“Did something happen between you two?”

At that, Soobin lifted his head, just barely making out the confusion plastered on Jisu’s face. He shook his head quickly, “Everything’s great.” For a quick second, he looked at the other corner of the cube that they were trapped within, and he saw Yeonjun looking down at the ground with lifeless eyes.

A part of him wished to feel pity, to feel sorrow, to try and talk to the older. He was slightly startled, seeing how miserable the other looked under the haunting sky. But Soobin couldn’t, he didn’t want to approach Yeonjun at that moment. He was still upset, and he didn’t want to lash out and create a scene.

He watched as Jisu stood up from her crossed-legged position.

She made her way towards Yeonjun, kneeling onto the rough ground and placing a hand on the other’s knee. She smiled softly, speaking just as softly if not more: “Do you want to talk about what you saw when you were in the ball?”

Not receiving any response in return, she simply waited, watching his face closely, trying to make out any hints of any emotion. She was worried, having never seen a human so dissociated from the world. “It’s okay, really…”, she tried once more.

Yeonjun had his gaze fixed to the ground, his hands hugging his sides as he breathed out slowly. “Do you know what you call someone who has disappointed you?”

“No…”

“A useless, selfish, irresponsible child. A mistake.”

“No, what are you talking about?”

“I asked the very same question to my mother, and I asked her again and again, and I raised my voice at her because I was so upset, so hurt to hear her say those words…” Yeonjun continued in the most monotonous voice one could possibly gather. “Anyone could say anything to me, and I wouldn’t care too much about it. Anyone at all. Anyone but my mother…”

Finally, Soobin pushed aside his feelings and thoughts, rushing towards the opposite corner upon hearing the older speak. He realised that what he saw and said when he was trapped in the mysterious sphere was vastly different from what Yeonjun saw. He realised that his lover did not pour out his anger, not towards him, not at all.

He must’ve imagined it all. An illusion.

“My mother is the only one who still had hope for me and my future even after all that I did. To hear those words from her feels like my hand is being let go at the cliff and I’m falling. And that’s all, you know? I’m just falling. Nothing else, just that.”

At last, Yeonjun let out a choked sob.

Soobin furrowed his brows as he listened to every word that came out of the other’s mouth. Terrible regret and shame bubbled up within him as he made cruel assumptions without hearing the full story, so he settled down onto the ground and reached out, pulling Yeonjun into his arms. He gently dragged his fingers through the other’s hair, murmuring reassuring words.

It terrified him – the slow heartbeat, the lack of emotion, the neutral tone of voice, the unblinking eyes, the soft breathing, almost as if Yeonjun was void of any feeling, but Soobin wondered if the most intense form of grief and sorrow was akin to this motionless, eerie state of rigid dullness and grey.

“It isn’t real. Whatever the two of you saw, it’s not true, it’s not real. It’s just a fear, something to scare you both, something to make you both feel this way. None of it is true, don’t let it get to you.”

What Jisu didn’t know was that it was indeed true for some – memories of the past, feelings of the present, predictable pictures of the future – and for others, it was a nightmare unfolding to overwhelm them, break them down until they had no choice but to project their emotions onto their loved ones, bound to feel regret at some point.

“Let’s just have some food and rest up, okay? Hopefully we can get out of this cube soon enough and find the others, or maybe they’ll find us…” Jisu was already taking out some packets of biscuits from the backpack that Soobin carried.

They remained at the same corner that they comforted Yeonjun at, sitting quietly and nibbling on the stale biscuits, savouring what they had without wasting anything, taking small sips of water as they had no clue how long they would be stuck there. Gradually, the tense atmosphere amongst the trio dissolved away, leaving room to breathe freely.

However, at some point, Yeonjun let out a desperate, shuddering scream laced with pure despair, exhaustion, and utter annoyance.

Perhaps it was the doom that fell upon the remaining ten members, the fact that everything was out of their control, the fact that they haven’t had a proper meal or washed up, the fact that some of them had seen certain images and felt certain emotions in a whirlwind, or perhaps it was the simple realisation that they were gradually losing their hope and motivation to carry on. But whatever may be the reason, they found no strength within themselves to say a word as they sat in a circle on the ground, picking at their nails, tracing their fingers across the hard surface, leaning back and looking up at the dark sky, so much to say yet nothing at all.

“I never realised how odd a dramatically long night would feel like, nor did I ever imagine what a night sky without any hint of the moon would feel like…”

Beomgyu nodded at Yeji’s verbal trail of thought. “It’s horrifying, isn’t it?” He only received a smile in return, and the uncomfortable silence fell upon the group once again.

“Hey, Yeosang?”

He looked up to see Wooyoung looking right at him with an apologetic smile. “Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” Wooyoung could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I’m sorry that San and I left to become trainees without discussing the matter with you. We had the opportunity and we took it, forgetting that we were supposed to stick together. All three of us.”

Yeosang only nodded, unsure of what to say, but a part of him was relieved to learn that at least Wooyoung – and San, although he wasn’t with them – cared about his feelings. He tore his gaze away from his friend, a small smile lingering on his lips as he looked down.

“It’s okay.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to sound small. “I understand. I just wish you guys told me about it, even later. I just wish I didn’t have to find out through a third party.”

“I know. I’m sorry. The communication we have is rather limited when you’re trainees. It’s not a lovely experience, not yet.”

Yeosang almost wished that his friend would stop now. He had forgiven the other much earlier, although he wouldn’t admit it out loud. Something about the gravity of their situation, and the high risk and severity of it all, convinced him that he should appreciate who he had by his side. He couldn’t hold grudges, not when they had no choice but to work together.

With a firm tone of voice, he said, “It’s okay. We’re good now.”

That allowed the others to break