welcome to my humble abode

But it wasn't always like that. Not for him.

Your father doesn't speak to his brother anymore, hasn't for a long time since he tied the knot with your mother, and honestly, it's for the best. At least according to the vague things you've heard through the years. If your mother was logic, then your father came from the opposite, raised by the chaotic hand of insanity.

Having another cousin—this time on your father's side—hadn't crossed your mind until the little notification bell pinged on Facebook, but nonetheless, there he was, same last name and everything.

Through a few surprisingly polite messages, it became clear that he needed your help. And since there was always that chance of him being nothing like his father, you accepted. After all, insanity can clearly skip a generation.

"It's so great to finally meet you. I'm Taehyung," the blonde-haired man exclaims when you meet him outside the predetermined café. He wears an infectious smile as he enters the building and shows you to a table. Right away, you're caught by surprise because, although his Facebook pictures showed a handsome man, he wasn't this good looking. How is he related to your uncle?

You take off your winter jacket, hands finally thawing as you place the coat over the back of your chair. The small café is not an unfamiliar place; Taehyung offered to come to you since you ‘so graciously’ agreed to help. The place is just a few minutes away from your apartment complex.

"You too," you mumble, watching him start to back away with his wallet raised in his hand. At his question concerning your order, you simply recite your usual: coffee and a blueberry muffin.

"I didn't even know you existed," you admit sheepishly when Taehyung returns to place the little tray down on the table.

"Well, it's not that weird, considering my mom only married your uncle a few years ago. I've heard that he doesn't have the best relationships with the rest of the extended family so..."

You nod, taking a bite out of the fluffy muffin. Makes sense. And if your father knows about the marriage, then he never told you. You didn't exactly consult him before you agreed to help Taehyung either, so it's not like it was brought up.

"And now he's sick?"

"Yeah. Well, he actually had a heart transplant two days ago, but they'll keep him at the hospital for a while since it’s a, you know, heart transplant. So that's why this was all on such short notice; you can't pass up a heart just because no one can watch the hybrid, you know?"

"Yeah, no, of course," you're quick to reassure. "I was just surprised, and well, I don't really have any experience with hybrids. I mean, caring for them."

"Yeah, once again, I'm sorry for the short notice. I would've taken him myself if I could, but I can't, and I knew you lived close by," Taehyung explains, large hands wrapped around the coffee as he sips on it. "But it'll only be for a few days until I can find someone else."

You nod hesitantly, wishing you won't have to take care of the hybrid for long because, truth is, it makes you a bit uncomfortable.

"So, you said before that it's a male? What kind of hybrid is he?"

"Oh, yeah. It's a kangaroo hybrid, and his name is Jeongguk. Rescued as a puppy, or whatever they're called, and had a few families before he ended up with us. Can be a bit of a brat if you spoil him, so make sure he knows you're in charge," a confident smile graces his joking lips.

Despite what you first believed, Taehyung isn't actually related to you or your uncle, and that in itself makes it easier to trust him. The other contributing factor is that smile, the somewhat innocent confidence with which he carries himself.

"And I'd keep him inside if I were you, just to be on the safe side, but if you have to go somewhere with him, then remember that he has to wear his collar and never be more than a few feet from you."

If he can see the look on your face, Taehyung doesn't acknowledge it. You know that hybrids can't be left unsupervised by their owners when out in public, but you’d forgotten about the collar.

"So, are you ready to meet him?" Taehyung raises his eyebrows over the drink he's just about to finish up. With his free hand, he’s collecting his wallet and phone to put in his pocket, and then, he’s rising from the chair.

"What? Now?" you ask, still chewing the last bits of the muffin. When Taehyung had been the only one to show, you assumed the hybrid would arrive later. Like, in a day or something.

"Yeah, he's in the car. Unfortunately, he can’t stay with me any longer, so I really have to drop him off today."

You wonder why he didn't bring the hybrid inside the café since they are welcome and it's cold, literally snowing, outside. But you don't say anything, just grab your things—half full paper mug included—and follow the tall man outside.

Hybrids are normally slightly smaller than the average human, mainly derived from house pets such as cats and dogs, although there are definitely other kinds. But the hybrid that steps out of Taehyung's sleek, black car is anything but small.

He's wearing a winter jacket similar to his owner's, only a bit thinner because 'hybrids run warm,' according to Taehyung. It makes it hard to describe his body shape, but it appears they are roughly the same height and size, at least.

He's got the black jacket zipped up to right beneath his chin, and after grabbing a duffel bag from the car, he remains standing there, dark and cold eyes staring you down. You gulp at his intensity.

"H–hello," you stutter nervously, obviously surprised and intimidated but not stunned enough to be rude. However, if you thought it would warm him up, perhaps even grant you a greeting in return, you’re mistaken; the hybrid just glares at you. Until Taehyung intervenes.

"Gguk, be nice," he voices sternly, making Jeongguk soften his glare a tad and bow his head reluctantly in your direction.

While Taehyung introduces the two of you, one thing keeps occupying your mind. Or, well, two things. Jeongguk's ears.

If Taehyung hadn't already told you beforehand what kind of hybrid the dark-haired male was, then the ears would've made you think donkey. And you mean that in the best way. They're big, longer than those of a regular horse but rounder than a rabbit's. And they're dark, almost black. Jeongguk keeps them turned back, a little lowered. He's not scared; they don't convey submission, more... suspicion. He doesn't trust you.

This isn't your first time seeing a hybrid or anything; you've met some of them before, although very briefly. You still consider yourself pretty knowledgeable; you're one of those people who know a little bit about everything, and hybrids aren't an exception. The thing is just that you've never had to put that hybrid knowledge to the test. Besides, the ones you met previously were all mellow, well-behaved, and with their owners. You'd expected a golden retriever puppy but were met with a wolf.

“It’s a birth defect,” Taehyung explains casually after catching your gaze. “They’re not supposed to be black.”

It throws you off, how he speaks of the hybrid, but since neither of them seem to share your opinion, you don’t question it.

Taehyung keeps chatting all the way up to your apartment, his voice becoming elevator music as you glance at the pair through the mirror in front of you.

It's not only the fact that Jeongguk already seems to despise you that makes you lower your gaze quicker than ever when it's met by his sharp, dark eyes.

Taehyung is gorgeous. Dark blonde hair covers most of his forehead except for a little sliver, and he's blessed with dark eyes, framed by long lashes, and that infectious smile. But Jeongguk is more than that; he has something else that catches your eye more so than Taehyung, and it's not his animal features.

When the elevator reaches the fifth floor with a 'ding,' you step out and take the lead. The sound of your keys jingling echoes through the hallway and intensifies when you reach up to unlock the door to your apartment.

"Here it is," you say, back turned against the others as you open the door wide and step inside.

"Cozy," you hear Taehyung compliment even before he's seen more than the first part of your hallway.

"Thank you."

You show Jeongguk where to hang his jacket and put his shoes while Taehyung remains dressed for the outdoors.

"He's not very complicated. Eats anything, sleeps anywhere. He has his clothes and other necessary stuff with him."

As Taehyung speaks, your eyes drift to the male in between you. He's facing you, still in the hallway, and he's wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. It's like he doesn't even hear that he's being talked about, his eyes staring into the air, and his face blank.

You don't think Taehyung is lying. Well, not intentionally. But you hesitate because Jeongguk still hasn't said a single word to you, and it's obvious he does not want to be there.

Taehyung reaches for the door handle.

"Wait!"

He stops to look at you.

"Are you sure?" you ask. It's Taehyung who you're speaking to, but your eyes are still carefully watching Jeongguk. "He doesn't... are you sure this is okay?"

"Look, I really need your help," Taehyung pleads, suddenly way more serious. "It'll be fine, and I'll try to find someone else as soon as possible, so hopefully it's only for a few days."

"Yeah, but he..."

What are you going to say? You won't lie and say the hybrid's hostility doesn't make you uncomfortable, because it does, but you're mostly asking for his sake. He doesn't want to be left with you.

Taehyung's eyes follow yours, but while you watch Jeongguk with worry, Taehyung's gaze burns holes in his head from behind.

"Don't worry, he'll behave. He knows he's not coming home otherwise."

There's a second of silence before Jeongguk gives one determined nod to show that he got it. You're left speechless, and Taehyung reaches for the door handle once again. But before he actually opens the door, he turns back one last time.

"Oh, I almost forgot. He has activities on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. I'll send a friend to pick him up and drive him, but just so you know, he'll be back late." With that, and a small wave your way, Taehyung leaves. And you're all alone with a strange hybrid.

"Well, uh, feel free to look around," you gesture around you before bending down to take off your shoes that you'd forgotten.

Jeongguk does that same kind of nod again, and then he walks past you, giving a clear view of something you didn't see before. His dark tail. Your fingers let go of the laces as you stare up at it in awe. It's huge, could easily sweep the floor after him if he didn't keep it up. Unlike the tails of other animals like, say lions, it's thick and looks a lot stiffer. But it’s still not as thick as the ones you’ve seen on real kangaroos.

Suddenly, Jeongguk stops. He's caught you staring. And now, he's glaring at you. Cheeks tinged pink, you return your attention to your boots, and you can hear Jeongguk disappear further into the apartment.

It doesn't feel good. This whole thing leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You think back to Taehyung's words, even those he said at the café, those you thought were meant as a joke.

Make sure he knows you're in charge? Those practices are outdated and were disproven years ago, even for raising dogs. And if Jeongguk doesn't behave? He's not allowed back home? What does that mean? Where would he go?

Minutes later, you find him in the living room, standing beside your large, gray couch.

"What are your rules?" he asks stoically. "I'm allowed to sleep on the couch back home, just so you know."

You can't help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Why does it sound a little like he's bragging?

"Rules? I don't know, uh, don't... intentionally break anything? And I already prepared the guest room for you. Clean sheets in the bed."

"Bed?" Now it's Jeongguk's turn to draw his eyebrows together, although he appears more skeptical. "I prefer the couch."

The way he says it is so confident that it sways you. But you still don't understand why he'd choose the couch over a bed.

"Uh, okay... Well, you can sleep wherever you want, I guess, but you're more than welcome to use the guest room and sleep in the bed there."

Jeongguk seems insistent, but after a very brief tour of your apartment, mostly you pointing to the kitchen and bathroom and assuring that he can take and use whatever he wants, he eventually does retreat to the guest room.

The closed door has you on your toes in the beginning, scared that he’ll appear at any moment and glare you to death, but he never does. You ask through it what he likes to eat, but you don't get an answer, and when you've gone ahead and cooked your favorite food, he doesn't come out to eat, either.

It doesn't feel very good to go to bed without having seen your guest eat anything, but your alarm will go off earlier than you'd really want the morning after, and you think Jeongguk would value being left alone without food higher than being nagged at.

After shutting the alarm off, you stretch your arms over your head and blink the sleep from your eyes. Slowly, you get up to head towards the bathroom, and just as slowly, yesterday’s events come back to you. On your way there, you have to pass by the living room, and when you do, you see him.

If you thought that the kangaroo hybrid locking himself in the guest room meant that he decided to sleep in there too... then you were absolutely wrong. He's tall, but even if he’d chosen to lie straight and not curled up like he is, he’d fit. One of the decorative pillows is under his head, but he doesn't have anything covering him. Not even though there are two soft blankets folded up and draped over the couch.

Your apartment is on the chillier side, and seeing Jeongguk in only a t-shirt and basketball shorts sends a shiver down your spine. Taehyung did say that hybrids run hotter, so you guess it's fine...

It doesn't take you long to get ready. A quick shower, clean clothes, some make-up, and then you're ready to go. You've never been one to eat breakfast, but when you fill a huge bowl with apples, bananas, and oranges, you grab an apple for yourself. You have a feeling that Jeongguk is the type to never want to owe anyone anything, even when there is no debt, but you're hoping he'll at least take some fruit. If he's going to stay multiple days, then he definitely needs to eat.

You could write a note, telling him that you've left for work. You should write the note. But your brain, still half asleep, tiptoes into the living room.

When he's sleeping, Jeongguk looks much nicer. Not at all the harsh looks and mean clench of his jaw. Black locks fall into his face, and the ears look so incredibly soft that you just want to reach out and touch. But that would be weird and not cool. And even if his face looks softer, his choice of sleep attire reveals that, physically, he’s very much capable of beating you to death. He lies on his side, facing you, but it’s still obvious how broad his shoulders are and how the muscles bulge under his skin. There are a few prominent veins stemming from the inside of his biceps and reaching all over his forearms and the backs of his hands.

The apartment really is cold at the moment, and despite Taehyung's words, you notice goosebumps lining the hybrid's naked arms. You step away to reach for the warmest blanket you own, unfolding it and gently draping it over Jeongguk's body. Luckily, it's big enough to even cover the tip of his tail.

And lastly, before you leave, you make the mistake.

"Jeongguk," you speak softly, putting your hand on his shoulder to gently wake him up. But it doesn't quite go as planned when he wakes and immediately slaps your hand off him.

"Don't touch me!" he growls, in a half-seated position and with his ears pinned back. "Don't ever touch me!"

Your blood freezes as you retract your hand and step back as quickly as you can. "I–I'm sorry," you whisper in a panic, so caught off guard, it's not even funny. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to say that I'm leaving for work."

He looks so angry, and the thought that it was you who made something so miscalculated and wrong makes your eyes tear up. But you don't think he notices because you're quick to turn away, and he lies back down again without a word.

You spend the next few hours at work completely thrown off. Black eyes haunt your mind, the way he jumped back to put more distance between you, and his snarled words... It's all burnt into your memory.

You can definitely say you're not in a hurry to get home. Grocery store, clothing shops, you even stop by a florist on your way. But food is the only thing in your bags as you unlock the door to your apartment.

It’s quiet when you enter, except for the sound of the tv, and when you step further into the apartment, your eyes meet. He's on the couch, staring at you. Well, at least he's not trying to end you with his fists. And so you offer him a small smile before you take the bags to the kitchen to unpack.

The fridge looks just as it did when you last checked it; the only sign of the hybrid eating anything is the fruit bowl that seems to be missing a few pieces. You chew on your lip, trying to decide what to cook for dinner. It's already eight p.m.

"Do you have a favorite dish?" you voice without even entering the living room, only approaching to the point you can see Jeongguk’s face.

He keeps his eyes on the tv where some old movie is playing. "No, I eat anything."

"Yeah, but... nothing you like the most?" You hold your breath, desperately wanting to make the morning's misstep up to him but hopefully without angering him again.

"No."

Well, you're not going to push him any further, so you nod and retreat into the kitchen. You just hope he wasn't lying and that you won’t accidentally cook him something that’ll make him hurl.

You end up making a stew, going through your emails while it cooks. The room fills with the smell of food, and you realize how hungry you are. When it’s done, you carry a large bowl of it along with some toasted garlic bread and a glass of water into the living room on a tray.

You notice Jeongguk discreetly sniffing the air as you put the tray down onto the coffee table. It's not directly in front of him due to what happened earlier, you don't want to make him feel suffocated by being too close. Not in any way. He shows no emotions, just looks at you, and you avert your gaze, feeling... embarrassed?

"Can't return you in bad shape," you smile awkwardly and mumble so quietly you doubt he even hears it before you turn around and leave, going back to eat your portion in the safety of the kitchen.

Spoonful after spoonful, you chew the meat while looking out the kitchen window. Most of all, you see the reflection of your own face.

What is Jeongguk's life like at home? You're aware that there are lots of bad hybrid owners who abuse the ones that need them the most, but except for Taehyung's parting words and that joke, there aren't any indicators that Jeongguk is being mistreated. Right?

He seems healthy. He might not have the hugest of appetites at your place, but he looks far from malnourished. It's not like he's small and defenseless either. However Jeongguk is treated, the fact that he despises you remains. You just don't understand why.

Jeongguk doesn't lock himself away inside the guest room that night, but he doesn't sleep in there either, still preferring the couch for some reason. At least he ate everything you put on that tray.

And when you leave for work the next morning, you don't make the same mistake again. You simply leave without saying anything to the hybrid curled up on the couch.

It isn't quite as late when you return home as it was the day before, and when you step into the hallway, you see Jeongguk bent over his duffel bag, seemingly... packing?

He zips it closed and stands up, eyes meeting yours. No greeting, but you honestly don't expect anything of the kind anymore.

"Are you going somewhere?" you ask, confused but minding your tone as to not sound accusing.

"It's Tuesday. Jimin is waiting." He walks around you where you stand, reaching for his jacket from the hanger. You step away, maybe too fast and too noticeable, but you really don't want to anger him by accidentally brushing against him. If he notices, he doesn't show it.

"Oh," you look away, embarrassed because you’d definitely forgotten. "When will you be back?"

“Don’t know.”

“Oh, okay. Be safe,” you speak, but he’s almost entirely out the door before you’ve finished. It’s not like you even know where he’s going or what he’s doing, and you certainly don’t think he’d appreciate you asking.

With a sigh, you lock the door behind him.

Taehyung said that Jeongguk would be late, but as movie after movie ends, and there’s still no sign of the hybrid, you begin to worry.

He left at around six p.m., and midnight passed an hour ago when you send a somewhat panicked text to Taehyung, asking if Jeongguk shouldn’t have returned by now.

‘Yeah, he should.’

You lick your lips as your anxious heart beats faster. What if something’s happened to him?

Before you’re able to ask what you’re going to do, Taehyung sends another text.

‘The gps in his chip shows he’s at yours, though?’

What?

You watched Jeongguk leave, and if he returned, you would’ve heard it. Still, with phone in hand and Taehyung’s messages open, you look through all the rooms.

No kangaroo hybrid to be seen.

The very last thing you do before you’ll admit defeat is to check the stairwell. There’s absolutely no reason Jeongguk would be there, but when the door glides open… he is. He sits on the stairs leading a floor up, with his bag beside him, jacket folded over his lap, and blood coming from his mouth.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

For a brief second, Jeongguk meets your eyes and looks… surprised? But it soon evolves into that familiar look of irritation as he regains control over the muscles of his face.

“Nothing.”

It’s clearly not nothing, and still very much worried, you open the door all the way and motion for him to enter.

“Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

But of course, you should’ve expected him to fight.

“It’s just a busted lip,” he argues quietly but still rises from the stairs and grabs his duffel bag by its handles.

“But you’re bleeding…”

When you peer back at him, you notice that he’s put the sleeve of the jacket he’s not wearing pressed to his mouth as if he hadn’t known the red liquid was still seeping from the wound. Also like he rather stains his jacket than your floor.

The first thing you do is head to the kitchen to retrieve some tissues, offering them up to Jeongguk when you return to the hallway.

“Why don’t you take a quick shower, and I can take a look at your lip after?” you suggest because not only is the hybrid injured, but he looks to have sweated a lot.

Reluctantly, he accepts the tissues, replacing the sleeve of his jacket with them and putting pressure on his lip. The jacket gets hung on a hanger, and then Jeongguk leaves, gathering a change of clothes and a towel from the guest room before he enters the bathroom, huffing angrily the entire time.

With the sound of the shower running as background noise, you sway from foot to foot in the kitchen, biting at your nails. What happened that resulted in such an injury? Why was he so sweaty? And what kind of friend was this ‘Jimin’ if he didn’t bother to clean Jeongguk up? Make sure he got home properly? Well, not home home, but still.

The sound of the bathroom door unlocking and opening is what snaps you out of your thoughts, and you go to meet him right outside. He’s wearing a new set of sleep attire, although the same style as yesterday; a black t-shirt and some gray shorts. His hair is wet but it doesn’t drip, and you fight the urge to just… stare at his ears. They’re partially pinned back like they always are, but when they and his black locks are wet, they’re more prominent and, well, cute.

Jeongguk observes you with suspicion and with paper still pressed to his mouth.

“Let me see?” you ask, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbles the same words from earlier.

“Please?” You’re no expert on wounds but what if he needs professional care? How are you supposed to sleep without knowing?

“No,” he answers strictly and makes an attempt to walk around you. But you step in front of him, blocking his way.

Jeongguk stares down at you, but you can’t let it go. Not if he’s in pain and it could be somewhat serious.

“Weren’t you supposed to behave?” you remind sternly, and you can see the way a flash of surprise washes over his face before he’s pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw. You would never tell Taehyung, or anyone, that Jeongguk was misbehaving, not when you still don’t know what the consequences might be, and certainly not for something so insignificant.

But Jeongguk doesn’t know that.

With a cold glare, he lowers the tissue. But it’s too dark in the hallway, so you ask him to follow you back inside the bathroom where the ceiling lights are bordering on surgical.

Without touching him, you motion to the spot where you want him to stand, in front of the washing machine, and then, you rise to your toes to get a better look, trying to ignore the way his glare makes your intimidated heart beat faster.

You have to stop yourself from grasping his chin and so instead, your hand floats a few inches from his face. It makes it more difficult to see how deep the gash is when you can’t move his face around, but it will have to do. After all, you haven’t forgotten how he reacted to your touch the first time. First and last time.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” he grumbles.

You lace your voice with that sternness again while looking him straight in the eye. “Are you lying?”

Your courage surprises you because Jeongguk is a lot bigger than you. He towers over you, and he’s fit and muscular, you’ve already established that. He’s also not very happy or fond of you, but glaring at you is the farthest he will go, you’re already a hundred percent certain of that. It doesn’t matter that his lip is wounded and that someone else might also be sporting injuries and bruises. If he wanted to hurt you, he would’ve done so already.

When he doesn’t say anything, only keeps his cold stare on you, you know two things. What the answer to your question is, and how to handle him. If necessary, that is, you don’t particularly enjoy threatening him.

Even though his lip is painful, Jeongguk’s wound doesn’t look too serious. And by that, you mean not serious enough for you to drag him to your car and speed toward the closest hybrid doctor. But you sink down from your toes as your eyebrows draw together.

When you open your mouth this time, your voice is softer. “So… what happened?”

He’s so pretty, he really is. You think back to the vision of him sleeping and how innocent and carefree he seemed. You’ve never seen him be anything besides angry while awake, and you absolutely hate that he feels the need to always be so guarded and hostile. And, of course, you also hate that someone, a few hours ago, split his skin open and made him bleed.

Taking advantage of the way you’ve softened, Jeongguk mutters, “Nothing,” and sidesteps you, disappearing through the door.

But you follow.

He’s about to pull back one of the blankets on the couch when you catch up, and you immediately gather all of that determination again.

“Nuh-uh, you’re not sleeping there.”

He halts his movements, standing there with the corner of the blanket in his hand, and you can see, even from the distance, how his grip tightens and jaw clenches. Then, he drops the blanket, still looking at it where it lies on the couch.

“When should I be back? Or should I not bother?” he mutters.

You don’t give yourself time to absolutely break at his words. “Guest room. Now.”

You turn on your heel, not staying to make sure he’s actually following, but as you open the door to the guest room, there he is, right behind you and obeying.

“This is where you’re sleeping.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are. I’ll lock you in here, I don’t care.”

“I can’t. There will be hair on the sheets. Maybe blood as well.”

“You listen to me. I don’t care. You’re sleeping in here, and if I wake up tomorrow to find you sleeping somewhere else other than in that bed, I will not be happy.”

For a few seconds, Jeongguk seems to believe that if he challenges you to an angry stare-off–and wins–you’ll surrender. However, you don’t give up that easily, and when those seconds have passed, you still gesture determinedly towards the bed.

“Get in. Now.”

Huffing, he passes you, and you watch as he reaches the bed and reluctantly pulls the white covers back like he had tried to do with the blanket, and gets inside. He doesn’t lie down, just sits there, watching you.

You point your finger at him. “Stay there, I’ll be back in a second.”

Without waiting for any kind of answer you don’t think he’d give you anyway, you return to the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet in search of some painkillers. You pop a pill into your palm and on your way back to the guest room, you stop by the kitchen to get a glass of water as well.

Jeongguk remains in the same exact position you left him in, and he follows your figure with his eyes as you approach him to place the two things on the bedside table.

The second you straighten up, you suddenly remember something. Not used to sounding so harsh, you almost slip back into your usual voice and choice of words but manage to stop yourself at the last second. You clear your throat.

“Did you eat today?”

You’re taller than him when you’re standing and he’s sitting, but his eyes hold the same hostility as when he’d been towering over you previously.

“Yes,” he grits.

“When?” you push.

He stares at you with those eyes of death before he finally gives up. “Eleven,” he grits, staring right into your soul.

“A.m.? P.m.?”

“A.m.”

To be honest, it doesn’t surprise you, even if you feel terrible. But you don’t allow yourself to soften now either, knowing he won’t listen if you do.

“Okay. Here’s the deal, you’re going to sleep in here, in this bed, but not after you’ve eaten. Get it?”

Jeongguk doesn’t give you an answer, not even a nod of his head until you urge further. “Understood?”

And when he does, you march out of that room and into the kitchen where you’re pulling out the rest of what you cooked for dinner, the portion of lasagna he didn’t get to eat when he didn’t come home and that you forgot all about when the worry had started to set in.

It’s only when the microwave beeps that Jeongguk shows up, not exactly ecstatic but what’s new? You place the plate, a set of utensils, and another glass of water on the table, and then you wait until he turns the chair sideways and sits down.

You won’t deny how cute you find it that he prefers to sit like that, with his tail hanging towards the floor behind him. It makes sense that it’s more comfortable for him though, the tail isn’t as flexible as that of something like a cat.

You might be pretending to be mean—you wouldn’t think you’re doing a great job if it weren’t for the way Jeongguk is actually obeying—but even then, you decide to not be so weird as to stand and watch him eat.

Instead, you turn your back to him and busy yourself with the few plates needing to be washed, and you boil some water.

While he eats, Jeongguk doesn’t pay you any attention as you come and go. He just sits there and eats, and you can’t even tell if your cooking is the best he’s ever had or if it tastes like something out of a dumpster.

Before he’s finished, you have: done some dishes, taken out the trash, cleaned the microwave and wiped down the counter, and lastly, filled a hot water bottle and hidden it between the sheets in Jeongguk’s bed.

It’s not like you’ve missed the seemingly always-present goosebumps on his skin or the way he’ll sometimes rub at his arms when he thinks you aren’t looking. One Google search quickly informed you that, yeah, hybrids typically do run warmer, but it depends on the species, and Jeongguk, well, he’s a kangaroo hybrid. Not exactly an animal usually found at the poles. And since your apartment is chillier than average, you retrieved the blue hot water bottle from its forgotten place in your little storage closet.

When you return to the kitchen, Jeongguk has finished eating and is washing the plate and utensils in the sink. You would’ve gladly done it for him, but since he hasn’t spotted you, you back away quietly.

After a minute or so, he exits the kitchen, and you—typing a text to a friend despite the late hour—call out when he passes the guest room.

“Was gonna brush my teeth first…” he informs arrogantly, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Alright, do that. And then, straight to bed.”

You choose to wait a few minutes after he’s retreated into the guest room to follow him, knocking on the closed door. “Jeongguk?”

As expected, he doesn’t answer, so you wait a few more seconds—enough for him to cover himself if he happened to be naked—and then you open the door slowly.

He’s watching you from the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and the white covers over his lap.

“Why were you in the stairwell earlier?” you ask, not bothering to beat around the bush.

Again, to no one’s surprise, he just stares harshly at you until you raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“I can’t disturb you.”

Oh, how your heart hurts. You let go of the door handle, stepping into the room to sit on the edge of the bed, as far away from the hybrid as you can.

“Were you going to stay there? All night?”

The pain in your voice is evident, and in that moment, something happens. Jeongguk doesn’t answer you, but he also turns his head away, tired eyes looking at the floor.

“Do you really think I’d go to bed without knowing where you were? That you were safe? I was waiting for you.”

Your eyes become glassy as you take in the being before you. Someone forced to be dependent on others, and who has learned not to make noise. He was going to sleep in the stairwell because he knew he shouldn’t bother you if you were sleeping already.

“You’re not a bother. Not to me.”

You don’t wait for an answer this time, feeling like the day has been emotional and draining enough, and after leaving the guest room with a whispered ‘good night,’ you spend an hour trying to fall asleep.

He hadn’t stretched his legs out enough to feel the hot water bottle when you sat with him, and you smile sadly as you try to imagine his reaction to the warmth. One thing’s for sure; Jeongguk deserves better.

In contrast to the letters you’re scribbling down, you’re smiling, and it’s with light hands and a quietly hummed melody you’re attaching the yellow sticky note to the pile of plastic wrapped waffles.

‘EAT!!!’

The plate goes into the fridge since you don’t know when Jeongguk will be up, and you’ll soon head to work.

Thirty more minutes roll by, until all that's left to do is to relay some information to Jeongguk. Softly, you knock on his door, opening it slightly when half a minute passes with no reply.

Instantly, you smile to yourself. The hybrid is all cuddled up in the bed; a surprisingly small ball covered in white. And at the top, his peaceful face, black locks and ears, and just a little bit of blue stick out.

The hot water bottle. He looks to be hugging it close to his body, content even though it’s long lost its heat.

“Jeongguk?”

He stirs at your quiet call of his name, but he doesn’t wake. And in the process, his arm peeks out from under the covers. You were going to call for him again, but his name dies on your tongue.

There are bruises lining his arm. You didn’t see them last night, and they’re still only a purplish red, meaning that they’re not very old.

The discovery leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you close the door, looking for a piece of paper, preferably a bit larger than the sticky notes.

Despite starting off with a bit of sadness, your day at work is better than the previous ones, mostly because of the small break-through you think you witnessed the night before. It felt as if, without even really saying anything, Jeongguk opened up a little bit, and that makes you happy.

The moment you step back inside the apartment, you hear the telltale sound of Mario Kart, and you smile to yourself as you remove your jacket and shoes.

On your way to the living room, you stop by the kitchen to see the plate that held the waffles empty and beside it, the note you left.

‘Jeongguk, a friend of mine called Yoongi will stop by and install something for us today. He’s really nice, so I hope you’ll be nice to him as well!’

You hope that some entertainment might make Jeongguk’s stay a little more pleasant, and from what you see when you enter the living room, you’re happy with your decision.

Very briefly, dark eyes meet yours before they’re back on the screen to pause the game.

“Oh, I don’t mind if you play,” you exclaim, guessing that telling him that you specifically asked Yoongi to install it for him, wouldn’t be the best of ideas, even if Jeongguk surely knows it.

However, Jeongguk keeps it paused, watching you. He doesn’t look friendly, nor does he smile, but he... doesn’t look furious. Not like you just murdered his entire family.

“So, it went alright? When Yoongi stopped by?”

The hybrid gives his typical short nod, and you make a mental note to ask your friend as well. Mostly for your own curiosity.

Still satisfied with the albeit short exchange, you exit the living room to head into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and tools onto the counter. You’ve been craving your grandmother’s homemade bread for literal weeks but haven’t had the time to bake until now.

A few minutes later, while you’re elbows deep into mixing the dough, two things happen almost simultaneously.

Jeongguk walks into the kitchen and with his polite but still somewhat stoic voice asks, “Can I have some water?”

To which you step aside to give him access to the tap, ensuring, “Of course! Just take whatever you want or need.”

And your phone rings.

It lies on the kitchen table, and with your relatively clean pinky, you answer the call, putting it on speaker.

“Hello?” you greet, sticky hands held in the air.

“Hi, it’s Taehyung!”

You freeze at the friendly voice. To say that your feelings and thoughts of Taehyung have changed during the past few days is an understatement. Or... well, you think. No one’s really explicitly told you anything, it’s mostly just signs, implications, and your own gut feeling.

You hope he’s just calling to check in.

“Oh, hi. How are you? And Jihoon?”

“We’re good! He’s still recovering. You know, a procedure of that kind is tough on the body, not to mention if you’re over fifty. They’re keeping him a bit longer, even if he tries to make them let him go earlier,” Taehyung laughs.

“Yeah,” you agree politely, “He should listen to the doctors and take it easy.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell him. But anyway, I’ve got some good news for you!”

You glance worriedly at the phone. Good news?

“Oh?”

“Yeah! I spoke with a friend earlier, and he offered to take Jeongguk. He had some things to do out of town, but seems like he’ll be able to reschedule and take him after all. And I just spoke with Jimin; he’s close by and can pick Jeongguk up in half an hour if that works for you?”

“Half an hour?” you repeat with your heart falling.

When you turn around, Jeongguk stands behind you, sipping water from a glass and staring out the window. You don’t even see his entire profile, but he, as usual, doesn’t show very much emotion.

“Yeah.”

“And this friend...? Who... What’s his name?”

It’s not like you expect to know the person, but you can’t help it. You feel like you need to know.

“Namjoon,” Taehyung answers, and you see Jeongguk’s shoulders falling slightly, and what little you see of his face loses whatever tiny little glimpse of emotion it had before. “Don’t worry, he and Jeongguk know each other.”

It doesn’t take very long for you to come to a decision. The hybrid might not like you, but... you can at least guarantee he’s being looked after properly. That he has a bed to sleep in, all the food he can eat, and... someone who cares for him. And most importantly, you don’t know this Namjoon, but you guess that Jeongguk would rather stay with you judging by his reaction.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind if he stays.”

Taehyung is silent for a second, and you’ve turned away from Jeongguk, so if he reacts in any way, you don’t see it.

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, I know he can be a handful,” he chuckles.

“I promise, it’s fine. He’s not so bad.”

It’s not even a lie. Or maybe he is just a tad bit difficult sometimes, but you’ve already come to the conclusion that if anything, it’s not Jeongguk’s fault. The image of the kangaroo hybrid, all snuggled up to the hot water bottle in bed, flashes before your eyes. That alone is worth it.

“Oh... Well, okay then. That’s very generous of you, so thank you. I’ll let Jimin and Namjoon know.”

You don’t like Taehyung’s words or how surprised and even grateful he sounds. No wonder Jeongguk thinks he’s a burden, and you don’t even know how they treat him at home.

“Yeah, no problem.”

There are a few more sentences exchanged before you hang up—Jeongguk long gone from the kitchen by then—and you can resume your baking. It hits you then just how little you want Jeongguk to go home. To go anywhere. But you don’t think there’s really anything you can do; hybrids have few rights and are basically nothing more than possessions in the eyes of society.

“Can I play?”

Jeongguk looks at you where you stand beside the couch, and immediately, he pauses the game and holds the controller out to you. All while looking... stoic. There’s still almost always that underlying anger. Like he loathes humans so much, and that yes, he will obey, but only because he has to. A part of you wonders how his ‘caretakers’ succeeded in making someone so stubborn and strong comply; another part doesn’t even want to imagine it. 

“Oh, I meant with you? There’s another controller, right?”

Stepping in front of the tv, you crouch to look through the little box Yoongi left with games. And, yeah, there it is. You pull it out, fiddling a little with it in your hands as you move to sit down on the couch. With adequate space between you and the hybrid, of course.

“So, I’ve only played Mario Kart once and that was like... years and years ago. Do you think, maybe you could... teach me?”

Jeongguk looks at you, a softer than usual look of surprise on his face. His eyebrows are a tiny bit raised and his lips just slightly parted.

“I’ve never played before today.”

“Really? It certainly looks like you know what you’re doing,” you chuckle, noticing how his eyes flicker subtly in something other than anger?

“Uh, yeah... Yoongi showed me the controls.”

You make a mental note to send flowers and some kind of gift basket to Yoongi’s home. In a way, it doesn’t surprise you that the calm and almost somber-looking man was able to interact with the very suspicious hybrid. Yoongi doesn’t ponder too much; he’s more straight—but calmly so—to the point. 

“Will you show them to me, then?”

He nods, and with the controller in his hands, shows you what the buttons do and when to press them. When you feel like you’ve refreshed your memory enough to give it a shot, Jeongguk restarts the game. Of course, the hybrid’s superior reflexes and the few hours he already spent playing lead to his victory. The first time, you can see that he isn’t sure how to act, almost as if he knows not to seem satisfied with winning, but when all you do is complain about your own performance in a lighthearted way and compliment his, he smiles.

The thirty minutes you spent gaming influence the rest of the night, and you smile to yourself as you refill the hot water bottle for Jeongguk right before bed time. He doesn’t acknowledge the gesture, but he doesn’t argue it either, and that’s a win in your book, at least.

However, the next day—thursday—he’s back to being a grump, and at first, you have no idea why. Then it hits you. Thursdays mean ‘activity,’ which probably in turn means fighting. As a result, he’s holed up in the guest room for most of the day, eating only an apple and a banana after you open the door and physically place them and a big water bottle inside.

A few minutes before Jimin is supposed to pick Jeongguk up, you approach the tall hybrid in the hallway.

“So, what is it that you do? Are you… fighting?” you ask, trying to keep your worry and distaste out of your words.

He doesn’t answer, but you can feel his irritation grow and see his ears swivel back, which you by now can tell means that he’s not happy. Maybe you weren’t very successful. 

“Are they making you fight?”

Again, he remains quiet, zipping the bag shut.

“Can’t you just answer me for once?” you question, sounding more frustrated than you intended to.

“No.”

You lick your lips, silently cursing at yourself. Things were going so well. If you hadn’t asked—almost accused him—maybe his anger would’ve dwindled naturally.

“Do I come back?” he asks instead, staring at the wall, and you feel the heat radiating as his blood boils. He’s wondering if you’re kicking him out to the street for not answering your question.

“Come back? Of course,” you assure him, your own frustration exchanged for heartache and your voice taking on a softer tone once more. “I have an extra key you can have if that makes you more comfortable?”

“No,” he declines.

“Okay, but promise me you’ll knock, no matter the time?”

You think he’s about to nod, or at least give you some sort of answer, but you’re interrupted by the doorbell. 

You linger just inside the closed front door after they’ve left, wondering what you should do to pass the time. Whether you want to or not, you worry a whole lot about Jeongguk, hoping desperately he won’t come back injured.

While you wait, you decide to take the opportunity to cook for him. You’ve tried googling what kangaroo hybrids typically like to eat, but it hasn’t given you a very clear answer, so you settle on a pasta dish. You make sure to use extra cream and to also make him a dessert of banana slices with peanut butter. If he doesn’t want to eat like he should, you can at least try to pack as many calories into what he does eat. 

Then, you retrieve the first aid kit, just in case, and the last thing you do before sinking down on the couch to wait in front of the TV is to fluff his pillows and place the filled hot water bottle between the sheets. Hopefully his bed will be warm and ready whenever he returns. 

Despite finding a very interesting documentary to watch, you can’t stop yourself, checking your watch as well as the stairwell outside your apartment now and again.

Whether he’d actually knock or try to stay outside again, you won’t actually know because at two-thirty a.m., you hear the slightest of noise from outside and go to open the door, seeing Jeongguk approach.

If you hoped whatever he’s doing with Jimin would’ve made him more at ease, well, it didn’t. He doesn’t greet you, stepping inside and placing his duffel bag on the floor. You try to get a good look at him to see if he is injured, but he appears to move smoothly and without pain, and there’s nothing on his face that seems hurt either.

Unfortunately, Jeongguk doesn’t appreciate the things you did for him while you waited. He scoffs at the bowl of pasta you bring him when he comes out of the shower, and you won’t deny that it breaks your heart a little bit. Even more so when he peers into the guest room, seeing the fluffed pillows.

“I’m not a human nor a baby.”

Unsure of what to do, you give sternness another try. “Eat, Jeongguk.”

But he turns fully toward you, looking down at you like he doesn’t care if you live or die. Although his black eyes and hostile body language honestly do scare you a bit, you try not to show it.

“No,” he grits. “Kick me out, I don’t care.”

His words catch you off guard, and you open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

“Can I go to sleep now or do I leave?” he asks stoically when you don’t say anything.

You manage to mutter something about how he can go to sleep, and after he closes the bedroom door behind him, you stand there for a few seconds, stunned.

When you return from work the next day, Jeongguk is still in the guest room with the door shut like he was when you left. With a sigh, you contemplate your best course of action, until you decide on an approach. Perhaps you should’ve really considered what he wants.

“Jeongguk?” you knock on his door, “...I understand that you don’t really want to be here. If you want me to, I can call Taehyung and ask if Namjoon is still free to take you?”

You wait a few seconds, not surprised when there is no answer. Letting a few more seconds pass, you then open the door carefully.

“Jeongguk?”

As the gap in the door widens, you spot him, sitting on the bed with his back toward you.

“No.”

His voice sounds like it often does; informative and not very emotional. But you’ve come to know him and his language well enough to know that there’s a lot of feelings inside; he’s just not allowed to express them.

“‘No’ as in…?”

“I don’t want to go.”

You’re relieved. Both because he answered you and because of what that answer was.

“Okay,” you reply softly, “That’s alright. I baked more bread, do you think you could eat something?”

To your relief, he turns his head a little toward you and nods slightly, and a few minutes later, he comes out of his room to eat some home-baked bread.

That same night, you wake up at three a.m., feeling the telltale signs of something approaching; a very familiar sensation that happens once a month, and you pray to the gods to let you off easy this time. It’s hard enough when you’re alone and not caring for a mostly raging hybrid.

<previous | next>

A knock on the door does nothing to break your concentration. Your fingers don’t so much as falter. Joshua pokes his head in through a crack in the doorframe, frowns when he sees you, and finally speaks up.

“Any chance you will be wrapping this up soon?”

You don’t look up, but you hum in acknowledgment. “Just a little bit more. I’m just finishing up on….”

Your voice trails off. You don’t attempt to finish the sentence. Joshua sighs.

“It’s Friday night.” He reminds you, gently, still lingering in the doorway. “How about you and I get some dinner? You can sleep in tomorrow.”

He knows his suggestions will fall on deaf ears, but he tries nonetheless. He is hyperaware of his boss at this point. There’s no convincing you to slow down, to take a breather. You won’t allow yourself to. Slowing down means letting your mind wander. And you haven’t let that happen in five years, lest you are reminded of what you have lost.

“It’s okay for you to head home, Josh.” You break him from his thoughts. “I promise, I’m almost done. Maybe an hour more.”

There’s no point in arguing. Joshua sighs and steps out again. He reminds himself to call you an hour later to make sure you have, in fact, left the office. His satchel is already packed, so he just pulls on his coat and steps out.

You know Joshua worries. He’s the only person on staff who can see your struggle. You pride yourself on being composed and shut off from the people around you. If you’re drowning, no one really sees it. Except Joshua, of course. He has been there since the very beginning, so he knows. The rest of the staff though, you did a complete turnover half a decade ago. They don’t know what actually went down or what you’ve been through.

True to your word, you’re wrapping up forty five minutes later. It’s well past midnight, and you know Joshua won’t take kindly to you still working when he inevitably calls in fifteen minutes. There have been occasions where he has dragged you out of the building himself, when he is particularly frustrated. He keeps speaking about ‘work-life balance’, reprimanding you for not having it. You always bite your tongue instead of telling him that you have no ‘life’ to go back to. The only person you ever loved is gone, so your work is all you have.

The drive back is inconsequential. The roads are empty by this point, despite the weekend. Your apartment building is silent and looming as always. You don’t really like your neighborhood, but you had moved here after everything happened for a fresh start, and at the time, you weren’t in any headspace to pick out a nice place. Joshua often complained about how drab and uninspiring your apartment is. You pay him no mind. He has always been all about flowers and rainbows. His desk at the office is so colorful it makes your eyes hurt sometimes.

You leave the light on in the kitchen landing so you don’t have to stumble through the dark to get to the switchboard. Again, you can hear Joshua complaining in your head about how you can easily afford an AI home system, considering how well the company has been doing. You are least interested though. You don’t want to put anything in this apartment that can mean you are planning to live here long term. You don’t even know why you’re still here. Most days, you have no clue where your life is heading anyway.

You toe off your shoes and plop your heavy trenchcoat over the back of the couch. You wonder what you can make yourself for dinner. Something minimal straight out of the packet, probably. You’ve got dozens of those prepackaged meals in your pantry. You beeline for the sink, washing your hands and wondering bleakly what you are in the mood for stomaching. Through the window over the counter, you can see the city’s skyline. Thousands of tiny, yellow dots from people’s windows, the backdrop formed by the sleek, poised buildings of the business sector looming beyond. Straight edges and smooth lines. But one building, not even two blocks away, shows an irregularity.

You squint for a second, hands held under the sink still. It looks like a person. Tall, but very broad. You half think you’re imagining it, but then the silhouette moves, and your eye catches on a gleam of silver over the shoulder.

The water is still running. You shut it off, looking back up. He’s gone.

You blink a few times. Then you glance at the clock. It’s nearly three in the morning. You huff and step away from the sink, shaking off your hands. It’s too late at night for your brain to be functioning properly. You need sustenance. And then you need to sleep.

It’s easy enough to pop your chicken dinner into a dish and slide it into the oven. You set fifteen minutes on the digital counter, and then busy yourself with hopping into the shower for a quick wash. Fifteen minutes on the dot, you’re back in the kitchen, peering into the oven with dripping wet hair and a bathrobe covering your drenched body. Everything around you is silent, so deafeningly still that you immediately hear the click and whir of metal. Right behind you. Too close.

The hair on the back of your neck stands. You whirl around.

Something smashes, hard, against your nose. Pain explodes and you gasp, stumbling back into the counter. Your eyes water, something warm and liquid drips over your lips and down your chin. You’re dizzy, you can’t see properly. You can barely breathe through the excruciating hurt. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and fight or flight takes over. Backed against the counter for support, you kick your legs out hard. Your feet make contact with something sturdy. There’s a grunt, and the man stumbles backward, his back hitting the refrigerator with what sounds like a deafening crash. You’re already scrambling to run from the kitchen.

You can barely see, but you know the map of this house like the back of your hand. Your ears are ringing, you’re gasping for breath, but panic is fueling you. You’ve had this feeling before, your life has been threatened once, a long time ago, and somehow, the second time around is giving you more clarity.

It also means that you are better prepared this time around.

You can hear the thuds and bangs behind you. Your attacker will be right on your heels soon. You barely manage to wretch your door closed, locking it, before a startling bang shakes it at its very hinges. Your yelp is involuntary. You know you have only bought yourself mere seconds.

Inside your drawer you find what you’re looking for, a tiny, unassuming device, shiny and silver, resembling a lighter. It comes with two silicone ear buds that you shove into your ears. Then, your hand on the solitary button on the device, you turn around.

The door comes down after just two bangs, splintering the doorframe completely. Sawdust rises, clouding the air. You don’t wait to see your attacker, pressing the button immediately.

You can’t hear it, owing to the buds in your ears, but you know a high pitched screeching has filled the air, nearly unbearable because of how high the frequency is. But it does its job. The man howls in pain, dropping what looks like a gun on the ground and using both hands to cover his ears. His knees buckle and he falls on them. You can see, even from a few feet away, the veins in his neck bulge hard, disappearing behind the black mask on his face. He crumples on the floor, clutching the sides of his head. You snatch your phone from where you had thrown it on your bed, frantically dialling three digits.

The man is still writhing, his body, clad in black and silver, contracting and arching painfully as he tries in vain to keep the sound out. As he moves, metal thuds against the ground. There is more clicking and whirring, like machinery buzzing with life. You realise he’s not entirely human. His shoulders tighten as you step closer, trying to make out who it is.

“911, what is your emergency?”

A single brown eye pops open on the stranger's mask-covered face. The other half, you realise, is covered in silver metal. But you don’t care about that, because your blood is running cold.

You would recognise that eye anywhere.

Your grip falters. The device in your hand gets silenced. The man on the ground relaxes, his hands falling down as he quickly tries to scramble to his feet. He is still swaying, his short cropped blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, the after effects of the sonic attack making him stumble, but for the first time, you register his stature. His height, the breadth of his shoulders. And his one, visible eye.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

The woman on your phone seems to break your trance. Before you know it, the man is rushing out over the broken wreckage of your door. Your hand shakes, your eyes are still watering from the blow you took. Both your phone and your device fall from your hand. You scramble after him.

“Wait-”

But he’s gone. Out of your living room window, which you didn’t notice was wide open when you first walked into the apartment. You can’t see him on the street below, which is glaringly empty. It’s like he was a ghost, vanishing before you can blink. You are left staring at nothing, blood dripping steadily down your chin now, staining your bathrobe, your hair still damp from the shower, sticking to your face and neck. You can’t even register the pain anymore, can’t think of anything else except the cold depth of his one brown eye.

……………………………

“That’s impossible.”

“It was him.”

“And I’m telling you, that’s not possible.”

“I know what I saw, Josh.”

“Y/N, he’s dead. We had a funeral. We buried him.”

“Only parts.” But your voice cracks. You don’t like remembering that day. “We had an arm and a leg. Some teeth. And this man…. half of him was metal. He’s been modified.”

Joshua doesn’t reply, staring at the TV playing across the room on low volume. You follow his lead, gaze blank. You don’t really register much of anything since the pain in your face is too overwhelming to take in much else.

When you woke up this morning, you almost forgot what happened in your apartment mere hours ago. One look at the broken mess of your door, the twinge in your face that made your eyes water, and all the events came rushing back. The punch you took, running to your room, your door broken down, driving your attacker away.

Clear, brown, almond shaped eye. Just one eye, while the other half of the face was covered in what looked like a metal plate, and a mechanical, white circle where the other eye should have been.

“The Secretary of Defence has a bionic arm.” You add, absentmindedly.

“Just one arm.” Joshua counters. “Not half the entire body.”

“It wasn’t the entire body. I could make out the arm and leg. Some part of the face-”

“My point is,” Your friend cuts you off, “why would it be Seungcheol? And if by some miracle it was him, why would he attack you?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know. You’ve been mulling over the same questions for hours, long before you finally called Joshua to come over. You know bionic prostheses are very much an emerging field in biotech circles. Everyone is racing towards this kind of technology because of how much revenue there is in the medical applications. The other, more sinister angle is weaponry, and you know that a lot of your fellow developers and companies want to tap into that potential. There have been rumors for months, covert projects underway by both government and private agencies to develop this exact kind of thing.

Maybe what you saw last night was an application of that weapon.

It still doesn’t explain why he would attack you. Doesn’t explain why the person who would never so much as raise his voice at you could hurt you so severely that Joshua balked at the sight of your purple and blue face, nose swollen and bruised in ugly colors that told you that you would have to work from home for the foreseeable future.

The Seungcheol you knew had been so gentle. That’s how you met him, actually, so many years ago that you don’t even recognise that time.

He’d spilled coffee on you, as cliché as it sounds. Thankfully, it missed any part of your skin that was bare, but even through the cloth it burned a bit. He was so apologetic, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, messed up by the wind in a look that reminded you a little bit of a gentle dog. He had panicked, tried to wipe you down, but you were too distracted by this giant of a man who talked so softly, dabbed your sleeve with a grip on your wrist uncharacteristically gentle for such large hands. He wanted to pay for dry cleaning, and you agreed only if he would let you buy a coffee to replace the one he had spilled on you. Of course, he didn’t let you pay even after agreeing to it.

“I spilled it on you.” He argued. “What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for it?”

His lips, full and pink in a way that you immediately wondered about the feel of them, ticked up, and a little dimple dented his right cheek. You felt the squeeze of your heart, fluttering wildly in your chest, a feeling that was replicated every day after that, for Seungcheol never left your side since then. Until the day he died. Or did he?

Joshua is watching the screen more intently now, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yoon Tech is doing a demonstration at the New York Expo? I had no idea.”

You blink to focus on the screen. Sure enough, Yoon Tech’s CEO, Yoon Jeonghan, is speaking to the audience and cameras with that sly, charming smile on his face, talking about unveiling a project that can revolutionise the field of war weaponry and put their military supremely on top of their competition around the world. You know Yoon Tech is the military’s primary contractor, and their focus is weaponry. You know this because before Yoon Tech, your company was approached for a military contract, one that you turned down because your prime focus was not weapons. Joshua still thinks you should have said yes, but you don’t want to take the company in that direction. Besides, things get messy if you have the government as your big boss.

“You know Jeonghan doesn’t say anything about projects until the day he unveils them.” You mumble, only half focusing. “He’s secretive that way-”

“Wait, shut up.” Joshua sits up abruptly, scrambling for the remote to turn the volume up. Behind Jeonghan, several people are stepping onto the stage. He’s introducing them one by one as military veterans, and your eyes catch their forms immediately, breath stilling. Protheses, lots of them.

A man with a bionic arm, quite like the one the Secretary of Defence has. A woman with a below knee prosthetic leg. There’s more, attached limbs and shoulders, half a pelvic girdle, part of a jaw. Jeonghan is still talking, gesturing to the people now lining up behind him. The silver gleams, just like it gleamed on Seungcheol’s body last night. The only difference is the Yoon Tech and Military logos stamped on the ones on your screen. Jeonghan announces a demonstration, steps off the stage, and you watch, completely silent, as all of them demonstrate feats of extraordinary strength, aided by their metal attachments, some even showing installed weaponry between the plates of their limbs.

“A formation of advanced humans,” Jeonghan is saying somewhere off screen. “Man and machine combined, that will allow these soldiers to serve their country in ways they did not even possess before their unfortunate injuries.”

“Josh…” Your voice trails off.

Joshua looks pale, confused, and a little frightened when his eyes meet your beaten and bruised face. It looks like he dared not believe, but you know he has reached the same conclusion as you.

“Jeonghan sent Seungcheol to kill you?”

…………………………

The only sound in the large, swanky office is the tea as it pours slowly into a cup on Jeonghan’s desk. It steams, and the scent of chamomile hits his nose. He watches it absentmindedly, and then waves his hand to dismiss his secretary. She places the tea kettle down gently and leaves without a word, and the room falls into silence. There is only him, and the man sitting opposite to him across his large, mahogany desk. Half his face is shrouded by darkness, the other half reflects the light as it hits the cold, unforgiving metal.

Jeonghan tuts.

“Well, this is definitely a setback.” He hums, picking up the cup so he can take a small sip. It warms his throat, perfect for the cold weather. But his mind remains distracted. “After the demonstration at the Expo yesterday, she will definitely know it was me who ordered the hit. After all, who else is making bionic weaponry?”

The man across from him doesn’t respond. He rarely talks unless directly spoken to, one eye blank and unseeing. Jeonghan doesn’t claim to know much about how the human brain works, but he supposes extensive memory modification can do that to a person.

“You always used to have something witty or crass to say, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan sighs. “Oh well. It was either that, or your willingness to kill her. I will take what I can get.”

Again, no reply. Jeonghan focuses on drinking his tea, thinking. His eyes are trained on his former business rival, the presumed dead husband of his current business rival. The soothing chamomile does nothing to take the bitter taste out of his mouth. He still feels the resentment, the bruise on his ego. For your company to be pursued as a first choice in a military partnership, when his own efforts are much grander, much more advanced, for you to turn that opportunity down (you’re a dumbass, he thinks), for him to be second choice, despite where he stands in tech circles…

A company that was a mere baby not even a full decade ago to beat something it took his family generations to build. It irks him. It burns him.

So he will burn you.

He did it once, in the explosion that took away what you loved the most. It should’ve been enough to deter you, but it clearly wasn’t. No matter, he plans to destroy you directly this time.

“You know what you need to do.” He says, mutely. The man before him stirs, nods. Jeonghan scowls at him.

“Make sure you finish the job this time.”

……………………………..

Seungcheol had always been a mega-nerd about tech. And his dream was to own his own company.

He would tell you about it, both of you sprawled on the uncomfortable rooftop of his college dorm building, staring at the sky. He’d talk and talk about his plans after graduation, about how he wanted to build something from the ground up, something he was proud of. You would listen, not just because the sound of his voice always made you so happy, but because you were genuinely interested in it. You had a business major, and while Seungcheol didn’t know how to run things, you did. Even then, it felt like a match made in heaven to you. Seungcheol knew the substance of the company, you knew how to run it. It almost felt like a no-brainer that eventually you would do this together.

Back in his dorm, you would plop yourself into his lap and look over the little gadgets he had designed, the many, many files in his computer of inventions you didn’t even know could exist. You would tease him, calling him a glorified mechanic.

“Engineer.” He would pout. You would kiss it off him through a million giggles. His laptop would be pushed off the bed, forgotten, as you sunk into each other’s arms.

The company was his baby, truly. While you were CEO because you ran day to day operations and focused on logistics, any product you pushed out was crafted carefully in Seungcheol’s hands. He would bring every prototype to you, you would run it by focus groups and tweak it, and eventually, it would hit the market with great success. Seungcheol always thought it was because of you.

“You run your magic over it, and it becomes a hit.” He would say, kissing your cheek over and over. You would just grin and take it, never ever pushing him away.

It was all Seungcheol, everyone knew this. But when he looked at you so softly, that glint of awe in his beautiful eyes, you would just indulge whatever he had to say.

“You wouldn’t know what to do without me, mister.” You would tease. He would squeeze you so tightly.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

All those memories are ghosts now. The truth is, you don’t know what to do without him either. He was part of you, intertwined with your soul, and he was painfully ripped away after so many glorious years together. Sometimes, you think you imagined that time in your life. It feels so far away. But then you walk into your office, you look at the logo he designed, the furniture you picked out, the many, many unfinished files in your server that you are still working on, his creations, and you would be reminded that he was real. All that time, all that delirious bliss, was completely real.

Jeon Wonwoo is the current head of your Product Development branch, Seungcheol’s previous post. You had brought him in after the tragedy that killed your husband. Well, not you, but Joshua, who suggested overhauling the entire team after the attack. He is brilliant, quiet and a little reclusive, but whip-smart. He became intimately familiar with Seungcheol’s work when you brought him in, and he respected the integrity of it, which made you respect him even more. He’s no Seungcheol, but he’s the closest thing, and you think he might be the only one you can trust to answer the questions in your head.

“Bionic weaponry isn’t exactly novel.” He murmurs. “We know it exists. Not openly yet, but it’s being manufactured in a lot of places. Companies we know as well as around the world. Yoon Tech is just the first one to unveil it publicly.”

Joshua is pacing your living room floor, and watching him makes you feel dizzy, so you close your eyes instead. Your face is still tingling with pain, and you’re so tired that you just want to sleep. But you also need some form of explanation.

“So it’s possible? Modifying Seungcheol’s body like that?” Joshua asks.

Wonwoo hesitates, holding his chin and staring at the far wall. “Theoretically, yes. Practically, I haven’t seen or heard of it yet. Not to the extent you describe. Establishing neural connections in that many body parts and making sure they work in perfect coordination is a huge undertaking.”

Joshua looks at you pointedly, as if to say ‘I told you so’.

“But,” Wonwoo clears his throat, “if anyone can accomplish it, it would be Yoon Tech. Their R&D team is the best in the game.”

You return Joshua’s look the best that you can through your marred face. He huffs.

“What about the fact that he attacked her? Why would he do that?” He asks.

Wonwoo blinks. “Oh, that’s easy. Memory modification. Brainwashing. CIA has been doing it for years. A lot of assassins operate under that frame of mind. It’s easier to control them that way.”

A small silence stretches over the room. Joshua is chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“So he doesn’t know who I am.” You mumble. “I’m just….. what, a target?”

Wonwoo nods. “Likely, yes. And you know Jeonghan way better than me, ma’am. It’s very like him to toy with you by using Seungcheol specifically.”

You can’t argue with him on that. You know how ruthless Jeonghan is about his company, about his standing in tech circles. You’re catching up, dangerously close, and some would say you’ve even surpassed him. You won't put it past him to knock out competition under the table.

You never did find out who ordered the hit on Seungcheol five years ago. But now, you think you know.

“Can we undo it?” You ask. “The memory change, or whatever?”

Joshua stares at you. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo answers you, though.

“I think so, yes. It’s not my area of expertise, but I know people who can tell us more about it. The memory isn’t the problem, though. He’s basically a walking weapon. Subduing him long enough to do anything about his brain is going to be an issue.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Joshua steps closer to you, cutting off your reply to Wonwoo, holding a hand up. Both of you look at him as he stares at you in bewilderment.

“What the hell are you planning? Are you insane? He almost killed you!”

“What do you want me to do then?” You grit your teeth. “Nothing? Should I just lay down and let him kill me?”

“We need to call the police-”

You laugh dryly. Your face twinges with pain.

“I have no proof. You think any agency in this city is going to mess with Yoon Tech? And by some miracle if they do believe me, do you think any of them are going to spare Seungcheol long enough to save him?”

Joshua’s mouth opens and closes, like he wants to protest, but no words leave him. He huffs and shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. You turn your attention back to Wonwoo.

“I know you’re not a biotech expert, but you’re the best IT guy I know. Any ideas on how to hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe?”

Wonwoo looks a little taken aback. “That’s….. illegal.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the pain that comes with it. “I’m pretty sure trying to get your business competitor killed is illegal too. Jeonghan seems comfortable attempting it twice.”

He nods slowly, still slightly hesitant. “I will need help…”

You stand up, essentially declaring the meeting over. You’re tired, as you often are these days. Your injury might look like it affects your face only, but you feel the exhaustion bone deep in every part of you. You want a soothing cup of tea and then a million blankets to lie down in. That's it.

“Call in anyone you need.”

…………………………

You know he will come again. The only question is when.

The bruises around your nose and under your eyes take a long time to fade. The slow move from a deep purple, to blue, to a sickly green and then yellow surprises you every day. You’re breathing easy now, only a week later, but you know going to the office looking like this will raise serious questions. You can’t risk any eyes on this right now, since getting Seungcheol back needs to be as discrete as possible.

That’s what you plan to do. Get him back.

It’s idealistic, almost. Maybe something out of a movie. He has been altered, mind and body, for years. You don’t even want to imagine how much he was been put through. How convoluted must his mind be now? How dangerous would tinkering with his body be?

Every few minutes, your hand reaches into the pocket of your jeans, toying with the small, rectangular chip that Wonwoo had given you a couple of days ago.

“You need to get close enough to him to get this on any bionic part of him.” He told you. “Arm, leg, doesn’t matter. We can’t hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe, it’s too secure. But we can isolate him from it. This chip can do that. Once that’s done, we can figure out a way to rewire his mechanics.”

It’s easier said than done, of course. For one, Seungcheol is nearly twice your size. He’s always been massive, but he seems even more so now. You wonder if he has worked covertly for Yoon Tech to do other dirty work. How long has he been their weapon? How much training does he have? Can you, a novice civilian, even get close enough to him to do any lasting damage?

“You managed it once, didn’t you?” Joshua replied to your mind’s worries. “You got out of that alive, somehow. I’m willing to bet you can do it again.”

“He’ll be more careful this time.” Wonwoo mumbled. “For one, he won’t try again until you’re completely alone. For another, he will make sure you are isolated from any weapon you might be able to access.”

So now here you are, meandering in your kitchen, watching your television blankly, staring unseeing at your laptop. Anything and everything to make yourself look as unassuming as possible. He’s watching, you know he is, and every fiber of your body is silently asking him to come to you. You wait, and wait, because you would wait endlessly for him. Somehow, you’re not afraid. In your head, this ends in one of two ways. Either you get the love of your life back, or you die trying. You’re good with both options.

It’s Tuesday by the time he finally shows up.

You think you sense him, because the hair on your body stands. You feel the chill, and then, that very soft whirring sound that comes when he moves his limbs.

You stare at the contents inside your refrigerator. You don’t turn around. And yet, he doesn’t shoot. He doesn’t swing.

“I was expecting you sooner.” You finally say.

When you turn to look at him, your eyes catch his visible brown one. Your breath hitches. He has ditched the mask, and you can see his face. Well, what’s left of it.

Metal pieces are carved into the shape of his right ear, curling forward to form a cheekbone, encroaching all the way over his eye and stopping right before his nose. It covers the ridge of his right eyebrow as well, but spares his forehead. A white, flat circle is fitted where his eye should be, and now that you look closely at it, it swirls and moves, no doubt mapping your every move.

The rest of his face is gloriously, warmly human. It’s him, it’s his left eye, his thick, furrowed eyebrow, the strong bridge of his nose, his lips, set in a hard line on his face. His hair has been cropped right to his skull, dyed a dirty blond with brown roots already growing out, slightly spiked and dishevelled around his head. Finally, your eyes dart down to the pistol in his hand, pointing directly at your chest.

You clench your teeth.

“Shoot me.”

He doesn’t reply, but his mouth tightens. From your chest, the gun rises to your head. The shifting of his aim is your window. Your hand shoots back, grabs and throws the first thing you can find at him. It’s a glass. His metal arm comes up, makes contact, and the glass shatters. His stance does not falter for even a second, but he flinches at the shards of glass, and before it even makes contact, you are sprinting forward, hand curled tight around the chip, and with one leap, you collide into him. Hard.

Your momentum is enough, and you both fall in a mess of limbs. You scramble, finding the edge of the plate in his shoulder, but before you can wedge the chip in it, his human hand reaches up and smashes hard against your jaw. You cry out, the sharp sting blooming, the taste of blood already in your mouth. But your hands are still moving, and before you know it, the chip hits hard against his bicep, immediately lighting up a pale yellow, the tiny spikes on its edges sinking into the metal.

Seungcheol shouts and roughly pushes you off. You fall limply on your side, trying to see through how dizzy you are. Everything hurts, your face is on fire, but your eyes are focused on the pale yellow streaks spreading over Seungcheol’s arm, glowing between the plates making up his leg, part of his face. His arm and leg jerk hard, seemingly out of his control. He shouts again, trying to stand up, but it looks like his limbs aren’t cooperating with him anymore.

The human part is still his though.

You force yourself, despite the excruciating pain and the blood now sliding down your throat, and you rush into the living room. Under your couch, you’ve stored what you need. Electromagnetic cuffs, both for his wrists and ankles, shiny grey steel with a light that blinks on when you press the buttons on them. You can hear Seungcheol stumble onto his feet in the kitchen, and you’re already rushing back before he can stand properly. The cuffs hum, slam hard around his human wrist and the light on them turns red. The arm goes limp on his side immediately. He can’t react, not with his only remaining limb, and you are able to secure the other cuff around his ankle as well.

With that, your husband crumples to your kitchen floor.

He’s motionless from the neck down, but he strains hard. You can see the muscles in his neck bulge. He is flushed with the exertion of it, grunting and snarling. His glare is venomous as you back into the kitchen island, trying not to choke on the blood dripping down your throat as you breathe hard.

You drape yourself over the sink, trying not to throw up, spitting blood into it so you can breathe. Behind you, Seungcheol is still groaning and straining, to no avail. You stay leaning over until the wave of nausea passes, and the bleeding slows. Finally, you grab a bunch of paper towels, wiping your mouth and chin. The metallic taste still lingers.

Your hands leave some streaks of blood on your phone as you dial Wonwoo’s number. He picks up on the first ring, and when he speaks, you realise he was anticipating your call.

“The chip just connected to my server! I’m working on decrypting and isolating him from Yoon Tech’s servers right now.”

“How long is it going to take?” You ask, not recognising your own, broken voice. Your jaw is sore. You’re in so much pain.

“I don’t know yet….” Wonwoo’s voice is more subdued. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

You shake your head before you realise he can’t see you.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” Big underreport. “What do I do while you work on this?”

Wonwoo doesn’t immediately answer, but you can hear shuffling in the background.

“What I’m doing only changes the physical.” His voice sounds apologetic. “The mental barrier, his lack of memory, I can’t fix that.”

You know what he is implying. You turn your head to look at Seungcheol, still on your kitchen floor, heaving but no longer futilely straining.

“Thanks, Wonwoo. I can handle that part.”

The truth is, you don’t know if you can. You don’t know what was done to him. You don’t even know if your husband still exists somewhere inside him, or if he was wiped out completely. Are you even cut out for this? With your modest business degree and a company that is successful only because of Seungcheol’s genius, where do you stand in this situation?

As you walk back into the kitchen, watching the man writhing on the floor does nothing to soothe your confidence. Suddenly, all your clarity is gone.

You don’t know what to do.

……………………………..

Seungcheol was a very clingy man.

You always liked that about him. To you, he was like an overgrown bear, curling around you tightly while you chopped vegetables until you complained that you still needed your mobility in order to cook dinner.

“You’re too heavy, Cheolie!” You would whine, but his grip on you would only tighten, pressing your back harder into his front.

“Five more minutes.” He would mumble into your hair. You would laugh incredulously.

You’re reminded of that moment as you drag this immobilised, half human, half robot man into your living room, using every bit of your strength to plop him onto the armchair next to the couch. You’re heaving, your head pounding so severely that it makes you dizzy. There’s no fight in him anymore, and he stares blankly at you as you cough a little, still feeling drops of blood hit your palm as you do so. You huff and go to the bathroom to clean up, rummaging in your medicine cabinet for anything that could ease your pain. You leave him on the chair, knowing he’s incapable of escaping anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, your legs curled under you, a blanket draped over your lap. You stare with bleary vision at the dark, steaming liquid. Seungcheol stares at the ceiling, head thrown back. Neither of you says a word.

“Do you speak?” You muse out loud, not looking at him. “I haven’t heard you talk yet, so it makes me wonder.”

No reply.

“Jasmine tea was your favorite, you know?” You mumble on, not even fully aware of what you are saying. “You were always a coffee person, but when you had tea with me sometimes, it would be jasmine. It’s the only one you could stomach, actually.”

A mirthless laugh leaves you. He still stares at the ceiling. You watch him, the stiff cut of his jaw, the streaks of yellow glowing under the plates of his bionic attachments. There is a distinct, soft hum coming from them, but both of you elect to ignore it.

“Seungcheol.” You whisper. He doesn’t react beyond a small flick of his eyelid.

You’re so tired. You can feel it tug on your limbs, like invisible weights making it difficult to even move. With every ounce of strength in you, you stand up, walking to the closet in your hallway. You return with a pale blue blanket, the one Seungcheol got for himself years ago and never let go, claiming it was a comfort for him. Now, his eye trains on you as you shake it out and drape it over his torso and legs. You don’t look at him, just loosely tucking him in before walking back to the couch, pulling your own blanket around yourself and sinking into the uncomfortable cushion.

You don’t notice his eye on you. You don’t notice anything else as you welcome the pitch black of dreamless sleep. You send out a little prayer that by morning, somehow all of this will be over and you will wake up in bed, wrapped up in your husband’s warm arms.

You’re wrong, sadly. There is nothing but cold.

He’s exactly where you left him before drifting off. He stares into the distance, looking disconnected until you shift and his eye catches the movement. You wince at the crick in your neck, somehow even more tired than you were before sleeping. You sigh and rub your eyes.

“Did you sleep?” You ask.

No response.

You leave him on the couch, opting to putter to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You eye the cabinet against the far wall, staring at the bottles inside and the amber liquid that gleams in them. A glance at the clock tells you it’s barely noon.

Fuck this.

Seungcheol doesn’t react in any way when you walk into the living room with a bottle of whiskey and a glass that’s too big for a drink like that. He just watches you from the corner of his eye as you sit back on the couch and pour yourself a concerning amount, wincing when your throat protests against the first sip.

“You would not approve of this at all.” You chuckle humorlessly. “You’d be appalled, I think. Drinking this early? Whiskey of all things? That was never my drink. I didn’t have the tolerance for it. You’re the whiskey guy.”

He doesn’t interrupt. You take another sip and stare at the glass. Already, on an empty stomach, you can feel your senses dimming.

“Sometimes I think,” you whisper, “you would really hate the person I’ve become.”

His head lolls in your direction, the only part of his body he can control. His eye meets yours and you feel your heart squeeze.

“I don’t know you.”

His voice is hoarse, a little crack in it from disuse. But it’s his voice, the voice you’ve yearned to hear for so long. You remember laying in your bed at night, wishing you could hear him whisper one last time, maybe even just the sound of your name from his lips, just once more, to hold you over. Your breath hitches, and you can feel your vision blur under newly formed tears.

“I’m your wife.”

“You’re my target.”

You stand abruptly, walking closer to where he sits, or rather, lays sprawled out under the blanket you draped over him. You tug it aside, eye the yellow lines of light that pass over his bionic limbs. You reach down to run a finger over the chip you attached to his bicep.

“If I pull this off you right now,” you stare directly into his eye. “Would you kill me?”

A small silence. Then he nods.

You let out a shaky breath, standing back up. The air is tense, and by now, you’re sick of it. You need to get away from him for a bit, no matter how badly that very thought pains you. Whiskey ignored on the coffee table, you walk to the door to tug your shoes on. You eye the back of his blond head with your hand on the doorknob, feeling a certain sense of defeat.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” You mumble, but he hears you. “You’re the one who created that chip.”

The door closes softly behind you.

……………………………………

There is a mess in his head. A tangled web of wires. He doesn’t know how to begin unraveling it. He can’t even find a single free end to tug on.

In the quiet of the room he is sitting in, he can hear warped voices from inside his own thoughts. He can’t make out any words, only tones, soft and loud both, some conversational, some that sound like laughter. He knows the voice, can recognise it. It’s the woman whose armchair he is sitting on.

Something presses on his temple, like a weighted force, insistent, as if urging him to listen more closely. But he can’t, because it makes pain bloom between his eyebrows, pain so severe it makes his eye water.

Every now and then, he feels intense heat, a kind that’s less uncomfortable and more painful. As suddenly as it comes, it goes away, and the blanket draped over him does nothing but elevate the sensation of it. He sits in the quiet, with the floating voices, the laughter, the weight on his head, the pain between his eyebrows, and the bursts of painful heat that bloom on his skin.

His ears perk when he hears the front door clink open after what seems like hours. He can’t turn himself around to look, so he just listens to the stumbling and mumbled cursing, shuffling and then a soft thud of cloth hitting the ground. Bare footsteps, a quiet sound, and then the woman from before enters his line of sight.

You’re clearly inebriated. He has stalked enough victims before ending their lives to know what alcohol intoxication looks like. He eyes you carefully as you putter around the living room, not doing anything in particular. Then, you look straight at him.

“I don’t know what to do.” You finally speak, and the words are less slurred than he expected them to be. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

He doesn’t reply. You move closer to him, and his face, the only thing he can move, tenses when you pull the blanket back and sink onto the chair by his side. He can feel the press of you against his skin, even if he can’t move. Your shoulder fits under his arm, you head on his collarbone. You drape the blanket over your joined bodies.

“Let’s just pretend everything is okay.” You whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your arm drapes over his torso. “Just for right now. Just one night.”

He stares at the wall, his side warming quickly under the added weight. It’s different from the heat he felt before, stinging and sudden, disconcerting. It’s different from anything he has felt in a long time. No one touches him. No one has been near him for years, except the people he has taken the lives of, or the scientists that fitted his limbs. This heat right now, it is dull but constant, like how the sun feels on your skin. He hears laughter again, but this time it’s clearer, and it sounds familiar, like something he has heard before. In another life.

He stares at the far wall as your breathing evens out. Your weight doesn’t feel very uncomfortable anymore as time passes. The clock ticks softly, and the rise and fall of your chest is rhythmic. He can feel your heartbeat against his ribcage. There is a whisper in his head. A name. His own. In a voice that is quickly becoming familiar.

He’s tired, but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t remember the last time he slept.

…………………………..

Going into work becomes out of the question immediately, since you can’t leave a brainwashed assassin on your couch unattended for a whole day. Joshua pays you a visit with some stuff that needs taking a look, but otherwise, you sit on the couch, your laptop in front of you, and get through meetings and daily logistics that way. As you work, you think out loud, talking to Seungcheol about random tasks that come up, some hiccup at work you’re fretting over, and how your head of accounting keeps pissing you off. It’s mundane stuff, but it is exactly the things that you used to talk about on the daily. You loved debriefing with your husband, especially because he worked in the same place as you, so he knew all these people just as well, and knew what you were talking about.

Now, he doesn’t respond much. But you’re okay with that. You’re just glad he is here, and not dead like you had assumed for the last five years.

After your moment of inebriated weakness, spending the night curled up in his warmth, you suddenly feel some semblance of hope again. You had heard his heart beat, had felt the twitch and shift of his skin under your touch. He is still your Seungcheol, even if half of him is cold and unfamiliar, you are certain that he is somewhere in there, deep inside. And you’re convinced that if he didn’t remember at all, he wouldn’t have let you sleep on him the way that he did.

(Granted, he had no choice since he was paralysed. But you choose to ignore that reality.)

Joshua has been very wary of this quiet, motionless version of Seungcheol. He steers clear when he visits, not engaging in any way and just choosing to finish up on work with you and leaving. One night, you ask him to stay for dinner, and for the first time, he hesitates. You see his eyes flick to where Seungcheol is sitting, and you sigh in irritation.

“He’s not a piece of furniture, Josh.” You mutter. “He’s still my husband.”

“Is he?” He counters, dryly. “Because it’s been weeks and there’s been nothing. I assumed if he was really in there, we would’ve seen something by-”

“He’s there.” You hiss, cutting him off. Joshua blinks at your harsh tone. “I’ve been here with him every second of every day. I see it in his eyes. He isn’t gone yet-”

The crack in your voice cuts you off. You take a deep breath, blinking vigorously to keep your tears at bay. Joshua has fallen silent, eyeing you with a forlorn expression. After a few seconds, when he realises you won’t continue, he simply nods.

That night, after Joshua has gone, you still have his uncertainty on your mind. You eye the back of Seungcheol’s head, and remember the last few weeks. A seed has been planted in your head, plaguing your brain with doubt and pain. And once again, you feel that bone deep exhaustion that comes and goes frequently these days.

You make up your mind quickly, and your body follows in resignation.

Slowly, you walk back to the living room where Seungcheol sits. You walk closer to him, reaching for his flesh arm, the thick, metal cuff on his wrist. It sizzles a bit, recognises your thumbprint, and clicks, loosening. You don’t look at Seungcheol, despite the fact that he is eyeing you in surprise. You simply kneel down to quickly do the same to the cuff around his ankle before standing up again.

He moves with a little hesitation, stretching his leg and flexing his arm, his fingers. The limbs are stiff, and you’re sure weeks of no activity have left them sore. His bionic arm, and his pants clad leg, both still glow with pale, yellow light, the symbol of your and Wonwoo’s control of them. You reach forward, and yank the chip on his arm hard, disconnecting it. The yellow vanishes, leaving only gleaming, silver metal.

The chip is warm inside your palm. You step back, blinking away tears of what feels like a chapter closing.

“You can leave if you want.” You mumble. “Or kill me, since that’s your mission.”

Slowly, Seungcheol stands. His metal attachments click and whir, buzzing with life again as he twists and moves them, feeling them out. You take a deep breath and realise you can’t stand to look at him anymore. So you head to the kitchen.

You shuffle around mindlessly, just waiting to hear the front door open and close, or maybe you wait for searing pain from wherever he chooses to attack you. You can’t predict what he will do anymore. There was once a time you knew him so well, you could even count his breaths in your head, could mimic the rise and fall of his chest under your palm. Now, you feel like you are lost at sea and he’s nowhere to be found.

There’s shuffling behind you, but you don’t turn around.

“I don’t know you.” He says, and the words hurt just as much as they did when he first spoke them weeks ago. You grit your teeth hard.

“But,” he continues. Hesitates, “I did know you. In another time.”

You feel yourself stiffen, turning just enough to look at him. He fills the doorway, but his figure is hunched, uncertain. You wonder if he is just as tired as you. If he can feel it tug on his limbs like you do, like it’s anchoring him to the floor. How has he felt, watching you for weeks and weeks, nowhere to go but to sit and listen to any word that falls out of your mouth?

“I want to know.” He continues. “I want to remember.”

You stare at him for a long time before you finally move to where he stands. He doesn’t step back, doesn’t react at all, even when you stop just inches from his face. His human eye, brown like the earth, flicks with something you can’t place, and the metal that covers the other half, plain grey, cold and distant. Just where the metal meets his face, the skin is raw and red. Up close, you can see how angry it looks, and you wonder how careless the person was who put him together.

Your heart aches.

“Okay.” You say simply. No promises, no guarantees. Only a commitment, and a hope to see it succeed.

…………………………

It’s a little strange to settle into a routine with this new version of Seungcheol.

For one, he doesn’t do most things humans would. He eats very little, maybe one meal a day, and sleeps even less. He spends a lot of time to himself, mostly silent rumination, something that wasn’t part of his personality at all before. He’s always been loud and jovial, so this change takes some adjusting. You suspect there is a lot about him, maybe all of it, that isn’t the same anymore. The thought hurts you, so you try not to dwell.

You open your spare bedroom for him, since lounging in your living room day and night can’t really be comfortable. You still have his old clothes, whatever you managed to salvage after the explosion in your shared home. He is deeply intrigued by them, and asks, in a low voice, what other belongings of his you held on to.

The answer is: everything.

You make a trip to the storage unit you bought before you moved to your new, drab apartment. You lug back boxes of Seungcheol’s incomplete inventions, designs he was working on at the time, little contraptions that were half functioning, his diaries, his notes. You even bring back his absurdly large collection of watches, every brand and every new, cool tech that existed in the market.

“They were your one vice.” You smile at the memory as he opens the gigantic box. “You actually designed a few yourself too. This one-”

You point to a shiny, square shaped one in the corner. Seungcheol eyes it closely.

“This one was connected to me. You installed something in it that links to the one I wear, and it clicks at the same rhythm as my heartbeat. So it’s not really for telling time.” You shrug.

“I made this?” He asks, lifting the watch from its snug case. It’s not functional anymore, probably out of battery after so many years. It’s strange, because it has no hands and no numbers. There is an engraving of your initials just under the glass, over a black background.

You nod. “You said it made you feel like I was by your side all the time.”

Your voice is low. It almost cracks. He doesn’t say anything more.

You stick to working from home for a prolonged amount of time now, which isn’t difficult, since you’re mostly confined to your office when you go into work anyway. A week or so after Seungcheol asked you if he could stay, you’re due for a site visit. And you offer for him to come with you.

He hesitates.

“No one is going to recognise you.” You reassure him. “For one, it’s an all new staff. And for another, you’re blond now. And short haired.”

He subconsciously runs a hand over his head, his lips pulling together in what can only be a ghost of one of his infamous pouts.

“It doesn’t look bad.” He mumbles.

“I never said it does.” You reply, holding back a smile as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. You tilt your head as you appraise his hair. He’s trying to flatten it down on his head.

“No, don’t do that.” You swat away his hand, running your fingers through the short but soft locks and lifting them up a bit. You mess around with it, distressing it a bit more. You know he’s watching you. It makes your cheeks heat a bit. You try to ignore the feeling.

“There.” You withdraw your hands. “It looks so nice now.”

When your eyes meet his, you realise his ears are tinged pink, and so is the back of his neck. You try to ignore the racing of your heart.

Wonwoo meets you on site, and he’s a little taken aback by Seungcheol being there. His face is covered with a mask, but the metal eye gives it away. After some stumbling, Wonwoo elects to ignore Seungcheol’s presence in favor of just getting work done, and you become immersed in it as well.

“This is where the problem is.” Wonwoo points, handing you the tablet. “There is definitely something wrong, but I can’t tell if it’s because I messed up the configuration or not. I’ve been trying a few different options but they all haven’t worked so far.”

Just over your shoulder, you feel Seungcheol lean in to look at the screen in your hand. You try not to think about him being so close.

“Maybe request a consultation.” You respond. “There is a reason we have engineers on call-”

“The configuration isn’t the problem.” A voice speaks from behind you. “Your base algorithm is wrong.”

You blink and turn your head, eyeing Seungcheol’s human eye, which is right beside you. Wonwoo frowns and steps closer, looking down at the tablet.

“How so?”

You tune it out, only registering his voice and not his words, watching as he points and explains where to make the change. You’re reminded of a time where Seungcheol would do this every day, and you would step back to let him do his thing. You can feel him now, right at your shoulder, his warmth so close you can almost perceive it. As you eye the side of his face, you fight the urge to kiss him. Or hug him. Anything. Your fingers twitch with it. Your heart yearns for it.

It’s over too quickly. And then he steps back.

Wonwoo is already taking the tablet from you, making adjustments as he thanks Seungcheol. You send him a little smile as he walks away, turning to look at the man on your side.

“That was very nice of you.” You say. He just nods a little sheepishly.

“It was an obvious solution.”

You shake your head, patting his arm as you move to walk past him. The metal is rigid and unforgiving under your fingers.

“Don’t be so modest. You were born for this.”

Seungcheol seems to be in a particularly good mood after that.

……………………….

Things get smoother as time goes by.

Something about going into work with you that one time clicks with Seungcheol. With all the material from your storage room, he starts tinkering with his old things again. There’s so many notes and designs, complete and incomplete blueprints keeping him occupied. He does it mostly in the living room, which you don’t mind. You’re glad he isn’t confined to his room. You like seeing him putter around the house or sit crosslegged on the floor, his metal arm whirring and clicking with every turn and movement. Sometimes, he sits out on the balcony when the weather is nice, and you join him with some tea or coffee. You don’t understand most of what he does, you never have, but you listen to him anyway. You bask in the way it lightens his voice, injects life into it. Sometimes, when he has come up with a new idea, he almost sounds exactly like he did before.

Your hope is increasing, tightening around your chest in a way that warms you up but traps you as well. Fear lingers, that this will all go away, that you’re balancing on a poorly strung tightrope and soon enough, you will fall.

And then that moment comes, the inevitable snap.

It’s a bright day, and you’re out for some groceries because you didn’t anticipate living with another person again, and your pantry is getting dangerously empty. You’re actually considering fresh produce instead of all the prepackaged crap you’ve been eating for so long. Seungcheol barely eats one meal a day, so it seems unfair if that one meal comes out of a box.

You’re considering which veggies to buy, lightly squeezing a tomato in your hand, when you feel something at your shoulder. It almost makes you jump, because it feels ominous, and your intuition is correct when you turn your head and come face to face with Yoon Jeonghan.

He’s in a black trenchcoat that nearly swallows his frame, a black cap on his head with dark strands poking out from under it. He looks particularly unassuming, just a casual shopper alongside you. His eyes are not on you, his lips pursed in what looks like consideration as he picks up another tomato, turns it around in his hand.

“This one is firmer.” He finally says, and his voice sounds jovial, casual, like it always does. “It will rot slower. You should get this.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You grit out, your voice low to make sure no one hears you. One look around the aisle tells you that it’s empty. It’s just him and you. Your nerves are on high alert.

Jeonghan tuts, finally looking at you from the corner of his eye. “Is that any way to talk to a peer? You’ve become so rude, Y/N.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “I didn’t realise I still had to extend common courtesy to you after you’ve tried to kill me. Twice.”

Jeonghan winces, then chuckles. “Yeah, that was my bad.”

You blink, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t. He drops the tomato in his hand, picking up and inspecting another.

“That’s it?” You scoff. “‘My bad’? You try to get me killed by turning my husband into a half human killing machine and your response is ‘my bad’?”

“Well, you got him back, no?” He responds. “I would say that’s a huge improvement on whatever sad, bachelorette life you’ve been living all this time.”

You scoff, incredulous. “You’re so…. you’re-”

No words come. You just shake your head. Jeonghan looks at you again, this time, a sly smile crosses his face.

“How about a truce? I don’t try to kill you again, and I don’t demand my asset back from you. Consider it an apology for the attempts on your life.”

You glare at him, feeling anger bubble in you again. “Asset?”

He blinks, like he’s surprised. “Well, yes. Do you know how much Yoon Tech invested in developing him? It wasn’t easy. But it’s fine. I’ve made a lot of progress on bionic weaponry since then. So you can keep him.”

Your rage is boiling over at the way he is speaking of Seungcheol, but you know there’s a reason Jeonghan decided to ‘run into’ you at a public place. You can’t react the way you want to, which is the intense need to strangle him where he stands.

You know there’s nothing you can do about anything Jeonghan has attempted. His company is a mammoth, that and his military contract make him basically untouchable. The only proof you have of his doing is Seungcheol’s own person, and you don’t want to drag him into the legal mess that would ensue. Here Jeonghan stands, offering you a truce because he thinks he has won already, which is new bionic weapons branch going over so well and elevating him to a status no one else would dare to achieve. To him, you are not a threat anymore, and so he is discarding you just like he does with everyone else.

Considering all your options, you think being discarded by him might be the best case scenario here.

“Fine.” You finally relent, watching him smile and step back, almost in finality.

“Great. See you around, Y/N. You should attend next year’s New York expo. I’ve got great things lined up, you know? Maybe it will inspire something in you too.”

He winks and walks a few steps backward, that characteristic smirk on his face still, before turning around and sauntering away, the basket in his head still empty. You watch his back as he leaves, feeling some sense of resolution, no matter how bittersweet it may be.

People like Jeonghan never get justice, because they are too valuable to lose. He has made himself indispensable, which means he will continue to achieve new heights despite whatever operations he conducts in the dark. That’s the reality you live in.

The only saving grace here is that it’s not Seungcheol who will have to do his dirty work going forward.

………………………………….

You’re not really here, Seungcheol can tell.

There’s a distant look in your eyes, like you’re lost deep in thought, as you stir the pot sizzling on the stove. You’ve been like this since you got back with groceries, not greeting him with that usual sweet tone you always use. It’s a little detached, even though he can see that you're clearly attempting to appear normal. He offers to help make dinner, and you take him up on it, so he is quick to begin chopping vegetables as you prepare the rice. You work quietly, which is unlike you. Usually, you don’t stop talking, something he’s grown quite fond of.

The truth is, Seungcheol remembers you, in bits and pieces.

Voices and pictures pass through his brain, like flash cards being held up in front of him. There’s no rhyme and reason to them, no chronological order, like a CD stopping and starting at random intervals. You’re there in so many of them, right by his side, watching him, talking to him, touching him in places he wouldn’t dare let anyone touch. His fingers twitch when he feels it, like a ghost caressing his skin. Sometimes, he thinks he can feel you in his bones, coursing through his veins, and he wonders if he is connected to you in some way.

It scares him.

There’s nothing tangible there, no memory he can reach for and grab. As soon as he tries, it scatters like whisps. He knows he has lived a life, but he has no idea how that life went beyond rusty recollections that come and go. It sets him on edge, and so he never brings them up. He can’t, not when he knows for certain that you will cling onto them with unyielding hope. And he can’t have that burden on him when he already feels like he’s a shell of what he once was.

The only thing solid is you. But today, you’re far away as well.

“Something is bothering you.” He finally says when you’re eating at the kitchen island an hour later. There are dirty pots and pans in the sink. You will clean up after dinner. Right now, you move your food around absentmindedly, and Seungcheol doesn’t like this distance.

You blink and look at him, giving him a small smile that barely reaches your eyes. “Sorry, I’m just thinking about some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But he worries. He always worries, because you are all he has. So he pushes.

“Maybe I can help.”

You look a little surprised, and very touched, so your smile this time is more genuine.

“Thank you, Seungcheol, but really, I’m fine. The situation has resolved itself, I’m just going over it. There’s nothing to do.”

Seungcheol hesitates, but his intuition urges him to speak. “Is it Yoon Jeonghan?”

Your shocked expression tells him that he hit the nail on the head.

“How did you know?”

Seungcheol shrugs. He didn’t know, not for certain, but he had a feeling that Jeonghan wouldn’t just give up without one final attack, be it physical or psychological. It appears it was the latter.

“I’ve spent a long time with him.” He replies, pointedly ignoring your stare. “He’s- there’s a lot to him. Most of it isn’t good. I assumed he wouldn’t just leave this alone.”

Your chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “That’s just it, actually. He kind of has.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. He listens intently as you finally open up, telling him about the encounter you had with the man at the grocery store. He lets the story linger for a bit after you’re done, absorbing the words.

“So, that’s it.” He finally says, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. He knows you hear it too. You sigh.

“I think, in his head, he’s still won because you’re not who you once were.” You add, turning back to your plate to push your food around. You don’t meet his eye. “He doesn’t think you’re a threat to him anymore because you have no memory. So by extension, I’m not a threat anymore either. I’m sure that to him, you’re-”

You pause, avoiding his stare. “You’re more like something he’s dumped on me. Because you’re not who you once were.”

You immediately look up as you say it, your eyes harder now, more resolute. “Which is not true. You’re still Seungcheol, even if you don’t remember. And I’m so happy you’re here with me, because I thought I would never see you again. Even with half of you still gone, you’re worth ten of him.”

Seungcheol’s heart squeezes, a feeling that is foreign to him, as he takes in the heated determination in your eyes. He realises that his fear, the sense of self he lacks, is not something that is well founded. You wouldn’t care that he remembers just snippets. You’re willing to accept him even as an empty husk.

He makes up his mind.

“You used to pour water into your half full shampoo bottle.” His throat tightens as he speaks. You blink, taken aback. “When we were in college. Because you had to make it last until your next paycheque.”

“And you liked those animal print socks. The pink panther ones. They were so warm. I was pretty annoyed that they wouldn’t fit me. So you got me black panther ones my size so we could match. I loved those so much. Every winter, I had to be careful how often I wore them because I didn’t want them to fray.”

You’re watching him speak, a thin layer of tears is shining in your eyes, and Seungcheol tries to soldier on.

“You got a bird clock for our first apartment that chirped every hour. God, I hated that thing. But you loved it so I never said anything.”

“I knew.” You speak, finally, your voice higher and breaking at the end. “You always got the most annoyed look on your face when it chirped. I thought it was funny to see how long you could take it.”

You let out a wet laugh. Seungcheol gives you a bitter smile.

“It’s only bits and pieces.” He explains, trying not to let guilt overwhelm him. “I don’t remember a lot. It’s just the little things that come to me.”

“It’s enough.” Tears make tracks down your cheeks. You reach forward, and Seungcheol feels the warmth of your hand as it curls around his human one. The contact makes something sizzle. It’s familiar. He remembers this clear as crystal. “It’s more than enough.”

He doesn’t let go. You don’t pull away.

………………………….

Things feel different. They are different now. The hope that felt like a noose around your neck, ready to tighten and kill you, is a much warmer feeling, blooming in your chest and transforming into a joy you haven’t felt in a really long time. You think Seungcheol has noticed. He notices more than you were previously giving him credit for. And it looks like he welcomes the change too.

Despite not eating much, Seungcheol busies himself with making you breakfast every morning. You tell him he doesn’t have to, but he shoots it down.

“I’m not sleeping anyway.” He retorts. “Besides, I used to do this before, didn’t I?”

You nod, smiling as you watch him scramble eggs in a pan. It was always this way back then. He would take care of breakfast, you would have lunch at the office, and then you would do dinner and he would clean up after. The domesticity of it, the harmony, is returning. Sometimes, when you’re getting ready to go into work in the morning and you can hear him hum in the kitchen, it’s almost like nothing has changed. Then, you take in the massive metal arm under his sleeveless tank top, and you’re reminded of what he has been through, and what you two have lost.

Sometimes late at night, you wonder what he would feel like. You wonder if he would let you touch him.

It’s hard being so close to Seungcheol but not being able to physically be too near him. Casual intimacy was always a part of your relationship, and you aren’t used to a version of Seungcheol you have to hold back from. When he often picks up on your moods, like being tired after work or being frustrated when something isn’t going right, you wonder if he can pick up on this, the intense yearning need you have to just feel his cheek on the crown of your head, or his hand curling over your hip like it used to all the time. Or his lips, always so soft and inviting, pressing delicately to yours.

You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he remembers, because he seems to remember so much these days.

A few days later, you ask Seungcheol if he feels at all ready to come back to work. The suggestion catches him off guard.

“Are you sure?”

You nod, shovelling large helpings of chicken into your mouth. You’re usually ravenously hungry by dinner time, and Seungcheol is always amused by it.

“Everything you’re doing at home, working on projects, improving on previous work, you used to do the same things at work. Project Development is all you, and after you helped Wonwoo work out that little algorithm problem, he’s been wanting to work with you more.”

You give him a smile, and it’s more teasing this time. “I don’t know if you remember this, but you were kind of a legend in tech circles before.”

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t remember, but that thought makes me feel a little nauseous.”

You laugh, nudging his shin under the table. Seungcheol has always been shy about attention, but you know he secretly loves being recognised. He’s ambitious, even though he worries often, and acknowledgement from peers and juniors always affirms to him that he’s on the right path.

The next day, he’s getting ready to go into work as well.

He’s nervous, more so about his appearance than anything else. Bionic prostheses aren’t exactly common yet, even if they are getting more talked about recently. You know he’s conscious about the stares he will get, you can see the troubled expression on his face from a mile away.

“We don’t have to tell them you’re my husband. We can tell them you’re an employee.” You offer on the drive there. “From overseas. We’ll make up a story or something.”

His lip quirks up in a half smile.

“You think that's why I'm nervous?” He asks. You shrug.

“That’s the one thing I was never worried about.” He supplies.

Your heart flutters. You try to calm it down. It doesn’t mean anything, you try to tell yourself. But every word from him, every action, weighs so heavy with you. It always has. He’s the most important person in your life.

Seungcheol is relieved when the first person he sees at work is Wonwoo, the one face that is familiar to him. You know he is nervous, but he doesn’t show it a lot. That’s always been him, confident in stature, sure in his stance. All his little worries and doubts would only be reserved for you, and some part of you is elated that you still hold that position.

Unfortunately, you have to leave him for the day when Joshua finally catches up to you with the daily agenda. You’re swept up in work, but he’s always on the back of your mind. You’re just considering making a trip down to PD when a knock sounds on your door. A head of spiky blond hair pops in, and Seungcheol looks a little sheepish as he speaks.

“Lunch?”

For a second, you can’t breathe, swept up in memory after memory of him doing this exact thing since the day you started your company, when it was nothing but two rooms and a dinky office space. It’s so mundane, almost a negligible occurrence, but it was always the highlight of your work day. For five years, you would eat cold lunch at your desk on Joshua’s insistence, or you wouldn’t eat at all, because you no longer had someone to share that precious hour with. But he’s here now, part of his face reconstructed, but he’s here, and it feels like every second of your grief is washed away with one little word he says.

“Hey.” His soft voice breaks you from your thoughts. You blink, realising that your face feels wet. He has stepped inside the room, his face more cautious now.

“Sorry.” He sounds somber. “Did I do something wrong?”

You immediately shake your head, wiping your face hastily. “Not at all.”

Your voice wobbles. You elect to ignore it, standing up and quickly straightening yourself before walking to him. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

Seungcheol’s hand on your arm stops you from walking past him. He holds it softly, pulling you back so you can face him. You’re embarrassed at losing your composure like this. You don’t want to freak him out, or make him worry. You realise that in your happiness of having him back, you haven’t processed at all how overwhelming it is to have the love of your life come back from the dead, half of what he used to be.

It seems that he understands that as well.

Slowly, at an almost glacial pace, Seungcheol’s hand loosens its grip, but it doesn’t move away. Instead, he wraps it around you. His other arm follows, and while the juxtaposition of his arms is noticeable, one warm and forgiving, the other cold and stiff, you barely register it, because you can feel his heartbeat against where your ear presses to his chest. You feel yourself giving into his embrace. You’re starved for anything that is Seungcheol, you’ve been without him for too long. Your face crumples, and the tears come again.

You don’t stop them this time.

………………………………..

“It doesn’t look right.”

“It looks exactly like it should.”

“No, it doesn’t. Look again, I think you went wrong somewhere-”

“If you’re not going to be supportive, get the hell out. I don’t need this energy.”

“I’m just saying, if you had just gone to the store-”

“And I told you, she likes it better this way.”

“Right. And we’re supposed to trust your half-fried brain.”

“Man, fuck you.”

You try to tamp down the laugh bubbling in your throat, but it’s hard to do that when the bickering coming from your kitchen is so amusing. You resolutely keep your eyes on your laptop screen, because you promised not to intervene. But Seungcheol and Joshua keep getting louder the longer they work on baking this cake, and by the sound of it, Joshua is not impressed.

“You’re seriously going to serve this turd-pile to your wife? On her birthday?”

“It’s a turd-pile made with love.”

You know why Joshua keeps nagging Seungcheol. This is an age-old tradition. Seungcheol is not much of a baker, but you’re decent at it. You make all his birthday cakes because you know what flavors and icings he likes. And because you love doing it. Seungcheol always wants to return the favor, no matter how bad he is at it, and it always ends with a spectacularly dense or horrendous looking cake. The difference this time is Joshua dropping in to wish you a happy birthday and give you your present. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Seungcheol started icing the cake, hence the racket in your kitchen.

But you don’t mind. In fact, you love it. You love that he keeps trying, every single year, and that he blocks off so many hours just to do it. When he had suggested it this time, you were taken aback. While you and Seungcheol had made steady progress in your relationship so far, you didn’t anticipate that he would remember this little tradition of yours. He holds your hand sometimes, he hugs you when he can. You both talk and talk, about previous memories, and about making new ones. You tell him often that you missed him badly, that you love him so much, and that you’re okay with him not saying it back, but you need to tell him because you always felt like you should have said it more before he was gone. Seungcheol is soft with you, careful, letting you explore your emotions as you let him explore his. Now that he’s with you again, you often feel like you have all the time in the world to just be in his presence.

Is it enough for you? Not by a long shot. Do you want to kiss him senseless? Every second of every day. But you will get there eventually. You have faith.

Joshua stays for the cake reveal, and when you gush over it, he merely lets out a pained sigh. You know it’s all an act. He is unbelievably happy for you, but you like it when he teases Seungcheol, baits him enough to irritate, even anger him. He excuses himself pretty quickly afterward, even when you offer for him to stay and have a slice.

“No offense, but I would rather chop off two limbs and let myself get brainwashed than taste whatever this is.”

“That was really offensive, actually.” Seungcheol replies dryly. You laugh, dipping your finger in the frosting to taste it. Coffee. Your favorite.

The cake is dense, almost inedible, but you love it regardless. You eat two whole slices, even though Seungcheol himself can stomach only one. He gives you a pained look.

“Well, you’re always going on about how you love the things about me that are the same as before. Are you glad I’m still a shit baker?”

You giggle and stand up, carrying your dirty plate to the sink. Then you walk over to him and give him a hug, wrapping your arms around his torso. He immediately returns it, and you can physically feel yourself relax.

“I love it even more.” You reply. You can feel his chest shake with a tiny laugh, and you feel his lips on the crown of your head.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He whispers. Your breath hitches at the petname, your old favorite, and you look up at him, your chin on his chest. He’s watching you, eye like a warm pool, soft and inviting. His human hand reaches up, caressing your cheek. You wish, for a split second, that he would just lean down and…..

He does.

When his lips meet yours, they’re hesitant. It’s barely there, like a ghost of a sensation, but you melt into it, pushing up on your toes a little so you can feel him more as you kiss him back. He melts into it, sighing into your mouth, his grip around your waist tightening when he registers your enthusiasm. The metal of his left arm feels solid, and it almost leaves you immobile, but you love it, because it presses every line of your body to every plane of his. Your hands find his neck, his jaw, slipping back to run over the tiny strands over the back of his head. It makes him shiver. You feel it. Your lower stomach stirs.

The kiss gets firmer, hotter. Seungcheol tilts his head, slots his lips deeper into yours. You feel his tongue against the cushion of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens almost out of instinct. You let out your first moan when his tongue slides hot and wet against yours.

“We should-” His voice cracks. Your head spins. “We should slow down.”

He kisses you again, fiercely. Your thighs are already crushing together for relief.

“Yeah.” You agree, pulling him down more by the shoulders, wanting him to curl and wrap around you. He complies immediately, hands sliding lower until he’s tugging on the backs of your thighs and lifting you up onto the kitchen island. You’re level with his face now, not willing to stop kissing him, not willing to take even a breath that doesn’t come straight from his mouth. You tug hard on the hair at the top of his head, the ones long enough to grip. He groans, and the sound makes your hips jerk hard into his.

“Fuck, don’t do that.” He rasps.

You do it again, grinding slower this time, your legs around his waist keeping him in place. He hisses. You can feel the bulge in his jeans, and you clench around nothing, registering how hard he already is. You need him so badly that it makes you dizzy. If he stops now, you think you might cry.

“Cheol-” You gasp, your hands digging into his shirt and tugging hard. You need it off, you need to feel all of him, properly, and it feels like he’s on the same page, because he’s reaching back, pulling the shirt off his shoulders until it’s gone. His hands are quick, sliding under your blouse until it’s bunching up, making you raise your arms. He pulls it off.

Finally, you see him.

Seungcheol was always well built. Broad in all the right places, thick neck, wide shoulders, the large expanse of his chest, his abs. Now, he’s even more cut, and you wonder if it has to do with the life he was living for the last five years. Your eye catches his bionic arm, right at the junction where it meets his skin. Your hands, idly running over his bare skin, follow your gaze, stop just where the skin looks more pink.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, voice low. Seungcheol shakes his head, watching you intently.

“It used to, when it was new. But it’s more numb now than anything.” He mutters. He flexes the arm, the plates click and whir, a low, metallic sound that echoes in the silence of the kitchen. You let your thumb run over the skin, right at the edge. Seungcheol doesn’t react as he watches your fingers except with a tiny laugh.

“I guess if they were more careful, it might have looked a little better.” He mumbles, eyes still on your movements. His own run absentmindedly over your bare waist. You shrug.

“I don’t know, it’s pretty hot.”

He looks up at you, his single eyebrow shooting up in surprise. He barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Freak.”

You hum and tighten your legs around his waist again, pulling him closer. “You used to love it.”

Something in his eye gleams, a mischievous little twinkle. The white, flat circle on the other side seems to turn and shift, almost like it’s gleaming too. You wonder what he sees through it. His lip ticks up in a tiny smirk. “Oh, I know.”

He leans down, running his lips over the side of your neck. His hands are more purposeful now, sliding up to fiddle with the buckle of your bra. He unhooks it smoothly, letting his touch float up your arms so he can pull the straps down. You sigh when his tongue runs over your skin, nipping just under your ear, the spot that has always made you shiver.

“I remember a lot of things.” He rasps. “More and more as the days go by. And I like to go over them sometimes, when I lay in bed at night, or when you walk around in just that large shirt of mine you wear when you sleep. You think I don’t know what you’re doing, baby? Goading me, baiting me, testing me.”

“I’m- I’m not-” But your brain is melting at the moment his teeth dig a little harder into your skin. He’s going to leave a mark, not that you give a fuck, and all it’s doing is making you even more lightheaded.

He hums. You know he doesn’t believe you. His hands are already circling around, kneading softly on your breasts, making you sigh. He thumbs over your nipples, nipping at your neck a little harder when they peak under his touch. His touch sends shivers down your spine, one hand soft and warm, the other hard and cold. You’re not used to the contrast, but it feels wonderful. You wonder how it will feel in all the other places you want him to touch, and your impatience grows.

“Cheol, take me inside.” You whimper, clenching around nothing again and feeling your desperation grow. He doesn’t respond verbally, but his hands find your hips, gripping tightly to lift you up. You wrap yourself around him, using that moment to tongue at his neck as he walks you both down the hall to your bedroom. He has been inside only a handful of times, since he still sleeps on his own, but you know that’s about to change today. You’re never letting him leave again.

He doesn’t separate from you for even a second, laying you down on the mattress and joining you on it at the same moment, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is even more heated, but not any less exploratory. His weight on you feels familiar, glorious, and you bask in the feeling of being pressed down. His tongue runs over any crevice of your mouth it can reach, saliva mixing with his in a way that makes you shiver all over. When you run your hands over his back and feel the familiar muscle shift and tense under your touch, you remember how much you missed this, and it makes your breath hitch.

You want him completely naked against you, and the need feels as urgent as air entering your lungs.

Your shirt and bra are already gone, but his clothes and the rest of yours now quickly follow. He kisses any part of you he can in between every article that gets tugged off by you or by him. Your right calf presses against the cold metal of his leg, and it shocks you back into reality a little bit. You’re aware that while you’ve done this countless times with him, it’s different now. You slow down the kisses, nibbling more indulgently at the plush on his bottom lip.

“Are you okay with this?” You whisper. “I know this is a lot-”

“I was going to ask you that.” He chuckles into your mouth. His eye flutters open, and it has softened, shining with reverence. Your lips twitch up into a smile.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” You reach up, running a gentle hand through his hair. His metal ear feels rigid and cool. “I’ve missed you more than I can say. I didn’t-”

Your voice catches. Seungcheol waits with all the patience in the world.

“I didn’t think I could ever have this again.”

His forehead rests gently against yours, and your eyes flutter when you feel your breaths mix where your lips touch.

“I know I’m not all the way there.” He whispers. “I know there’s so much missing. And some days, it’s so difficult to reconcile the older version of me with this new reality. But I’m getting better every day. And I…. I miss you too. I miss what we had and who I used to be.”

Your eyes cloud. Seungcheol carefully thumbs under them, not letting the tears spill. When he kisses you again, it feels far more meaningful, like parts of you and him are coming to an understanding together. It’s easy to build up the heat again, and there’s an underlying layer of need in it now that has you writhing and moaning under him in no time.

“Easy, princess.” He hums, carefully running his hands up your thighs before fitting his hips between them. “I’ve got you.”

Princess. You whine. That’s an old favorite bedroom nickname of his. Seungcheol loved to spoil you. He’s a giver at heart, so the name is apt, and one he used to shower you with frequently. He grinds on your core, and you can feel the slide of his hard shaft through your wet folds. It makes you gasp, the slow drag making you feel each and every ridge of him. Your opening clenches hard, you arch into him, and your nails dig into the skin of his back.

“Don’t-” Your chest rattles with your inhale. “Don’t tease me. Please, I’ve waited so long, Cheolie. Don’t make me wait even more-”

When his head catches against your opening on the next grind, you moan low, eyelids fluttering. His nose brushes yours, you know he’s watching, and you bask in the feeling of his gaze on you. He pushes a little more, breaching you, and takes his glorious time sliding in at a snail’s pace. Your walls struggle with his girth, not used to being penetrated, left empty for too long, but you think at this point, Seungcheol is embedded in your DNA. Your body knows him, recognises him, like it’s an old, dormant instinct. You open up for him like he’s meant for you, and when he groans in shaky approval, you know he feels it too.

“Made for me, aren’t you?” He whispers into your mouth, taking advantage of your moaning to lick over your lips, nipping and sucking at them. “Taking me like you’re meant for me. Haven’t fucked you in years, but your little pussy still knows me, right?”

God, he needs to stop talking like that. So vulgar, coming from his mouth, but so sexy that it makes you dizzy. The ceiling is spinning, half from the feel of him, and half from the words he is whispering right past your lips. He bottoms out finally, and stills, throbbing and twitching inside you. You can feel it, it tugs on your walls, sending little sparks shooting through your core.

“Love how tight you are, baby.” He continues, pulling away from you to sit back a bit. You almost whine in protest, but then his thumb finds your clit and rubs tight little circles over it. You sigh, toes curling. “But I need you to loosen up a little bit, okay? Need to fuck you properly and I can’t do that when you’re gripping me like this.”

It’s a combination of his words and the waves of pleasure traveling up from your clit, but he finally feels enough give to rock back and forth, his back undulating with every stroke. He starts off slow, both of you just enjoying the delicious drag of him in and out. Every movement makes him brush up teasingly against your sweet spot, makes stars burst in your vision. You feel like you’re already on the brink, and he has barely started.

“Fuck.” He chokes, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows. A thin layer of sweat coats his porcelain skin, making the light of your bedside lamp shift over him. His hair, not almost fully brown with just the tips of the blond remaining, is matted on his forehead. His eye is closed, eyelid fluttering, mouth slightly parted as his breath rattles in and out. He grunts quietly every few strokes, his abs clenching, his neck and chest flushed a pretty pink.

You could come just looking at him like this.

He picks up the pace finally, and you gasp at the change, arching into him a little. He’s watching you now, but you’re too busy registering how good he feels, the perfect, tight drag of him, now more forceful, hitting every spot that sends pleasurable shocks up your spine. The bed groans, his thrusts get harder. On either side of your head, his fingers fist the bedsheet. Beneath the moans and sighs, you can hear the very low but distinct whir of metal emanating from his moving limbs.

Your brain stutters, and your hands move before you can think about it too much. They find his metal wrist, circling around it slowly and lifting it to place it right at the base of your throat. Seungcheol’s eye widens.

“You’re sure?” He asks. You nod.

“Please.”

Your skin is so heated that the cool contrast of his hand feels relieving and glorious. Something in his wrist clicks, and then his hold on your throat tightens just a bit. Your eyes flutter, mouth dropping open. You whine.

Seungcheol groans and his thrusts get harder, hips now slamming into yours over and over, the tip just gently kissing the cervix in the way that lights your lower stomach on fire. His grip is unrelenting, just tight enough to make you a little light headed and every movement feel even more intense than it usually does. You can’t speak, can’t warn him as your orgasm comes barrelling into you at full speed. You can only clench hard and cry out as it washes over you. Seungcheol doesn’t slow, but watches you with something akin to awe and unbridled lust in his eyes. His hand loosens only as you come down, letting you take in a long gulp of air.

“That was so sexy, baby, fuck.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel. He’s grinding into your pussy, pushed all the way in to the base, letting you feel every inch of him. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner. Could’ve had you under me every night looking like that.”

You find the sides of his neck, tugging him down to kiss him fiercely. “Get your fill now, Cheolie. Make up for lost time.”

Your words spur him on. He pulls out abruptly, but he doesn’t let you miss him for too long, tugging your leg to maneuver you so you’re on your stomach, arms folded under your head, and his body draped over your back, warming your sweat-cooling skin. His knees frame your thighs. He nudges your legs apart just enough to slide inside, and the shift in angle has your jaw going slack. You feel his grip on your hips, one soft, one hard, holding you in place as he immediately sets a brutal pace. You don’t mind, you’ve always loved it when Seungcheol uses all that impressive muscle he has built to manhandle and use you like this. It’s unbelievably hot to you. This position feels even more intense, leaves you even more boneless, and your previous high has left you so sensitive that this one builds up in no time.

His thrusts are getting sloppy, less precise and more like he just wants to plop you into the mattress. His moans are more uninhibited now, his grip tighter to the point you know he will leave bruises that you will wear proudly. His breath hits the back of your neck. He reaches down, biting into your shoulder at the exact moment he groans loud and empties himself in you. The warmth of him, the grind of his head into your walls, is what sends you over the edge for a second time. Both your bodies writhe on the mattress, him pressing you into it until you feel like you are melting into him. He curses low in your ear as his body relaxes, and the sound makes you shiver.

You lay like that for what feels like an eternity, letting the rise and fall of his chest guide your own breathing. When he finally moves, detaching himself, you grumble in protest.

“I was warm.” You complain. You can hear him laugh a little.

“I’ll warm you up again, baby, don’t worry. Come on.”

Your interest is piqued, and you turn your head to the side to peer at him. His whole face seems to have smoothed, soft and glowing in a way you haven’t seen him in a while. It makes a smile tug on your lips, and you turn over slowly to face him. He doesn’t waste any time in lifting you up, another sensation that will take some getting used to. His human arm is warm on your back, but his metal one digs just under your knees. You don’t mind, not at all, it’s part of him, something he got involuntarily but made his own. He has used it to inflict pain in the past, but from now on, he will do nothing but good with it.

You watch him with heavy eyes as he places you on the bathroom vanity and gets to running a warm bath. You admire his back, soft and pale, smattered with little freckles, and slightly pink at the edges where skin meets metal. The plates dig into the skin, and you know he said it doesn’t feel like anything now, but you wonder if it hurts even just a little.

The slightest hint of his pain, even a negligible smidge of it, is unacceptable to you. You make a mental note to ask Wonwoo if he can look into bionic prostheses. Not weapons, like Jeonghan has developed. You have no interest in that. He can have his military contracts and his glory. There’s nothing in it for you.

Everything you want is in this tiny bathroom, dipping his metal fingers into the water to check the temperature, only to realise he can’t feel with that limb. You collapse into giggles and he smiles sheepishly, ears turning red, using his other hand as a toothy grin takes over his face.

While both his friends were still in their street clothes, Taehyung soon made it on set wearing his outfit for the music video, and Jimin stood up to greet him, nimble fingers trying to do up the buttons of his shirt as he walked over.

“Wow, Jimin, so hot. You’re going to kill half our fandom with this look!” Jungkook teased, his tongue darting out to play with his lip ring, as Jimin grinned sheepishly and greeted Taehyung with a sideways hug.

“Okay Jimin, let’s review. We should be able to move on, but I want to make sure we all like it first.” The director says.

Jimin jostles for space as the four members of Bangtan plus half the crew crowd around the small monitor.

Immediately, the scene starts, and as always, Jimin starts to pick out all the things he didn’t like about himself.

Before he could get lost in his thoughts, Taehyung wraps an arm around him, and his breath tickles Jimin’s ear, causing him to shiver.

“God, Chim. You look….god you look so hot.”

He keeps his voice low enough so that only Jimin can hear it, and he feels a sense of pride bloom in his chest as it seems this scene is flustering Taehyung.

“Oh. I don’t know.” Jimin whispers back as Taehyung nudges him.

“Stop being so modest, Jimin. Seriously, you look hot all sprawled out like that.”

Maybe it was the way Taehyung said it, all low and husky, or maybe it was the fact Jimin could no longer find a single thing wrong with the scene, but he suddenly felt his tongue dance over his lower lip as he watched himself on the bed.

“I think it’s a go and we can move on. What do you think, Jimin?” the director asks as Taehyung’s arm melts off his shoulder as if it wasn’t even there in the first place.

“Good. I think it’s good. Yeah. We can move on.” Jimin says, trying to ignore the weird feeling settling low in his stomach as he watches himself on screen.

-------

Jimin forgot about the music video.

With how hectic idol life is, usually he forgets he filmed something the second it wraps up because he is always whisked onto the next thing.

The day the music video drops, Namjoon is the first to mention it.

He sends a link in the group chat congratulating all the boys on another great music video.

Jimin is in his studio not doing much of anything and decides to click the link and watch it.

Sure, he remembers watching the final cut, but that was months ago, so he settles back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and hits play.

Jimin quirks an eyebrow as it opens with water running down Jungkook as he sings.

He can’t help but snicker to himself, remembering how the hot water just wasn’t working so they had to opt for cold water instead, and how Jungkook pouted about being doused in cold water for the rest of the day.

Taehyung stayed by his side and reminded the younger boy it was for Army, but that didn’t stop Jungkook’s doe eyes and constant complaints.

Jimin sucked in a breath when he saw himself on screen, and his shaky hand reached for his mouse to pause the video as his eyes roved his body.

“God Chim, you look…God, you look so hot.”

Jimin shivered in his seat as he remembered Taehyung’s words whispered for only him to hear as goosebumps rose on his arms and legs.

For a long time, Jimin just sat there staring at his body.

He wasn’t sure why he was so captivated by it; it was the same body he lived in every day.

The same body that was currently covered in a baggy grey sweater and black sweatpants that were most definitely Taehyung’s.

But something about the way he looked on that bed was making him feel a certain way.

He felt it while they were watching the playback too.

He felt.

Naughty,

Dangerous,

Sexy.

It was the way the necklaces lay perfectly on his bare chest, the way his legs were sprawled open with the black pants hugging his thighs impossibly tight.

Jimin swallowed hard and ran his sweaty palms down his pants.

Why was he sweaty?

Why was he…turned on?

His cock was half chubbed up, pushing against his boxers, and Jimin bit his lower lip as he hesitantly pressed play.

The camera angle switched to a side shot, and he saw how ripped his torso looked and how devilishly low those pants were sitting on his waist.

His cock gave an impatient twitch as Jimin absentmindedly brought a hand down to cup his hard length through the thin material.

His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, and he gives himself a light squeeze as he pauses the music video right before Jin shows up.

Jimin rewinds the video and watches his part again, feeling arousal pool in his stomach as his eyes take in what they are seeing.

This is him, of course.

But also not him at the same time.

He is both the voyeur and the exhibitionist, and something about that is turning him on more than he could care to admit.

His cock twitches again, and Jimin applies more pressure as his other hand comes to the keyboard to do some good old web surfing.

-------

It took Jimin a total of thirty-six minutes to get home.

Usually it would take longer, but he was speeding.

He quickly kicked off his shoes as he entered his house and left all his stuff in the front entryway.

He could deal with that later.

For now, his mind was brimming full of desire and ideas, so he padded across the floor to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

He slowly took in his reflection, cheeks red, eyes blown wide, and he slowly brought his hand up to his face to card his fingers through his long blonde hair.

Once steam begins to fill the bathroom, he takes his time unzipping his sweater and shoving his sweatpants down.

All the while he keeps his gaze firmly locked on his own reflection as he does so.

The whole thing is making his cock once again fill between his legs, but Jimin doesn’t dare touch it as he steps into the steam and takes his time cleaning himself.

He cleans his hair first, taking his time lathering the product and letting it run down his body as he washes it out.

His fingers scratch at his scalp in a satisfying way that has his eyes fluttering closed.

He lathers his expensive body wash and runs his hands down his body, massaging his sore muscles from hours of dancing.

Steam gathers around his body, and Jimin watches with wonder as rivulets of water rush down his chest and shoulders.

His cock is hard, almost achingly so, but Jimin gives it a quick clean before rinsing off and stepping from the shower.

He grabs his favourite fluffy robe, wraps it around his body and makes his way to his bedroom, leaving a water trail behind.

Jimin was too excited to properly dry off, so he slipped slightly as he grabbed the door frame for support, rolling his eyes at his own foolishness.

Once he made it into the bedroom, he shut the door and dimmed the lights.

He lit a couple of candles and stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and admired his body.

Damp blonde hair sticking in all directions.

Lust-filled eyes.

Plump lips.

A sliver of chest peaking out from his robe.

His erection, hot and heavy between his legs, pushing the robe outwards obscenely.

His phone was on silent, his house was empty…it was the perfect time.

Candlelight flickers off the walls as he reaches for the rope holding his robe closed.

He takes his time undoing it, eyes glued to the mirror as it opens with ease and reveals his body to his own hungry eyes.

Jimin stands there, taking in the hard planes of his chest and stomach and the muscle that is corded around his legs from years and years of dancing.

His body is muscled but also delicate as he runs a finger down his chest and towards his throbbing erection.

He had no idea mirror masturbation was a thing until today, and the idea intrigued him.

Jimin loved watching fancams of himself on stage, loved to critique and see what the fans were saying.

He loved when they freaked out when he rolled his hips just right or parted his lips in a way that drove them wild.

This, however, was for no one else’s eyes except his own, and it made his cock throb and leak as he guided his hand to his hard shaft.

Jimin wrapped a hand around the base and held it.

It was the same hard velvety feeling it had always been, but watching his reflection do it made his cock kick up helplessly in his hand.

He sucked in a breath as he slowly stroked himself from root to tip, gathering the slick that was steadily leaking from the tip to drag it down his heated shaft.

His knees trembled, and Jimin lowered himself to the floor, spreading his legs wide to give himself a better view as he scooted closer to the mirror.

The candles flickered, casting his body in a warm glow as Jimin stroked himself in slow, easy glides.

His cock was impossibly wet and hard, as Jimin squeezed the head, making more pre-cum ooze from the bulbous tip and drip off his fingers.

A hunger for more filled his veins as he applied more pressure and twisted his wrist in a way that sent his eyes rolling in the back of his head.

But no, he had to keep them open

Focused…

Watching…

His reflection was a mess, with eyes glassy and lips wet as Jimin released his cock and shivered when the length bobbed and smacked against his stomach, smearing precum against his abs.

God, this was so erotic.

He spread his legs further and saw how big and full his balls were.

He lightly cupped them with his other hand, rolling them with ease and feeling arousal zip through his body as he continued to stroke his cock.

His reflection was radiant, and Jimin bit his lip as he watched a pretty pink blush bloom all over his chest as his hips began to rock into his fist as if on its own accord.

The pleasure was building hot and fast, and Jimin squeezed the base of his cock to cool himself off as he let out a shuddering breath.

“Fuck.” He whined as his cock twitched painfully in his grasp.

He wanted to cum.

He needed to cum.

But he didn’t want this to end just yet.

He took his hand from his length and brought his fingers to his nose to smell the salty arousal that was left behind.

Fuck he smelled so good.

Slowly he inserted two fingers in his mouth and sucked his digits clean.

Salty precum flavour exploded on his tongue as Jimin lapped them up, all the while whining at how good it tasted and felt.

He left his cock neglected between his legs for now as he removed his fingers from his mouth and ran a hand down the hard planes of his body.

Down his arms, his chest, his legs.

His reflection was gasping and moaning as Jimin trailed the very tips of his fingers down his chest, circling them around his hips; he brought them behind to cup his ass, and a broken whine left his mouth as he did.

Fuck.

He grabbed his ass with more force and kneaded the flesh.

His eyes were glassy, his cock was steadily dripping, causing the shaft to be shiny and wet.

Jimin wrapped his fingers around his aching length again, and gave himself a couple greedy strokes as he felt his cock throb at the stimulation.

Every sensation was heightened, and he didn’t know how he didn’t think to do this sooner as his knees shook and his muscles were taut with anticipation.

He was close again.

Too close too soon.

Jimin took a deep breath, and despite everything telling him to keep going, he ripped his hand from his cock and let out a strangled groan as his orgasm faded away.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He cursed as his breath was ragged and his hair was falling in front of his face.

His temple was covered in sweat, and he knew he would have to shower again after this.

He closed his eyes momentarily and let out a shuddering breath.

When he opened his eyes, his reflection had changed.

Gone was the shy Jimin who felt uncomfortable about being sexy.

Gone were the critical thoughts about himself that sometimes kept him up at night.

His eyes were wide, his cheeks were red, and his cock was standing proud against his stomach.

He was a vision.

He was exquisite.

He was sex itself

His hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he twitched violently at the overstimulation.

His balls were hot and heavy between his legs, and when Jimin cupped them, he felt his thighs twitch, muscles tired from being strained for so long.

The air reeked of sex even though Jimin had not come yet, and when he gave himself a slow and cautious stroke, he bowed forward in pleasure and luckily darted his hand out before he smacked his face on the floor.

His gaze snapped up.

Jimin was on his hands and knees with one hand working feverishly over his cock while the other was firmly planted on the ground keeping him upright.

His shoulder muscles were rippling, his eyes were wide and wild, and his fist was a blur on his cock as he brought himself close to release.

His tattoos caught his attention in the lowlight, and Jimin squeezed the head of his cock as he watched his corded arm muscles hold him steady as he worked himself towards his high.

It was carnal

And dirty

And animalistic the way he fucked his hips up into his fist to give himself just a little more.

His hips rocked just as they did when he was dancing, and he now understood why the fans went crazy for it.

His body was taut, and his muscles were struggling to hold him steady as he felt his orgasm creep up on him impossibly fast.

Curses left those plump lips as he worked himself towards his high.

One more gaze at himself in the mirror and he was cuming hard all over his fist as spurt after spurt of hot, milky cum shot from his tip.

It was the most erotic thing Jimin had ever done, and when he finally slumped to the floor, he found he was struggling to catch his breath as he watched himself come down from his high.

A sheen of sweat covered his entire body, and his fist was covered in cum as he lay on the floor and pressed his sweat-soaked face to the cold hardwood.

“Holy fuck.” He whispered.

It seemed to take longer than normal for him to come down, and when he finally stood, he noticed his body felt like jelly and his legs shook.

Never in his life had an orgasm made his legs shake like that.

Jimin stared at his reflection once more, and a completely different person stared back.

It was the same face

The same body