Alxtiny’s diary

His gaze raked up and down the traitor, in disappointment and disgust. You could almost see him considering which end would suit him the best. “Tell me now,” he murmured, “what exactly did you tell your master?”

No one breathed. You glanced about and realised that the others had slipped away—likely used to this routine, returned below deck in boredom. Only Seonghwa and Mingi remained, one of Seonghwa’s flickering shadows stationed silently at the helm.

The man’s words spilled out in a rush, his tongue loosening like an unfastened sail. “I—I didn’t know much. Just that a new girl was brought aboard, that she must be important. The ship’s ne’er carried a woman before—Ateez don’t deal in all ‘at business.” He licked his lips, voice cracking. “That be all I told Myung. And that we’d dock near his area soon, sent the letter out when we docked just after raidin’ the slaver. Please—please let me live.”

Hongjoong raised his hand, the man’s rambling cut off with a small flinch, eyes squeezed shut.

He tilted the blade Mingi had thrown, plucking it free from the mast with an unhurried motion and resting its tip against the man’s jugular. “Hmm…” he mused. “Do you even know why we docked?”

“You’re… you’re after the map,” the man almost sobbed. “You want more power. To defeat those who crave greater good.”

Hongjoong’s face twitched—something between contempt and fury. He despised thos who blindly followed the misguided and consumed every blatant lie they uttered as virtue. Without a word he turned away, stalking back toward where you and the others stood.

You caught the man’s shoulders sagging in relief behind him, mistaking the captain’s retreat for mercy. But the smile curling Hongjoong’s mouth was manic again, teeth flashing white in the sunlight.

“You’ve done enough,” he said, voice syrupy and sweet, “now you will climb the rail and jump.”

“What?!” the man screeched, but his own legs betrayed him. They lurched forward in jerky steps. He fought it, clawing at the wooden rail, but still stumbled to the edge, one foot swinging over to the deep end.

Then something huge and slick surged up from the black water. A massive purple tentacle snapped around his torso, hoisting him up like a rag doll. His scream rose to a pitch of pure terror as the coil tightened.

Your head whipped to the side, “where the fuck did that come from?!” you stared questioningly at Mingi, who just responded with an infuriating lazy smile.

You heard the crack of bones; the man’s face turned a mottled blue as breath fled his lungs, and the oxygen couldn’t reach what little brain he had. And then, with a final wrench, the tentacle yanked him over the side. He vanished with a splash and a strangled cry, dragged into the sea.

You had already backed away from the rail, heart hammering, but some awful curiosity drew you forward again. Peering over, you saw only a spreading bloom of dark red unfurling beneath the ship like ink in water.

You swallowed hard and turned away before your stomach could revolt.

“Now, for the rest of you.” Hongjoong clapped his hands once, the sound sharp as a pistol shot. Every head jerked toward him. “Please move to the brig in a single file. There’s no use throwing yourselves overboard or plotting some heroic escape—your fates are already sealed. Mingi, lock them up. We’ll need a little…negotiation material for the sirens later.”

He chuckled, low and amused, as if the idea itself tickled him. Then he sauntered over to Seonghwa, tossing Mingi’s blade back to him without even looking.

The remaining dozen men shuffled toward the lower decks like schoolchildren fearing a reprimand from their teacher, their eyes glazed over with terror. Mingi followed them at an easy pace, fidgeting with his blade as usual. The whole scene would’ve been comical if you weren’t acutely aware of their eventual fate.

You decided to follow him, since you had nothing better to do. Sensing your presence, Mingi slowed his steps until you fell into step with him, the thud of boots and distant creak of timbers filling the silence.

“I know you’re confused,” he said suddenly.

Your eyes widened. You looked up at him and gave a small nod.

“First off, no,” he continued, “we’re not condemning innocent lives. The crew on this ship, the living ones, that is, are all freed criminals accused of heinous crimes. We take ‘em out of military prisons, put ‘em to work, and dispose of ‘em when the job’s done. Can’t risk them blabbing our business to whoever’s payin’.”

“Oh…” Your voice came out small. “That’s uhh…wise?”

Mingi barked a laugh. “Hah, yeah. You could say that. Besides, we’re ridding the world of people who don’t deserve to breathe in it. And don’t worry—Captain always has a plan. He doesn’t act on the spontaneous.” His eyes flicked sideways at you, one brow arched. “Which reminds me, shouldn’t you be with Jongho, working out a strategy for the Land of the Dead?”

“Right. Of course.” You chuckled nervously, peeling away from him at the next stairwell.

You searched the usual places—the main study, Jongho’s cabin, even the kitchen—but no sign of him. Finally, on your way back toward the bow, you caught sight of San. He was leaning against a bulkhead, wiping his palms on a red stained rag. You noticed the same red speckles on his hands and flecks across his shirt. Blood? you wondered.

He glanced up at you as if nothing were unusual. “Looking for Jongho?”

You nodded.

“He likes to sit in the little room at the bow,” San said, jerking his chin toward the narrow passage.

You picked your way toward the bow, boots soft on the planks as the wind funnelled colder around you. A narrow door you’d never noticed before waited at the very front of the ship, half-hidden behind coils of rope and a lantern.

You paused with your hand on the latch. From within drifted music—no, not just music but a voice, sounding not quite human, a melody in an unfamiliar language. It was beautiful but aching with loss.

Something in it clawed at you. It stirred memories you usually kept buried: your grandmother’s death, the day you left your family to pursue navigation as a profession, the smell of fish and salt from your little port village, and the terrors you had faced not long ago. Each image flashed more vividly than it had any right to be, some parts more grotesque than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to squeeze out the sudden chill, but the sensations only grew stranger. Shadows of things you hadn’t lived—death, despair, faces you didn’t know—flickered behind your eyelids. It made you want to scream.

Then, abruptly, the singing stopped. A whisper, close as breath, slid through the wood: Someone is here.

Your eyes flew open just as the door swung outward. Jongho stood framed in the dim light of the barren windowless room.

Had that been him singing?

“Why are you crying?” he asked softly. His voice—smooth, low, almost buttery—startled you; you realised you’d never actually heard him speak before.

Your hands rose to your cheeks, meeting the dampness there. “Oh. I hadn’t realised…” you murmured.

“Did you perhaps listen to my singing?” he asked, wide-eyed, his expression almost doe-like. In that moment he looked strangely enchanting, and you found yourself caught by it.

“Come inside,” he whispered, opening the door wider. “Let me explain.”

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

Comment under masterlist to be added to taglist

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

He tapped the map with his finger. “This,” he began, his voice drawing attention, “is the piece of our journey that changes everything. Our next step depends on what’s written here.”

Everyone leaned closer. The map itself was vague, no one able to make out what landform it represented, but the inscription was where all eyes fell.

You cleared your throat softly, taking over the job to explain. “It says… to find a siren who’s lost its song. That same siren will help us through a ‘passage.’” You traced the faint words on the parchment with your finger. “It’s not clear what this ‘passage’ means… or how a siren without a voice could guide us. But… that’s what it says.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

Seonghwa was the one to break it. “The last of the siren tribes were seen around Hell Volhard,” he said plainly, hands clasped behind his back. “Reaching them won’t be easy. Those waters are treacherous, and it will take weeks of travel. That means stopping at Aldol to restock supplies. And…” he paused, flicking a glance at Yunho, “…making repairs. The ship didn’t come out of the storm flashes unscathed.”

At that, Yunho practically whined in distress. “My poor baby she really went through it during the storm.”

Mingi clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder before Yunho could work himself into a frenzy. “Calm down. We can fix her up. The coast town on the Swartz Peninsula will have everything we need.”

Your heart lurched at the name. Swartz Peninsula. That was where they had taken you from the slave trader’s ship. Your hands felt clammy against the edge of the table, the air that went through your nose didn’t seem to reach your lungs. What if that vile man had survived? You never saw his body—what if he was waiting? To hunt you down?

You tried to steady yourself, but dizzying panic ignited like fire under your skin. Your eyes flicked up, just once, to Hongjoong. He was already watching you. He saw it—the shake of your pupils, the way your chest rose too quickly, almost hyperventilating.

“No,” Hongjoong said suddenly, his tone inviting no further argument.

Everyone looked at him.

He pointed to the map, though his eyes never left yours. “That area is no longer safe. We raided the trader there, and word will have spread. We won’t take that risk.”

Your head snapped up fully, wide eyes meeting his gaze. He didn’t look away. There was something softer in his expression, beneath the layers upon layers of iron. Something that almost felt like reassurance.

“Then where?” San asked, leaning forward, brow raised.

Hongjoong finally looked away from you to address the group. “We stop after the Dark Marshes. We’ll restock with the help of your sisters.” His sharp gaze moved between San and Yeosang. His words more of an instruction than a suggestion.

Yeosang gave a small nod. “They’ll help. They always do.”

San grinned faintly, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Last time we interrupted their date, wonder what we’ll be crashing this time.”

You blinked. Sisters? Your web of unanswered questions weaved itself further yet again. How little you truly knew about any of them hit you harder in that moment.

“Then it’s settled,” Hongjoong declared, pushing the rolled up map in a leather cover. “We follow through the Dark Marshes, into the waters of the Pthylinn, and onward to Sttive Lagoon. That’s where we begin the search for the sirens. Jongho stay back, we have something to discuss.”

You wondered what that was about.

“Meeting adjourned,” he said firmly. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will not be any easier than today.”

One by one they dispersed, quiet steps fading down the hallway. You followed, though slower than the others, hoping to catch wind of Hongjoong and Jongho’s conversation, but apparently the room was sound proof.

Back in your cabin, you set yourself down on the edge of the bed, staring at the cold wood planks beneath your feet. Sleep didn’t come easily. Your body ached with fatigue, but your overthinking brain refused to let you relax.

It was much later, after the lanterns had gone out one by one across the ship, that you finally drifted into restless slumber.

…

You woke up to a familiar furry weight draped across your neck. Even before opening your eyes, you knew exactly what it was. A smile tugged at your lips as you shifted, pulling Byeol closer and burying your face in her warm, soft fur. She let out a pleased mewl, tiny paws kneading against your collarbone before her rough tongue rasped gently against your forehead.

For a brief moment, everything felt simple—just you and the cat, safe and content.

But where there was Byeol, there was always her owner.

You didn’t notice San leaning in the doorway until he let out a sudden, loud sneeze. You startled, lifting your head off the pillow with a groggy squint.

“Is it time to train again?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.

San shook his head. “No. Captain wants everyone on the main deck. Thinks there might be a rat among us.”

You stiffened at that, the words snapping against your heart like a rubber band. Your mind flicked back to the incident days ago, when your presence on the ship had been served to the Guardians on a silver platter.

“I’ll be right out,” you said quietly.

San gave you a nod, turning on his heel. Byeol trotted faithfully after him, tail flicking, leaving you wishing she’d lingered with you just a little longer.

You dragged yourself from bed, washing and dressing quickly in the small private bathroom you’d been given, and then stepped out into the morning light.

The deck was already crowded. Every crew member had been herded into unnaturally straight lines, standing stiff and alert. Clearly their Captain ran the pirate ship like the navy. Hongjoong stood facing them, eyeing each and every man with a gaze that could make even the most nefarious feel nervous.

You slipped quietly toward the far end of the gathering, finding Mingi leaning against the railing. He was idly flipping his switchblade open and shut, the gleam of the steel catching in the sunlight. His gaze flicked to you, boredom evident in his sleepy eyes, before he tipped his chin in a small nod.

“What’s going on?” you asked under your breath.

Mingi twirled the blade once before catching it neatly. “Captain wants to remind everyone what happens to traitors,” he said offhandedly, like he was commenting on the weather.

You found his words a tad bit overkill, as if this was gonna be a mass execution. Right? “Okaayy…” you muttered, eyes sliding toward Hongjoong. When he spoke, his voice carried easily over the deck.

“Has anyone seen someone leave the ship when we docked?” His eyes swept fluidly from face to face. “Or noticed someone unfamiliar aboard?”

A murmur passed through the lines, men shifting uneasily, whispering among themselves. But no clear answer rose above the noise.

Hongjoong’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He exhaled slowly, almost disappointed. “Alright,” he said at last, his tone laced with annoyance. “Since no one wants to make things easier for me.”

Hongjoong gave the smallest nod to Seonghwa at his side. Seonghwa raised one elegant hand, snapped his fingers once—and reality seemed to tear.

About two-thirds of the pirate crew began to lose definition, their skin and clothes draining of color, then of shape, until they were nothing but silhouettes of black smoke. Gasps and shouts broke from the remaining men as the lines crumbled. The smoky forms hissed like dying embers, twisting and curling before sinking into long pools of shadow that slid across the deck and gathered at Seonghwa’s boots. He stood utterly still as the darkness bled upward into him, vanishing into his frame like a living tide.

You stared, heart hammering, the hairs on your arms rising. You had known something was up with the crew, but this wasn’t that “something” you had expected.

“In your places,” Hongjoong said. His tone was almost casual, but it cracked like a whip.

His storm-grey eyes glinted, sharper than any blade. The disarray melted away; men scrambled back into neat ranks as if yanked by invisible strings. Where moments ago there had been a crowd, only a dozen solid crew remained. Some trembled visibly, knuckles white, while others stared straight ahead, their faces waxy with terror, eyes glazed over.

Hongjoong’s mouth curled in a humorless smile. “Much better,” he murmured, voice carrying easily over the deck. “Don’t you think?”

He stepped forward once. “Kneel.”

The single word boomed like a cannon shot. The men dropped to their knees as one, marionettes with cut strings.

“Now,” Hongjoong said, “which one of you informed the Guardians of Aurora’s presence on my ship?” His words rippled across the men.

For a heartbeat no one breathed. Then a man jerked upright like a puppet on a wrong string. “M–me,” he squeaked.

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed. The man was short, with spindly limbs, a sagging belly and a hand missing two fingers—hardly imposing, hardly memorable.

Silence stretched. Then the man twitched, glancing at the open deck, and tried to bolt.

Beside you, Mingi moved in a blur. His switchblade left his hand like a flash of silver lightning, burying itself through the man’s shirt and deep into the mast behind him, pinning him by the shoulder. The traitor let out a strangled cry, body shaking violently. You caught the acrid stench a moment later—the dark patch spreading across his trousers as he lost control.

Hongjoong laughed manically. “You’re on a ship in the middle of the sea,” he said through his laughter. “What makes you think you could escape?”

His storm-grey eyes flicked to you for a split second, head tilted back, and you saw how dark they’d gone—pupils blown wide, almost black, as if toying with living men gave him satisfaction.

“Did you truly think,” he said, turning back to the pinned man, “or that you could jump into the sea and die on your own terms?” The smile stretching his face was a predator’s. “Don’t worry,” he added softly, without waiting for an answer. “You’ll get to die… but on mine.”

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

Comment under masterlist to be added to taglist

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

Laughter, cheers, and a chaotic round of “Happy Birthday” erupted. Mingi didn’t have to force a grin despite the nearing date of his exams hanging in front of him like impending doom, he was grateful and slightly overwhelmed, but then Wooyoung leaned in and whispered, a teasing lilt to his voice, “Oh, and guess who dropped in?”

That caught Mingi off guard. “Who?”

But Wooyoung just wiggled his brows and walked away. Mingi frowned. The room was packed—some friends from the dance team, a few classmates, apart from the usual crowd he hung out with. But then… he saw you. Standing by the kitchen island, talking to a random girl he didn’t know. His stomach dropped.

He wasn’t sure if that was the best birthday gift or a complete emotional ambush.

…

Two months ago

Mingi had wandered into the art building half out of boredom and half because he knew Hongjoong had studio hours there. It wasn’t even his department— sound engineering and fine arts rarely crossed paths unless someone got lost or was looking for a cool elective. But Hongjoong was suffering through a class he regretted signing up for, and Mingi had a two-hour gap between lectures.

It was supposed to be just a quick visit. Tease Hongjoong a little. Steal some snacks. Watch him flail artistically.

What he didn’t expect was you.

Mingi had stepped inside the studio, eyes scanning for his friend, and found Hongjoong hunched over a clay monstrosity. The thing looked like a cross between a zombie and a mythological creature, maybe a minotaur after a bad night of drinking. Mingi had snorted, loud enough that a few students looked up.

He stood back by the door, arms crossed, enjoying the sight. But then…

You were there.

You sat a little ahead of Hongjoong, clay-streaked apron tied snugly around your waist, short hair held back in a ponytail. Your glasses were crooked, like you’d forgotten they were there. And you weren’t sculpting—you were commanding the clay. Your hands moved like you knew the story you were trying to tell. The muscles of your arms flexed as you pressed down, and he watched how you leaned in close to shape delicate swirls of hair on your sculpture.

He didn’t realize he was staring.

Didn’t realize he was smiling.

Didn’t realize he had let out a soft, charmed chuckle when a piece of hair fell from its place and dangled near your face. You pushed it back with a clay-covered hand, accidentally smudging your cheek. You didn’t even notice or perhaps didn’t care. Just kept working.

“Are you seriously staring right now?” Hongjoong’s voice came from behind him, low and unimpressed.

Mingi blinked and flinched. “What?”

“You’re drooling, man.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Hongjoong shoved him lightly with a shoulder. “I’ve seen you look at grilled pork belly with less love.”

Mingi flushed, eyes flicking back to you. “She’s… good. Like, really good.”

“You’ve seen her for the first time today?!” Hongjoong said incredulously “but yeah, she is, the best in this class actually, although she can’t pass me in the fashion design studio,” he pointed out, wiping his hands and wrapping his tragic sculpture in wet cloth and cling wrap.

“Why is she in your class?” Mingi asked, still watching you.

“I don’t know, extra credits or something. Someone even spotted her in one of the advanced math classes. You’re probably in that one with her and don’t even know it.”

Mingi tore his eyes away. “No way. I’d have noticed.”

“Would you?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, grabbing his backpack. “Come on, lover boy. I’m not letting you stand there like a creep any longer.”

But Mingi didn’t move. His eyes wandered back to you, sculpting quietly, still lost in your world.

Hongjoong sighed dramatically, walked over, and physically grabbed Mingi by the hoodie, dragging him out of the room.

“I swear to god, if you fall for her and bother me—”

“I’m not falling.” Mingi protested weakly.

“Right. You’re already on the ground.”

…

Back in the present, Mingi was staring again. Same helpless feeling, except this time, you weren’t covered in clay—you were in an oversized denim jacket, black tank top, silver rings glinting on your fingers as you held a cup of soda and laughed at something the other girl said.

It was… worse.

Because now, you looked even more unreachable.

“Why are you just standing there?” San appeared behind him. “She’s here, man. Go say something.”

“I didn’t even know she knew anyone here.”

“Hongjoong invited her, she helping him with a sculpture apparently,”

Mingi groaned, “How could he betray me like that?! I’m gonna die. I’m dying. Happy birthday to me, I guess.”

“You’re not dying,” San rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna talk to her. Or I will. And I’ll say you’ve been stalking her across campus.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Mingi grumbled something unintelligible and turned to look at you again.

Then you looked up.

Eyes met.

Your gaze flicked to the birthday hat, then back to his eyes, and you smiled.

He forgot how to breathe, fireworks exploding in his chest.

You gave him a little wave.

Mingi, the honourable birthday boy, panicked. He raised a hand like a malfunctioning robot and waved back.

San facepalmed behind him.

“Real smooth man, real smooth.”

…

The party continued well into the early hours of the morning. Thankfully, it was Saturday the next day, so Mingi wasn’t too worried. People had started to filter out after midnight, the alcohol finally dragging them toward their beds. Soon, the dorm was quieter—only a few close friends lingering in the living room with soft music playing in the background.

And then there was you.

Mingi spotted you curled up on a clean bed—his bed, to be exact—close to being passed out drunk. His heartbeat immediately picked up at the sight. He stepped closer, hesitating, then crouched and gave you a gentle shake.

Your head snapped up, a lazy, lopsided smile spreading across your face before your eyes closed again.

“Mingiiiii, happy birthdayyy,” you sang, your voice a pitch higher than usual.

Mingi froze, his face flushing scarlet at the realization—you knew his name. Not only that, but you were actually talking to him.

“You should take her back to her dorm,” Yunho murmured suddenly, leaning in with his chin propped on Mingi’s shoulder.

Mingi startled, turning just in time to catch Yunho’s cheeky wink before he strolled back toward the others.

With a deep sigh, Mingi glanced around, hoping to spot one of your friends, but there were none in sight, probably having left in their own drunken stupor. Another sigh left him as he carefully helped you to your feet. Somehow, with great effort, he managed to guide you outside, down the elevator, and out into the cool night.

He wasn’t lost—he knew which dorm was yours. Not in a ‘he’d followed you home’ , but in a ‘a friend of a friend had mentioned it once‘ way. Still, he kept his gaze down as he walked, your hand resting loosely in his.

That was until you stumbled.

“My feet hurt,” you whined, pouting as you tugged on his arm. “Pick me up.”

Mingi’s face heated again. You’d be mortified to know how you’d acted in this state, but right now, you looked impossibly cut…..and your heavy boots did look a bit uncomfortable. Biting his lip, he crouched carefully and let you climb onto his back.

His pulse hammered as you wrapped your bare arms around his neck. The warmth of your body pressed close, your cheek brushing his shoulder. He wondered if you could hear the thundering in his chest.

You weren’t heavy—it was easy for him to carry you—but the weight of your closeness left him dizzy.

They were nearly at your dorm when your head suddenly lifted.

“Ice cream!” you yelled in his ear, squirming to get down.

“Wait—hey!” Mingi stumbled as you scrambled free, bolting toward the glow of the little 24/7 campus mart. You pointed at the store with both hands, bouncing on your feet with childlike excitement.

Mingi’s lips parted in disbelief before he shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Unbelievable…” he muttered, following you inside.

Minutes later, the two of you sat on a bench a little ways from the store, ice cream in hand. You had crossed your legs, leaning against him, still feeling a little woozy from the one too many drinks you had, as you devoured your favorite flavor. Mingi sat stiffly, deep in thought, trying not to focus on the warmth of your shoulder against his.

Then you spoke, completely offhanded.

“You know,” you murmured, licking the sticky remains of the ice cream from your fingers, “I think you’re really handsome. You should be my boyfriend.”

The words hit him like a freight train.

Mingi blinked. Once. Twice. His brain glitched as realization dawned on him.

Before he could respond—before he could even breathe—you slumped into him sideways, small snores slipping out. Fast asleep.

“…what?” Mingi whispered, staring at your peaceful face.

Shaking his head, he carefully shifted you onto his lap, rolling up the jacket he’d taken off and tucking it under your head as a pillow. He sat there, watching you sleep, your words consuming his every thought, surely you hadn’t actually meant anything and he was just reading into things. Without meaning to, he drifted for a while, too.

But as much as he wanted to stay like that, he knew he couldn’t. With a reluctant sigh, he shook your shoulder gently.

You groaned, massaging your temples. “I’m never drinking again,” you muttered, voice hoarse, the glucose from the ice cream and the tiny nap seemed to have jump started your system, the effects of alcohol fading away. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open—making direct contact with Mingi’s.

Your whole body stiffened, cheeks flaming as you scrambled upright. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Mingi cut in with a shy laugh, his own face just as red. “It’s okay. Really. I, uh… carried you here after the party, your friends had left, you kinda made me buy ice cream for yourself. And then…” He hesitated, cringing internally. “You said something. Before you fell asleep.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “…What did I say?”

Mingi cleared his throat, nerves jangling. “That I should be your boyfriend.”

You froze, face burning hotter than before. “Oh my god.” You hid your face in your hands. “That’s… actually why I came to the party. I—I wanted to ask you out…but not like this?!”

You pulled at your hair, trying to hide in the strands around your face, “I’ve seen you around campus and I thought… you were cute.”

Mingi stared at you for a long moment, then broke into a grin that crinkled his eyes. A warm laugh slipped out. “So you were here for me, huh?”

You peeked at him through your fingers, embarrassed. “Well it was technically your birthday so…Yeah.”

“Well then,” Mingi said, scratching the back of his neck, “how about I take you to the campus café tomorrow? For, you know… an actual date.”

Your heart thudded as you nodded quickly. “I’d like that.”

With a small, nervous smile, he walked you the rest of the way to your dorm building. The night air was cool, quiet, filled only with the sound of your footsteps.

At the entrance, you turned to him, cheeks warm. “Goodnight, Mingi. And… happy birthday again.”

Before he could respond, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a shy kiss to his cheek.

Mingi froze, dazed, as you disappeared inside with a small wave.

His hand rose slowly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him. And just like in the studio weeks ago, he realized—he was completely, helplessly gone for you.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

Send an ask or a message to be added to taglist

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

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Seonghwa shook his head slowly. “Maybe we’ll have to hire a translator as well,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful.

Hongjoong grunted in agreement, narrowing his eyes at the text trying to locate familiar words.

Just then, your voice broke through their murmurs hesitantly. “Um, actually…” you began.

They both turned to look at you

“I can read it,” you said with a shrug, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “My grandmother taught me the ancient language when I was a child, along with a few others. So reading and translating this—“ you gestured to the map, “—comes easy to me.”

Hongjoong stared at you in genuine surprise, blinking blankly at your sudden skill reveal. You might as well have asked for his firstborn.

“Alright then,” Hongjoong said, crossing his arms. “What does it say?”

You stepped around the table and stood opposite him, your finger poised over the first line. “This part here,” you said, tracing the ink with a steady hand, “talks about a siren having lost its song. It’s described as the first test.”

You paused for a moment, “I don’t think any still exist though…”

Seonghwa leaned in, “Yes, they do,” he interrupted you sharply.

You blinked, disbelief clear on your face. “What?” you asked, incredulous.

Seonghwa nodded gravely. “The last few siren tribes have survived, just a handful. They live off the coast of Hell Volhard.”

You swallowed hard, voice quivering. “You mean the Land of the Dead? Going there… finding a siren without a voice… that would be the last thing we do.”

Hongjoong cut in harshly. “Look, unless you have another theory on what the riddle means, what Seonghwa says is our only option. There’s probably another part of the map hidden somewhere in Hell Volhard.”

You sighed, knowing he was right. “Aurora,” Hongjoong said, addressing you directly, “why do you think they call it the Land of the Dead? Ships vanish without a trace. The only explanation—besides the brutal fjord storms—is the siren’s song.”

You nodded, you didn’t like what that implied but unfortunately it made sense.

“Besides,” Hongjoong continued, his tone softer now, “you need not worry. I know who this test is meant for.”

He glanced between you and Seonghwa. “We can’t waste time. We’ll talk more aboard the ship. The others need to be prepared as well.”

You met their eyes and nodded solemnly.

With that, the two left you to pack up the supplies. The journey ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: your part in this was only just beginning. You still had eight pieces of the map to be found.

…

It took nearly an hour for everyone to finish packing and reassemble in the common room.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the farmhouse floor, but there was still enough daylight left to make good progress before nightfall. You would have preferred to wait till midnight to leave, since it would attract the least attention but Captain insisted on returning early, why? You didn’t know.

Bumjoong leaned against the entryway, arms crossed, smiling slightly as he watched how their dynamic had changed since you became a part of the group. The usual tension that lingered around them, seemed to have faded away. Both of Wooyoung's brothers were there too– Kyungmin bouncing on his heels, waving enthusiastically at anyone who glanced his way, and Dongyoung making his way around to help others with their bags.

…

Compared to when you first arrived, there was noticeably more cargo–since the trip had stretched out, thanks to the unexpected chaos Myung had thrown into the mix, not that anyone was complaining now that he'd met his well-earned fate.

This time, you'd been given your own horse. A sleek, dark brown mare with a white stripe down her nose, who had quickly warmed up to you after you bribed her relentlessly with apples and occasionally sugar cubes.

Jihye had told you, laughing, "The way to a horse's heart is through its stomach. Just like men."

You'd taken that lesson seriously. Now, your horse nickered softly whenever you approached, nudging your shoulder, waiting for you to magically conjure up apples.

The only problem now was figuring out how to get on the horse. The extra side bags made it trickier than it looked. You stood beside your horse, staring at the saddle with mild horror. The usual methods seemed... impossible, considering you have never tried them. You tried to lift your foot, awkwardly hopping once, twice, then lowering it back to the ground with a defeated sigh.

Wooyoung, already nearby and chatting with Yeosang about his own horse, caught sight of your struggle. With an exaggerated groan, he excused himself mid-sentence and walked over.

"Need help, princess?" he teased, flashing you a bright grin.

You pouted at him half-heartedly. "Not all of us grew up leaping onto horses like circus performers."

"Lucky for you, you've got me," he said, giving you a dramatic bow.

"Alright, lesson time. See this?" He tapped the stirrup. "Left foot in here first. Hands— here and here." He guided your hands to the saddle horn and the back of the seat. "Then push up, swing your other leg over."

You nodded, following his instructions with your hands as he continued, "And don't worry about the bags. They're balanced to sit lower so they won't knock your knees."

While you checked the straps one last time, Wooyoung continued his conversation with Yeosang, still lingering by your side, casually holding out his hand to help give you a boost when needed.

You reached out automatically, but instead of the solid grip you expected-your hand passed straight through his.

A distorted ripple of shadow flickered where his hand should have been, for barely a second. Like a glitch in reality. Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. His hand reappeared mid-air, but now angled differently, as if it had shifted location in the blink of an eye.

"What the..." You instinctively pulled your hand back to your chest, clutching it as your brain scrambled to make sense of what just happened.

Wooyoung's gaze dropped to your now clenched fist, then back to your face. His smile faltered just for a beat. One eyebrow raised in silent question, but he didn't say anything.

You stared at his hand, then up at him. "I... thought….." you began softly, but the words caught in your throat.

"Something wrong?" he asked lightly, giving you a half-smirk like usual, but there was a flicker of worry behind his eyes.

"N-no, nothing. Just... tired, I guess," you murmured, forcing yourself to look away.

Determined not to make it more awkward, you sucked in a breath, reached for his hand again—this time, it was solid, warm… more humane. He clasped yours firmly, bracing you as you stepped into the stirrup and swung yourself onto the saddle.

"See? Easy," he said, releasing your hand once you were balanced. "You'll be a pro in no time."

You forced a smile, but your mind was still stuck on the strange occurrence. That wasn't the light... or was it.

For now, you shoved the thought to the back of your mind-alongside all the other strange things you didn't yet have answers for.

…

Reaching the boats sent out by the ship was surprisingly easy. Your horse, thankfully far more competent than you, seemed to understand the terrain instinctively. It navigated the rocky trail down to the cove with practiced ease, leaving you with only one task—holding on and not falling off.

The sun was dipping below the horizon by the time your party emerged through the trees. The light scattered across the water like molten gold, casting the boats waiting below in a dramatic silhouette.

Two longboats bobbed gently in the shallows, unmanned.

“Where’s the crew?” you asked softly, narrowing your eyes at the empty vessels.

“Not required,” Hongjoong replied offhandedly, already moving toward the shoreline.

You nodded slowly, deciding to not question his actions. You were beginning to wonder if the list of strange things happening around these pirates would ever end. Still, you wanted at least one question answered before the day ended.

Boarding the longboats was done quickly and with minimal fuss. You were grateful for the help loading the additional gear—Seonghwa had brought more supplies than seemed necessary, and Yunho had insisted on buying new blankets for “comfort purposes.”

By the time the boats reached the ship, darkness had settled in completely. The Treasure loomed above you like a floating fortress, its black sails folded neatly and its deck glowing with dozens of small lanterns that lined the railings, giving it an ethereal glow. It looked beautiful from a distance, but you couldn’t help but wonder if the lights might attract the wrong kind of attention.

As your boots touched the wood of the main deck once again, you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. You’d hated this ship the first time you were here, wanted nothing but to escape it, even—but something about being back felt oddly… right.

Yunho, however, was having a full-blown emotional reunion. “I missed you,” he whispered dramatically, arms outstretched as he pressed his cheek to the main mast. “Did you miss me? I know you did.”

San snorted. “Should we give you two a minute?”

Yunho shushed him with a wave of his hand and hugged the mast harder. “Don’t interrupt us. This is a sacred moment.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and turned to follow the others below deck.

Apparently, while you were away, your cabin had been moved—no longer a damp, prison-like cell in the belly of the ship, it was now nestled beneath the forecastle. Seonghwa explained on the way that it had been part of the crew’s long-overdue upgrades.

When you finally opened the door, your breath caught.

It was still compact, but it felt more like a real room now. A sturdy desk and chair stood near a much wider porthole window that let in the sea breeze. A proper closet lined one wall, and a small bookshelf—already stocked with a few battered novels and navigation texts—rested beneath it. A heavy trunk sat near the foot of your bed with a real lock and key.

You let out a small, dumbfounded laugh. “This is… actually really nice.”

It took no time for you to begin unpacking your things—placing the compass carefully in the drawer, arranging your new weapons neatly in the trunk, and sliding your few new personal items into their places. For the first time since this adventure began, the room felt like yours.

A bell rang above deck, signaling dinner. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted down through the corridors. Your stomach growled in response.

In the mess hall, Wooyoung and a few other crewmates had somehow managed to whip together a feast in no time. Even though it was just fresh warm bread so soft it practically melted, and a steaming pot of thick vegetable stew—all of it tasted like something out of a dream. You didn’t bother with small talk. No one did. Everyone was too focused on stuffing their faces like they hadn’t eaten in days.

Between mouthfuls, you noticed a few unfamiliar faces among the crew—some younger, others older. They moved easily through the space, carrying trays, adjusting sails outside, or quietly observing.

You added it to your long list of questions.

…

After dinner, the warmth of the food settled in your belly, but your thoughts remained in disarray. You wandered out onto the main deck, hoping the open air and endless stretch of the ocean would help clear your head. A soft breeze tugged at your sleeves, and the rhythmic sound of the waves against the hull grounded you somewhat. Constellations danced in the sky as the ship moved slowly, replaying their eternal stories.

You found that you weren’t the only one seeking solitude.

Ahead, you caught sight of Wooyoung effortlessly scaling the ropes to the crow’s nest, his figure vanishing into the shadows. On impulse, you decided to follow him.

Climbing, however, proved to be much less graceful on your part. Your arms strained, boots slipped, and your breath hitched more than once as you awkwardly hauled yourself up. When you finally clambered into the circular platform, you all but flopped beside him, earning a small lazy smile but no comment.

Wooyoung nodded in acknowledgment, still looking out toward the horizon. “I suppose you have questions for me?” he asked without turning his head.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I saw what your brothers can do. It seemed… pretty straightforward. But what about you? What’s the nature of your powers?”

He glanced at you then, something in his gaze unusually grave, and took a deep breath. “Well…” he began, tone softer than you were used to, “to put it simply, I’m a light manipulator.”

You raised your brows in interest, silently prompting him to go on.

“I attract light,” he explained, “as well as shadow—and I can bend both to my will. Like this.” He flicked his fingers, and with a shimmer, his hand vanished before reappearing a second later. “Light can be powerful—sometimes even more than fire if wielded correctly.”

You watched closely as he spoke, the playful edge usually present in his voice now dulled to something more earnest.

“If light is concentrated into one place, it's dangerous. It can blind someone. Or…” he hesitated slightly, his jaw tightening, “It can make them burn.”

The final word landed heavy in the silence between you. He exhaled and shook his head, as if trying to physically shed the weight of his own explanation.

“But the other side of my power,” he continued, “lets me blend into shadows or bend light around me, making me disappear—good for sleuthing, sneaking around… spying.”

“Interesting,” you murmured, the science behind holding such a power inside, fascinated you. “Do you think there’s more? Things you haven’t discovered yet?”

Wooyoung smiled faintly, eyes unfocused. “Of course. But I think—no, I know—the greater the power, the greater the curse it brings. A balance of sorts.”

You tilted your head. “A curse?”

He nodded. “My dad used to say nothing in nature exists without balance. When you’re given something powerful, there’s always something else to stop you from abusing it. A limit, written into your very being. I don’t think many people understand that.”

You thought about that for a moment before asking quietly, “And for you? What’s your limit?”

His gaze finally shifted to meet yours, and the smile that followed was laced with quiet tragedy. “The possibility of disappearing forever.”

You blinked. “What?”

“When I use my power, I absorb pure energy—the kind that makes up light itself. Every time I do, my physical form weakens. I… waver,” he said, flexing his fingers as if trying to grasp at his own human shell. “Sometimes, I don’t fully return to my original form. You saw it earlier. My hand… glitched. Became shadow, then light. Not fully there.”

Your eyes widened. So you had seen it. You’d thought it was just a trick of exhaustion.

“Sometimes,” he added, staring up at the stars, “I feel like I’m just an illusion—a trick of light and shadow. Something that used to be human but is slipping into something else entirely. One day… I may just dissolve. Fade out. Like the light I command.”

The wind stirred between you. You stared at him, realizing—perhaps for the first time—how deeply intelligent and layered he truly was. Beneath all the flirty remarks and smug grins lived a man who carried fear, knowledge, and burdens of his own.

“I’ve accepted it…we all have” he said after a moment, voice low. “Unless there’s a way to stop it, it’s just… part of my path.”

You opened your mouth, unsure of what you were going to say—comfort him? Thank him for sharing?—but you didn’t get the chance.

“Hey lovebirds!” San’s voice rang out from the deck below. “Get down, the captain’s calling a meeting!”

Your face flushed instantly. “We’re not—!” you called back, but your voice faded into the wind.

Wooyoung turned to you with that familiar, mischievous grin, as if the past ten minutes hadn’t happened at all. “Well, you heard him.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go, princess. Duty calls.”

You grasped it, vowing to know more, to find an end, a cure, to the despair behind the light.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

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So when you saw that his birthday coincided with Ateez’s tour stop in Atlanta, you did what anyone in love and desperation would do.

You flew across the world.

You’d coordinated everything in secret with Ateez’s manager and the KQ staff weeks in advance. VIP concert tickets, a backstage pass, a small but beautiful cake from a local bakery—they’d help you along the way, knowing how much San had missed you. You had one week off from work. You were going to spend it with him, starting today.

And he had no idea.

…

The venue was buzzing with excitement. The bass shook the floor as thousands of fans jumped and screamed, lightsticks flickering like stars. You stood in the VIP pit, masked and hooded, careful not to draw attention. Even with half your face covered, San kept glancing your way during certain songs.

His brows furrowed slightly. A flash of confusion. A half-smile. You ducked your head and laughed under your breath.

“He totally suspects something,” one of the staff near you whispered.

“Only if he connects the dots,” you murmured. “Let’s hope he’s too distracted.”

You watched him pour himself into every movement, melting easily from intense performances to singing softly during the more lighthearted moments. Your chest swelled with pride. This was your San—magnetic, powerful, alive on stage.

But you also saw the fatigue behind his eyes.

The ache to hold him close grew.

…

After the final ment, as the crowd erupted in applause and confetti rained from above, you slipped out quietly with the help of staff. While the boys bowed one last time, you made your way backstage, heart pounding as you held the small birthday cake in your hands.

You stood just outside the dressing room area, hiding in the shadows with a few stylists and managers who were in on the surprise. The other guys came down first, sweaty and exhausted but still on the post-concert high. Hongjoong spotted you immediately.

He grinned and raised a brow. “You sure you don’t want to call him over now?”

You held up a finger. “Let him come to me.”

Seonghwa chuckled softly beside him. “He might actually miss you entirely, you know.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Wooyoung muttered, watching the entrance.

Right on cue, San walked in—head down, towel over his neck, dabbing his face with tissues. He looked utterly drained.

“Can I have some water?” he asked no one in particular, still patting his forehead.

You had to press your palm to your mouth to keep from laughing.

He walked right past you.

Wooyoung stared at him, incredulous. “No way.”

Yunho didn’t hesitate. With a shake of his head, he stepped forward and grabbed San by the shoulders, spinning him around gently.

“What—” San began, confused. And then he saw you.

Your mask was off. Your smile was crooked like always. And your eyes twinkled the way they always had—for him.

He froze.

“Happy birthday,” you said softly.

San’s breath caught. The towel dropped from his hands. “No way. No—”

You barely had time to hand off the cake before he lunged at you.

He crushed you in his arms, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around, burying his face in your neck. His body shook slightly, and you felt his lips pressing frantically to your skin—your cheek, your jaw, your temple, everywhere he could reach.

“I missed you. I missed you so much,” he whispered between kisses.

You laughed, your arms wrapping tightly around his back. “Happy birthday, San.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face flushed, eyes damp but glowing. “You’re really here?”

You gave him a dazzling grin, “Surprise.”

He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper—and then leaned his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“This may be the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.”

“I’ll have to up my game next year then.”

He laughed at this, his chest vibrating against yours.

“Oh the cake!” You turned and took it back, now with a few candles on it, holding it up carefully as the team and staff started singing.

San’s smile stretched across his face. He looked at you like you hung the stars just for him.

He blew out the candles, and you whispered, “Make a wish.”

His gaze didn’t move from yours.

“It already came true.”

…

The little celebration that followed was chaotic in the best possible way. The boys tore into the cake, staff handed out food, and someone had even brought balloons, one of which had somehow been tied to the back of San’s clothes. You all sat on the dressing room sofa, eating and laughing, limbs tangled and bodies leaning against each other.

San never let you go too far.

You caught him staring at you multiple times.

“What?” you finally asked, smiling mid-bite.

“I thought I forgot what your face looked like,” he whispered, “but I didn’t. I could draw it with my eyes closed.”

You reached out and squeezed his hand. “I missed you too.”

…

Later, after the partying mood had dwindled and the boys had filed out one by one—Hongjoong mumbling about editing something even tonight, Wooyoung begging for late-night fried chicken, Jongho dragging him away—you and San returned to the hotel together.

You sat beside each other in the van, his warm hand wrapped around yours, your head on his shoulder. He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to.

In the room, once he’d showered and changed into soft pajamas, he crawled into bed beside you and pulled you into his chest like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“I keep thinking I’m dreaming,” he murmured, his lips brushing your hairline. “Like I’ll blink and you’ll be back in Seoul again.”

“I’m here for the week,” you whispered. “I needed this too, you know. Being apart… it sucked.”

He nodded, rubbing your back gently. “I hated it. Every night I’d come back to the dorm or the hotel and look at my phone, hoping you’d be free to call. I missed everything—your voice, your laugh, your rants about your weird coworkers.”

You snorted. “They’re not just weird, they’re also dumb. One of them microwaved foil last week.”

San chuckled, his voice sleepy and low. “God, I missed this.”

You shifted closer until your legs tangled together under the covers. “I’ll be here every day this week. You can rant about the tour to me. I’ll even take notes.”

“Deal. And then when you go back, I’ll fly to Seoul for the weekend, no matter where we are.”

You looked up at him. “Promise?”

He leaned down and kissed your lips, soft and lingering.

“Promise.”

You lay like that for a while, limbs entwined, breathing slow and in sync. The room was quiet except for your occasional laughter and his random, sleepy murmurs.

“I still can’t believe you flew all the way here.”

“You think I was gonna let your birthday pass without seeing that ridiculous cute face of yours?”

He grinned. “You really are the best.”

You shrugged playfully. “Well, I do aim to please.”

He buried his face into your neck again. “I love you.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you more.”

…

The last thing you remembered before sleep took you was the rhythm of his heartbeat next to your ear and the warmth of his arms around you—like you got everything you’d been missing back finally.

Happy birthday, indeed.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

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