The soft chime of the café's entrance bells rang out, a delicate note through the gentle hum of conversation and the rhythmic clatter of cups meeting saucers. The door swung open, allowing a brief gust of fresh air to mingle with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. A small group entered, their footsteps a hushed murmur against the wooden floor, blending into the café's cozy, unhurried atmosphere.
"Oh? Isn't that Eros?" A voice, warm with familiarity and laced with excitement, cut through the ambient noise. Elara, her eyes widening in delight, motioned eagerly for the other doctors to follow her toward a familiar face.
Elara, a specialist in PTSD at the retreat's medical wing, was part of the Domestic Health Department. Her short, brunette hair, falling just past her shoulders, curled softly at the ends, framing a face that seemed to absorb the golden light streaming through the café windows. The sun cast a gentle glow over her, illuminating the freckles that dusted her cheeks like specks of cinnamon. Her smile—wide and unabashed—stretched from ear to ear, her gums peeking through, and her eyes crinkling into near disappearance as she beamed. The rosy fullness of her lips mirrored the warmth in her cheeks, flushed with a natural vibrancy that complemented her effervescent nature. She had the kind of face that exuded youthfulness, a charming innocence wrapped in an aura of boundless energy.
There was something effortlessly magnetic about her—a spark of chaos laced with genuine joy, the kind of person whose presence filled every corner of a room. An extrovert to the core, she was laughter in motion, a whirlwind of brightness that could make even the most somber hearts feel a little lighter. "Eros!" Elara's voice rang out across the café, light and inviting. The young man at the table flinched, his body tensing as if caught in a sudden downpour. His eyes, dark and distant, looked as though the weight of the world had momentarily collapsed on his shoulders—like a storm cloud had chosen only his spot to pour its relentless rain. He sat there, rigid, as if trying to shrink beneath the weight of his own thoughts.
But then, Elara's bright, uncontainable energy reached him, and like the sun breaking through the clouds after a thunderstorm, her presence seemed to pull him from the depths of his own melancholy. Elara waved enthusiastically, her whole body swaying in the movement, her smile so wide and genuine that it seemed to light up the corner of the room.
Startled, Eros blinked rapidly as he turned toward the source of the cheerful call. His face flushed in embarrassment as he quickly raised his hand in return, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. It was almost as though the unexpected warmth of Elara's greeting had caught him off guard, forcing him to adjust to the shift in atmosphere. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his seat as he took in the sight of his colleagues approaching.
Elara didn't miss a beat. With a cheerful laugh, she slid effortlessly into the chair next to him, her presence a stark contrast to his quiet isolation. The other two doctors followed suit, sitting across from the pair.
"Eros, you're here too?" Elara's voice bubbled with enthusiasm, her eyes sparkling with a mix of surprise and delight.
Eros glanced at her with a half-smile, his gaze softening. "Ah, yes, it's my break time as well," he murmured, the words feeling like a small lifeline thrown into the quiet space between them, yet his tone still carried the weight of unspoken burdens. Eros' gaze flickered to the two doctors seated across from him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed them. To his right was Selene, a Trauma Psychiatrist in the same department as Elara, her focus absorbed in the menu in front of her. Her brow furrowed with careful concentration as she sifted through the options, fingers lightly tapping the paper as she weighed the treats in her mind. It seemed as though she were lost in a world of her own, the soft hum of the café fading to a distant murmur.
Beside her sat Silas, a Family and Marriage Therapist from the Relational Affairs Department, his posture relaxed but his gaze locked on Selene. There was something in his expression that made Eros pause—a tenderness, perhaps even affection, in the way he looked at her. His eyes lingered just a moment longer than necessary, his lips slightly curved, as though he were watching someone he cared for deeply.
Eros frowned, a knot of confusion filling his head. What was it? What was this silent, unspoken dynamic between them? His mind raced, trying to decipher the emotions that seemed to hang between Silas and Selene. The question gnawed at him while the steady chatter of Elara's voice—a constant stream of energy—faded into the background, becoming little more than a soft buzz in his ears. His attention was now wholly fixed on the pair across from him, their subtle interactions, their quiet yet noticeable connection, pulling him in deeper, even as it left him feeling uncertain and oddly distant. What is this supposed to mean?
Eros found himself lost in thought, his mind circling the same frustrating question. He had always been able to read people with ease—emotions showed before him like an open book, each flicker of a brow or twitch of the lips revealing a hidden truth. But Silas was different. He was a locked door with no key, a riddle that refused to be solved. No matter how much Eros focused, no matter how intensely he observed, he found nothing but a dark abyss, an unsettling emptiness. It was as if Silas existed just beyond the realm of human feeling, untouched by joy, sorrow, or even the faintest trace of warmth.
A voice pulled him back to the present.
"Have you guys decided on what to order?" Elara's voice was light, casual, cutting through the tension that only Eros seemed to feel.
Selene gave a small, easy smile. "Yeah, I think I'll just have an Iced Caramel Macchiato. Maybe an Almond Croissant too?"
Elara turned to Silas expectantly. He met her gaze without hesitation, his expression eerily neutral, as if the very act of deciding what to drink was irrelevant.
"Iced Americano," he answered, his voice smooth, low, deep, and devoid of unnecessary embellishment.
Eros stared at him, searching, prying—desperate to catch even the faintest glimpse of something beyond that unshaken mask.
Silas was like winter itself. His skin, pale and cold, was the color of untouched snow, a heavy contrast to the shadowy aura that seemed to curl around him like ghostly mist. His eyes—winter-grey and sharp—cut through the air like a blade, his upturned eye-shape only accentuating the predator-like quality he has. There was something chilling about the way he existed, something agitating yet captivating. Even his presence carried a scent, a faint trace of burnt incense clinging to him—neither pleasant nor unpleasant, simply there, like the hum of a candle's final breath. It didn't scream danger, but it didn't offer comfort either. It was the kind of presence that commanded awareness, forcing those around him to stay on guard, as if anything less would be a mistake.
Then, Silas moved—just barely. He raised a hand to fix his fringe, the gesture slow and deliberate. Eros caught sight of his fingers, noting how the edges blurred into an inky blackness at the tips of his nails. It wasn't dirt—it wasn't paint either. It was subtle, yet unnatural. His hair, jet black and cut into textured, choppy layers, framed his face with an almost calculated chaos—messy, yet controlled, like the rest of him. His bangs were long enough to cast delicate shadows over his eyes, further shrouding whatever lay behind them.
And his face—God, his face.
It was all sharp lines and unforgiving angles, as if sculpted from cold marble by hands that favored precision over warmth. His jawline could cut glass, his features so hauntingly perfect that he looked like a specter—a beautifully sculpted ghost lingering at the edge of reality.
Then Eros saw it.
Barely there, nearly invisible against his porcelain skin—a scar. A single, thin line encircling his throat like a reminder of something long forgotten. It was faint, too faint for the average person to notice, but Eros saw it. And he wondered.
Silas had always been an anomaly. Reserved. Quiet. Calculated. From the moment Eros entered the facility, he had felt the weight of Silas' presence without the man even needing to speak. There was something about him—something that shook even the most hardened souls. He wasn't the type to waste words. In fact, if someone were to count, he probably spoke no more than 160 words a day, if that. He was a listener, an observer, always watching, always rational. And that made him perfect for his job.
"Um, Eros? Would you like to order something too? Don't worry, it's on me!"
Elara's voice lilted with warmth, light, like sunlight filtering through a stained-glass window. She turned to Eros with an eager smile, her hands moving animatedly with each word—small, delicate gestures that only added to her charm.
"Don't be shy, pick anything you like. Think of it as a little thank-you for letting us sit at your table," she added, her eyes twinkling with sincerity.
Eros let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "That's kind of you, but don't worry. I had quite a meal earlier—I'm still a bit full. You guys enjoy yourselves."
Elara nodded in understanding before confirming their orders and calling for table service.
Eros, however, wasn't paying attention anymore. His gaze drifted and sharpened, drawn to the subtle ways Silas behaved around Selene. It was nothing obvious—no clear signs of attachment or special regard. But there was something there, something different in the way the air moved when they were near each other. He didn't quite see it yet, but he felt it.
His eyes flickered upward.
And there it was.
The hologram.
Floating just above their heads, translucent yet vivid, a digital construct displaying the records of their love histories, snapshots of their romantic pasts cataloged with cruel precision. A flood of neon-lit information hovered in the air, accessible only to him. The air seemed to hum as Eros focused on Selene's first.
Her profile materialized before him—her picture, her name, age, and date of birth. But his breath hitched when his gaze fell upon the detailed timeline of her relationships.
What?
He inhaled sharply, his throat tightening.
Selene's love history stretched endlessly—one heartbreak after another. Failed relationships piled atop each other like broken glass, the further he scrolled, the heavier it became. Some were brief, flickering moments of connection that ended as quickly as they had begun. Others spanned years, only to shatter in devastating pain. Each entry carried weight—disappointment, betrayal, loneliness.
She had loved deeply. And suffered immensely for it.
Eros exhaled, pressing his lips together. Pairing her up with someone wouldn't be easy. Not when love had already carved so many wounds into her heart, Selene wasn't just another profile. She was a walking scar.
Still, he had a job to do.
His gaze then shifted to Silas.
The moment his eyes landed on the hologram above Silas' head, a cold jolt shot down his spine.
What the fuck?
Eros' breath stilled. His blood ran ice cold.
Silas' hologram—unlike all the others—was a mess of voided data. His picture and name were there, but everything else… corrupted. Hundreds of question marks flickered in place of information. Some sections were entirely unreadable, overtaken by error codes. Glitches ran through the display like static, distorting the hologram as if it were fighting to exist. The information was fractured, incomplete—no dates, no relationships, no history.
It wasn't blank. A blank profile was one thing. This? This was corrupted. Broken. Like something—or someone—had forcibly erased his past.
Eros' stomach twisted.
He had seen thousands of love histories, each one clear, structured, detailed. Never once had he seen this.
He must've made a noise—something barely audible—because suddenly, the attention in the room shifted.
"Eros, are you alright?"
Selene's voice was gentle, but he barely heard it. His shock had bled through too much, his body betraying him before he had time to mask it. A hand settled lightly on his shoulder.
"Eros?" Elara now, her voice laced with concern.
He snapped back, eyes darting to the others. The doctors were watching. And Silas—
Silas was looking right at him.
Those cold, winter-grey eyes locked onto him, blank as ever. An eyebrow lifted slightly—not in concern, but in curiosity.
Eros swallowed. He needed to cover this up. Fast.
A forced chuckle, a dismissive wave of his hand. "Ah, don't worry! I just… remembered something. Haha."
The excuse fell from his lips easily, but his pulse was still racing.
As the conversation resumed, as the moment slipped past them unnoticed by everyone except him, Eros stared down at the table, his mind spiraling.
Silas was an enigma before. But now?
Now he was something else entirely.
Something that shouldn't exist.
"For a second, I thought you'd seen a ghost or something." Oh, I definitely did.
Eros' mind remained fixated on Silas, unable to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in his chest. Something about him—felt almost like a lingering apparition, a ghost of emotions that Eros couldn't quite decipher. His fingers instinctively tapped against his coffee cup as he tried to brush off the strange unease. Meanwhile, Elara's soft laughter melded seamlessly with Selene's, their amusement filling the air like the frothy warmth of their drinks. Silas, on the other hand, remained composed, a blank expression resting on his face. Even as the conversation flowed, Eros felt like an outsider watching a puzzle he wasn't meant to solve.
"Must've been the busy schedule, huh?" Silas chimed in, his voice carrying the practiced ease of someone used to breaking tension without fully addressing it.
Elara practically jolted at the mention of work, she responded before Eros could, nodding so aggressively that a few drops of her drink nearly spilled onto the table. "Ugh, tell me about it! I mean, don't get me wrong—I love that business is booming and that the pay makes up for the overtime, but it's like the patients never stop coming! Just when you think you're caught up, another case lands on your desk." She gave an exaggerated shiver, hugging herself as if the sheer weight of their workload sent a chill down her spine.
Selene let out a quiet chuckle, her lips curling into an amused grin as she toyed with the rim of her cup. "The shit that love does," she mused, her voice carrying that signature blend of sarcasm and amusement. "Yet another reason why it's better to stay single."
Her words were casual, almost lazy, but something in the way she said them struck Eros as deeper than just a joke. The others laughed, the sound mixing with the clatter of plates and the gentle hum of background chatter. But Eros remained still, his frown barely noticeable as he considered her words.
After a moment, he leaned forward, his voice quieter yet filled with conviction. "But love is a great experience," he countered, his eyes locked onto hers. "Wouldn't you want to feel better knowing you have someone?"
For a second, the air at the table shifted, as if a hidden weight had settled between them. Selene's expression remained unreadable as she took a slow sip of her drink before placing it back down with a quiet thud. Then, she scoffed, tilting her head at him.
"A hopeless romantic, I see?" A smirk played on her lips, but there was a glint in her eyes, one that hinted at something deeper—skepticism, maybe even something close to disbelief. She leaned in slightly, her presence deliberate, challenging. "Let's see how long that lasts."
Elara, sensing the shift in mood, let out a bright, carefree laugh, reaching out to pat Eros on the shoulder. "C'mon now, not everyone's an anti-romantic like you, Selene. It's actually nice to see someone—especially a man—who still believes chivalry isn't dead!"
Selene leaned back in her seat, exhaling in mock surrender. Her brow lifted as she regarded Eros with a hint of amusement, her fingers tracing absentmindedly along the rim of her cup. Finally, she gave a slow nod. "I guess so," she admitted, though her tone remained teasing. "Let's agree to disagree?"
Eros watched her carefully. Selene didn't believe in love, at least not in the way he did. She treated romance as if it were an inconvenience, a mere distraction that never held any real weight.
But that only made him more curious.
How, and more importantly, who, could ever change her mind?
Pairing her up with someone wouldn't just be difficult—it would be nearly impossible.
But a challenge like that?
Eros smirked slightly to himself. That was something he could never resist.
Content Warning:
The following scenes may contain material that could be distressing to individuals with past experiences involving firearms, familial loss, or abuse.
Viewer discretion is advised.
The steady ticking of the clock echoed through the dimly lit room, a quiet metronome to the weight of the atmosphere. Selene sat across from her patient whom she gazed on softly, clipboard resting lightly in her grasp, though the words written on it felt far heavier.
Park Jihye, 37 years old. Diagnosed with C-PTSD, severe depression, mild anxiety.
It was only their third session, yet progress—no matter how small—was something to hold onto. Jihye had been undergoing other healing therapies with Heartwood's medical team, but scars like hers didn't fade overnight.
The therapy room had been designed to bring comfort, a place where broken souls could breathe without fear. Warm-toned walls wrapped around them like a protective cocoon, the standing lamp's soft glow casting away the sharp edges of reality. A faint trace of lavender lingered in the air, meant to soothe the nerves—meant to whisper soft, reassuring words, You are safe here. Selene had made sure the room felt like home, steering clear of anything too sterile, too reminiscent of a hospital. The last thing she wanted was for her patients to feel like they were being examined, she knew that healing could not take root in places that felt cold and impersonal.
Across from her, Jihye sat stiffly, her fingers tangling together in her lap—a nervous habit, an unconscious attempt to hold herself to the present. Her eyes flickered restlessly around the room, landing on the door more times than Selene could count. Like a caged bird searching for an escape. The sight carved something raw into Selene's chest. How many times had Jihye needed to run? How many times had she wished she could?
Jihye, a woman who once dared to believe in something simple—safety, peace, love—now had her fingers curled tightly around the hem of her oversized sweater. Her eyes were hollow, rimmed red, and fixed on a spot somewhere far beyond the room. She looked like someone who had forgotten how to breathe without trembling.
Selene had seen many clients in her time at the retreat. Stories of heartbreak, betrayal, cruelty. But some stories carved deeper. Some wore their pain like an invisible cloak, a quiet, constant companion—and Jihye's was one of those.
Selene didn't rush her. She knew the weight of silence and how sometimes, it was the only way to give trauma the space it needed to be spoken.
After a long pause, Jihye finally whispered, "I never used to be like this."
Her voice was low, raw, like she was lifting something buried too long. "I used to laugh without thinking. Go out with my friends. I was carefree. Like how my mom used to tell me. 'You've got light in you, Ji,' she'd say."
Selene nodded gently, encouraging her with nothing more than a quiet presence.
"Then I met him," Jihye continued, her gaze dropping to her lap. "He was charming. He listened when I talked, remembered little things I liked. He wasn't the type to raise his voice. At first, I thought I was lucky. All my friends said I was lucky."
A humorless smile flickered at the corners of her lips. "That's how it always starts, right? With kindness. With attention."
Selene knew the pattern all too well.
"But then came the little things," Jihye said. "Asking me who I was texting. Wondering why I dressed a certain way. 'I'm just looking out for you,' he'd say. 'I care.' And I believed it. I wanted to believe it."
Her hands trembled as she twisted them in her lap.
"It was slow. So slow, I didn't even realize I was being erased. Until one day I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the girl staring back. I stopped seeing my friends. He said they were bad influences. I changed my number, deleted social media. He called it 'protecting our privacy.' And I thought… maybe that was normal. Maybe love was just sacrifice."
Selene kept her voice steady, calm. "It's not your fault you believed that."
Jihye met her gaze briefly. "I know. I know. But that doesn't stop the guilt."
Her shoulders sagged beneath the invisible weight she carried.
"The first time he got physical, it wasn't even a fight," she said. "I laughed at something he said. Not mockingly—just a joke he made that didn't quite land. He grabbed my wrist. Tight. Left a bruise. And afterward? He cried. He cried. Said he was ashamed. That he was afraid I'd leave, and that scared him. And I—I comforted him. Can you believe that?"
Selene didn't respond. There was nothing to say that wouldn't sound small next to that truth.
"And then it escalated. Gradually. More controlling. More possessive. If I went out, he'd accuse me of cheating. If I came home late, he'd say I was lying. And every time, he made me apologize." Her eyes were glossy now. "I started believing I was the problem."
She looked away, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. "I stayed. Because part of me still hoped the man I met at the beginning would come back. That he was just… stressed, or going through something. But he never came back. He only got worse."
Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "Then that night happened."
Selene sat up slightly, but didn't interrupt. She could feel the shift—the sharp edge of the story Jihye hadn't yet told.
"He'd been leaving voicemails," she said. "Threatening ones. I'd blocked his number, but he kept finding ways around it. New accounts. Burners. Even left letters on my windshield. Always saying he missed me. That he wanted to 'talk.' That I owed him a second chance."
Her fingers clutched the fabric of her sleeves like a lifeline.
"My mom came to stay with me for a few days. She had this gut feeling, you know? Like something bad was going to happen. She said I looked too pale, too thin." Her voice broke, just slightly. "She didn't say it, but I think she thought I wasn't safe alone."
She took a deep breath. "I didn't even know he was outside until he kicked the door in."
Selene's grip on her notepad tightened, but she didn't move.
"He came in screaming. Accused me of turning everyone against him. Said I ruined his life. I told him to leave, that I was going to call the police. And that's when he pulled out the gun."
The words felt like ice in the room.
"My mom stepped in front of me," Jihye whispered. "She didn't even hesitate. He aimed at me, and she just… moved. Like she didn't even think. And then—"
She couldn't say the rest. She didn't have to.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her voice cracked under the weight of them. "She died protecting me. And he ran. He left me there—screaming, holding her, blood on my hands."
Selene wanted to reach across the table, but she stayed still, grounding herself in the moment so Jihye wouldn't feel the world slipping further away.
"The trial went on for months. I had to testify. Had to hear them call my mom's death a 'tragedy,' like it wasn't deliberate. Like he hadn't looked me in the eye when he pulled the trigger." She drew a sharp breath. "And even after he was sentenced… he still finds ways to reach me. Letters sent from prison. Notes slipped into my mailbox from people he knows. I don't know how, but he always reminds me he's still there."
Selene's chest ached. "That must feel unbearable."
Jihye nodded slowly. "Some days I wake up and forget for a second that she's gone. Just a second. And then it crashes down all over again. Every noise outside my window. Every phone call I don't recognize. The gun shots kept replaying. I live with it every day."
She exhaled shakily, curling inward as though trying to disappear. "And the guilt… God, the guilt. If I'd just ended things sooner. If I'd called the police the first time. If I hadn't opened the door."
"You didn't do this," Selene said, her voice soft but fierce. "He did."
Jihye stared at her hands. "Then why do I feel like it's still my fault?"
"Because trauma doesn't play fair," Selene replied. "It rewrites the story in your head until you're the villain in your own tragedy. But you're not. You're someone who survived something unthinkable."
Jihye's lips trembled. "I just want to feel normal again. To not jump every time I hear a loud noise. To not feel like I'm always one step away from falling apart."
Selene nodded. "You're here. You're talking about it. That's a start."
"Some days, surviving is the bravest thing you can do."
Jihye's eyes met hers, flickering with something fragile. Not quite hope, but maybe the first crack of light.
Selene held her gaze. "You're not alone in this."
And for the first time in a long time, Jihye let herself believe it.
For the first time since the session began, Jihye lifted her gaze. And in those tired, grief-worn eyes, a moment of something else began to emerge.
Hope.
Selene barely made it to the small, dimly lit restroom before the weight of everything crashed down on her. The moment Jihye's session ended, she had bolted, her legs unsteady beneath her. She grasped blindly at the door frame, the cold tiles, the edge of the sink—anything to keep herself from collapsing. Her pulse thundered in her ears, breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. A sharp, rhythmic pounding filled her skull, like a relentless hammer striking against bone.
She forced herself to look up. The mirror's reflection stared back at her, but the woman in the glass felt unfamiliar—hollow eyes, tension carved into every inch of her face. She searched for recognition, for something she could claim as herself, but found nothing.
Holding back is hard, huh? A bitter chuckle rasped past her lips. That's what I'm good with anyway.
Her fingers curled into the porcelain sink, knuckles white. Isn't it ironic? she thought, swallowing the acidic laugh bubbling in her throat. A psychiatrist—someone who's supposed to heal, to listen, to lift the weight off others—can't even hold herself together.
With a sharp inhale, she turned on the faucet, letting the icy water rush over her trembling hands before she splashed it against her face. It wasn't enough. The suffocating tightness in her chest didn't ease. She reached for the mirror cabinet, yanking it open with shaky hands. Inside, a clutter of pill bottles tumbled against one another. Her eyes landed on the dim orange plastic with Selene Baek scrawled across the label.
She didn't hesitate. The cap clattered onto the counter as she tipped a handful into her palm—far more than she was supposed to take. The pills scraped against her throat as she swallowed them dry, coughing against the burn.
When she looked back at her reflection, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
Fuck this.
Her hand shot into the pocket of her doctor's coat, fingers closing around her phone. She stared at the screen for a long second, her thumb hovering over the number she never thought she'd need to call.
The line rang. Once. Twice.
Then, a soft, smooth voice—steady, familiar, worried.
"Selene?"
She exhaled, her head dropping, the fight draining from her shoulders.
"Book me an appointment," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "I'll see you. 7 PM."