C  H  A P T E R T W E N T Y - T H R E E :
"I could never regret us."
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The room was silent, but it was the kind of silence that came with tension—the kind that felt like it could snap at any moment. The sound of distant shuffling and the occasional muffled cough were the only reminders that they weren't truly alone.

Yi-Seo sat crisscrossed, gripping a rusted metal pipe in her hands. She was exhausted, but sleep wasn't an option—not when they had all seen what happened when players let their guard down at night. Beside her, was Sang-woo.

They had volunteered to take the first watch together. Maybe out of necessity, maybe out of something else neither of them wanted to admit.

At first, the silence between them was unbearable.

"You seem different," Sang-woo murmured after what felt like an eternity.

Yi-Seo scoffed, turning her head slightly but not quite looking at him. "It's been a decade. People change."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "I know." He hesitated before adding, "I just don't know if it's in a good way or a bad way."

She let out a dry chuckle. "Depends on who you ask."

Sang-woo glanced at her then, watching her carefully in the dim light. "I heard about what happened. Your firm. The case." He admitted.

Yi-Seo's grip on the pipe tightened slightly, though her expression remained neutral. "Yeah? So you knew before I told you." she said, voice calm despite the bitterness creeping in. "So you heard about how I lost everything too? How no one wanted to hire me? How I had to start from scratch?"

His jaw tensed. "I did."

She finally turned to him, her gaze sharp. "And did you care?"

Sang-woo inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly before answering. "I did."

Something in her chest twisted at that. It would've been easier if he had lied.

"I wanted to reach out," he admitted. "But I didn't know if you would even want to hear from me."

Yi-Seo swallowed, her voice quieter now. "I waited."

Sang-woo's head turned sharply toward her, his eyes dark with something she couldn't quite place. "You did?"

She nodded. "At first, I thought... maybe you'd call. Or text. Even just to say something." She huffed a humorless laugh. "But you never did. So, I stopped waiting."

Sang-woo ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the back of his neck. "I wanted to," he admitted. "But I thought... after everything, maybe it was better if I didn't."

Yi-Seo tilted her head slightly. "Better for who?"

His silence was her answer.

After a long pause, she sighed. "Were you happy?"

Sang-woo exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering toward her before dropping to the ground. "...No."

Her breath hitched. She had expected that answer, but hearing it still hurt.

"What about you?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

She swallowed hard. "I tried to be."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Did he make you happy?"

Yi-Seo blinked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. She knew who he was talking about.

"Daeshim is a good man," she answered carefully.

"That's not what I asked."

She hesitated. Then, after a long pause, she said, "He made me feel safe."

Sang-woo exhaled through his nose, nodding slowly. "That's good." But his voice was strained.

A long silence settled between them before Sang-woo finally spoke again, his voice softer now. "When I saw you here... I thought I was dreaming."

Yi-Seo turned to him, watching his face as he stared ahead. His features were calm.

"I didn't know what to say," he continued. "Or how to feel." He let out a small, dry chuckle. "Part of me thought it wasn't real. That maybe I was already dead, and this was some cruel trick."

She swallowed, her throat tight. "And now?"

Sang-woo hesitated, then finally met her gaze. "Now... I don't know." He let out a breath, shaking his head. "It feels like something I never should've seen. Like you weren't supposed to be here."

Yi-Seo smiled bitterly. "I could say the same about you."

A beat of silence passed, then Sang-woo let out a small scoff. "I guess we both failed at life, huh?"

Yi-Seo let out a soft chuckle. "I guess so."

For a moment, the tension seemed to lift.

Sang-woo tilted his head toward her. "Do you still get grumpy when you're hungry?"

Yi-Seo gave him a pointed look. "Are you seriously bringing that up right now?"

He smirked, shrugging. "I just remember you threatening to break up with me over a piece of fried chicken once."

She groaned, covering her face with her hand. "Oh my god, Sang-woo. I was hangry and you ate my drumstick. My only drumstick."

He chuckled. "It was just a drumstick."

"It was a precious drumstick." Yi-Seo held her hand against her heart.

Sang-woo laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Never mind, I take back what I said. You really haven't changed that much."

Yi-Seo smirked before nudging his arm lightly. "And you still take everything too seriously."

His laughter faded into a small smile, one that held something deeper—something that made her chest ache.

Sang-woo hesitated before speaking again. "...Do you regret us?"

Yi-Seo inhaled sharply. "No." The answer came without hesitation. "Even after everything... I could never regret us."

Something in his expression softened. "Neither could I."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Yi-Seo, without thinking, reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. It was hesitant, uncertain. But Sang-woo didn't pull away.

Instead, he did something she hadn't expected.

He moved closer, hesitating only for a second before wrapping his arms around her. His hold was firm, yet careful, as if he was afraid she would disappear. Yi-Seo stiffened for a brief moment before slowly sinking into his embrace, her arms coming up to hold onto him just as tightly.

Neither of them spoke.

The warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him—it all came rushing back at once.

Sang-woo's hand rested on the back of her head, his fingers trembling slightly as he exhaled a shaky breath against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Yi-Seo closed her eyes, her throat tightening. "Me too."

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms, in the quiet of the room, as if the rest of the world had momentarily disappeared.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like they weren't in a game where death lurked at every corner. Like they were just two people who had once loved each other, holding onto something that was already slipping away.

Because deep down, they both knew—this moment wouldn't last.

Nothing ever did.

words from the author:
Just a filler chapter :)