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heeseung really shouldn't be enjoying this this much.

jake is acting like he always does, hanging off of heeseung’s tall frame as they stand beside the bed, waiting for you to pick a movie for the night. but as he watches jake’s eyes twinkle as he looks up at him, heeseung can't ignore the way he urges so desperately to see them flutter shut. heeseung imagines all the ways he could cause that, his cock twitching beneath his sweatpants at the imagery of jake lying, pliant and needy beneath him, shaking from the desperation of waiting ever so patiently to be touched.

you glance over at them from your spot on the bed, the lack of noises coming from your boyfriends strikes you as strange, with jake’s giggle being a commonly heard noise in your apartment. you see jake staring up at heeseung, eyes shining at the mere thought of simply being around him. the sight brings a smile to your face, seeing jake’s pure adoration for the faded cherry red haired man shining through his gaze.

jake and heeseung have always been this way. jake’s smiley, bouncy, puppy-like behavior increasing tenfold whenever he's around heeseung. jake loves heeseung, and heeseung loves jake. when heeseung discovered your love for jake that mirrored his own (feelings that he had only recently begun exploring as beyond platonic, once you expressed similar feelings for your shared best friend), it was a no brainer to ask jake to join your relationship.

and he made the perfect addition to your relationship. jake’s hyper personality works well with two partners, the two of you are thankfully able to keep up with his energy as a team. jake is the sunshine beaming through the blinds on a summer’s morning, brightening the lives of everyone around him. jake makes both you and heeseung happier than you’ve ever been, and in return you give him the love he deserves but has never received. and you can’t help but wish that you had infinite amounts of love to give him, it never feels like enough for your bright eyed, bushy tailed boy. you would give him the whole world if you could, and most days you wish you could, doing practically anything to keep the sparkle in his eye.

if you could read heeseung’s mind right now, you’d hear similar sentiments in his brain, wishing he could give jake whatever he desires, and hoping that he is enough for him.

heeseung can see jake’s clingy nature rapidly evolving into something he knows all to well - jake’s insatiable sex drive is kicking in and beginning to take over his entire body. jake holds him tighter, pulls him closer, practically trying to crawl into his skin (heeseung wouldn’t mind jake crawling into his skin, if he’s being honest.)

you hear a small whimper and glance back over at them from where your gaze had zoned out on the television.

“what is it, jakey?” you hear heeseung’s voice quietly ask, watching as jake just continues to stare.

okay, maybe he should be enjoying this. because heeseung always enjoys toying with his boyfriend, the way jake doesn’t even bother to hide his quickly reddening face or his growing hard on from him. heeseung knows jake like the back of his hand, and right now he needs attention.

jake doesn’t respond, prompting heeseung to hold the side of his face, thumb running gently across his cheek. “tell me what you need, puppy.”

jake’s entire body is buzzing with anticipation and pure want. wanting heeseung to touch him further, wanting be sandwiched between the two of you, needing so deeply to be shaking and sweating from the overstimulation you both constantly provide him with. he shivers at the thought, dick swelling further in his sweatpants, poking more into heeseung’s inner thigh. the closeness of their cocks makes heeseung’s twitch once more, overcome with the need to capture the two in his large hand. if only jake knew the restraint it took for heeseung to stand still like this, urging jake to make the first move.

jake opens his mouth to speak, nothing coming out but a small squeak as a small smirk envelops heeseung’s lips. he doesn’t move, watching as jake’s gaze drifts lower and ghosts a hand over his cock. heeseung nearly jumps at the sudden touch, grabbing jake’s larger hand and holding it up by the wrist, bringing it up between them, their gazes meeting on the limb held in the air before settling back on each other. “use your words, angel.”

you watch silently, shutting the TV off and tossing the remote onto the side table and shimmying yourself closer to them, perching yourself on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off the side. heeseung glances back at you, amusement twinkling in his eyes alongside a glimmer of discomfort from how painfully hard his dick sits in his basketball shorts. you reach your hand out, gripping jake’s hip lightly from behind him.

“tell heeseung what you need, baby boy.”

jake whimpers at the nickname, one that’s only used when you and heeseung both know he’s very needy. you feel your own wetness grow in your panties at the sound, waiting until you can pounce on the energetic boy standing in front of you. but you wait for heeseung’s lead first, knowing that you’d be in trouble for making the first move. heeseung loves playing this game, teasing jake within an inch of exploding, knowing how it makes both you and jake feel. he loves the way you take control with jake but still yield to him, and loves watching the two of you come undone simultaneously, the sight often times spurring him into his own orgasm shortly after. watching the sight of two pairs of eyes fluttering shut, rolling back, bodies shivering and shaking, fluids spilling everywhere; knowing how jake will watch with hooded eyes and a sleepy gaze after two orgasms as heeseung collects cum from all three of you just to force jake to suck it off his slender fingers.

jake knows if he doesn’t say anything, heeseung will drop his hand and leave all three of you unsatisfied, barring jake from touching himself at all.

“please kiss me,” jake pleads, “please, heeseung.”

heeseung smiles lightly before obliging, capturing jake’s oh so plump lips between his own. jake slots his lips against heeseung’s in return, hands unmoving even as heeseung drops his wrist in favor of gripping his free hip roughly. your lust begins to take over, needing to feel someone’s hands on you in the moment, and the noise that slips from your mouth causes heeseung to pull away preemptively, lingering close to jake’s face.

“you’re working our girl up over there so easily, pup.” heeseung watches jake glance back towards you, smiling as he can feel jake’s already impossibly hard dick get even harder at the sight of you with blown out eyes, watching in awe as your two boyfriends kiss. you didn’t mean to make a sound, wanting to watch a little longer and hold back your need to be touched if it meant being able to witness the two men you adore loving on each other. “bet she’s so wet for you, jakey.”

the tips of jake’s ears get redder than before, if possible, as he can’t take his eyes off your wide eyes and hard nipples poking through your (jake’s) thin t-shirt. “pants off. now.” the authority in heeseung’s voice leaves no room for argument and you can already feel that you’re absolutely soaked, panties sticking to your core as you try to tug them down.

“look at that,” heeseung taunts you, reaching down to sit eye level with your pussy before blowing on it. “baby’s soaked, jakey. look what you did to our girl.” he glances back at jake, watching as his hands shake slightly, holding himself back from pouncing on you instantly, waiting for heeseung’s instructions. jake tears his gaze from your dripping core, looking up at heeseung for permission. “clean up the mess you caused, jake.”

jake falls over himself, landing headfirst in your pussy. he sets an insatiable pace, licking a long stripe all the way up to your clit before sucking it harshly. your body reacts in tandem, back arching as you look down at the way he devours your pussy. he wastes no time, slurping up all your juices before dipping his tongue inside. the sensation has you fighting to close your legs, but a hand from your side holds one open. jake is rutting against the floor like a dog in heat, the friction from the carpet and his sweats doing little to help the untouched dick between his legs. the drool from his mouth is falling down past his chin, soaking you even further as it slides all around your dripping cunt and spills out onto the floor.

“is our jakey making you feel good, angel?” your heart stirs at the nickname, tearing your gaze from the man between your legs to look up at heeseung, a soft smile on his face. you nod earnestly, “yes, feels so good, hee.”

“be a good girl for me and keep your legs open.”

you nod again as heeseung captures your lips in a kiss, his lust beginning to take over as he bites on your plush bottom lip, hard but not hard enough to draw blood. the painful sensation shoots right between your legs and you moan into his mouth. jake moans beneath you, tongue still buried deep inside, and the vibrations make you whimper. heeseung dips his tongue into your mouth with fervor at the opportunity, his free hand reaching down to pinch your clit harshly between two fingers. jake pulls back and licks heeseung’s hand, the pressure on your sensitive clit doubling as you lurch forward, losing connection with heeseung’s lips. he chases and recaptures your lips in another kiss, his fingers getting harsher before moving to slide two fingers inside of you. he curls them just right, hitting your g-spot instantly. you moan against his tongue as jake follows his fingers, licking over heeseung’s hand as he drools all over them, dripping down past the back of his hand and over heeseung’s wrist. heeseung nearly chuckles at the action, knowing jake is a drooler, but continues his onslaught against your g-spot, prodding the spongy wall with his skillful fingers and rubbing your clit with his free thumb. the hand on your thigh grips harder, and the pain only further fuels your desire. your body tenses suddenly, an orgasm about to crash into you.

heeseung smirks as your lips stop moving against his, eyes fluttering open to watch you come undone on jake’s mouth and his fingers. “go ahead, princess.” at the sound of his permission your orgasm hits, body seizing as you stare at heeseung, eyes rolling back as cum gushes out of you, onto heeseung’s fingers. jake never ceases his actions, slurping and licking still as cum coats his face, still incessantly humping the floor. you reach down and attempt to push jake away, heeseung uses his hand that was on your thigh before to grab your wrist, halting your actions before bringing it to his own clothed, neglected cock. he removes his fingers from your pussy, reaching up and shoving them harshly past your slightly parted lips. you suck on them instantly, eyes fluttering open as your thighs shut around jake’s head. your tongue swirls around in tandem with jake’s, not halting his actions as your legs clamp his head in place, doing the exact opposite of what you need right now, eyes brimming with tears from the overstimulation.

“you can take it,” heeseung tells you, “take it, baby. let jakey make you feel good.”

more drool and cum dribble down jake’s face, surely making a stain in the floor that heeseung will clean in the morning. his dick is impossibly hard in his sweats, begging to be released, yet he continues licking and sucking and prodding into your already spent pussy.

heeseung smiles at the tears that are now streaming down your cheeks, removing his fingers from your mouth after you’ve sucked them clean of any fluid. he smacks your clit with the wet digits, your body jumping at the action. he chuckles at your reaction to the pain. heeseung thinks you look so beautiful like this, writhing and squirming under jake’s tongue, wetness sliding down your cheeks and landing on your t-shirt. he loves seeing you lose control under him and jake.

“jakey,” jake doesn’t respond, and heeseung moves his stare down to the boy between your legs. “jake.” he repeats, opting to grab a handful of his hair and yank him off of you, your back falling onto the bed once no hands are on you.

jake tries to lean back in, and heeseung is marveled once again by how absolutely pussy drunk jake is right now. heeseung knows jake would eat you out for hours if given the chance, never halting his actions even when you cry and beg for mercy. heeseung thinks jake would live with his head between your legs, if only you’d let him. little does he know if you could, you’d let him settle in there for all of eternity.

jake’s gaze moves up to heeseung, loving the pain in his scalp that comes with the harsh tug of his brown hair.

“you best remember who’s in charge here, puppy.”

his warning sends a shiver down jake’s spine, nodding incessantly in order to please heeseung, jake only ever wanting to be a good boy for him, and for you.

“get up on the bed,” heeseung lets go of jake’s hair, pulling away to take his own shirt off and toss it somewhere in the room. jake obeys instantly, sitting on his knees next to your lying down figure. jake leans down and plants a single kiss on your cheek, his plush lips soaking up a few tears still sitting on your skin. jake’s hands roam your body, grasping at your tits and fondling them in his large palms. heeseung watches intently, shedding himself of his basketball shorts and tugging upwards on his cock a few times. jake moves to straddle your waist, grinding down on your exposed cunt as he gropes at your boobs underneath the fabric of your shirt. he holds you up in order to take off your shirt quickly before returning his hold to your flesh, burying his head between them. you groan at the feeling as he begins to drool once more, rutting incessantly against your pussy, still fully clothed, sucking and licking and biting on your tits. he chases his own high, and heeseung can see how close he is. he holds back, watching as jake drools all over your upper body, loving the mess he makes before jake is stilling suddenly, cumming completely untouched inside his sweatpants. his head never once rises from your chest, slobbering everywhere and leaving no expanse of skin untouched by his tongue and full lips. you think he looks adorable, becoming drunk on loving you right after being pried up from between your legs, where he was pussy drunk not even moments before.

heeseung lets go of his hard dick, watching as jake never even feels an ounce of shame for cumming in his pants like a teenage boy, continuing to drool everywhere. you coo at him, holding his cheek in your hand before pulling him up into a sloppy, warm kiss. spit spills from the corner of his mouth as your capture his velvety lips in your own, slipping your hand beneath his pants and grasping at the base of his cock, stroking upward with a quick tug. jake whimpers, and you push further against his mouth, shoving your tongue past his lips as you continue to overstimulate him from two points.

“what a needy puppy we have here, y/n.”

you nod, pulling away from jake to stare into his blown out pupils, “such a needy boy, isn’t that right baby?”

jake nods intently, “so needy,” he whimpers, practically already fully hard again from your constant strokes of his overstimulated dick.

heeseung lowers himself onto the bed, lying back against the pillows perched against the headboard. “take off your pants and come here, jakey.” jake pulls away from you, tugging his pants and boxers off before coming to sit on heeseung’s thighs, staring down at his boyfriend casually resting against the pillows. you crawl over to sit beside the two of them, arousal growing between your legs once more at the thought of being able to watch again. “i’ll take care of you, puppy.”

heeseung surrounds both of their dicks in one hand, beginning to jerk the two of them off at once. you groan at the sight, reaching over to tug jake’s shirt up and over his head. you toss it aside, taking one of jake’s nipples between your fingers and pinching harshly.

“ah— y/n—” he gasps out between needy pants, never tearing his eyes from where heeseung holds both of them in his hand. “more— please more—”

you shake your hand, snaking your other hand down your body, drawing lazy counter clockwise circles against your clit. “you’ll take what i give you, baby boy. got it?”

he nods with earnest, moaning loudly and mumbling incomprehensible words.

you continue tweaking his nipple between your fingers, eyes returning to the show in front of you. you reach forward, licking from base to tip right where their cocks meet. heeseung moans loudly, stirring an equally as desperate moan to slip from jake’s bitten lips. you reach beneath them to grasp heeseung’s balls, squeezing them lightly and watching for his reaction, pleased when he groans and dips his head back, eyes fluttering shut.

“so sensitive, hmm, heeseung?”

“watch who you’re talking to.”

your pussy drips as you abuse it further, dipping your hand between your folds before smearing your arousal on both of their dicks. jake lurches forward at the sight, letting out a tiny “fuck—” that affects both you and heeseung. jake’s reaction stirs something in you, patience giving way, despite the enjoyment you derive from simply watching. you need to feel full, and you need to feel full now.

heeseung’s eyes flick over from his hand to your face, shaking his head, “god, you’re a fucking menace. you’re gonna get it, you know?”

you nod, knowing your punishment would arise soon enough, not caring enough as you whine out to no one in particular, “need you inside,” you grab heeseung’s hand to halt his movements. heeseung lets your interruption slide, letting go of his grasp on his and jake’s cocks before sitting up, tugging you with him. he pushes jake to lie down, “flip around,” he instructs, to which jake instantly obeys.

heeseung picks you up and manhandles you down onto jake’s rock hard length. you hiss at the pain mixing with the pleasure, loving when heeseung uses you and jake to make each other feel good. you love relinquishing control to him, and jake loves it doubly so, allowing the two of you to boss him around like a toy, knowing he’ll always get his release if he’s a good boy for you both. jake groans at the feeling of your walls suck him right in, “fuck- so fucking tight-” he pants, “oh my god—” he glances up at heeseung, tongue lolling out as his brain shortcircuits from the feeling of your pretty pussy that he loves oh so desperately fluttering around his length, drool slipping out of the corners of his mouth as he pants.

“god, just as tight as the day you met her, isn’t she, jake?” heeseung degrades you, shoving you down to lay against jake’s chest before inserting three fingers alongside jake’s dick, pumping in and out to prep you minimally as his other hand continues to yank you up and down along jake’s aching length. you fall further onto jake at the intrusion, “tight like a fucking virgin even after having two dicks to stretch her out, isn’t that right? our baby’s just a needy slut, jakey, taking all that we give her.”

you nod profusely, open mouth panting against jake’s chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. heeseung grips your hips, prodding his tip inside with a tight stretch that reverberates through your body. jake holds your hip gently trying to ground you before taking his second hand and shoving two fingers into your mouth. “greedy y/n,” he whispers between his own pants and gasps as heeseung pushes further, relishing in the feeling of your walls paired with his boyfriend’s cock sliding in alongside his own.

“too fucked out to even speak, hmm?” heeseung pulls all the way out, leaving just the tip in before sheathing himself in you to the hilt, the three of you all groaning at the action. your mind begins to feel fuzzy, unable to focus on anything as you continue to swirl your tongue around jake’s fingers as if it were his dick down your throat, shoving deeper and deeper until you gag and spit dribbles around them. heeseung can feel jake’s cock twitch at the sight, knowing your boyfriend loves it absolutely filthy and messy. “she can take it,” heeseung assures jake who continues his assault on your mouth as heeseung continues to rail into you, balls slapping against your ass as you squeeze tightly around he and jake’s lengths. heeseung reaches over you, shoving a thumb into jake’s mouth, who mimics your actions of sucking on the finger diligently. after getting it sufficiently wet enough, heeseung snakes down to reach your clit, beginning his relentless assault on the hard bud. you clench around him with his action, “fuck, your pussy is a dream. bet you’d love to be stuffed full twenty four-seven, never a moment without a cock inside one of your holes.”

“god, you’d love that so much— i’d never leave you alone, between jake and i, we’d keep you plugged up all hours of the day.” heeseung rambles, more for his own desire than either of yours, knowing both of you are nearly gone. the thought of stuffing you full every hour of every day making his need grow further. “fuck, my perfect girl. this pussy was made to take us, wasn’t it? made to be a fucktoy for jake and i—” heeseung’s eyes flutter shut at a particularly tight drag of your walls and jake’s sticky dick against his own, “one cock will never be enough for you, pretty girl, will it? you’re absolutely insatiable.”

“eugh—” you mumble around jake’s fingers, mind going numb as heeseung fucks you out of your own brain. jake’s beginning to tumble into the same space, and heeseung smiles as he watches jake’s eyes cross from a pointedly sharp shove back into your pussy. jake can feel their tips touch inside, the realization wholly erotic to him and spurring him further into a liminal space where only you and him and heeseung exist, and nothing exists but the pleasure and pain that heeseung provides. “both of you take me so well, my sweetest angels, always needing heeseung to help you cum. so desperate for my cock, you’d do anything for it, wouldn’t you?” heeseung chuckles lowly, glancing between the two of you, fucked out of your minds and unable to even move on your own, the degradation mixed with praise barely registering in your mind. “two cock drunk little whores i’ve got here, hmm?” jake nods, not sure what he’s agreeing to, just hoping to please heeseung.

“‘m gonna c-cum—” jake sputters, looking to heeseung for permission. “almost there, pup, just a little more—” heeseung continues his assault, his thrusts slowly moving you higher up on jake’s chest until he tugs you back down, burying jake’s dick all the way to the hilt once more. “f-fuck— hee— i c-can’t—” jake stumbles out, the pressure building in his tummy as his orgasm threatens to spill.

“yes you can, and you will.” his tone leaves no room for disagreement. he notices the tells from your body, knowing you’re still gagging on jake’s fingers below, your hands grasping jake’s biceps as you brace yourself to cum. heeseung pinches your clit, and that breaks the dam, fluid rushing out of you all at once. heeseung watches as it gushes out of you, grabbing jake’s chin and tilting it up first and ordering him to open, before spitting inside the cavern of jake’s mouth. he closes jake’s jaw to make him swallow, which he does with a loud moan that heeseung feels vibrate against his hand. he directs jake’s head down now for him to watch, too. jake groans once more, long and drawn out at the sight of you squirting. “heeseung, please—” he whimpers.

“go ahead puppy,” jake cums, a long burst and heeseung thinks jake’s never cum this much in his whole life. heeseung persists with his thrusts, never once stopping even as you cry out from around jake’s fingers, on another plane of existence entirely but still able to feel the way your cunt begs for mercy. he watches as he pushes jake’s cum back inside of you, ramming deep into your cervix. tears leak out the sides of your eyes, the sounds escaping your mouth indicating the same. jake withstands the oversensitivity of his cockhead as heeseung makes a point to drag against it with every push and pull of his own dick. “god, and now you’re crying? pathetic. you’re getting what you wanted, dumb slut. take what i give you.”

“jake, turn her head towards me,” jake obeys, and the sight of your cheeks covered in wet tears and your mouth still stuffed full of two of jake’s huge fingers makes heeseung cum on the spot, shooting deep inside you. he doesn’t move until he’s fully spent, and even then he sits still within you. jake begins to pull out and heeseung allows him, seeing the boy about to slip fully into a subspace from the entire overwhelming experience.

heeseung thrusts a few times back into you for good measure, watching the combination of everyone’s fluids slipping out of your gaping hole, sliding down his base and onto his balls. he groans, slowly pulling out before taking his fingers and shoving it all back inside. “gonna keep you plugged full til you’re pregnant, angel. would look so good with our babies in you. swelled up belly and you’d still be able to take us both at once.” he presses kisses all over the expanse of your back slowly, the sweet action contrasting the next words to leave his mouth, “naughty angel disobeyed heeseung, so this is her punishment.”

you’re beginning to somewhat return to this realm, pulling off of jake’s completely spit covered fingers and looking back at heeseung, “‘m not naughty,” you pathetically whimper, pulling a smirk onto heeseung’s face in response. “yes you are angel, touching without permission, getting me all worked up when you know i was loving on our puppy and trying to make him feel good.” heeseung removes his fingers from where he has you plugged up, shoving the fingers into jake’s mouth. even when he’s subbed out, he sucks diligently, slurping up the mix of everyone’s fluids until heeseung’s fingers are clean. “you took your punishment well, my bratty girl. and you make our puppy and heeseung cum.”

without heeseung’s hands to hold you up, you fall down away from jake, leaving room for heeseung to lie in the middle. he steps into the bathroom and wets a cloth, returning with it to clean the two of you up. he wipes the drool from both you and jake, cleaning faces and stomachs and inner thighs and fingers and any other place jake, or you, had dribbled spit onto. he’s gentle when wiping you, and especially delicate when cleaning jake’s now soft dick. if he left that cum inside you any longer, the minute jake regained his senses he’d be diving in headfirst to suck the mixture right out of your abused hole.

“my two beautiful angels, you did so well my babies.” he places a kiss on each of your foreheads before tossing the cloth in the hamper in the corner of the room. heeseung takes his place between the two of you, and you curl in to cling onto him in your post orgasm haze. “‘m so tired,” you mumble, laying your head against his chest. jake has his back to the two of you, and heeseung wraps a hand around his waist, splaying his hand against his lower abdomen.

“hee—” jake calls as he’s slowly recovering from the subdrop. “yes, baby?”

“i love you,” jake mumbles, bringing heeseung’s hand up to his mouth to pepper it with kisses.

he replies honestly, without a second though, “i love you too, jakey,” he rubs against your shoulder, lulling you further into dreamland, “my well behaved boy, did so well for me puppy.”

the praise seems to settle into the nooks and crannies of his brain, saving the phrase among all the other memories of when heeseung has reassured him. that he loves him just as much as you, that him being added into you and heeseung’s relationship did not make him any less loved. and jake never hesitates to express the same sentiment to you, knowing how inside your own head you can get sometimes. heeseung turns his head towards you, who will knock out shortly after settling your head further against his pectoral.

“did well for me, pretty girl,” he presses a kiss to the side of your head, pulling you closer with the strong arm that’s wrapped around your shoulders. “such a good girl, i love you.”

Today was just like any other time that you stopped by your boyfriend Jungwon’s dorm on a weekend. Except this time some of the boys returned home to see their parents over the long weekend. You had stopped in to find yourself alone with just Jungwon and Jay. You were comfortable with all of his bandmates but your boyfriend tended to be a little shy around them when it comes to PDA. You decided it would be good to just watch some TV with them both until Jay decided to go to bed and then you and Jungwon could be alone. Jungwon was always more comfortable and cute when the two of you were by yourselves. 

When you think back to the times that you've spent with Jungwon and his bandmates, you recall the few times that the boys had gotten just a little too drunk and you had learned that they were all monsters. Not bad monsters per se, but they weren't human. 

Your sweet boyfriend was a vampire. He had been turned not very long ago so he still runs into many more hardships than the others. Sometimes he can't control himself well and the boys have to send you home for your safety. Jungwon would never hurt you, but they never wanted to take any chances when he hadn’t recently had an opportunity to feed. 

Jay, the boy sitting on the lounge chair on the other side of the room, was also a vampire. However, he had been a vampire for a long time and had learned how to control himself and his powers so much so that it was originally impossible for you to guess what he was. 

You hadn't figured out what all of the members were yet, though you had some ideas. Some of them thought it was a fun game to see how long it would take for you to figure it out. You only knew that you couldn’t come to the house on full moons and that you should regularly bring snacks or presents otherwise your things might start to disappear. 

Jay had been worked up for days. Any time he was anywhere even relatively close to Jungwon he could feel his face flush red with arousal and embarrassment. He couldn't stop his eyes from wandering down the younger boy's slim figure. Especially if Jungwon was walking around shirtless. Jay couldn’t help wanting to run his fingers down the boy's abs and vlines. He couldn’t stop his eyes from getting stuck on the tent that Jungwon’s cock created in his sweatpants. 

He shook his head trying to stop himself from having these lewd thoughts of his bandmate, yet he still couldn't stop his imagination from wandering about what the younger member had looked like when Jay had heard him whining. 

He couldn't stop replaying that night over and over in his head. It consumed him, it was almost like he was addicted to the memory.

That night all the members were gone except for Jungwon and himself. He was in bed trying to sleep when the other came into their shared room for the night. Jungwon had called his name quietly, trying to see if the older boy was awake. For some reason, Jay decided not to answer fearing Jungwon would just pester him to take him somewhere for snacks or beg him for “just one round of a video game” with him. If that had happened Jay knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to the younger boy's sparkling eyes and pouty lips. Jungwon had gotten settled into his bed and played on his phone for a while. Jay had finally started to drift off to sleep until he heard a soft whimper from Jungwon’s side of the room. Concerned at first, Jay’s eyes shot open, but as he listened for a moment he realized that his first impression was a mistake. He could hear the younger boy's quiet moans and the gentle movement of his body against the bed. Jay’s senses automatically heightened in the dark so he could hear every whine, every gasp, every time the younger boy would whisper “Hyung.” into the pillow. 

“Hyung.” 

Jay’s cock twitched and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck.” he mumbled. Quickly falling silent to make sure the younger hadn't heard him curse. He sat and listened but it wasn’t long before Jay couldn't control himself anymore. The older boy's cock was pulsing in his pants painfully. He couldn't stop himself when he started rutting his cock against the bed. He rutted slowly at first just trying to ease some of the pressure. Unfortunately for him, the pressure only got worse as he got more aroused and he suddenly found himself fucking into his hand. He couldn't help imagining the younger boy underneath him, his hand vaguely mimicking the feeling of what he imagined Jungwon’s hole would feel like wrapped around his cock. He couldn't believe he was getting off to his bandmate like this, but fuck it felt so good. He wanted to cum, he wished he could cum inside Jungwon instead though. He chased his orgasm, rutting slowly but harshly and squeezing his hand firmly, still trying hard to be quiet so the younger wouldn't hear him. 

“h-hyung I- I'm going to cum.” 

Jay’s hips stuttered. Jungwon was getting off to one of his hyungs? Jungwon was into guys? So many thoughts flew through Jay’s mind before they were interrupted by another moan. 

“Jay Hyung…” 

Jay’s eyes shot open in disbelief and shock. He covered his mouth with his other hand, he didn't want Jungwon to hear the way he was panting now.

“Hyung please… please don't stop.” 

That was all Jay needed. He thrust into his hand roughly and shook as he rode out one of the strongest orgasms of his life. He pressed his face into his pillow to keep his noises silenced. Listening to the sound of Jungwon cumming only made his orgasm stronger, the aftershocks shaking him to the core. Jay felt his cheeks burning when he realized what he had just done, the feeling of his release dripping down his leg. 

He listened as he heard Jungwon cleaning himself up. His roommate must have kept wipes inside his bedside table or something. Then Jungwon quietly got up to go to the bathroom and when he came back it wasn't long before Jay could hear the snores of the younger boy. 

Jay followed these actions similarly, except he couldn't wipe himself off, so instead he did a walk of shame in his stained pants to the bathroom. In this moment he was thankful that it was just him and Jungwon at the dorms. If anyone caught him like this it would cause a conversation he wasn’t ready to have yet. 

After that day, Jay had a hard time controlling his powers around Jungwon. While Jay did have heightened senses like every other vampire, Jay was different. He was a mixed breed. Half-vampire, half-incubus. He was bitten at a young age and had learned to manage both parts of his breed. His specialty was that he could make anyone feel the sensation of tingling anywhere on their body just by being in the same space as them. He could control the sensation even without seeing the person. His bites were like an aphrodisiac, which was common among vampires, but being half incubus made his bites so much stronger than normal. He could also knock people unconscious with his bite, rendering them immobile for a short time.

But there was one thing that made him the most different. The thing he had been nervous to share with his bandmates, and a conversation he wasn't sure he was ready to have yet. He was afraid that his friends would make fun of him or think he's weird. Jay had tentacles. They were black and smooth, all of them varying in size. He could control them, but they also had a mind of their own, hungry for sex twenty-four-seven. Jay would occasionally have what you could call a rutt or heat, suddenly getting an overwhelming desire to fuck and breed someone. Usually, he would simply just find someone at a club to take care of his needs and then leave them unconscious in a hotel with a fuzzy memory. He didn’t like doing that, it made him feel a little gross, but at least that always seemed to do the trick for him. 

So here he was. Sitting in the same room as you and Jungwon, two lovebirds who wanted nothing more than for him to leave and give them alone time. The pheromones dripping from you and your boyfriend caused Jay to be on edge. His cock gets aroused at every new wave of smell. He bites his lip as you adjust your body, your legs parting under the bottoms you wore. He could smell your arousal too.  

Truthfully, you couldn't help but be aroused, not only was Jungwon wearing grey sweatpants and a tight-fitted shirt allowing for his slim figure to be on display but when you arrived at the dorms Jay had just gotten out of the shower. Towel loose around his waist, skin glistening, abs on display, and hair wet. You couldn't help but blush at the sight when you almost ran into him. Jay was so undeniably pretty—perks of being an incubus of course. 

Jay had had enough of this. He decided he wanted to have some fun. The pheromones of lust and arousal were overwhelming. He wanted nothing more than to fuck you and your boyfriend senseless, and he knew just how to do it. 

You smiled at Jungwon as he wrapped his arm around you on the couch. Your boyfriend was so warm and he always smelt so good. You snuggled into his side as you watched a movie with him and his roommate. Jay sat across the room, occasionally glancing at the two of you. You noticed this small detail but didn’t think much of it. 

You were focused on the movie, comfortable and warm by Jungwon’s side. That was until you started to feel this strong tingling sensation traveling slowly from your fingers up your arms and around your shoulders and then down onto your chest. The sensation traveled around your chest until it was fully focused on your nipples. Your face turned pink. What the hell was going on? Why were your nipples so hard and sensitive all of a sudden? It felt like someone was running their fingers across your nipples over and over and occasionally pinching them. You wiped your hands down your chest causally, trying to not draw attention to yourself but also trying to stop whatever this sensation was. However, the feeling still didn’t go away.

Jungwon peeked down at you when you moved and was aroused at the sight of your hard nipples poking out of your shirt. He quickly looked away, trying to keep himself from causing a problem in his sweatpants. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra today. Although, you honestly never really did because you knew these boys in the house wouldn’t mind, and of course Jungwon wouldn’t deny the view. 

The feeling slowly rose until it was around your neck causing your breath to hitch. It felt like someone was choking you, but not enough to hurt you. It felt as though someone was teasing you. Tightness around your neck just enough to make you breathless but not enough to make you whine. Once again you, albeit hopelessly, adjusted your jewelry in the hopes of getting the feeling to subside. 

Then the feeling traveled down to your thighs nice and slowly leaving a trail of heat as it went. 

Jungwon could feel your body warming up. He watched you curiously out of the corner of his eye not sure what's gotten you all worked up.

When the tingling was tracing your heat you couldn't help but begin to squirm a bit. The feeling was running along the outside of your panties and then over your clit. Teasing at your entrances one at a time and then back up to your clit. Despite how tightly you closed your legs the feeling just wouldn’t stop. 

Your face was red as you moved around next to Jungwon, trying to get more comfortable. 

Jungwon, despite being a younger vampire, had many powers of his own, most of them common for vampires. His senses were heightened, especially in the dark. His bite had a strong aphrodisiac ability as well, and he knew this because of an incident involving another band member. Jungwon is also particularly good at noticing changes in pheromones, smells, and small temperature changes. And right now, he was almost drowning in the smell of your arousal. But, it wasn't just you. He could smell it coming off of Jay too. 

Jungwon didn't know what Jay’s powers were. All he knew right now was that here you were next to him, pouring out pheromones while Jay was smirking and radiating heat like crazy. 

It makes him jealous. Jungwon knows Jay is up to something. Especially when the older one looks over and Jungwon catches the golden glint in his eyes. Jungwon looked away when their eyes met, his jaw clenching on its own accord.  

Jungwon was pissed, he didn’t understand why his bandmate was messing with you like this and why you were so responsive? Was there something going on between you two? 

Suddenly, Jungwon stood up and grabbed your arm. “Come with me,” he said quietly but sternly. Then your boyfriend was pulling you harshly towards the bathroom. He pulls you through the threshold of the door and closes it before he lets you go. The red in his eyes frightened you but you knew that he wouldn't hurt you. Well, Jungwon had never let you be around him when he was hungry and unable to feed, but you're sure that that's not what this is. You had never been bitten by him before, or at all for that matter. The red in his eyes you had seen before, but this color… was a little different than normal. You could tell he was upset. 

Jungwon however, can't control himself too well considering the overwhelming smell of arousal. His cock was already straining against his boxers. 

Before you even had a chance to ask him if he was okay you were being pushed up against the wall Jungwon’s hand grasped your chin tightly before tilting your head to the side. His breath was heavy, he was almost panting against your neck. 

“Won?! What are you doing?” You squeaked out, his tongue already gliding across your neck. The sudden sexual act catches you off guard and sends a chill through your body. 

“Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, baby. But God damn, if you want to fuck him so bad, then maybe you should!” he hissed. You were speechless. You didn't realize that he was able to tell how aroused you were but, how did that have anything to do with Jay? Your thoughts were racing but then the sudden realization of Jungwon’s words hit you. You only had enough time to grab onto the sides of his shirt and close your eyes before his teeth sunk into the soft flesh of your neck. 

He bit you.

It hurts at first. It hurts to the point that you whine and attempt to push Jungwon away trying to get him to stop, but he’s too strong. Especially when he's angry like this. He only tightens his grip on your chin as you feel the pain shooting through your body. 

The pain is followed quickly by a coldness that sends a chill through your body. It feels like your blood is icing over. The chill frightens you, worried he’s going to drink too much. That you’ll pass out. That he won't be able to stop. “J-jungwon.” you stammered.

But then there was no more pain and the coldness fades, and then… heat. Jay’s tingles are no longer touching you but this heat that is starting to radiate throughout your body is almost worse. Your skin is on fire. Slowly burning from your neck to the tips of your fingers and around your body until your whole body is on fire. The heat pulses through you. Almost in what seems like an instant, you want nothing more than to start rutting against Jungwon. 

The heat reaches your pussy and you whine, again you tried to pull away from Jungwon. It feels as though someone has placed a vibrator on your clit, in your pussy, and in your ass all at the same time. Strong enough to keep you on edge but not enough to make you cum. The feeling slowly built you couldn't stop your legs from shaking underneath you and you bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Then Jungwon releases you, turns around, and walks out the door. 

You stand there confused. You’re not sure what’s going on and still not sure what any of this had to do with Jay. All you know is that you had somehow upset Jungwon, and now you were ragingly horny because of his bite. You needed to get rid of this feeling before things get out of hand. Why did Jungwon biting you turn you on so much? Why did he just leave you in here all alone like this? You stood there for a minute trying to gather yourself, the vibrations and arousal so overwhelming that you needed to just stand for a minute to adjust, maybe throw some water on your face. 

When Jungwon goes back out to the living room, Jay sits beside him, and the older boy looks concerned. “Is everything okay Won? Are you feeling alright?” He asked. 

Jungwon rolls his eyes at him and doesn’t answer, the ground becomes much more interesting than everything else. 

That’s when Jungwon feels it. The tingling down his spine and up his thighs. The feeling caused his cock to start to throb in his pants. 

The younger boy shifts in his seat starting to break a sweat. Did his bite backfire? How could that happen? Jungwon’s heart starts to race now too, confusion lacing his brows. 

The tingling feeling reaches his cock and travels up to the tip causing Jungwon to let out a small squeak. Shifting again he tries to adjust himself, leaning over briefly. Jungwon is partially aware of the fact that Jay is still sitting there waiting for an answer. 

Now the feeling is traveling slowly up and down his cock mimicking the feeling of his hand when he's alone. Then a second feeling reaches to a place he’s never really explored before. His face is red and he squeezes his eyes shut, his hands gripping tightly on his sweatpants.

Jay can only smirk at the scene in front of him. Watching his work on his bandmate with satisfaction. Jungwon was cute so flustered like this.  

“Wonie? What’s wrong?” He asks, playing dumb to the situation he very well knows that he is causing.

“Hyung I just.. I don’t..” Jungwon can’t even get a sentence out. Jay thinks it's pathetic, but he likes it this way. Jungwon’s cock is growing harder by the second and he tries to cover the tent in his sweatpants. He’s embarrassed and ashamed by how hard he is with Jay sitting right next to him watching him. 

Suddenly, he remembers everything that had just happened when the smell hits him again. The whole reason he had gotten up in the first place. His head shoots up just to meet Jay’s golden eyes and pretty fangs only visible because of the stupid smirk plastered across his face. 

“H-hyung?” Jungwon stutters looking at Jay with wide eyes. 

The tingling feeling abruptly goes away as Jay gets up and walks away into the kitchen. Jungwon's cock, however, is harder than ever. 

Jungwon notices you coming back into the living room. Your face is flushed and you're barely able to keep yourself up.

“I need to get some water.” You say quietly when you catch Jungwon’s gaze. The heat between your legs and the friction of your shirt against your nipples causes you to get wetter and wetter with every step. 

 As Jungwon watches you turn into the kitchen he finally realizes what’s going on. Jay is doing all of this. He’s the one working you both up. 

Jungwon has never done anything sexual with Jay. Sure they had kissed once or twice and sure there were stolen glances but nothing other than that. Why was Jay doing this? What was his goal? 

Jungwon's cock throbs again at the idea of Jay purposefully turning you on. The idea of Jay’s teeth pressing into your neck. The idea of Jay’s teeth pressing into his- wait. Jungwon shook his head trying to shake the thought away. He shouldn’t be thinking of his hyung like that. 

A vampire can’t drink from another vampire to feed. But.. would his powers work on Jay? Does the older boy have more powers? Could Jay make him feel the way Jungwon made you feel? 

Jungwon shuddered at that thought. Why was he thinking like this? 

He gets up and walks toward the kitchen but comes to an abrupt stop when he finds Jay with his body pushing yours against the wall. Jungwon froze, eyes wide and unsure how to process the visual in front of him. Jay’s mouth is on your neck, but he wasn't biting you, only kissing your collarbones gently. However, that sight was enough to cause Jungwon to let out a tiny whine. 

You on the other hand. Didn’t want Jay to stop. You wanted his body closer to yours. You wanted his mouth on your neck, on your chest, everywhere and anywhere. You wanted him so bad and you couldn’t control it. Your knees were buckling underneath you as desperate whines and gasps fell from your mouth. He continued to kiss and lick your neck, and you could feel the shit-eating smirk on his face the entire time. 

You weren't prepared when Jay’s teeth sunk into you. But unlike the pain that Jungwon’s bite gave you, you felt nothing but pleasure this time. So much so that you felt so fuzzy and hot and there were stars in your vision. You grabbed onto Jay’s arms to try to keep yourself upright, and he pulled you in tighter supporting your weight. After another moment your ears started ringing and your vision faded to black. Then heard nothing but the sound of your heart and you felt yourself falling. 

Jay turned to face Jungwon, his eyes completely changed from his regular brown color. Jay licked the blood from his lips as he stared at the younger boy. Jungwon immediately got chills, he had never seen any of his bandmates completely “unmasked” like this. 

Jay was now carrying you. He carried you past Jungwon saying nothing to him as he took you into their shared bedroom. He laid you down gently on his bed before turning back to Jungwon who had followed quietly. Jungwon was taken aback by the scene and a little nervous. He wasn’t sure if Jay was angry. Honestly, he wasn't sure what was going on at all. He had no idea that Jay was this capable with so many abilities. 

“Hyung…” Jungwon said again, “What… why are you doing this?” 

Jay chuckled, walked up to Jungwon, and turned the younger boy’s head up to look at him. Jungwon looked him in the eyes and nearly collapsed when he felt Jay's hand press against his cock.

“I just wanted to play with these two pretty little toys and I’m honestly I’m tired of watching you two flirt and you not getting laid already.” Jay shrugged. “Plus, I wanted to show you how you made me feel the night you came saying my name while you thought I was asleep.” 

Jungwon's face was red and burning with embarrassment but he was so hard and it took everything in him to not rut against his hyung’s palm. “You heard me?” he said quietly, not sure if he wanted the answer. 

“Every. Single. Word.” Jay whispered back, purposefully annunciating his words into his roommate's ear. 

Jay grabbed Jungwon and pushed him onto his bed. The same bed where Jungwon moaned his name and begged him to cum. Jay was on top of him before he could process what was happening. His wrists were pinned above his head with the weight of Jay’s body. He pushed against Jay but Jungwon was much weaker than him.

Because of his arousal, Jungwon accidentally bucked up against his bandmate while he was trying to push him off. At that moment, Jungwon felt how hard Jay was too. Jay’s cock was rock hard, and his cock pressing against his Hyung’s cock created an intense desire to continue to hump against him. 

Jay leaned down, his breath tickling Jungwon’s ear. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Do you want me to make you feel the same way you made y/n feel? Do you want me to turn you into nothing but a fuck toy? A useless fleshlight where you won't be able to cum without my permission and I can use you as long as I want to?” 

Jungwon could only stutter, the older boy's words causing his head to spin. Everything was happening so fast. Jay licked Jungwon’s neck eliciting a moan that he had only had the pleasure of hearing once before when Jungwon thought he was asleep. 

All Jungwon could think about was how hard he was, how badly he wanted to fuck you senseless, and how badly he wanted Jay to fuck him too. Anything to relieve this pressure. He was so hot and so horny he didn’t know what else to say other than a pathetic “please hyung” in response. 

Jay smirked against Jungwon’s skin, “Good boy Wonnie. This will only hurt for a second. You trust me, right baby boy?” 

Jungwon nodded before he even realized what he was agreeing to. When he understood what the older boy meant, it was already too late. Jay’s teeth had already started to sink into Jungwon’s skin. 

The pain was excruciating. It was worse than anything Jungwon had ever felt. Jungwon let out a cry in pain as he gripped Jay’s arms his nails digging into the skin. Jay let go of one of the younger boys' wrists to gently stroke his cheek. It was reassuring to Jungwon as he knew that Jay didn't mean to hurt him. 

It was his cry that awoke you from your bite-induced slumber. You looked over in your half-dazed state to find your boyfriend and his bandmate on top of each other on the other bed. You whined at the erotic sight but you couldn’t move. Jay’s bite had rendered you temporarily immobile. But it had only made the heat in your body 100 times worse if that was even possible.

Jungwon felt tears picking at the corner of his eyes as Jay’s teeth tore his skin. Jungwon never thought getting bitten as a vampire by another vampire would hurt this bad. He just wanted it to stop, he was starting to panic from the pain. 

Jungwon was quickly distracted from the pain when he could feel his sweatpants being removed. But how? Jay still had one hand on his wrist and the other running through his hair. 

His sweatpants hit the floor. That's when he felt them. Heavy, and damp, dragging lightly across his skin before reaching around the hem of his underwear and beginning to pull.

Jungwon started to panic again, this was all becoming so overwhelming. His flight or fight caused him to push against Jay again to no avail. What the hell was touching him? What was going on? But he couldn’t move. At this point, Jay’s bite had started to affect him. The cold damp lengths dragging along the skin on his legs felt hot and his cock felt as though it was getting harder with every second to the point where it was almost hurting. 

He felt a tightness starting to coil up in his abdomen that made him feel desperate. He couldn't help it when he started to rut against Jay, losing all of his self-consciousness and just chasing release.

Jay smirked again before pulling off of Jungwon's neck. Jungwon was dizzy, everything was hot and the walls were spinning. “Take your time, you’ll get your share when you can get up,” he said.

Then Jay was gone. 

The older vampire had made his way back to you. “Look at you pretty girl, so worked up and desperate for me.” He cooed at you for looking so needy on Jungwon’s bed.  

Jay was shirtless now, his body glimmering because of his sweat. He was only in his boxers and fuck you wanted him so bad. You could see how hard he was and how badly his cock was leaking and you just wanted him now. 

You were able to move now with the help of Jay assisting you. The first thing you decided to do was kneel in front of Jay. Surprisingly you did so without any nervousness about Jungwon. At this moment you just wanted to please Jay. You just wanted something, anything. You pulled Jay’s underwear down in a hurry and you can hear him hiss at the temperature change. 

But when you place your lips around his cock you could hear him curse in satisfaction. “Fuck, baby. What a good girl.” he sighed in contentment. Then he placed his hand on the back of your head and slowly started thrusting into your mouth. You were worried about choking but you didn't care. It felt so good. You just wanted to please and be pleased.

While Jay fucked into your mouth you felt something reaching up under your shirt. It was cold, and damp as it rubbed up against the skin of your stomach, inching slowly higher and higher. 

You jumped, but Jay’s grasp was too tight for you to go anywhere. Not that you wanted to anyway. 

“I won’t hurt you. They won’t hurt you.” Jay said quietly, slowing down his thrusts as he looked down into your frightened eyes. His eyes were sincere. Then you saw them. Several slender black tentacles reached from around Jay’s back. 

You were still scared but you trusted him not to hurt you and you couldn’t help but want to keep feeling more as the first tentacle slipped around your nipple. Pinching it ever so slightly, and then rubbing against it over and over again. 

Then you felt another, gliding along your leg, up your thigh, and under your skirt until it was playing at the hem of your panties. It teased you, causing you to spread your legs open wider. You wanted it to touch you. 

You whined on Jay's cock, causing him to groan and thrust into your mouth harder.

Jay wouldn’t be able to last much longer, and he knew that since he had gotten himself so worked up just from arousing the two of you. 

You felt the one tentacle slip into your panties. It traced your heat up and down, you felt how slick it was but were unsure if it was from yourself or the tentacle. 

Jay gripped onto your hair and started to thrust hard and fast. You started to choke a bit, tears running from your eyes. You wanted to brace yourself on Jay’s legs but found your wrists suddenly trapped behind your back. Tentacles twisted around them keeping them tightly in place. You whined again. 

“God, fuck-” Jay cursed. The tentacles distracted you from the uncomfortableness of choking, causing you to tremble at the overstimulation. 

Nobody had noticed Jungwon had gotten up. He was watching as Jay fucked your throat. Jungwon’s cock was dripping with pre cum. 

Jay didn’t realize he had gotten up. Jay didn’t hear Jungwon come up behind him and he shouldn’t have cum as hard as he did when Jungwon whispered into his ear. 

“Please Hyung.. cum for me Hyung” 

But he did. Jay came harder than he ever had, thrusting into you harshly as you gagged on his cock. He groaned and let his head fall back as his cum ran down the back of your throat. 

When the older boy came to a stop, it was only a matter of seconds before he picked you up and placed you back onto the bed. Your panties were practically ripped off as soon as your back hit the sheets and Jungwon watched in awe while Jay's tentacles started to work on your body. One length was teasing your nipples, pinching and flicking before going to the other one. One immediately teasing your clit, slowly circling it to keep you on edge. Two more pulling your legs open to keep you from closing them even if you were overstimulated. 

You whined as one tentacle slowly teased your entrance. It pushed into you nice and slow, going deeper inch by inch as it released its own lubricant. You felt so full already. Your whines echoed through the room as the overstimulation from the tentacles caused that coil in your stomach to tighten. It still wasn't enough, you wanted more. You needed more.  

Jungwon couldn’t wait much longer, he thought he might cum untouched just watching the scene in front of him. 

So he got onto the bed, crawling between you and Jay, and got on top of you. He seemed completely unfazed by the tentacles as he leaned down to kiss you. His kisses were passionate and sloppy. Jungwon’s tongue acted as another tentacle as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Jay’s tentacles still worked on you underneath him, unbothered by the smaller boy’s weight. A tentacle instead found its way to Jungwon. Teasing at a place that Jungwon had been too shy to adventure in on his own.

He was flustered, but he let the tentacle adventure. He trusted his hyung as the tentacle slid around his balls, and then pressed gently against his rim. The foreign feeling elicits an erotic moan from your boyfriend. Jungwon whined into your mouth and you whined back, running your fingers in his hair and pulling gently.

The tentacle inside of you felt so good. Not big enough to make you feel fucked out but enough to make you want more. You wanted more. Jungwon wanted more. Both of you so caught up in insatiable lust. 

“Fucking hell baby girl.” Jungwon cursed at the sight of how already gone you were. Jay’s tentacle removed itself from inside you and it was quickly replaced by Jungwon’s cock. 

There was no pain as he slipped right into you because of how wet you were. And as soon as he was sure that you were okay, he lost all control. He fucked into you harshly and didn’t hold back. The tentacles that had wrapped themselves around your legs, pulled them up so Jungwon could fuck into your deeper. Another tentacle found its way to your asshole and began to fill you up inch by inch from there. 

You began to feel so full that with every thrust you felt yourself getting closer and closer but not close enough. 

Jungwon was shaking. The tentacle had lubricated itself and found its way inside Jungwon, teasing and prodding around inside of him. Jungwon had never felt this feeling before. He trembled at the fullness as the length pushed in and out of him with every thrust. The tightness in his core built quickly too.

Jay was hard again, a tentacle jerking him off slowly as he watched his work. 

Jungwon was fucking into you relentlessly, and so deeply too. You moaned over and over as you found yourself being taken in both holes. Jungwon’s cock and the tentacle taking turns ruining your holes. The sight of your boyfriend so sweaty and desperate to please you but also to cum himself was euphoric for you. He looked so incredibly beautiful like this.

It was when the black length found Jungwon’s prostate that the younger boy started cursing. His stomach was so tight. He was so on edge. He was cumming… but he wasn’t… he wasn’t cumming… he was stuck, right on the edge. 

And with those thrusts and his noises and the tentacle rubbing your clit you found yourself in the same position. The coil in your stomach is as tight as it could go. But you couldn’t get over the edge. 

Jay reeled in the pleasure of watching you both chase your orgasms that wouldn’t come without his permission. 

Then Jungwon remembered what the older boy had said before, he wouldn't be able to come unless Jay permitted you. 

With tears in his eyes, he cried out desperately “Jay hyung please let me cum, please.”

Jay’s eyes rolled back into his head as he neared his second orgasm. His tentacles began to throb alongside his cock. He had entered a rutt without realizing it. “Fuck.” Jay cursed. 

Jay was going to have to breed you or else his rutt wouldn't go away. He bit his lip as he allowed his tentacles to take over. 

“Jay please,” you whimpered, a quiet beg for release alongside your boyfriend.

And with that, Jay no longer had any control. You squeaked when the tentacle that had been playing with your nipple suddenly found its way into your mouth. It fucked deeply into your throat keeping you quiet. Then you felt warmth traveling down your throat, the tentacle was cumming down your throat. Then there was heat as the length in your ass started throbbing, and suddenly you felt it filling you up too. 

Jungwon was experiencing the same thing as you as his own tentacle began to breed his ass, filling him with cum. The tentacle began to hit the younger boy's prostate causing him to cum with a moan. Jay had let him finally cum, and you couldn't help but blush at the feeling of your boyfriend's cum inside your cunt.

You suddenly felt a wave rush over you as Jungwon cried out in pleasure. You were so close to cumming, shaking, and grabbing onto him as you neared your release. He moaned your name as he fucked into you, but as soon as he was done and you felt him slip out only to be replaced by one more tentacle. 

This tentacle was a bit different, it was thicker and ribbed and you could feel it pulsing. You looked to Jay who was watching you as he chased his final release. 

Jay bit his lip and you watched as he came all over the tentacle who was jerking him off. That was all you needed to finally reach the edge, but as you were orgasming you felt a heaviness and fullness that you had never experienced before. Your ass was full of cum, the tentacle in your mouth had filled your stomach with cum and now, you were being filled to your limit. Jay was breeding you. His cum mixed with your boyfriend's filled your abdomen leaving you leaking all over the sheets. You cried in pleasure as the heaviness took over. 

You don’t remember much after your orgasm. All you remember is Jungwon carrying you to a bath and Jay washing your hair before bringing you back to bed. You were pretty sure you saw Jay washing Jungwon as well but you weren’t 100% sure because you were in such an almost high state of euphoric bliss.

When you woke up the next morning you found yourself being spooned by Jungwon while laying in Jay’s arms. You looked down to find that your stomach was no longer full… there’s no way that was all a dream right? You pouted slightly at the lack of fullness. 

You heard a small chuckle and looked up to find Jay looking back at you. “Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ll breed you as many times as your little body can handle it.” 

You blushed, embarrassed that he had caught you pouting. 

You were dressed simply today. A black dress made of some soft, matte fabric that fell to your knees, and black flats. Your feet still ached from the kitten heels yesterday, throbbing a dull reminder of your defiance. Your hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail, tight enough to pull at your scalp, just the way you liked it.

You were eating, but you weren't tasting anything. The eggs benedict might as well have been sawdust.

Every time you looked at them, the memory of last night flashed behind your eyes like a glitch in a audio feed.

You heard the wet smack of skin. You heard Jake’s desperate, broken whimpers. The images were burned into your retinas, overlaying the reality of the domestic breakfast scene before you.

Jake was his usual morning self—a blur of energy and chatter. He was wearing a soft yellow sweater that made him look like a sunflower, completely at odds with the sounds he had been making eight hours ago.

"And then the grid interface actually blinked out for three seconds," Jake was saying, waving a piece of toast for emphasis. "Three seconds, Jay! Do you know how much data traffic flows through the neural net in three seconds? It’s a catastrophe. I told the dev team to just scrap the patch and revert to the 4.0 build, but they're so stubborn."

Jay was listening, or at least pretending to. He was dressed for work in a charcoal suit, his tie perfectly knotted, his hair slicked back. He looked immaculate. Cold. Controlled.

It was hard to reconcile this man with the one who had growled ‘Good boy’ in the dark.

You took a sip of orange juice, trying to wash away the sudden heat rising in your cheeks. You hated that you were thinking about it. You hated that your body reacted to the memory, a traitorous flutter in your stomach that had nothing to do with fear.

"What do you think, Scrapper?" Jake asked suddenly, turning his beaming smile on you. "Should I fire the lead dev or just demote him to sanitation?"

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts. "What?"

"The dev team," Jake prompted. "Fire or demote?"

"I don't know," you mumbled, looking down at your plate. "Demote him. People need jobs."

"Merciful," Jake grinned. "I like it. Demotion it is."

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "You're quiet today. Everything okay? You didn't sleep well?"

Your fork froze.

"I slept fine," you lied.

"You look tired," Jake noted, his eyes scanning your face with that unnerving perceptiveness. "And you're blushing. Are you feverish?"

"I'm fine," you snapped, a little too quickly. "Just... morning."

"It is morning," Jay’s voice cut in.

It was deep, calm, and instantly silenced the table. He set his coffee cup down with a soft clink.

He wasn't looking at Jake. He was looking at you. His dark eyes were unreadable, but there was a weight to his gaze that made you want to squirm.

"Speaking of sleep," Jay said slowly. "The kitchen sensors logged activity at 02:15."

Your heart stopped.

"Someone left a glass of water on the counter," Jay continued, his voice smooth as glass. "Right next to the sink. It left a ring on the marble."

You stiffened. Fuck. You had forgotten to put it away. You had been so panicked by the noise upstairs, so desperate to hide, that you had just left it there like a beacon.

"Oh," you said, your voice tight. "That was me."

"I assumed," Jay said. "Since Jake sleeps like the dead."

Jake chuckled, oblivious. "Guilty."

Jay didn't smile. He kept his eyes on you. "Why were you up at 02:00, [Y/N]? And more importantly, why were you wandering the house?"

"I wasn't wandering," you defended quickly. "I was thirsty. I felt... hot. Sick. I needed cold water."

"The bedside carafe wasn't sufficient?" Jay asked.

"It was warm," you lied, gripping your napkin under the table. "I thought I was going to throw up. I just went to the kitchen and came back."

"Is that all?" Jay asked.

He knew.

You saw it in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, a microscopic shift in his expression. He knew you hadn't just gone to the kitchen. He knew you had been in the hallway. He probably had a timestamp of exactly when your door opened and closed, and exactly when the noises from the master bedroom had stopped.

He was playing with you. He wanted to see if you would confess.

"Yes," you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "That's all."

Jay stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The air in the room felt thick enough to choke on. You wondered if he would say it. I know you were listening.

But he didn't.

"Drink more water during the day," Jay said finally, picking up his knife. "Dehydration affects your cycle."

He let it go. But the message was clear: I see everything.

You exhaled, your hands trembling slightly in your lap. The flush on your cheeks deepened, not from embarrassment now, but from the thrill of getting caught and let go. It was a dangerous game.

Jake, seemingly unaware of the subtext, reached across the table.

There was a bowl of fresh strawberries right in front of him, glistening with dew. But instead of taking one from there, he reached over to your plate and plucked the single strawberry you had been saving for last.

"Hey!" you protested weakly.

"Yoink," Jake grinned, popping the whole berry into his mouth. He chewed happily, juice staining his lips. "These are so good this season. Jay, we need to have more planted."

"Noted," Jay murmured.

Jake swallowed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He perked up suddenly, his eyes widening as if a thought had just struck him.

"Oh! That reminds me," Jake said, pointing his fork at you. "The timeline."

Your stomach dropped. "What timeline?"

"For the... you know," Jake gestured vaguely to your stomach. "The project."

Jay stopped eating. He looked at you, his expression shifting from suspicion to clinical focus.

"One week," Jay stated.

"What?" you whispered.

"Dr. Vance reviewed your latest biometrics from the daily scan," Jay explained calmly. "Your hormone levels are stabilizing perfectly. In exactly seven days, your ovulation window will open."

"That means we start next Tuesday!" Jake chirped, as if he were announcing a vacation. "We need to schedule the appointment for the initial... deposit."

You froze.

The air left your lungs. The strawberry Jake had stolen seemed like a trivial offense compared to this.

Breeding stock. That’s what you were. You had let yourself forget it for a few hours in the park, enjoying the ducks and the wine. You had let yourself forget it while you were eavesdropping in the dark, caught up in the heat of their intimacy.

But this was the reality. In one week, they were going to use you.

"Next Tuesday," you repeated, your voice hollow.

"Yes," Jay said. "We will begin with evening sessions. The doctor suggests alternate nights to maximize sperm count."

Evening sessions. Alternate nights.

It sounded so clinical. So detached. Yet the image it conjured—of Jay in your room, of you in that bed—was anything but.

Your appetite vanished completely. Bile rose in your throat.

"I'm not hungry," you said abruptly.

You stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the floor, a harsh sound in the polite morning air.

"Where are you going?" Jake asked, his smile faltering. "You barely touched your eggs."

"Bathroom," you muttered. "Excuse me."

You didn't wait for permission. You turned and walked out of the dining room, your flats silent on the floor. You walked past the bathroom door without slowing down. You walked straight to your room.

"Open," you commanded the door.

It slid open. You stepped inside and slapped the panel to close it.

Thud.

You stood in the center of the room, breathing hard.

"One week," you whispered to the empty air.

Seven days. Seven days of freedom before you became a vessel. Seven days before they touched you not to punish you, or guide you, but to fill you.

Rage, hot and familiar, boiled in your gut. You hated them. You hated their schedules and their biometrics and their casual theft of your body.

You walked to the window and looked out at the sky. It was blue and perfect. It mocked you.

"Fine," you hissed. "One week."

You weren't going to spend it crying. You weren't going to spend it begging. You were going to spend it doing exactly what you wanted.

You walked over to the bed and threw yourself onto it, dragging the duvet over your head, cocooning yourself in darkness.

You were pissed. And you were done performing. Let them come get you if they wanted you. Until then, you were going to rot in your gold cage.

The silence in the penthouse over the last four days had been a physical weight, heavy and suffocating.

You had become a ghost in your own prison. You stopped eating at the table, requesting your meals be sent to your room "for health reasons," lying to the AI that you were experiencing nausea. You stopped going to the terrace. You stopped wandering the halls. You stayed in your glass box, pacing the perimeter, waiting for the sound of their voices to fade before you dared to sneak into the kitchen for water.

You knew it bothered them. The house AI, likely programmed to report your social interactions, surely told them you were ghosting them.

Occasionally, you would hear Jake outside your door.

Knock, knock.

"Scrapper?" his voice would come through the white panel, muffled but dripping with that pathetic, puppy-dog neediness. "I brought you a tart. It's lemon this time. Open up?"

"I'm sleeping," you would yell back, lying on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling.

"At 2 PM?" Jake would sigh. "Okay. Well. I'll leave it here."

Then you would hear Jay. His voice was never pleading. It was a low rumble in the hallway, usually reconciling Jake. "Leave her. She is sulking. It is a childish tactic to gain leverage. Do not reward it."

"But she's lonely, Jay."

"She is adjusting. Come away."

They thought you were sulking. They thought you were playing a game of emotional chicken.

They were wrong. You were planning.

Day Five.

The pattern had been established. You knew their schedule enough now.

Jay left the penthouse at 06:00 sharp for the Defense Ministry. He didn't return until 19:00.

Jake usually lingered until 09:00, working from the dining table, before heading to the Neural-Link HQ. But today was different. Today, the "bi-annual server migration" was happening at the central hub. Jake had complained about it for two days. He had to be on-site personally to oversee the core transfer.

And Jay had a quarterly review with the High Council.

Both of them would be gone. The house would be empty of human eyes for at least ten hours.

At 08:45, you pressed your ear against your door.

"Don't wait up, AI," Jake called out from the foyer. "And keep the temperature at 72. She gets cold."

The front door hissed open, then shut with that heavy, magnetic thud.

Silence.

You waited. You counted to one thousand in your head, forcing your heart rate to stay steady so the biometric monitors wouldn't flag a spike in adrenaline.

One thousand.

You moved.

You stripped off the silk pajamas you despised. You went to the back of the walk-in closet, to the "practical" section the bot had arranged. You pulled on a pair of dark, stiff denim jeans. They were high-waisted and tough. You pulled on a plain black t-shirt, tucking it in.

Then, the boots.

Not the old, battered combat boots you loved—those were gone. You put on the new boots the bot had brought. They were black leather, expensive, and sturdy, with a rubber sole that would be silent on the marble.

You grabbed the protein bars you had been hoarding from your breakfast trays for the last four days. Four of them. You shoved them into your pockets.

Finally, the currency.

You walked to the jewelry island in the center of the closet. You didn't want to steal. You weren't a thief. But you needed credits to bribe a transport pilot in the lower sectors. You needed enough to buy a fake ID and a ticket to the Outlands.

You picked up a single diamond cufflink from a velvet tray. It was small, unassuming, but the stone was real. It would feed a family in Sector 7 for a year. It would buy your freedom. You shoved it into the coin pocket of your jeans.

"Okay," you whispered.

You walked to the bedroom door.

"Open," you commanded.

The door slid open. The hallway was empty.

You stepped out. The sunlight was streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, blinding and cheerful. It felt like a mockery.

"Citizen," the house AI spoke, its voice coming from everywhere. "Mr. Sim has left a holographic note for you in the living room. Would you like me to play it?"

"No," you said, keeping your voice bored. "I'm going to the library. I want to read."

"Acknowledged. Lighting in library adjusted to reading mode."

You walked toward the library. But as soon as you passed the sensor range of the hallway, you ducked into the service alcove near the kitchen.

This was it. The blind spot.

Jake had bragged about the security system during his tour. “It tracks thermal signatures and heart rates. It predicts movement.”

But you knew tech enough. You knew that every system had a refresh rate. A millisecond where the eye blinked.

You found the maintenance panel for the localized ventilation. You pulled a small, flattened piece of metal from your pocket—a shim you had fashioned from a hair clip. You jammed it into the seam of the panel and twisted.

The cover popped off.

Wires. Beautiful, color-coded wires.

You didn't have a datapad to hack it, but you didn't need one. You just needed to confuse it. You found the thermal sensor relay. You pulled the blue wire and crossed it with the red emergency override.

Sparks.

The lights in the hallway flickered.

"System alert," the AI droned, sounding confused. "Thermal anomaly detected in Sector 4 ventilation. Recalibrating sensors."

Recalibrating. That gave you three minutes. Three minutes where the internal eyes were blind while they reset the baseline.

You ran.

You didn't run for the front door. You couldn't open it without a palm scan. You ran for the only exit that didn't require biometrics because it was designed for bots.

The laundry chute.

It was located in the utility room behind the kitchen. It was a sleek, pneumatic tube that shot dirty linens down to the sub-basement cleaning facility. It was steep, dark, and dangerous.

You yanked the hatch open. It smelled of ozone and detergent.

"Here goes nothing," you whispered.

You jumped in feet first.

The slide was terrifying. You plunged into darkness, the smooth metal rushing past you. The air pressure changed, popping your ears. You slid for what felt like miles, spiraling down through the gut of the tower.

You hit the collection bin at the bottom with a bone-jarring thud, landing in a pile of towels.

You scrambled out, gasping for air. You were in the sub-basement. It was cold here. Concrete walls, humming machinery, and the dim glow of service lights.

You checked your wrist. The cuff was still there, blinking a steady green. The concrete would dampen the signal, but not block it. You had to keep moving.

You ran toward the service bay doors. These were the loading docks where the automated drones delivered supplies. If you could time it right, you could slip out when a delivery arrived.

You hid behind a crate of synthetic wine, watching the massive bay door.

It opened. A drone buzzed in, carrying a pallet of fresh produce.

The wind from the outside rushed in. It wasn't the sweet, filtered air of the penthouse. It was thinner, sharper, smelling of high-altitude clouds.

You waited for the drone to pass, then sprinted.

You slipped through the closing crack of the bay door, your shoulder scraping against the metal.

You were out.

You were standing on a narrow service catwalk, suspended four thousand feet in the air. The wind roared, whipping your hair into your face. Below you, the city was a dizzying grid of lights.

You gripped the railing, vertigo spinning your head.

"Don't look down," you chanted. "Don't look down."

You began to run along the catwalk. You needed to find the maintenance elevator that serviced the external window washers. It would take you down to the mid-levels, where you could disappear into the crowd.

You ran for hours. Or maybe minutes. Time distorted when your heart was beating this fast.

The sun began to set. The sky turned a bruised purple, then black. The wind grew colder, biting through your thin t-shirt.

You found the elevator. It was a rusted metal cage clinging to the side of the Spire.

You jammed the call button.

"Come on," you begged. "Come on."

The cage groaned and began to ascend toward you.

You checked your wrist. The cuff was flashing yellow now. Signal searching.

"Almost there," you whispered, reaching into your pocket to touch the diamond cufflink. "Almost free."

The elevator arrived with a clank. You reached for the gate.

CLICK.

Floodlights.

Blinding, white, stadium-grade floodlights slammed on from above, pinning you to the catwalk like an insect under a magnifying glass.

The roar of engines drowned out the wind.

A sleek, black shape descended from the darkness above. It wasn't a maintenance drone. It was the Park family hover-limousine.

It hovered just ten feet away from the catwalk, its engines screaming, the wind from its thrusters nearly blowing you over the railing.

The side door hissed open.

Jay stood in the opening.

He wasn't wearing his jacket. His white shirt was whipping in the wind, plastered to his chest. His hair was wild. And his face...

You had never seen a human look that angry. It wasn't hot anger. It was cold, nuclear fury.

"Get in the car," Jay’s voice was amplified by the ship's comms system, booming over the wind.

You backed up, hitting the metal gate of the elevator. "No!"

"I said get in!" Jay roared.

You fumbled with the elevator latch. It was rusted stuck.

You kicked the gate, screaming in frustration as it refused to budge.

"Last chance," Jay warned. The hovercar drifted closer, the landing skid scraping against the catwalk railing. "Get in, or I come get you."

"Go to hell!" you screamed, grabbing the rusted metal mesh and shaking it. "Leave me alone!"

Jay didn't wait for the car to dock. He jumped.

He cleared the gap between the vehicle and the catwalk with terrifying agility, landing in a crouch on the metal grating.

He was on you before you could hit the descent button.

He ripped the elevator gate open, the metal screeching.

You fought. You swung your fist, aiming for his throat. You weren't a damsel; you were a fighter.

Jay caught your wrist in mid-air. His grip was crushing. He didn't just stop you; he twisted your arm behind your back, forcing a scream of pain from your throat.

"Let me go!" you shrieked, kicking at his shins with your new boots.

"You stupid, reckless little bitch," Jay snarled in your ear.

He slammed you against the back wall of the elevator cage. The impact knocked the wind out of you. He pressed his entire body weight against you, pinning you.

"Do you have any idea how high up you are?" Jay shouted, his face inches from yours. "You could have slipped. You could have died."

"I'd rather die!" you spat in his face. "I'd rather die than let you touch me!"

Jay’s eyes went black.

He grabbed the back of your neck, his fingers digging into your scalp, forcing your head up.

"That isn't your choice anymore," he growled.

He dragged you out of the elevator. You fought him every step of the way. You clawed at his shirt, popping buttons. You bit his forearm, tasting copper through the fabric.

He didn't even flinch. He just tightened his grip until you thought your arm would snap.

He hauled you across the catwalk toward the hovering car.

Jake was standing in the open door of the car.

He stepped forward, looking down at you as Jay dragged you closer.

And your heart hardened.

Jake wasn't smiling. He wasn't pouting. He wasn't the boyish, golden retriever you had gotten to know.

His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying indifference. His eyes were dead. He looked at you not like a person, but like a file that had been corrupted. Like a toy that had broken itself and was no longer fun to play with.

He didn't say a word. He didn't offer a hand. He just watched Jay manhandle you into the vehicle.

"You really shouldn't have run," Jake said. His voice was soft, flat, and devoid of warmth. "We were going to be nice."

They threw you into the back seat.

You scrambled to the other door, trying to open it, but the locks were engaged.

Jay climbed in after you. He was breathing hard, his hair messed, a scratch on his cheek bleeding where you had nailed him.

He slammed the door shut.

"Home," Jay barked at the driver. "Now."

The car surged upward, leaving the maintenance catwalk behind.

You huddled in the corner of the seat, chest heaving, tears of rage and terror streaming down your face. But you didn't beg. You didn't say a word.

The drive back was silent. Deadly silent.

Jay sat in the middle, radiating heat and violence. He was wiping the blood from his cheek with a handkerchief, staring straight ahead.

Jake sat on the other side. He was looking at his datapad, scrolling through something, completely ignoring your existence.

The car landed.

They didn't walk you in. Jay grabbed your arm and marched you.

He dragged you through the foyer, past the living room, past the kitchen ,"Where are we going?" you gasped, stumbling as he pulled you up the steps.

Jay didn't answer. He dragged you to the second floor. But he didn't turn toward the master bedroom. He turned left.

Toward the end of the hall.

There was a door there you had never seen open. It was metal, unlike the white wood of the other doors. It had a heavy, industrial keypad.

Jay scanned his hand. Then his retina. Then he punched in a code.

The door hissed open.

"Get inside," Jay ordered.

He threw you in.

You stumbled, falling onto the cold, hard floor. You scrambled backward, looking around.

It was the panic room.

It was small. The walls were reinforced concrete, painted a stark, blinding white. There were no windows. There was no carpet. There was a single, narrow cot bolted to the wall with a thin mattress, and a stainless steel toilet in the corner.

It was a cell. A high-tech, impenetrable cell.

Jay walked in. Jake followed, staying in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

Jay stood over you. He began to undo his cuffs, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Stand up," Jay said.

You shook your head, pressing yourself against the wall.

"I said stand up."

You didn't move.

Jay sighed. He reached down, grabbed your arm, and hauled you to your feet like a ragdoll.

"Empty your pockets," he commanded.

You hesitated.

Jay didn't wait. He reached into your pocket himself. He pulled out the four protein bars. He threw them on the floor with a look of disgust.

"Garbage," he muttered. "Hoarding food like a rat."

Then he reached into the small coin pocket. His fingers brushed your hip, invasive and rough. He pulled out the diamond cufflink.

He held it up to the light.

"Stealing," Jay noted, his voice dangerously calm. "From the family."

"It was for trade," you spat. "To get away from you."

"It was theft," Jay corrected. He tossed the diamond to Jake, who caught it effortlessly without looking.

Jay stepped closer, invading your space. He loomed over you, his presence suffocating.

"You run. You fight. You steal. And you put the asset at risk."

He reached out and grabbed the collar of the black t-shirt you were wearing.

"Take it off," Jay ordered.

"No," you said, clutching the fabric.

"You used these clothes to escape," Jay said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You used my boots. My shirt. Therefore, you have lost the privilege of wearing them."

He didn't wait for you to comply. He gripped the fabric and pulled.

"Strip," he barked. "Or I will cut them off you."

You looked at his face. He wasn't bluffing. There was no mercy in his eyes, only cold, hard discipline.

With shaking hands, you unlaced the boots. You kicked them off. You unbuttoned the jeans, letting them fall. You pulled the t-shirt over your head.

You stood there in the black lace underwear the bot had given you. Shivering. Exposed. Humiliated.

Jay kicked the pile of clothes toward the door.

"Better," Jay said.

He looked you up and down. He didn't look aroused. He looked like a warden inspecting a prisoner who had just lost all privileges.

"You think this is a game, [Y/N]?" Jay asked quietly. "You think you can play the brat and we will just chase you? You think this is some romantic little chase?"

He leaned down, his face inches from yours.

"I told you the first day," Jay whispered. "I don't like bratty behavior. And I have very effective ways of fixing it."

He straightened up, looking at Jake.

"Cancel the appointment with Dr. Vance," Jay said.

You froze. "What?"

"The insemination," Jay said, looking at you with cold disdain. "It's cancelled."

"Postponed," Jake corrected from the doorway, his voice bored.

"Cancelled until further notice," Jay said firmly. "I am not putting a child inside a vessel that throws itself off catwalks. You are volatile. You are unstable. And until you break, until you learn that we are the only thing keeping you alive, you are not fit to carry my heir."

"You... you can't just keep me here," you stammered.

"I can," Jay said. "And I will."

He gestured to the small, sterile room.

"This is your home now," Jay said. "No more terrace. No more wine. No more pink dresses. You want to act like a prisoner? Fine. You can be one."

"Jake," you whispered, looking at the man in the doorway. "Please."

Jake looked at you. He looked at your shivering form, your tear-stained face.

He didn't smile. He didn't step forward.

"You broke the rules," Jake said simply. "Jay is right. You need to learn."

He turned and walked out of the room.

Jay backed up toward the door.

"You stay here," Jay said. "Until you understand. Until you are ready to be what we need."

"How long?" you screamed. "How long are you going to keep me in here?"

Jay paused at the threshold. He looked back at you, his expression devoid of pity.

"As long as it takes."

The heavy metal door slammed shut.

CLANG.

The sound was final. You heard the heavy bolts slide into place. Electronic locks engaged with a series of beeps.

You were alone.

The panic room was silent. There was no hum of the city. No wind. Just the sound of your own jagged breathing.

You rushed to the door, pounding on the metal with your fists.

"Let me out!" you screamed. "Let me out!"

No one answered.

You slid down the door, curling into a ball on the cold concrete floor. You were half-naked, freezing, and utterly trapped. The luxury was gone. The soft illusion was gone.

Now, there was only the cage. And you were in it until they decided you were broken enough to come out.

Time didn't exist in the panic room.

There was no sun to track across the sky, no digital clock flickering on the wall, no hum of the city to signal the shift from day to night. There was only the white walls, the white ceiling, and the cold, grey concrete floor.

The lights didn't dim. They stayed at a constant, clinical brightness that burned your retinas if you kept your eyes open and bled through your eyelids if you closed them. It was a sensory deprivation tank designed to strip you of your rhythm, to make you question if you had been in there for hours or days.

You were freezing.

Jay had left you in nothing but the scrap of black lace underwear. The panic room was kept significantly cooler than the rest of the house—probably to keep food stores fresh in an emergency, or perhaps just another layer of the punishment. The cold seeped into your bones, a relentless, aching chill that made your teeth chatter and your muscles cramp.

You had curled into the tightest ball possible in the corner furthest from the toilet, trying to conserve body heat. You drifted in and out of a shivering, restless doze, your dreams plagued by the sensation of falling from the catwalk and the crushing grip of Jay’s hand on your neck.

You woke up—or maybe just snapped back to lucidity—with a start. Your stomach was twisting, gnawing on itself. You were thirsty. Your throat felt like it was coated in dust.

"Hello?" you croaked. Your voice sounded small and dead in the acoustic dampening of the room.

No answer. Just the low hum of the ventilation system.

You squeezed your eyes shut, wrapping your arms tighter around your shins. You thought about the protein bars Jay had thrown on the floor and collected. You would kill for one of them now. You thought about the water you had in the kitchen.

You wondered if they were going to starve you. If this was the "breaking" Jay talked about—reducing you to a primal state of hunger until you begged to be fed.

Then, a sound.

Clank. Hiss.

The heavy bolts of the door retracted. The electronic lock beeped a cheerful, ascending tone that sounded grotesque in the grim silence.

You flinched, pressing your back harder against the wall, shielding your eyes from the sudden movement.

The heavy steel door slid open.

For a moment, you couldn't see who it was. The hallway light was softer, warmer than the harsh glare of your cell, creating a silhouette.

Then he stepped in.

It was Jake.

He wasn't wearing his usual bright colors. He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a dark hoodie, his hair messy, looking like he hadn't slept much either. He held a tray in his hands.

He didn't look at you immediately. He walked to the center of the room and set the tray down on the floor. Next to it, he placed a folded pile of fabric.

You watched him warily, your heart rate spiking. You expected a lecture. You expected him to mock you, or to look at you with that cold, dead stare he had worn in the hovercar.

But he just stood up and stepped back, leaning against the opposite wall. He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits.

"Eat," Jake said.

His voice wasn't the bubbly chirp you were used to. It wasn't the dead monotone from the car, either. It was flat. Tired. It had an edge to it—sharp and jagged, like a broken plate.

You looked at the tray.

It wasn't the gourmet feast of the dining room. It was simple. A bowl of steaming oatmeal, a sliced apple, and a large glass of water.

Your survival instincts overrode your pride. You uncurled your stiff, frozen limbs and crawled toward the tray. You grabbed the water glass first, drinking greedily, water spilling down your chin and dripping onto your chest. The cold liquid hit your empty stomach like a stone, but it was relief.

Then you reached for the spoon. Your hand was shaking so badly the spoon clattered against the bowl. You shoveled a mouthful of oatmeal in. It was warm. It had brown sugar in it.

You ate. You ate like the scavenger Jay accused you of being, ignoring the fact that Jake was watching you. You needed the heat. You needed the energy.

Jake didn't move. He didn't make a sound. He just watched. His dark eyes tracked every movement of your hand, every swallow. He watched you shivering, your skin ghastly and goosebumped in the harsh light.

When the bowl was half empty, you slowed down. The frantic hunger began to recede, replaced by the crushing weight of the situation. You set the spoon down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

You looked at the pile of clothes. A pair of thick grey sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. Covering. Warm.

You grabbed the sweatshirt and pulled it over your head, not caring that you were flashing him. You just wanted the warmth. You pulled on the pants, the fleece lining feeling like heaven against your frozen legs.

You sat back on your heels, wrapped in the grey fabric, feeling slightly more human.

You looked up at Jake.

He was staring at your face. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes... they looked bruised.

"Why?" Jake asked.

The single word hung in the air between you, heavy and accusing.

You swallowed. "Why what?"

"Don't play dumb," Jake snapped, his voice cracking slightly. "You know what. Why did you run?"

"Because I'm a prisoner," you whispered. "Because I don't want to be here."

Jake let out a harsh, dry laugh. He pushed himself off the wall and began to pace the small length of the room. Four steps, turn. Four steps, turn.

"We gave you everything," Jake said, gesturing wildly to the door, indicating the penthouse beyond. "We gave you a room bigger than your entire apartment. We fed you real food. I took you to the park. I bought you clothes. I treated you like a person, not a project."

He stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes blazing with hurt.

"I was trying," Jake said, his voice trembling. "Do you have any idea how hard I was trying? Jay wanted to lock you down from Day One. He wanted to strip you, tag you, and put you in the medical wing until you were pregnant. He didn't want to play house. He didn't want to deal with your attitude."

You stared at him, the oatmeal turning heavy in your stomach.

"I stopped him," Jake said, pointing a finger at his own chest. "Me. I told him no. I told him you were scared. I told him you needed time to adjust. I convinced him to wait two weeks. Two weeks, [Y/N]! Do you know how much time we lost delaying the protocol? Do you know how many meetings I had to sit through to cover for why the 'asset' wasn't secured yet?"

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots.

"I thought we were getting somewhere," Jake said quietly, his anger deflating into misery. "The other day... on the terrace. With the wine. And at the park with the ducks. I thought you were finally seeing that we aren't the villains. I thought you were... I don't know. Happy. Or at least comfortable."

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for an answer that wasn't there.

"I thought we were bonding," Jake whispered. "I really liked you. I liked your fire. I liked your stories. I thought... I thought you liked me."

"Jake..." you started, your voice raspy.

"But it was all fake, wasn't it?" Jake cut you off, his face hardening. "You were just playing me. You were eating the tart and smiling at the ducks and memorizing the exits. You were just waiting for me to turn my back so you could run."

"I wasn't playing you," you said, hugging your knees to your chest. "The park... it was nice. I liked it. But Jake, you bought me. You can't buy a person and expect them to love you for it just because you feed them sugar."

"We saved you!" Jake shouted, the sound echoing painfully in the small room. "You were rotting in Sector 7! You were eating paste and breathing poison! We brought you to the sky! We gave you a future!"

"You gave me a job!" you shouted back, the anger flaring up to meet his. "You brought me here to use me! To breed me! That's not saving me, that's farming me!"

"It's better than dying in a gutter!" Jake yelled.

He took a breath, his chest heaving. He stared down at you, shaking his head.

"I vouched for you," Jake said, his voice dropping to a low, hurt murmur. "I told Jay you were ready. I told him to push the doctor's appointment back another week. I told him, 'Look, she's relaxing. She's trusting us. Let's give her more time. Let's do this the right way, so she's not scared.'"

Your breath hitched.

"You... you pushed the appointment back?"

"I did," Jake confirmed bitterly. "The other morning. While you were sleeping. I told Jay that if we rushed you, you'd break. I wanted you to be ready. I wanted you to want it—or at least, to be okay with it."

He laughed again, bitter and cold.

"And then I come home," Jake said, "and the thermal sensors are rigged, the laundry chute is open, and my husband is calling me saying you're trying to kill yourself to get away from us."

He looked at you with a look of profound betrayal. It was the look of a child who had offered a stray dog a bone, only to be bitten.

"You made me look like an idiot," Jake said softly. "You made me look weak in front of Jay. He was right. He's always right. He said you were a flight risk. He said soft measures wouldn't work on someone like you. And I argued with him. I defended you."

He stepped closer, towering over you as you sat on the floor.

"And now look at you," Jake said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Locked in a box. Freezing. Scared. You did this. You took all the progress we made, all the trust I tried to build, and you threw it off the side of the building."

"I just wanted to go home," you whispered, tears pricking your eyes.

"That place isn't your home anymore," Jake stated coldly. "This is. And now, you've made it a prison."

He looked down at the empty bowl.

"We're back to square one," Jake said. "Actually, we're back to negative five. Jay is furious. He's not going to be nice anymore. And honestly? Neither am I."

He bent down and picked up the tray. He moved stiffly, without his usual fluid grace.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

It slipped out. You didn't know if you meant it. You weren't sorry you tried to run. You would do it again if you saw an opening. But looking at him—seeing the genuine hurt in his eyes, realizing that in his twisted, privileged worldview, he really had been trying to be kind—you felt a pang of guilt. You were sorry you hurt him. You were sorry that his kindness had been a lie, masked by the reality of your captivity.

Jake paused. He looked down at you, holding the tray.

For a second, his expression wavered. The mask of indifference slipped, and you saw the conflict. He wanted to forgive you. He wanted to sit down on the floor and share the protein bar and pretend everything was fine.

But then he remembered the fear. He remembered the open elevator gate and the wind howling 4,000 feet up.

His face closed off.

"Save it," Jake said. "Sorry doesn't fix the security breach. And it definitely doesn't fix the fact that you chose a rusted cage over our growth."

He turned and walked to the door.

"It’s confirmed,The doctor isn't coming next week," Jake said over his shoulder. "Jay cancelled it indefinitely. He says you stay in here until you learn to appreciate the light. Until you realize that we are the sun, and out there is just the dark."

"Jake, please," you begged, scrambling to your knees. "Don't leave me in here. It's too quiet. I can't... I can't sleep."

"Then don't sleep," Jake said. "Think."

He stepped out into the hallway.

"Maybe when you're tired enough," Jake said softly, "you'll stop running."

The heavy metal door slid shut.

CLANG.

The bolts slammed home. The electronic lock chirped its cheerful little song of imprisonment.

You were alone again.

You sat back on your heels, pulling the grey sweatshirt tighter around yourself. It smelled like detergent, not like Jake. The scent of vanilla and honey was gone, taking the last bit of warmth with it.

"Damn it," you hissed, bringing your hands up to your face. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

You had blown it. You had underestimated them. You had underestimated Jake. You thought he was just the soft, oblivious partner, the plaything to Jay’s master. But he was just as dangerous. His chains weren't made of iron; they were made of guilt and emotional debt.

And now you had broken his trust.

You cursed yourself. You cursed the laundry chute. You cursed the rusted elevator gate that had stuck for just three seconds too long.

Three seconds. That was the difference between freedom and this white, silent hell.

You crawled back to your corner, curling up on the hard floor. The grey sweatpants were warm, but the cold inside you was spreading.

You were stuck. The soft approach was over. The treats were gone. The tours were over.

Now, there was only Jay’s way.

And as you sat in the blinding white light of the panic room, you realized with a terrified jolt that you didn't know what Jay’s way looked like yet. But you suspected it was going to hurt a lot more than a broken heart.

2 weeks 

Or maybe three. Or a hundred.

In the white room, time wasn't a river; it was a stagnant pool. It didn't flow. It just sat there, heavy and suffocating, drowning you in inches.

You had paced until your feet—bare and cold on the concrete—ached in a way that felt permanent. You had counted the rivets in the ceiling panels (four hundred and twelve). You had traced the hairline cracks in the wall where the reinforced concrete met the steel doorframe.

But mostly, you had thought.

Deprived of stimulation, your mind had turned inward, cannibalizing itself. You replayed the escape attempt over and over. You felt the wind on the catwalk. You felt the rush of adrenaline. But then, you felt the crushing grip of Jay’s hand. You saw the look in Jake’s eyes—the dead, cold indifference that was so much worse than anger.

You had hurt him.

That realization sat in your gut heavier than the hunger. Jake, who had fed you strawberries and held your hand while you fed ducks. Jake, who had bought you a dress because he thought it made you look soft. You had taken his kindness, weaponized it, and used it to try and leave him.

And now, you were alone.

The bot brought food sometimes. A silent, hovering tray that slid through a slot in the door, offering bland nutrient paste and water before vanishing. You hated the bot. It had no eyes. It offered no judgment, no pity, no connection.

When Jake came, it was worse.

The door would hiss open, and he would stand there, bathed in the warmer light of the hallway. He would set a tray down—real food, usually, like a sandwich or soup—but he wouldn't step inside. He wouldn't smile. He would look at you huddled in your grey sweats in the corner, his face a mask of polite disappointment.

"I'm sorry," you would whisper, your voice cracking from disuse.

He wouldn't answer. He would just turn and walk away, the door sealing shut before you could scream.

It was torture. It was a precise, psychological dismantling of your ego.

By week 2(or was it 3?), the defiance was gone. The Scrapper who fought for every inch of ground in Sector 7 had dissolved into the white noise of the panic room. You were just... empty.

You missed them.

The thought was horrifying, a betrayal of everything you stood for, but it was true. You missed the sound of Jake’s chatter. You missed the way he draped himself over furniture. You missed the smell of vanilla and warm honey.

God, you even missed Jay. You missed the way the air pressure changed when he walked into a room. You missed the terrifying, stabilizing weight of his authority. You missed the structure. Out here in the white void, you were drifting. With them, even as a prisoner, you had a place. You had gravity.

You lay on the floor, your cheek pressed against the cold concrete. You had cried until your tear ducts were dry, until your throat was raw and swollen. Now, you just lay there, a hollow shell, waiting for the sound of the lock.

Click. Hiss.

You flinched.

The door slid open.

You didn't look up immediately. You stayed curled on the floor, staring at the grey sweatpants you had been wearing for weeks. You smelled stale. You felt small.

"Dinner," a voice said.

It wasn't the synthesized chirp of the bot. It was him.

You pushed yourself up slowly, your limbs stiff and trembling.

Jake stood in the doorway. He was wearing a soft blue sweater and jeans, looking comfortable and domestic and heartbreakingly distant. He held a tray with a bowl of pasta and a glass of water.

He walked in, setting the tray on the small table bolted to the wall—the only piece of furniture besides the cot.

He didn't look at you. He turned to leave.Something inside you snapped. The dam that had been holding back the panic, the loneliness, and the crushing guilt finally burst. You couldn't let the door close again. You couldn't spend another hour in this silence.

"Jake!"

You scrambled up. You ignored the food. You ignored the decorum Jay had tried to drill into you.You ran at him.Jake flinched, turning defensively, perhaps expecting you to attack him like you had attacked Jay on the catwalk. He raised an arm to block you.But you didn't hit him.You slammed into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in the soft wool of his sweater."Please," you sobbed, the word tearing out of your throat. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me in here."

Jake went rigid. He stood perfectly still, his arms hovering in the air, unsure of what to do. You were clinging to him like a limpet, your body shaking violently against his. You smelled of distress and fear. "I'm sorry," you begged, gripping the fabric of his sweater until your knuckles turned white. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have run. I shouldn't have stolen. I'm sorry I hurt you. Please, Jake. Please." You were babbling, the words tumbling out in a messy, wet stream. You didn't care about dignity. You didn't care about pride. You just wanted to be held. You wanted to be forgiven.

For a long, agonizing second, he didn't move. Then, you felt a shudder run through him. "Oh, baby," Jake breathed, his voice cracking.His resolve shattered. The cold mask dropped, and the warm, tactile man you knew came rushing back.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight. One hand pressed your head against his shoulder, the other wrapped around your waist, lifting you slightly off the floor so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck.

"Shh," Jake cooed, rocking you back and forth. "It's okay. It's okay. I've got you."

You wailed into his shoulder, the sound raw and ugly. You cried for the life you lost. You cried for the freedom you lost. You cried because he was warm and you had been so cold.

"I'm sorry," you repeated, over and over, like a mantra.

"I know," Jake whispered, kissing the side of your head, smelling the stale air of the panic room on your hair. "I know you are. Shh. You're shaking. You're freezing."

He rubbed your back vigorously, trying to generate heat. "You poor thing. Look at you. You're a mess."He pulled back slightly, framing your face with his hands. His thumbs wiped away the tears that were streaming down your cheeks. His eyes were soft, filled with that golden-retriever affection, but there was a sadness there too.

"Do you promise?" Jake asked, his voice serious. "Do you promise never to do that again? Never to scare me like that?"

"I promise," you choked out. "I won't run. I swear."

"Okay," Jake murmured. He kissed your forehead, a lingering, tender press of his lips. "Okay. I forgive you." He hugged you again, tighter this time. "I hated leaving you in here. It was awful. The house was so quiet without you stomping around."

You let out a wet, shaky laugh. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Jake admitted.

He pulled away, keeping one arm securely around your shoulders.

"Come on," Jake said. "Let's get you out of this box." He walked you out of the panic room. Crossing the threshold felt like stepping onto a different planet. The hallway was carpeted. The air smelled of lavender and life. The light was warm.

"Where... where are we going?" you asked, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

"To the living room," Jake said, his voice dropping slightly. "Jay is waiting."

Your blood ran cold. The relief evaporated, replaced by a sharp spike of terror.

"Jay," you whispered.

"He needs to hear it too," Jake said gently, squeezing your shoulder. "He's the head of the house, [Y/N]. He needs to know you submit to the rules. If you want the cage to open, you have to show him you're tamed." You swallowed hard. You thought of Jay on the catwalk, the fury in his eyes. You thought of the way he had bound you to the room.

"Will he... is he going to hurt me?"

"No," Jake promised. "Not if you do exactly what he says. Just... be honest. Be humble. He likes humble."

You walked down the hallway, your legs feeling like lead. Jake guided you to the stairs. You descended into the foyer, the vast space feeling intimidating after the claustrophobia of your cell. You walked into the living room. The sun had set, and the room was bathed in the low, ambient glow of the fire pit and the bright moon outside the glass wall. Jay was sitting on the white sectional sofa. He was wearing slacks and a crisp white shirt, the top button undone. He sat with his legs spread, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He looked like a king on a throne, waiting for a petitioner. He watched you enter. His face was impassive, stone-carved. His dark eyes tracked your movement across the room, taking in your disheveled appearance, the grey sweats, the way you leaned into Jake for support.

Jake stopped a few feet away from the couch. He gently detached himself from you, stepping to the side and sitting down next to Jay. He placed a hand on Jay’s knee, a silent gesture of solidarity. You were left standing alone in the center of the room.

"Well?" Jay’s voice was deep, resonating in the quiet space.You trembled. You looked at him, and for the first time, you didn't feel the urge to fight. You felt the urge to survive. And survival, in this house, meant yielding.

You lowered yourself. First to one knee, then the other. The plush carpet was soft under your shins. You bowed your head, staring at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"I can't hear you," Jay said. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.

You took a breath, fighting the sob in your throat. "I'm sorry, Jay."

"What are you sorry for?" he asked calmly.

"For running," you said. "For stealing. For... for fighting you."

"And?"

"And for being ungrateful," you added, the words tasting like ash. "You took me in. You fed me. And I threw it back in your face." Silence stretched out. You could hear the crackle of the fire. You could feel his eyes on you, weighing your words, testing them for truth.

"Look at me," Jay commanded.

You lifted your head.His eyes were dark pools. There was no anger there anymore. There was something else—satisfaction. Deep, primal satisfaction. He was looking at the girl who had screamed in his face on the catwalk, now kneeling on his rug in an oversized sweatshirt, broken and begging.

He had won.

"Come here," Jay said softly. He unclasped his hands and patted the space between his spread thighs. Your breath hitched. It was a degrading command. It was something you did to a dog. But you didn't hesitate. You couldn't. You needed his forgiveness like you needed air. You crawled. You moved across the carpet on your hands and knees, closing the distance between you. You reached the sofa. You moved into the space between his legs, your hands resting on his knees.

Jay reached out. His hand landed on the top of your head. It was heavy, warm, and possessive. He stroked your hair, smoothing down the messy strands, his fingers scratching lightly against your scalp.

"Good girl," Jay murmured.

The praise hit you like a physical blow. A shiver ran down your spine, your body reacting to the approval even as your mind reeled from the position.

"Rest," Jay ordered.

You lowered your head, laying your cheek against his thigh. The fabric of his trousers was smooth and warm. You felt the solid muscle of his leg beneath. You closed your eyes, exhaling a shuddering breath.You were at a man's feet. You were resting your head on his lap like a pet. 5 weeks ago, you would have slit the throat of anyone who tried to make you do this.

But now? Now, it felt like safety. It felt like the storm was over. Jay’s hand continued to stroke your hair, a rhythmic, hypnotic motion. Jake reached over from beside him, his hand landing on your shoulder, rubbing gently. You were surrounded by them. Enveloped by them.

"You had a lot of fight in you," Jay said quietly, his voice vibrating through his chest and into your cheek. "It was impressive. But it was exhausting."

"I'm tired," you whispered against his leg. "I'm so tired, Jay."

"I know," Jay said.

He moved his hand from your hair down to your face. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. Then, he squeezed. It wasn't painful, but it was firm. He squished your cheeks together slightly, forcing your lips to pucker, lifting your face so he could look down at you. He studied you. He looked at the surrender in your eyes. He looked at the way you leaned into his touch, desperate for contact.

He smirked. It was a small, victorious thing.

"You look much better like this," Jay said. "Quiet. Where you belong."

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

"I forgive you," Jay said.

The words washed over you like holy water. The tension that had been holding your body together for five days snapped, and you melted against him.

"Thank you," you whimpered.

"But," Jay added, his voice hardening slightly. "Forgiveness comes with conditions."

He released your face, his hand moving back to rest heavily on your head, holding you in place.

"I’m requesting the doctor tomorrow," Jay said. "The conception protocol begins immediately. No more delays. No more waiting for you to be 'ready.' You are ready now."

He looked at Jake. "Isn't she?"

Jake looked down at you, his eyes filled with a complicated mix of love and pity. He nodded.

"She's ready," Jake whispered. Jay looked back down at you. "Are you ready, [Y/N]?"

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his hand, the warmth of his leg, the inevitability of your fate. You were tired of fighting. You were tired of the cold. You just wanted to be kept.

"Yes," you whispered. "I'm ready."

Jay patted your head, a final, claiming gesture.

"Good," he said. "Then tonight, you sleep in our bed. I don't trust you out of my sight yet."

He leaned back, looking satisfied, the king of his castle with his husband by his side and his vessel at his feet.

"Welcome home, little one."

The water in your bathroom was hot, bordering on scalding, but it wasn't enough to melt the frost that had settled in your marrow over the last 2 weeks. You stood under the spray for a long time, watching the water swirl down the drain. You scrubbed your skin until it was pink, trying to wash away the smell of the panic room—that sterile, stagnant scent of recycled air and cold concrete. You washed your hair twice, massaging the expensive shampoo into your scalp, trying to loosen the tension headaches that had become your constant companion. When you finally stepped out, the bathroom was thick with steam. You didn't look at yourself in the mirror. You didn't want to see the defeat in your eyes. You just wanted to cover yourself. You bypassed the silk nightgowns. You couldn't stomach the feeling of that slippery fabric right now. Instead, you dug through the drawers until you found a set of cotton sleepwear—a simple, oversized grey t-shirt and loose shorts. It was the closest thing to "normal" you could find in a closet worth more than a city block.

You dried your hair roughly with a towel, leaving it damp and tangled around your shoulders. You didn't brush it. You didn't apply the creams the AI suggested. You just wanted to be done. You paced the room. "Calm down," you whispered to yourself, your hands wringing together. "It's just sleeping. You're just sleeping."

But it wasn't just sleeping. It was crossing a threshold. Sleeping in your own room was being a guest (or a prisoner). Sleeping in their room, in their bed? That was integration. That was becoming part of the organism. Jay had said the conception protocol started tomorrow. But tonight felt like the prequel. The breaking in of the new acquisition.

Chime.

The door slid open.

You jumped, spinning around. The black escort bot—Unit 7—hovered in the doorway. Its blue eyes blinked once. "Escort required," it stated in its flat, pleasant voice. "Master Bedroom."

You swallowed hard. "I know the way."

"Escort required," it repeated, not moving an inch. Right. Trust was gone. You were a flight risk now.

"Fine," you muttered. "Lead the way, tin can."

You followed the bot out into the hallway. The house was dim, the night lighting casting long, eerie shadows. You walked up the staircase, your bare feet making soft, slapping sounds on the marble steps. You felt like a child being sent to the principal's office, or perhaps a sacrifice walking up the altar steps. You reached the second floor. You walked past the gym, past the terrace doors where you had sipped wine with Jake a lifetime ago. You stopped in front of the double doors. The last time you were here, you were huddled on the floor, listening to sounds that had haunted your dreams for a week. The bot didn't knock. It simply interfaced with the lock wirelessly. The scanner turned green.The doors hissed open. Unit 7 turned around and glided away, its job done. You stood on the threshold, hesitating. "Come on in, Scrapper!"

It was Jake.

He was standing in the center of the room, grinning at you like you hadn't just spent a 2 weeks in solitary confinement partly because of him. He looked... domestic. The sharp, high-fashion edges of the day were gone. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes without product to hold it back. He was wearing a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that was slightly too big for him, hanging off one shoulder. He looked soft. Touchable.

He walked over and grabbed your hand, pulling you into the room.

"The AI said your heart rate was spiking," Jake said, searching your face. "You don't have to be scared. It's just a sleepover." The doors sealed shut behind you. You looked around.You had never seen inside it before. Now, seeing it in the calm ambient lighting, it was staggering. It was cavernous. The ceiling was vaulted, disappearing into shadows. The rug was so thick your feet disappeared into it. The furniture was massive, made of dark, heavy wood that looked ancient. A fireplace—gas, smokeless—flickered on one wall.

And the bed.

It was an island. It was easily twice the size of a normal King bed, raised on a platform, piled high with duvets and pillows in shades of charcoal and slate. It looked like you could get lost in it.

"Where is..." you started, your voice trailing off as you heard the hiss of water.

"Jay's showering," Jake said, letting go of your hand to flop backward onto the bed. He bounced slightly. "He had a long day. The Council was breathing down his neck about the energy consumption of the shield wall." Jake patted the space next to him. "Come on. Up."

You walked over slowly. You climbed onto the mattress. It was firm, but the topper was incredibly soft. You felt tiny on the expanse of the sheet.

Jake laughed, a bubbly sound. "You look like a little grey mouse. It's cute."

He scooted over, grabbing your waist and hauling you down until you were lying next to him. He didn't ask; he just took. He wrapped an arm around you, nuzzling his nose into your damp hair.

"You smell clean," Jake hummed. "Like vanilla and... anxiety."

"I'm not anxious," you lied, lying stiff as a board.

"Liar," Jake whispered against your ear. He kissed your cheek, a wet, sloppy sound.

You flushed, heat rising to your face. "Jake, stop."

"Why?" He pulled back to look at you, his eyes dancing. "I missed you. I haven't been able to touch you for a week. I went into withdrawal."

"I was in a concrete box," you reminded him.

"I know," Jake's smile dimmed slightly. "And I was sad in a penthouse. We both suffered."

He said it with zero irony. To him, his emotional discomfort was equal to your physical imprisonment. "Anyway," Jake said, changing the subject as easily as he changed channels. He pointed to the air at the foot of the bed. "Movie night. I picked something from the 20th Century archives. It's called Blade Runner. Jay says it's derivative, but I think the aesthetic is cool."

A massive holographic screen flickered to life in the air. It wasn't the glitchy, static-filled projections of Sector 7. This was crystal clear, 8K resolution floating in the dark. The image was so sharp it felt like a window into another world.

The movie started. Rain. Neon. Flying cars.

"Irony," you muttered. Jake chuckled, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat—steady, slow, calm. He began to stroke your arm, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Relax," he murmured. "Just watch the flying cars."

You tried. You really tried to focus on the movie. But your ears were tuned to the sound of the water running in the bathroom.

It stopped. The silence that followed was heavier than the movie soundtrack.

You tensed. Jake felt it. He rubbed your arm reassuringly. "He's not going to bite, [Y/N]. He's fed and watered."

The bathroom door opened. Steam rolled out, carrying the scent of cedarwood and masculine soap. Jay stepped out. You forgot how to breathe.

He wasn't wearing a suit. He wasn't wearing the intimidating armor of the Apex businessman. He was wearing a towel. A single, white towel wrapped low around his hips. His body was... sculpted. Broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. Muscles defined but not bulky, built for endurance. Water droplets clung to his skin, glistening in the light of the holo-screen. His hair was wet, pushed back from his forehead, dark strands curling slightly at the nape of his neck.

Your eyes—traitorous, stupid eyes—traveled down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, following the prominent V-line of muscle that disappeared beneath the white terrycloth.

Your mind slammed back to the night you stood in the hallway.

“I'm going to fill you up.”

The memory of his voice, growling and raw, overlaid the image of him standing there. You saw the power in his thighs. You saw the size of his hands as he rubbed a smaller towel over his hair. He looked up. His dark eyes locked onto yours across the room. He paused, the towel stilled in his hand. He saw you staring. He saw the flush on your cheeks. He didn't smirk. He didn't cover up. He just looked at you with a heavy, knowing gaze that stripped you bare faster than any command could. He knew exactly what you were thinking. He knew you had heard him that night.

"Enjoying the view?" Jay asked. His voice was raspy, tired.

You whipped your head away, burying your face in Jake’s shirt. "I'm watching the movie."

Jake laughed, the vibration rumbling through his chest. "She's shy, Jay. Put some clothes on."

"It's my room," Jay countered calmly. "I'll be naked if I want."

But he turned and walked toward the massive walk-in closet.

You kept your face hidden until you heard him return.

When you peeked out, he was dressed. He wore a long-sleeved charcoal sleep shirt and loose black pajama pants. He looked softer, less like a weapon, but no less imposing. He walked to the other side of the bed—the left side. He climbed in.

The mattress dipped under his weight. The sheer size of him shifted the gravity of the bed. You were suddenly very aware of how small you were, sandwiched between two men who were both taller than you. Jay didn't look at you. He punched his pillow into shape, laid back against the headboard, and picked up his datapad from the nightstand.

"Turn the volume down," Jay said, scrolling through a document. "I'm reading the structural integrity reports for the new sluice gates."

"Boring," Jake sang, but he swiped his hand to lower the audio.

You lay there, rigid. You were trapped. To your right was Jake, warm and clinging, his arm heavy over your waist. To your left was Jay, a wall of heat and silence.

You could smell him. The cedar soap. The clean, fresh scent of his skin. It was intoxicating.

Jay seemed completely unbothered by your presence. He worked, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the screen, his face illuminated by the blue light. He ignored you the way one ignores a cat sleeping at the foot of the bed—accepted, but not worth active attention. The movie played on. Slowly, the exhaustion began to creep in. Your body, drained from the weeks of stress and the sudden warmth, started to shut down. Your eyelids grew heavy. The dialogue of the movie blurred into a soothing hum.

Jake’s breathing evened out. His hand on your waist went still. He became heavy against you.

"He's out," you whispered.

"He crashes hard," Jay said. You jumped slightly. You hadn't realized Jay was paying attention. You turned your head to look at him. He was still looking at his datapad, but his eyes flicked to you for a second.

"Sleep," Jay ordered softly. "Tomorrow is a long day."

"I know," you murmured.

You turned back, staring at the ceiling. The movie ended. The credits rolled in silence. Jay reached out. He tapped the air, and the holo-screen vanished into darkness.

He placed his datapad on the table. Click.

"Lights," Jay said.

The room plunged into darkness. The only light came from the faint glow of the city far below, filtering through the curtains. You closed your eyes, listening to the silence. Jake was snoring softly, a small, whistling sound.You felt the mattress shift.Jay was moving. You held your breath, expecting him to turn over and go to sleep.

But he didn't.

An arm—heavy, solid, and warm—slid under your pillow.

"Come here," Jay whispered.

Before you could process the command, he pulled.

He scooped you up. He dragged you away from Jake’s loose grip and pulled you across the sheets until you were flush against him.

He positioned you. He tucked your head under his chin, pressing your cheek against his chest. He wrapped his other arm around your back, locking you in place.

You froze. You were lying on top of Jay Park. You could feel the slow, powerful thud of his heart against your ear. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest. His legs tangled with yours, his feet hooking over your ankles.

"Jay?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Quiet," he rumbled. The sound vibrated through his chest, humming against your skull. "You're cold. And you fidget."

"I..."

"Sleep," he commanded.

He adjusted his hold, his hand splaying wide across your back, rubbing a slow, soothing circle between your shoulder blades. It wasn't sexual. It was... comforting. Possessive. Protective.

It felt like being held by a bear. Terrifying, but incredibly safe.

You tried to stay stiff. You tried to fight it. But the warmth was overwhelming. The sound of his heartbeat was a lullaby—steady, strong, unyielding.

Your body betrayed you again. Your muscles melted. You let out a long sigh, your hand involuntarily curling into the fabric of his shirt.

"Good girl," Jay whispered into the dark. He kissed the top of your head. It was barely a touch, just a brush of his lips against your damp hair. Drowsiness hit you like a wave. The scent of cedar and ozone filled your nose. The weight of his arms anchored you to the earth. For the first time in a week, the fear receded. You weren't in a cage. You weren't in a panic room. You were just... held.

And as sleep finally dragged you under, your last thought wasn't of escape. It was of how surprisingly well you fit against him.

The sun was high and unforgiving when Dr. Vance came.

He didn't come to the panic room—thankfully, that nightmare was over—but to the medical bay on the second floor. It was a room of chrome and glass that smelled of antiseptic and money. You sat on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath your legs. You were dressed in a soft, oversized cream sweater and leggings. Comfortable, but they made you feel small. Jake stood by the door, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed. He wasn't smiling. He was watching the monitors with a hawk-like intensity that reminded you he was, after all, Jay’s husband.

"The cycle is precise," Dr. Vance announced, tapping a stylus against his datapad. He turned the screen so Jake could see the graph—a spike of red climbing a grid. "The ovulation window opens tomorrow morning at 06:00. It will peak in forty-eight hours."

"Tomorrow," Jake repeated. He looked at you. "Did you hear that? Tomorrow."

You gripped the edge of the table. "I heard."

"However," Vance continued, his brow furrowing as he scrolled down. "There is a concern. Her weight."

He gestured to you as if you were a piece of livestock that hadn't fattened up enough for market.

"Despite the nutrient-dense diet of the last two weeks, her BMI remains borderline. The stress of the... recent incident," Vance glanced nervously at the door, as if Jay might burst in, "likely burned through the caloric surplus we had built up."

"She's too skinny," Jake summarized bluntly.

"She is under-resourced," Vance corrected politely. "To support a pregnancy of this genetic magnitude—especially with the dual-donor DNA splicing—she needs reserves. If she conceives now, the fetus will strip her body of calcium and iron. It could be dangerous for her." He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out several large, heavy bottles. He set them on the counter with a thud.

"Prenatal vitamins. Calcium boosters. Iron supplements. And a caloric density powder to be added to every meal."

You stared at the bottles. There were hundreds of pills.

"How long is that for?" you asked quietly.

"This is a six-month supply," Vance said dismissively. "We will refill as needed."

Six months.

In Sector 7, getting a bottle of antibiotics was a lottery win. A three-day course of painkillers cost a week's wages. People died from infections because they had to choose between medicine and heat. And here, they were handing you six months of high-grade supplements just to make sure their investment didn't crack.

"Six months," you whispered, shaking your head. "You people have so much you don't even know what to do with it." Vance ignored you, turning to Jake. "Make sure she eats, Mr. Sim. No skipping meals. No 'not hungry'. She needs the fuel."

"I'll handle it," Jake said grimly.

Vance packed up his equipment and left. As soon as the door clicked shut, Jake pushed off the wall.

He walked over to you, stopping between your spread knees at the edge of the table. He placed his hands on the table on either side of you, boxing you in.

"You heard him," Jake said. His voice was soft, but it lacked its usual playfulness. "Jay was right. Every time he told you to finish your plate, he wasn't being a tyrant. He was trying to keep you alive."

"I eat," you defended weakly.

"You pick," Jake corrected. "You eat half a potato and say you're full. You hide protein bars in your pocket instead of eating them."

He sighed, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Come on," he said. "We're going to the kitchen. And I'm going to watch you eat something real."

The kitchen was quiet. The bots were docked in their charging stations, leaving the massive, stainless-steel space empty.

"Sit," Jake ordered, pointing to a stool at the island.

You sat.

To your surprise, Jake didn't summon a bot. He walked to the fridge. He pulled out eggs, spinach, cheese, and a slab of real butter.

"You cook?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I lived in a dorm before I met Jay," Jake muttered, cracking eggs into a bowl with surprising dexterity. "I know how to feed myself. And apparently, I need to know how to feed you."

There was something strangely domestic about watching him. Jake Sim—billionaire, tech mogul, Apex citizen—standing in his socks, whisking eggs in a ceramic bowl. The rhythmic clink-clink-clink of the whisk was soothing. The smell of melting butter filled the air, rich and fatty. "Why do you have a kitchen this big if you don't cook?" you asked, looking around at the double ovens and the six-burner range.

"Status," Jake said, pouring the eggs into the pan. They sizzled loudly. "In Sector 1, space is the ultimate luxury. Having a room you don't use proves you can afford to waste it." He flipped the omelet. It was perfect. Golden brown, fluffy.

He slid it onto a plate, added a handful of berries on the side, and placed it in front of you.

"Eat," he said. "All of it." He didn't leave. He walked around the island and sat on the stool next to you. He pulled out his datapad, typing a message—presumably to Jay—but his eyes kept darting to your fork.

"I'm really not hungry," you said, poking the eggs.

"I don't care," Jake said, not looking up from his screen. "Dr. Vance said you're a safety risk to the baby if you're too thin. I'm not letting that happen."

The baby.

It always came back to that. You cut a piece of the omelet and put it in your mouth. It was delicious. Cheesy, salty, warm. Your stomach growled, betraying you.

You ate. You ate silently, methodically, while Jake tapped on his screen.

"Jay says to make sure you take the blue pill with food," Jake said suddenly. "And that he'll be home by 18:00. He wants to review the doctor's report personally."

"Great," you muttered, finishing the last bite. "Can't wait."

Jake set his datapad down. He looked at your clean plate, and a genuine smile finally broke through his worried expression.

"Good girl," he praised. He stood up, taking your empty plate to the sink. "Come on. We're going to the terrace. Vance said you need Vitamin D. And since you're not allowed to leave the building anymore, the patio is your new best friend."

The sun on the terrace was warm, filtered through the atmospheric stabilizers so it didn't burn. Jake sat on the outdoor sofa, his legs stretched out, his face turned toward the sun. You sat next to him, but not too close. You were wary. The last time you were out here, you had bonded, and then you had run away. The memory of the betrayal hung between you like smoke.

"The air is good today," Jake said, closing his eyes. "Low pollution index from the lower sectors."

"Must be nice," you said, leaning back.

"It is," Jake agreed. He opened one eye to look at you. "You look better. The sun gives you color. You looked like a ghost in the panic room."

"I felt like a ghost," you said. Jake turned his body toward you, resting his arm on the back of the sofa. "Well, you're back among the living now. Just in time."

"For the ovulation," you said flatly.

"For the baby," Jake corrected. His voice dropped, becoming softer, more reverent. "Think about it, [Y/N]. A new life. Created from us. It’s going to be... perfect. It’ll have Jay’s strength. My... charm." He winked. "And your resilience. It’s going to be a king."

"..Or a queen," you murmured.

"Or a queen," Jake agreed. "A queen of the Spire."

He reached out, his hand landing on your knee. He squeezed gently.

"It's going to be beautiful," Jake whispered. "You're going to be beautiful carrying it. I can already picture it. Your belly swelling. Jay losing his mind trying to baby-proof the penthouse."

He moved his hand up your thigh, a slow, dragging caress. It wasn't aggressive. It was appreciative.

"You have good hips," Jake noted, his eyes dark. "Jay noticed it the first day. 'Breeding hips,' he called them. He was right."

The air in your lungs grew heavy. The way he talked about it—the mix of clinical observation and raw, possessive desire—made your skin prickle.

"Jake," you warned, but you didn't push his hand away.

"What?" he asked innocently, leaning closer. The scent of vanilla and honey wafted over you. "I'm just appreciating the vessel. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

He moved closer, invading your space until his thigh was pressed against yours. He reached up, his other hand cupping your jaw, turning your face toward him.

"You're ovulating tomorrow," Jake whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips. "Your body is getting ready. Can you feel it? The heat?"

You could. God help you, you could. The supplements, the food, the safety—your body was responding to the biological imperative. You were safe, you were fed, and there were two males circling you. Your biology was screaming yes even while your mind screamed no.

"I..." you started, but the word died in your throat. Jake leaned in and kissed you. It wasn't a soft, tentative kiss like the one on your forehead in the panic room. It was deep, wet, and hungry. He tasted like strawberries and coffee.

You stiffened for a split second, and then, traitorously, you melted.

You kissed him back. You opened your mouth, allowing his tongue to sweep inside, tasting you, claiming you. Jake groaned, a low vibration against your lips. He didn't hesitate. He grabbed your waist and pulled you.

"Come here," he growled against your mouth.

He hauled you up and over, pulling you until you were straddling his lap.

You gasped, your legs falling open on either side of his thighs. The position was intimate, vulnerable. Your center pressed against his groin.

He was hard. Through the grey pants, you could feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing against you.

"Jake," you breathed, pulling back slightly. "We're outside."

"No one can see," Jake promised, his hands roaming down your back, gripping your hips.He surged up, capturing your lips again. This time, there was no gentleness. He kissed you like he wanted to devour you. His hand tangled in the hair at the back of your head, forcing you closer, controlling the angle.

"So good," he murmured against your skin. "You taste so good."

You moved. You couldn't help it. Your hips rolled forward, grinding down against him.

The friction was electric. You were wearing thin leggings; he was wearing sweatpants. There was no barrier thick enough to hide the heat.

"Fuck," Jake hissed, his head falling back against the sofa cushions. "Do that again."

You did. You ground down, finding the friction you needed. Your clit throbbed, aching and swollen. The wetness soaked your panties, slick and heavy. Jake’s hands slid down your back, finding the curve of your ass. He squeezed, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He bucked his hips up, meeting your rhythm.

Rub. Grind. Gasp.

It wasn't sex, but it was close. It was a desperate, dry-humping friction that felt dirtier than skin-on-skin.

"You're so wet," Jake groaned, his hands kneading your glutes. "I can feel it. You're soaking my pants."

"Shut up," you moaned, dropping your head to his shoulder, biting the fabric of his shirt.

"Make me," he challenged.

He reached down, his hand finding the hem of your sweater. He pushed it up, his warm palms skimming your bare waist, your ribs. He slid his hands under the elastic of your leggings, pushing them down just enough to grip your bare ass cheeks.

"Jay's going to love this," Jake panted in your ear. "He's going to love wrecking you."

The mention of Jay should have stopped you. It should have been a bucket of ice water. But instead, it was fuel. The thought of the other husband—the darker, harder one—watching this, or doing this, sent a spike of arousal straight to your core.

"More," you whimpered, moving faster.

Jake met you thrust for thrust. He was panting, his face flushed, his eyes blown wide and black. He looked wrecked.

"Come on," he urged, his voice rough. "Come on, baby. Do it. Ruin these pants."

You cried out, a soft, high-pitched sound that was swallowed by the wind. Your hips stuttered, then clamped down as the orgasm hit. It was intense, a full-body shudder that made you cling to his shoulders to keep from falling.

Jake groaned, burying his face in your neck. He bucked up one last time, hard, grinding himself against your slick heat. He shouted your name, his body going rigid as he found his own release inside his clothes.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the rustle of the olive trees. You slumped against him, your forehead resting on his shoulder. You were trembling. Your leggings were damp and uncomfortable. His sweatpants were ruined. Jake let out a long, shaky exhale. He kissed the side of your neck, his lips hot and wet.

"Wow," he whispered. "Okay. That... that works."

He chuckled, a breathless, happy sound. "You get really clingy when you come, don't you?"

You realized you were still gripping his shirt like a lifeline. You tried to pull away, embarrassed, but he held you fast.

"Stay," he murmured. "Just for a minute."

He rubbed your back, long soothing strokes, waiting for your heart rate to settle.

"We should go in," you whispered eventually. "Jay will be home soon."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, though he didn't look happy about moving.

He adjusted your sweater, pulling it back down. He helped you slide off his lap, steadying you when your legs wobbled.

"Can you walk?" he asked, looking at you with that soft, affectionate gaze.

"I think so," you said.

"Never mind," Jake decided. "I like carrying you."

He scooped you up, lifting you into his arms bridal style. You were too tired to fight him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder.

He carried you inside, through the living room, and down the hallway to your room.

The door slid open. He walked in and laid you gently on the bed. He didn't leave.

He kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed beside you.

"Jake?" you asked.

"Nap time," he declared, pulling the duvet over both of you. "That was exhausting. And Jay isn't home for two hours. We have time."

He pulled you into his chest, spooning you. His body was warm, solid, and safe.

"Sleep," Jake whispered, his hand resting possessively on your hip.

You closed your eyes. The shame should have been crushing. You had just dry-humped your captor on the patio in broad daylight. But the oxytocin was flooding your brain, and his heartbeat was a steady rhythm against your back.

You fell asleep, the scent of him filling your nose, wondering how you were going to survive tomorrow when the real thing happened.

Two hours later, the room was dark.

You woke up slowly, groggy and warm. Jake was still asleep behind you, his arm heavy over your waist. But something was different. The air in the room had changed.

You opened your eyes. Jay was standing at the foot of the bed. He was home. He was still in his suit, his tie loosened, his jacket gone. He stood perfectly still in the shadows, his arms crossed over his chest. He was watching you. He watched Jake’s arm draped over you. He watched the way your bodies were tangled together.

He didn't look angry. He looked... focused.

"Wake him up," Jay said softly.

You froze.

"Wake him up," Jay repeated. "Dinner is ready. And we have things to discuss."

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door open.

You nudged Jake.

"Jake," you whispered, shaking his shoulder. "Jake, wake up. Jay's home."

Jake groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Five more minutes."

"Now," you hissed.

Jake blinked his eyes open. He smiled sleepily at you. "Hey, beautiful."

"Jay was here," you said. "He saw us."

Jake’s smile widened. He didn't look worried at all.

"Good," Jake yawned, sitting up and stretching. "Maybe now he'll stop worrying about whether you're ready or not."

He winked at you. " clearly, you are."

The walk from your bedroom to the dining room felt different this time.

Usually, it was a march to the gallows. A trudge through enemy territory where every shadow held a camera and every door held a lock. But tonight, your legs felt heavy for a different reason. The phantom sensation of your weight on Jake’s lap, the friction of the cotton against your heated skin, and the aftershocks of the orgasm on the terrace still lingered like a ghost touch in your muscles.

You had showered, standing under the scalding spray until the bathroom filled with dense, white fog. You scrubbed your skin until it tingled, washing away the sweat and the evidence of the afternoon’s indiscretion. The cream sweater and leggings—ruined, in your opinion—had been shoved into the disposal chute.

Now, you were clean. You felt raw, scrubbed pink and vulnerable.

You stood in the walk-in closet, staring at the rows of clothes. You bypassed the practical wear. Your body felt too sensitive for denim or stiff cotton. You reached for something that promised comfort, something that wouldn't cling to your skin.

You found a nightgown. It was made of a sheer, pearlescent white material that ghosted over your knees, soft as a whisper. It was modest enough, but when you looked in the mirror, you felt exposed. You grabbed a robe to cover it—a heavy, midnight-blue silk piece that you hadn’t worn before. It was thick, luxurious, and enveloped you like a cloud. You tied the sash tightly around your waist, creating a barrier between you and the world.

You left your hair damp. You didn't have the energy to dry it or style it. It hung in loose, wet waves around your shoulders, cooling the heat that still radiated from your neck. "Dining room," you whispered to yourself, steeling your nerves.

You walked out of the room. The hallway was quiet, the lights dimmed to a warm, evening amber. You walked barefoot on the heated marble, the sensation grounding you. When the double doors to the dining room slid open, the scene inside was painfully, deceptively domestic. Jay and Jake were already seated. The table was set with the usual terrifying array of silverware and crystal, candlelight flickering off the polished wood. They were heads-down over a datapad, their shoulders brushing, deep in conversation.

"The hydroponic yield in Sector 2 is down 4%," Jay was saying, his voice a low, rumbling baritone that vibrated in the quiet room. "It’s the water filtration. The pH balance is drifting."

"I can patch the sensor algorithm," Jake countered, tapping the screen with a stylus. "But we need a physical reset on the valves. Send a drone team." They stopped when you entered. The conversation about pH levels died instantly. Jake looked up first. A bright, unhidden smile broke across his face. He looked fresh, having showered as well, his hair damp and curling at the ends. He wore a loose black shirt that accentuated the column of his throat. He winked at you—a small, secret acknowledgement of the intimacy you had shared upstairs, a shared conspiracy.

Jay looked up a second later.

His gaze was heavier. It was a physical weight that landed on your shoulders. He scanned you, checking for compliance, checking for damage. He looked at the blue robe, the way it was tied, the damp hair framing your face. He didn't smile. He just gave a single, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment.

"Sit," Jay commanded.

You walked to your usual chair—opposite Jake, to Jay’s left—and sat down. You adjusted the robe, pulling it tighter across your chest, ensuring you were covered.

The food was already served. A grilled fish of some kind, white and flaky, sitting on a bed of wild rice with steamed greens. It looked healthy. Bland. Efficient.

You picked up your fork and took a small portion of the rice. You weren't hungry. Your stomach was still doing flip-flops from the adrenaline of the afternoon and the nap that followed. You pushed the fish around, taking tiny bites.

Jay watched you. He hadn't touched his own food yet. His dark eyes were fixed on your plate.

He frowned. A deep line appeared between his brows.

"That is not enough," he stated.

He didn't ask. He didn't cajole. He reached across the table, his hand large and authoritative, and took your plate. He slid it toward him. With deliberate, efficient movements, he scooped a large second portion of fish from the serving platter onto your china. He added a heap of greens. He added a slice of avocado and a spoonful of some nutrient-dense seed mix.

He slid the plate back to you. It was a mountain of food.

"Eat," Jay said. "All of it."

You stared at the plate, dismay washing over you. "Jay, I can't eat all this. I had a big lunch. Jake made me an omelet."

"You had an omelet six hours ago," Jay corrected, checking his internal log of your caloric intake as if he were a computer. "Your metabolic rate is accelerated due to stress and... recent activity. You are under-weight. You need the fats. You need the omega-3s for the uterine lining."

He picked up his wine glass, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Do not make me feed you, [Y/N]. We are past that stage of rebellion, aren't we?"

You sighed, the fight draining out of you. You picked up your fork again. "Fine."

You began to eat. It was mechanical. Bite, chew, swallow.

"While you eat," Jay said, pulling a small holographic list into the air between you, "we need to review the regimen Dr. Vance uploaded. If we are to begin the conception protocol tomorrow, your chemical baseline needs to be perfect."

He expanded the list. It was a timetable, glowing blue in the candlelight.

"0700: Folic acid and Iron. 1200: Calcium and Vitamin D. 1800: Progesterone booster." Jay read it off like a military flight plan. "Starting tomorrow, the bots will dispense these with your meals. You will take them in front of the sensors so consumption is verified." "You make it sound like I'm a machine you're trying to repair," you mumbled around a mouthful of broccoli. "Just checking the oil and changing the filters."

"You are a complex biological system that requires maintenance," Jay said simply, dismissing your sarcasm. "If the engine is not fueled, the car does not run. If the vessel is not prepped, the cargo fails. I do not tolerate failure."

"Cargo," you scoffed softly. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"It's what it is," Jay said, taking a sip of wine. He looked at you over the rim of the glass, his gaze clinical but intense. "Valuable cargo. The most important cargo."

Jake, who had been quiet, leaned back in his chair. He was watching the dynamic with a lazy, predatory grin. He held his own wine glass by the stem, swirling the red liquid, watching the light catch in the vortex.

"Don't be so clinical, Jay," Jake purred, his voice dropping an octave. "You're scaring her. She's not a machine. She's very... responsive. You should know that by now."

Jay’s eyes flicked to Jake, sharp and warning, then back to you.

You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable under the dual scrutiny. The heavy silk robe was warm, too warm for the heated room. You rolled your shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension gathering at the base of your neck.

As you moved, the smooth, slippery fabric of the robe slid. It slipped off your left shoulder, pooling in the crook of your elbow.

It revealed the thin spaghetti strap of the white nightgown underneath, and the expanse of bare, flushed skin across your collarbone and the swell of your breast. The nightgown was cut lower than you realized, the pearlescent fabric clinging to your curves.

You didn't notice. You were too busy trying to swallow a mouthful of dry rice and ignoring Jake’s stare. But Jay noticed. His eyes dropped. He stopped talking mid-sentence about progesterone levels. His gaze fixed on the patch of exposed skin. He traced the line of your collarbone, the frantic pulse beating in the hollow of your throat, the way the white fabric contrasted with your skin tone.

He stared. It wasn't the look of a doctor examining a patient. It wasn't the look of a businessman assessing an asset. It was the look of a starving man spotting a banquet. His pupils dilated, swallowing the iris until his eyes were almost entirely black. His hand tightened around his wine glass. Jake saw Jay look.A slow, wicked smile spread across Jake’s face. He saw the tension in Jay’s jaw, the way a muscle feathered in his cheek. He knew his husband. He knew the restraint Jay exercised every day—the rigid control he kept over his own desires. And he knew that restraint was fraying.

"She looks healthy to me," Jake commented, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that slid across the table like silk.He reached out, ostensibly to grab the salt shaker near your plate, but his hand brushed your arm. His fingers lingered on the bare skin the robe had exposed, warm and electrifying.Jay’s eyes tracked the movement. He watched Jake touch you. A flash of possessiveness, dark and ugly, twisted his expression."Her skin is warmer," Jake noted, looking directly at Jay, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Better circulation. And look at that flush on her chest. It’s not fever, Jay. It’s vitality."

"Eat your food," Jay said, his voice rough, sounding like gravel grinding together.

"I'm just saying," Jake continued, withdrawing his hand but keeping his eyes on you, dissecting you. "She's ready. You keep waiting for the perfect moment, for the charts to align, for the stars to be in the right position. But look at her. She's sitting right there. Waiting." Jake licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your lap. "She was very... cooperative today. On the terrace."

You choked on your water. You coughed, slamming the glass down, water sloshing over the rim. You shot a glare at Jake, warning him to shut up. But Jay didn't look at Jake. He looked at you.

"Cooperative?" Jay repeated. The word hung in the air, heavy and loaded.

"Very," Jake hummed, enjoying the chaos he was creating. "She has a lot of energy, Jay. Pent up energy. She needs a release. Just like we do."

Jay set his glass down. Hard. The sound of the heavy crystal hitting the wood echoed like a gunshot. The air in the room thickened. It became viscous, hard to breathe. The conversation about vitamins and schedules evaporated, replaced by a heavy, suffocating charge of static electricity.

"Is that true?" Jay asked you. His voice was low, dangerous. You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs like a bird in a cage. "I don't know what he's talking about."

"Liar," Jake whispered, leaning forward. "Tell him, baby. Tell him how good you were. Tell him how wet you got for me."

Jay stood up.

He didn't walk around the table this time. He stood at the head, looming over the spread of food like a titan. He looked at you, and the restraint he had been holding onto for two weeks—the careful, methodical patience—snapped.

"I can't wait until tomorrow," Jay growled.

"Jay?" you squeaked, shrinking back in your chair.

"Get over here," Jay ordered.

You froze. "What?"

"I said come here," Jay barked. "Now."

It wasn't a request. It was a command that bypassed your brain and went straight to your motor functions. The authority in his tone was absolute. You stood up, your legs shaking. You walked slowly to the head of the table, the blue robe trailing behind you like a royal train. Jay turned his chair, sitting on the edge of it. He spread his legs wide, the fabric of his trousers straining over his thighs. He looked up at you, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying hunger.

"Kneel," Jay said.

You hesitated, looking around the room. "Jay, we're at dinner—"

"I don't care about dinner," Jay snarled. He reached out, grabbing the sash of your robe and yanking you forward. You stumbled, falling to your knees. You landed on the hard floor between his thighs, your hands gripping his knees for support.

"Kneel," he repeated, his voice vibrating through your chest.

You sank back on your heels. You looked up at him, your breath hitching. He was huge from this angle, a wall of dominance. He didn't wait. His hands went to his belt. Click. Zip. He shoved his trousers and boxer briefs down.

He was already hard. Thick, red, and angry, springing free from his clothes. He was massive. You stared at it, your mouth going dry. You had seen him briefly in the towel the night before, but this was different. This was up close. This was expectant.

"You want to be cooperative?" Jay asked, his hand reaching out to tangle in your damp hair. He gripped the back of your skull, his fingers massaging the scalp. "Then cooperate." He guided your head forward. You didn't fight him. The inevitability of it washed over you. This was the transaction. This was the price of the safety, the food, the warmth. And beneath the fear, there was that traitorous spark of heat again.

You opened your mouth. He tasted of salt and musk and man. You took him in, the size of him filling your mouth, stretching your jaw.

Jay groaned. It was a deep, guttural sound that seemed to come from the bottom of his chest. His fingers tightened in your hair, holding you in place as he began to move his hips.

"Fuck," Jay hissed, looking down at you. "Look at you. Taking it."

You worked. You used your tongue, swirling it around the head, licking the long, prominent vein that ran down the side. You sucked, creating a seal, drawing him deeper. It was degrading. It was primal. And god help you, it was electric.

Jake stood up from his seat. He walked over, silent as a cat. He stood behind Jay, leaning over the back of the chair to watch over his shoulder.

"Wow," Jake whispered, his eyes wide.

He had never seen this before. He had never seen a woman on her knees for his husband. He had never seen Jay getting serviced by anyone other than himself. The visual of your small form between Jay’s powerful legs, your nightgown pooling on the floor, was doing something to him.

"She's good at it," Jake murmured, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at her throat, Jay. Look at how she takes you."

Jay didn't answer. He couldn't. He was lost in the sensation. He bucked his hips, thrusting into your mouth, setting a rhythm that made your eyes water.

"Deeper," Jay commanded.

He pushed into you, forcing you to take every inch. You gagged slightly, tears pricking your eyes, but you didn't pull away. You let him use you. You sucked harder, determined to handle him, determined to survive this.

Precum leaked from the tip, salty and slick. You swallowed it, licking his slit.

"Yes," Jay groaned, his head falling back, his neck corded with strain. "Just like that. Good girl." Jake walked around the side of the chair. He crouched down so he was level with you. He watched your face, watched your cheeks hollow as you sucked.

"You like that, don't you?" Jake whispered to you, his eyes dark. "You like tasting him."

Jay looked down. His eyes were blown, black pits of lust. He watched your mouth moving on him, watched the saliva glistening on his shaft.

"I'm close," Jay panted. "Fuck, I'm close."

He thrust harder, faster. His grip on your hair became painful, grounding you.

"Don't stop," Jake encouraged, reaching out to stroke your cheek. "Make him cum, baby. Take it all." But right as Jay’s hips stuttered, right as he prepared to release, he stopped. He froze. His breathing was ragged.

"No," Jay gasped.

He yanked himself out of your mouth. You made a noise of protest, a small, confused pout forming on your lips as the loss of fullness registered. A string of saliva connected your lip to his hardening length. "Not like that," Jay panted, staring at the string of spit. "Not on the floor." He stood up abruptly, adjusting his pants but not buttoning them. He reached down and grabbed you by the arms.

He hauled you up. He didn't set you on your feet. He turned toward the table.

He didn't sweep the food onto the floor. That would be a loss of control, and Jay Park did not lose control. Instead, with a powerful shove of his arm, he pushed the plates, the glasses, and the heavy silverware backward. The china screeched against the polished wood as it collided, crowding into the center of the table in a chaotic jumble, clearing the edge. He lifted you and sat you down on the dark wood of the dining table. "Jay!" you gasped, the wood hard against your thighs.

He didn't speak. He stepped between your dangling legs. He shoved the blue robe open, spreading it like wings on the table. He grabbed the hem of the white nightgown and shoved it up to your waist, bunching the fabric.

He looked at you. Your chest was heaving, your hair wild, your legs spread for him on his dining table. "Beautiful," Jay growled.

He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties. He didn't rip them. He pulled the fabric sharply to the side, exposing you completely.

You were bare to him. Exposed under the chandelier.

Jay leaned down. He didn't kiss you. He buried his face between your legs.

You screamed.

His tongue was hot, rough, and relentless. He found your clit instantly, licking a broad, wet stripe up your length.

"Oh god," you moaned, your head thrashing back against the table. "Jay, please."

He didn't stop. He ate you with a starvation that terrified you. He licked, he sucked, he bit the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. It wasn't gentle lovemaking; it was consumption. He was devouring you.

He shoved two fingers inside you.

You were wet. So wet from the earlier encounter with Jake, from the sight of Jay, from the adrenaline of the moment. He slid in easily, stretching you.

"So wet," Jay murmured against your skin, the vibration sending shocks through you. "You were waiting for this."

He began to pump his fingers, curling them inside you, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. His tongue worked your clit in a matching rhythm, unyielding and skilled.

Jake moved to your side. he stood next to your hip, right where your head rested back. He reached down and grabbed the top of your nightgown. He pulled it down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

"Hi," Jake grinned, his eyes dark and dilated.

He grabbed your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, his hands creating a rhythm that matched Jay’s tongue.

"Look at these," Jake moaned. "Perfect. So heavy."

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, the wet sound echoing in your ear. At the same time, his hand slapped the side of your other breast, a sharp, stinging smack that made you cry out.

"So sensitive," Jake whispered against your skin before biting down gently.

You were surrounded. Jay devouring you from below, his fingers thrusting deep and fast, hitting your cervix with every pump. Jake claiming you from the side, his mouth hot on your breast, his hand smacking your soft flesh.

It was too much. It was sensory overload.

"I can't," you cried out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the table, knocking a fork to the floor. "It's too much!"

"Take it," Jay growled against your pussy, his tongue flicking faster.

"You're ours," Jake mumbled against your skin, sucking harder. "Accept it."

The orgasm built like a tidal wave. It started in your toes and roared up your spine. The dual stimulation—Jay’s relentless tongue, Jake’s suction—pushed you over the edge.

"Jay!" you screamed.

You shattered.

Your hips bucked off the table, grinding into Jay’s face. You clamped down on his fingers, your inner muscles spasming violently. You shook, your entire body convulsing with the force of the release. Jay groaned, a low, victorious sound. He didn't stop. He kept licking, drinking you in, tasting your release as you poured over his hand. Jake kissed your neck, swallowing your screams, his hand holding your breast firm as you trembled. It went on for what felt like forever. Wave after wave of pleasure that bordered on pain. When it finally stopped, you went limp. You lay there on the table, your limbs sprawled, your chest heaving, sweat cooling on your skin. The dining room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

Jay pulled back slowly. He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was flushed, his eyes wild. He looked at his hand, glistening with your fluids.

He licked a stripe of it off his finger, holding your gaze.

"Delicious," Jay whispered.

Jake straightened up, adjusting your robe slightly but leaving you exposed. He stood next to Jay, looking down at you. You were wrecked. Your dress was disheveled, your robe was open, your hair was a disaster. You looked thoroughly, completely used.

Jake smirked, adjusting his own pants to hide his painful erection.

"So," Jake drawled, leaning against the table edge, looking from you to Jay. "How was the appetizer?"

Yea…this was going to be a long week.

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You sat up, the thin, synthetic mattress groaning in protest. Your body ached—a dull, thumping soreness in your shoulders from yesterday’s haul at the scrapyard. You rubbed your face, feeling the grit that never seemed to leave your skin no matter how hard you scrubbed.This was life in the Rust Belt. You worked until you broke, you fixed yourself with cheap black-market meds, and you did it again the next day. All to keep your credit score just above the "Vagrancy" line, which was the only thing keeping you from being scooped up by the Peacekeepers and shipped off to the nutrient farms.You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold, vibrating floor. The entire tenement block hummed—a constant, low-frequency vibration from the massive geothermal generators that powered the sectors above. You were literally living on top of the engine that kept the rich warm. You reached for the nightstand, bypassing the glass of cloudy water for the crumpled pack of smokes. They were 'Red Dusts'—shitty, unfiltered tobacco grown in UV basements by the Triads. They tasted like burning rubber and salvation. You flicked your lighter—an old-world Zippo you’d found in a heap of trash three years ago—and inhaled deeply. The smoke hit your lungs, sharp and grounding. For a moment, the crushing weight of the world lifted just an inch. "Lights, twenty percent," you croaked.The single strip of LED lighting above the sink flickered, buzzed, and then illuminated the room in a sickly yellow gloom.

You moved to the small mirror cracked down the middle. Your reflection stared back—hollow cheeks, dark circles that looked like bruises under your eyes, and hair that was chopped short with a knife because long hair got caught in machinery. You looked tired. You looked like everyone else down here: a cog that was slowly being ground down to dust. You turned on the tap. Brown water sputtered out, then cleared to a murky grey. You splashed it on your face, not bothering to heat it. Hot water cost extra credits. "Citizen reminder," the building’s PA system crackled to life, the voice sweet and synthesized. "Cycle checks are mandatory for all females between the ages of 18 and 30 in this block today. Please report to Clinic 4-B by 0800. Failure to comply will result in credit freeze. Have a productive day." You gripped the edge of the sink, your knuckles turning white. "Cycle checks," you muttered, spitting toothpaste into the drain. The Genetic Recovery Act. The noose around everyone’s neck. Every month, they checked. Every month, they scanned your womb, checked your egg count, and measured your hormone levels like you were livestock. They were looking for the "Golden Ratio"—the perfect combination of genetic resilience and fertility to help rebuild the population that The Dust had decimated seventy years ago. So far, you’d flown under the radar. Your official medical file listed you as "Low Viability"—a lie you paid a hacker three months' wages to insert into the database. It kept the recruiters away. It kept you free. But the physical checks… you couldn't hack those. You just had to go, endure the cold metal instruments, and pray your stress levels were high enough to mask how healthy you actually were. You finished your cigarette, grinding the stub into the metal sink, and started to dress. Cargo pants reinforced with synth-leather patches, heavy combat boots scavenged from a dead Peacekeeper, and an oversized hoodie that swallowed your figure. You wrapped a scarf around your neck to filter the worst of the smog and grabbed your datapad. Time to face the rot.The commute to Dr. Aris’s clinic was a sensory assault. Stepping out of your tenement block was like stepping into the digestive tract of a mechanical beast. The streets of Sector 7 were narrow, overshadowed by the looming superstructures of the upper levels that blocked out the sky. It was perpetual twilight down here, illuminated only by the neon glare of holographic advertisements. SYNTH-MEAT: NOW WITH 10% REAL PROTEIN! NEED CREDS? SELL YOUR PLASMA TODAY! THE SPIRE IS WATCHING OVER YOU. Drones buzzed overhead like angry hornets, scanning faces in the crowd. The street was packed—scrappers carrying bundles of wire, factory workers with cybernetic limbs whirring softly, street vendors selling skewers of unidentifiable meat grilled over chemical fires.

The smell was overwhelming—ozone, frying grease, unwashed bodies, and the underlying sweetness of decay. You kept your head down, shoulders hunched, moving with the fluid aggression of someone who knew how to navigate a crowd without making eye contact. Eye contact was dangerous. Eye contact invited trouble from the gangs or, worse, the patrolling Peacekeepers in their matte-black armor. You passed a group of "Glitchers"—junkies addicted to digital stims, slumped against a wall, their eyes rolled back, wires trailing from the ports in their temples to cheap battery packs. They were twitching, lost in some beautiful, fake reality while their bodies rotted in the rain.You felt a pang of jealousy. At least they weren't worried about fertility counts.Clinic 4-B was a converted warehouse wedged between a noodle bar and a cyber-prosthetics shop. The line was already out the door. Women, dozens of them, standing in the rain, clutching their ID cards. Some looked terrified, clutching rosaries or old-world charms. Others looked resigned, their faces blank masks of apathy. You joined the back of the line, pulling your scarf tighter. "They say the quota is up this month," a woman in front of you whispered to her friend. She looked young, maybe nineteen, her face gaunt. "They say the Spire needs more surrogates. The lab-grown ones are failing." "Don't listen to rumors, Kyla," her friend hissed back. "Just keep your head down. If your cortisol is too high, they flag you for 'reconditioning'." You stiffened. Reconditioning. That was the polite word for being drugged until you were compliant enough to breed. An hour passed in the rain before you reached the front. A medical droid with a rusted chassis scanned your wrist. "ID: 7-492. Name: [Y/N] [L/N]. Status: Pending. Proceed to Bay 3." You walked inside. The clinic smelled of bleach and copper blood. It was a chaotic assembly line of flesh. Curtains separated the exam tables, but they did little to dampen the sounds—the hum of scanners, the clatter of instruments, the occasional sob. "Bay 3," you muttered, finding the cubicle. Dr. Aris was there, looking as exhausted as he always did. He was a good man, or as good as one could be in the Rust Belt. He had been a Spire doctor once, years ago, before some scandal dropped him down to the slums. He still had the steady hands of a surgeon, even if his eyes were yellowed from cheap gin. "Morning, kid," Aris grunted, not looking up from his datapad. "Hop up. You know the drill." You sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table. "Morning, Doc. How's the liver?" "Shut up," he muttered without heat. He picked up a blood-draw device. "Sleeve up. Let's see if the atmosphere has finally mutated you into something interesting." You rolled up your hoodie sleeve. The metal press-gun hissed against your skin, drawing a vial of dark red blood. "You look like hell," Aris noted, slotting the vial into a centrifuge machine on the counter. "Eating?" "Synth-paste and algae bars. The usual." "Smoking?" "Only when I'm awake."

He chuckled dryly, tapping commands into the console. "Well, try to cut back. The air down here does enough damage without you helping it along." He picked up a handheld scanner, running it over your abdomen. The gel was cold. You stared at the ceiling tiles, counting the water stains, disassociating. This was the part you hated most. The feeling of being inspected. Of being reduced to biology. The machine whirred, chirping softly as it gathered data. Aris watched the monitor, his brows furrowing. He tapped the screen, frowned, and tapped it again. "What?" you asked, your pulse spiking. "Is something wrong? Do I have rot?" "No," Aris said slowly. He glanced at the centrifuge, which had just beeped. He pulled up your blood analysis. His eyes widened slightly. He looked from the screen to you, then back to the screen. He quickly typed a command, deleting something. "Doc?" You sat up, pulling your shirt down. "You're freaking me out." Aris turned to you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Your T-cell count is… unusually high. And your regenerative markers? I haven't seen numbers like this since I worked in the Spire labs." "What does that mean?" "It means your body is fighting off the toxicity of the Sector better than 97% of the population," he murmured. "It means you're incredibly resilient. And you're ovulating. Right now. Your hormone profile is… perfect." Panic clawed at your throat. "Perfect" was a dangerous word. "Perfect" got you put on a transport ship. "Perfect" got you assigned to a Man. "Fix it," you whispered, gripping his arm. "Doc, please. Put in the old data. Tell them I'm anemic. Tell them I have radiation sickness. Just don't log that." Aris looked at the door, then back at you. He sighed, rubbing his temples. "I can fudge the local logs, kid. I can tell the Sector Captain you're malnutritioned. But this blood sample?" He gestured to the vial. "This goes to the Central Oracle. It’s an automated uplink. I can't stop it. Once it hits the cloud…" "How long?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Maybe hours. Maybe a day. The system is huge; sometimes it takes time to process the Rust Belt data." He grabbed your shoulder, squeezing hard. "If you have a bolt-hole, go there. If you have credits saved, hide them. If the Algorithm flags you as a Prime Match… you won't be staying in Sector 7." You slid off the table, your legs feeling unsteady. "I'm a nobody, Doc. The Spire doesn't look for nobodies." "They look for biology," Aris said grimly. "And yours just lit up the board like a flare." You didn't go to work that day. You couldn't.Instead, you walked. You walked until your legs burned, trying to outpace the dread settling in your stomach. You moved through the Grand Market, a labyrinth of stalls built into the skeletal remains of an old subway station.The market was the heart of the Rust Belt. It was loud, chaotic, and alive. Here, the oppression of the Spire felt a little further away. You stopped at a stall selling "real" food—suspicious meat on sticks and fried dough. You bought a dumpling with your last few physical credits, eating it while leaning against a graffiti-covered pillar.

Across the way, a massive holographic billboard flickered to life. It showed the Spire—the sparkling, diamond-shaped penthouse levels at the very top. SECTOR 1: PURITY. PROGRESS. PERFECTION. You glared at it. Up there, they lived to be 120. Up there, they had skin that didn't itch and lungs that didn't wheeze. Up there, men like the ones in the dramas—rich, powerful, untouchable—lived in glass castles.You hated them. You hated their perfection. You hated that while you were sweating through a fever dream of poverty, they were probably debating which vintage of wine to drink with their fresh steak. "Hey! Scrapper!" You turned. It was Kael, the foreman of the salvage yard you worked at. He was a brute of a man, half his face replaced by a cheap chrome plate. "You skipped shift," Kael grunted, wiping grease on his pants. "I should dock your pay." "Had a medical check," you lied smoothly. "Dr. Aris thought I had the rot. Kept me for observation." Kael stepped back, eyeing you suspiciously. "You contagious?" "Not anymore. Just low iron." Kael snorted. "Fine. But you owe me double shift tomorrow. A new shipment of old-world servers just came in from the excavation site. High-grade tech. I need small hands to strip the motherboards." "I'll be there," you said. "Better be. Or I give your spot to the kid from Block 9." He walked away, disappearing into the steam of the street food stalls. You exhaled, leaning your head back against the pillar. Tomorrow. You just had to make it to tomorrow. If the Reapers didn't come by tonight, maybe the data got lost. Maybe you were just a glitch in the system. You pulled out your datapad, checking your messages. Nothing. No alerts. No red flags.Maybe Aris was wrong. Maybe you were just lucky.The sun began to set—or rather, the artificial lights of the city shifted from harsh white to amber and purple, signaling the night cycle. The nightlife of the Rust Belt woke up. Music started thumping from the basement clubs—heavy, industrial techno that vibrated in your teeth.You decided to go to "The Circuit," a bar run by a friend of yours. You needed a drink. Something stronger than the chemical water. Something to drown the memory of Aris’s worried face.The bar was crowded, filled with smoke and laser lights. You squeezed your way to the counter, ordering a shot of reactor-grade vodka. It tasted like gasoline, but it burned the fear away.

You stood there, nursing the drink, watching the crowd. People were dancing, fighting, laughing. For all its misery, the Rust Belt had a pulse. It was desperate, sure, but it was real.You didn't want to leave. You didn't want to be scrubbed clean and put in a glass box. Your datapad buzzed in your pocket.You pulled it out, expecting a message from Kael.It wasn't Kael. The screen was black, with a single, spinning gold logo in the center. The symbol of the Ministry of Population. CITIZEN 7-492. LOCATION LOCKED. DO NOT MOVE. RECOVERY TEAM EN ROUTE. The glass dropped from your hand, shattering on the sticky floor.The music seemed to stop. The noise of the bar faded into a dull roar.Location locked. They knew exactly where you were.You spun around, pushing through the crowd, panic exploding in your chest. You had to run. You had to get to the tunnels. If you could make it to the deep-sewers, the scanners couldn't track you.You burst out of the bar into the cool night air, your boots slamming against the wet pavement. You turned into an alleyway, sprinting toward the service ladder that led to the underground. You were fast. You were a runner. You knew these streets better than anyone.

You reached the ladder, grabbing the rusted rungs, hauling yourself up. THWUMP-THWUMP-THWUMP. The sound of heavy rotors beat against the air above you. Bright, blinding spotlights cut through the gloom, pinning you against the brick wall like an insect under a magnifying glass. "CITIZEN, HALT," a voice amplified from the sky boomed, shaking the very stones of the alley.You looked up, shielding your eyes. A sleek, silent dropship hovered above the alleyway. It wasn't the clunky, rusted Peacekeeper transport you were used to. This ship was white, elegant, and shaped like a predatory bird. It bore no Ministry markings—only a sleek, stylized crest in gold. The crest of a private Apex house. The side door of the ship hissed open. Ropes didn't drop. Reapers didn't jump out. Instead, a gravity lift hummed to life, a beam of blue light hitting the ground. Two figures descended, looking completely out of place in the filth of the alley. Reapers. But not the street-level grunts. These were elite guards, wearing armor that looked like ceramic, white and pristine. You froze on the ladder, halfway up. "Go to hell!" you screamed, scrambling upward. A sudden, high-pitched whine filled the air. Your muscles locked. Your hands refused to obey. A paralysis beam. You fell backward, hitting the wet ground with a splash that knocked the breath out of you. You couldn't move. You could only stare up at the rain falling through the spotlight.One of the white-armored guards walked over, looking down at you. "Is she damaged?" a voice crackled over his comms. "Negative," the guard replied. "Target secured. Vitals elevated, but stable." "Bring her up. The Husbands are waiting." The guard bent down, scooping you up as easily as if you were a child. You tried to bite, to scream, but your jaw was locked. Tears of frustration and terror pricked your eyes, mixing with the rain. As they carried you toward the blue light of the gravity lift, you caught one last glimpse of Sector 7—the neon signs, the steam, the trash. Then the light swallowed you, and the world went white.

The room was white. Not the dull, chipped eggshell white of the clinic walls in Sector 7, which were usually stained with things you tried not to identify. This was a blinding, aggressive white. The walls were smooth, seamless panels of some synthetic material that hummed with a low, barely audible vibration. The floor was polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting your scuffed combat boots—the only dirty thing in this pristine box.You had been pacing for what felt like hours. Four steps to the wall, turn. Four steps to the door, turn.You were waiting. For what, you didn’t know. For who, you didn’t want to guess.The last thing you remembered clearly was the blue light of the gravity lift and the terrifying sensation of being paralyzed. Now, you were here. Unbound, but trapped.

"I am not an animal," you muttered to the empty room, your voice sounding small in the acoustic dampening. But that wasn't true, was it? To the people who built rooms like this, that’s exactly what you were. Livestock. A genetic anomaly found in the trash heap, scrubbed off and presented for inspection. The thought made bile rise in your throat. You weren’t some broodmare to be used by a random man, impregnated to fulfill a quota, and then tossed back into the gutter once the baby was weaned if they choose.

You stopped pacing, running a hand through your gritty, matted hair. You felt filthy. The grime of the alleyway, the sweat of your panic, the lingering scent of the Rust Belt—it all clung to you like a second skin. In this room, you felt like a disease. Knock. Knock. The sound was polite. Civilized. It made you jump anyway.The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. A man stepped inside. He was dressed in a lab coat that was impossibly crisp, wearing glasses that looked like vintage frames but flickered with digital data along the lenses. He smiled—a practiced, professional curvature of the lips that didn't reach his eyes. "Good afternoon," he said, his voice smooth. "I am Dr. Vance. I trust you are comfortable?" "I want to leave," you said, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to hide the tremors in your hands.Dr. Vance chuckled softly, closing the door behind him. "I'm afraid that isn't possible, Citizen. But rest assured, you are in excellent hands. I understand this is… jarring. But we need to verify the initial field reports." He tapped a datapad he was holding. "The scanners in Sector 7 are… resilient, but archaic. They operate on old-world algorithms that have a margin of error of nearly 4%. For a match of this magnitude, we require precision. I need to run a full diagnostic panel." "My results were fine," you snapped. "Dr. Aris said—" "Dr. Aris is a field medic working with rusted tools," Vance interrupted gently but firmly. "I am the Head of Genetics for Sector 3. Please. Follow me."

He opened the door again and gestured to the hallway. You hesitated. You could fight him. You could try to run. But you had no weapon, no idea where you were, and the corridor outside looked endless. Reluctantly, you stepped out. If the room was clean, the hallway was opulent. You realized with a jolt that you weren't in the Spire yet. This was Sector 3—the buffer zone. The Middle high Class. The professionals. The clinic was like nothing you had ever seen. The air smelled of synthesized lavender and ozone, a sweet, calming scent that was pumped through hidden vents. Soft, ambient music played from nowhere and everywhere at once. The floor was a soft, yielding material that muffled footsteps. People passed by—nurses in sleek blue uniforms, patients sitting in floating chairs.They looked… soft. Their skin was clear. their clothes were fitted and devoid of patches or grease stains. No one looked hungry. No one looked like they were carrying a knife in their boot. As you walked behind Dr. Vance, heads turned. You saw the looks. The wrinkled noses. The quick, judgmental scans of your baggy, dirty cargo pants and the mud caked on your jacket. You shrank in on yourself, feeling like a smudge of dirt on a pristine white tablecloth. "This way," Vance said, oblivious to your shame, leading you into a large laboratory.

The equipment here looked like more advanced high technology compared to the rusted centrifuges of the slums. Massive, ring-shaped scanners hovered in the air. Robotic arms moved with silent precision, mixing fluids in glass vials.For the next hour, you were poked, prodded, and scanned. But unlike Sector 7, there were no cold metal clamps, no rough handling. You stood inside a beam of light that warmed your skin as it mapped your DNA. You breathed into a tube that tasted like mint. It was invasive, yes, but it was terrifyingly efficient. "Excellent," Vance mumbled, watching streams of data cascade down a holographic wall. "Truly remarkable respiratory filtration. And the metabolic rates… yes. The Husbands will be pleased." The word made your stomach twist. Husbands? "You're done," Vance said finally, turning off the holo-wall. He looked you up and down, his nose wrinkling slightly for the first time. "We cannot send you to the handover looking like… this. The sanitation protocols in Sector 1 are strict." He led you back down the hall, but not to the waiting room. He stopped in front of a door marked Decontamination Suite. "There are fresh clothes inside. Wash up. Be thorough," Vance instructed. "I will return shortly."The door slid shut, leaving you alone. You turned around and gasped. The bathroom was larger than your entire apartment. It was tiled in something that looked like real marble, warm to the touch. In the center was a glass enclosure—the shower. There was also a seating area.

You stripped off your clothes, setting the heavy dirty boots into the corner. You peeled off the socks that were practically glued to your feet, shivering as the cool air hit your skin. You felt vulnerable, naked in this palace of hygiene.You stepped into the glass enclosure.There were no knobs. No levers. No rusted pipes sticking out of the wall. There was just a sleek, black panel embedded in the glass. "Okay," you whispered. "How hard can this be?" You poked the screen. Nothing. You swiped it. A menu flashed too fast for you to read. You tapped again, and the lights in the shower turned neon pink. You groaned, tapping frantically to turn them back. "Work, damn it!" you hissed, slamming your palm against the panel in frustration. beep-boop "Hello!" A voice chirped—bright, happy, and disembodied. "It seems you are experiencing user difficulty! Would you like assistance?" You jumped back, slipping slightly on the wet floor. "Who said that?" "I am the San-Unit 5000 Assistant!" the voice replied from a speaker overhead. "I detect elevated heart rate and frustration. Would you like a standard cleanse cycle?" You stared at the ceiling. "I just… I just want water. Warm water. Not boiling." "Acknowledged! Setting temperature to 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit. Pressure: Moderate. Enjoy your cleanse!" A soft hiss sounded, and water began to fall from the ceiling—not in a hard jet, but like a gentle, warm rain.You stepped under it, bracing yourself for the smell of chlorine or rust.It didn't come.The water was… nothing. It was pure. It tasted like rain from a storybook. It felt silky against your skin. You opened your mouth, letting it run over your tongue, marveling at the lack of chemical aftertaste. This was the "clean water" Aris had talked about, the kind reserved for the upper sectors.

It felt like liquid gold.You grabbed the bar of soap resting on a magnetic shelf. It smelled of oat milk and honey. You scrubbed. You scrubbed until your skin was pink, watching the grey water swirl down the drain, carrying the Dust of Sector 7 with it.Washing your hair was a battle. The shampoo was thick and luxurious, lathering instantly, but your hair was a bird's nest of tangles and grit. You worked through it patiently, wincing as you used a wide-toothed comb you found on the shelf to rip through the knots. When you finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel that was fluffier than your mattress, you felt lightheaded. You looked at the clothes laid out on the bench.

They were simple. A pair of soft, grey linen trousers and a matching long-sleeved tunic. No zippers, no buttons, just fabric that felt like water. You put them on, the material draping over your body loosely. You looked over at your boots before putting them back on. You stood in front of the mirror. You barely recognized yourself. The grime was gone. Your skin was still grey but clean. Your hair, pulled back into a wet bun, revealed the sharp angles of your face. But your skin… it still looked rough. Windburned from the scrapyards. Pores clogged with years of smog. "User alert!" the AI chirped again. "Biometric scan detects epidermal dehydration and micro-abrasions. Would you like to initiate the Derma-Repair protocol?" You blinked at the mirror. "The what?" "Skincare!" the AI clarified cheerfully. "To restore optimal barrier function." A panel in the wall beside the mirror slid open with a soft whoosh. A tray extended, holding three small jars that glowed with a faint inner light. "Step 1: Exfoliating Enzyme," the AI instructed. "Apply to face in circular motions." You hesitated, dipping a finger into the first jar. It was cool and smelled like cucumbers. You rubbed it on your cheeks. It tingled. "Step 2: Hydration Serum." You followed the instructions, feeling like a child playing dress-up. The serum sank into your skin instantly. "Step 3: Barrier Seal." By the time you finished, you looked back at the mirror and touched your cheek. It was smooth. Impossible smooth. The redness around your nose was gone. The rough patches on your forehead had vanished. Your skin glowed with a health you hadn't possessed ten minutes ago. "What kind of magic is this?" you whispered, turning your face side to side. The door to the bathroom opened. Dr. Vance stood there. He paused, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the transformation. The dirt, the anger, the grime—it had all been washed away, leaving someone who looked… undeniably striking. "Remarkable," Vance murmured, a genuine smile touching his lips, he looked at your boots but didn’t say anything. "You clean up very well, Citizen." He gestured to the small table in the corner of the room. "Please. Sit." You sat, folding your hands in your lap, suddenly acutely aware of how expensive the clothes felt. Vance sat opposite you, placing his datapad on the table. His smile was bright. Too bright. It was the smile of a salesman who had just closed the deal of a lifetime. "I have excellent news," Vance began, tapping the screen. "The in-depth analysis confirms everything.

In fact, your genetic profile is even more compatible than we initially thought. You aren't just a match; you are a biological key." He looked at you expectantly. "Okay," you said slowly. "So… what does that mean for me? Do I get paid? Do I go home after?" Vance laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Home? No, my dear. It means you will proceed immediately with the placement. The Husbands have been notified of your compatibility." You frowned. "You keep saying that. 'Husbands'. Plural." "Yes," Vance nodded. "Two of them." You stared at him. "That's… that's not common." "In Sector 3? Not common. In Sector 7? Unheard of," Vance agreed. You shifted uncomfortably. In the slums, same-sex relationships happened, of course. But you kept it quiet. You hid it. Because to the Ministry, two men or two women together were a dead end. They were "resource sinks"—consuming food and water without producing the next generation of workers. If the Peacekeepers found a same-sex couple in the slums, they were forcibly separated and reassigned to "productive" partnerships. It was brutal. It was efficient. "So," you swallowed hard. "They're… exempt? From the separation laws?" "Money buys many things, even exemption from biological tyranny," Vance said dryly. "But these two men… they are not just rich. They are Sector 1 Apex." He swiped the screen, turning the datapad toward you. Two faces appeared. "Jay," Vance pointed to the man on the left. He was terrifyingly handsome—dark hair, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes that looked like they could stare through a lead wall. "Heir to the Valeris Defense Corp. His family designs the walls that keep the air inside the city." Vance pointed to the second man. He had softer features, messy brown hair, and a grin that looked like trouble. "And Jake. Son of the Founder of the Neural-Link network. He owns the AI systems that run… well, everything. Including the shower you just used." You looked at the faces. They didn't look like people. They looked like gods. "Jay paid a premium," Vance said, his voice lowering confidentially. "A staggering amount of credits to ensure a 'Healthy Female.' He is… particular. He has a phobia of weakness, of sickness. He wants his heir to be perfect. That is why they need you. Your blood is stronger than anyone in their social circle." Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Sector 1," you whispered. You had thought you were going to Sector 4, maybe Sector 3. But Sector 1? The Spire? That was a different planet. The air up there was different. The gravity felt different. "How am I supposed to survive there?" you asked, your voice trembling. "I don't know their rules. I don't know how to… be like them. They're going to eat me alive." "Perhaps," Vance said unhelpfully, standing up and smoothing his coat. "But you are resilient. That is why you are here." A chime sounded through the room. A soft, blue light pulsed above the door. Vance checked his wrist unit and his smile widened. "Ah," he said, looking at you with a mix of pity and excitement. "That is the docking alert." He walked to the door and opened it. "Prepare yourself," Vance said. "Jay and Jake has arrived personally to collect you. Jay does not like to be kept waiting."

The silence in the waiting room was not peaceful; it was predatory. Dr. Vance had slipped out moments ago, the door sealing shut with a heavy magnetic thud that vibrated through the soles of your soft, clinic-issued shoes. You were alone in the pristine white box, the air scrubbed so clean it felt thin in your lungs. You paced again. Four steps to the wall, turn. Four steps to the observation window, turn. You felt like a feral cat that had been washed, shaved, and shoved into a show cage, waiting for the judges to decide if you were worth the ribbon or the incinerator. Your heart hammered a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs. Husbands. Plural. Sector 1 Apex. The words bounced around your skull, terrifying and absurd. You had spent your life dodging Peacekeepers and scraping copper wire for credits in the acid rain, and now you were being packaged and sold to the gods of the Spire. Knock. Knock. It made you jump, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

Breathe, you told yourself, grounding your weight in your heels. You are a Runner. You are a Scrapper. Do not let them see you shake. The door hissed open.Dr. Vance reappeared first, stepping aside and bowing his head deeply, his posture radiating a frantic sort of subservience. "Mr. Park. Mr. Sim," Vance murmured, his voice trembling with reverence.“She is ready." The air in the room shifted instantly. It wasn’t a draft. It was a change in pressure, a sucking of the oxygen out of the space as the first man stepped across the threshold. It was Jay.He was a monolith. A towering figure of dark elegance that seemed to absorb the clinical light of the room. He was dressed in a suit that was tailored to a microscopic degree of perfection—charcoal black, pressing against broad shoulders that spoke of engineered nutrition and combat training. His white shirt was crisp, the black tie knotted with severe precision.He moved with a lethal, predatory grace, stopping just inside the room. His presence was overwhelming, a wall of cold dominance. Then the smell hit you. It rolled off him in a wave, suffocatingly intense. He smelled heavy and clean—like crushed pine needles frozen in ice, mixed with the sharpness of expensive cologne and the metallic tang of ozone. It was the smell of a storm that had been sterilized. It invaded your senses, coating the back of your throat, making it hard to breathe anything else.He didn't speak. He stood perfectly still, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, his dark eyes locking onto you with the intensity of a targeting laser.

He was assessing you. Not as a person, but as a structural flaw in his perfect life that he had to manage. His gaze swept over your face, your hands, your posture, dissecting you layer by layer. Then, the second man drifted in behind him. If Jay was the void, Jake was the supernova. He stepped around Jay with a bounce in his step, effortlessly breaking the tension Jay had just strangled the room with. He wasn't wearing a suit. He was dressed in what passed for "casual" in the Spire—loose, black trousers that looked like liquid silk, and a structured black jacket with a deep neckline. He wore no shirt underneath, exposing the smooth, golden expanse of his chest and collarbones. A heavy, silver chain necklace rested against his skin, catching the light and glinting with every movement.He brought a different scent with him.Warmth. It washed over the sterile chill Jay radiated, smelling of heated honey, rich vanilla, and something spicy, like old-world cinnamon. It was sweet, cloying, and deceptively comforting. "Is this her?" Jake asked, his voice light and airy, humming with curiosity.

He walked past Dr. Vance without a glance, moving straight toward you. He tucked his hands into his pockets, tilting his head to the side, his dark hair falling softly over his forehead. He looked boyish, almost innocent, if not for the sharpness in his eyes. "Citizen 7-492," Dr. Vance supplied quickly from the doorway. "[Y/n] [L/n]." You stiffened as Jake stopped just two feet away from you. He invaded your personal space without a second thought, treating your boundaries as mere suggestions. He leaned in, sniffing slightly, his eyes widening.

"Wow," Jake breathed, a smile playing on his lips. He turned his head to look back at Jay, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Vance wasn't lying, Jay. Look at her. She cleans up… incredibly well." He looked back at you, his gaze roving over your face with a detached fascination. "I expected you to look more… jagged? You know how the Rust Belt girls usually are. The malnutrition makes the bone structure all sharp and angry. Sunken eyes. Crazy Grey skin." He chuckled softly, stepping even closer, reaching out a hand as if to touch your cheek. "But your skin… it's actually soft. The AI really fixed you up. I thought the acid rain turned everyone down there into leather." The words hung in the air, wrapped in honey and warmth, delivered with a smile that was completely devoid of malice. That was what made it worse. He wasn't trying to be cruel. He was just oblivious. To him, stating that you should look like a leather-skinned mutant was just a biological observation. A fact of life for the 'lesser' beings of the Rust Belt. He spoke about your poverty, your struggle, your life, as if it were a biological defect he was graciously overlooking. Rage, hot and white, flared in your chest. It burned away the fear. It burned away the awe. "We don't all look like monsters just because we don't bathe in filtered water," you snapped, your voice cutting through the polite silence like a serrated blade.

Jake’s hand was inches from your face. Without thinking, you raised your hand and slapped his wrist away—hard. The sound of skin on skin echoed sharply in the quiet room. "And I am not a petting zoo exhibit," you hissed, your eyes blazing. "Keep your hands to yourself." The silence that followed was deafening. Dr. Vance made a strangled, horrified noise in the back of his throat, looking as if he wanted to dissolve into the floor tiles. Jake blinked, his hand hovering in the air where you had struck it. He didn't look angry. He looked… stunned. And then, slowly, a wide, delighted grin spread across his face. But Jay moved. The air pressure in the room dropped. The storm broke. In two long strides, Jay crossed the distance between the door and you. He didn't run; he blurred. Suddenly, he was there, looming over you, a wall of charcoal wool and terrifying dominance. "Watch your tone," Jay growled.

His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in the soles of your feet. It was deep, dangerous, and absolutely commanding. His dark eyes, which had been impassive a moment ago, were now narrowed into slits of cold fury. "You are speaking to a Sector 1 Apex," Jay said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was louder than a scream. He crowded you, forcing you to step back until your hips hit the edge of the table. "You do not touch him. You do not snap at him. You stand there, and you be grateful we didn't leave you to rot in the gutter." You looked up at him, craning your neck to meet his gaze. He smelled of ozone and power, suffocatingly close. Your instincts screamed at you to submit, to look down, to bare your neck. But you were a runner. You survived on spite. "Grateful?" you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest to hide the way your hands were shaking. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, refusing to blink. "For what? Kidnapping me? Stripping me? Inspecting me like cattle? I didn't ask for your charity, Sir." Jay’s jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. You could see the darknes in his irises, burning with irritation. He looked like he wanted to grab you by the back of the neck and force you to your knees right there on the pristine floor.

"You have a mouth on you," Jay murmured, his eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you swallowed. "I don't like bratty behavior, Citizen. And I have very effective ways of fixing it." Your breath hitched. The threat hung heavy and real between you. You saw the promise of discipline in his eyes—assessing exactly how much pressure it would take to make you break."Jay," a soft voice cut in.A hand landed on Jay’s tense shoulder. Long, elegant fingers curled into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

Jake stepped up beside his husband, leaning his chin on Jay’s shoulder, looking at you with sparkling, amused eyes. He wasn't offended by your slap. He was thrilled by it. "Relax, baby," Jake cooed, rubbing his cheek against Jay’s shoulder, the silver chain on his chest clinking softly. "Don't scare her yet. She's just… spirited. I like it." Jay didn't look away from you. His gaze pinned you in place. "She's disrespectful. She needs to learn her place." "She will," Jake promised, his voice dripping with that warm honey sweetness. He moved his hand to Jay’s chest, rubbing soothing circles over his heart, acting as the grounding wire for Jay's rising temper.Jay exhaled a sharp breath through his nose. The tension in his shoulders didn't disappear, but it shifted. He glanced at Jake, his expression softening by a fraction—just a fraction—before looking back at you with cold, lingering annoyance. "Fine," Jay grunted.He stepped back, giving you space to breathe, though his presence still filled the room like a heavy fog. He turned to Dr. Vance, who looked like he was about to pass out. "She's adequate," Jay stated flatly, adjusting his cuffs. "We'll take her." "Excellent!" Vance squeaked, rushing forward with his datapad, eager to diffuse the tension. "Just a few signatures here, Mr. Park. Transfer of custody, medical liability waivers, the usual NDA regarding the genetic line…"

Jay took the stylus, turning his back to you. He signed the documents with quick, aggressive strokes. He didn't even read them. He was over the law; he didn't need to read it. His posture was rigid, his suit jacket straining slightly across his broad shoulders as he leaned over the desk. Jake stayed near you, rocking back on his heels. He watched you with a lazy, predatory smile, idly twisting the silver chain around his finger. "I didn't mean to offend you, by the way," Jake said, his voice lowered so only you could hear. "About the skin thing. It was a compliment. You're very… pretty. For a scrapper." You glared at him, your chest heaving. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

Jake chuckled, a low, melodic sound that vibrated in the quiet room. He winked at you. "Come on, Sector Seven. Let's get you home." The transition was abrupt.Dr. Vance escorted the men to a side office to finalize the transaction—because that’s what it was, a transaction—while two clinic workers, dressed in clinical blue, flanked you."This way, Citizen," one of them said. It wasn't a request.You were led out of the exam room and down a different corridor, this one wider and lined with observation windows. You kept your head down, acutely aware of the thin metal tracking cuff Dr. Vance had clamped onto your wrist back in the exam room. It hummed against your pulse, a constant, low-frequency reminder that you were property now.It felt like a walk of shame, though you had done nothing wrong. Nurses, doctors, and wealthy patients pressed themselves against the walls as you passed, not because they feared you, but because the clinic staff were clearing the way for "High Priority Asset Transport."You reached the end of the hall. The blast doors hissed open, revealing the private docking bay.

The hangar was cavernous, smelling of recycled air and cold metal. And there it was.It wasn't a ship. It wasn't a public transport shuttle. It was a car.A sleek, obsidian hover-car, low to the ground, hovering silently a few inches off the deck on a magnetic cushion. The undercarriage glowed with a faint, amber pulse that reflected off the polished hangar floor. The windows were tinted so dark they looked like oil slicks, swallowing the light. Etched in subtle silver on the rear door was the crest you would soon learn to dislike: The Park family crest.A driver, dressed in a crisp black uniform that matched the car’s finish, stood rigid by the rear passenger door. He stared straight ahead, a statue of servitude."Get in," the clinic worker commanded, nudging you forward.The driver opened the door with a gloved hand. You climbed inside, the heavy scent of the interior hitting you instantly. It smelled intensely of Jay—that heavy, expensive leather and ozone scent—mixed with the lingering sweetness of Jake’s vanilla cologne.You slid all the way across the bench seat to the far window, pressing yourself against the door, trying to create as much distance as possible. The leather was suffocatingly soft, molding instantly to your body.Through the tinted window, you watched the glass doors of the clinic office slide open. They emerged.Jay walked with a military cadence, purposeful and direct, buttoning his suit jacket as he checked his wrist comm with a frown. Jake sauntered beside him, his hands in his pockets, the silver chain around his neck catching the hangar lights. He leaned into Jay, whispering something that made the taller man’s rigid posture relax, just a fraction.They looked like a normal couple. Happy. Rich. In love.

Two gods walking toward their chariot. They approached the car. The driver held the door open wider.Jake got in first. He slid into the middle, right next to you. His thigh brushed yours, warm and solid through the expensive fabric of his trousers.Jay entered last. He took the seat on the other side of Jake, sealing the exit. The door thudded shut with a heavy, pressurized seal that cut off all sound from the outside world."Home, Seochul," Jay said to the front of the car."Yes, Mr. Park."Jay tapped a panel on the armrest. A black partition slid up between the driver’s cabin and the rear seats, clicking into place.

The glass turned opaque instantly. You were trapped in a soundproofed, bulletproof leather box with them.The car didn't lurch; it simply ceased to acknowledge gravity. With a smooth surge of power, the vehicle glided out of the hangar bay and into the open sky lanes of Sector 3.Outside, the city blurred into streaks of neon and grey. Inside, the atmosphere was maddeningly domestic, despite the tension radiating off you."The neural interface for the new grid is lagging by point-zero-three seconds," Jake said, leaning his head back against the headrest. He spoke casually, tossing words into the air like they were nothing more than weather talk, ignoring the fact that his shoulder was practically pressing into yours. "I told the dev team that if they don't patch the latency, the cognitive feedback loop could fry a user's frontal lobe. But, you know. Engineers."Jay, sitting on the other side of him, pulled a slim holographic tablet from his jacket pocket. He scrolled through data streams with sharp, precise movements. He had discarded the stoic statue persona he wore in the clinic, trading it for a relaxed, predatory competence."Fire them," Jay said without looking up. His voice was a low rumble that filled the enclosed space. "If the grid fails, the defense perimeter desynchronizes.

I’m not paying for lag, Jake. I’m paying for perfection." "I know, I know," Jake sighed dramatically, sinking lower in the seat, his legs stretching out. "I'll wipe the team tomorrow. Start fresh with the Sector 2 grads. They’re hungrier anyway."You stared out the side window, pressing your shoulder against the cold glass, trying to merge with the door frame. They were talking about firing people—ruining lives—and potentially frying brains with the same casual tone one might use to discuss a dinner menu.This was their world. A world of "wiping teams" and "latency." Your world was counting copper wires to buy a loaf of algae bread.You tried to regulate your breathing. Don't engage. Don't give them anything.But the back seat was intimate, and Jake Sim was not a man who allowed things to be ignored.He turned his head, his cheek resting against the leather, looking at you from mere inches away. The proximity was overwhelming."You're very quiet," Jake observed, his dark eyes locking onto yours. He smiled, that syrupy, warm expression that made your skin crawl because it felt so genuine. "Most people usually have a lot of questions by now. 'Where are we going?' 'Am I going to die?' That sort of thing."You kept your jaw clamped shut. You focused on the reflection of Jay’s profile in the darkened privacy glass. Don't speak.

"Not a talker?" Jake teased. The scent of warm honey wafted from him, cloying in the recycled air. "Or are you just sulking because Jay scolded you back there?" "Leave her be, Jake," Jay’s voice cut in. He didn't look up from his tablet, but his tone was a warning. "She’s overwhelmed. The sensory input of a clean environment is probably shocking to her system." "I'm not overwhelmed," you snapped before you could stop yourself. The words tore out of your throat, rough and defensive. You turned your head to glare at Jake. "I just have nothing to say to you."Jake’s eyebrows shot up, delight flickering in his eyes. He shifted, turning his body slightly more toward you, effectively boxing you in against the door. He looked at you like you were a fascinating puzzle box he couldn't wait to crack open. "Oh, there she is. I knew there was more in there."He tilted his head, his gaze dragging over your face, taking in the clean skin, the neat bun, the clean clothes. "So, tell me. What does a… 'scrapper' do, exactly? Jay briefed me on the file, but the data is so dry. Do you just… find things?" You stared at him in disbelief. He asked it with the innocent curiosity of a child asking why the sky was blue. "We scavenge," you said coldly. "We crawl into the ruins of the Old World buildings that collapsed because of the wars your families started. We strip copper, fiber optics, rare earth magnets. Anything we can sell to the recycling plants so they can melt it down and build…" You gestured vaguely around the opulent interior of the hover car. "…this." "Fascinating," Jake hummed, completely missing the venom in your tone. "It’s like archeology, but dirty. Did you ever find anything cool? Old tech? Data drives?"

"I found a dead body once," you said flatly, enjoying the way his smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "A jumper from Sector 5. Hit a girder on the way down. We stripped his boots because they were worth more than his life."On the other side of the seat, Jay finally looked up from his tablet. He leaned forward slightly to look past Jake, his dark eyes locking onto you. They were sharp, assessing. He didn't look horrified; he looked clinical. He was weighing the trauma in your voice against the defiance in your eyes.Jake, however, recovered quickly. He let out a low whistle. "Rough. That’s… really intense. You’re like a little survivor, aren’t you?"He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair near your ear. "It’s amazing you didn't turn out harder. You’re so small." You slapped his hand away again. In the tight confines of the back seat, the movement was sharp and aggressive."Stop touching me," you hissed, pressing your back into the leather. "I am not a dog you rescued. And I am not a 'survivor' for your entertainment. I am a prisoner."Jake pulled his hand back, pouting slightly. "Prisoner is such an ugly word. We prefer 'guest'."

"Guests can leave," you countered. "Guests who will be carrying the future of the Park line cannot," Jay said.Jay closed his tablet with a snap. He leaned back, his broad shoulders brushing against Jake’s, presenting a unified wall of male dominance. "Jake is trying to be polite," Jay said, his voice dropping to that dangerous rumble. "He is trying to make you feel welcome. You would do well to reciprocate, rather than acting like a feral animal backed into a corner." "I am backed into a corner," you spat. "You bought me. You strapped a tracker to me. You’re taking me to a place I can't escape. What part of this situation screams 'polite conversation' to you?"Jay’s eyes narrowed. He looked at you the way a wolf looks at a rabbit that has the audacity to bite back—annoyed, but intrigued."You have a fundamental misunderstanding of your position," Jay said softly. "You think we took you because we wanted a toy? We took you because you are necessary. We are saving you from a life of stripping boots off corpses. We are giving you a purpose."

"My purpose was my own," you argued, though your voice shook slightly. "It wasn't much, but it was mine." "And now you are ours," Jay corrected. "Accept it. The sooner you stop fighting the current, the easier you will float." "I don't float," you muttered, crossing your arms and turning back to the window. "I sink."Jake laughed. He clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. "She sinks! That’s cute. She’s got a gloomy poetic side, Jay. I told you I liked her."Jake settled back, seemingly unbothered by your hostility. "Don't worry, Scrapper. You won't sink in Sector 1. We have anti-gravity pools. You literally can't sink."You looked out the window, grinding your teeth. There was no winning with them. Jay was a wall of immovable authority, and Jake was a cloud of oblivious privilege. One wanted to break you; the other wanted to study you.The car banked sharply, the nose angling upward.For the last twenty minutes, you had been ascending through the grey murk of the Middle Sectors—an endless sprawl of steel, neon, and little rain. But now, the clouds outside the tinted window were thinning. The grey was turning to a bruised purple, and then, suddenly, blinding white.The hover car punched through the cloud layer.

You gasped involuntarily, shielding your eyes.Sunlight. Real, unfiltered, golden sunlight flooded the cabin, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. It was so bright it hurt your eyes, accustomed to the eternal twilight of the slums.Below you, the clouds formed a rolling ocean of grey, hiding the rot of the world you knew. But above… Sector 1. The Spire.It was a city built of glass and light. Massive, crystalline towers spiraled upward, connected by translucent sky-bridges that looked like spiderwebs made of diamonds. Greenery—actual, living trees and vines—spilled over the edges of terraces, vibrant and impossible. The air up here didn't look thick or heavy. It looked clear."First time seeing the sun?" Jay asked. His tone wasn't mocking; it was quiet. He was watching your reaction."It's… too bright," you whispered, squinting. "You get used to it," Jake said softly, looking past you out the window. "It’s better than the neon, isn't it?"You didn't answer. It was beautiful. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. And you hated it. You hated it because every beam of light up here was paid for by the darkness down below. You hated it because it was a paradise built on a graveyard. "Approaching private docking spire: Park Estate," the driver’s voice came over the intercom, muffled slightly.The car slowed, gliding toward the tallest of the towers. It was a monolith of black glass and white stone, piercing the sky like a spear. The top of the tower wasn't just a building; it was an ecosystem. You could see waterfalls cascading down the sides, disappearing into mist before they hit the levels below."Home sweet home," Jake chirped.The car descended onto a private landing pad that extended from the side of the penthouse. The landing was feather-light, the magnetic cushions disengaging with a soft hiss. The engine whined down into silence.The privacy partition slid down. "We have arrived, Sir," the driver said. "Thank you, Seochul," Jay replied.The driver got out and opened the rear door on Jay’s side. The sudden rush of wind was shocking. Jay Stepped out and Jake and you followed.

The wind on the landing pad had been fierce, a tangible force that tried to push you back toward the edge, but the moment you stepped across the threshold of the penthouse, the world went silent. The massive double doors hissed shut behind you, sealing with a heavy, magnetic thud that resonated in the hollow of your chest. The roar of the wind, the hum of the hover-car, the distant thrum of the city below—it all vanished, replaced by an aggressive, manufactured tranquility. You stood on black marble that was polished to such a high sheen it looked like you were standing on the surface of a dark lake. Above you, the ceiling soared twenty feet high, dominated by a chandelier that didn't use bulbs but instead seemed to trap and refract natural sunlight through a thousand suspended crystals. It was a cavern of gold and glass, a cathedral built to the worship of excess.

Jay walked past you without breaking stride. He didn't look at the architecture; he didn't look at the view. To him, this wasn't a marvel; it was just a Tuesday. He was already unbuttoning his suit jacket, his movements sharp and clipped, shedding the layers of his public persona now that he was behind his own walls. He didn't turn to look at you. He was speaking to the air, or perhaps to Jake. You were just a piece of furniture that happened to have ears. "I have a briefing with the Council in ten minutes regarding the perimeter breach in Sector 4. I don’t want to be disturbed." He stopped at the base of a sweeping, floating staircase that looked like it was carved from a single piece of white stone. He finally paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His dark eyes swept over you, not with affection, or even interest, but with a cold, inventory-taking glint. He looked at you the way a mechanic looks at a vehicle he’s parked in the garage—checking for scratches, ensuring it’s secure, before walking away. "Get her settled," Jay commanded, his gaze shifting to Jake. "Make sure she understands the boundaries. If she triggers the perimeter alarms, I’m locking her in the panic room until she learns to sit still." "You're so dramatic," Jake chimed in, stepping past you to lean against the banister, grinning at his husband. "Go do your big scary business things. I’ve got the little scrapper."

Jay grunted, a low sound of dismissal. He turned and ascended the stairs, taking them two at a time, radiating an aura of impatience. He didn't look back. He didn't say goodbye. He simply disappeared into the upper echelons of the house, leaving a vacuum of cold authority in his wake. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, your shoulders slumping slightly. But the relief was short-lived. "So!" Jake clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet foyer. He bounced on the balls of his feet, turning his full, beaming attention toward you. "Welcome to the Park Estate. Or, as I like to call it, the only place in the city where you can home." He gestured for you to follow him, walking backward into the main living area. "Come on. Don't be shy. The floor is heated, by the way. Geothermal piping. We pipe the heat all the way up from the core, refine it, and cycle it through." You took a hesitant step, your dirty boots hard on the marble. You could feel it—a subtle, unnatural warmth seeping through the soles. It made you sick. In Sector 7, the geothermal pipes were exposed, leaking steam that scalded skin and rattled the walls of the tenements. Here, they had tamed the earth itself just to keep their toes warm. You followed him into the living room, and your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn't a room. It was a biosphere. The far wall was entirely glass—smart-glass that adjusted its tint based on the sun's position. But inside… inside there were trees. Real trees. Not the stunted, grey things that grew in the hydroponic vats of the Middle Sectors, but towering, slender birches with white bark and vibrant green leaves that rustled in a gentle, artificial breeze circulated by silent vents. A stream—actual running water—cut through the floor, flowing over smooth river stones in a recessed channel, disappearing under the glass wall to a terrace outside. "Do you like it?" Jake asked, watching your face closely. He looked like a child showing off a new toy, eager for validation but completely disconnected from the reality of what he was displaying. "We aimed for a 'Pre-Collapse' aesthetic. Mid-21st Century Nordic, with a touch of neo-brutalism." You stared at the water. It was crystal clear. In the Rust Belt, water was rationed. You got two liters a day for drinking and washing. If you wanted more, you paid triple credits or you drank the brown sludge from the taps and prayed your kidneys could handle the heavy metals. Here, gallons of it were flowing across the floor for decoration. "It's… a lot," you managed to say, your voice tight.

"It's eco-friendly!" Jake chirped, mistaking your horror for awe. He walked over to a wall covered in lush, thick moss and ran his hand over it. "This is a living filtration system. The moss scrubs the CO2 and releases oxygen. It’s way better than those mechanical scrubbers you guys have down in the Dregs. Those things are so loud, right? Like, chug-chug-chug all night?" You stared at him, your nails digging into your palms. "Those scrubbers are the only reason we don't suffocate," you said coldly. "And when they break, people die. We don't have moss walls, Jake. We have rust." Jake paused, his hand still resting on the soft green plant life. He blinked, tilting his head. For a second, you thought you saw a flicker of understanding, but then it was gone, replaced by that insatiable, morbid curiosity.

"Right," he murmured, his eyes dilating slightly. "The struggle. It’s so… raw. You really lived on the edge every day, huh?" He walked back toward you, the silver chain around his neck catching the sunlight. "It must be so boring for you here. No death defying leaps, no fighting for air. Just… peace." He reached out, grabbing your hand. His grip was warm, dry, and surprisingly strong. You tried to pull away, but he held fast, not painfully, but with an casual entitlement that suggested the idea of you denying him was simply impossible. "Come on," he said, tugging you forward. "Let me show you the kitchen. Jay is obsessed with nutrition, so we have an automated hydroponic garden." He dragged you through the house. Every room was a fresh insult. You passed a library filled with physical books—paper books, bound in leather. In your world, paper was fuel for fires. Here, it was decor.You passed sculptures that looked like they were made of liquid chrome, floating on magnetic fields. The wealth was nauseating. It wasn't just money; it was resources. Space. Light. Air. Things that were basic human rights in the history books but were now luxury commodities. "Here we are," Jake announced, pulling you into a kitchen that gleamed with stainless steel and white stone. One entire wall was a vertical garden. Strawberries, leafy greens, herbs—all growing under specialized grow-lights that mimicked the exact spectrum of the sun.

Jake walked over and plucked a strawberry from the vine. It was small, red, and perfect. "Open up," he said, turning to you. You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. "I'm not hungry." "Liar," Jake grinned. "The biometric scan in the car said your blood sugar is dropping. Plus, I know you've never had a real one. The synth-stuff tastes like red chalk." He stepped into your personal space, pressing the berry against your lips. "Eat it, Scrapper. Consider it the first perk of the job." The smell of the fruit was intoxicating—sweet and floral. Your stomach betrayed you, letting out a low growl. Jake’s grin widened. He didn't move his hand. He just waited, his dark eyes sparkling with a mix of kindness and aloofness. He was feeding a stray dog, and he was enjoying every second of it. Reluctantly, hating yourself, you parted your lips. He pushed the berry into your mouth. You bit down, and the flavor exploded on your tongue—tart, sweet, juicy. It was shocking. Real food. Not paste, not algae bars, not rat-meat skewers. Jake watched you chew, his gaze dropping to your lips, tracking the movement. He looked mesmerized.

"Good?" he whispered. You swallowed, looking away. "It's fine." He chuckled, wiping a speck of juice from your lower lip with his thumb. "You're so stubborn. I love it. Jay is going to have a heart attack trying to make you follow the schedule, but I think it’s going to be hilarious." He pulled away, grabbing a bottle of water from a dispenser that looked like a piece of modern art. "Alright, tour's over. You look like you're about to pass out. Let's get you to your quarters." "My cell," you corrected. "Your suite," Jake corrected back, winking. "Potato, po-tah-to." He led you out of the kitchen and down a long, wide corridor lined with windows. This was when it hit you the hardest. The sun. In Sector 7, the 'sun' was a myth. The sky was a permanent bruise of smog and industrial exhaust. Sometimes, at noon, the almost black clouds would lighten to a dirty grey, but you never saw the celestial body itself. You lived in shadow. You lived in the gutter of the world, shrouded in eternal twilight. But here… You stopped walking. You couldn't help it. You turned to the glass wall.

The sun was beginning to set. It was a blazing orb of fire, dipping toward the cloud layer far below. It painted the sky in impossible colors—burnished gold, violent violet, bleeding crimson. It bathed the white hallway in a warm, amber glow that felt like a physical touch. You reached out, pressing your hand against the glass. It was warm. "It’s beautiful, right?" Jake asked, stopping beside you. He wasn't looking at the sunset; he was looking at you, bathed in the golden light. "It's unfair," you whispered, your voice trembling with a sudden, overwhelming rage. You turned to look at him. "You stole it." Jake blinked, confused. "Stole what?" "The sun," you choked out, gesturing to the window. "You built your towers so high that you took the sun for yourselves. Down there… we don't see this. Ever. Kids grow up with rickets because they never see sunlight. Old people die of depression because it's always dark. And you… you just have it. You have it in your hallways. You have it in your chandeliers."

Tears pricked your eyes—angry, hot tears. "You live in the clouds and you let us rot in the dark." Jake stared at you. His smile faded, replaced by a look of genuine perplexity. He looked out the window, then back at you. "But… that's just how the city is built," he said softly, as if explaining gravity to a toddler. "The Spire has to be high to escape the toxicity. If we lived lower, we'd get sick." "So we should get sick instead?" you challenged. Jake shrugged, a graceful, fluid motion. "Someone has to maintain the infrastructure, Scrapper. It’s just… the way things are. The Genetic Recovery Act is trying to fix the population so maybe, one day, we can fix the earth. But until then…" He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "We protect the best DNA. That's why you're here. You're valuable. You're climbing the ladder." He didn't get it. He couldn't get it. He was a creature of light, incapable of understanding the dark. To him, your suffering wasn't a tragedy; it was just the natural order of things, like rain or gravity.

"Come on," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Jay will be checking the trackers. If we stay in the hall too long, he'll think you're trying to chew through a window." He guided you down the rest of the hall, stopping at a heavy door made of white synthetic wood. There was no handle, only a biometric scanner pad. "This is you," Jake said. He pressed his palm to the panel. It beeped green. The door slid open. You stepped inside, and the breath left your lungs. If the rest of the house was a palace, this was the crown jewel of cages. The room was enormous. A king-sized bed sat in the center, covered in linens that looked like spun clouds. A plush rug covered the floor. There was a wardrobe, a vanity, a seating area with a velvet chaise lounge. And, of course, the wall of glass. The entire far wall was a window looking out over the endless sky. But you saw the details. You saw that there were no other doors. You saw that the windows didn't have latches. You saw the small, discreet camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling, its red lights blinking slowly. You saw the panel by the door that only had controls for lights and temperature—not for the lock. "The bathroom is through there," Jake pointed to an archway. "It has a soaking tub. I highly recommend it. Jay picked out the bath salts himself. He's very particular about muscle recovery." He stayed in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He didn't enter. "Dinner is in two hours," Jake said. "The AI will let you know when it's time. A bot will bring you some fresh clothes—something less… clinical." You stood in the center of the room, feeling small. Feeling owned. "Does Jay have a camera feed of this room?" you asked, pointing to the blinking eye in the corner. Jake grinned, sharp and knowing. "We both do, sweetheart. Safety protocol. We have to make sure our investment is safe." He stepped back into the hallway. "Relax, Scrapper," he said, his voice soft, honeyed, and terrifyingly patronizing. "You made it. You're in paradise now." "It feels like hell," you whispered. "That's just the culture shock," Jake winked. "You'll learn to love the view."

He waved his fingers, and the door slid shut. You heard the heavy, mechanical thud of the lock engaging. Silence rushed back in, suffocating and complete. You were alone in a room worth more than your entire sector, trapped behind invisible bars, while the sun you had never known set on a world that had forgotten you existed. You walked to the window, pressing your forehead against the cold, thick glass, and looked down at the ocean of clouds. Somewhere down there, in the dark, people were starving. And up here, you were about to be fed and bred like a prize mare. You sank to your knees on the plush carpet, and for the first time since the Reapers kicked down your door, you let yourself scream. The sound was swallowed instantly by the soundproof walls, heard by no one but the silent, blinking cameras in the corners.

The silence that followed Jake’s departure was not empty; it was heavy, filled with the hum of the perimeter sensors and the thudding of your own heart against your ribs. You sat on the plush carpet for minutes that stretched into eternity, your knees drawn to your chest, staring at the door that had sealed you in. Then, a soft chime announced a visitor. Not a human one. The door slid open with a whisper-quiet pneumatic hiss, and a service bot glided in. It wasn't the rusted, clanking scrap-metal buckets you saw hauling refuse in Sector 7. This machine was a masterpiece of Sector 1 engineering—a sleek, humanoid torso mounted on a silent magnetic-levitation base, finished in a matte white polymer that looked like porcelain. Its "face" was a smooth black screen that displayed two blinking, friendly blue eyes.

It carried mountains of fabric in its articulated arms. The door sealed automatically behind it as it swiveled toward the massive walk-in closet you hadn't even dared to open yet. "Good evening, Citizen," the bot chirped, its voice synthesized to a perfect, non-threatening pitch. "Delivering wardrobe requisitions per House Park specifications." You stood up slowly, watching warily as the bot began to unpack. It moved with blinding speed and efficiency, its arms blurring as it hung garments on the rails. You walked closer, drawn by the sheer volume of it. In the Rust Belt, clothes were currency. You patched what you had until it disintegrated, and then you stole or bartered for someone else’s cast-offs. A new shirt was a luxury. A new coat was a miracle. But this… this was obscene. The bot was hanging row after row of dresses. Some were long, flowing gowns made of shimmering synthetic silk that looked like liquid starlight. Others were short—disturbingly short—cocktail dresses in velvet, satin, and lace, with hemlines that would barely cover your thighs. You reached out, touching the sleeve of a sheer blouse. The fabric was so light it felt like nothing against your calloused fingertips.

There were trousers, too. Tailored slacks in charcoal and navy, high-waisted jeans that weren't stiff with grime but soft and pre-washed. There were skirts with slits up the side, oversized sweaters made of real wool that smelled of lavender, and tunics with intricate embroidery. Then the bot moved to the drawers. It began organizing undergarments. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, a sudden, sharp spike of humiliation. They weren't the functional, grey sports bras and cotton briefs you bought in bulk packs from the black market. These were lace. Silk. Sheer mesh. Balconette bras with gold hardware, thongs that looked like mere scraps of ribbon, garters, and stockings. You stared at a set of black lace lingerie the bot was carefully folding. Did Jay pick this? The thought made your stomach churn. You imagined him scrolling through a catalog with that cold, clinical expression, selecting items based on efficiency or aesthetic appeal. Or was it Jake? You thought of his boyish grin, the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at you. It seemed more his speed—treating you like a doll he wanted to dress up. The thought of him picking out something so intimate, imagining you in it, made your skin crawl in a different, hotter way.

The bot wasn't finished. It opened a flat velvet case on the center island of the closet. Jewelry. Gold chains, diamond studs, bracelets embedded with biometric sensors that glowed softly. In Sector 7, wearing something like this was a death sentence. If you flashed a gold chain in the market, you’d lose the chain and the hand attached to it before you reached the end of the block. Here, it was just… accessories. Baubles to drape over their possession. "Shoe organization commencing," the bot announced. It began lining up footwear on the backlit shelves. Flats with ribbons. Heels—some so high and thin they looked like weapons. Sneakers that were pristine white, without a single scuff. And boots. Beautiful, knee-high leather boots that smelled rich and new. It was all too much. The excess was suffocating. You backed out of the closet, overwhelmed by the sheer monetary value of the things surrounding you. The bot finished its task and turned to you. It held out a specific hanger. "Mr. Sim requested you wear this for the evening meal," the bot said cheerfully. It was a dress. A slip dress made of a pale, dusty pink satin. It was delicate, with thin straps and a cowl neck. It looked soft. It looked romantic.

It looked like something a doll would wear. The bot laid the dress gently on the expansive bed, placing a pair of strappy nude heels next to it. "Dinner is at 1900 hours," the bot reminded you, before gliding out of the room. You stared at the dress on the bed. It was beautiful. And you hated it. You hated it because Jake had picked it out, probably visualizing exactly how that slippery fabric would drape over your hips, how easy it would be to slide off. Wearing it felt like submission.You turned your back on it and headed for the bathroom. If the bedroom was a cage, the bathroom was a spa. The air was warm and humid, scented with eucalyptus. The surfaces were all pale stone and glass. You walked to the counter, which was lined with products. There were rows of glass bottles filled with serums, oils, and toners. Hair care products for every texture—smoothing creams, bonding oils, things you didn't even know existed. In the slums, you used a bar of soap for everything—skin, hair, clothes. Here, there was a specific cream just for your elbows. A section of the counter was dedicated to makeup. Palettes of eyeshadows in earth tones and shimmers, tubes of lipstick in heavy metal casings, blushes, highlighters. You picked up a tube of lipstick, twisting it up. It was a deep berry red. You looked at your reflection in the smart-mirror. The AI assistant in the glass flickered to life.

"Would you like a tutorial on evening application?" a soft female voice asked. "I can project a guide onto your reflection." "No," you whispered, capping the lipstick and setting it down with a sharp click. You didn't want to paint your face. You didn't want to hide behind powders and glosses. You weren't here to look pretty for them. You weren't here to be their eye candy across the dinner table. You washed your face with plain water, splashing the cool liquid over your skin to ground yourself. You cleaned up your bun, smoothing back the flyaways with water, twisting it tight and severe at the nape of your neck. No softness. No loose tendrils to frame your face. You turned and marched back into the closet, ignoring the pink dress lying like an accusation on the bed.

You went to the racks the bot had filled. You shoved past the silk and the lace, looking for something that felt like armor. You found a pair of black trousers—soft material, but structured. You pulled them on. They fit perfectly, of course. The House of Park obviously had your exact measurements down to the millimeter. You found a simple, long-sleeved tunic in a dark grey knit. It was loose, hiding the curve of your waist and the swell of your chest. It was comfortable, modest, and boring. It was the exact opposite of the shimmering, skin-baring things they wanted to see you in. You walked to the shoe wall. The heels glinted under the lights. The new leather boots stood stiff and attentive.

You looked down at your feet. You were wearing the thick, wool socks the clinic had given you, but beside the bench where you had undressed earlier sat your old boots. They were combat boots, scavenged years ago from a dead Peacekeeper. The leather was scuffed to a dull grey, scarred by acid rain and sharp metal. The soles were worn down, the laces mismatched—one black, one dark green. They were caked with the dried, toxic mud of Sector 7. They were ugly. They were dirty. They were yours. You sat on the bench and pulled them on. The familiar weight was comforting. They felt heavy, clunky, and real. You laced them up tight, double-knotting them. When you stood, you felt grounded. You weren't a Sector 1 pet floating on air; you were a runner with dirt on your heels. "Dinner time," you muttered to your reflection in the full-length mirror. The grey tunic, the black trousers, the severe bun… and the filthy, beat-up combat boots. It was a disjointed, ridiculous look. It was perfect. "Citizen," the room’s AI announced. "Dinner is served. Escort Unit 7 is waiting at the door." You walked to the door. It slid open, revealing another bot—this one slightly taller, sleek black instead of white. "Follow me," it chimed. You stepped into the hallway. The sun had fully set now, and the corridor was lit by soft, ambient strips of light running along the floorboards. The house was quiet, vast, and imposing. You followed the bot, your heavy boots thudding dully against the pristine marble floors. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was a satisfyingly aggressive sound in such a quiet house. You hoped it left scuff marks. The bot led you past the living room, past the indoor stream, and toward a set of double doors that stood open.

The dining room was a cavern of shadows and candlelight. The ceiling was high, lost in the gloom, but a long, rectangular table dominated the center of the room. It was made of dark, polished wood, set for three. Above it, a modern chandelier hung low, casting a warm, intimate glow over the surface. And there they were. Jay sat at the head of the table. He had changed from his suit into something slightly more relaxed but no less intimidating—a black turtleneck that emphasized the width of his shoulders and dark trousers. He sat with perfect posture, a glass of red wine in his hand, looking like a king presiding over a court of ghosts. Jake sat to his right. He was wearing a loose, silky shirt in a deep emerald green, unbuttoned low enough to show that silver chain again. He was leaning back in his chair, toying with a fork, looking bored. The bot stopped at the entrance. "Citizen 7-492 has arrived." Jay and Jake both looked up. You wanted to stop. You wanted to stay in the doorway, or better yet, find a corner in the shadows and eat on the floor. But the bot nudged you forward, a gentle but firm pressure on your back.

"Your seat is prepared," the bot said, guiding you toward the chair opposite Jake, to Jay's left. You walked toward the table. Every step was a heavy clomp of your boots against the floor. Jay’s eyes dropped instantly to your feet. He froze. The glass of wine stopped halfway to his mouth. His gaze fixed on the dirty, scuffed leather of your boots, standing out violently against the polished elegance of his dining room. His eyes narrowed, dark and sharp, tracking the mud that was likely flaking off into the grain of his expensive floor. Jake, however, looked at your face first, then your outfit. His smile dropped. His bottom lip jutted out in a genuine, childish pout. "You didn't wear the dress," Jake said, his voice dripping with disappointment. He sounded like a kid who had come downstairs on Christmas morning to find socks instead of toys. "I picked the pink one. It matched your skin tone perfectly." You reached your chair—a high-backed, velvet thing that looked too nice to sit on—and pulled it out with a screech of wood on wood. You sat down, crossing your arms over your chest. "I prefer pants," you said flatly. "But the dress was silk," Jake whined, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of roasted vegetable. "It was so pretty. You look like a librarian. A librarian who fights people in alleys." "Enough," Jay’s voice cut through the air. It was a low rumble, vibrating with irritation.

Jay set his wine glass down with a deliberate click. He wasn't looking at your face. He was still staring under the table, where your boots were resting against the leg of the chair. "What," Jay asked, his voice icy, "is on your feet?" You looked him dead in the eye. "My boots." "I can see that," Jay said slowly, articulating every syllable like he was speaking to an idiot. "Why are you wearing filth in my dining room? The wardrobe unit provided appropriate footwear. Clean footwear." "These fit better," you lied. "And they're mine. I didn't want to wear the heels. I can't run in heels." "Run?" Jay repeated, arching a dark eyebrow. "Where, exactly, do you plan on running, Citizen? We are a mile in the sky." "Force of habit," you shrugged, reaching for the water glass in front of you. "In Sector 7, if you can't run, you die. I like to be ready." Jay stared at you, his jaw tightening. He looked at the boots again, watching a small flake of dried, toxic mud dislodge from the sole and land on his Persian rug. You saw the muscle in his cheek twitch. He was a man of order, of cleanliness, of absolute control. And you were tracking the literal filth of the undercity into his sanctuary. It irked him. You could see it crawling under his skin. "Take them off," Jay ordered.

"No," you said, taking a sip of water. The silence that slammed into the room was heavy enough to crush bones. Jake stopped chewing. He looked from you to Jay, his eyes widening. A slow, excited grin began to creep back onto his face. He loved the friction. He loved the danger. Jay didn't yell. He didn't explode. He became very, very still. "We will discuss your attire later," Jay said finally, his voice dangerously soft. "And your obedience." He picked up his knife and fork, slicing into the steak on his plate with surgical precision. "Eat." You looked at the table. If the clothes had been overwhelming, the food was incomprehensible. In Sector 7, dinner was a nutrient paste squeezed from a tube, rat meat from vendors, or if you were lucky, a bowl of rehydrated noodles that tasted like salt and plastic. Here, the table groaned under the weight of real food. There was a roast bird of some kind—chicken? Duck? It was golden brown, glistening with herbs and fat. There were bowls of roasted vegetables—carrots, potatoes, green things you didn't have names for. There was a basket of bread that smelled of yeast and warmth. There were heavy ceramic dishes filled with sauces, fruits, and cheeses. It was enough food to feed your entire tenement block for a week. And it was just for the three of you.

The wastefulness of it made you sick. It made your stomach cramp with hunger and nausea all at once. "What's wrong?" Jake asked, watching you stare at the food. "Not hungry? Or do you need me to feed you like the strawberry?" He winked, spearing a piece of meat and holding it out toward you across the table. "I can feed myself," you muttered. You reached for a roll of bread. It was soft, warm, and yielded under your fingers. You tore a piece off and put it in your mouth. It was sweet. Everything here was sweet. "So," Jake said, leaning his elbows on the table, ignoring table manners completely. "Let's get to know each other. Since we're going to be roommates for awhile." "Inmates," you corrected around the bread. "Roommates," Jake insisted. "Jay and I have been together for ten years. We met at the Academy. Jay was the scary guy in the corner who everyone was afraid of, and I was the guy who annoyed him until he fell in love with me."

Jake grinned at his husband. Jay didn't look up from his plate, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a microscopic crack in his armor. "He was a pest," Jay murmured. "He hacked my dorm room security system just to change my alarm clock sound to bird noises." "It was funny!" Jake laughed, turning back to you. "Anyway, we work a lot. Jay is always stressing about the defense grid and the walls. I run the Neural-Link division. Basically, if it has a microchip in this city, I own it." He gestured with his fork. "But having a kid… that's new. We need an heir. Someone to take over the empire when we're too old and boring to run it and to help the population or whatever. That's where you come in." You dropped the piece of bread. "Is that all a child is to you? An heir? An employee you grow from scratch?" Jake blinked. "Well, yeah. And family, obviously. But mostly legacy. What else is there?" You looked at him with genuine pity. He really didn't understand. In the Rust Belt, a child was a tragedy and a miracle. You fought to keep them alive, not to inherit a company, but just to be. "You people are hollow," you said quietly. Jay’s knife screeched against his plate. He stopped cutting. "Careful," Jay warned, his eyes lifting to meet yours. "You are eating my food, wearing my clothes, and sitting in my house. You will show respect."

"I'm wearing my boots," you pointed out. Jay looked at the boots again. His expression darkened. "You are testing the limits of my patience, Y/n," Jay said. "And believe me, my patience is finite." "Jay wants to burn those boots," Jake whispered loudly, leaning across the table like he was sharing a secret. "He's literally vibrating. It's so funny. You should see his heart rate monitor right now." "Jake," Jay snapped. "What? It's true!" Jake laughed. "But seriously, Scrapper. You should try the chicken. It's synthetic-free. Real animal protein. It’ll help with your… you know. The baby-making." You stared at the golden bird. "I'm not pregnant yet," you said. "Give it time," Jay said, taking a sip of wine. His eyes held a dark, heavy promise. "The cycle has begun. We will begin the process soon enough."

Your appetite vanished completely. You pushed your plate away. "May I be excused?" you asked stiffly. "You haven't eaten," Jay noted. "I'm not hungry." "You need calories," Jay stated. "Sit." "I said I'm not hungry." You stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the floor. Jay stood up too. He moved faster than a man of his size should be able to move. In a second, he was towering over the table, his hands flat on the wood. "Sit. Down," Jay commanded. It wasn't a request. It was an order given by a man who was used to people obeying him. You stood your ground, clutching the edge of the table. "Make me." Jake stopped eating. He watched, his eyes wide, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth. He looked absolutely delighted. Jay stared at you.

The air in the room seemed to crackle with ozone. He looked at your defiant face, your clenched fists, and finally, down at your dirty, scuffed combat boots planted firmly on his dining room floor. "If you walk out of this room," Jay said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "I will have the bots strip those boots off your feet and incinerate them while you watch. And then I will feed you myself." You froze. The boots were all you had left of yourself. They were your history. They were your protection. They were the only thing in this godforsaken tower that belonged to you. You glared at him, hate burning in your gut. Slowly, stiffly, you sat back down. Jay held your gaze for a long moment, ensuring your submission was absolute. Then, he sat back down, picked up his knife and fork, and resumed cutting his steak as if nothing had happened. "Good choice," Jay murmured. Jake grinned, popping a piece of potato into his mouth. "So! Who wants dessert?" ——

The door sealed with a finality that echoed in your bones. The heavy, magnetic thud was the sound of a prison cell closing, no matter how much velvet and gold leaf they painted over the bars. Dinner had been a blur of tension and silence. Jake had chattered on, filling the empty air with stories about the Spire’s social season and the latest neural-net upgrades, while Jay had simply eaten with terrifying precision, occasionally grunting an acknowledgement. You had kept your head down, shoving food into your mouth not because you wanted it, but because Jay’s earlier threat about feeding you himself still rang in your ears. Now, you were alone. You sat on the edge of the massive bed, your legs dangling over the side. You were dressed in the sleepwear the bot had laid out earlier—a set of silk pajamas in a deep, midnight blue. The fabric was impossibly soft, slipping against your skin like cool water, but it felt wrong.

It felt alien. You were used to sleeping in oversized t-shirts scavenged from the recycling plants, cotton worn so thin it was almost transparent, smelling of your own sweat and the metallic tang of home. This silk felt like a costume. You looked toward the wall of glass. The view was breathtaking, and you hated it for that. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and now the sky was a tapestry of stars. In Sector 7, you never saw the stars. The smog layer was a permanent ceiling, a shroud of grey and orange reflected light from the neon signs. But up here, above the clouds, the universe was vast and open. It made you feel small. Insignificant. A heavy, suffocating weight settled in your chest. It wasn't just the fear of the them, or the tracking cuff humming against your pulse. It was the crushing loneliness. You were thousands of feet in the air, surrounded by millions of credits worth of technology, and not a single soul knew you were here. Or if they did, they didn't care. To the world below, you were just another number that had vanished from the census. "Why me?" you whispered to the empty room. "Why now?" The unfairness of it burned your throat.

You cursed the year 2108. You cursed the Genetic Recovery Act. You cursed the biology that made you valuable to monsters in suits. Your mind drifted back, unbidden, to the last time you had felt safe. It was a fuzzy, fading memory, more than a decade old. You were thirteen. Your apartment in Block 9 hadn't been much, but it had been warm. Your mother used to hum while she tried to patch the leaks in the ceiling. Your father used to tell stories about the world before the Dust, about oceans that were blue instead of grey sludge. They had been good people. Tired, broken by the system, but good. Then came the Neon-Blue wave. It swept through Sector 7 like a plague. A synthetic drug that promised an hour of euphoria, an hour where you didn't feel the hunger or the cold. It was an escape hatch from hell, and everyone wanted out.

You remembered coming home from school—back when they still let Rust Belt kids go to school—and finding them. They looked peaceful. They were sitting on the couch, hand in hand, heads tipped back. They looked like they were sleeping. But they weren't. Eleven years had passed since you watched the bio-hazard team zip them into black bags and toss them onto the collection cart like refuse. Eleven years of surviving on your own, fighting for every scrap, hardening your heart until it was a stone in your chest. You missed them so much it physically hurt. Your hand twitched, reaching instinctively for the nightstand, your fingers ghosting over the polished wood searching for a pack of Red Dusts. You needed the burn. You needed the smoke to fill your lungs and choke out the grief. But there were no cigarettes here. Just lavender-scented air and emptiness.

A sob tore out of your throat, harsh and jagged. You curled onto your side on top of the covers, pulling your knees to your chest. The tears came hot and fast, soaking into the expensive silk pillowcase. You cried for your parents. You cried for the life you had lost. You cried because you were terrified of what tomorrow would bring. Eventually, the exhaustion of the past hours—the kidnapping, the travel, the terror—dragged you under. The tears dried on your cheeks as you fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep, clutching the silk sheets like a lifeline.

Light. It wasn't the flickering, sickly yellow of the tenement LEDs. It was a warm, golden caress that spread across your face. You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow, trying to escape it. But the warmth persisted. You blinked one eye open, confusing filling your brain. Through the massive glass wall, the sun was rising. It was a blinding ball of fire cresting over the cloud layer, painting the sky in hues of apricot and gold. It was beautiful. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, disoriented. For a split second, you forgot where you were. You expected the sound of the dripping pipe in your bathroom, the shouting of neighbors through thin walls. Instead, you heard a soft mechanical whir. You turned your head and yelped, scrambling backward until your back hit the headboard. "Good morning, Citizen!" The white service bot was standing at the foot of the bed. It had been watching you sleep. Its black screen face displayed a cheerful, animated sun icon. "Jesus!" you gasped, clutching the duvet to your chest, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "Don't do that! Make a noise or something!" "My servos are calibrated for silent operation to ensure minimal disturbance," the bot replied pleasantly. "Did you rest well? Your REM cycle data indicates significant restlessness." You stared at the machine, your hair a mess, your eyes swollen. "Get out." "I cannot comply," the bot chirped. "I have instructions from Mr. Sim regarding the day's itinerary and wardrobe." The bot swiveled on its magnetic base, gliding toward the massive wardrobe. You watched it, feeling a fresh wave of violation. Even while you slept, they were watching. Analyzing your REM cycles. "Mr. Sim requests your presence for breakfast in one hour," the bot announced from inside the closet. "He has selected an ensemble for the day. He noted that the weather on the terrace will be mild." The bot emerged, its arms laden with fabric. It moved to the foot of the bed and laid the items out with meticulous care.

An olive green skirt that flared slightly at the hem, made of a soft, heavy cotton. A blouse in a creamy tan color with buttons made of mother-of-pearl. A pair of tan kitten heels that looked dainty and completely impractical. And then, placed right on top, a fresh set of undergarments. Black lace. Intricate, sheer, and humiliatingly expensive. You stared at the pile. It was an outfit for a doll. A toy to be dressed up and paraded around. "Is this optional?" you asked, your voice raspy from crying. "Negative," the bot said. "Mr. Sim was quite specific. He wishes to see you in 'earth tones' today. He believes it complements your eyes." You gritted your teeth. Jake. Of course it was Jake. He was playing dress-up again. "One hour," the bot repeated. "Please be prompt. Tardiness is not advised." With a final whir, the bot turned and glided out of the room, the door hissing shut behind it. You threw the covers off, grumbling curses under your breath. You stomped to the bathroom, your bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. You hated how nice it felt. You wanted cold concrete. You wanted something real. The bathroom was bright and steamy as soon as you entered, the AI anticipating your arrival. "Good morning," the bathroom AI greeted you, its voice soft and feminine. "I have prepared the shower. Temperature: 104 degrees." You stripped off the silk pajamas, kicking them into the corner. You stepped into the glass enclosure, letting the hot, pure water wash over you. You scrubbed your skin until it was pink, trying to wash away the feeling of helplessness.

When you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a towel, the smart-mirror flickered to life. It zoomed in on your face. "Analysis complete," the AI chimed. "Detected: Periorbital puffiness and erythema consistent with prolonged crying. Would you like to apply the De-Puffing Cryo-Gel?" You froze, staring at your reflection. Your eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. The machine knew. It cataloged your grief just like it cataloged your dirt. "Fine," you whispered, defeated. "Give me the gel." A panel slid open, presenting a small silver jar. You applied the cold, blue gel under your eyes. It stung pleasantly, tightening the skin. You followed the AI's instructions for the rest of the routine—serum, moisturizer, a tinted balm for your lips. Next was your hair. It was a tangled disaster from tossing and turning. You picked up the high-tech brush provided on the counter. It hummed slightly, detangling without pulling. You slicked your hair back, twisting it into a severe bun again, trying to regain some semblance of control. You used a few pins to secure it, making sure not a single strand escaped. Then came the hard part. You walked back into the bedroom. The clothes were waiting on the bed. You looked at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. The red light blinked slowly. Watching. You grabbed the pile of clothes and marched into the walk-in closet. It was a small rebellion, but it was the only one you had. You found a corner behind a rack of winter coats where the camera angle couldn't reach, and you stripped off your towel.

You pulled on the black lace underwear, your face burning. It felt scandalous against your skin, a secret you were forced to wear. You stepped into the olive skirt. It fit perfectly, cinching at your waist and falling just below your knees. The tan blouse was soft, the buttons cool against your fingers. You looked at yourself in the closet mirror. You looked… nice. Soft. Elegant. You looked like someone who belonged in Sector 1. You hated it. You walked back out into the bedroom. You looked at the bed. The silk sheets were a tangled mess from your fitful sleep. In Sector 7, you made your bed every morning because if you didn't, the dampness would settle into the folds and mold would grow. It was a habit of survival.

You walked over and tried to straighten the sheets. The mattress was big—king size,. You tugged at the corners of the fitted sheet, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. The duvet was heavy, filled with real down, and it was unwieldy. You wrestled with it for five minutes, tucking and smoothing. It didn't look perfect—not like the crisp, hospital corners the bots probably did—but it was done. It was yours. Just as you fluffed the last pillow, the door slid open. The escort bot—a sleek black model this time—stood in the hallway. "Escort required," it stated. "Breakfast service has commenced." You sighed, looking down at the tan kitten heels on the floor. "Right," you muttered. "Torture devices." You slipped your feet into them. They pinched your toes immediately. You stood up, wobbling slightly. You were used to the weight and stability of combat boots. These things felt like walking on toothpicks. "Coming," you snapped at the bot.You walked toward the door, your steps awkward and clunky. Click-clack. Click-clack. You had to focus on every step to keep your ankles from rolling. The bot led you down the hallway.

The morning sun flooded the corridor, blindingly bright. You squinted, keeping your head down, following the silent machine. You reached the dining room. The double doors were open. You braced yourself for the wall of ice that was Jay. You braced yourself for the judgment, the cold stare at your feet to check for mud. But when you stepped inside, the air was lighter. The table was set for two. Jake sat at the side of the table, bathed in sunlight. He was wearing a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking effortlessly angelic. A holographic screen floated in mid-air in front of him, displaying scrolling lines of code and news feeds. He looked up as your heels clicked against the floor.

When he saw you, his face lit up. He swiped his hand through the air, and the holographic screen vanished instantly. "Good morning!" Jake chirped, his voice bright and warm. You walked toward the table, focusing on not tripping. You reached the chair opposite him—the same one you sat in last night—and sank into it with relief, getting your weight off the heels. Jake didn't say anything at first. He just looked at you. His dark eyes started at your face, tracing the cleaner lines of your bun, then dropped to the tan blouse, the cinched waist of the olive skirt. He leaned back in his chair, a slow, pleased smile spreading across his lips. "I knew it," Jake murmured, picking up his coffee cup. "Earth tones. You look amazing." He sounded possessive. Proud. Like he had dressed a mannequin and was admiring his handiwork. You glanced at the empty chair at the head of the table. Jay’s chair. It was pushed in, the place setting removed.

"Where is he?" you asked, your voice quiet. Jake took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving you. "Jay? He had to leave early. 0600 hours. Big emergency meeting with his father. Something about resource allocation for the defense grid." Jake leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "So," he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "The scary monster is gone for the day. It's just you and me." Your stomach twisted. Jay was terrifying because he was a wall you couldn't move. But Jake? Jake was a maze you couldn't navigate. And now, you were stuck in the penthouse with him, wearing the clothes he picked out, with no one to rein him in. "Great," you muttered, reaching for the pitcher of juice. "Just you and me." Jake watched you pour the juice, his gaze lingering on your hands. "Don't sound so excited, Scrapper. We have a big day. I cleared my schedule." He winked. "I want to know everything about you." ----

Breakfast ended not with a dismissal, but with a terrifying invitation. "Come on," Jake said, standing up and stretching his arms over his head, the movement causing his linen shirt to pull tight across his chest. "You've barely seen 50 percent of the house. Jay hates giving tours—he thinks pointing at a room and saying 'gym' counts as hosting—but I like the details." He didn't wait for you to agree. He simply assumed you would follow. And with the tracking cuff humming against your wrist and the memory of Jay’s threat about the perimeter defense system fresh in your mind, you didn't really have a choice. You stood up, the tan kitten heels wobbling slightly on the polished floor. You hated them. You hated how they made you walk—delicate, unstable, forcing you to take small, minced steps instead of the long, ground-eating strides you were used to. It felt like another way of hobbling you, stripping away your ability to run. "After you," Jake grinned, gesturing to the door.

The tour that followed was a dizzying ascent into excess. If the first floor was a palace, the second floor was a city unto itself. You took the floating marble staircase, your heels clicking sharply on the stone, echoing in the vast vertical space. Jake bounded up ahead of you, chattering about "load-bearing glass" and "acoustic dampening fields," while you gripped the banister, trying not to look down at the dizzying drop to the foyer below. He showed you a gymnasium that looked more like a high tech training center, filled with chrome machines and anti-gravity treadmills. "Jay tries to spend atleast two hours a morning here," Jake noted, leaning against a weight rack. "He says it keeps his mind sharp. I say he just likes hitting things." He showed you a medical bay that was better equipped than the entirety of Dr. Aris’s clinic in Sector 7.

He showed you a theater with plush velvet seats and a screen that wrapped 180 degrees around the room. "We can watch movies later," Jake promised, noticing you staring at the screen. "Do you like old-world cinema? We have the complete digital archives. Restored 2D, holographic, sensory-immersive—whatever you want." You didn't answer. In the slums, "entertainment" was watching a rat fight over a crust of bread or staring at the static on a broken holoscreen. The idea of a private cinema felt like a joke. Finally, Jake led you down a corridor that ended in a massive set of glass doors. "And this," Jake said, swiping his hand over the sensor pad, "is my favorite spot." The doors slid open, and the wind hit you.

But it wasn't the stinging, acid-laced gale of the lower sectors. It was a gentle, controlled breeze. You stepped out onto the patio. It was enormous, extending out from the side of the tower like a shelf over the abyss. The floor was made of warm, teak-colored synthetic wood. Low, comfortable couches arranged in a circle around a fire pit that burned with smokeless, blue flames. Potted trees—citrus and olive—lined the perimeter, their leaves rustling softly. You walked to the edge. There was no railing. Just a sheet of invisible, reinforced glass that separated you from the mile-long drop. You looked down. The cloud layer was a rolling ocean of white and grey below you. The sun dazzled off the tops of the clouds, bright and blinding.

"How…" you started, your voice breathless. "How can I breathe?" At this altitude, the air should be thin. You should be gasping for oxygen. But instead, your lungs filled with air so rich and pure it made your head spin. It smelled of ozone, citrus, and life. "Atmospheric stabilizers," Jake said, coming up beside you. He pointed to faint shimmering nodes spaced along the perimeter. "They create a pressurized bubble around the terrace. Keeps the oxygen levels optimal, filters out the solar radiation, and blocks the high-altitude winds. It’s basically a forcefield."

You took a deep breath, filling your chest. The air didn't taste like metal. It didn't taste like exhaust. It tasted sweet. You felt a strange sensation wash over you—a lightness in your limbs, a clarity in your mind. It was as if the toxic sludge that had clogged your system for twenty-three years was finally starting to dissolve. You felt like you had just gained twenty years of life in a single inhale. "It's nice, right?" Jake asked softly. You nodded, unable to lie. "It's… clean." "Let's sit," Jake said, guiding you toward the seating area. You sank onto one of the white sofas. It was deep and soft, swallowing you up. Jake sat opposite you, crossing his legs, looking relaxed and golden in the sunlight.

A silent service bot—a smaller, hovering model—glided over to the table between you. It carried a silver tray with a crystal decanter filled with dark red liquid and two long-stemmed glasses. "Wine," Jake announced. "A vintage Pinot Noir. Real grapes, grown in the agri-domes of Sector 2. Not the synthetic stuff." The bot poured the wine, the liquid swirling rich and dark in the glass. It handed one to Jake and one to you. You took the glass gingerly. In Sector 7, alcohol came in plastic jugs. It smelled like acetone and tasted like gasoline. You drank it to forget, to numb the cold, to knock yourself out when the hunger got too bad. It was a weapon, not a beverage. You lifted the glass to your nose. It smelled of berries and earth. You took a sip.

It didn't burn. It coated your tongue in velvet, tasting of fruit and oak and something complex you couldn't name. It slid down your throat, leaving a warm, pleasant hum in your chest. "Oh," you whispered, surprised. Jake watched you, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Better than the fuel they serve at 'The Circuit', isn't it?" You stiffened. "How do you know about The Circuit?" "I told you," Jake shrugged, swirling his glass. "I run the Neural-Link network. I have access to the grid. I know where you went, who you talked to. I know you liked the corner booth because it had a view of the door." The reminder of his surveillance chilled the warmth of the wine. You took another, larger sip, needing the courage. "So," Jake said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The silver chain dangled forward. "No more touring. No more deflecting. Talk to me." You looked at the fire pit. "About what?" "About you," Jake said. "Jay looks at the medical data. He sees the blood type, the bone density, the ovulation cycles. He sees a vessel." He paused, tilting his head to catch your eye. "I want to see the person. Tell me about your life down there. Real life. Not the reports."

You gripped the stem of the glass. "Why? So you can have a tragic bedtime story? So you can feel better about 'rescuing' me?" "No," Jake said simply. "Because we're going to share a child. And because you fascinate me." "I'm not fascinating," you muttered. "I'm hungry and tired and poor. That's not a personality trait." "It is when you survive it with that much fire," Jake countered. "Tell me about your parents. The file said they passed when you were young." Your hand jerked. A splash of red wine sloshed against the side of the glass. The wound of last night, of crying yourself to sleep over them, was still raw. "I don't want to talk about them," you said sharply. "Why not?" Jake pressed. His voice was gentle, but relentless. "Were they like you? Did your dad teach you how to fight? Did your mom teach you how to scrap?" "Stop," you warned. "Did they leave you anything? A keepsake? Or did the Peacekeepers take it all when they cleared the unit?" He was probing a bruise, pushing his finger into it with innocent curiosity, unaware that he was causing agony. He viewed your trauma as lore, as backstory for his new acquisition. "I said stop!" you snapped. You slammed the wine glass down on the table. The crystal rang out, a sharp, dangerous sound.

"You think this is a game?" you hissed, your voice rising. "You sit there in your silk shirt, drinking wine that costs more than my life, asking me about my dead parents like you're asking about a movie plot? You don't get to know them. You don't get to consume their memory just because you're bored!" You were breathing hard, your chest heaving under the tan blouse. The anger that had been simmering since you arrived boiled over. "You want to know about my life?" you spat. "My dad didn't teach me to fight. The street did. My mom didn't teach me to scrap. Hunger did. They died because they were tired, Jake. They died because a ten-credit hit of Neon-Blue was cheaper than a loaf of bread and it made the cold stop hurting for an hour. They overdosed on a couch that smelled like mildew while I was at school, and I had to drag their bodies to the door because the paramedics wouldn't come up to the fourth floor for 'junkies'."

The silence that followed was absolute. The only sound was the wind rustling the olive trees and the soft hiss of the blue fire. You stared at him, defying him to look away, defying him to be disgusted. Jake didn't flinch. He didn't look shocked. He didn't look horrified. He looked… calm. He set his wine glass down slowly next to yours. He leaned back into the sofa, his expression softening into something that looked terrifyingly like pride. "There she is," he whispered. It made you want to scream. He wasn't repulsed by the ugliness of your story. He was feeding on it. He was looking at you like you were a piece of art that had been forged in fire, and he was the collector who had finally acquired it. "I hate you," you said, your voice cracking. "I know," Jake said softly. "It's okay." He reached out, sliding the wine glass back toward you. "Drink. It helps." You looked at the wine. You wanted to throw it in his face. You wanted to flip the table. But your hands were shaking, and the memory of your parents' grey faces was swimming in your mind, pulled to the surface by his questions. You picked up the glass and downed half of it in one swallow. The alcohol hit your stomach hard. The warmth spread fast, dulling the sharp edges of the rage. "It wasn't always bad," you found yourself saying. The words slipped out before you could stop them, lubricated by the expensive vintage. "Before the Blue. My dad… he used to find things. Old music players. He fixed one up. We used to dance in the kitchen."

Jake listened. He didn't interrupt. He sat there, chin resting on his hand, his dark eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that was almost physical. He absorbed every word, every tremor in your voice. You told him about the leaky roof. You told him about Aris patching up your arm when you cut it on a rusted server blade. You told him about the taste of the rain and the way the neon lights looked beautiful if you squinted hard enough to blur the dirt. You hated yourself for telling him. You were giving him pieces of yourself, handing over your history to the enemy. But it felt… good. It felt like releasing pressure from a valve that had been stuck for years. No one in Sector 7 asked about your life because everyone was living the same nightmare. There was no point in talking about it. But Jake listened like it was the most important thing he had ever heard.

"You're incredible," Jake said after a long silence. He reached across the table. You flinched, expecting him to grab you, but he just placed his hand over yours, his fingers warm and dry. He squeezed gently. "I'm sorry about your parents," he said. And the worst part was, he sounded like he meant it. "But I'm glad you're here. You're safe now. You never have to drag a body again. You never have to be hungry again." "I'm still a prisoner," you whispered, looking at his hand covering yours. His skin was flawless. Yours was scarred and rough, even after the AI treatment. "You're a part of the cycle," Jake corrected firmly. "It just takes time to adjust." He poured more wine into your glass. "Drink up, Scrapper," he said, his voice returning to that light, airy tone. "We have the whole afternoon. And I want to hear about the time you found that jumper's boots." You looked at the wine, then at the endless sky behind him. You took another sip, letting the alcohol blur the lines between the cage and the castle, hating how easy it was to let him listen.

The wine had done its job, perhaps a little too well. Three hours had dissolved into the golden haze of the afternoon. You weren’t sure how it happened, but you had migrated from the dizzying heights of the outdoor terrace back into the climate-controlled biosphere of the main living room. The transition had been seamless, guided by Jake’s incessant chatter and the subtle, guiding pressure of his hand on your elbow.

Now, you were seated on the massive, cloud-white sectional sofa. And you were close. Too close. Jake had abandoned his own seat minutes ago to slide next to you, eliminating the personal space you tried so hard to maintain. He held a translucent holographic pad in his hand, angling it so you both could see the floating projections. "See?" Jake said, his voice vibrating with enthusiasm. He swiped a finger across the air, spinning a 3D model of a complex subterranean structure. "This is the original subway blueprint for Sector 7 from the Pre-Collapse era. Before the flooding in the lower levels." You stared at the blue lines of light hovering above his lap. You recognized the layout—the skeletal remains of the tunnels you used to run through to avoid the Peacekeeper drones. But here, in his digital rendering, they were clean. Whole. "I didn't know the tunnels went that deep," you murmured, the wine making your tongue loose. "We stop at Level 4 because of the methane pockets."

"Level 5 is where the old server farms were," Jake explained, his shoulder pressing warmly against yours. He smelled like vanilla and ozone, a scent that was becoming confusingly familiar. "That's why the scavengers dig there. But look at this…" He zoomed in on a section, his fingers brushing against your arm as he manipulated the image. He wasn't doing it to be predatory; he was just… tactile. Like a puppy that didn't understand why you wouldn't want to be touched. He treated you less like a prisoner and more like a new friend he was trying to impress with his expensive toys. For a moment, just a moment, you forgot the tracking cuff on your wrist. You were just looking at a map of your home, seeing it through the eyes of someone who saw it as history rather than a cage. Then, the heavy magnetic thud of the front doors echoed through the foyer.

The sound shattered the bubble instantly. You stiffened, your spine snapping straight against the plush cushions. The air in the room seemed to change, the temperature dropping as the atmospheric stabilizers adjusted to a new presence. Jake paused mid-sentence, his finger hovering over the holo-pad. His smile shifted, sharpening into something brighter, more genuine, and entirely focused on the door. Footsteps clicked against the black marble. Heavy. Deliberate. Authoritative. Jay walked into the living room. He looked like he had been to war, or at least the corporate boardroom equivalent of it. He wore a deep maroon suit—the color of dried blood and old money. The jacket was draped casually over his forearm, revealing a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to expose thick, corded forearms. His tie hung loose around his neck, undone.

He looked exhausted. He looked powerful. He stopped at the edge of the sunken living room, his dark eyes sweeping the space before locking onto the sofa. He paused. You felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. He looked at Jake, leaning into your space, the holo-pad glowing between you. He looked at you, shrinking back into the cushions, your hands clutching the empty wine glass. For a long, agonizing second, Jay just watched. His face was a mask of stoic indifference, but his eyes were sharp, dissecting the scene. He saw the proximity. He saw the ease with which Jake was interacting with you.

Then, he cleared his throat. The sound was low, a rumble of thunder in the quiet room. Jake moved instantly. He dropped the holo-pad onto the coffee table, the map flickering out of existence. He stood up with a fluid grace, his face lighting up as he crossed the room toward his husband. "You're back," Jake breathed, reaching out. Jay dropped his jacket onto a nearby chair and caught Jake by the waist. There was no hesitation, no performance for your benefit. Jay pulled Jake flush against him, burying one hand in Jake's messy hair, tilting his head back. They kissed. It wasn't a peck on the cheek. It was deep, possessive, and hungry. It was the kiss of two people who were the center of each other's gravity. You looked away, staring at the moss wall, feeling a sudden, hot flush of shame. You were an intruder here. A spectator to a life that was complete without you. When they finally broke apart, Jake stayed in Jay’s personal space, resting his forehead against Jay’s chin, murmuring something too quiet for you to hear. Jay’s hand lingered on the back of Jake’s neck, his thumb stroking the skin there with a tenderness that seemed impossible for a man so cold. Then, Jay looked up. Over Jake’s shoulder, his eyes found you again.

He scanned you. Slowly. He started at your face, noting the flushed cheeks from the wine and the lingering sun. His gaze traveled down to the tan blouse, the cinched waist of the olive skirt, the way the fabric draped over your legs. He didn't smile. But something in his expression shifted. The tension around his eyes smoothed out. A flicker of satisfaction dark and possessive, curled in the depths of his gaze. You were wearing the clothes he had paid for. You were sitting in his house, clean and compliant. You looked like part of the set. He approved. The realization made your stomach twist. You wanted to rip the skirt off. You wanted to go put your dirty combat boots back on just to wipe that look of ownership off his face.

"She's been great, Jay," Jake said, pulling back but keeping an arm linked through Jay’s. He turned to look at you, beaming. "We've been talking for hours. She was telling me about the old subway tunnels. Did you know the scrappers use acoustic echoes to find hollow spots in the walls? It's genius." Jay stepped down into the living room, loosening his tie further as he walked. He smelled of the city—not the rot of the slums, but the cold, high-altitude air of the Spire, mixed with his own heavy cologne. "Is that so?" Jay murmured, his voice rough from disuse. He stopped near the coffee table, looming over you. "I assume you followed the schedule?" "Mostly," Jake waved a hand dismissively. "We skipped the full gym tour. We were busy bonding." Jay glanced at the empty wine bottle on the table. "I see." He looked back at you. "You seem… acclimated, Citizen." "I'm drunk," you muttered, the words slipping out before you could filter them.

Jay’s eyebrow quirked upward. "On two glasses of Pinot? Your tolerance is inefficient." "My tolerance is for jet fuel," you snapped, standing up. The room spun slightly, but you locked your knees. "Not grape juice." Jay stared at you, that muscle in his jaw feathering. He didn't like the backtalk, but he seemed too tired to fight it right now. Or maybe he just liked the way you looked in the skirt too much to ruin the aesthetic with an argument. The sun was beginning to set outside the massive glass wall. The golden hour was bleeding into twilight, casting long, amber shadows across the room. The artificial stream bubbled softly. Jake turned back to Jay, launching into a rapid-fire explanation of the holographic map he had been showing you, his hands moving animatedly as he described old-world server farms. Jay listened, his eyes fixed on his husband, a look of indulgent affection softening his harsh features.

You stood there, hovering by the sofa. You were the third wheel. The spare part. The vessel they bought to hold a baby, standing awkwardly in their living room while they reconnected.You felt a sudden, crushing wave of exhaustion. It wasn't just the wine or the emotional toll of the day. It was the feeling of being other. You didn't belong in this golden light. You belonged in the shadows. Quietly, you took a step back. Then another. The carpet muffled your movements, but the tan kitten heels clicked softly when you hit the marble border of the room. You turned toward the hallway, intending to slip away to the safety of your glass cage. "Where are you going?" Jay’s voice lashed out like a whip, stopping you dead in your tracks. You froze, your back to them. You closed your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, before turning around.

Jay had stopped listening to Jake. He was watching you, his body angled toward your retreat. He looked displeased. "To my room," you said, keeping your voice even. Jake’s face fell. He pouted—actually pouted—looking like a kicked puppy. "Already? But the sun is just setting. The view is best right now. And we haven't even picked a movie yet." "I'm tired," you said, wrapping your arms around yourself. It wasn't a lie. Your bones felt heavy. "And I… I need to be alone." Jay studied you. He looked at the way you were holding yourself, the defensive posture, the fatigue etched around your eyes despite the high-tech skincare.

He didn't offer sympathy. He checked his watch. "Dinner is in two hours," Jay stated flatly. "1900 hours. Do not make me send a bot to retrieve you." "I know the schedule," you muttered. "Good." Jay turned his back on you, dismissing you as easily as he had summoned you. He turned his attention back to Jake, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Jake’s ear. "Tell me about the Council briefing notes you intercepted." You turned and walked away.The walk down the hallway felt longer than it had this morning. The amber light of the sunset stretched your shadow out in front of you, distorted and long. You passed the closed doors of rooms you weren't allowed in. You passed the cameras that swiveled silently to track your movement. You reached your door. You just stood there, waiting like a dog at the back door.

"Identity confirmed," the cool, synthetic voice of the house AI announced from the ceiling. "Welcome back, Citizen." The lock disengaged with a heavy thunk, and the door slid open. You stepped inside, and the door sealed shut behind you immediately. "Lock engaged," the AI chirped. You let out a shaky breath, leaning your forehead against the cool white wood of the door for a moment. Trapped again. But at least in here, you didn't have to perform. You didn't have to be the grateful rescue or the defiant scrapper. You could just be miserable. You kicked the tan kitten heels off your feet. They hit the wall with a satisfying thud. "Stupid shoes," you whispered, wiggling your toes into the plush carpet. You walked further into the room and stopped. The bed had been remade. When you left this morning, the duvet had been lumpy, the pillows askew from your amateur attempt at making it. Now, the silk sheets were pulled taut, perfectly smooth, without a single wrinkle. The pillows were fluffed and arranged in a precise geometric pattern. You looked toward the bathroom archway. The towels you had left on the floor were gone. The counter was wiped clean. The clothes you had discarded—the pajamas, the combat boots you that was the only part of yourself left—had been whisked away, presumably to be cleaned or burned.

It was as if you hadn't been there at all. It irked you to no end. The invisible hands of the Spire had erased your presence, resetting the stage for the next act. You walked over to the bed and collapsed face-first onto the mattress. The silk was cool against your cheek. It smelled of lavender and nothingness. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the blinking red light of the camera in the corner. "I know you're watching," you said to the lens. The camera didn't respond. It just blinked. You closed your eyes, letting the silence of the high-altitude prison wash over you. You had two hours before you had to be the perfect, obedient vessel again. Two hours to lie here and remember that no matter how soft the sheets were, they weren't yours. —-

The first two weeks in the Spire were a lesson in erasure. Day by day, the grit of Sector 7 was scrubbed from your skin, your hair, and your habits. The AI-regulated showers softened your callouses. The nutrient-dense, organic meals filled the hollows in your cheeks and put a shine in your hair that you didn't recognize in the mirror. You were becoming one of them, visually at least. A polished stone in a velvet box. But internally, you were still fighting.It was a quiet war. A war of small defiances. You learned to navigate the penthouse not as a home, but as enemy territory. You memorized the shift changes of the security bots. You figured out exactly how long you could stand on the terrace before the atmospheric sensors flagged your body temperature as dropping and sent an alert to Jay’s wrist comm.

And you learned about your captors. Jake was… exhausting. He was a creature of constant, high-energy affection. When he wasn't working, he was there—hovering, touching, chattering. He was clingy in a way that was both annoying and disarming. He would drape himself over the sofa while you read, his foot nudging your thigh. He would follow you into the kitchen just to watch you drink water, praising your "hydration habits" like you were a toddler.

He craved attention. If you ignored him for too long, he would pout or start tossing expensive throw pillows at you until you looked at him. He liked being told he was clever, funny, or helpful. And god help you, sometimes he was helpful. He was the one who reprogrammed the bots to stop tidying your "nest"—the pile of blankets you dragged onto the floor because sleeping on the bed still felt too exposed. "See?" Jake had beamed, showing you the new code on his datapad. "No more cleaning bots in the bedroom. Just you and your weird floor-blanket situation. Happy?" "Ecstatic," you had muttered, but the tightness in your chest had loosened a fraction. Jay, on the other hand, was a ghost who haunted the edges of your life. He was gone before you woke up, usually already in the city managing the defense grid or arguing with the Council. When he was home, he was a silent, brooding presence. He didn't offer affection; he offered control.

He watched you. Constantly. If you slouched at the dinner table, he would catch your eye and raise a brow until you straightened your spine. If you spoke too loudly, he would lower his voice until you were forced to match his volume. He didn't need to touch you to discipline you; he did it with a look, a pause, a shift in the air pressure of the room. He was training you, breaking down your rough edges not with kindness, but with the sheer weight of his authority. And he enjoyed it. You saw it in the way his eyes darkened when you snapped back at him, the way he would lean in just a little closer when you defied him, daring you to push harder so he could push back. It was a power play, and he was winning. Jake watched the dynamic like it was his favorite reality show. "You drive him crazy," Jake whispered to you one night while Jay was taking a call on the terrace. "He likes order. You are chaos. It's exhilarating for him. He's been in a better mood these past two weeks than he has in months." "Glad I can be of service," you had scoffed. "Oh, you are," Jake grinned, stealing a grape from your plate. "Believe me."

The makeup was the tipping point. It started as a suggestion from the bathroom AI—"Your skin tone appears uneven. Would you like to try the Lumina-Glow Tint?"—and ended with you sitting on the floor of the bathroom, surrounded by open jars and tubes, frustrated tears pricking your eyes. You didn't know how to do this. In the Rust Belt, "makeup" was war paint or a way to hide bruises. It wasn't… this. It wasn't contouring and highlighting and blending until you looked like a different species. "Application error," the AI chirped for the third time. "Please use upward strokes for maximum lift." "Shut up!" you hissed at the mirror, wiping a smudge of bronzer off your cheek with your thumb. But you kept going. Not for them. For you. Because if you were going to be stuck in this high-definition world, you were tired of looking like a grainy, low-res glitch. It took an hour. By the end, you had managed a light, natural look—a bit of tint on your lips, some definition around your eyes, a glow to your cheeks. It wasn't professional, but it was clean.

You walked out to the living room, feeling self-conscious. Jake looked up from his datapad. He froze. "Whoa," he breathed, standing up. He walked over to you, tilting your chin up with a gentle finger. "Look at you. You figured out the holo-blush." "The AI yelled at me the whole time," you muttered, pulling away. "It looks good," Jake said, his voice dropping to that sincere tone that always caught you off guard. "Really good. You look… soft." Jay walked in a moment later, pouring himself a whiskey. He glanced at you. His gaze lingered on your face for a second—just a second—before returning to his glass. "We're leaving in ten minutes," Jay said flatly. "Don't be late." That was it. No compliment. No acknowledgment of the hour you spent fighting with a blending sponge. Just a cold directive. It stung more than you wanted to admit. Then came the outing. Jake had been vibrating with restless energy for days. He was bored of the penthouse, bored of the view, and apparently, bored of watching you pace the same few rooms. "We're going out," Jake announced over breakfast on the fifteenth day. Jay lowered his coffee cup. "No."

"Yes," Jake insisted, buttering his toast with aggressive cheerfulness. "She's been good. She hasn't tried to stab anyone with a fork in four days. The cuff tracker is calibrated. The perimeter drones will follow us. It's fine." "It's a security risk," Jay stated. "She is a high-value asset. The Rust Belt insurgents are active near the lower transit hubs." "We're not going to the lower hubs, Jay," Jake rolled his eyes. "We're going to the Crystal District. We're getting pastries. It’s entirely fortified."

Jay looked at you. You held your breath. You wanted to go out. You were desperate to see something other than the inside of this gilded cage, even if it was just another part of the cage. "Fine," Jay grunted. "But I have meetings. I cannot chaperone." "I can handle her," Jake winked at you. "I'm very capable." Jay’s eyes narrowed. "If you lose her, Jake, I will deactivate your neural link access for a month." "Understood, Sir," Jake mocked a salute. An hour later, you were standing on the sidewalk of Sector 1. It was… overwhelming.

The air smelled of roasted coffee and expensive perfume. The streets were paved with a white stone that seemed to repel dirt. There was no trash. No puddles of chemical runoff. No beggars. The people were beautiful. Everyone looked like they had been sculpted by the same artist—tall, glowing skin, clothes that fit perfectly. They moved with a leisurely grace, unburdened by the frantic hustle of survival. You walked next to Jake, trying not to gawk. He had insisted on holding your hand "for safety," his fingers interlaced with yours, swinging your arms slightly as you walked. "Relax," Jake murmured, leaning down. "You're walking like you expect a sniper." "Old habits," you muttered, scanning the rooftops. "No snipers here," Jake promised. "Just overpriced coffee and social climbers." He led you to a cafe called The Gilded Crumb. It was an open-air pavilion with floating tables and waiters that were not bots, but actual humans in crisp uniforms.

You sat down. A waiter appeared instantly with a menu that was a holographic projection hovering over the table. "Order whatever you want," Jake said, scrolling through his own menu. "But you have to try the Cloud Tart. It's their signature." You looked at the prices. Cloud Tart: 45 Credits. Your breath hitched. Forty-five credits. That was a week's worth of food in Sector 7. A week of synth-paste, water rations, and maybe a real apple if you were lucky. And here, it was a single pastry. "It's too expensive," you whispered. "It's cheap," Jake corrected, tapping the order button. "Two Cloud Tarts. And a pot of Blue Mountain coffee." The waiter nodded and vanished. You looked around the cafe. At the table next to you, a group of women were laughing, their jewelry catching the sun. They were eating salads that cost more than your rent used to be. "They don't know," you said quietly. "Know what?" Jake asked, resting his chin on his hand. "About the rest of us," you said, gesturing vaguely toward the edge of the terrace where the city dropped off into the clouds. "They sit here eating forty-credit tarts while people down there are fighting over rats." Jake followed your gaze. He didn't look dismissive, but he didn't look guilty either. He looked thoughtful.

"They know," Jake said. "They just… choose not to focus on it. It’s a survival mechanism, Scrapper. Guilt doesn't fix the economy." "Ignoring it doesn't fix it either," you snapped. "True," Jake agreed. "But it makes the tart taste better." The waiter returned, placing a delicate porcelain plate in front of you. On it sat a pastry that looked like a work of art—flaky golden crust filled with a cream that shimmered like pearl, topped with spun sugar that looked like clouds. "Eat," Jake encouraged. "Be mad at the system later. Right now, just enjoy the sugar." You picked up the silver fork. It felt heavy in your hand. You cut a piece of the tart. You put it in your mouth. It dissolved. It was sweet, light, creamy, and crunchy all at once. It tasted like vanilla and dreams. It was the best thing you had ever eaten. And that made you angry.It made you furious that something this good existed, and you had spent twenty-three years eating grey sludge. It made you furious that Jake could order this without blinking, while you felt guilty for swallowing it. "It's good," you admitted, your voice tight. "I told you," Jake grinned, wiping a bit of sugar from his lip. "Sector 1 has its perks."

He watched you eat, his expression softening. "You've got sugar on your nose." Before you could wipe it, he reached out with a napkin, dabbing gently at your skin. His touch was tender. Intimate. "You're doing great," Jake whispered. "Jay would be proud. You haven't punched anyone yet." " Give me time," you muttered. Jake laughed, a bright, happy sound that turned heads in the cafe. He didn't care. He was focused entirely on you. "We should go to the park next," Jake said. "They have real grass. And ducks. You like ducks, right? You ate one, so you must like them." You choked on your tart. "That's horrible." "It's the circle of life!" Jake protested. You shook your head, fighting a smile. It was hard to hate him when he was like this—charming, attentive, and trying so hard to make you happy in this strange, terrible world. But then your gaze drifted past him, to the street. A Ministry transport vehicle glided by—silent, black, ominous. The same kind that had taken you. The smile vanished from your face. The tart turned to ash in your mouth. "Ready to go?" Jake asked, noticing your shift in mood instantly.

"Yeah," you whispered, pushing the plate away. Jake sighed, his hand covering yours on the table.He signaled for the check, unaware that for you, those two words would never mean the same thing.

The path to the park had involved a detour. It was impossible to walk through the Crystal District with Jake Sim without him treating the entire sector like his personal shopping catalog. The moment you had left the cafe with sugar still lingering on your tongue, he had pulled you into a boutique that smelled of crushed violets and money.

"The white blouse and black trousers is practical," Jake had said, steering you toward a rack of silk, "but practical is boring. And since we're out, we might as well dress the part." You had fought him, of course. You had argued that you didn't need more clothes, that the closet back at the penthouse was already bursting with enough fabric to clothe half of Block 9. But arguing with Jake was like arguing with a tidal wave; he didn't get angry, he just overwhelmed you with relentless, cheerful pressure until you drowned. So now, you were walking toward the park, no longer in the sensible white blouse and black trousers. You were wearing a pink dress. It was a slip of silk in a shade of blush so pale it looked like the inside of a seashell. It had thin spaghetti straps that left your shoulders bare to the filtered sunlight, and a neckline that draped softly, hinting at curves you usually hid under layers of canvas. It was light—terrifyingly light. It fluttered around your legs with every step, the hem brushing your calves like a ghost.

"Much better," Jake hummed, squeezing your hand as you approached the park gates. "Now you look like you belong here." You didn't feel like you belonged. You felt like a confection. A piece of candy wrapped in pink foil, ready to be unwrapped. The gates of the park—The Arboretum, the sign read—were massive, wrought from real iron and covered in climbing ivy. As you stepped through, the sounds of the city faded away, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the chirp of birds that didn't sound mechanical. You stopped.Grass. It stretched out before you in a rolling, emerald carpet. Real grass. Not the patches of grey moss that grew in the damp corners of the scrapyard, but thick, lush blades that smelled green and alive.

Trees with trunks as wide as hover-cars created a canopy overhead, filtering the light into dappled patterns on the ground. And in the center of it all was a pond. It wasn't a puddle of chemical runoff shimmering with oil slicks. It was a body of water so clear you could see the stones at the bottom. "Come on," Jake urged, pulling you off the paved path. Your heels sank slightly into the earth. It was a strange sensation—soft, yielding ground. In Sector 7, the ground was concrete, metal, or packed dirt hard as stone. This felt alive. Jake led you to the edge of the water. He sat down on a stone bench, pulling you down beside him. He sat close, his arm draping along the back of the bench behind you, his fingers toying with the ends of your hair.

"Look," Jake pointed. gliding across the glassy surface of the water were three creatures. They were white, with bright orange beaks and feathers that looked impossibly smooth. They paddled effortlessly, leaving small wakes behind them. "Ducks," you whispered. You had seen pictures of them in old data files, pixelated images from before the Collapse. You had heard stories about them from the elders—birds that could swim and fly. But in Sector 7, birds were rats with wings. Pigeons were grey, mangy things missing toes, pecking at vomit in the gutters. If a duck had ever landed in the Rust Belt, it wouldn't have lasted five minutes. It would have been caught, killed, plucked, and roasted over a trash fire before it could let out a single quack. Protein was protein. But here… here they were floating. Safe. Fat. Happy. "They're… big," you noted, your voice hushed. "They're genetically stabilized Mallards," Jake explained, sounding like a proud parent. "We reintroduced them ten years ago. They have their own caretakers. The water is heated for them in the winter." You stared at the birds. They had heated water. They had caretakers. These birds had better healthcare than you did. One of the ducks paddled closer to the edge, tilting its head to look at you with a beady black eye. It let out a soft sound—a quack—that sounded comical and demanding.

You froze. You didn't know what to do. Your instinct was to assess it: How fast is it? Can I catch it? Is it sick? But you weren't a hunter anymore. You were a girl in a pink silk dress sitting on a bench in paradise. Slowly, hesitantly, you raised your hand. You gave a small, awkward wave. "Hi," you whispered to the duck. Beside you, Jake made a noise. It was a soft, strangled exhale. You turned to look at him, worried you had done something wrong. "What? Am I not supposed to look at them?" Jake was staring at you. His dark eyes were wide, the pupils blown, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite place. It wasn't the usual amusement or curiosity. It was something softer. Something heavier. He looked at the way the sunlight caught the stray hairs escaping your bun. He looked at the blush pink silk against your skin, the way the dress clung to your frame, making you look fragile and delicate. He looked at your hand, still raised in that shy, confused wave at a bird. "You're so…" Jake started, then shook his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. "You looked so soft just now. Waving at a duck like it’s a person."

"I've never seen one," you defended, dropping your hand to your lap. "I didn't know the protocol." "There is no protocol," Jake smiled, shifting closer on the bench until his thigh pressed against yours. "You just… exist with them. That's the point of the park. To just be." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of grain. "Here. They like this." He poured a handful of seeds into your palm. You held your hand out. The duck, bold and entitled, waddled out of the water onto the grass. It approached you without fear. It didn't know what hunger looked like in a human's eyes. It only knew generosity. It pecked the seeds from your hand. Its beak was smooth and dry, ticking against your palm. You watched it eat, a lump forming in your throat. It was such a simple thing. A bird eating seeds. But the unfairness of it struck you again, sharp and brutal. "In Sector 7," you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the white feathers, "this bird would be dinner for a family of four." Jake didn't flinch this time. He was getting used to your darkness. He just watched you feeding the animal. "I know," Jake said softly. "But here, it's can be a friend."

He reached out, his hand covering yours as the duck finished the seeds. His fingers were warm, his touch gentle. He brushed a few stray seeds from your skin. "You look beautiful in this dress," Jake murmured, his voice low. "Pink suits you. It softens the edges." You looked down at the silk. "I'm not soft, Jake. You know that. I'm sharp. I'm jagged. Dressing me up in expensive fabric doesn't change what I am." "Maybe not," Jake agreed, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. "But it lets you rest. You don't have to be jagged here. You don't have to cut anyone. You can just sit on a bench and feed a duck and wear a pretty dress."

He leaned in, his face close to yours. "Let yourself be soft, Scrapper. Just for today. Jay isn't here to inspect you. It’s just me." You looked at him. His eyes were sincere. He really believed it. He believed that he could love the trauma out of you, that he could drape you in luxury until you forgot the hunger. And for a second, sitting in the sun with a full stomach and a warm hand holding yours, you almost wanted to let him. "It's just a dress," you whispered, looking away from his intense gaze. "It's a start," Jake countered. He stood up, pulling you with him. "Come on. There's a willow tree on the other side of the pond. I want to see you under it. The lighting will be perfect."

He tugged you along the path, your heels sinking into the grass. You followed, the pink dress swishing around your legs, playing the part of the delicate doll he wanted you to be, while inside, the runner in you was memorizing the exits, counting the guards, and calculating the height of the perimeter walls. The sun began to dip lower, casting long shadows across the emerald grass. The golden hour was fading into the blue hour of twilight. "We should head back," Jake said, checking his wrist comm. His playful demeanor dimmed slightly, replaced by a flicker of reluctance. "Jay will be home soon." The mention of Jay broke the spell completely. The park, the ducks, the wine—it all evaporated.

You were going back to the cage. "Right," you said, your voice flat. "Wouldn't want to upset the warden." Jake sighed, squeezing your hand. "He's not a warden, [Y/N]. He's just… protective. He worries." "He threatens," you corrected. "He protects what's his," Jake said, and there was a steeliness in his voice that reminded you that for all his softness, Jake was Sector 1 Apex too. He and Jay were two sides of the same coin. He walked you back to the car. The driver held the door open. You slid into the back seat, the pink dress pooling around you on the black leather. The scent of ozone and vanilla enveloped you again. The drive back to the penthouse was quiet. Jake didn't chatter as much. He held your hand the entire way, his thumb tracing the veins in your wrist, right above the metal tracking cuff. He seemed lost in thought, perhaps thinking about the afternoon, or perhaps thinking about the "natural insemination" protocol that Jay had promised was beginning.

The car docked at the penthouse landing pad just as the sun disappeared below the horizon. You stepped out into the wind. It felt colder now. The pink dress offered no protection against the chill of the upper atmosphere. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Inside," Jake said, guiding you toward the doors. You entered the foyer. It was silent, vast, and golden. But it wasn't empty. Jay was standing at the top of the stairs. He was still wearing his suit from the morning, though the jacket was gone and his tie was undone. He held a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, the amber liquid catching the light of the chandelier. He was looking down at you. His gaze was heavy. It started at your face, traveled down your neck, lingered on the exposed skin of your shoulders, and then swept over the pink silk dress. He didn't move. He just watched. Jake squeezed your hand one last time before letting go. "We're home!" Jake called out, his voice echoing up the stairs. "We had a great time. She didn't bite anyone."

Jay didn't look at Jake. He kept his eyes on you. "Come up," Jay commanded. His voice was low, carrying effortlessly across the distance. Your heart stuttered. You looked at Jake. He gave you an encouraging nod, a small, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Go on," Jake whispered. "Show him the dress." You swallowed hard. You walked to the stairs. Every click of your heels on the marble sounded like a countdown. You ascended slowly, feeling Jay’s gaze pulling you upward like a gravity well. When you reached the top of the stairs, you stopped a few feet away from him. Up close, he looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes, a tightness in his jaw. But the way he looked at you… it wasn't the cold, clinical assessment of the first day. It was darker. Heavier. He reached out. You flinched, bracing yourself. But he didn't grab you. He reached out and touched the strap of the pink dress. His finger hooked under the thin silk, lifting it slightly from your skin before letting it drop back into place. "Pink," Jay murmured. It sounded like an accusation and a caress all at once.

"Jake bought it," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I know," Jay said. "It makes you look soft." He took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes boring into yours. "Don't get used to it," Jay said quietly. "Soft things break in this house." He turned and walked down the hall toward the master bedroom. "Get cleaned up," he called back over his shoulder. "Dinner in twenty minutes. And [Y/N]?" You stood frozen. "Yes?" "Wear the dress to dinner," Jay said. "I want to look at it." He disappeared into his room. You stood in the hallway, the silk feeling suddenly heavy against your skin, realizing that in Sector 1, being soft wasn't a mercy. It was just a different way of being consumed.

The door to your room hissed shut, sealing you back inside the glass cage.

The moment the lock engaged with that heavy, magnetic thud, the mask you had been wearing all afternoon cracked. You let out a sharp, frustrated sound—half-scream, half-growl—and kicked the wall. The impact jarred your toes inside the tight leather of the kitten heels, sending a jolt of pain up your leg that only made you angrier. "Soft," you mocked, your voice dripping with venom as you paced the plush carpet. "Soft things break." You hated him. You hated the way he looked at you at the top of the stairs—like you were a vase he was deciding where to place, or a structural weakness he needed to reinforce. But more than that, you hated yourself. You hated how your breath had hitched when he touched the strap of the dress. You hated how quickly you had lowered your eyes, how your body had instinctively curled inward to protect itself from his gaze. You were a Runner. You were a Scrapper. You had stared down Peacekeepers with assault rifles and not flinched. But one look from Jay Park in a dimly lit hallway, and you turned into exactly what he wanted: a trembling, obedient little thing in a pink dress.

"Not anymore," you whispered. You sat on the edge of the bed and ripped the kitten heels off your feet. You threw them toward the closet. One hit the doorframe with a satisfying clack, the other landed upside down on the rug. You wiggled your toes, spreading them into the deep pile of the carpet. The relief was instant. Your feet ached from arching unnaturally all day. You were used to flat soles, heavy boots, the solid weight of the ground beneath you. Walking on tiptoes was for ballerinas and victims.

Next, the hair. You reached up, your fingers finding the pins holding the severe, tight bun in place. You yanked them out one by one, dropping them onto the nightstand like spent shell casings. Your hair fell. It tumbled down to your shoulders in a heavy, wavy curtain, messy and untamed. You ran your hands through it, shaking your head, massaging the scalp where the tension had been pulling for hours. You looked at yourself in the mirror across the room. The pink dress still clung to you, shimmering in the ambient light of the room. It was still soft. It was still expensive. But with your hair wild around your face and your feet bare, you didn't look like a doll anymore. You looked like someone who had just survived a fight at a debutante ball. "Dinner service is prepared," the room’s AI announced softly. "Please proceed to the dining room." You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. You kept the dress on—not because you wanted to obey Jay, but because you didn't have the energy to fight the bot for a pair of pants again. But the shoes stayed on the floor. And the hair stayed down. It was a petty rebellion. A small, silent middle finger to his "order." "Open the door," you commanded. The panel turned green, and the door slid aside.

You walked down the hallway. The floor was always heated—Jake hadn't lied about that. The warmth seeped into your bare soles, a strange, luxurious sensation that felt almost obscene. You walked silently, your footsteps making no sound on the marble. You were a ghost in the machine. The dining room doors were open. The scene was almost identical to the night before, but the atmosphere was heavier. The air smelled of roasted meat and heavy red wine, underscored by the faint, sharp scent of Jay’s ozone cologne. Jay and Jake were already seated. Jay was at the head of the table, as always. He had shed the exhaustion of the workday, looking sharp and terrifyingly alert. He was scrolling through something on a datapad, his brow furrowed in concentration. Jake sat to his right, leaning back in his chair, twirling a fork between his fingers. He was staring at the candle flame flickering in the center of the table. You stepped into the room. Jake looked up first. His eyes widened, and a slow, delighted smile spread across his face. "Well, hello," Jake purred.

Jay looked up a second later. He didn't smile. He went perfectly still. His dark eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, he didn't breathe. He took in the wild halo of your hair, the way it framed your face in messy waves, softening the sharp angles of your jaw but adding a feral edge to your expression. His gaze dropped to the pink dress, tracing the cowl neckline, the way the silk skimmed your hips. And then, he looked at your feet. Bare against the floor. You walked to your chair—the one opposite Jake, to Jay’s left. You pulled it out. The scrape of the chair legs was the only sound in the room. You sat down, tucking one leg under you—a breach of etiquette that you knew would annoy him—and crossed your arms over the table. "I'm here," you stated flatly. Jay slowly lowered his datapad to the table. The screen clicked off. "I see that," Jay murmured. His voice was low, rougher than it had been in the hallway. He stared at you. He wasn't looking at you with the cold, clinical assessment of a doctor anymore. He was looking at you with a heavy, hooded heat that made the hair on your arms stand up. It wasn't quite lust—it was too controlling for that. It was the look of a man who had ordered a perfectly groomed poodle and received a wolf, and was now deciding if he wanted to shoot it or collar it.

"You lost your shoes," Jay noted. "They hurt," you said, reaching for the water pitcher. "And I'm inside. I don't need shoes." "And your hair?" Jay asked. "My head hurt," you replied, pouring water into your glass. You took a sip, looking at him over the rim. "The bun was too tight. I took it out." Jake let out a soft laugh, leaning his chin on his hand. "I like it. It looks… wild. Like you just woke up." "She looks messy," Jay corrected, though there was no real bite in his tone. Just a heavy, simmering observation. "Disheveled." "I look like me," you said, setting the glass down with a thump. "This is what I look like when I’m not gluing my hair to my skull." Jay hummed, a low vibration in his chest. He picked up his wine glass, taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving your face. "The dress remains, though," Jay said softly. You stiffened. "You told me to wear it." "I did," Jay agreed. "I'm glad to see you are capable of following at least one instruction." "Don't get used to it," you muttered, looking down at your empty plate. The food was already served. A filet of some dark, rich meat, glazed in a reduction that smelled of berries and thyme. Truffle mashed potatoes. Asparagus that was vibrant green. It was a meal worth a fortune. "Eat," Jay said. You picked up your fork. You weren't hungry—the knot of anxiety in your stomach was taking up too much space—but you knew the drill. Eat or be fed.

You cut a small piece of the meat and put it in your mouth. It was tender, melting on your tongue. "So," Jake said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Did you like the park? The sunset was pretty spectacular today." "It was fine," you said, chewing mechanically. "Just fine?" Jake teased. "You seemed pretty mesmerized by the sky." "The sky is the same everywhere," you lied. "It's just cleaner up here." "That's the point," Jay said. He was cutting his steak with precise, rhythmic movements. Scrape. Slice. Scrape. "You're slouching," Jay observed without looking up. You froze. You were indeed slouching, leaning over your plate in the defensive posture you’d learned in the mess halls of Sector 7, shielding your food.

"I'm eating," you snapped. "You are dining," Jay corrected. "Sit up." You gripped your fork. "I'm comfortable." "I didn't ask if you were comfortable," Jay said, his voice dropping an octave. "I told you to sit up." You glared at him. For a long second, you didn't move. You held your ground, staring daggers at him across the candlelight. Jay stopped eating. He set his knife and fork down, lining them up perfectly on the edge of his plate. "Are we doing this again?" Jay asked quietly. "Do you need a reminder of who sets the rules in this house?" "I know the rules," you hissed. "Sit. Stay. Roll over." "If only you were that well-trained," Jay murmured. He stood up. The movement was smooth and sudden. He walked around the table, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. You instinctively shrank back in your chair, pressing your spine against the velvet, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Jay stopped behind you. You could feel his heat radiating against your back. He smelled of wine and power, a scent that was becoming suffocatingly familiar. He didn't touch you immediately. He just stood there, his presence looming over you like a thunderhead.

Then, he reached out. His hand landed on your shoulder. It wasn't a caress. It was a grip. His fingers dug into the muscle, firm and unyielding. "Shoulders back," Jay murmured, his voice right by your ear. He pulled your shoulder back, forcing your spine to straighten. You gasped, trying to jerk away, but his grip was iron. "Get off me," you choked out. "Stop fighting," Jay warned, his thumb pressing into the sensitive hollow of your collarbone. "You look feral like this. Messy hair. Bare feet. Hunching over your food like a scavenger." "I am a scavenger," you spat, turning your head to glare up at him. It was a mistake. He was right there. His face was inches from yours. You could see the flecks of darkness in his irises, the slight flare of his nostrils.

He reached up with his other hand, tangling his fingers into your loose, messy hair. He didn't pull, but he held it, turning your face so you couldn't look away. "You were," Jay corrected, his voice a low, vibrating growl that you felt in your chest. "Now you are mine. And I don't keep scavengers. I keep investments." He wound a lock of your hair around his fist, tugging your head back until your throat was bared to the ceiling. The position was vulnerable, exposing the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. "You have so much fire," Jay whispered, staring down at your exposed throat. "But fire needs to be controlled. Or it burns the house down." "I'll burn it down," you threatened, though your voice shook. "I'll burn everything."

Jay’s eyes darkened. A flicker of something dangerous—something that looked like hunger—passed through his gaze. "Try it," he challenged softly. "See what happens." The tension in the air was so thick it was hard to breathe. You were trapped in his grip, your head tilted back, his hand on your shoulder pinning you to the chair. You were completely at his mercy, and the realization made your blood run cold and hot all at once. He held you there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, letting the silence stretch, letting you feel the absolute weight of his control. Then, abruptly, he released you. The loss of contact was jarring. You gasped, slumping forward slightly, your hand flying to your neck where his fingers had been. Jay straightened his shirt. He looked down at you, his expression composed, as if he hadn't just been on the verge of snapping. "Finish your dinner," Jay commanded. "And fix your hair before you leave this room. I don't want to see a mess." He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked out of the dining room, his footsteps echoing on the marble, leaving you breathless and trembling in his wake.

Across the table, Jake watched the empty doorway where Jay had disappeared, then turned his gaze back to you. His eyes were wide, dark, and glittering with fascination. He took a slow sip of his wine, watching your chest heave as you tried to regain your composure. "Wow," Jake whispered into the silence. "He really likes you." You didn’t know if that scared you or irked you. Probably both.

The silk nightgown was a second skin of pure luxury, and it felt like a straightjacket. You tossed to the left, the expensive fabric twisting around your legs. You tossed to the right, the pillow feeling too soft, like your head was sinking into quicksand. You kicked the duvet off, then pulled it back up a minute later as the precise, climate-controlled air chilled your sweat-dampened skin.

Sleep was a ghost. It was 02:00 AM. The Witching Hour. Back in Sector 7, this was the time you would be awake, sitting by the cracked window of your hab-unit with a hand-rolled cigarette, watching the neon lights flicker and die in the puddles below. You were used to the noise—the distant wail of sirens, the hum of the geothermal generators, the shouting of drunks. Silence was dangerous. Silence meant the predators were hunting.Here, in the penthouse, the silence was absolute. It was a pressurized, hermetically sealed quiet that pressed against your eardrums. It was too safe. Your body, conditioned by twenty-three years of survival mode, couldn't downshift. Your pulse was a frantic rabbit-kick in your throat.

You sat up with a huff, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The movement caused the silk gown to ride up your thighs, exposing skin to the cool air. You shoved it down irritably. "Damn it," you whispered. You rubbed your face with both hands. Usually, when the insomnia hit this hard, you would walk. You would pace the rusted catwalks of Block 9 until your legs burned and your mind cleared. You would smoke a Red Dust until the nicotine settled the tremors in your hands. But here? You were trapped in a glass box in the sky. There were no catwalks. There was no tobacco. There was just you and the blinking red eye of the camera in the corner.You stood up. Your throat felt like sandpaper. You needed water. Not the tepid stuff from the carafe by the bed, but cold water. You needed to move.

You walked to the door. There was no handle, just the smooth white panel of the lock mechanism. You stood in front of it, waiting. Nothing happened. "Open," you commanded, your voice raspy. The panel flashed red. "Citizen," the AI's voice was soft, modulating its volume to a night-time whisper. "It is 02:14. Protocol dictates that the subject remains in quarters until 07:00. Are you experiencing a medical emergency?" You stared at the ceiling speaker. "I'm thirsty." "Hydration is available on the bedside table," the AI pointed out efficiently. "It's warm," you lied. "I feel… faint. I need ice. My temperature feels high.

I think I might throw up if I don't get cold water." You held your breath. You knew Jay monitored your vitals, but you hoped the AI had some autonomy for minor health complaints. Jay was obsessed with health. Surely, denying a "sick" vessel water would be against protocol.The system paused. You imagined it calculating the risk. Vomit meant a mess. A mess meant inefficiency. "Medical distress noted," the AI chirped. "Access granted to the kitchen area only. Please keep movement to a minimum. Do not disturb the residents." The lock disengaged with a heavy thunk, and the door slid open. "Thank you," you muttered, stepping out into the hallway. The penthouse was transformed at night. The warm, golden ambient lighting of the evening was gone, replaced by faint, blue-white guide strips running along the floorboards. It made the long corridor look like the interior of a spaceship.

The shadows were deep and sharp. You walked silently, your bare feet making no sound on the heated marble. You hugged your arms to your chest, feeling small in the vastness of the house. You reached the kitchen. It was a cavern of chrome and moonlight. The grow-lights on the vertical garden were dimmed to a low purple glow, casting eerie shadows across the stainless steel counters. You found the water dispenser built into the massive refrigerator. You pressed a glass against the lever. Water and ice tumbled out, the sound shockingly loud in the quiet room.

You took a long drink. The water was freezing, sharp, and clean. It washed away the taste of anxiety. You leaned your hip against the cold marble of the island, staring out at the towering view through the kitchen's glass wall. From here, looking down, Sector 1 was a grid of sleeping lights. It looked peaceful.

It made you angry. You thought about the water you just drank. In Sector 7, the water was rationed. The pumps were turned off between midnight and 5 AM to conserve power for the upper levels. If you were thirsty at 2 AM in the Rust Belt, you stayed thirsty. Here, it was on tap, infinite and pure. "Unfair," you whispered, the word fogging the glass. You were about to turn back, to return to your cell, when you heard it. Thump.

It was a dull, heavy sound. It came from above. You froze, your grip tightening on the glass. Your first instinct was intruder. Your muscles tensed, ready to run or fight. But then you remembered where you were. The security system here could vaporize a drone from a mile away. No one broke into the Spire. Thump. Thump. It was rhythmic. Curiosity, that dangerous old friend, pricked at the back of your mind. The kitchen was on the first floor of the penthouse. Above you was the second level—the gym, the medical bay, the terrace, the theater… and the master suite if you remembered correctly. You set the water glass down on the counter. "Don't do it," you told yourself. "Go back to bed." But your feet were already moving. You crept out of the kitchen and back into the foyer. The floating staircase spiraled up into the darkness, the white stone steps glowing faintly. You shouldn't go up there. You hadn't been invited. The AI had said kitchen only. But the AI hadn't locked the stairs.

You ascended slowly, keeping your weight on the balls of your feet, testing each step for squeaks. There were none. The house was built too well for noise. You reached the second-floor landing. The layout was familiar from Jake’s tour, but the shadows made it look different. To your left was the gym. To your right, the hallway leading to the terrace. And straight ahead, down a short, wide corridor you hadn't walked down earlier, was a set of double doors. They were tall, dark, and imposing. There was no handle, only a biometric scanner glowing a soft, angry red. The sound was coming from behind those doors.

You crept closer, drawn like a moth to a flame. The silence of the hallway amplified everything. As you got closer, the rhythmic thumping became clearer. It wasn't footsteps. It was the sound of something heavy hitting something solid. And then, a voice. "Fuck…" It was a strangled, high-pitched whine. It sounded like someone in pain. You stopped, your heart leaping into your throat. Were they fighting? Was Jay hurting him? You knew Jay was rough—he had threatened you, manhandled you—but Jake was his husband. You took another step, pressing yourself against the wall next to the doorframe. You shouldn't be here. This was dangerous. But you couldn't leave.

"Please," the voice begged. It was definitely Jake. "Jay, please… harder." Your breath hitched. Oh. They weren't fighting. "You like that?" Jay’s voice was a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the wood of the door. It sounded nothing like the cold, composed businessman who had lectured you at dinner. It was raw, rough, and dripping with dominance. "You like being used, don't you?" "Yes," Jake moaned, the word breaking into a sob. "Yes, god, yes." Smack.

The sound of skin hitting skin was sharp and wet. "You're so tight," Jay groaned. "Relax for me. Take it all." You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the gasp that tried to escape. You stood there, frozen, your eyes wide in the dark hallway. You were eavesdropping on the men who owned you. You were listening to the "Husbands"—the terrifying Apex predators—in their most vulnerable, primal moment. "I can't," Jake whimpered. "It's too big. Jay, you're too big." "You can take it," Jay commanded. The authority in his voice was undeniable, the same tone he used when he told you to sit, but deeper, darker. "You were made for this. Open up." Another wet, slick sound followed, and Jake let out a long, broken scream of pleasure that curled your toes against the floor. "That's it," Jay praised, his voice rough. "Good boy. Look at you taking it."

Something hot and heavy pooled low in your belly. You pressed your thighs together involuntarily. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, but not from fear this time. It was a visceral, confusing heat. You hated them. You hated Jay’s arrogance and Jake’s entitlement. You hated that they had bought you. But hearing them like this—raw, needy, completely lost in each other—was overwhelming. "Jay…" Jake panted, his voice wrecked. "I'm close. Please, baby, I'm close."

"Not yet," Jay growled. "You don't cum until I tell you to. You wait." "Sir, please…" Smack. Smack. Smack. The rhythm increased. The bed frame creaked, a rhythmic groaning that matched the pace of the wet sounds. "I'm going to fill you up," Jay groaned, his voice straining. "I'm going to fuck you until you're leaking. You hear me?" "Yes, Sir, yes!" Jake cried out. Your knees felt weak. You slid down the wall slightly, your hand clutching the fabric of your nightgown. You were wet. Undeniably, humiliatingly wet. The friction of the silk against your skin was suddenly unbearable. The image of Jay—stern, cold, untouchable Jay—losing control like this, dominating Jake with such intense, focused power, did something to your brain that you couldn't process. And Jake… the man who chattered about pastries and pink dresses, now reduced to a whimpering mess, begging for more. "Cum for me," Jay ordered, his voice sounding like a thunderclap. "Now, Jake. Let go." Jake screamed. It was a loud, uninhibited sound of pure release. "Jay!"

Immediately after, you heard Jay’s low, guttural groan, a sound of deep, animalistic satisfaction. The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of what had just happened. You heard heavy breathing, the rustle of sheets, and a soft, wet kiss. "Good boy," Jay whispered, his voice returning to a softer, but still commanding register.You scrambled up. The spell broke. The reality of what you were doing crashed down on you. If they opened that door—if Jay came out to get water and found you crouched in the hallway, aroused and eavesdropping—you would be dead. Or worse. You turned and ran. You sprinted down the hallway as quiet as you can, your bare feet flying over the marble. You practically threw yourself down the staircase, gripping the rail so hard your knuckles turned white. You burst into the foyer, turned the corner, and raced down the first-floor corridor.

"Citizen movement detected," the AI murmured, but you ignored it. You reached your door. "Open!" you hissed, bouncing on your heels.The lock clicked. You threw yourself inside and slapped the control panel to seal the door. Thud. You leaned your back against the cool white wood, sliding down until you hit the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest, burying your face in your hands. You were gasping for air, your chest heaving. You were shaking. You ran a hand through your messy hair, your fingers trembling. You could still hear them in your head. The wet sounds. The begging. The dominance. You shifted your legs, and the sensation of the wet silk against your thighs made you groan in frustration. "Stupid," you whispered to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. "Stupid, stupid body." How could you be turned on? They were the enemy. They were the ones keeping you in a cage. Jay was the one who had threatened you. But your body didn't care about politics. It didn't care about freedom. It only knew that there was a powerful male upstairs who took what he wanted, and a submissive male who loved giving it up, and the biology of it was screaming at you. You crawled across the floor to the bed. You didn't bother getting under the covers. You just curled up on top of the duvet, clutching a pillow to your chest as if it could protect you from your own traitorous instincts. The adrenaline slowly began to fade, leaving you exhausted and achy. The silence of the room returned, but now it felt charged, heavy with the knowledge of what happened in the dark behind closed doors in the House of Park. You fell asleep with the sound of Jake’s screams and Jay’s groans looping in your mind. Yea this was going to be a problem. A problem you were starting to want to dive headfirst into.

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You sighed as your thoughts once again drifted off towards the incident. You never understood why Sunghoon was so bitter when it came to you, that every time something happened he always assumed the worst so easily. You weren't even angry at first, just confused and shocked, that he said it all without even asking what happened. That letting you explain your point of view didn't matter, as if your heels and designer outfits meant you weren't supposed to get exhausted, as if you deserved all the accusation he threw at you.

You thought, just for a moment, that the version of you he may have painted in his mind was starting to fade, replaced by the real you, that maybe he saw through you after the close proximity and shared silences. You let yourself believe that whatever grudge he had held against you had dissolved slowly in those half smiles and longing stares. You thought that maybe you'd finally found someone who would hold your heart gently. But in the end, he shattered everything. Your heart, your trust, and the foolish hope that maybe, just maybe he saw you for who you really were.

Then you thought that maybe it was indeed your fault, that you let your guard down so easily, let him sit closer to you without snapping, let him hold your hand, let him drape his stupid blazer over your shoulders even when it was just two of you and he didn't need to act, let him look at you as if you weren't the same girl he couldn't stand once.

And you let yourself dare to hope that maybe you both could at least have a decent friendship when this all would end. But the moment he lashed out on you, the illusion broke, yours not his. You couldn't even defend yourself, but then again, what was the point of defending when he had already decided that it was your fault.

You never really expected him to defend you, but you didn't expect him to break you either. You wanted to cry, you thought that maybe once you were left alone tears would come but they didn't. The pain just sat in your chest, heavy and deep somewhere in your heart. Maybe you subconsciously held it in, like breaking down would make this feel too real. You weren't the type of person who let others walk over you so easily, but you thought Sunghoon would be different, despite your better judgement.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a knock on your door. The door creaked open and your housekeeper smiled softly at you before opening the door further, “Miss Mia is here to see you.” Mia smiled at you, holding a small paper bag in her hand as she entered the room after softly shutting the door behind her. You sat up straight, combing your hand through your hair to tame them a little. “Hey,” she started, sitting at the edge of the bed, “you didn't answer any texts or calls, and when you didn't show up in the university for 2 days straight, I got worried.”

You smiled softly at her, though seeing her face only made your heart ache more, “thank you Mia, you didn't have to come all the way here, I'm feeling fine now.” She scooted closer, hand resting on yours, “I had a feeling this would happen,” she squeezed your hand, “that you'd burn yourself out. I told Sunghoon I wanted to check on you, but he insisted you were okay. Still I went back to the venue after he dropped me off, just to be sure and found you passed out.”

Your eyes widened, “you were the one who took me to the hospital?” She nodded, making herself more comfortable, “I couldn't leave you like that.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, the silence between the two of you felt a bit suffocating. “I came to see you today because Sunghoon's been acting strange too, he is distant and closed off. He didn't say anything, but I figured something must've happened between you when he refused to talk about you.” Her concerned eyes found yours, “did something happen?”

“I'll tell you that," you intertwined your fingers with her, hesitantly, “but can you tell me first what happened before Sunghoon came to meet me?” Mia blinked, surprised at your request but nodded nonetheless. “He didn't really say much,” she recalled as she told you what happened, “I was loading the last box when you were gone to grab us some water, you left and he showed up after a few minutes.” You nodded, waiting for her to continue, “as soon as he saw me he asked what I am doing here and where you were, I told him you were inside and before I could finish speaking he muttered something under his breath and started walking towards you.”

Your lips pursed into a thin line, “looks like he already assumed the worst without even asking anything.” Mia looked at you with confusion in her eyes, “tell me what happened?” You paused, before sighing, “I got us the water, was about to walk back when I felt dizzy and I sat down to ground myself, then he suddenly showed up and before I could even say anything he started lashing out on me.” And you told her every little thing he said, the way he said, what expression he had, how much wronged you felt and Mia just listened to you with a bewildered expression like she couldn't believe you were talking about the same Sunghoon she knew.

Her expression slowly turned from confusion to complete disbelief. Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly in shock. By the time you were done explaining everything, her voice was barely a whisper, “I can't believe he said all that to you.” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head, “neither I did, until he actually said those things.”

She looked at you like she wanted to apologize on his behalf, trying to make sense of why he behaved the way he did, but nothing came out of her mouth. Because both of you knew there was no good explanation for what he did, at least that's what you both thought. And you weren't sure if you wanted his apologies anymore.

“You don't have to carry the guilt of his actions though,” you assured and she shook her head. “Ava never treated me right, that's half the reason why the boys are always so protective of me, but Sunghoon was never like this, I don't know why he said those things to you, I'm feeling so angry at him,” she put her hands on her head. You fiddled with your fingers, “I thought maybe things were starting to smoothen out between us.”

She looked at you, noticing how different you looked than the confident girl she had come to adore, “I'm sorry you had to go through that, he wasn't always like this. I mean, he gets annoyed, sure, but he was never this cruel.” You weren't sure what to say. “He is one of the most thoughtful people I know. He always looked after me even when Jay and I weren't together, trusted actions more than words, stayed by my side when I felt lonely, understood me even when I didn't speak anything. He knew what to say to make things feel better, he was always there to support me so I don't get how that Sunghoon could turn like this.”

You just sat there as you watched her speak because the Sunghoon she was talking about, the soft one, the thoughtful one, had never existed in your world. He always assumed you were at fault, he never really trusted you, he left you when you needed him to be there for you the most, he didn’t even try to understand you, didn't question your silence, he said things to you that only made everything far worse, if he wouldn't have gotten benefit from this deal he would've never supported you.

Then you remembered the way he looked at Jay and her at the yacht, the realization dawned upon you like a crash. Mia smiled faintly at you, unaware of the weight her words carried for you. Smiling back at her, you nodded, as if smiling could help dull the sting in your chest.

Sunghoon was rehearsing for their upcoming gig in their music room, alone. It was getting dark, he should've gone back home, but his thoughts were anything but silence. His mind kept on drifting towards the day when he lashed out on you. He remembered you telling him you could handle those things but he still found himself getting his keys.

He wasn't sure why he needed to be near you, neither your parents or any university student were going to be there, he didn't need to act like your boyfriend that day. He could have rested, maybe caught up on some sleep but he couldn't help but think about you. Especially when the thought about you managing everything alone was circling in his mind.

So after contemplating for a good amount of time he finally left his place and drove towards the event hall. He reached the venue, thinking maybe he'd spot you scolding the staff member for minor inconvenience, or pacing around frantically trying to get everything done. He expected he'd see you in your signature high heels and even higher attitude but instead he saw Mia. She was walking towards a truck with a box in her hand, then keeping it in the truck already filled with numerous other boxes. He stopped dead in his tracks, confusion lacing over his features.

His eyes scanned the surrounding area instinctively, expecting you to be doing something else, maybe even sitting close by taking a short break, but there was no one around other than Mia, loading the last box inside the truck in this heat. His chest tightened at the sight, where were you? As he walked towards Mia who was still unaware of his presence, she leaned against the truck, wiping her forehead with her hand, looking exhausted and alone. He approached her, asking why she was here and where were you. Her eyes widened, she told him you were inside and it was enough for him, of course you would sit inside and let others do all the work.

He made his way towards you, jaw clenched, ears ringing as pieces began to click together in his mind. You were sitting inside the hall in AC while Mia did all the work in the heat, He scoffed, of course you'd think you're too pretty to be doing anything like that. You, proving once again that everything he ever thought about you was right. He found you sitting on a chair, head thrown back in complete ease and then without thinking he lashed out on you barely giving you any time to react before he walked off.

He spotted Mia still standing near the truck, she approached him the moment she spotted him, asking if you were alright. He nodded, telling her you're okay. It wasn't like you were doing much anyway. Mia nodded reluctantly, throwing one last glance towards the hall before getting inside the car. He dropped her off then immediately went home, he kept his eyes on the road but his grip on the wheel was a little tighter than necessary.

His mind was swirling with different scenarios where he found you behaving entitled, and then it drifted towards all the moments he spent with you. Even Jieun liked you, and that kid rarely liked anyone. He thought maybe he was wrong about you but you just proved him right. Still, there was something tugging at his chest, he didn't know why his chest felt heavy, why leaving you alone in the event hall didn’t feel right. He didn’t know why the words he said to you didn't feel as justifiable as they did when he said them to you, but he knew that he wasn't going to let you take advantage of his friends like you did with others.

“Park Sunghoon!” He flinched when the door of the music room burst open and Mia stepped inside without waiting for him to say anything, and slammed the door shut. He gulped as she walked in front of him before grabbing a chair to sit. He didn't say anything, just watched her take a few deep breaths trying to calm herself down.

“What is wrong with you?” Arms crossed tightly across her chest, “why are you acting like nothing happened?” His shoulders stiffened, “what are you talking about?” Mia narrowed her eyes on him, “you're seriously asking me that after avoiding talking about her, you know she didn't attend any classes for the past three days right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze, “I just think she's avoiding me after what she did.” Mia scoffed, “you think she's the type to skip class just to avoid? And what did she do exactly?” Sunghoon said nothing, still avoiding her gaze. “She fainted Sunghoon,” she said flatly, “I went back after you dropped me off and saw her passed out, I wanted to ask you about her but you kept avoiding me, you walked away from her thinking she was being lazy and she collapsed.” His eyes widened at her words, “what?”

“You heard me,” Mia ran her hand through her hair, “she did everything on her own, the staff member had an injured arm so she stepped up to help, she loaded those boxes in the truck. She hadn't eaten or rested, I just happened to notice her while I was out to get some snacks, I saw her almost collapse against the truck, I forced her to stop and offered to keep the last two boxes in the truck and she told me she'll go and get some water for both of us.”

Sunghoon finally looked at her, hands curled into fists, “why didn't you tell me?” She huffed a long breath, “I tried Sunghoon, I said I wanted to check on her, you said she's fine, I didn't know you lashed out on her until she told me everything.” He pulled at his hair, disbelief etching on his face at his own stupidity, “shit, I didn't know that, I didn’t know she fainted.” Mia scoffed, clearly irritated with his actions, “now you know, and it wasn't just that, you tore her apart Sunghoon, you accused her of things she never did, you didn't even give her a chance to explain herself!”

“I thought she made you do all the work,” he mumbled, head dipped low in shame, “you know you've always been too kind to say no.” Mia sighed, “she isn't who you think she is, Sunghoon. It's about time you realize that, she even helped me with Kuro Hana booking. I'm not mad you misunderstood, especially because people always think negatively of her,” she shook her head in disappointment, “but I'm disappointed that you didn't even try to understand, the Sunghoon I knew would've never done this.”

Sunghoon's fingers hovered over his keyboard, Mia's voice echoing louder than any other note he could play. He had been so sure of his assumptions that he didn't bother to stop and think. Now, the guilt was sitting on his throat like a weight he couldn't swallow. “She's at her parent's house,” Mia mumbled quietly as she watched his expressions change, the words barely reached his ears but he stood up from his chair, legs stumbling into motion before his mind could catch up. “You'll get home safe right?” He asked as he grabbed his jacket and bag, hands trembling.

“I'll be fine,” she said with a smile, a knowing look plastered upon her face as she watched him, “Jay's already on his way.” She stood up to follow him to the door, “Sunghoon, don't just show up, apologize properly. I'll not say it's going to be easy, but since you made the mistake, don't run away from owning up to it.” He nodded, walking towards the door but stopped abruptly, one hand placed on the doorframe as he turned back towards her. Sunghoon raised his eyebrows and she smiled, nodding her head and urging him to go towards you. He gave her a half smile, nodding back before he ran off the building to get to you.

You weren't expecting a knock on your door, especially since you already told your mother you weren't in the mood for dinner. Your housekeeper peeked inside the room with a curious expression. “There's a guest at the door Miss,” she said, smiling gently at you, “it's young Mr. Park.” Your heart skipped a beat, hands clutching on your blanket before you threw it aside, slipped into your slippers and made your way out of your room. By the time you reached the living room, your mother was already smiling brightly, ushering Sunghoon inside. He stood in front of her stiffly but still gave her a small smile.

Your mother's eyes fell upon you before Sunghoon's did and she smiled, “you didn't tell me you invited him over.” She then turned towards Sunghoon, squeezing his arm, “stay for the dinner, with you here she'll at least come and have dinner together.” Sunghoon waited for you to say something. You wanted to deny her request, turn your heel and walk inside your room to mop around in peace but you didn't want to cause a scene, especially since your mother had no idea about what happened. So you nodded.

Dinner at your parent's place had never felt so suffocating. The dinner was served, the table set immaculately with the kind of perfection your mother maintains like a second nature and tonight you had to play your part in order to get done with this quickly. You barely looked at Sunghoon. He sat across from you, occasionally glancing at you in between engaging in a conversation with your mom. His usual confidence had worn thin, his voice hesitant as he talked with her. You were sure Mia had told him everything, you could see it in the way his knuckles tightened as he clutched his glass of water, how he kept fidgeting with the napkin on his lap as you ignored his presence.

Your mother carried the conversation all throughout the dinner, blissfully unaware of the weight behind your silences. She spoke about her upcoming projects, asked Sunghoon how his band was doing, even teased you both about inviting his mom and him for tea with you and her. Your replies were short, just a few words of acknowledgment and soft hums as you ate your dinner.

Eventually, the plates were cleared away by the house staff and your mother stood up, stepping back from the table, “I need to review some emails before tomorrow's early meeting. Honey, could you please see Sunghoon off for me? I feel terrible for leaving early.”

You nodded, “of course mom.” She patted Sunghoon's cheek lovingly before she walked away and you were left with him, alone in your kitchen. You stood up slowly, adjusting your sweater, trying your best to not look into his direction. He stood too, hesitantly, mouth parting but closing as if he couldn't decide what to say. You walked towards your hallway when he finally spoke, “I didn't know.” You stopped, hearing his footsteps nearing you, “I didn't know about the hospital, or you passing out. I swear I didn't know, otherwise I would've come to you sooner.”

You didn't respond, not yet. He walked beside you when you started walking towards the living room. “I was angry,” his voice sounded a bit desperate now, “and I already had these stupid assumptions about you, and maybe I just wanted a reason to push you away, and when I saw Mia….and you weren't there, I just….” he swallowed hard.

You looked at him finally and you could hear the tremble beneath the sigh he let out when your eyes met, “I shouldn't have said what I said, I should've talked with you first, let you speak at least. I just let my emotions take over me, I felt frustrated and confused and I didn't know why I did that, but I also know no amount of excuses would ever erase what I said, but I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry.”

He was rambling, and it was honestly the first time you'd heard him speak so much in front of you. He kept going on about how sorry he felt towards his actions, not to seek your forgiveness but to unburden himself from hiding his remorse from you. “I'm sorry,” his tone was softer now, “I'm sorry for everything.”

He stepped closer and his face somehow looked more softer than you remembered. He looked tried, like he had been losing sleep over what happened too. You gave him a short nod after you were sure he had nothing else to say. Just a small nod, nothing more nothing less, no words of comfort, no yelling, just a silent acknowledgement that his words had reached you, that his apology has been received.

And then you turned around as soon as you reached the front door of your parent's house and then walked away without another word. He watched as you entered your room, you didn't slam your door, didn’t even give him a second glance, you just left him standing there at your door, still clutching the guilt you had handed him back without a single sound. And somehow your silence hurt him more than your sharp words ever could.

The low hum of amps dying out filled the music room, dirt particles swirling under the overhead light, the final chord of the rehearsal still hung in the air. Sunghoon sat at the edge of the bench, staring blankly on the floor, his fingers still resting on the keys though the practice ended 5 minutes ago. Heeseung announced the end of today's session and everyone began to pack up. Jay's eyes fell upon Sunghoon but then he made his way out of the room, Jake's hand clapped his shoulder before he too slipped out. Only Heeseung remained, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Sunghoon pack his own things.

It had been like that since last week, Sunghoon, though he was giving his best with the practice, was most of the time out of it. They all felt it, something unspoken clawing at the space between them, things hadn't been the same after that incident, though everyone was trying to act normal. You were still involved in his life, still showing up on time, looking perfect, but he could see that the things weren't the same. You didn’t linger much near the boys, you didn't roll your eyes when Jake teased you, didn't give Heeseung any witty remarks, didn't tease Jay about his love story.

You kept your distance, smiled only when it was necessary, talked only when addressed to. You were civil with them but you didn't even look at Sunghoon, not really. And even when you did look at him, he could feel the distance, the weight of the thick wall you put between you and him made of all the words he shouldn't have said to you. And of course everyone else would catch up that Sunghoon's apology has not been accepted, that you were closing off again, and the only person who could perhaps fix it all up was doing nothing else other than drowning in his own misery.

“You're going to lose her at this point,” Heeseung's voice echoed through the music room, making Sunghoon freeze in place. Heeseung pushed himself off the wall and walked a few steps closer, “what is going on in your mind? Do you even care enough to try harder?” Sunghoon's shoulder stiffened but he didn't speak, “why are you pretending like this is how you are now?” Sunghoon turned around, voice laced with confusion, “what are you talking about?” Heeseung sighed, crossing his arms across his chest, “this version of you, the one who shuts everyone out, who lashes out without thinking, who doesn't make much effort to make things right, this is not you Sunghoon.”

He placed his hand on Sunghoon's shoulder, sighing deeply, “you've always been cold and quiet, but you had your own way of looking out for others even when they didn't ask for it, you defended Mia and Jay in front of half of the university, you made sure Ava was actually getting what she deserved for playing with Jay's feelings,” Heeseung squeezed his shoulder, his voice quieter than earlier as he spoke “you let me cry on your shoulder all night when she moved to London, you care but now you're acting like you don't care at all.”

Sunghoon exhaled a deep breath, hands clutching onto his bag till his knuckles turned white, “I don't know what to do, she didn't yell at me, didn't slam her door on my face, didn't cause a scene. She created distance but still showed up, and her silence is more deafening than her rage. I have no idea how to handle that.” Heeseung sighed, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, “you don't know or don't want to know? I know you, you're not the kind of guy who'd walk away from someone you hurt before making things right, you sacrifice your own happiness if it makes someone you love happy. So stop pretending you're fine, and mend things quickly, because if you don't…” Heeseung trailed off for a few seconds, “you're going to lose something you'll regret for a long, long time.”

The rooftop was dressed in a halo of warm lights strung overhead, gold and ivory draping the corners of the open-air space. Everything about the setting screamed luxury, the velvet rope barriers, waiters weaving through the crowd with flutes of champagne and a grand stage framed with crystal panels that caught the lights just right. HYPHENIX was about to perform today and the buzz had already begun. Sunghoon stood at the edge, looking at the text he had sent you earlier today. It wasn't much, just a plain text requesting you to attend their performance followed by the address.

He sighed, slipping his phone back inside his pocket. He wasn't sure if you'd come, but he texted anyway, clinging to the quiet hope that maybe you would show up. He didn't know how to ask for your forgiveness, and didn't have the right words lined up yet. But what he did know was that he was going to try his best to slowly mend things back, this time he wasn't going to let you walk away without putting up a fight.

His eyes trailed towards Jake who was talking with few of his classmates, an easy smile etched upon his face. Away from him, Heeseung sat at the back, texting profusely on his phone, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Sunghoon's eyes then scanned the rooftop until they landed on Jay, who was standing near the stage with Mia, who was adjusting his collar while mumbling something he couldn't quite make out. The sight distracted him for a bit, even though watching Jay and Mia together was very normal for him.

He was used to looking at them and feeling the quiet ache of longing and often times his mind had wandered towards the what ifs, like would the situation be different if it was him instead. And he could feel the similar ache bloom inside his chest again, but tonight it was for someone else entirely. The longing was still there, the only difference was, this time it was for you instead.

Sunghoon sighed, despite trying to keep his thoughts contained, they slipped past his control, drifting back towards you. Watching Mia adjust Jay's collar made him recall the moment he spent with you in his bathroom before his cousin's wedding. The way your fingers slightly brushed against his chest as you tied his tie, the way he couldn't keep his eyes off your lips. He was lost in his own thoughts again, and these days he didn't even make an effort to hide it. “You should really stop looking at someone who already belongs to someone else like that in a public setting, people might get confused about your intentions.”

Sunghoon flinched, like your voice snapped him out of whatever fantasy that was swirling inside his head. He turned towards you immediately, eyes locking with yours with something unreadable flashing inside them.

“I wasn't looking at Mia,” he muttered, eyes taking in your appearance as if he couldn't believe you were actually there. “I never took Mia's name,” you leaned against the railings, eyes straight ahead, “but I guess that says enough, doesn't it?” He didn't reply immediately, and the silence between you was filled with the ghosts of too many things neither of you had courage to say.

You could feel his gaze linger on you, though you couldn't figure out what meaning they held. It was always like that with him, he let his guard up way too high whenever it concerned you. Letting out a quiet breath, you cleared your throat, voice softer than before, “it's not my business who you look at,” then your eyes met his, “but maybe next time, try not doing it while your apparent 'girlfriend' is standing right next to you.” With that, you straighten yourself up and walk off towards the opposite side of the rooftop, leaving Sunghoon standing there watching you go.

The band was finally called on the stage, the rooftop was now filled with cheers and applause as all four of them took their positions at the stage. You leaned against the bar counter, Mia sitting right beside you as she cheered for them. Your eyes found Sunghoon, his fingers moving over the keys like it was his second nature, his head tilted just enough to let the soft lighting hit his cheekbones. His head lifted up, eyes scanning around the rooftop, you thought he was looking for Mia but then his eyes landed on you.

The performance went on, but his eyes found yours again and again, not blatantly but between the verses, in fleeting glances he disguised as nothing. You didn't react, didn't give him the satisfaction though you could feel your heart hammer loud against your chest, hands clutched together. You hated that he had such a strong effect on you, especially when you had no idea since when it had started being that way. Every time your eyes met his, you could feel the hollowness in your heart clawing up at your throat. But you kept it together, he had hurt you, it was only fair you'd take your time accepting his apology.

The music faded, and the crowd erupted with cheers and as Sunghoon's eyes found yours one last time you heard a quiet, hushed voice speaking from behind you. “He's so obvious,” a girl gushed, giggling slightly. “Who?” Another one asked, then you heard her sigh, “the pretty keyboardist, he kept looking at her like she's the only person in this room.” You didn't turn around to look at them, didn’t even flinch but your lips twitched slightly as your eyes flickered towards him. He was talking with someone along with the others, and Mia nudged you, a knowing smile plastered on her face, “did you hear what that girl said?” She whispered close to your ear and you just rolled your eyes, shaking your head, “don't do that.”

You were about to leave the event when Sunghoon called your name, you stopped, turning around in confusion ready to make an excuse to avoid him when he cut you off, “Yeji is here.” Your eyebrows creased but before you could ask him something, Yeji engulfed you in a hug, “I missed you, it has been a while since I last saw you.” Your eyes widened but then you hugged her back, smiling gently when she pulled away, “I'm sorry I've been busy, why didn't I know you were going to be here?”

She shook her head, “I had some other work, but then it ended early so I decided to surprise him.” You nodded in understanding, “I see.” She held your hand, her genuine happiness after meeting you made your heart full, you looked at Sunghoon before you fixed her hair, “how was your performance? Everything went well?” She beamed at your question, “oh it was amazing, everyone congratulated me for it.” You mirrored her expression, “see? I told you that you'd do great, I was right.”

She nodded her head, jumping slightly in excitement, “Sunghoon was there for me, he said you were busy so you couldn't join, but I really miss spending time with you, can you please come home tomorrow? Even mom was asking Sunghoon about you.” Your smile flattered for a second but you covered it up, you opened your mouth to speak when Sunghoon cut you off, “she's busy these days-” you tugged his sleeve when you noticed Yeji's expression shift, “I'll come tomorrow, I promise.” Her eyes widened, “really?” You nodded, embracing her in a hug while Sunghoon just watched the two of you with a small smile on his face.

You heaved a tired sigh after a tiring day at the university. You were about to enter your car after checking your schedule for the next day when Sunghoon called out your name, you turned around to find him running towards you. “Yeji was asking if you're coming home?” He asked, eyes flickering across the parking lot after he calmed himself down. You hummed, “yes, I was heading there right now actually, she texted me too.” Sunghoon nodded, placing himself between you and your car when you tried to get inside. You looked at him in confusion. “Um, let me drive you there, they will ask questions if we'll go there separately.”

You closed your eyes momentarily and exhaled a deep breath, “we can just answer their questions then.” He stopped you again when you reached for the door, “uh, it will probably get late, my mom would kill me if I let you go alone.” You sighed as you still opened the door, his shoulders sagged, “let me park my car in my apartment then we'll go together from there.” You got inside, quickly driving off before he could properly react to your words. He fumbled with his keys as he drove off to your apartment, sighing in relief that you at least agreed with him.

You were sitting on the living room sofa with Yeji curled up beside you, head resting on your lap as she showed you the pictures of her performance on her phone. You occasionally laughed along with her when she told you some funny memory of the event while giving your own comments on other things. Sunghoon watched everything from the hallway, his mother passed by you, gently brushing her hand on your back as she placed the bowl of fruits on the table for you to eat. Yeji sat up, giving you space and you took the bowl in your lap, eating the fruits while also occasionally feeding it to Yeji.

“She blends in so well with us,” his mother spoke beside him, “I'm so glad you chose her.” He looked at his mother as she cupped his cheeks before walking away. His eyes then landed back on you, the way you were so comfortable around his family like you had always been a part of them. His family was picky when it came to accepting other people inside the family but you managed to somehow make your own space without much struggle.

Hours passed and the evening stretched lazily into dusk. The chatter from earlier had faded into a soft hush as you reached for your bag, giving Yeji a goodbye hug and a promise to visit again. You were about to call out his mom when she emerged from the hallway. “I don't want you to go,” she mumbled as you hugged her. “I'll try my best to visit often,” you smiled, adjusting your bag. “Sunghoon,” she called out and you saw him come out of his room, “drop her off, will you? It's getting dark.” He just nodded, making his way towards you, grabbing his keys wordlessly as you murmured quiet goodbyes once again.

The car ride back to your home was quiet. Outside, the streetlight casted long shadows over the dashboard, and your reflection caught faintly in the window glass as you stared at the traffic passing by. He pulled up in the parking lot of your apartment, getting out to open your side of the door. You stepped out, grabbing your bag to head inside when he stopped you. “What?” You turned around to face him, your gaze unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” He asked as he looked at your face like he was trying to read something. “Doing what?” You blinked, keeping your bag on the hood of the car.

“This,” he gestured between the two of you, “you show up to my shows, you talk with my friends, you make plans with my family.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly, not with anger, not with confusion but hurt, “you're not pushing me away by rejecting my apology but you are not pulling me back either by accepting it. You're just floating somewhere in the middle and I don't know where I stand with you anymore.” Your fingers curled into a fist as he continued, “you haven't yelled at me, didn't curse me out, you just shut yourself off, and every time I think maybe I can try to fix, you're already gone.”

Silence stretched between you for a while, then he spoke again, quieter this time, “I never wanted to hurt you and I'm trying, I'm trying to fix this, but I can't do that when I don't even know if you want this thing to be fixed or not.” You exhaled sharply, the ache in your chest finally cracking through your composure, “why do you even want to fix this? You've already painted me as the villain of your story, what is there left to fix? You already said what you wanted to say, you made it clear what you thought about me.”

You gulped the lump forming in your throat as he stilled, “I didn't yell because I didn't have the energy to convince you I'm not the entitled, spoiled brat you thought I was,” your voice cracked a little, “you didn't even give me the space to explain myself that day, you just tore me apart, piece by piece and you didn't even care to spare me a second glance.” You looked away, wiping the tear that managed to fall off your eyes after days of hurt, “I was exhausted, but I did my best, and you? You just stormed in and humiliated me, you treated me like I was heartless.”

You took a shaky breath, looking into his eyes. He opened his mouth but no sound came. “You said I was exploiting Mia's kindness, and yes, I know, I know damn well I'll never be her, I'll never be as kind and soft as her, and that I'll never be able to make a place in your life like she did, but does that mean I deserved getting blamed like that?” His eyes widened, horrified, “No-” your voice finally cracked fully, tears streaming down your face without any control, “then why do you hate me so much? Why was it so easy for you to tear me down? Why didn't you think, even for a second, that I might be hurting too?”

He stood there frozen, the sight of your tears and the weight of your words crashing into him like a storm. “I've been trying so hard to move past it, I've never let anyone's opinion get to me like this, but somehow those words stung even more when they came from you. And yes I'm tired of pretending that I'm okay, I'm not. I'm hurt because I never expected that from you. I knew you couldn't stand me, I tried to make peace with it, I thought you'd realize that I'm way more than those rumours paint me to be but I was so wrong.” Sunghoon stepped forward without hesitation, hands reaching out towards you and you didn't pull away. He held your hand in his, you let him.

He tilted your head up with his other hand, wiping the tears that kept flowing the more you looked at him. “I'm sorry, I'll be better I promise you, give me another chance, let me fix this please? Hmm?” You looked at him, the slight tremble in his voice and the glossiness in his eyes made your chest tight. “You can hate me all you want, punish me for the things I said even, I'll not complain once, just don't shut me out of your life.” You didn't answer him, just stood there for a while, letting him hold your hand as your sobs subsidized and you calmed down. You sighed after a while, softly releasing your hand from his hold. You took your bag and slung it on your shoulder wordlessly before looking at him as you spoke, “get home safely.”

Mia had dragged you with them to their usual hangout place off the campus, the riverfront. Jake and Sunghoon stood a few feet away from you by the railing with Jake rambling about different things to do at his lake house for his birthday party. Jay stood beside Heeseung talking about their latest gig. You were sitting on the bench with Mia as she showed you pictures of their last trip. Mia excused herself when Jay called her and then came Heeseung with a grin too casual to be completely innocent. He sat beside you, arm lazily draped over the bench behind you.

“Tell me you're coming,” he said, looking at you with his doe eyes. Your eyes narrowed at his sudden interest in you, “to?” He smiled, “Jake's lake house for his birthday party.” He pointed towards Jake who was very animatedly going off about his plans, “I could use some help with the adult supervision.” You rolled your eyes and he continued, “seriously, you've become a part of our group now, it won't be the same without you and I need someone to keep me grounded.” You let out a smile at that, shaking your head but agreeing nonetheless.

“Guys, I know this is common knowledge between us but I'll say it again that I just want a quiet birthday,” Jake declared, getting everyone's attention, “we can drink, dance, have fun but only us.” The rest agreed, choruses of agreement echoing through the air, until Mia interjected, “I love the idea but no one will throw anyone into the lake at midnight,” she glared at Jake, who raised his hands in fake innocence.

Heeseung leaned closer, “see? It will be peaceful.” You nodded and he took out his phone as he looked at you, “let's take a selfie so you remember who convinced you for this.” With the same smile, he slung his arm around your shoulder and positioned his camera. You raised your eyebrows but then adjusted your position to pose for the picture. As Heeseung looked at the picture, you saw movement in the corner of your eyes, you looked up to see Sunghoon walking away after muttering a quiet, “I'll be back.”

Jake called after him, “don't leave me in the middle of discussion, we still need to discuss the room arrangements,” but Sunghoon was already walking away. Heeseung watched him go, eyes glinting with a mischievous sort of awareness, “isn't that interesting?” He smirked as he looked at you, “if you ever want to make someone jealous, I feel like it would definitely work if you do it with me.” You rolled your eyes, finally understanding the goal behind Heeseung's actions, “that wasn't my goal.” He shrugged, “doesn’t hurt.”

“Wow this is way better than I thought,” you complimented Jake as you reached his lake house. It was an elegant mix of rustic wood and modern luxury, perched on the edge of a glimmering lake that twinkled under the late evening light. Tall glass windows bathed the living room in moonlight. Laughter and sigh of relief echoed through the house as everyone finally relaxed. You slipped off your shoes at the entrance, walking across the polished wooden floors as your eyes trailed up to the open staircase and then towards the fireplace already stacked with logs. Everything about the house was warm, lived-in and private, you already loved it.

“Okay,” Jake announced dramatically from the living room after you were done with the dinner and you made your way inside, “none of you thought it would be better to do room assignments before reaching here.” You glanced towards him as he pointed an accusing finger at everyone, “I know I didn't do it, but it was because Sunghoon decided to randomly vanish in the middle of the discussion, and Jay and Mia were busy doing…whatever they were doing.” Jay raised his eyebrows at him while Mia just gave him a sheepish smile. Your eyes fell upon Sunghoon who was leaning against the wall, close to where all of your luggage was kept, beside him stood Heeseung watching everything with an amused smile.

Jake rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disappointment, “whatever, you guys decide the rooming situation, Jay and I need to check the outdoor grill and lights to see if they work properly so we don't have to struggle much on my birthday night." He motioned Jay to follow him and the two of them disappeared behind the patio door.

You saw Mia flop on the nearest couch as her gaze bounced between you, Heeseung and Sunghoon. “So?” She started, “since there are 3 bedrooms, it's obvious we will room in pairs.” You nodded, smiling at Mia who nodded back, “guess we will be stuck with each other.”

Before Mia could open her mouth to agree with you, Heeseung cut in trying his best to suppress his grin, “actually no.” Everyone blinked, Heeseung continued looking at Mia intensely, “you should room with Jay.” Mia's eyes furrowed in confusion, “what?” Heeseung shrugged, “you and Jay fought right? It's a perfect chance to make up, you know? Sharing a room, talking it out. It's either that or both of you will spend this gateway with awkward avoidance.” Mia looked still confused at Heeseung's words but decided against refuting. You looked at Heeseung, already sensing something mischievous brewing behind his smile.

Heeseung looked at Sunghoon for a second before turning towards you. “I don't mind rooming with you,” he added smoothly, making his way towards you, “we can have so much fun.” You barely walked in his direction to ask what was going on in his mind when you saw Sunghoon shift. He pushed off the wall, leaning down to pick up his luggage and yours before walking towards the staircase. “Hey!” You called out but he was already halfway up. “You're rooming with me,” he said without turning around. “Excuse me?” You asked, climbing a few stairs as Mia and Heeseung trailed behind you.

He stopped at the top of the stairs, turning around to look at you, eyes flickering with something intense behind them, “I'm not letting you room with him, so let's not even start that conversation because I won't be participating in it.” He turned and disappeared down the hallway, your bag still in his grip. Heeseung whistled under his breath as he slung his arm around you while Mia muffled her laugh, clearly amused at the exchange. “Jay and I aren't even fighting,” she chuckled and Heeseung wiggled his eyebrows at you before turning his head towards Mia, “you aren't? Could've fooled me.”

Mia shook her head, taking her and Jay's bag, “why am I even surprised at this point?” And made her way towards the next room. Once Mia was out of sight he looked at you, “you're welcome.” You just glared at him, elbowing his side, “you're evil.” He hummed, crossing his hands across his chest, “I'm a good friend. Also someone had to push the pieces forwards before both of them died of lack of communication and courage.” He grabbed his and Jake's bag before making his way towards the last room, humming something as he skipped away. And you sighed, massaging your temple before making your way towards the room despite the loud thumping inside your chest.

You paused outside the door for a minute, fingers brushing against the doorknob as you took a few deep breaths. The room was spacious, with an attached balcony, giving you a perfect view of the lake. You entered the room, your luggage neatly placed at the foot of the bed, your eyes scanned the room to see Sunghoon standing near the couch, rummaging through his bag with more effort than necessary. The door clicked shut behind you and his shoulder tensed, sensing your presence. He sighed, turning towards you, “I didn’t mean to make that choice for you,” he stated, voice calm but still stiff, “I just didn't like the idea of you sharing a room with Heeseung.”

You folded your arms across your chest, “isn't that too extreme for someone who is fake dating?” He looked down, turning back towards his bag, “this isn't about us fake dating, at least not now.” You walked up to him, and he noticed before sighing, “are you even close with Heeseung to share a room with him? If yes, since when did that happen? Since Mia is sharing a room with Jay, then you sharing a room with me makes more sense right?” You blinked trying to speak when he panicked, thinking you would get a wrong idea of his words, “I mean, you can share a room with whoever you want, it's just…”

“It's just what?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting. He ran his hand through his hair, “it didn’t feel right.” You tore your gaze away from him, unable to find words to say when your eyes fell on the bed, one bed. Neatly made, untouched, your luggage still placed at the foot. “You've been here before right?” You looked at him, “you knew about this?” You questioned, motioning towards the single bed. “I did,” he paused as he looked at the bed, “I just didn't care, I don't know what Heeseung is on about, but I'm not going to let him finish what he started.”

You blinked, startled by his honesty more than the audacity but then you shook your head because you knew Heeseung wasn't going to let you undo the arrangements. So you made your way towards one side of the bed, Sunghoon stood in his spot, unsure of what to do, but then quietly he murmured, “I'll take the couch, you take the bed.”

You pulled your charger out of the bag, “that couch won't fit you, it's too small.” His eyes naturally fell upon the couch, and he sighed, “I'll sleep on the floor then.” You looked at him for a quick second. “Don't be dramatic,” you cut him off, untangling the chord, “I'm not that heartless, just make sure to stay on your side of the bed.”

He didn't reply but you could hear the small exhale of relief he let out at your words. He made his way towards his side of the bed and laid down. You climbed on the bed after changing into comfortable clothes, keeping a careful amount of distance between your bodies. “I'm not doing any of this to mess with you,” he spoke after some time. You stared at the ceiling, “then why are you doing this?” He paused for a long time, and you closed your eyes thinking he wouldn't answer when he exhaled sharply, “I'm trying to undo the quiet between us, I just don't know how to go on about that.”

“You're already doing it,” you said after some time, he turned his head to look at you, “what?” You sighed, “you're talking with me instead of assuming things and avoiding, that's a start.” His breath hitched but you didn't look at him, “I don't want this silence either, but I needed it, I needed the space, I needed to know that I'm not the only one hurting.” He gulped, “I know I didn't handle any of it right.” You nodded. “No you didn't,” you finally turned your head towards him, “I don't want to keep reliving that day, I don't want to carry the weight of it in every room we walk into.”

He shifted, now laying sideways, “I mean it when I said I am not doing this to mess with you.” A ghost of a smile passed over your lips, “then don't mess it up after this.” His heart skipped a beat, “I'll try my best to not do that.” You finally pulled up the covers closer, closing your eyes. The tension still sat in between you, the wounds wouldn't close overnight, but you felt lighter now. And Sunghoon shifted to lay on his back, feeling a bit more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

The soft light of early morning filtered through the curtains, you stirred beneath the warm sheets, shifting slightly. The room was quiet, peaceful even, except for the steady set of heart beat thumping under you. Your eyes flew open, taking in your position. Your leg was thrown over Sunghoon's waist, arm snaked over his torso, and your face nestled into the crook of his neck. You blinked rapidly, trying to catch up on what was happening, through the corner of your eyes you could see he was completely awake by the way he was scrolling through his phone. You pulled away with the speed of a startled cat, making him flinch at the sudden action of yours.

“I- what the hell?” You screeched, sitting up fully, face heating up in embarrassment. He had one of his arms draped behind his head as he looked at you, deadpan, “you told me to stay on my side of the bed.” You blinked once before nodding, “I did.” He nodded solemnly, “yeah and then you spent the whole night clinging onto me like a koala.” Your face burned up, “why didn't you push me away?” He shrugged casually, “didn't want you to wake up accusing me of ruining your beauty sleep.” Your jaw dropped at the accusation but before you could say anything he cut you off, “also, you held on pretty tight, so I don't know if I would've escaped even if I wanted to.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his face, which he caught easily, a faint smirk adorning his face. You flopped back on the bed, your side, turning your back against him, “you're really annoying.” He chuckled, getting up from the bed and going inside the bathroom to get fresh. And you pulled the covers over your face, silently screaming at yourself for how your morning unfolded.

The patio of Jake's lakehouse had turned into a warm cocoon of laughter and chatter. Pillows were scattered everywhere over the outdoor loungers, mugs of hot chocolate in everyone's hands, and speakers playing Jake's playlist softly in the background. Your eyes fell upon Jake who was laughing with Heeseung as the latter played bartender with sparkling water and soda. Jay leaned against the couch as Mia slipped into his hoodie. Sunghoon made his way towards Heeseung, joining him and Jake.

You sat on a wooden deck, bundled in a thick sweater and a blanket thrown over your lap. The firepit glowed gently in the middle, embers floating up into the chilly night air. You saw Mia make her way towards you, throwing half of the blanket over her lap as she made herself comfortable beside you. She didn't say anything right away, just let her eyes wander across the patio before they fell on you. “He's stupid,” she mumbled, pouting, and you blinked, “what?”

“Sunghoon,” she sighed as she looked at him, where he was helping Jake clean up the table after Heeseung spilled the water and soda all over it, “he doesn't think things through, especially when he's hurt, or overwhelmed. But he's not cold, he's soft in a way that you need to squint to properly see.” You hummed in response, not entirely sure how to respond to her. She looked at you, “he messes up because he's scared, he gets in his own head and convinces himself he will ruin things, and ends up doing exactly that, but please…don't give up on him yet, he's trying, he might be scared of his own feelings and not know what to do with it and try to push people away, but I believe he knows he doesn’t want to do that anymore.”

She stood slowly, brushing invisible dirt from the hoodie and adjust the blanket over your lap, “I'm not asking you to hurry, or even forgive him, I'm just trying to help you see things from his perspective because I don't know what the hell has gotten into him ever since he met you, he just malfunctions.” That pulled out a soft laugh from you and Mia smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear before walking off towards Jake, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Sunghoon sat beside you where Mia was sitting a few minutes ago. You glanced at him but he didn't speak, instead he just held out a stick with two marshmallows in your direction while taking a bite from his own. You took it wordlessly from his hand, fingers brushing against his lightly as you took a bite of your own. Everyone huddled around Jake as the countdown of his birthday began, and when the clock hit midnight he let out a loud and exaggerated gasp as he shouted, “I'm now officially one year wiser and hotter!”

Everyone laughed, surrounding him with hugs and wishes. Jay brought the cake, candles flickering under the breeze as Heeseung pulled out a funny birthday hat for Jake to wear. You stood beside Sunghoon as you all sang loudly, shoulder brushing against his as everyone swayed with a mismatched rhythm. Later, after the cake and all the chaos settled, Jake insisted it was too cold so he ran inside to seek warmth and others also dispersed somewhere else. You stayed outside, now on the patio's stairs when you felt a blanket being draped over your shoulder. You turned your head, watching as Sunghoon sat close beside you, draping the same blanket over his own shoulders.

“You look calm today, and you didn't pull away from me either,” you hummed at his observation, eyes trained on the lake, “yeah, I didn't.” He sighed as he looked at you expectantly, “then should I take this as a sign?” You breathed in deeply, “it's a beginning, not a promise.” He nodded gently, lips curling into a small smile, “it's better than you shutting me out completely, I'll make sure to earn the rest.” The silence stretched between you, the crackle of dying fire filling the empty spaces between words neither of you rushed to break in.

Sunghoon shifted in his place, the blanket rustling due to his movements. Before you could see it, you felt the way his fingers brush against the back of your hand. Your head turned towards him, but he wasn't looking at you, his movements were tentative and testing as if he was giving you a chance to pull away, you didn't. Sighing, he reached for your hand properly, his fingers curling around your wrist gently as if he was afraid to hurt you. He turned your hand over his palm, examining the faint shimmer of your red nail paint under the moonlight.

“Red suits you,” he murmured, voice barely audible if it wasn't for you sitting so close to him. You looked at your hand before they fell back on him, his expressions were still unreadable but you saw him gulp as his fingers paused, hovering your palm like he's debating whether to hold on or let go. You looked at your hand again, and this time you saw it, he was trembling. It was subtle but unmistakable, though he was trying to be neutral, you could feel his hand shaking against your palm. The sight made something sharp twist in your chest with the realization that he wasn't afraid of you but of losing you.

Your gaze softened, and without saying anything, you gently intertwined your fingers with his, tighter and more certain. You gently rubbed your thumb against his skin to ground him, you could feel his nerves ease a bit. He exhaled softly, shoulders relaxing in a way that a simple contact was all he needed from you. And even though not many words were exchanged between you, the silence felt less strained and more comfortable.

Sunghoon was sitting in front of you at the cafe where you usually had your lunch. “There's this uh ... .art auction gala,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at you, “both of our parents are attending, your mother must have told you about it. Mine kind of assumed I'd bring you along, yours too probably,” he bit his lips, “so, would you maybe go with me?” You hummed as you tilted your head, pretending to think although you knew you had to attend their auction anyway, “you're just asking me that because your parents said?” Sunghoon gulped, eyes turning wide, “uh, no! That's not the case, I want you to be there too.”

You sighed, crossing your arms and leaning back against the chair, “okay, I'll go.” He leaned forward, chest against the table, “seriously?” You nodded, avoiding his gaze, “but if I get bored, you are taking the responsibility of explaining my exit.” His lips twitched, as he gave you a relieved smile, “that's fair, I'll take the responsibility.” You hummed in response before continuing to eat the rest of your lunch as he sipped his coffee.

The gala was all glitter and wine, conversation danced around wealth as you walked beside Sunghoon after being greeted by both sides of families with happy smiles. “Yeji didn't attend?” You questioned as you noticed her absence. He hummed, “she is busy with her exams preparation, didn't want to risk an entire evening nodding at art she didn't understand.” You nodded, then both of your mothers approached you, looking radiant in their evening gowns and delighted expressions.

Sunghoon straightened up and you stepped closer to him as they approached. “You two are stealing the show here, many of our friends had asked us about you two,” your mother beamed, squeezing your hand. Sunghoon's mother leaned closer to her son, elbowing him lightly as she whispered, “you aren't being subtle with your glances, but I am loving it, you two look lovely beside each other.” Both of you laughed and politely nodded with their words, the kind of personality you master when your family comments on things you can't escape from.

“Honey, you know Mrs. Jung from Busan right? Come with us to say hello to them,” she spoke, grabbing your hand as Sunghoon's mom nodded along. Your expression flattered, you weren't in the mood to entertain their conversations. You opened your mouth to protest but Sunghoon chimed in seamlessly, “umm, I need her to be with me, I wanted to show her around a bit, you don't mind me stealing your daughter right?” His mother laughed along with yours, “okay, you can have her. If you want, you know where to find us.” With that they left you two, mumbling something along the lines of young love and can't bear a second away from each other.

Sunghoon led you towards the room where art pieces that were kept for auction were located. “Thanks for saving me,” you mumbled, sighing in relief and he shrugged, “I know how those conversations go, also I took responsibility to refrain you from getting bored.” You both walked inside the room, scanning each painting and giving your opinions when you felt his gaze on you. Turning towards him you raised your eyebrows at him, he cleared his throat, “you look nice.” You smirked, a teasing smile etching upon your face, “like my whole face situation or my outfit situation?” He groaned, throwing his head back, “everything combined, I just thought you should know.”

You chuckled softly as both of you made your way towards another painting, the art piece that caught your attention was a burst of red and stormy gray, bold, chaotically organized but a bit messy. It felt familiar though, you sucked in a breath, stopping to look at it for a second too long. “You want it?” Sunghoon asked as he stood beside you. “It's dramatic, I think it suits me,” you replied, laughing in quiet amusement. He huffed, crossing his arms across his chest, “since you want it, I want it too.” And suddenly you found yourself bidding against him at the auction, volleying numbers like tennis balls while sitting beside each other as other guests watched with amusement and both of your parents in confusion.

“You're going to lose,” he muttered as he raised his hand. “In your dreams, Park,” you countered with a sweet smile. It was safe to say that you won when the auctioneer dropped the gavel with your name on his lips. You turned towards Sunghoon with a triumphant grin and he sighed, “I can't believe you went that high.” You shrugged, signing the documents, “I believe in art.” He rolled his eyes as both of you walked out of the venue, “more like you believe in making me lose.” You laughed loudly at that, nudging him with your elbow, “same thing, Park.”

Sunghoon's driver opened the door for you and him and you sat inside. The car ride home was quiet, the air cool and soothing against your skin that you felt your eyelids drop. Sunghoon froze for a second when your head dropped on his shoulder, before he reached beside him to grab his blazer and drape it over your shoulders. You nestled your head closer, softly sighing at the warmth, one of your hands curling around his, interlacing your fingers with his. He sighed, tightening his fingers around yours, and clicking a picture of your intertwined hands for keepsake.

The driver announced your arrival but he didn't move, his eyes scanning your face as you slept peacefully on his shoulder. He walked you off towards your apartment when you stirred awake, his blazer still draped across your shoulders. “Thanks for today,” you mumbled, as you opened your door. “It's nothing really,” he mumbled, scanning your face for longer than he meant to. You shifted your weight on your other leg under his gaze, and you heard him sigh, “I missed this.” He stepped closer, adjusting his blazer on your shoulder just to avoid looking at you directly, “I miss you.”

Your fingers twitched at your side before you slowly, hesitantly, reached out. Your hand found his, a bit unsure like you're still deciding if you want this. His breath hitched, but he didn't move. “You won't let me regret holding on right?” Your fingers tightened around his slightly, like you were afraid everything would fall apart. His thumb brushed over your knuckles trembling, you could feel his nerves match yours. He leaned closer to softly press his lips against your forehead, his actions were careful, but full of everything he still hadn't figured out to say. He pulled away after a few seconds, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go, walking back towards the exit with a small smile on his face, “good night.”

The food fest was in full swing by the time you reached the campus, music thumped in the background, laughter echoed through the stalls. You walked along the lantern-lit path with the rest of the group. Heeseung and Jake walked ahead of the group, with Jay and Mia a few steps behind as they discussed the food they wanted to try. Sunghoon walked beside you, hands in his pockets as you sighed. “You look like you're enjoying this way too much,” he teased, nudging you with his shoulder. You stumbled a bit, holding onto his sleeve as you glared, “I don't know, I'm feeling a bit sensitive today.” He frowned, slowing down a bit, “we can leave if you want.”

You shook your head, about to say something when Heeseung's voice broke into the air, “are you guys sure you're still fake dating?” He waited so he could walk with you, a lopsided grin etching up on his face, “because if this is still fake, I'd like to apply for the next rom-com with Sunghoon.” You pushed him a bit, scoffing at his words, “shut up.” Sunghoon didn't say anything, but he pulled you slightly towards him when he saw a hole in the path so you won't trip. Jay chuckled, catching on, “Heeseung's just bitter he wasn't the chosen one.”

Heeseung scoffed, giving Jay a bored look, “shut it, I know I'm an excellent boyfriend material.” As Jay shook his head and continued his conversation with Jake and Mia, Heeseung leaned closer to you, “jokes aside, I'm happy to see you being this happy again.” His words clung onto your thoughts even after he left you alone with Sunghoon, a small smile etching on your lips. Even though your emotions didn't directly concern him, he still made sure to make things feel lighter for you and you will forever be grateful for his quiet support.

You had fun for a while, the sky darkened and night arrived, but somewhere between the food stalls and central lawn, the crowd thickened. There was shouting, too many voices rising at once, the temperature of the surrounding rising up, someone shouted about someone knocking over a display. You felt the commotion before you became a part of it, someone bumped into you, pushing you into the crowd, panic rose in your chest. You pushed past a few people to get out of the crowd, only to get pushed back inside. Your breath quickened as you looked around to find anyone from the group when you heard a strong call of your name.

“Hold my hand!” Sunghoon shouted as he pushed a few people away to get closer. You reached towards him, and he held your wrist firmly before pulling you towards him and murmured, “stay close.” He started walking back towards the area with less crowd and you weren't sure what exactly happened but someone shoved others too hard, then you heard the sound of metal collapsing but the next thing you registered was a shout, and the sight of Sunghoon gritting his teeth, holding onto his forearm.

“Are you okay?” You gasped, noticing the blood that smeared on his forearm. He looked at you before holding your hand again as he started walking, “I'm fine, let's get out of here first.” When you noticed you were around the area of the campus parking lot, you tugged him towards your car, occasionally looking at his injured hand. Your hands were shaking as you took out a first aid box from your car and began to treat his wound, cleaning up the blood, applying ointment before wrapping the bandage. “How did this even happen?” You questioned as you tied the knot, he shrugged, “someone collided with the stall, the metal name plate dropped down with the impact and was about to fall on us when I tried to dodge it.”

“How can you say you're okay after that?” You mumbled, examining his hands for any other injury. He sighed, running his other hand through his hair, “I didn't even think much, I just saw you get dragged into the crowd and panicked, you already told me you weren't feeling it, we could've just gone back home.” Your eyes burned with tears but you couldn't say anything, too overwhelmed by the way he was being open about his emotions for you. “I'm fine now, and so are you,” he said, stepping closer to you, “look at me.” You did, and he was already looking back at you, he exhaled when your eyes met his, like he was holding something back.

You parted your lips to say something, maybe about how he should've been more careful, that he should go to hospital first thing tomorrow morning to get it properly checked when something shifted and he leaned in to capture your lips with his. There was no hesitation, no second guessing in his movements. Your breath hitched, and he shifted your body against your car, caging you with his body pressed against you. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tangling with your hair as he pulled you closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Your hands instinctively gripped his shirt as your lips moved in sync with him, kissing him back with the same intensity.

You gasped against his mouth, and he pulled away for oxygen, resting his head against yours. You could feel your heartbeat racing against your chest, not expecting to kiss Sunghoon like you did. He looked at you, pupils blown wide, mouth parted to breath easily and when you opened your eyes to look at him, he didn't give you another second before diving right back in. You cupped his face to pull him closer, one of his hands cradling your head as he groaned against your lips.

The kiss started frantic, hungry before it melted into something softer, more fragile. The hand that cradled your head, shifted to cup your cheek, his lips lingered against yours, warm and slow. He finally pulled back, just barely, his nose still brushing against yours. He turned his head when he heard some voices from far away, stepping away from you to scan the area to check if someone was looking.

You frowned, following his actions to see no one when he abruptly turned around after he was sure no one was coming near the parking lot. You yelped, almost colliding with him but he pushed you back towards your car, picking and placing you up on the hood as he kissed you again, you gasped against his lips, hands circling around his neck as he settled between your legs, pulling you closer with his arms around your waist.

You weren’t sure how long you spent kissing him under the moonlight, everything seemed to blur into nothing, but that hardly mattered when you had a beautiful boy holding you like you were everything he’d ever wanted, kissing you like his life depended on it.

You pulled away from him when you heard his phone ringing, he groaned, giving you a quick peck before stepping away to answer the call. You slid down the hood, adjusting your clothes and hair as you leaned against your car and waited for him to end the call. He walked back, running a hand through his hair, “Yeji called, she needs me to pick her up.” You nodded, opening up your car door to get inside. He leaned down when you were adjusting your seatbelt, tucking your hair behind the ear, “we'll talk about this tomorrow okay?” You smiled, fixing his hair as he kissed your palm before moving away.

You woke up to the sound of rain tapping against your balcony, you made your way towards the glass doors, the sky outside was painted in greys and blacks, the kind of sky that made the world feel like it has gone mute. You made your way back towards your bed, texting Sunghoon before curling inside the covers, drifting back to sleep. You stayed in bed longer than you should've, then you sighed after deciding to finally get fresh and eat something. You checked your phone to see any text from Sunghoon, but it still showed unread.

You got up, brushed your teeth, took a shower before making yourself a quick breakfast and coffee. Outside, the rain didn't let up and you checked your phone just in case, he should've been up by now. You'd half expected a reply waiting for you, maybe a quick ‘good morning’ or even ‘we need to talk’ but there was nothing. You kept your phone aside, taking out your laptop and tab to finish the work that had been pending. You weren't sure how much time had passed since you started working, your eyes flickering to your phone screen more frequently than you'd like to admit.

You opened Instagram out of boredom, or maybe out of instinct and there it was, Mia’s story, just a photo of two coffee mugs across from each other, the steam curling in soft tendrils above them. The caption read ‘catch-ups on rainy days hit differently.’ Your stomach sank so quickly it felt like the floor had dropped beneath you when you saw Sunghoon's account was tagged in it. You stared at it for a few seconds too long, your mind tried to rationalize it, your heart trying not to sink further but it did. You tried not to spiral, really, you did.

Outside, the wind picked up, the trees swayed and the glass doors of your apartment rattled slightly at the impact. You realized you won't be able to get out of your apartment with this type of weather so you busied yourself with your laundry, and rearranging some of your room. You answered a few unanswered texts, calling your mom to check up on her. The night fell and the silence of your apartment wasn't helping with the commotion going inside your head and still, your phone remained silent with his unread text even as you drifted off to sleep again with a heavy heart.

Sunghoon laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had been awake since dawn because he couldn't get the weight off his chest. The rain hadn't stopped, it drizzled against the window like a clock counting down the time he hadn't replied to you. His phone was unlocked, the notification of your name glaring at him from the screen. He wasn't sure why he felt so nervous to reply to you, his heart was haywire with emotions. He sighed, picking up his phone and texted someone else instead.

Sunghoon sat in front of Mia's bedroom window, playing with the sleeve of his hoodie as she slid a cup of coffee in his direction. The rain pattered softly outside as both of them sipped coffee quietly. Sunghoon sighed, getting tired of not saying anything, “I think I messed up.” Mia tilted her head, confusion gracing her face, “what happened?” Sunghoon swallowed, looking down, “I kissed her yesterday.” She blinked, “you kissed her?” He nodded, the tip of his ears getting pink just at the thought, “it wasn't planned, just the heat of the moment, and now I don't know what to do.”

Mia leaned back on the headboard of her bed, folding her arms as she sighed heavily, “first of all I want to know why you are here and not with her.” He looked at her, fidgeting with his hands, trying to find correct words, “I'm feeling scared about the reality of it all. I couldn't stand her not too long ago, made some really stupid decisions based on assumptions, then I begged for her forgiveness, and she started letting me in again, and yesterday I kissed her. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to want this.”

“Why wouldn't you be?” Mia questioned, leaning forward. He ran his hand through his hair, “what if I mess it up again? What if I hurt her?” Mia stayed silent for a beat before answering, her voice calm and grounded, “are you sure that's the real reason and not you being terrified of falling in love?” He looked at her with wide eyes, like her words pierced right through him, “Sunghoon, she's not someone you can hold at arm's length, she knows what she deserves and even if it will kill her, she'll move on and a day will come when there will be someone else by her side and it won't be you if you keep on being indecisive like this.”

He didn't speak, but his lips parted as if to say something but then no words came out. Mia watched the way his shoulders slump, “you have been scared because you can't even point out when it wasn't just a fake setup for you, but Sunghoon, you already fell even if you're too stubborn to admit it. Even Jake can see it and that says something, you kissed her because you meant it, she kissed you back because she knew that too. So don't leave her hanging in silence once again, don't make her believe you regret it just because you're scared.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, rubbing his hands against his jeans to ease the trembling when Mia spoke again, “also, you haven't called me your pretty girl ever since she came into your life, fake girlfriend or not. I noticed it long before, and deep down you did too but you just don't want to accept the fact that things are changing.” Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle before biting his lips, “I guess so.” Mia smiled, adjusting the sleeves of her hoodie, “you've played every note of your life perfectly Sunghoon, for once, play something honest even if you fumble.” He nodded, getting up and gently patting her head before he walked out of her apartment.

The university buzzed with regular chatter, students were lounging across the campus, or were rushing towards their next class. The rain had stopped for a while, and the sun was up bright, unlike your mood. You woke up still feeling sour about last night and by the time you reached campus the hurt from last night had settled into you like a quiet storm beneath your skin. You hadn't seen Sunghoon all morning, or more like you avoided seeing him at all.

Others could feel the gloom settle on you, and their wariness only doubled your irritation. So when your class ended early, you heaved a deep sigh before gathering your belongings to at least get away from the preying eyes and hushed conversation. But the moment you stepped outside of your class, you saw him, leaning against the pillar, scrolling through his phone as he waited for you. Deciding to ignore him like he did, you walked right past him towards your next class. He looked up after a few seconds to watch you going in the direction of your next class.

“Hey,” he huffed, falling into steps beside you, which you ignored so he tried again, “I texted you.” His voice was soft and unsure as he said that to you as if he already knew the damage his actions have done and that he fucked up yet again. You scoffed as you stopped and turned towards him, your expressions unreadable, “yeah, at 3 in the morning.” He looked down for a second, guilt visibly blooming across his face.

“I was with-” he started but you cut him off, “I know, I saw her story.” He stilled slightly but you resumed walking, letting him trail beside you, “this isn't even about you meeting Mia, out of the whole 24 hours you couldn't even take a few seconds to reply to me?” You paused, exhaling hard to contain your emotions, “I waited all day, just to see Mia's story with you instead and it made me feel like I was asking too much by hoping for a single message when you deliberately told me we would talk.”

His shoulders slumped like his world was crumbling right under his feet, “I didn't mean to hurt you.” You paused your steps again, making him look back at you, “you never meant to hurt me yet you keep on doing it again and again.” The silence hung heavily, you weren't yelling or crying and you being calm somehow always made Sunghoon spiral even more. “I panicked, I always panic around you, so I went to Mia to seek some clarity.” Your eyebrows creased but you nodded, not giving into his explanations easily. “I just needed someone to help sort my head out before I ruin things again,” he mumbled dejectedly.

Your gaze softened at his dejected tone, but you sighed, feeling torn between choosing to understand him and validating your own emotions, “you did all of that yet failed to think about how not saying anything was already ruining something.” The clock above showed the time your next class was scheduled so you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “I need to go, can't miss my class.” He stopped before you could take a step closer, “can we talk later?” A tired sigh escaped your lips, looking straight ahead to avoid melting into his puppy eyes you spoke, “I don't know, you tell me, it isn't me who keeps messing up.” You smiled at him before walking away, you knew you didn't hate him, it was quite the opposite actually but you needed him to be sure of what he wanted first.

You stood by the entrance of the grocery store near your apartment, arms crossed tightly across your chest as you kept frowning. It started pouring as soon as you were done buying your fruit juice, which you drank after getting bored. Also, what kind of store doesn't keep umbrellas for sale? You thought it would be a quick stop, the sky was clear seconds ago, you didn't bring an umbrella with you or your car for that matter. Your phone had died a few minutes ago so you couldn't even distract yourself with some other things.

All you wanted was to get comfortable and watch your comfort movie to distract you from Sunghoon but the rain showed no signs of stopping. You exhaled, leaning against the glass wall of the store as your thoughts drifted off towards him again. You weren't mad at him, you were just tired of the push and pull game he was playing unintentionally. You looked towards the sky, and a few drops of rain splattered across your face, you wiped them off, contemplating whether waiting or just making a run for it would be a better option.

You decided to just run. The rain splashed against the pavement, soaking your shoes as you ran towards your apartment complex. The droplets slid into your eyelashes, making it hard for you to see, your sweatshirt clung to your body, and the cold air made your skin crawl. You turn around the corner of your apartment complex when you notice a figure talking to the security guard. You lifted your hands above your head, shielding your eyes from the rain and that’s when you saw him, Sunghoon, standing outside the security room of your apartment complex.

He turned just in time to see you, his eyes finding yours through the relentless rain. For a second, he stood still, breath hitched, his expressions unreadable and then he ran, no hesitation, no words, just the frantic sound of his shoes splashing through puddles. Your heart lurched in your chest and without thinking, your feet moved too, legs carrying you toward him, water soaking through your clothes as the world blurred around you. He wrapped his hands around you with a kind of urgency that almost made you lose your balance. One hand circled around your waist while the other cradled your head as if he was afraid you'd vanish.

“I couldn't find you anywhere,” he breathed, pulling your body closer, “I called you, texted you and even asked your parents, Heeseung, Mia, Jake and even Jay but none of them had any idea about you.” Sighing, you buried your head at the crook of his neck, “I got stuck at the grocery store and my phone died.” He buried his head on your shoulder, “I thought I lost you, that I pushed you too far.” You pulled back slightly, rain dripping down your face, “you didn't lose me, but you aren't exactly making me feel like you want to keep me either.”

“I know,” his voice cracked, “I know and I hate the fact that I made you feel like that.” He hesitantly reached up to cup your face in his, wiping the droplets of rain on your face before pressing his forehead against yours, “I don't want to run away from my feelings anymore, I don't want my fears to be the reason I'll lose you.” You grabbed the hem of his shirt, trying to ground yourself from getting overwhelmed by your feelings, “then act like it.” He didn't give you a verbal answer, just a nod of his head before his lips pressed against your forehead.

“I'll poke your eyes out if this will happen for the third time,” you mumbled, circling your hands around his waist and burying your face in his neck. He sighed, but you felt a soft chuckle leave his lips, “and I swear there won't be a third time, I can afford to lose you.” The sincerity in his voice despite his light tone made your chest tighten. You pulled away, brushing his damp hair which had fallen over his eyes, “let's get back inside and talk, we'll get sick otherwise.” He followed you without a word, hands tightly gripping yours as you led him into your apartment.

The silence inside your apartment was heavier than the rain outside after you handed him some spare clothes, a towel and guided him towards your guestroom to get cleaned up. The sound of running water echoed through the walls as you showered, and you tried to ignore the way your hands trembled as you scrubbed your skin. Now, both of you were sitting on the opposite end of your couch, all dried up and comfy, with a blanket draped across your legs. The only thing that was bridging the gap between the two of you was your hand in his, which he refused to let go.

“You know,” he started, holding your hand tighter, “I thought I understood what love felt like.” Your gaze flicked over him as you waited for him to continue. “I used to think I was in love with Mia,” your chest tightened at his words, “and maybe I was, but it was a kind of love where I knew she would never be mine, that she belonged to someone else, Jay was her beginning and end as well, and while I did love her, I never hoped.”

He glanced down at your intertwined hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles to ground himself, “with her, I was okay with caring from afar because it was easier when I didn't expect anything in return. But you, you ruined that kind of safe love for me.” You gulped as your heart thudded against your chest, he shifted closer, legs touching yours, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. “You made me greedy, made me want things, made me hope and think I could reach for something and maybe it wouldn't slip away.”

“I couldn't stand you and messed up countless times because I was afraid to care again,” he whispered, voice cracking, “I knew how it felt to love someone who was already someone else's, but you, you weren't anyone's and you weren't mine either and that scared the shit out of me.” You bit the inside of your cheeks to prevent yourself from crying, though the tears had already welled up inside your eyes. “I didn't expect to fall for you, and I don't expect that from you either. Because even if you don't, I don't want to live quietly anymore, I need you to know how I really feel about you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, still holding your hand tightly in his, you felt him exhale a shaking breath before he cupped your cheeks with his free hand to make you look at him. “I love you,” he whispered and it was so quiet you thought you heard it wrong but then you felt the way his thumb trembled slightly against your skin, and he cleared his throat to speak again, this time a little louder, “I'm in love with you, Princess. You're the first thing I think of in the morning, and my last thought before I sleep. I see you laughing with my friends, getting along with my family and it makes me breathe again, you feel like home.”

You let out a shaky breath, heavy with all the feelings that came crashing down the moment he confessed to you, “I never expected to fall for you either. But I did, somewhere between fake dating you to you being an ass and then not giving up even after I closed myself off, I did. And I hate that I care so much about you, I've never cared about a man before, but with you, I care so damn much, you make it so hard to stay mad.” You lightly hit your head on his shoulder. “And you make it so easy to love you,” he mumbled, wrapping his hands around you. “I love you too.”

The evening air inside the campus was buzzing alive with existent chatter as HYPHENIX decided to conduct an impromptu show for the students. The mini show was a hit so far, many students joined to watch. The music paused for a second, Jay and Jake reached towards water bottles and Sunghoon adjusted his mic towards his keyboard. You and Mia stood in the front corner, watching their performance and shenanigans with amused grins. Heeseung smiled at the crowd, deciding to engage in a light conversation.

“Are you having fun?” He smirked and the crowd erupted into loud cheers, Jay smiled, asking the crowd to cheer more loudly. Heeseung laughed at the enthusiasm, eyes shining as he scanned the crowd, “do you guys have any questions?” He asked, leaning his weight on one leg waiting for them to say anything when someone yelled from the back, “hey! Sunghoon! Are you still dating or not?” There was a beat of silence throughout the crowd, Jake choked on the water, and Jay chuckled into the mic. Heeseung just blinked between you both.

Sunghoon didn't even flinch, he instead adjusted the mic towards him, brows raised, and an amused smirk lacing up on his face, “yes I'm still proudly, permanently, and a little pathetically in love with her, and still dating her and I still can't believe I'm with someone so perfect.” The crowd erupted into various excited reactions, loud gasps, excited squeals, and you even heard someone shout, “he's so whipped.” You covered your face with your hands as everyone around you started gushing but you couldn't help the smile that was plastered on your face as you locked eyes with Sunghoon.

“Everyone, I'm hers and she's mine, so if you ever thought about approaching her, back off, cause I don't play when it comes to my woman.” And he shifted his mic back towards his keyboard after signalling others to start the melody of their final song of the day. Everyone laughed, mumbling choruses of, “yeah, we won't approach her.” Sunghoon's eyes found yours and he gave you a soft smile, and you knew in that moment, despite everything, he wasn't saying it to the crowd, he was saying it to you.

The show ended with a blur of cheers, laughter and fading chatter and you barely got a second to breathe before Mia held your hand and tugged you towards the boys. Jake smiled widely as he noticed you and Mia arrive near, eyes darting between you and Sunghoon who was looking at you, “someone's down bad,” he teased Sunghoon, “my man, I've been with you since we were kids and I've never seen you so expressive about your feelings in front of so many people.” Jay laughed, tugging Mia closer to him, “he didn't ever stutter, not a single awkward pause like he didn't just spend weeks pretending he hated her.”

Mia laughed along, leaning into Jay's touch but her eyes were trained on you, “I still remember Sunghoon running behind her to accept his apology, and I loved that you never gave in too easily, walk him like a dog, babe.” You choked on the air as others laughed loudly. Sunghoon's ears turned red, “okay, wow, stop.” Jake just waved his hand towards him, “no, no, no, just a few weeks ago this guy was all about ‘we are just fake dating’ and now he's declaring his undying love for her at the shows.”

“The tension between you two was insufferable at the start,” Jay amused, “it's kind of poetic how a dumb rumor turned into this.” He gestured towards Sunghoon and you. Sunghoon rolled his eyes before making his way towards you, giving your shoulder a light nudge, “alright, that's enough.” Your cheeks heated up as he looked at you, and you looked away. There was a brief pause, before Heeseung, who was packing everything up, joined in the conversation with a lazy smirk on his face, “glad the fake dating plot finally ran its course after Jay and Mia's strangers to lovers arc,” he chuckled, “two for the books, now.” He then looked at Jay and Mia teasingly.

“Are you secretly jealous that you didn't get your own cinematic romance arc yet?” Jake teased, wiggling his eyebrows in the most unserious way possible. Heeseung scoffed, tugging his bag on his shoulder, “please, why would I be jealous? I'm living the dream life, single, peaceful and unbothered.” Sunghoon jumped in with a teasing smile, “are you sure about that?” Heeseung narrowed his eyes, “what do you mean by that?” Sunghoon grinned, “you know what I meant by that.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “what are you guys talking about? Jay?” Jay nodded, “yeah, someone he's been texting nonstop these past few days.” Heeseung gave him a flat look, rolling his eyes, “I always text her.” Jake slung his hand on Heeseung's shoulder, “‘always’ meaning once every few months until recently.” Heeseung's lips parted, but before he could say anything Mia chimed in, “wait- who are we talking about? Her?” Jay shrugged, “his childhood best friend.” Heeseung sighed, rubbing his temples, “we are not doing this right now.”

“Oh but we are,” Jake grinned, leaning closer to Heeseung. Sunghoon leaned against you, “leave him alone guys, he's got his own mess to sort.” You raised your eyebrows at the implication as you pushed him off you, “there's a mess?” Heeseung shot Sunghoon a look, “traitor.” You chuckled, smiling at the exchange, “so I will take that as a yes.” Mia looked at you as she made her way towards you, linking her arm with yours, “how come both of us didn't know about your childhood friend?”

“He rarely talks about her,” Jake replied, then after a second he fake-gasped, “Heeseung, are you in love?” Heeseung's eyes widened as he pushed Jake off him, “I'll literally loosen all your drum heads right before soundcheck.” Sunghoon laughed as Jake's smile flattered. He slid his hand across your shoulder as he teased Heeseung, “think of it as karma for every time you teased me about her.” Heeseung didn't answer right away, instead his eyes found yours, “I'm glad you two got it right.”

And maybe it was the way he said it, or because you could smell Sunghoon's signature scent and his warmth against your body that made you believe he wasn't just talking about your fake dating anymore like he was talking about how your dynamic had changed with each of them, how things would be better now that everything was fine between you and Sunghoon.

You smiled, pushing Sunghoon's hand off your shoulder, to which he frowned very visibly, but you just ignored. “I'll get back my bag from the locker rooms, you guys go ahead.” Sunghoon held your hand as you stepped forward, “want me to come with you?” You declined as you bid them goodbye and everyone nodded their heads and you made your way towards the locker rooms.

You were heading down the quiet hallway from the locker rooms, your bag slung over your shoulder, the chatter of a mini show long forgotten as the sky darkened when a hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, tugging you sharply into an empty classroom before shutting the door closed. Your back hit the wall, you opened your mouth to scream, instinctively, but a warm hand pressed gently but firmly against your lips. Your heart pounded in your chest, eyes wide, then you finally recognized the person who dragged you in, Sunghoon.

“Shhh,” he whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief as he removed his hand, “were you going to yell, Princess?” You narrowed your eyes at him, as you shot back, “I was going to knee you.” He placed his hand on the wall beside your head, head tilting to the side with a teasing grin, “kinky.” Your mouth parted in astonishment, brows creasing, “Sunghoon.” His eyebrows shot up in surprise before he groaned, his free hand circling around your waist, “finally, this is the first time you've ever said my name.”

You froze for a second, completely caught off guard that he noticed. He pressed his body closer, tilting his head, “not Park, or Mr. Park or any other ridiculous nickname but my real name.” You scoffed, trying to shove him off you but he didn't move, instead his smirk just deepened, “say it again.” You rolled your eyes, “nope.” He frowned, cupping your face, “please, say it.” You sighed looking at his puppy eyes, “Sunghoon…”

“You ruin me,” he groaned and next thing you knew, his lips were on yours in a messy and heated kiss. His hands cupped your jaw, another rested on the wall to brace himself. Your fingers curled around the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. He groaned, licking your bottom lip once before pulling away, pressing his forehead against yours, “do you avoid saying my name on purpose? Or do you just like torturing me?” You heaved a breath, nose brushing against his, “you're imagining things.” He chuckled in amusement, “no I'm not, you call everyone by their name, Mia, Heeseung, Jake and even Jay, but never me.”

You swallowed, but then your chest tightened as he looked at you for an answer, “I didn't realize it mattered to you that much.” Your voice came out more softer than you intended and he kissed your nose, “it shouldn't, but every single thing you do matters so much to me.” You blinked up at him and you felt his hand rub a gentle pattern against your back. “I've kissed you, I've held you, fuck, I've nearly lost you twice, and still you never said my name,” your heartbeat stuttered, “so say it again, say my name.”

“Sunghoon,” you whispered his name like a confession only he was meant to hear. And he groaned, throwing his head back, before looking at you. “Fuck, it sounds so good when you say it,” he whispered, barely holding back. You chuckled, playing with the buttons of his shirt, “careful, you sound obsessed.” He laughed, “I am. With you.” And then he kissed you again, slow and aching, like his name on your tongue wasn't enough, he needed to hear more, like he needed all of you to stay sane.

“Stay over at mine, my family is out for a 2 day trip,” he mumbled against your lips, pressing his body closer to cage you in between him and the wall. “Umm, okay.” You sighed against his lips and he pulled away before giving you one final peck, “I can never get enough of your lips Princess.” And with the way he dived right back in to capture your lips in his, you weren't even doubting his words.

The hallway light flickered behind you as Sunghoon pushed open the door to his room, muttering something about how Heeseung's childhood best friend is coming back to the city for her 6 month exchange program and how excited Heeseung is at the news. You walk behind him, humming occasionally when you bumped against his back after he stopped abruptly. You stood beside him, eyes following his line of vision to notice the painting, the one that you had smugly won at the art auction, hanging right above his headboard.

He blinked, turning towards you, “Did you?” You smiled, entering his room before he closed the door behind him, “surprise! I asked your mom to help me with this one.” He looked at the painting before looking back at you, mouth parted in disbelief, “you liked this painting though, why would you…?” You sighed, taking off your heels and making yourself comfortable over his bed, “too many reasons, first is because I won it, other is because you liked it too, then third because like I said your room was very bland.”

He ran his hand through his hair, chuckling lightly, “you're unbelievable.” You smirked, leaning against the headboard, “I'm thoughtful.” He walked towards the bed, throwing his head on your lap, a content sigh leaving his mouth when you ran your fingers through his hair, “I hope you liked my gift Mr. Park.” He groaned, burying his face on your stomach as you laughed at him, “you're impossible, call me by my name.” You hummed, placing a kiss on his head, “okay Park Sunghoon, let's get cleaned up so that we can head to bed.”

You both stood inside his bathroom, standing side by side after both of you finished brushing off your teeth. He nudged your shoulder with his playfully and you glared, taking out your products to do your skincare routine. Sunghoon folded his arms across his chest, now taking a step back to give you some space, he stood behind you, watching you fondly through the mirror. You kept your products aside after your final step when you felt Sunghoon press a kiss against your bare shoulder, from where the strap of your tank top slipped a little.

You froze for a second, breath hitching as he gave light kisses on your shoulder. His movements weren't rushed, they weren't teasing, just soft and warm against your skin. He gave you a final kiss at the back of your ears, this one more lingering than the previous ones before he stepped back, stretching his hands nonchalantly. You shook your head at his behavior and turned around to face him, and he just placed his hands on your waist to lift you up and put you on the bathroom counter.

“Sunghoon!” You gasped, holding onto his shoulders as he adjusted your legs so he was standing in between them. He smiled, circling his hand around your waist to pull your body closer, “I think this is my favorite version of you.” You relaxed against him, tilting your head, “what version?” He hummed as if he was thinking deeply, “the one where to let me get closer, the one where you don't hide behind your coldness.” You chuckled, trying not to think about the impact his words had on you, “you're lucky that I show this version of me you know?”

He nodded, tucking your hair behind your ear, “I know, and I don't ever wanna mess that up, not again.” You sighed, placing your hand on his chest, right where his heart is, “you won't, not tonight, not ever.” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours, “I know I'm not that good with words, but I hope you know you're it for me.” You pulled him closer, head finding home at the crook of his neck, “you are not bad with words, you just speak them when they matter the most.”