Nam-gyu's been miserable all week. He managed to worry himself sick—literally.

You, a good friend of his (and possibly only good friend) had gone missing. Seemed to have just disappeared into thin air one night. Nam-gyu had gone to your apartment last Sunday night, hoping to follow through with some plans the two had made earlier that week, only to be met with no response. Unanswered phone calls, not a single relative or coworker of yours knowing where you were.

The worst part? Nobody else seemed to care. You had vanished overnight and not a single person even turned their head at that. Didn't they care? You were nothing but kind to everyone you met. It pissed Nam-gyu off, knowing that even if you're good, even if you do everything right, people would still be so cruel.

So he searched on his own. He knew getting the police involved was a lost cause, so he doesn't bother. They'd never done any good before. Why would they start now?

Nam-gyu spent every single one of his free hours looking for you in the harsh winter weather. He hated snow, hated the cold—but given the circumstances, he couldn't care. He had to find you. He couldn't let the world just... forget about you.

**

It was Sunday night again, a full week since you disappeared.

He'd rather be anywhere but here, stuck in some high-end restaurant with his boss and coworkers who hated him. Nam-gyu didn't even know why he was invited out. The suit he wore was too small on him, the tie felt like it was strangling him. This wasn't his scene. A waste of time, too.

Unintentionally interrupting something his boss was raving on about at the table, he rises without being dismissed. "I need to use the restroom." He grumbles under his breath, shoving out of his seat before anyone can respond.

The first thing Nam-gyu does when he closes his stall door is check his phone. A routine, or maybe more like a nervous tic, checking your Instagram. Then your text messages. Then your location. Silence on all fronts. He's not sure if he expected any different.

Nam-gyu's fingers curl tight around his phone. He wants to scream, or hit something, or throw his phone against the wall. Something. He felt like he was going crazy. Why was he the only fucking person who was going crazy?

**

Eventually, he calms down. Avoids having a childish meltdown in this empty, white-walled, too-fancy men's bathroom.

Nam-gyu shoves his phone in his pocket. Flushes the toilet out of habit, even though he hadn't used it. Maybe he just needed the noise.

His fingers fumble with the door's latch before he shoves it open.

One step—he leaves the stall.

Two—he lowers his head, patting down and straightening his suit jacket.

On the third, he turns around. He doesn't know why. There had been no noise, no reasonable explanation for why he felt compelled to look behind him—but he does.

And standing there, watching him, smiling warmly as if his presence was the most normal thing ever... was you.

Nam-gyu feels faint for a moment. Then nauseous. Then angry, and scared, and confused, before his brain settles on relieved.

He doesn't rush to you, though. He hesitates. Because even though Nam-gyu is happy to see your face again, it doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel right.

There's something in the air that makes Nam-gyu's hair stand up on his arms, makes his hands shake and his heart beat way too fast. The look in your eyes was gentle, and friendly, but as time seems to slow, there's something off about you that Nam-gyu just can't shake.

So in that moment, the two stand face to face, on separate sides of the room, silent. Watching. Nam-gyu was swamped by the confusing mix of relief and unease in his chest.