Good job, Y/N. You've done it again.

This was all your fault.

If it weren't for you, you wouldn't have gotten the chance to die on the side of the highway. But instead, you face palm yourself one hundred times for not considering your options in the first place. You would be home about now, sleeping in your warm, cozy bed and your flannel electric blanket.

But here you are, walking a pothole-infested street with the largest darkening allies you have ever seen but never seen in your entire life before.

You should've never insisted on traveling home alone. You have to walk because you stupidly decided to plan midnight studies with your friend on Thursdays, which means leaving the library at exactly midnight.

Your mom has the car, and you didn't tell her you may need a ride. Lucky for you, your brain completely forgot how to function and decided not to ask her when she came home from work tired and exhausted. Your only other option was to hop aboard the back of Rose's motorbike.

Yah no. You were walking.

As you trace heavy footsteps down the streets of infinity, you feel insecurities and the detrimental history of the tiny area in town. And since the only way back into the city was through a secluded street from the library, you were forced to take an unknown rout suggested by your study buddy about an hour ago to get home.

It's so scary, you only wished that car ran you over. But somehow, the realization had crossed your mind just now that you didn't die after all. Unfortunately, you have the privilege to enjoy the last few minutes of your pathetically shortened life of making really bad decisions in agony.

Your Safety of the Year Award, Y/N.

But suddenly, you hear a clinking sound.

Clink-clink-clink—

It reminds you of a whooshing gust of air that pulls between a person's footing when walking. That's when you start to wonder . . . Is someone following you? You twitch at the rising clatter.

Y/N, you're delusional.

Still, you momentarily halt. You hear yourself breathing manically, your chest heaving like you were raised from the dead. Your eyes scan the area with caution, screwed in more trauma than they should be. When you see and hear nothing, you were deemed ready to kick the sidewalk's butt if you couldn't find the person who was.

And there it was again, that dumbly repetitive clinking. Despite your fear, you reason that the safest way anywhere is farther away from whatever is following you. As you are aware of the advantages and disadvantages, you reason that distancing yourself is the best way to view the situation.

The footsteps continue for the longest time, and by every dulling hour, you hope the paranoia would soon leave you. But you're just the luckiest girl in the world. The anxious feeling of suspense and horror summons you, as the welling sense of being followed transports itself into the upsetting pit of your stomach.

But the faster you walk, the harder the clinking gets. Faster, Y/N!

When you stop, something slams hard into you from behind, shaking every bone in your body. But no. That something had hands. It was grabbing you forcefully. You scream like a little girl, instinctively trying to distance yourself from the problem.

Immediately, you initiate attack mode and hit the harassing perpetrator in the face with your bag, hoping to hook his jawline, or something.

Amazingly, shockingly, you succeed. You succeed, watching the perp reel from the blow cutting into his lower jaw and the upper part of his face. The surprisingly unarmed assaulter turns away from you, holding his face.

You hit him again, this time swinging across the other side of his face, but with insurmountable force, the figure in the dark grabs hold of your purse and jerks forward with the object, trying to throw you off balance. You scream again, basically crying at this point, but try to fight for what little time in your life you could bargain to buy.

"Stop!" You are a sobbing wreck. "Please, leave me be!"

The harasser backs off, hands in the air.

As he does this, you still realize that you haven't had a clear glimpse of his face, but decide to fumble with your phone to call the police anyway.

He's so worried that you have this much power, he decides to disarm you. He has your phone in a single instant, and you crumple to the concrete floor.

"Alright, shut it!" Wow, he lives. And unlike your suspicions, the voice appears fresh and quite youthful for trying to jump you, or mug you of your belongings. "Tell me where my sister is, and I won't hurt you."

Seriously? You try to dry your eyes to appear stronger than you really are. "I don't know where your sister is!" you tell him. "Stupid boy; why would I know that?"

"Weren't you going to that bar on the right?" the shadow questions.

And taken aback, you are surprised by his accusation. You haven't drank a drop in your life, and the fact he thinks you're capable is just aggravating. "No," you say, "I was returning from the library. I'm trying to get home—"

"Alright, alright," the voice intercedes again.

And you're lost.

Your patience is fading fast, but you relent when hands wrap around your shoulders to return the bag. "Just answer one question for me." The perp finally steps into the streetlight just behind the patch of black in the dreary darkness.

And that's when you die. You thought that car almost killed you.

Unable to help yourself, your mouth drops open. Because.

There.

Was.

No.

Way.

This assaulter was . . . a living god? A cinnamon bun glossed with brown sugar? A Hellenistic marble statue carved from stone? A really hot guy who nearly scared the soul out of your body so you can go to Heaven? Yes.

"Goodness gracious—" You grace your mouth in astonishment, as you were about to say yes to something he just said, but you can't remember what he asked. Calmly, you clear your throat to regain your thoughts, praying that you don't blurt something stupid. "W-what?" You shake your head from the creamy haze.

"Do you know who Lacey is?" You watch his facial features work together to say the most beautiful words anyone could ever allow.

But you've never heard of a Lacey. And you certainly weren't just going into that bar to go see her, if that's what he wanted to know. Shaking your head, you are kind of disappointed to correctly inform him. "Never heard of her."

The astoundingly handsome boy drops his head in subtle defeat. "Okay then."

That was the end of it, and the boy was about to walk pass you. But your curiosity snags the best of you. And sure enough, you're asking, "Is Lacey your sister?"

The young boy who was about your age, freezes.

He looks at you with suspicion, but nods anyway. He breathes in momentary agitation, but tries hard to release it. "She's my Noona." And regretfully, he ventures two black eyes to the glowing sign down the road reading, OPEN.

Ah. You understand. His sister must be a drinker, and he is stuck in having to go find her. He's probably been to every bar in town, got frustrated, and took out his anger on you. You glance at the troubled boy who was obviously having a hard time with expressing his emotions.

And for some odd reason, you feel like being nice today. "Need help retrieving her?" you risk openly.

And maybe, just maybe, he could help you back into the city.

His eyes brighten at the consideration of the idea. "Fine," he says. But one good look at you was all he needed to read your tolerance radar. "It's risky, and . . . you don't look like the drinking type."

You are utterly offended. "Well, looks can be deceiving, Mr . . .?" When you realized you didn't know the young boy's name . . .

"None of your business," he responds. With that, he starts walking towards the sign glowing neon at the bar door, walking straight passed you.

"Hey!" You catch up with him, walking fast to keep up with his pace. "That was rude. What was that for?" You try to look at him, but he won't look at you.

"None of your business," he says again, walking even faster.

"Stop saying that," you state, trying to meet his speed. Why does this matter again?

"Stop prying." His voice was a notch louder as he began running now.

And before you know it, you're running after this randomly good-looking boy down the road and into a bar on the corner of the intersecting roads between the small town and the city of which you needed to get to.

Author's Note: Kitty here! Writing as things go, so let's just see where we get! Lol I am so new to this it's soundly unreal.

Next chapter should be longer, so we'll see!

And again, major thanks to @MyCoffeeHasSuga for making suggestions and helping me organize my ideas!