Skz oneshotes (Requests Open)

You Can't Save Them

You Can't Save Them

The rain fell in sheets, drumming against the cracked pavement with a relentless insistence. Neon signs flickered and reflected off puddles, painting the night in streaks of red and blue. Han crouched behind a rusted dumpster, his chest heaving, arms trembling—not from the cold, but from the fear that had settled like a stone in his stomach.

"You can't save them." The words echoed in his mind, spoken softly but cutting sharper than any blade. He didn't remember whose voice it was, or if it had been a memory or a warning from the dark corners of his own mind. All he knew was that the words felt real, unavoidable.

In the distance, muffled screams punctuated the storm. Han's grip tightened around the small knife he carried—useless against what he suspected was coming. He had always been the glue of the group, the quiet one who held pieces together while the others fought, laughed, and lived recklessly. But now... now, he felt hollow.

He pressed himself closer to the dumpster, trying to make himself invisible. The cold metal dug into his back, and his hoodie was soaked, sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He thought of Bang Chan, always trying to hold the group together, always the anchor. He thought of Lee Know, with his sharp moves and sharper instincts. And he thought of the others—Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin, I.N.—all scattered somewhere in the chaos. Somewhere he couldn't reach.

The screams grew louder. His stomach twisted. He wanted to run, wanted to fight, wanted to do something, but the words kept repeating: You can't save them.

Han's mind raced back to the events of the day—the warning that had come too late, the signs he had ignored, the way he had convinced himself that he could handle it. And now, here he was, alone, watching everything spiral beyond his control.

A shadow moved across the alley, sudden and swift. Han pressed himself flatter against the wall, barely breathing. He knew who it was. He had recognized the heavy boots and the silhouette even without seeing the face. The one who had started this, the one who had promised chaos.

"You shouldn't be here, Han," the shadow said, voice low and taunting. "This isn't your fight."

Han swallowed hard. His throat was dry. "I can't... I won't..." His voice cracked. "I... I have to—"

"You can't save them," the figure interrupted, stepping into the dim light. "No matter what you do. You're too late."

The words hit him like a punch. He had hoped—hoped—that he could reach at least one of them, maybe warn them, maybe prevent it. But the truth clawed at him: he was powerless. Completely, painfully powerless.

Memories flashed behind his eyes: laughter in practice rooms, quiet nights at the dorms, shared meals, silly arguments, and the rare moments when Han's sarcasm had made them all laugh despite the exhaustion. He tried to cling to those moments, but the darkness of the night seemed to swallow them whole.

A scream cut through the air again, closer this time. It was Hyunjin. Han's heart stopped. The noise was raw, terrified, and urgent. He wanted to run to him, wanted to shield him, but the voice of the shadow echoed again: You can't save them.

Tears blurred his vision. Han felt rage bubbling up, sharp and bitter. He wanted to fight, wanted to yell, wanted to throw himself into the chaos regardless of the outcome. He couldn't just watch. He couldn't just—

A sudden explosion of movement: two figures dashed past the streetlight, running for their lives. He recognized them instantly: Felix and Seungmin. Relief and dread mingled in his chest. Relief that they were alive, dread because he knew it wouldn't last.

He moved, barely thinking, slipping from behind the dumpster and sprinting after them. The wet asphalt slid beneath his sneakers, the knife in his hand a fragile comfort against the storm.

"Felix! Seungmin!" he shouted, voice raw. "This way! Follow me!"

They glanced at him, eyes wide, faces streaked with rain and fear, before nodding. Together, they ran through the maze of alleys, but every corner seemed to bring more shadows, more danger. The sound of footsteps—too many, too fast—echoed behind them.

Han's chest pounded. He tried to keep them ahead of him, to think strategically, but it was impossible. The city was unfamiliar in the rain, every alley and building a potential trap. He had always relied on instincts, on quick thinking, but now, with the weight of the world—or at least their lives—pressing down, his instincts felt sluggish and insufficient.

They ducked into an abandoned warehouse, the door creaking loudly as Han shoved it open. The air was thick with dust and the smell of decay. He pressed his back to the wall, listening. Silence. For a moment, they were safe.

Felix leaned against the wall, gasping, chest rising and falling. Seungmin's hands trembled as he clutched a makeshift weapon. Han looked at them, saw their fear mirrored in his own reflection.

"We can't stay here long," Han whispered. "They'll find us."

Felix shook his head. "Han... it's too late. I... I think they already—"

"No," Han interrupted, voice desperate. "Not yet. Not while I'm here. I'll—"

"You can't save them," Seungmin muttered, repeating the words like a curse. "We're... we're already gone if they—"

The sound of footsteps returned, closer now, heavier. Panic surged. Han's mind raced, searching for options, any plan that could turn the tide. But the warehouse was a dead end. There was no escape.

He looked at his friends, at their trembling faces, and felt the crushing weight of responsibility. He had always been the one who held them together, the one who made jokes when the world was falling apart, the one who reminded them to keep moving forward. But now...

Now, he felt nothing but hopelessness.

A shadow appeared in the doorway, stretching long across the floor. Han tightened his grip on the knife. He could hear their shallow breathing, their racing hearts. He stepped forward, trying to look fearless, though he felt the opposite.

"Han," the shadow said again. "It's over."

"No," Han spat, rage igniting something deep inside him. "It's not over. Not while I—"

The figure lunged.