The hallway was too bright. The kind of bright that made you feel more exposed than seen.
I walked in silence, the echo of my own footsteps bouncing off the walls as students passed me by, laughter and idle chatter swirling around like I didn't exist. Maybe I didn't.
Maybe I'd already disappeared.
Lunch had been... weird. Warm, too warm. Like they actually wanted me there. Like I belonged. But that feeling was fleeting. It vanished the moment I stepped out of that room, swallowed whole by the weight of reality again.
Because it didn't matter how many names I learned, how many smiles they gave me, or how loud Bokuto laughed when I told him I didn't like natto
Nothing fixed the hole inside me.
Not the student council.
Not their kindness.
Not their attention.
They didn't know. They didn't see the real me.
Not the bruises I covered with long sleeves.
Not the trembling hands I hid beneath the table.
Not the nights I spent curled in the bathroom, muffling my sobs with a towel.
And I knew, I knew that whatever warmth I felt today whatever laughter, or attention it wasn't mine to keep.
It never was.
I made my way to the old storage room on the fourth floor. The door was always slightly ajar, forgotten by time and people. The perfect place for someone like me. It smelled like dust and memories untouched, unnoticed.
Each step I took echoed in the empty hallway, my shoes tapping against the cracked floor tiles like a slow countdown. I didn't look back.
I pushed the door open quietly, wincing as it creaked. Dust floated lazily in the air, stirred by my presence, dancing in the rays of sunlight that slanted through the slatted window blinds like prison bars. The light didn't feel warm. It felt like judgment.
I dropped my bag. My hands were steady. Too steady.
I thought I'd be shaking. Thought there'd be tears loud sobs or trembling fingers. But no. There was a calmness in me now. Cold and quiet. Like the sea just before a storm.
A final peace.
The rope I'd hidden days ago was still there, tucked inside my bag, waiting like an old friend who understood. I held it in my hands, fingers brushing over the coarse fibers. It smelled faintly of earth and decay.
I stood on a desk and tied it with practiced motions. Tight, secure, unforgiving. I'd rehearsed this in my head so many times. Thought it through. I even picked this room on purpose no one came up here. Not anymore.
No one would find me until it was too late.
My breath caught as I looked out the window. The sky was a pale blue, so beautiful it almost hurt. Like the world had the audacity to keep turning, to keep shining... while I crumbled.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to no one. Maybe to myself. Maybe to the version of me who once believed in miracles. Maybe to the little girl who thought love could save her. Maybe to the strangers who would find me and wonder why.
Then, I slipped the rope around my neck.
And stepped off the edge.
Everything after that happened fast.
The jolt, the sudden snap of weight, the crushing tightness around my throat. My legs kicked out instinctively, desperate, as panic flared where peace had been seconds before. A violent burn surged up my spine, into my lungs.
I couldn't breathe.
The pressure. The choking. A strange numbness. My vision went dark around the edges. I heard nothing but the thudding of my own heartbeat, slowing, slowing-
CRASH.
"WHAT THE FUCK...Y/N?!"
It was loud, too loud..Terushima's voice? No, multiple voices, a flurry of movement.
"CUT HER DOWN! NOW!"
Hands were grabbing me, lifting me, someone was screaming, maybe me, maybe not.
"Is she breathing?!"
"No...she's...fuck, call the nurse..! NO, call an ambulance!"
I was slipping.
Gone again.
Then-
SIRENS.
Bright lights.
Voices over me.
"She has a pulse! weak...keep her stable! clear the way!"
I was floating. Drowning in light and pain and... voices.
Familiar voices.
"Please don't die...please..."
Kuroo's voice, raw and cracking.
"I saw her go upstairs...I thought she was just...shit...this is all my fault-"
Oikawa, crying.
"We were supposed to watch her...fuck..-"
Suna, furious at himself.
The ambulance rocked as it sped, every bump jarring me back into fragments of reality.
My throat burned. My chest ached. But something else hurt more..-
The fact that I'd been found. That I was still here.
Was I grateful?
I didn't know.
But I was alive.
And that scared me more than dying ever did.
The hallway outside the emergency room was filled with shouting. People in white coats, nurses, paramedics, student council members blurs of sound and color. Everything was muffled now, like I was underwater.
"We're losing her! her heart rate's dropping!"
"She's crashing get the epinephrine-"
Was that my heartbeat on the monitor?
That flat, dragging beep?
It sounded like someone else's.
I floated above it all. Detached. Cold. So cold.
But not cold enough.
Meanwhile
A sleek, platinum phone rang once inside the pristine, marble-clad executive office. The silence that followed was sharper than the designer heels tapping against the floor tiles. Everything inside the room gleamed polished to perfection, sterile, untouchable. Just like the two people seated behind the glass desk that cost more than most families' annual income.
Her mother, draped in silk and arrogance, stood by the mirror, adjusting her diamond necklace for the third time. "I swear," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, "this lighting is absolutely brutal. Remind me to have the lights changed before the Chanel rep visits."
Across from her, her father was glued to his laptop, eyes skimming financial forecasts and corporate expansion projections. His fingers moved with mechanical precision, pausing only to sip imported coffee.
Neither of them looked up when the assistant entered, clutching her clipboard like a lifeline.
"The school called," she said, voice tight. "It's urgent. It's about Y/n."
Her mother scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, what now? Another tantrum? A suspension? God, that girl is exhausting."
Her father exhaled harshly. "I thought we had her under control. Hasn't she been quiet lately? I assumed she finally got over her little... outbursts."
The assistant hesitated. Her face paled as she clutched the papers tighter. "Sir. Ma'am. She... attempted suicide again. She's in critical condition."
Silence fell.
But it wasn't grief. It wasn't concern.
It was annoyance.
Her mother blinked. "You're joking. Again? After all we've done for her?" She shook her head, lips pursed. "She has nationals next month. Does she have any idea what her absence would do to our image?"
"She can't be serious," her father muttered, already pulling up his calendar. "We just confirmed the Osaka piano showcase. The press is expecting her. Tell them she fainted. Low blood sugar. Something dramatic but forgivable."
The assistant stood frozen, unsure if she should speak.
"Which hospital is she at?" her mother asked coolly, pinching the bridge of her nose with manicured fingers. "I'll have a driver take me after my hair appointment. I cannot be seen in disarray. The media will feast on that."
"Handle it quietly," her father added, eyes never leaving the screen. "Contact PR. Make sure no photos leak. If this gets out, investors will think we're unstable."
Because that's what mattered.
Not the bruised skin around my neck, the rope-burn etched like shame into my throat.
Not my body swinging in silence, begging for someone to care.
Not the way I whispered "I'm sorry" into the emptiness, hoping...just hoping someone might hear me.
No.
All that mattered was their brand.
Their reputation.
Their legacy.
And I was just the stain they'd rather bleach out.
Back in the ER
"She's back! pulse is stabilizing!"
Nurses moved quickly, pressing oxygen to my face. A warm hand wrapped around mine.
"I'm here," someone said. A voice trembling. "We're here, Y/n. Please...please don't go."
I think it was Kuroo. Maybe. I couldn't open my eyes anymore.
More shouting. Another needle in my arm. Something beeped faster this time.
And then-
A soft whisper near my ear.
"I should've seen it. The way you looked at your food today... like it was the last time you'd eat. You smiled at me, but it didn't reach your eyes. And I...I didn't ask. I didn't ask if you were okay."
Bokuto's voice cracked.
"I failed you."
There were tears on my cheeks, but I wasn't sure if they were mine.
I couldn't speak.
I wanted to say it wasn't their fault.
I wanted to say thank you for trying.
But my lips wouldn't move.
I drifted again, slipping into that strange quiet. A place where the pain dulled and the world faded.
But something kept me tethered.
Voices. Hands. Warmth I didn't think I deserved.
Somewhere down the hall, a doctor spoke into a phone.
"She's stable for now, but she'll need to be monitored closely. The trauma to her throat was severe. And she'll need psychiatric care. Intensive care."
A beat.
"Her parents? They haven't arrived yet."
Of course they hadn't.
Because I was only important when I performed. When I won. When I smiled and bowed and played the part of the perfect daughter.
But not when I bled.
Not when I broke.
In that cold hospital bed, under harsh white lights, I lay breathing.
Alive.
Unwanted.
But maybe... not alone.
Not anymore.
The world was muffled.
Dim.
Like I was underwater drifting between nothing and nowhere.
I couldn't open my eyes. Couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
But inside the darkness, something kept echoing. A voice my voice quiet and broken, like it was being whispered through shattered glass.
"Save me."
Over and over.
"Save me."
Even when I didn't know who I was asking.
Even when I didn't believe anyone would.
Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe the last piece of me that hadn't given up yet.
The smallest fragment clinging to life, begging, pleading-
"Save me."
Outside the hospital room, the air was sterile too clean, too quiet, too cold. The linoleum floors gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights, a forced shine that matched the tension in the air. A doctor stood rigid, clipboard clutched to their chest, as if bracing for a storm.
Across from them, seated on cushioned chairs that looked too luxurious for a hospital, sat two figures who didn't belong in this kind of place.
Y/n's parents.
The woman sat with her legs elegantly crossed, a pristine white handbag resting by her Louboutin heels. Not a hair out of place, her makeup untouched by time or worry. Her husband sat beside her, scrolling through emails on a sleek tablet, the heavy gleam of his Rolex catching the light every time he shifted. Their presence was like royalty quietly slumming it among the sick.
The doctor cleared their throat. "Mr. and Mrs. L/n," they said carefully, tone neutral, as though handling explosives. "Your daughter is currently stable. She survived the attempt, but... she's still unconscious. The trauma was extensive. We're doing everything we can."
The woman didn't do so much as blink. "Right. But how long until she's functioning again?"
The doctor hesitated, clearly thrown. "That... depends. She'll need time. Ongoing therapy. Support. The emotional toll-"
"She's always been overly sensitive," her father cut in, voice low and sharp like a blade. "We've warned her to toughen up. She's just cracking under pressure. It's not the end of the world."
The doctor stared, stunned. "Sir... she tried to take her life. This wasn't a cry for attention. She was found hanging. That kind of trauma doesn't go away with discipline or denial. She needs serious help, professional and familial."
The woman finally looked up, her expression unreadable. "Help? We've given her help. Do you have any idea how much her piano training costs? How many doors we've opened for her? How many sacrifices we've made for that child to succeed?" Her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "This is just another one of her... outbursts. She'll come to her senses."
"She has nationals in a month," her husband added coolly. "She has no choice but to recover. We didn't pour our fortune into a prodigy just to have her waste it all over a moment of weakness."
The doctor opened their mouth, then closed it again. There were no words that could pierce that wall of ego, that polished armor of delusion.
Neither parent stood. Neither asked if they could see their daughter. Not once did their eyes shift to the door behind the doctor the door to the ICU room where Y/n lay unconscious, skin pale, lips cracked, IVs snaking through fragile arms. Where her throat still bore the red marks of her desperation.
All they saw was inconvenience.
A brief scandal.
A temporary lapse in performance.
Not the broken girl behind the glass.
Not the child who had whispered I'm sorry before she stepped off that desk.
Not the daughter they never truly saw.
They didn't even hear it.
Not her parents. Not the nurses shuffling past in rubber-soled shoes. Not the world that moved on like nothing had happened.
They didn't hear the broken whisper that barely passed her bloodless lips.
"Save me."
But someone did.
The door creaked open with a quiet finality, the softest groan of hinges slicing through the sterile stillness like a blade.
Kuroo was the first to enter slow, deliberate, eyes darkened by sleepless nights and something unspoken. Something deep and dangerous. He wasn't alone. Bokuto followed close behind, jaw tight, fists clenched like he'd been holding himself back from tearing the whole hospital down just to see her.
Oikawa lingered in the doorway, beautiful and bitter-eyed, gaze flickering over her with a reverence that bordered on possessive. And behind them came the others Suna, Semi, Tsukishima, Terushima, the Miya twins each one more silent than the next, like soldiers walking into sacred ground.
They weren't her family.
Not by blood. Not by title.
But maybe just maybe they could become something else. Something more. Something unbreakable. Something obsessive.
And maybe... that was enough.
Enough to pull her back from the edge.
Enough to make her wonder if staying was worth it.
Even when the darkness whispered promises of quiet.
Even when the real world burned against her skin like acid.
Even when she still felt like a ghost inside her own body.
Because somewhere inside that battered mind, the echo began to shift.
"Save me..." became "Maybe... I can be saved."
A hand warm, rough, trembling just enough to betray the desperation behind it closed over hers. It wasn't hesitant. It wasn't afraid.
It was Kuroo's.
His grip was gentle but firm. Like he'd never let go. Like he couldn't.
His voice came next low, frayed at the edges, soaked in something far more raw than grief.
"We're here now. And we're never leaving. Ever."
There was a promise in those words. A threat, too. But maybe that was what she needed. Not soft apologies. Not empty pity. But something... obsessive. Unyielding. Unrelenting.
The heart monitor gave a steady beep. Then another. Louder. Stronger.
The machines hummed as if responding to the pulse that had been fading just moments before.
And though her eyes stayed shut, unmoving, a single tear trailed down her cheek.
Because maybe... just maybe...
She wasn't alone anymore.
And maybe being wanted truly wanted, not for medals or perfect grades or appearances but wanted like this... was enough to bring her back.
Even if it meant falling into something just as dangerous as the darkness she'd tried to escape.