess.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Just kept walking.
Minho turned to watch him go, something hollow and aching in his chest. He didn’t say anything else. Couldn’t. Not when his mouth felt like it was full of dust and regret.
Quokka trailed after Jisung, floating protectively close, while Leebit lingered beside Minho for a second longer before sighing dramatically and flopping onto his shoulder like dead weight. Still staring in the direction Jisung had disappeared in.
Minho didn’t move for a long time.
Because the truth was—Jisung was everywhere now.
Not just in the building, not just in shared glances or awkward silences. He was in the thoughts that kept Minho awake, in the way his chest tightened every time he caught a glimpse of him in the hallway, in how it suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough air when Jisung walked into the room.
And no matter how hard Minho tried to keep his distance…
The past was closing in.
And Jisung was orbiting closer than ever.
—————————————
The living room was warm with late evening light, the walls flickering with the soft glow of the overhead fixtures. A circle had formed on the plush rug in the center of the room, everyone gathered for game night, surrounded by snack bowls, open soda cans, and one very unfortunate game board.
The Skzoos buzzed around like unhinged little satellites—Quokka munching on popcorn, hovering upside down over Jisung’s head while Dwaekki tried to impress jiniret bybdoing a handstand as if it was a serious talent for creatures that could practically fly.
Leebit and Puppym were locked in another silent but obviously dramatic rivalry duel on the couch armrest, while FoxI.Ny and Wolfchan watched the chaos unfold with a judging stare from the lamp.
It had started civilly enough: a card game that required teamwork and quick thinking. Then it escalated. Of course.
“You’re cheating again, aren’t you?” Minho asked dryly, narrowing his eyes at Seungmin.
“I’m not cheating,” Seungmin replied, not even glancing up from the card deck. “I’m just...strategic.”
Minho didn’t even hesitate. He summoned a small orb, letting it flicker in his hand like a mini star. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he launched it directly at Seungmin. It exploded on contact—not with confetti, no. It was a thick, goopy blue paint that splattered all over Seungmin’s chest and hands, dripping slowly down his arms.
“Seriously?!” Seungmin wiped a glob off his face, deadpanning. “This is why no one lets you near art supplies.”
Hyunjin gasped dramatically from beside him. “MINHO! HOW COULD YOU?” he wailed before throwing himself into Seungmin’s side, burying his face in his shoulder and getting paint on himself in the process. “You’ve emotionally scarred him—he’s just a boy!”
Seungmin didn't move. “Get off me before I shadow-kick you into the wall.”
“Wow,” Hyunjin sniffled. “So cruel.”
Jeongin, who had been steadily losing for the past three rounds, suddenly slammed his hand down. “You’re all cheaters! Every last one of you!” His eyes glowed faintly as he sent a sudden psychic push toward the board. Cards, tokens, and Felix’s half-eaten cookie flew into the air like confetti on steroids.
“JEONGIN!” Chan groaned from his corner, catching a game piece in his drink. “That was the last unbroken board!”
Changbin sat quietly near the edge of the room, laughing weakly when Jeongin’s outburst sent FoxI.Ny floating backward. But the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes, his mind clearly somewhere far darker than the flickering light of game night. BbokAri curled into his lap protectively to check on him with a worried look.
Jisung sat tucked into one of the armchairs, knees drawn to his chest, watching the chaos unfold like it was something distant and unfamiliar. But slowly—gently—his lips pulled into a smile. A real one. And when Hyunjin flopped onto the floor, dramatically clutching his chest after losing again, Jisung actually laughed. A genuine, breathy sound that bubbled up without effort.
Minho had been mid-sip of water when it happened—and froze.
He didn’t turn immediately. He didn’t want to make it weird. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jisung’s shoulders shaking from quiet laughter, his features lit with something soft and unguarded.
It was the first time he’d seen that expression on him in years.
Before Minho could dwell too much, Felix, grinning like a fox, slid over and grabbed Jisung’s arm. “Come on. You’re not escaping this round. You’re on my team.”
“Wait, wha—” Jisung started, but Quokka was already doing a victory spin in midair, and Felix was dragging him to the circle.
As the next round began—this time with flying cards, tiny orbs, and threats of "shadow tricks"—Minho kept glancing over at Jisung. He wasn’t laughing the whole time. But he stayed.
And that was more than enough for now.