THE BEGINNING OF MY ENDING
HIM
The room is dim. The curtains haven't moved in days. The air is heavy, thick with silence and memory. Fort sits on the edge of his bed, unmoving, jaw clenched, staring at nothing but the past.
Three days.
No food.
No messages.
No sunlight.
Just memories clawing at his soul.
His breath is shallow as he mutters to himself:
JEON FORT
I Hate the monster… But I am him. I was him.
He lifts his head. His eyes are hollow—but alive.
Something has shifted.
He reaches for the phone on the floor — lifeless, forgotten.
As soon as his fingers touch it… BZZZ!
The screen blinks. A burst of charge.
As if his energy brought it back.
RIIIIIING!
Spark Jaimin.
He slowly presses accept.
JAMIN (shouting like thunder):
PARK JAIMIN
ARE YOU PLANNING TO DIE INSIDE THAT ROOM, YOU EMOTIONAL DIRT BAG?
The phone almost slips from his ear.
PARK JAIMIN
DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS? It’s been TWO WEEKS since college reopened, and guess what? NEITHER OF US WENT! And now the PRINCIPAL is ready to ROAST US ALIVE!
And guess what’s better?! Your sweet little MAFIA BROTHER called me and said if you don’t show your royal butt in college in TWO DAYS, he’ll turn both of us into underground plants!
PARK JAIMIN
YES, he did! And I am NOT in the mood to be buried alive in assignments or surprises! I’m too young to die of shock. I still didn't fully show my flirting skill to my kitten
PARK JAIMIN
(snapping):
In how many centuries?
Call ends.
Fort stretches.
Washes his face.
Looks in the mirror.
Fort turns on the tap. Water runs like a river of memory.
He splashes it on his face again and again—
But he’s not just washing off the dirt.
He’s cleansing the past.
The weakness.
The version of himself that begged for love, that broke, that cried in silence.
JEON FORT
Not again, he whispers.
Not ever again.
He picks up the scissors.
His long hair brushes his shoulder like old chains.
Snip.
Snip.
The pieces fall, one by one, like dead shadows.
He looks into the mirror again.
Not the same boy.
No softness.
No apology.
Just sharp eyes and silence — like a vampire who has seen death and returned stronger.
The door creaks open.
Fort steps out.
His figure — clean, changed, reborn.
Hair now short, tousled, framing his jawline like it was carved for war.
No flashy clothes.
No loud colors.
Just a black high-collar shirt, dark jeans, and eyes that warn: don’t speak unless you’re ready to bleed.
Every step down the staircase is silent… but heavy.
Like a king who doesn’t need guards to be dangerous.
He pauses halfway down, glancing to the right — the dining hall.
They’re all there.
His father. aunt and uncle. cousins.
Laughing. Eating.
Like nothing happened.
Like he didn’t disappear for three days.
No one looks up.
No one speaks.
No one even asks.
Then—
For a single second—
His father looks up.
Their eyes meet.
This time… his father doesn’t look at a broken boy.
He sees something different.
Something colder.
Stronger.
Unknown.
And yet, he says nothing.
No approval. No rejection.
Just silence.
And Fort doesn’t wait for any.
He walks out of the villa.
He sees a black bike parked just ahead.
Leaning against it, arms crossed, wearing a deep brown hoodie and untied shoelaces, is Jaimin.
He looks up.
Then blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Jaimin crosses his arms, looking him up and down with that classic judgmental best-friend stare
PARK JAIMIN
So let me guess…
You spent three days in a room not to sleep, not to cry, not to even respond to me…
But to do something uncanny. Like summon spirits. Or write poetry. Or shave your soul.
He circles Fort like he's inspecting a newly bought action figure.
PARK JAIMIN
And after all that, this is the result?
Hair chopped. Black shirt. Silent face. You look like your brother now. Sacred. Musty-eyed. Mafia boy 2.0.
Fort raises a brow.
Says nothing.
PARK JAIMIN
(mock-shivering) You say one more mysterious line like ‘I’m not the same Fort anymore’ — I swear I’ll throw this helmet at your head and walk away. I’m not built for spiritual side quests at 8 AM.
JEON FORT
I was going to say: let’s go to college.
PARK JAIMIN
(deadpan):
…Oh.
Well. That’s disappointingly normal of you.
PARK JAIMIN
He tosses Fort the helmet.
> Fine. Get on before you change your mind and start glowing with trauma again.
Fort catches it, smirking a little as he mounts the bike behind Jaimin.
PARK JAIMIN
(mumbling as he starts the engine)
> Can’t believe I’m the mentally stable today. World really ending.
Students moving in groups, laughing.
Some checking their phones, heads low.
Others parking cars like it’s a fashion show.
Boys flirting shamelessly, girls flipping their hair with practiced ease.
Corridors filled with noise, voices, perfume.
Until—
VRROOOM. VRROOM.
Two bikes entered the gate like a storm breaking routine.
Everyone looked up.
All at once.
As if time itself paused for this entrance.
The bikes pulled in together.
Perfect sync.
Like they practiced for a movie scene.
When the engines died, both riders pulled off their helmets.
Fort.
Jaimin.
First, silence.
Then—
The gaps began to form.
People stepped back.
No one said anything.
They were all staring at Fort.
Not the Fort who smiled at everyone, who played along with teasing, who flirted and laughed and acted like royalty.
No.
This Fort…
Was something else.
Hair cut short, clean at the sides, falling sharp over his brow.
His jawline sharper than before, more grown.
Cold eyes, not aggressive — but unreadable.
Lips pressed together, not in annoyance… in control.
He walked like silence followed him by choice.
Something about him now made even the loudest mouths go mute.
Not one girl dared shout a flirty line.
Not one boy dared joke.
He didn’t even have to look at them — his aura alone said:
JEON FORT
“You can’t reach me anymore.”
Beside him?
Jaimin — the total opposite.
The moment he pulled off his helmet, his flirty grin returned like sunshine after a thunderstorm.
He winked at one girl, smirked at a boy, fixed his hoodie.
The chaos king was back.
But even he was quieter than usual… like Fort’s presence was holding him down just a little.
The two of them started walking side by side —
Like they weren’t walking to class… but into war.
One calm. One teasing.
Both dangerous in their own way.
Suddenly—
？？？
Fortttttt....... babyyyy.......
Girl’s voice echoed across the open space.
High-pitched. Dramatic. Echoing.
Like a peacock shrieking during prayer.
Jaimin froze mid-step.
His head turned slowly.
Eyes wide.
His soul visibly left his body.
He whispered to himself, voice dry and tired like a tragic old poet:
PARK JAIMIN
Why? Why in the morning?
This is supposed to be healing hour.
This is supposed to be my glow-up era.
Not her leech drama arc.
He turned to Fort, whispering through clenched teeth:
PARK JAIMIN
Fort. Brother. Morning child of the mafia sun.
If you turn around and respond to that soul-eater, I swear I’ll go back to the villa and lock myself in your room this time.
Fort didn’t turn.
Didn’t even blink.
He just kept walking.
And Jaimin?
He followed.
Still mumbling.
Still judging.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, biting her lip dramatically.
Everyone could hear. Everyone was listening.
And Jamin?
He was two steps behind, already done.
？？？
“Fort… I was so worried about you,”
“I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t eat for three days after your accident.”
“I came to the hospital! But your brother—ugh—he acted like some monster! He didn’t even let me inside. He thinks he owns you!”
PARK JAIMIN
(dry, disgusted):
You didn’t eat for three days… but somehow your lipstick stayed on point, your eyeliner sharper than your morals.
She ignores him, leaning in to look Fort in the eye with her disgusting puppy-face.
？？？
B-baby, I know you’re angry… but when you’re angry, you’re even hotter. but your brother___
Fort stops walking.
She smiles — thinking she won.
But the moment she feels Fort slowly peel her fingers off his arm…
She freezes.
He doesn’t throw her.
He removes her like she's filth stuck on his skin.
Then he looks at her.
Eyes cold. Voice sharper than a blade
He said quietly, making her smile twitch.
JEON FORT
..knows exactly who deserves to be near me.
JEON FORT
And who doesn’t.
He took a slow step closer.
JEON FORT
That’s why he didn’t let you in.
You don’t belong next to me.
JEON FORT
Don’t call me that.
(Fort’s tone didn’t rise.
But it hit like a slap in public.)
JEON FORT
And the next time you say my brother’s name with that tone...
Make sure your mouth’s clean enough to carry it.
Or I’ll clean it for you.
> With blood.
She backs away slightly, visibly shaken.
The hallway is dead silent.
Not a single voice.
Not a single whisper.
Even the air feels heavy.
She stares at him — confused, stunned.
This wasn’t the flirty Fort she used to toy with.
This was something else.
Something untouchable.
Fort turns without another word.
Jaimin blinks in admiration. Then dramatically sighs and starts praying out loud.
PARK JAIMIN
May the soul of that girl rest in the corridor she died in.
And may all the leeches find new hobbies before they catch Fort’s wrath
As soon as Fort and Jaimin walk in,
the noise inside the class vanishes.
Like the air just dropped in temperature.
Everyone turns.
Some mouths part.
Some eyes widen.
Because…
That’s Fort.
The Fort.
Who flirted with everyone.
Who passed winks, cheesy lines, made hearts race.
Who was the playboy king of the corridor.
But now?
He walks with zero expression.
His eyes don’t even scan the room.
He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t nod.
Doesn’t touch. Doesn’t talk.
He walks like someone who came to conquer silence.
A girl tries to speak—
Her voice dies before it escapes her lips.
A boy tries to tease—
One cold glance from Fort shuts him down instantly.
They take their seats.
And Jaimin leans in with a soft, devilish smile.
PARK JAIMIN
(quietly, to Fort)
Congrats. You’ve officially become the ghost of every flirty memory in this class.
PARK JAIMIN
(grins) I love this version of you. Can I get an autograph before the fan clubs come back with holy water?
They sit.
And no one breathes near them.
The room is quiet.
Too quiet.
Not because no one’s talking—
But because everyone’s whispering.
Eyes flick from screen to screen.
Messages flying between group chats.
.
？？？
What happened to him?”
？？？
No smile??No flirting?? WHO IS HE???
Just one week away.
One vacation.
And everything changed.
The flirty king who used to light up the halls…
Now sat at his usual seat like a shadow of war.
Head lowered. Hands calm. Aura deadly.
No one dared walk near.
No one dared touch.
Even the bold ones stayed quiet.
Then—
The door opened again.
Footsteps.
Small. Soft. Gentle.
Everyone turned.
And in came a boy—
Delicate. Innocent. Beautiful.
Carrying a small lunchbox in both hands.
Hair a little messy. Eyes full of unshaken hope.
A small smile on his lips like a flower blooming in winter.
.
Jaimin’s eyes widened.
He stiffened.
Felt his soul float a little above his body.
PARK JAIMIN
No. No. NO. Not today. Not this child. Not this angel.
Why did God send a flower to a graveyard?
He looked at Fort.
Still silent. Still unreadable.
Then he looked at the boy.
He remembered.
This boy came every day.
Every single day—
With a box of food. A box of love. A box of belief.
And Fort—cold, cruel, careless—
Used to throw it in the trash.
Every. Time.
And still…
The boy never stopped coming.
PARK JAIMIN
(in his mind again):Past Fort was cruel. But this Fort… this one’s a devil in disguise.
If he breaks this boy today… the warmth of that angel will turn to ash.
And when his mafia brothers find out—no, no, I don’t wanna die
The boy took two steps closer.
Then two more.
Eyes full of trust.
Everyone held their breath.
Phones held up.
Messages paused.
Eyes locked.
The boy reached their table.
Stood beside Fort’s chair.
Held out the box like it held all the kindness in the world.
Everyone waited.
For the anger.
For the insult.
For the storm.
But Fort—
Didn’t move.
Not yet.
PARK JAIMIN
(whispering to the heavens):
Dear God, if you're up there and not on vacation,
please… I beg you…
save my soul. Only mine.
Don’t worry about this pure child.
Just let me escape when the Mafia Brother Swamp explodes today.
I’m not built for emotional violence. Amen.
He gently placed the lunch box in front of Fort—
Just like always.
But this time…
No one knew what would happen.
After what Fort did to the girl earlier in the corridor,
everyone thought this would be worse.
The tension was thick.
Fort didn’t move.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t touch the box.
He just sat still, staring at the table…
Until his eyes lowered—
And met the lunch box.
He froze.
And in that moment,
the world inside him cracked.
Memories poured in.
Memories he tried to bury in the dark.
> The voice that laughed at his stupid jokes.
The smile that followed him through pain.
The hands that reached out even when he pushed them away.
The scream—
The last scream—
From someone who gave everything to protect him.
Fort’s heart tightened.
He didn’t need to look up.
He already knew.
He knew who was standing in front of him.
He knew whose love he shattered.
He knew whose life ended because of him.
And yet…
Even now…
That boy stood in front of him again—
Smiling.
Like nothing happened.
Like he had no scars.
Like the past didn’t burn them both.
Fort slowly looked up.
The boy flinched—just for a second.
But then smiled again.
Gentle. Shy. Like before.
He didn’t ask for anything.
He just stood there.
With love in his hands.
Like always.
Fort moved.
Slow. Silent.
He raised his hand—
Took the lunch box—
Held it for a second—
And then placed it carefully on his desk.
No trash can.
No insults.
No anger.
Just… acceptance.
Everyone gasped.
Eyes widened.
Even the air shifted.
The boy blinked.
Like he just saw a dream come true.
KIM SKY...
(in a small, happy voice):
T–thank you!!
He bounced on his feet, practically glowing—
And ran out of the classroom like a happy kid in a fairy tale.
Silence.
No one knew how to react.
Only Jaimin slowly, dramatically, slid into the seat beside Fort.
PARK JAIMIN
Everyone… tell my family I love them..I going to die.
Students whispered like they saw a miracle.
But Fort didn’t hear them.
He just sat there.
Staring at the lunch box.
As if it held everything he lost…
and somehow—
was still being given back to him.
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