Somewhere Unknown — Time Unknown
The forest breathed.
Not in the way machines or cities breathe — sharp, fast, artificial. This was a living, ancient breath. Deep. Slow. Rhythmic.
The trees stood tall, their trunks wrapped in moss like nature's quiet armor. Sunlight streamed in through the canopy above in delicate golden strands, breaking into glimmers where the dew clung to the leaves. Birds sang, not loudly, but in soft, scattered notes — as if testing their voices in a sacred space.
The air carried the smell of damp earth and something sweet and floral, like wild jasmine.
It was quiet, yet not silent. Alive in the gentlest way.
At the center of a patch of sunlit moss, a girl lay still.
Her breathing was shallow. Her lips parted. Her eyelids fluttered once… twice…
Then slowly, she opened her eyes.
Hana Yamamoto blinked into the light.
For a moment, she didn't move. She just stared at the treetops above her, the way they swayed slightly as if waving hello.
Then confusion bloomed.
This wasn't her bedroom.
The air was too clean. The light was too golden. The ceiling was… a sky?
She sat up quickly, her breath catching in her throat. Her head spun. She pressed her palm against the mossy ground to steady herself.
She looked down at her clothes — pale blue pajamas she didn't recognize. The top was loose, the fabric soft and thin like hospital clothing, and the pants matched in color and style.
"What… is this?"
Her voice was small, cracking.
She stood slowly, her bare feet sinking into the moist grass. The wind moved through her hair, lifting it gently. She turned in a slow circle, eyes wide.
The forest stretched in every direction.
Panic rose in her chest.
"Hello?!" she called out, voice sharp and shaky. "Is anyone there?"
No response.
Just the rustle of leaves.
She took a few tentative steps forward, her heartbeat in her throat. And that's when she saw it — or rather, him.
A boy — no, a young man — lying a few feet away, half-hidden behind a fallen branch. He wasn't moving.
Hana's breath hitched.
"Hey!" she cried, rushing toward him, kneeling at his side. "Are you okay? Please wake up!"
He was wearing the same clothes as her. His skin was pale, his black hair messy and damp. His eyes were shut. Too still.
She shook him gently.
He groaned. Slowly he opened his eyes.
Even as his eyes flickered open, the world still looked like a dream to him — blurred shapes, golden light, distant voices. The soft rustle of leaves overhead sounded like whispers underwater.
His gaze shifted slowly, unfocused, flicking toward the girl hovering over him.
Hana.
She watched him, wide-eyed, knees folded beneath her, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt.
His face was pale, his lips dry, and he still hadn't said a word.
"Hey," she whispered again, softer this time. "You're okay. You're safe. I think."
He blinked.
"Don't freak out. I'm not going to hurt you or anything," she said quickly, the words tumbling out too fast. "I just… I woke up a few minutes ago too. Right over there." She pointed vaguely behind her. "I don't know how or why we're here, but you were lying there and you weren't moving and—God—I thought you were…"
She paused. Swallowed.
He turned his head slightly, slowly pushing himself up with one shaky elbow.
"Easy," Hana murmured, reaching out but stopping herself just before touching his arm again. "You've been out cold. You were breathing, but barely."
He still didn't speak.
His brows knit slightly as he looked down at himself — at the loose, pale blue pajama-like clothing, the unfamiliar mossy ground, the soft shimmer of light filtering through trees.
He touched the fabric of his shirt with trembling fingers, as if to confirm it wasn't an illusion.
"I don't know where we are," Hana said, glancing around as if the forest might answer. "But it's beautiful, right? Too beautiful. It doesn't feel real. But it doesn't feel like a dream either."
She glanced back at him, watching carefully. "You're okay, right? I mean… physically?"
He nodded. Barely. Just once.
A breath of relief slipped from her lips.
"I thought I was alone. I was freaking out. I've never seen anything like this. It's like something out of a movie, except I'm wearing someone else's clothes and I'm barefoot and I feel like my chest is going to explode."
He blinked again, adjusting slowly to the light.
"And then I saw you," she said, her voice softening, "and I thought—no way. I couldn't believe it. You're Lee Joon, right?"
His eyes moved to her. No surprise. No confirmation. Just… exhaustion.
"I mean—" she laughed awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I guess it's weird to be recognized in a place like this. But I knew it was you. I've watched your interviews and your concerts and—God—your fanmeet videos. You looked so happy in them."
His lips parted, just slightly.
She added, her tone shifting, "You didn't look happy when I found you."
That silence stretched again.
Hana sat back on her heels and sighed. "It's okay if you don't want to talk yet. I get it. I didn't want to either when I first woke up."
A few more seconds passed.
Then, his voice. Low. Dry. Slow.
"…Where are we?"
Hana's eyes snapped back to him. "I have no idea."
He blinked. Swallowed. Rubbed his face with both hands.
His voice was barely above a whisper. "This isn't… this isn't home."
"No," Hana said. "Definitely not. There's no phone. No roads. No buildings. Just trees and weird pajamas."
He looked down at his clothes again. "These aren't mine."
"Mine either."
His breathing slowed, but he still looked… disoriented. Like someone who wasn't sure whether to be scared or relieved.
Hana tilted her head, voice gentler now. "Do you remember what happened before you woke up?"
He wasn't really hearing her anymore. Her voice faded into the background, and his mind slipped somewhere else—somewhere colder, quieter.
The room had been quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that doesn't comfort — it weighs.
Lee Joon sat on the floor of his apartment, back against the cold wall.
The room was clean. Too clean. Every surface sterile. Organized. As if living had been removed from it entirely.
He hadn't slept in days. Not really.
The world had blurred into endless rehearsals, meetings, cameras, fake smiles, interviews, comments, comparisons, headlines. The echo of his manager's voice, "Keep your weight down." His trainer's notes. "You're falling behind in choreography." The fans. "He looks tired these days." "Is he okay?" "He's not as sharp anymore."
He had stopped answering messages.
Even from his mother.
Even from himself.
There was a bottle on the floor next to him. The label peeled halfway off from how often he had picked it up. Sleeping pills. He hadn't taken them at first — just stared at them.
But that night felt different.
He had turned off his phone. Sat down on the floor. Closed his eyes. And whispered into the empty space:
"I just want the noise to stop."
One pill. Then another. Then another. Then he lost count.
He curled up sideways, cheek pressed against the wooden floor. There was no drama. No tears.
Just stillness.
And for the first time in months, he felt nothing. No pressure. No fear. No guilt.
Just… silence.
The memory faded like smoke, and the weight of it lingered in his chest.
Joon blinked slowly, eyes still on the moss. His jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing.
Hana didn't notice.
She was still talking — softly, gently. Her voice was like water over stone, smooth and constant, trying to fill the silence between them.
"I'm really glad I found someone else here," she was saying. "Even if you don't want to talk yet. Just… being near someone helps, you know? Even if we don't understand what this place is."
Joon nodded faintly, but the echo of that cold floor — of that final breath in the dark — still clung to him.
She didn't know.
She couldn't know.
To her, he was just waking up slowly, still adjusting. But inside, he had already fallen once. Quietly. Fully. And this place… this forest… whatever it was — felt like a pause between two lives.
Joon blinked slowly, then let out a quiet sigh.
"Are you always this talkative?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
Hana turned to him, eyes wide. "You can talk."
He gave her a dry look. "Didn't mean to ruin the mystery."
She grinned. "Well, it was getting awkward talking to myself."
"I figured," he said, brushing moss from his arm. "You were giving main character monologue energy."
"I am the main character," she said confidently. "You just wandered into my narrative."
"Right," he muttered, standing slowly. "The forest picked a loud one."
"Loud? I prefer charming."
He didn't respond, but a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Hana stood too, wobbling a little on her bare feet. "Okay. Since we're clearly not dead, and we're both underdressed for an outdoor adventure, should we move?"
Joon looked around at the endless stretch of trees. "Any idea where to?"
"Forward?" she said with a shrug. "Unless you want to build a moss house and live here now."
Joon sighed. "Let's walk. Maybe we'll find… something."
They began walking, feet soft against the mossy ground, the trees whispering faintly overhead.
Hana walked ahead for a moment, carefully stepping over a root. "So, what's the plan? Follow the birds? Ask the wind for directions?"
"I say we keep walking until something weird happens," Joon said.
She turned over her shoulder, grinning. "Define weird."
Before he could answer, a rustling sound came from their left. They both stopped.
Joon tilted his head. "Like that."
The underbrush shifted again.
And then—
Between the trees—
Hana's smile faded.
Joon's expression hardened.
They didn't move.
They didn't speak.
They just… froze.
And the forest, for the first time, felt like it was holding its breath too.