Ms Caustic

Paris had a way of dressing its sins in velvet and lace. By day, it smelled of bread ovens, horse leather, and wet stone. Ladies walked beneath parasols while gentlemen debated politics in polished salons. But by night, gas lamps flickered along the boulevards like strings of captive stars behind iron balconies and lace curtains; the city hummed with secrets that smelled faintly of floral perfume, cigar smoke, and danger. A city that understood hunger; this was the city where Hyunjin belonged.

The aristocracy treated him like an exquisite poison too fascinating to avoid but too dangerous to trust. In the upper districts, where the old nobility still clung to their titles like heirlooms that refused to tarnish, no one said his full title unless necessary. In salons and parlors, he was spoken of the way people spoke of ghosts that would only cause one harm if they were invoked unnecessarily.

A nobleman. An artist of startling brilliance and, if the whispers were to be believed, something else entirely. Something not meant to walk among ordinary people, an Oddinary who had found the favor of King Louis XIV only to remain in Paris for the next few lifetimes.

He lived in a tall, narrow house near Montmartre, where painters, poets, and creatures like him drifted through the dark hours. His studio windows burned with candlelight long after the rest of the street had gone quiet. It was where the air smelled of oil paint, sulfur matches, and canvas. Your father owned a modest bookbinding shop nearby, and when business was slow, you sometimes busied yourself by carrying finished work to clients yourself. That was how you ended up climbing the narrow stairs of a studio on Rue des Abbesses, clutching a sketchbook, carefully wrapped in brown paper and twine, someone from the aristocracy had commissioned.

You expected a servant to answer the door. Instead, it opened to reveal him.

He stood barefoot on the wooden floor, tall, ethereally pale, with a spill of dark hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck with a long velvet ribbon. His shirt sleeves were rolled, streaked with old paint and charcoal. Behind him, the studio looked like a battlefield between inspiration and chaos where both sides were losing to procrastination or perhaps indecision. Paintings leaned against the walls. Half-finished canvases glowed under the soft winter light. Hyunjin himself stood in the middle of it all like something that had stepped out of a myth and forgotten how to return.

His eyes lingered on you a moment too long. Not rudely, just curiously like a cat watching something small and unexpected wander into its territory. Your fingers gripped your parcel tightly, caught mid-breath; you felt a strange mix of darkness and decadence swirl around you.

“You’ve brought the sketchbook,” he said softly; his voice had the smoothness of aged wine.

You nodded cautiously and held it out. “From Monsieur Lenoir’s bindery.”

Hyunjin took it from your hands, his fingers brushing yours for only the briefest moment, but something inside your chest fluttered strangely, like a candle wick catching flame for the first time. It was intoxicating. He noticed; you knew he had because the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly, making him look strangely hungry.

You told yourself you would not think about him again. You were sensible, practical, a daughter of the working bourgeoisie with responsibilities and a future that did not include mysterious noblemen with dangerously strange lilac-hued eyes.

But Paris had its own sense of humor. Hyunjin returned to the shop a week later with another collection of sketches that needed binding. His conversation with your father was held in hushed voices too quiet for you to decipher, but you felt his eyes follow you.

Then again, the week after, with several old leather-bound books that needed to be repaired, the faded and split covers were evidence of their repeated use. Your father adored him and everything he could bring you; nobility meant prestige, and prestige meant more money to raise your station.

Occasionally, Hyunjin would appear with no clear reason at all, browsing the shelves of your father’s store as though he was searching for the perfect gift. You tried not to watch the way Hyunjin watched you, tried not to notice how he always seemed a little too close when speaking. It was hard not to remember the faint burst of warmth that lingered when his fingers brushed yours again, like the kiss of a spring breeze as the seasons changed. Each time he was slightly too close, you would feel your heart flutter once again.

Paris was not subtle with its rumors, and you learned the truth quickly after Hyunjin began appearing at your father's shop more frequently. Ordinaries were rare among the aristocracy. His kind lived on desire, affection, and the intimate surrender of human hearts and bodies. Not always violently, sometimes gently but always inevitably. This had made your decision absolute, until it was no longer your choice.

That was how you ended up climbing the narrow stairs of a studio on Rue des Abbesses, for a second time in the rain-silvered afternoon light. The bundle of repaired first editions wrapped in a silk scarf, once again you knocked, but this time when the door slowly opened you stepped forward, crossing the threshold that would be your downfall.

Hyunjin leans against the window frame, his silk waistcoat unbuttoned just enough to be scandalous, a smirk gracing his plump lips. He looked like something that had stepped out of a myth and forgotten how to return. Your mouth felt too dry as his eyes wandered your form.

“Your father is very diligent to return my books so quickly,” he murmured, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Does he know where he sends his precious daughter?”

You swallowed and took a fortifying breath. “No, sir, I do not believe so.” You held the parcel out to him, and he stepped towards you with an elegance that was impossible, inhuman.

His voice lowered as he took the books from you, tossing them towards a sheet-covered chaise. “But you do, don’t you?”

You couldn’t move even as his long, graceful fingers brushed against your wrist. “Yes,” you breathed unevenly. His smile grew, but it showed no warmth, only something more accustomed to hunger. His fingers encircled your wrist, tugging you into him, catching you as you stumbled before he pressed his lips to yours. His kiss is not gentle; it's consuming. The way he tilts your face, the way he holds you to him, is all him keeping you under his intoxicating spell. His tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, demanding entrance, and you submit, letting him take what he wants from you in the few minutes you have before he pulls himself back to his senses and pushes you away.

Confused and discombobulated, you flee his home, tripping on the steps and skittering on the wet cobblestones until you find yourself grasping the handle of your father’s store, safety mere inches away. The pattern continues over the next few weeks: Hyunjin returns to grant your father his business, your father, in his gratitude, finishes the work he is given, and Hyunjin returns to receive his items. Until one evening, as dusk folded over the rooftops.

It was the third time that you had climbed those cursed steps to his home, Hyunjin opening the door before you even knocked. “I wondered how long it would take,” he murmured silkily. You stepped inside, letting the door click behind you in a sound that rang with finality.

Hyunjin pulled you against him once more, his fingers grasping your hair to tug your face upward, his lips bruising against yours. In a matter of moments, you found yourself lifted and then dropped onto the plush velvet of the chaise you had seen the last time you had visited, your skirts pushed up as his hands touched you everywhere. Your head spun as each kiss seemed to steal your breath until you found yourself gasping as Hyunjin’s fingers touched you where no other had

“Oh…ah…I’ve never…” you breathed heavily only to be quietened by another of his all-consuming kisses.

“Shhh, ma petite, I will ensure you enjoy this,” he whispered against your skin before one thin finger pressed inside you, followed by a second, making you stiffen beneath him. “You are doing so well already, mon cœur.” He kissed you again, and you felt your body give in to him, your legs opening wider to accommodate him. He slowly stretched you open, each movement of his digits massaging your walls and making you writhe with pleasure; the first wave of intense rapture washed over you, suddenly causing you to cry out, your legs shaking and your chest heaving while he laughed silently against your neck. You hadn’t recovered before you felt something much larger and hotter push its way inside of you, filling you and pushing you to your limit.

“Ah… Too much,” you whimpered, clinging to him uselessly, your body betraying you, seeking even more from him.

“Oh mon cœur, you are doing so well,” Hyunjin whispered, his voice sounding like silk covered steel. Snapping his hips against yours, he took exactly what he needed from you, the heat and delight that surged through you undeniable. He was not gentle, his hunger more important than your comfort, but you were too lost in him to notice when your body began to shiver, and your walls squeezed him tighter; he groaned, his eyes darkening and his teeth sharpening as he thrust into you harder still until he let out a loud and desperate moan filling you with the warmth of his seed.

You lay still beneath him, the realization dawning on you slowly that you had let him take your first moment of sacred love from you without even a whisper of protest. “Sir…” you mumbled weakly, feeling as though your whole body was suddenly too heavy.

“Hyunjin.” He smiled softly, the first smile that actually reached his eyes that you had seen since you had become acquainted with him. “Call me Hyunjin.”

“Hyunjin, I….” you began, unsure of what you should say.

“You should return to your father.” He finished for you, straightening his clothes and helping you with yours. “You will feel better in the morning, ma petite”

Hyunjin helped you to the door, your movements stiff and body sore, holding the door for you before closing it behind you and locking it, leaving you standing alone on the stairs to the cobblestone street to think about the choice you had just made.

You managed to avoid him for exactly a week before you could avoid him no longer. One unfortunately cool Autumn day, after spending hours hunched over ledgers, you stepped into the mostly empty streets only to find him waiting for you. Unlike before, his pale skin seemed pearlescent, the lilac hue in his eyes mixing pleasantly with golden brown irises and his smile less predatory. You stopped several feet from him, unsure of what you should do, the memory of your heavy and aching body from your last encounter ingrained in your mind.

“I seek only to be a confidant for the afternoon.” He bowed his head in greeting. “Would you care to join me for a meal?”

You smiled politely; just a meal would not hurt you. After all, you would be in public; he could not act untowardly in public. “I will join you, Hyunjin.” His smile was genuine as he stepped forward, offering you his arm and leading the way through the breezy cobblestone streets and alleys until you reached a café near the river. You slowly realized that this was one of the quiet corners of Paris where the aristocracy rarely wandered, but artists flourished.

It began with wine, then laughter, and before you could really think, you had once again fallen under his hypnotic spell, only this time he held himself to a higher decorum than he had in private. “You are different now. Why?” You watched him carefully as he sipped wine and leaned leisurely in the chair.

He paused, seemingly needing to find a palatable way to explain things to you. “I was hungry the first night we met, starving by the time of your second visit, but now I am sated.” His eyes searched yours in hopes you could read between the lines, but instead he leant closer, his voice a whisper like velvet sliding across gravel. "I am a parasite draped in silk, mon cœur; people that… grow close to me… they do not live. You shared some of your life with me, and I am eternally grateful, but it is possible that I will take too much."

You met his gaze. “I know,” you replied simply; perhaps it was the wine, maybe the warmth of the tiny cafe, but the feeling that settled over you now that you were sat so close to him was not one of fear but one of fascinated inebriety.

“Then you do me a kindness that I can never repay,” he murmured, sipping slowly from his glass. So it began in earnest without illusion, without promises or declarations of love, just evenings spent in places that you would not be recognized. In places where Oddinaries could entertain their human companions without judgement or whispers.

-

Winter came as it always did, icy winds whipping the city streets and scattering the last of the leaves that clung to trees for longer than they should have. When the snow did come, it blanketed the region with glittering piles of pristine whiteness covering the grime that clung to the cobblestones. In his candlelit studio where music drifted from an old gramophone, and the scent of paint lingered in the air, Hyunjin was once again painting you. Never formally posed, always just moments in time that he wanted to keep. You reading near the window, you laughing at something foolish he said, or you half asleep on the chaise while rain tapped the glass.

“I want you to leave Paris.” His voice was loud in the hush of the room.

You looked back at him, his brush hovering mid-stroke, his eyes soft with the plea of a man who knew what he was doing was wrong. “You asked me to leave before, then came to find me.” You sighed, laying your book on the floor beside the armchair you were sitting in.

He began painting again, a frown gracing his beautiful features. “I want to protect you, but I can’t be apart from you,” he admitted, softly stepping around the easel to reach you. “You deserve more than this, more than me.”

“Hyunjin. I am happy.” You smiled softly. “You do not feed on me often, and I have had no ill effects.”

“Mon cœur,” He whispered quietly. “I will kill you eventually.”

“Eventually is not tonight, Hyunjin.” You chuckled breathlessly, standing to meet him, your lips pressing carefully to the corner of his lips. The low vibration that emanated from his chest was all the warning you were given before he picked you up effortlessly and pinned you to the wall, your skirts tugged away from your body as his fingers plundered your entrance, the sharp twinge of pain quickly morphing into pure bliss.

His lips pressed to your throat as you helped him with his breeches, only clinging to his shoulders when he was pushing his thick cock into your now dripping hole. “Then I will feast from you tonight to prove you wrong, mon cœur.” Your mind lost all sense of time every time he was inside you, giving you pleasure so pure that you could never give him up. You cried out softly as his leaking head bumped against your cervix, coaxing you to move in rhythm with him. Your hips rolled on their own accord while you wailed, your head falling back against the wall as he sped up his thrusts, bouncing you like a ragdoll in his arms.

“Hyunjin,” you cried as your high crashed over you, your walls clamping down around him as he continued to roll his hips. His lips met yours as he helped you to ride out your pleasure. But he did not stop; he only spread your thighs further and snapped his hips against you harder, the loud smack of wet flesh mixing with shattered breaths and your weakening sobs.

“After this I will take you to bed and take you again and again until morning,” he growled, his long fingers moving between you to press harshly against your pearl.

“Gods. Hyunjin,” you sobbed, your voice cracking as you again tightened around him, this time a gush of fluid covering his lower half as your breathing became labored. The world tilted sharply as your fingers tangled in his hair, his voice growing rougher with each whisper of his name from your lips.

“So good for me, mon cœur, so pretty as you fall apart.” He muttered savagely against your cheek, kissing the tears that were now rolling down your face. He pulled himself from you, leaving you empty and confused before throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to his room, where he stripped you nude before entering you once more. Your mind, body, and soul shattered somewhere between the second and third time you reached heights that seemed impossible for humans. You were hovering somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, your limbs getting heavier, your breathing becoming more difficult until Hyunjin finally finished with you, filling you with the warmth of his seed and leaving the world darkening in front of your eyes; it was like drowning in velvet.

When you awoke, Hyunjin was pacing, a frantic look in once again golden brown eyes, stopping only as you groaned softly to rush to your side. His hand gripped yours in an iron-like grip.

"Forgive me, mon cœur, forgive me," he whispered like a prayer you would make to the Lord in church when the world felt like it was ending. "I took too much, I was too rough..."

You blinked at him languidly, your eyelids feeling heavier than usual. "I'm fine, Hyunjin, just tired from a night of debauchery," you tried joking, but he seemed to sink further into himself.

"I will walk you home, I will tell your father I have defiled you, and you must be kept away from me." He mused, collecting your things to help you dress. "Perhaps, I could warn him that I am being treated for a wasting illness that would keep him vigilant of your health."

You allowed him to dress you and carry you through his home, each idea sounding more absurd than the other. "Or, we could just be more careful?" you whispered, hopefully interrupting his stream of consciousness.

Hyunjin's face softened for a moment before slowly turning sad. "I will be the death of you, my dearest girl."

-

Spring finally made its presence known when the breeze began to warm, and the pale shoots of new growth covered the trees that surrounded the streets of Montmartre. As the city returned to life, your father's binding business had grown on the coattails of Hyunjin's reputation. No longer did you need to spend hours going through ledgers and occasionally delivering finished products; your father hired others to do that for you, and you now spent your days at home in the growing wealth that came with success.

Hyunjin was open to taking full advantage of this fact and regularly took you on tours of the gardens and galleries dotted across the many arrondissements, giving you a taste of the world that you had never previously imagined.

It is late afternoon when a black lacquered carriage arrives outside of your home. You watched from the upstairs window, waiting for Hyunjin to visit, but when he steps from the door that is opened for him by the driver, your eyes widen. Such extravagance will never go unnoticed, but as he made his way towards your home, you could not resist going to him despite your shortness of breath by the time you reached him.

Today, Hyunjin looked every bit the aristocrat, his silk cravat tied with effortless precision, and his long, dark hair tied low with a velvet ribbon as he stared out at the golden glowing cobblestones of the Champs-Élysées. But you saw the flicker of something inhuman in the way his shadow seemed to move independently of the rest of the world in the late afternoon sun.

"We are almost there, mon cœur," he smiled, his voice a low, melodic cello note. He reached out, his gloved hand holding yours as you stared out of the carriage window at the world he belongs in and that you are just interloping upon.

Still in awe, you grinned at him, "Where are we going, Hyunjin?" This was only the second time you had ever seen this part of the city where the tree-lined avenue spilled into gardens and luxurious restaurants. He didn't answer just pressed his lips to the back of your hand, the kiss lingering and soft.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the Arc de Triomphe. The brand-new limestone monument stood as a massive sentinel against the afternoon sky at the edge of the city. The huge grassy expanses of garden that surrounded it were sparsely filled with people enjoying the warm spring air. Hyunjin tightened his grip on your hand as the driver opened the carriage door for you; bystanders stared as Hyunjin emerged into the sunlight, helping you down, before placing your hand in the crook of his arm and leading you closer to the magnificent structure.

"It’s beautiful," you whispered, though your breath hitched, overwhelmed that he would bring you to such a special place; your body swayed slightly even with his support.

His smile grew but didn't fully reach his eyes. "Be careful, mon cœur," he murmured, steadying you. "You have grown paler since I got to you."

"It is nothing, Hyunjin, I am just tired." You smiled softly, taking in the intricate carvings. The vault held the names of victors that you would never know or care about, but the carvings were among the most beautiful things you had ever seen.

Away from the view of onlookers, Hyunjin removed his gloves and cupped your face, the smoothness of his skin on yours warming you from within. "Look at me, mon cœur, truly look at me, for just a moment." His voice sounded desperately human for a moment; you met his warm lilac-tinged eyes and took in the sorrow that shimmered deep within them. "I am leaving Paris tomorrow."

"Hyunjin, I don't understand." Your heart stuttered in your chest.

"I have spent my life taking," he began, his voice trembling. "Taking beauty, taking inspiration, taking... life. It is my nature. I didn't know how to stop. But then I found you, and for the first time, I wanted to give…” his forehead dropped to rest against yours.

Your eyes grew wet. "I don't understand," you cried softly, clutching at his silk lapels. "I want to be with you. I don't care if I'm tired".

"I care!" he broke, his voice cracking with a raw, human sob. He pulled you into a crushing embrace, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. "Every day I stay with you, you grow thinner. Your pulse grows fainter. I am a poison, and I am killing the only thing I have ever truly worshipped."

"I cannot be without you," you wailed quietly. Hyunjin caught a tear from your cheek with his thumb, looking at it as if it were a diamond. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, bittersweet kiss to your lips, a kiss that tasted of salt and a desperate, protective love.

"Get well for me," he murmured against your mouth. "Bloom again, my beautiful muse. And when you are strong enough to withstand me, maybe I will return to you as more man than shadow." Untangling himself from your arms, he retreated back to the carriage, the pink and orange hues of the beginning of dusk painting him as ethereal. The door swung shut quickly behind him before the horses started pulling away. Leaving you alone in the cooling air.

-

Spring gave way to summer, and as the warmth and length of each day increased, so did your father's wealth and influence. Buoyed by Hyunjin's influence, you found yourself being moved to a grander house in a gas lamp-lit street far from the streets of Montmartre, where you had begun your dalliance with Hyunjin. But your strength did not follow suit; your weakness only increased as you failed to leave your room for long periods at a time, only taking company when your father insisted before returning to the window of your room to watch the street below, hoping you would see him return to you.

The smell of jasmine permeated the air as you walked the Champs-Élysées, the sweet scent not erasing the bitter taste that remained from your last visit, and that painful night those few months ago. You had not returned there until today when your father insisted you leave the house for your health, that the sun would help with your pallor, so your chaperone, Charlotte, had taken you to the one place you had dreaded revisiting. Carrying a basket of light refreshments, she led you towards one of the tree-shaded grassy verges where she laid out a lace-covered blanket for you to sit on while she left you to read as she fetched some treats from one of the bakeries you had passed only minutes earlier.

Opening your book on your lap, you stared at the printed words, the dappled light creating random patterns upon the pages; you couldn't concentrate; you found it hard to concentrate on anything other than Hyunjin. The breeze stirred warm and fragrant, gently fluttering the pages, but you didn't move to stop them; it didn't matter. The bitterness that had taken root in your soul was spreading like a slow-acting poison; it dulled everything around you so you no longer really felt anything other than deep sadness and regret for giving so much of yourself to Hyunjin.

The sound of musical laughter caught your attention, brought you out of your melancholic thoughts and back to the present moment. Your chaperone was returning, though not alone; the young man beside her carried a wicker basket loaded with pastries and bread. His delicate features caused your heart to flip momentarily; he was obviously not of the human world; he was too beautiful, but you were sure he was not like your Hyunjin.

"Madame," Charlotte smiled brightly, "The baker's assistant assured me that it would be best if you selected your own croissant." The man smiled dazzlingly, dimples appearing on his freckled cheeks, as he lowered himself before you so you could pick whatever you wanted from the basket. Your hand hovered over the still warm pastries, your eyes unable to focus on anything other than the cerulean eyes that looked at you like he could read your heart.

"I would suggest this one, but the choice is yours, my lady." He spoke softly, his voice like honeyed silk.

"Thank you," you whispered, selecting the one he suggested, a feeling of warmth and comfort filling you unexpectedly.

"Thank you, sir," Charlotte repeated, but for a moment the world seemed to still, then fall away; he couldn't be a baker’s assistant; his waistcoat looked like it was made of fine silk, and his long silver blonde hair was tied with velvet ribbon. He was an Oddinary. Your heart suddenly ached, causing him to flinch; his attention fell back on you.

"My lady? Are you alright?" His voice deepened, the blue of his eyes changing to the color of stormy seas as his concern grew.

"I am not feeling that well," you whispered breathlessly, the pain in your chest aching through your whole body, "Charlotte, we must return home."

Charlotte's eyes widened in alarm. "Ma'am, of course. I will summon a carriage immediately." She turned and rushed onto the promenade, flapping her hands in worry, trying to catch the attention of one of the drivers nearby.

"I can help you if you let me," he murmured desperately, the concern in his voice clear despite the softness of his tone. "Please let me."

"Keep away from me," you hissed. "You cannot help me." You stepped back from him, your eyes not leaving him to make sure he could not touch you.

His face paled slightly as he frowned, his beautiful eyes almost pooling with tears. "Hyunjin sent me to help you," he whispered softly, noticing the way your eyes widened at the mention of the name. "He worries about you. He has stopped painting, stopped drawing, and stopped living. He cannot be without you, but he cannot be with you; he doesn't wish for you to waste away."

Charlotte was rushing back towards you with a police officer and carriage driver in tow. Realizing you only had moments, you closed your eyes, allowing the tears to begin falling. "I am not able to live without him; tell him that I will die either way; there is no life to live without him in it".

"Madame," the officer interrupted before you feigned fainting, allowing the officer to catch you. He did, before he turned his head towards the carriage driver. "Get your carriage now; she needs a doctor."

You stayed in the officer's arms, allowing him to carry you in a way that was modest enough for an emergency, as Charlotte wrung her hands in worry, babbling about you being well only moments ago. The young Oddinary managed to disappear into the crowd that began to appear wanting to know what the fuss was about. By the time you had miraculously come around and been put into the carriage, Charlotte had promised you that she would never take you back to the Champs-Élysées.

-

Autumn returned to Paris slowly; the gold and rust of the fallen leaves gave way to the shrouded mists that often clouded the city streets in the early morning hours. Rain pattered against the windows of your father's home; the grey light bled through the curtains of the parlor, illuminating the pile of letters stacked with trembling neatness, matched the wilting lilies on the mantle, and the shawl draped over the armchair, the detritus of someone who now moved through life as though they were no longer whole. You sat on the love seat closest to the fire; you felt a chill despite the flames that danced in the hearth, the fine china cup that Charlotte had bought you now cold.

Despite the still sun-filled days, your bones grew frigid, a cough rattled your chest even when the breeze blew warm. You knew that you were no longer the girl you had been a year ago, young, hopeful, and naive. You were now haunted by an ache that would never leave you, a phantom that existed only within the walls of your father's home. Spending hours reading poetry by the window, your fingers traced the lines of flowery words, but you absorbed none of them, or staring at the collection of sketches and half-finished paintings you had rescued from abandonment in the first few days after Hyunjin left.

That warm afternoon in the spring was the last time you set foot in his home on Rue des Abbesses. From the moment you had stepped inside, you had been stopped by the empty blankness of it: the chaise you had spent nights sitting on was covered by a sheet, the easel he would use beside the window was gone, and the endless shelves of books now stood empty; only scraps of paper that must have fallen in his rush to leave remained. You collected what you could as tears streamed down your face; mostly, they contained rough images of you doing mundane things. Occasionally, there was a flower or a still life, but all his finished works were gone. You had returned home with a parcel of loose paper wrapped in a silk handkerchief that you had found and tied with one of the velvet ribbons Hyunjin would tie his hair with, the ribbon becoming the last piece of him that you could hold.

Finally, the frost came. It silvered the rooftops of Paris before dawn and clung to the iron balconies like mourning lace. Autumn let the summer finally depart the city without fanfare, leaving only brittle leaves and skies the color of old bruises. Paris breathed in the chilly air deeply, but you could not. You began to spend your days in bed, refusing to even allow the curtains to be pulled, eating only when someone forced you and sinking into the melancholy that had replaced a good part of your soul.

It was just after sunset when a loud knock echoed through the house, the sound sharper than it should have been; followed by the sound of your father's voice, first muffled but growing in anger until he was shouting. Your bedroom door swung open. "You will not see her, I forbid it." Your father's voice was harsh.

Hyunjin strode into your room, faltering when his golden eyes found you.

"Hyunjin," you breathed shakily. "You came back." Tears tracked down your cheeks, and you reached for him as he walked to your bedside and fell to his knees.

"Mon cœur, forgive me; you were meant to flourish in my absence, not fade." Hyunjin almost sobbed before placing soft kisses on your knuckles.

"You did this to her?" Your father asked with a cold calmness that you had never seen.

"I thought distance would spare you from ruin, but I have only condemned you to a slower agony." Hyunjin's voice cracked in a way that was far too human, his eyes not lifting from your hands. "I never thought..."

"No, you did not think," your father muttered bitterly. "You left her and expected the world to just continue? You think I did not know that you would sneak her away? You think I did not know what you were doing unchaperoned in the darkness? I thought you had disappeared because you had gotten her with child and did not wish to do the right thing, not that you had stolen her very soul from her".

Hyunjin hung his head; the guilt and regret that rolled off him palpable. "I prayed that you would move on, that you would find a suitor that would bring you happiness and children."

Your father's eyes remained hard, a sharp bark of cold laughter leaving him. "Prayers of the damned are not heard by anyone." He turned, leaving you alone with Hyunjin; the weight of his words obviously affected him.

The silence that settled after your father’s departure was thick, oppressive; only the crackle of the dying fire and your own ragged breaths filled the space. Hyunjin knelt before you, hands trembling in yours, his golden eyes luminous with unshed tears. The autumn dusk pressed at the window, painting the room in bruised violets and shrouded gold.

You reached out, your fingers feather-light against his cheek, feeling the chill of the night clinging to his skin. “Hyunjin, I tried to live as you wished. I tried to forget...” your voice faltered, breaking on the swell of your grief, “but the world is empty without you.”

He pressed a kiss to your palm, desperate, reverent. “I am so sorry. I never wanted to be your ruin, only your refuge. But I see now, my absence was as cruel as any curse.”

You leaned forward, your forehead resting against his. “If loving you is a curse, then let it be ours to bear.”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, his fingers curling around yours as if anchoring himself to your mortal warmth. “If you will have me,” he whispered, voice raw, “I will not leave you again, whatever the cost. I will face your father’s wrath, the world’s scorn, anything but your sorrow.”

The weight of your father’s condemnation lingered, a shadow in the corners of the room, but you clung to Hyunjin as if he were the only light left. He drew you into his embrace, careful and trembling, cradling you as though you were spun from glass and longing.

Outside, the city’s bells tolled for nightfall, and the wind carried the scent of dying leaves through the open window. An omen of what would soon be realized.

-

The first snow arrived like a funeral veil.

It drifted past the windows of Hyunjin's home in silent white sheets, obscuring the world beyond the glass until nothing remained but pale ghosts of trees and the black skeletons of the surrounding buildings. Frost crawled across the panes in twisting patterns that resembled ancient runes, and every gust of wind made the old house groan as though something buried beneath it longed to be heard.

The fire struggled in the hearth. Its orange glow painted the room in wavering shadows that stretched and twisted over the walls, transforming familiar objects into strange silhouettes. The darkness seemed alive tonight, gathering in corners and beneath furniture, patiently waiting for the flames to die.

You sat wrapped in a faded velvet blanket, your body still weakened by the heartbreak that had nearly claimed you. Even now, weeks later, your bones felt hollow. Your pulse fluttered beneath your skin like a trapped moth.

There had been moments before his return when you had wished to see death standing at the foot of your bed. But perhaps worse, there had been moments when Hyunjin had looked at you with hunger. Not because he wished you harm, because he had been terrified, truly terrified that your dying soul would call to the darker parts of him. The parts he spent every waking moment fighting.

A kettle whistled softly.

Hyunjin emerged from the shadows carrying a porcelain teacup. The steam curled upward like wandering spirits. "Drink," he said. His voice was low enough to disappear into the crackling of the fire.

You accepted the cup; his fingers brushed against yours, cold despite the hot cup in his hands. But they were always cold now, no matter how close he stood to the flames, no matter how many blankets covered him, and no matter how tightly he held you.

"You're staring at me." A faint smile touched his lips.

"I am," you murmured softly, still admiring his beautiful face.

"Why?" His gaze lingered on your face, his eyebrows crinkling just slightly.

"Because you're still here." You smiled serenely; his smile vanished instantly. "I keep expecting to wake up and discover I imagined it." Your chest tightened. "Hyunjin..."

"You were dying." His voice sharpened unexpectedly; the words seemed torn from him. His eyes lifted to meet yours; the gold glimmered faintly beneath the lilac in his irises, something ancient and inhuman. "I thought I had lost you."

Silence settled between you, heavy and almost suffocating.

You set the teacup aside and reached for his hand. The moment your fingers touched his, some of the tension left his shoulders. "You didn't lose me."

"No." His thumb traced the inside of your wrist right over your thready pulse. "But I almost did." The way he said it made the room feel smaller. As though the shadows themselves were listening.

You swallowed. "Hyunjin..."

"Hm?" He hummed, placing another log beside the hearth for when he would need to stoke the flames.

"What happens to creatures like you when they kill their human partner?" Your words were the softest whisper, but the question struck him like a blade; his hand froze.

The fire cracked sharply, the only thing that dared make a sound. For several moments, he didn't speak, didn't move, just stared at the flames before him.

"Who told you to ask that?" The venom that bled into his voice was unmistakable, as though the question alone could destroy everything.

"No one." You swallowed hard as he turned back to you, the darkness in his eyes showing his burgeoning anger.

His gaze narrowed. "Then why?"

You looked into the flames, your nerves not allowing you to meet his eyes any longer. You had seen him watching over you, seen the exhaustion beneath his eyes and the fear. But you had seen something else too, something that looked horribly like temptation and need. "I want the truth."

"You already know the truth." He dismissed you almost too easily.

"No," you turned toward him. "I know the stories people whisper in corners."

His jaw clenched. "Stories exist for a reason."

"Then tell me." You pleaded; the silence stretched.

At last, he leaned back in his chair; his expression had become distant, as though he were looking through years instead of across the room. "If one of my kind consumes a soul completely..." His voice was quiet, “...we become stronger." The flames reflected in his eyes, making the lilac of his irises disappear momentarily. "Years of life are added to our own."

"How many?" You asked carefully, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It depends on the soul." He sighed, sounding almost like he was reciting a fact.

The answer sent a chill through your body. "You make it sound like a currency."

A bitter laugh escaped him. "To creatures like me, it is."

You stared, chewing the inside of your cheek before you were brave enough to speak, "and if you took mine?"

His eyes snapped to yours; the room seemed to darken despite the flames in front of you both. "I never would."

"But if you did," you pressed gently, needing to know what would happen.

The muscles in his throat tightened. "I wouldn't need to feed for decades." The words came reluctantly, like a confession.

"But that's not all, is it?" You swallowed, knowing he was holding something back.

"No." He looked away, shamed and guilty. "I would lose the bond."

Your breath caught in your throat. "The bond between us?"

"Yes." The single word sounded devastating. He stood abruptly and crossed the room; the shadows seemed to follow him. "I would lose you."

You watched his rigid silhouette beside the window; snow drifted beyond the glass, making the world look like a graveyard.

"And what would happen to you?" You breathed.

For a long moment, he said nothing, as though he had to weigh his words carefully. Then he laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "I don't know." His reflection stared back at him from the dark window. "Some say we lose pieces of ourselves every time we take a soul." His voice dropped lower. "Others believe we become monsters, well more monstrous than we already are."

"You don't believe that." You murmured, worrying the inside of your lip.

He finally turned. The look in his eyes made your heart ache. "I believe I've seen it."

The room fell silent again. You could almost hear the snow landing against the roof. Slowly, you rose from your chair; your legs trembled visibly. Hyunjin crossed the room immediately, with one hand settled at your waist before you could stumble. The gesture was instinctive, both protective and possessive.

You looked up at him. "If I become ill again..."

"No." The answer came too fast, too sharp.

"Hyunjin," you begged, your voice sounding tired and slightly hollow.

"No." His grip tightened on you.

"If I begin dying..." you tried again.

"Stop." His voice cracked; the sound startled both of you. You had never heard him sound afraid before. His eyes glistened in the firelight. "Don't ask me this."

"But you know what I'm going to say." You almost whimpered.

"I know." His breathing had become uneven. "And the answer is still no."

You reached up and touched his face. He closed his eyes instantly. Leaning into your hand. Like a starving man seeking warmth. "If my body fails me," you whispered, "I don't want to die alone."

His lips parted. "I would never leave you, not again, not ever."

"I know." You breathed wearily.

"I would stay until your last breath." The agony in his voice nearly broke your resolve.

"Then if the end comes..." You whispered, his eyes opened. "...let it be you."

The room became utterly still. Even the fire seemed to quiet. Hyunjin stared at you as though you'd spoken a curse. "You would ask that of me?"

"I would trust you with it." You mumbled.

His expression crumpled, not completely, just enough for you to glimpse the devastation beneath. "I have spent every day fighting the hunger that wants to take you from me." His voice was barely audible. "And now you're asking me to become the thing I fear most."

Tears burned behind your eyes. "I'm asking because I love you, Hyunjin."

His eyes closed as a shudder ran through him. "You make impossible things sound beautiful," his voice sounded ancient, tired, and broken.

The wind howled. Snow struck the windows. The world beyond the glass panes vanished beneath white darkness.

At last he pulled you against him. You felt his arms wrap around you. Felt the cold of his body. Felt the fierce way he held you, as though he could shield you from death itself. His lips brushed your forehead with a kiss so gentle it hurt. "If that day ever comes..." The words trembled. "...I will be there."

You buried your face against his chest. "And?"

His arms tightened. "And I will hate myself for it." A tear slipped down your cheek; Hyunjin lowered his head. His forehead rested against yours.

The firelight caught the gold in his eyes, turning them molten. Devastatingly beautiful, dangerous, and devoted.

"But listen to me." His voice became firm. Almost commanding. "That day is not tonight." You nodded slowly. "Not this winter." His thumb brushed away the tear on your cheek. "Not for many years."

The shadows gathered around the edges of the room. The freezing snow fell outside. Yet somehow, standing in his arms, you felt safer than you ever had. As though death itself waited beyond the door... And Hyunjin stood between you and it. Even if it was only for now.

-

Spring arrived quietly; no fanfare accompanied it, no celebration. Just glimmers of green dusting the dark, cold branches of the trees and puddles that grew larger in the sun as the days wore on.

The snow melted from the roads around your father's house, giving way to the beginning of wildflowers and soft green grass in the garden. Birds nested in the oak tree once more. Warm sunlight spilled across stone walls that had spent months imprisoned beneath frost.

The world was waking, but you were not; your room smelled of lavender and old books. Fresh air drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of blooming roses from the garden below, but even that sweetness could not disguise the truth lingering in every corner of the chamber.

Your time was running out, your body failing. It wasn't truly sudden; it was simply inevitable, like the ocean's tide returning to shore. Hyunjin's return in the autumn had bought you months. Months of stolen mornings, laughter beside the fireplace, walks through the snow-covered streets when your strength had allowed it. Months of being loved by Hyunjin once more. But it would not last forever; you had always known that.

Now the sunlight painted pale gold across your blankets as you lay against a mountain of pillows, too exhausted to sit upright for long. The sound of the bedroom door opening made your eyes flutter toward it. Hyunjin stood in the doorway, and for a moment neither of you spoke.

The sight of him stole what little breath remained in your lungs. He looked exactly as he always had, beautiful and untouched by the passage of time. His dark hair was tied at the nape of his neck with a long velvet ribbon, a silk waistcoat in the color of mulberry wine making his eyes seem even more inhuman. Yet something about him seemed older now, as though grief had already begun carving itself into his soul.

Slowly, he crossed the room. "You should be resting."

A faint smile touched your lips. "I spend all my time resting."

His mouth twitched at the corner. "A fair point, mon cœur."

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, and immediately his hand found yours, as if he could not bear the distance, as if every second mattered now.

"You came early." You murmured quietly.

"The sun was rising." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "I wanted to see it with you."

You turned your head toward the window; pink and gold stretched across the horizon, the morning sky looked painted by angels or perhaps ghosts. "Do you remember," you whispered, "when I thought I wouldn't survive the winter?"

His expression tightened. "Don't."

You smiled sadly. "...Hyunjin."

"I don't want to talk about that." He pleaded, his voice trembling on the last word.

"You told me it would not be for many years," You breathed softly.

His eyes closed, and for a moment he looked almost angry not at you, at fate or perhaps the world, at everything he could not fight any longer. When he opened them again, they glistened. "I know."

Silence settled gently between you, heavy with everything neither of you needed to say aloud. Eventually you squeezed his hand. "Come here."

His gaze lifted, and without hesitation he slipped onto the bed beside you carefully. One arm wrapped around your shoulders as he drew you against his chest. You sighed; the familiar cold of him felt comforting now. Your head settled beneath his chin; his heartbeat remained slow and steady beneath your ear, a rhythm you had fallen asleep to countless times, a rhythm that would continue long after yours stopped. The thought should have frightened you; instead it only made you sad.

"I love you." The words escaped before you could stop them. Hyunjin's arms tightened instantly as though he were afraid you might slip through his fingers like smoke.

"I love you too." His voice cracked; the sound broke your heart.

You tilted your head to look at him, his eyes holding the sadness of someone who had already known too much loss. You reached up, pressing your lips to his, pouring all your unspoken desires into it, your hands sliding up his chest knowingly.

Hyunjin groaned quietly, "ma petite, please do not tempt me more than you already do." His arms tightened around you to hold you even closer.

"Hyunjin... please just once more," you mumbled against his lips. "I, I need to feel you."

Hyunjin relented; you knew he would. He had come back to you already hungry, and despite your protests that he needed to feed, he had refused. He lifted you, easily pushing aside your pillows to lay you beneath him, his hardness pressing against you before you had even really begun.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he rasped against your neck, sliding his hands down your body to the bottom of your night dress, "tell me if I am not gentle enough."

His cold fingertips traced up your legs, pushing the fabric you wore higher as he went, each movement slow and gentle as though memorizing you in a way you didn't quite understand; his lips followed, pressing softly against your lips, cheeks, throat, and chest, worshipping you with tenderness that seemed reverent. When his fingers found their way to your folds, he groaned, musically slowing further when he heard your gasp.

"Hyunjin, my love, please," you whimpered beneath him, "please".

He pressed another soft kiss to your lips, one filled with promises he wished he could keep. "I will give you everything you need, mon cœur."

You shuddered as he pressed one long finger inside you, your walls accepting him without resistance, with how desperately you needed him.

"You feel like heaven," he purred, pushing another digit inside you to ensure you were ready. You sighed in pleasure, his thumb caressing your pearl with practiced grace. Slipping his fingers from you, he slid his thick, heavy cock through your folds, collecting your wetness before slowly pushing himself inside you. Your walls stretched, the feeling of pure bliss filling you the moment he filled you completely.

"Gods..." You sobbed, your fingers gripping his arms tightly as you arched into him.

"There are no gods here, mon cœur," Hyunjin rasped, rolling his hips languidly. "Only you... only me... only this". Each movement pulling exquisite pleasure from your body. You closed your eyes tightly, reveling in the feeling that was washing over you in waves, each one sending you higher until you were about to shatter. "Look at me." He commanded gently.

Your eyes snapped open before you could register what was happening, meeting his, once again, golden eyes. His forehead rested against yours as he pulled one of your legs up around his waist. The cry that fell from your throat as he sped up the angle of his length, sending fire through your veins, had him claiming your mouth to swallow every sound you made.

Your body shook, and your breath weakened further as you fell over the edge of your high, your chest heaving as Hyunjin groaned desperately, stilling deep within you as you felt the warmth of his seed fill you. "I love you, Hyunjin, I love you".

"Mon cœur," he drawled, almost sounding inebriated, his head buried in your neck, leaving languid kisses on your skin, which now glowed luminous in the early morning light.

Still tangled within the softness of your sheets, his fingers traced the sunken curve of your cheeks, hollow of your throat, until he reached your pulse. The slowing, fragile flutter of your heartbeat barely registered beneath his touch, the sound of your now quietly rasping breath registering in his ears. Horror flared in his heart. "No... Please no... Mon cœur, stay with me," his voice broke, a desperate whisper against your hair. He pressed a trebling kiss to your temple, his hands moving in a panic to redress you, to keep your cooling skin warm, to ward off the inevitable.

A ghost of a smile crept across your face, bittersweet and secret. "It's alright, Hyunjin, this is what I wanted. Every touch... every kiss... All of you."

He shook his head, eyes wide with horror and regret. "I have damned you." His tears fell, warm and silent, marking time with your fading breath.

"No, Hyunjin, I did." Tears spill down your cheeks, mingling with his. "I just wanted to be yours one last time."

He understands then, the truth blooming like poison in his chest. “You knew,” he whispers, voice breaking. “You knew it would kill you.”

You manage a small guilty nod.

He shakes his head, denial a litany on his lips as he presses frantic kisses to your eyelids, your brow, your mouth, trying to breathe life back into you. "I will find a way to save you, I... Please... you are my heart... my everything. You can't..."

"You gave me life, Hyunjin, now I am giving you mine." You shush him with a whisper of a kiss, your word growing narrower and dimmer as the minutes pass.

Hyunjin held you tighter, as though his sheer will could tether you to him, to keep you beside him always. The sunlight continued climbing higher; its warmth spilled across the bed, across your blankets, across your intertwined bodies. You watched dust motes dance through the golden beams like tiny stars suspended in the air. Beautiful, fragile, temporary, just like your life.

"Hyunjin?" You breathe so quietly anyone else would have missed it. "Thank you, my love."

The words shattered something inside him; you felt it, felt the tremor that ran through his body, the way his breathing faltered. "For what?"

"For finding me." A tear slipped down your cheek. "For coming back for me... for loving me."

His face disappeared into your hair. "I should be thanking you, mon cœur"

Your vision blurred, the edges growing darker. "Why?"

His answer came quietly as grief had stripped away every mask, every defense, every carefully guarded wall he had constructed in the eternity he had walked the Earth. "Because before you, I only existed." His voice shook. "But with you..." A trembling breath passed through his lips. "...I lived."

The sunlight wrapped around both of you, the gentle golden light endless as it warmed the room. You wished you could stay there forever, in his arms, in that moment. But some journeys were meant to end.

Your breathing slowed; each inhale felt more distant than the last, the quiet way it felt like slowly slipping underwater. You felt no fear, only peace, only love, only your Hyunjin.

The final thing you heard was his voice, soft against your hair. "I love you." The final thing you felt was his embrace. Holding you as though he could keep your soul from drifting away. The final thing you saw was sunlight. Then everything became still.

Hyunjin remained exactly where he was, one arm around your shoulders, the other entwined with your fingers. The silence that fell over the room suffocated him.

The birds continued singing outside, and your roses swayed in the breeze. The world carried on.

But his world had ended, and for a long time he did not move; he simply held you. As though love alone could bridge the impossible distance between life and death. As though if he stayed there long enough, you might wake and smile at him once more.

But the sunlight continued to climb, and eventually the truth settled around him like a shroud. You were gone. "My love," he whispered into the quiet room, and though no answer came, he held you a little tighter. One final time before learning how to live forever without you.

Mon cœur - my heart Ma Pettite - my little one

a/n: Thank you for reading my lovelies once again you are the light of my life and I wish to give you all cookies xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

The stylists had already commented twice that you looked pale.

You’d laughed it off both times. “It’s just the early call time,” you insisted, smiling as your makeup noona touched up your concealer. “I’m fine.”

Truthfully, you felt awful. The sore throat that had bothered you the night before had blossomed into a full-body ache. Every joint felt heavy, your head throbbed behind your eyes, and simply sitting in the makeup chair felt exhausting. This was your first day of interviews as the official new member of Ateez; you couldn’t let the others down after months of preparations, and the last thing you wanted was to become “the member who couldn’t keep up.”

So you smiled on cue, you performed through rehearsal, you filmed the interview and answered every question as happily as you could manage, you even managed to laugh when the cameras rolled.

You didn’t realize that Seonghwa noticed every second of it.

He noticed how your smile was slower than usual, and that you kept rubbing your arms during breaks. He even noticed that while everyone crowded around the monitor to watch the playback, you sat quietly on the floor against the wall, eyes closed. Most of all, he noticed that you almost nodded off while standing.

The second rehearsal ended, and everyone started chatting excitedly, but Seonghwa was already walking toward you. “Hey.”

You opened your eyes sleepily. “Hm?”

“Come here.” He motioned to you from where he was standing.

Confused, you just looked up at him. “Huh?”

He crouched in front of you. “Come here,” he repeated gently. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I’m okay,” you protested tiredly.

“No, you aren’t.” His voice wasn’t stern, but it carried that soft authority he used when he was worried.

You tried to smile. “I can do the next schedule.”

“You can barely keep your eyes open.” He smiled softly.

“I’m not tired.” You tried to reassure him

He raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, you just fell asleep sitting up.”

You blinked. “…I did?”

Seonghwa sighed fondly. “Yes.”

Before you could protest further, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. His expression immediately changed. “You’re too warm.”

“I’m okay.” You pout, not wanting any fuss.

“You have a fever.” He pointed it out, frowning.

“Seonghwa hyung, I’m alright,” you tried to plead your case to move on.

“No.” It wasn’t harsh, but it was final. “You’re resting.”

“But…” you argued stubbornly albeit quietly.

“Resting.” The others noticed the pair of you in conversation and wandered over.

“What happened?” Yunho asked.

“She’s sick,” Seonghwa answered immediately.

Eight heads whipped toward you.

“Sick?!” Wooyoung practically shrieked.

“You should've told us!” San frowned, worrying his lower lip.

“You've been coughing all morning!” Jongho added raising his eyebrows in mild judgement.

“I thought it was allergies…” You sighed in defeat, you realized there was no escaping it now that they all knew.

Seonghwa stood and addressed the group. “Mission.”

Hongjoong immediately caught on. “What do you need?”

“Medicine, sports drinks, fruit, soup, snacks she likes, and something for her throat.” Seonghwa listed off on his long fingers.

Mingi saluted dramatically. “Yes, mother.”

“I'm serious.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes.

“So am I.” Mingi grinned.

Within seconds, everyone was arguing over who got to buy what.

“I’ll get medicine!”

“No, I know which kind she likes!”

“She needs porridge!”

“What snacks?”

“Hot packs!”

“You always forget tissues!”

Meanwhile, Seonghwa had already wrapped his hoodie around your shoulders. “Up,” he said softly.

“Where?” you asked in resignation.

“To the green room.” He continued guiding you forward.

“I have the next…” you interrupted.

“You have a nap.” He gently ordered, his tone telling you not to argue further, and you, in all honesty, were too tired to argue.

He guided you carefully, one hand on your back, his movements naturally protective. By the time you reached the waiting room, your legs felt shaky. “Sit.” You obeyed. Seonghwa grabbed spare blankets from the couch and tucked them around you.

“You know everyone is going to fuss…” You groaned before looking up at him.

“Good.” He sat beside you and brushed your hair away from your forehead. “You take care of all of us,” he said quietly. “You don't have to earn being looked after.”

Your eyes stung. “I didn't want everyone thinking I couldn't handle it.”

Seonghwa looked genuinely saddened. “Who told you that?”

“No one, I just don't want to be a burden.” You shrugged listlessly.

“Then don't tell yourself that either.” His thumb gently wiped away the tears gathering in your eyes. “You're part of this family now. You're not alone.”

You sniffled. “I feel guilty.”

“For getting sick?” Seonghwa chuckled softly; all you could do was nod.  “You know what happened when San had the flu? Half of us got sick because none of us stayed away from him.”

You laughed weakly.

“And when Mingi caught a cold?” Seonghwa asked, pointedly.

“He insisted he wasn't sick until he sneezed on Hongjoong.” You remembered that one because it was both funny and disgusting.

“And Wooyoung?” Seonghwa continued knowingly

“Complained like he was dying.” You huffed a small laugh.

“Exactly.” Seonghwa smiled. “Being sick happens.” Your eyes were already drooping. “You should sleep.”

“What if they need me?” You tried to reason again.

“They need you healthy.” Seonghwa sighed; he reached over and dimmed the lights. “I'll wake you if the building catches fire.”

You smiled. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He laughed musically.

Within minutes you drifted off. When you woke again, the room smelled like soup; you blinked blearily and found Seonghwa still beside you. He'd moved to the floor so you could stretch out across the couch, his phone abandoned in his lap. The moment he saw your eyes open, he smiled.

“Hi, Sleeping Beauty.” Seonghwa joked, moving to place his hand on your forehead.

“What time is it?” You yawned.

“Two hours later,” he answered casually, smiling that you didn’t feel as warm anymore.

“Two what?” You spluttered, sitting upright.

“You needed it,” he nonchalantly shrugged.

The door suddenly burst open.

“She’s awake!” Wooyoung came charging in, carrying three shopping bags.

Behind him were Yunho with drinks, San with snacks, Jongho with fruit, Mingi carrying enough medicine to supply a pharmacy, Yeosang with tissues and hot packs, Hongjoong with soup containers, and even staff members trying not to laugh at the sight.

“We brought everything!”

“We got your favorite chips!”

“I bought honey tea!”

“Eat the strawberries first!”

“You need vitamin C!”

“Drink water!”

Eight voices immediately filled the room, instantly making you stare at them, overwhelmed.

Seonghwa laughed softly beside you. “See?” He handed you a spoon and smiled warmly. “Told you.”

Surrounded by eight worried members arguing over soup temperatures and medicine instructions, wrapped in Seonghwa’s hoodie and still half asleep, you realized something.

You weren't just the new member anymore. You were part of the family, and family, apparently, came with seven overprotective brothers and one angel named Seonghwa who never let you suffer alone.

a/n: Thank you for reading my lovelies your support, likes, reblogs, comments and endless love give me the will to live in a major way xxx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

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"What sort of danger?" Jongho asked, pointedly looking at his captain and friend, who until they had docked in this small port would have blindly followed until the end of time.

"In the 'myths', sea nymphs used to kill sailors that threatened their home or their mate. They are loyal above all else to the one they love and will even abandon family to remain beside their chosen mate," Hongjoong explained, carefully watching each of his crew members.

"You mean San?" Wooyoung blinked slowly, his face slowly becoming more alarmed. "You had put San in the firing line of a mythical sea creature's obsession?"

"Well, he won't care if he falls for her too," Mingi shrugged, looking less bothered than he should have.

"That doesn't explain the danger to us though." Jongho narrowed his eyes slightly.

"If we are a threat to San, then she will become a danger to us, but anything that is not a threat to him should be fine." Seonghwa continued taking over the conversation seamlessly "But this is all theoretical. If she is only half nymph or something else entirely, we may have zero issues."

"Does San know this? Have you told him anything about this?" Yeosang asked sceptically, his eyebrows rising when Hongjoong didn't meet his gaze.

Hongjoong cleared his throat "I told him that if she interests him, then he should pursue her."

Wooyoung ran his hand down his face "Captain, I will actually kill you in your sleep if this goes badly for him."

Hongjoong nodded, smirking slightly "That's acceptable."

The ship had settled back into a gentle, almost non-existent bobbing since you had been returned to the cabin. Yunho's face showed confusion and worry, but all you could really focus on was the heat radiating from San's body every time he got close to you, dunking the cloth that lay across your forehead in cool water and ringing it out before placing it back on your skin.

"I don't fully understand what is happening here," Yunho whispered, his eyes meeting San's.

"But you can help her, though? Right?" San knew his voice sounded more panicked than it should, but he didn't care; Yunho was never going to judge him for being protective of you.

"I think we need more than I can give her." Yunho swallowed, watching you close your eyes again like you were simply falling asleep, not suffering from whatever the hell had just happened in the galley. "We need an old healer who has seen more than me."

"The crone from the apothecary? She was angry last time, and we didn't have her assistant half-conscious on the ship. She will lose the plot completely if she knows she's here," San protested, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead at the suggestion.

"Or she helps us just to get her back off the ship. Either way, she needs more help than I can give her and she needs someone who understands the mythical as well as the medical." Yunho explained, already knowing that San would bang on every door in the village if it meant saving you.

San pondered Yunho's words while stroking your hair. The feeling of warmth in his chest was growing by the hour, and if it continued, he was never going to be able to leave your side. "Just don't let the captain know," he breathed, flicking his eyes to his friend, who nodded. "I'll be back as fast as I can."

San stood and grabbed the thick woollen coat that he had given to you earlier, throwing it on before striding from the room with purpose. It was going to be a rough night once he found the woman he had met in the apothecary the day he had first met you. He had managed to get off the ship before anyone had noticed, except maybe Seonghwa; he saw almost everything, and wound his way down the cobblestone roads until he reached his destination. The door was locked tight, and the candles that lit the windows had almost burnt out, meaning he had missed finding his target by a fairly large amount of time. So, steadying his racing heart, he went to the next best place to find people. The pub. The locals quietened when he stepped through the smoked-glass-pained door but started up again when they realized he was alone; a single pirate doesn't tend to cause problems unlike a crew of them, and stepped up to the bar.

"Can I help you, sir?" the publican asked, looking him over carefully.

"Hopefully, I'm looking for the woman who runs the apothecary. I'm in need of some treatment that she probably would find easy." San explained, sliding some silver coins across the stained wooden bar

"I think old Salvia wouldn't be up for helping you, sir; she doesn't really like pirates, you see." He replied, taking the offered coins, "but you can always ask her, and hope for the best." He gestured towards a booth at the far end of the bar, bathed in thick shadow; only the light of a single candle flickered on the edge closest to the room. San nodded in thanks and made his way towards the darkened seat.

"I told you before, boy, leave me be." She huffed before he had even gotten all the way across the room.

"I know, and I wouldn't ask if it were for me, but it's for someone we both know; she needs more help than our medic can give her." He pleaded, his voice low enough that only she would hear.

"What have you done!" She snapped, the candle flickering wildly as she smacked her hands on the table, the room quieting under the simmering anger in Salvia's eyes.

"Me? Nothing, but she spoke with my Captain and something strange happened. Then she became too tired to walk. Please, you have to help her; I can't get her off the ship alone." San dropped his entire coin skin onto the table; the metallic clank loud even in the crowded room.

"I don't want your money, but I will help her, only her." Salvia stood, her long shawl swishing as she moved into the light "I'll need you to tell me everything, and I'll need my supplies."

Agreeing silently, San followed her back into the cold, salt-filled air up the narrow street to Salvia's apothecary. She proceeded to fill a large, heavily worn leather medical bag, which put Yunho's supply bag to shame, with every bottle, balm and herb within reach.

"Did you want me to carry that for you?" San asked cautiously, eyeing the increasingly filling bag, then the crone of a woman filling it.

Salvia glared at him again, "Be careful with it, I won't have you ruining a week's supply of herbs and salves because you are clumsy".

"I can be very careful." San pouted sullenly as Salvia thrust the bag into his arms "I just need you to help her. If being near me, well us, makes her sick, then you need to help her."

Saliva paused for a moment, taking in the sincerity on San's face; perhaps he wasn't as bad as his captain, she mused behind her mask of indifference. Her only concern was you and why you were on that wretched captain's ship to begin with. San led the way, carrying the supplies and lending a steadying arm whenever the streets grew steep or wet until they reached the gangway of the ship, his ship.

"Will you swear to me that you will keep her safe and get her off this ship in one piece?" Salvia uttered lowly, looking up the large wooden ramp.

"I will get you and her off this ship even if it means I lose my place onboard", San swore earnestly, meeting Salvia's eyes.

"What is your name again, boy?" Salvia softened slightly, his concern for you more genuine than she had initially realized.

"San." He smiled a small smile.

“Call me Sylvia,” she muttered, taking his arm to steady herself.

San took a deep breath before helping Salvia up the ramp and onto the ship. It was still deserted when he looked around the deck, and it remained that way all the way to his cabin, where he opened the door to find you sleeping, wrapped in his sheets with Yunho nowhere to be found.

Salvia rushed to your side, beckoning San to follow and place her bag down on the floor for her. "Would it be more suspicious for you to remain in here, or should you return to your crew?" she murmured, taking out a vial of light pink liquid and popping the stopper to soak onto a rag.

"I will leave you to it and return when I can" San nodded in understanding, moving back to the door only to shut it securely behind him and come face to face with Seonghwa.

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the bulkhead. “You’re bringing strangers onto the ship now, San?”

San stiffened, forcing himself not to look back at the closed door behind him. “Her name is Syliva, she’s the healer in this village. She’s the only person who can help.”

Seonghwa glanced at the closed door, then back at San, his voice low. “We’re already drawing attention in this port. If the Hongjoong finds out…”

“I don’t care,” San cut him off. “She needs help. I don’t care if you or Hongjoong have a problem with it; she needs more help than Yunho can manage.”

Seonghwa sighed, the fight leaving his shoulders. “Just… be careful. Hongjoong doesn’t need more trouble. And keep an eye on her. If anything happens…”

“It won’t,” San replied bluntly, more confident than he felt.

Inside the cabin, Salvia pressed the damp, pink-scented rag to your lips, murmuring words you barely understood. The world felt soft around the edges, but her hands were gentle, and the fog in your mind eased with every breath. She worked quickly, methodically, her eyes occasionally darting to the door as if expecting interruption.

Moments later, she leaned back, satisfaction and exhaustion mingling in her expression. “Rest now,” she whispered. “You’ll need your strength for what’s coming.”

Sylvia sat herself on the edge of San’s bunk, her wisened hand holding yours tightly while she listened to the rise and fall of your breathing. The hush of the cabin was only broken by the muted groan of the hull and the faint and distant whisper of waves.

The soft turn of the latch forces Sylivia to look up sharply, softening only a fraction when she meets San’s worried eyes. “Bring your medic, and the one that has been lurking in the passageway” Her voice was tight and unrelenting.

“I can bring you Yunho.” San nods, turning and leaving without any further explanation.

When the latch turns again, only moments later, Sylvia pulls the small knife from her sleeve, her eyes fixed on the slowly opening door. “I knew there was someone else out there; you may as well show yourself.”

Seonghwa’s lean figure slips from the shadows outside the cabin into the light in San’s room. “You have more sense than she did when she insisted I speak to her.” His voice was smooth as he gestured to the knife.

“I have seen your kind before many times in my life, boy. You are not the first to threaten someone I love.” Sylvia’s voice dropped to chillingly low as she looked Seonghwa up and down.

San appeared in the doorway again, this time with the tall one that had appeared in her shop looking for you, “Seonghwa.” He stopped, swallowing hard, the tension in the room palpable.

Yunho glanced around the room. Surprised by how many people were in the tiny cabin. “You asked for me?” He turned to Sylvia “Is she doing better?”

“You did well, medic, but I will teach you what you need to care for her in the times to come,” Salvia says with resignation, ignoring Seonghwa completely. “You are capable at least.”

Yunho looks stunned for a moment before blinking and stepping towards Sylvia “What do you need me to learn? And how will it help her?”

Sylvia paused as Yunho moved, pulling a small stool over from under the desk and placing it in front of her, San grabbing him things to take notes with.

“Blue kelp mixed with sunroot to help her after she loses herself. Dried moonflower petals crushed with lavender and sea moss served as a tea for when the voice is too loud. Essence of abyssal moss with added tide lily for any pain she has.” Sylvia rattled off the list that should cover your largest needs. “I will leave you with a few vials of something that should only be used if she is at death’s door. Do you think you can manage that?”

Yunho writes Sylvia’s instructions down rapidly, knowing he will have to rewrite them later so he can read them clearly. “Blue kelp, sunroot, moonflower petals and lavender we already have; I will stock up on sea moss before we leave. I’ve never made abyssal moss essence but I have a recipe for it.”

“Why does she need all of that?” San frowned. “And what does when the time comes mean?”

Sylvia sighed heavily, “Your captain has not shared his wishes then?” She turned back to check on you once again, her hand brushing your forehead barely registering a response from you. “He knows the legend of Leviathan's Cradle, the treasure that is said to lie there and that only a nymph can safely touch the sands there.”

Seonghwa finally moved from where he was leaning against the rough wooden wall. “What do you know of Leviathan’s Cradle? I haven’t met another soul who remembers that name, let alone the treasure.” He studied Sylvia intently, though remained as well-mannered as ever.

“You forget, boy, that in certain places people remember for generations what others brush off as fantasy and myth. All of the stories come from somewhere; it’s those who remember them that keep them from men like you.” Syliva picked up her medical bag and began rummaging, pulling out a clump of sea moss wrapped tightly in linen, placing it in Yunho’s large hand. “Your captain wants her for her blood; he knows she can speak with the sea; that is why the first time she collapsed she was on this ship.”

San frowned, moving to the foot of his bed, standing between you and Seonghwa, the friend he had trusted for years. “What does she mean, Seonghwa?”

“The night Hongjoong met her, the sea was calm; when he spoke to her, the waves rose, and when he returned to the ship, it was calm again. He asked me to find her and bring her back to the ship; I did, and the same thing happened, only it was far more intense; you know this; you were there.” Seonghwa explained simply, keeping only to the basic facts. “After she came round again and you got her back to the docks, the water was calm at that point; he knew, and so did I, she is a sea nymph.”

San opened and closed his mouth several times before he could speak, “She can’t be a nymph; she lives on land. But why would we need a sea nymph anyway?” His questions made Seonghwa wince for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for San to understand it wasn’t something he was going to agree with.

“San has a point though; she has always lived on land. A sea nymph would die out of water for that long”. Yunho blinked, looking between Seonghwa and San.

Sylvia let out a harsh laugh, “So you did this to her, so you could use her and then what, throw her away? You can’t see what this one already feels for her?” She gestured towards San, who didn’t refute the accusation.

Seonghwa shook his head “She’s not a full nymph; my guess was half at least. She will not need to be in water full time, just some of it.”

“That doesn’t make any of this less fucked up” Yunho scowled.

San moved faster than any of them expected, shoving Seonghwa hard against the wall, his forearm against his throat. “You and the captain did this to her? Could this kill her? Do you even care if it does?” The rage rolling off of him was undeniable.

“It won’t kill her”, Sylvia answered softly, standing and placing her hand on San’s arm “She will take time getting used to the changes, but she will be fine in the end. Her ancestors all survived long enough for her to be here.”

San backed away from Seonghwa, who, if he wished to, could have had San on the floor within seconds, taking Sylvia’s spot at your side, his fingers combing through your hair tenderly.

“You must care for her now, San; she will need you.” Sylvia smiled sadly before turning to Yunho. “Help me off the ship, boy, and I will give you the rest of the ingredients you need to care for her.” Yunho offered her an arm and led Sylvia from the room, allowing her one last look at your sleeping form.

“Tell me everything, Seonghwa” San started looking at him with sharp eyes that were shadowed by betrayal “If you don’t, I will take her off this ship and never set foot on it again.”

Seonghwa sighed deeply “San, none of us would ever hurt her, Hongjoong…” he dragged his hand down his face as he moved to sit on the stool Yunho had vacated “You heard what Hongjoong said about his youth, about his family. With her help, he can rescue them, and then hopefully we will have a life where we don’t need to be pirates anymore if we don’t want to. Wouldn’t you want that? Settling down somewhere with her, where nothing can hurt her, and you can spend forever by her side?”

San’s jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath his skin as he tried to process Seonghwa’s words. “You’re telling me…” he started, voice unsteady, “that all of this, all the risks, are worth it just for a chance at something that may not even be real? You’re willing to destroy her for… nothing.”

Seonghwa met San’s gaze, his own eyes heavy with regret. “I know what it looks like.” He sighed again, almost pained, knowing that there was nothing that could take the sting of feeling betrayed away in the moment.

San shook his head, frustration evident. “He should have told me. You both should have. What else is being kept from the rest of us?” A soft, restless sound escaped you from the bed, stirring in the sheets as if the conversation pressed against the edge of your dreams.

Seonghwa looked at you and then back at San “Hongjoong had me look into several locations where there were rumours and whispers of ancient magic, little hamlets and towns where crones still had knowledge that has left the new world. This is one of the towns.” His explanation felt weak on his tongue, but Seonghwa still needed to try. “The painting, besides being worth more coin than this ship, was created using some form of old magic. Something no one left understands, but it was claimed it could awaken the blood of Sea Nymphs in those with even the weakest relation to one. She has to be at least half with the way the sea speaks to her.”

San’s brows remain creased; his eyes still dark with anger. “She has no choice now, does she? You have cursed her.

The door to the cabin opened swiftly as Yunho almost tripped over the threshold with Jongho on his heels “I’ve got more than I will hopefully ever need to help her.” The large crate stacked precariously with old books and scrolled parchments he carried prevented him from seeing what was in front of him. Jongho held a large sack over his shoulder, a wooden box which looked like a dowry chest under his other arm and a huge leather bag tied with straps.

“Old Sylvia was much more helpful once she decided that this was unavoidable and that you, San, are going to need her help.” Yunho continued unpacking a couple of the books and leaving them on the small desk. “Read these; it may be another day before she wakes, so you will have time, probably. It explains everything.”

“Where is all the other stuff going?” Jongho asked, still holding everything he carried easily.

“The sack stays here; the boxes to my cabin.” Yunho smiled, letting Jongho lead the way back out of San’s room “Oh, Seonghwa, you may want to get the captain to call a meeting; there is a lot we have to go over.”

Seonghwa managed a faint, understanding smile. “Agreed.” Before leaving San alone with you once more.

As the lantern light flickered, San leaned closer, his voice a low promise meant only for you. “I won’t let them hurt you. I swear it.”

You wake slowly, the world coming into focus in gentle, shifting waves. The air is thick with the scent of salt and something herbal, familiar, soothing. The cabin is dim except for a thin band of light sneaking through the curtains, dust swirling in its path. You blink slowly; your body still feels strange, heavier than it should, but you no longer feel as though you have been underwater.

Safe

Coming home

The voice is once again soft and less insistent than the previous night? You felt a sharp wave of panic. What time was it? You look around the cabin for something to give you a clue to how long you have slept, but you find nothing other than San is slumped on the floor beside the bed, his head pillowed awkwardly on his arm. An old, battered book lies open beside him, its pages curled from use. His breathing is deep and even, and you realize he must have kept watch for hours.

Careful not to disturb him, you reach for the blanket at the foot of his bunk and drape it over his shoulders. But the movement stirs him, and he blinks up at you, confusion softening into relief.

"You're awake," he says, voice thick with sleep and something like hope. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

You search your body, noticing the absence of pain. "Better. Tired, but… not like before. What happened?"

San glances at the book and then back at you. "Salvia and Yunho took care of you. It was… complicated. Yunho came back with all sorts of things from Sylvia; she thought maybe this would help." He gestures to the old book.

Your eyes widen in shock “Sylvia was here? On this ship? With Hongjoong? Each question tumbles from your tongue without warning.

San swallows audibly “Hongjoong doesn’t know she was here, but yes, she came. I went to find her when Yunho said you weren’t responding to anything he tried.”

You closed your eyes “Is she going to kill me?” you mumbled quietly.

San shook his head, the corners of his mouth falling “No, but she said that we need to look after you now, that things have changed, you are changing.”

You sat mutely for a moment, unsure if you were still dreaming until the voice spoke to you again.

You will be reborn

Reborn of salt and sea

Reborn of sand and swell

The mate will help

The mate is safe

San picked up the book again, to show you, not noticing a slip of torn parchment falling from inside the back cover. "I tried to read about Sea Nymphs, but I’m not sure I understood half of it. Did you know they can breathe underwater? Some say they can talk to the tides."

You manage a shaky smile. "I didn’t, but what is that?” You point at the fallen slip.

San picks it up, scanning it quickly before passing it to you. “It’s from Sylvia.”

You take it from his fingers, not missing the way your skin seemed to hum when it touched his, ‘Possum, I’m sorry that this will be something I should have been with you for, but I can’t. When you read this, I hope you will be able to forgive me for that. Read the books, speak with the boy Yunho and stay safe. The ocean will not lie to you. Men will. Listen to your own heart and the sea will guide you. Love Via’

“Is that one of the books I am meant to read?” Your confusion-laced voice strained.

San shrugs, the hint of a grin on his lips. "Yeah, but this one is mostly legends. Some warnings. Something about transformation being hard, but worth it, if you have people who care for you." He closes the book gently. "I care. We all do."

You reach out, squeezing his hand, the feel of his warm palm calming you in a way you don't understand. "Thank you, San. For looking after me."

He squeezes back, warmth in his gaze. "I promised I’d keep you safe. And now that you’re awake, we have to go meet with Hongjoong. He wants to see all of us."

a/n: Thank you for reading my lovelies your support is my warmth in the coldness xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

@leeknowinggg @tanzen-ist-gold @uno7 @ocean-dreamer-sky-chaser @skersey33

The blinding lights sting your eyes as the director shouts, “Cut!” for the third time in as many minutes.

Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, so loud you’re sure the crew must hear it over the backing track. Sweat prickles at your hairline from the exertion of the scene, each take of you running across the dystopian set to reach the others looking awkward. You run a trembling hand carefully through your hair, trying to keep your breathing steady. The other members gather near the monitors, laughing, reviewing takes, but you can only hear your own harsh, shallow breaths. Seonghwa tosses you a warm and encouraging smile; Wooyoung flashes a thumbs-up, his toothy grin bright. You nod back, but it's stilted, and the gesture feels brittle like glass about to shatter.

You shouldn’t be here; you are never going to be good enough to be here. That’s the thought that gnaws at you between scenes as each of the other members does their individual shot, the ease of it proving to you that your skills are below the bar. You shouldn’t be here, surrounded by eight professionals, their every movement sharp and polished, their charisma burning through the lens. You’re the outsider, the one who stumbles over choreography, whose body tembles in the group shots, whose hands won’t stop shaking.

The assistant director had asked you to try to act more seductively in your scene with BBT, but you barely knew them, and it came off unnatural.  You had been directed to smoulder at the camera, but you felt like you just looked angry. Each cut just made you feel more worthless, more unworthy.

“Take five!” the director calls, and the set dissolves into scattered clusters of chatter. You drift to the edge of the soundstage, sitting on the cold concrete while hugging your knees to your chest, your chest constricting painfully. You close your eyes, but the thoughts won’t stop. You know you are starting to spiral; your breathing is getting shallower, faster, desperate. They’re going to regret choosing you. You’re ruining the shot. You’re slowing everyone down. The fans will see it, too: how you don’t fit, how you’re not enough, how you are ruining the very thing they love.

The scrape of heavy boots on concrete interrupts your inner spiralling, and you look up. Mingi stands over you, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair damp from sweat and falling into his eyes. He doesn’t sit right away, just shuffles awkwardly, toeing the ground with his boot, glancing back at the scattered camera equipment and the other members. Finally, he lowers himself to the floor beside you, his presence huge but gentle.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You pick at the scuffed floor, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “You okay?” Mingi asks, his voice lower than usual, almost hesitant as he looks at the clothes rack not far from you both.

You force a smile, but it falters before it reaches your eyes. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.” The words sound forced, but you both know that they are.

Mingi snorts, not unkindly. “You know, that’s the same thing I used to tell the others. But it’s never just tired, is it?”

You glance at him, surprised by the raw honesty in his voice. He’s staring ahead, jaw clenched, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

“I used to get so scared before filming,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper. “Like… everyone’s watching and waiting for you to mess up. Like you don’t belong. Like you’re going to ruin everything for everyone else. I thought those feelings would go away, but they never really do. You just learn how to carry them.”

You swallow, something dislodging in your chest. “How do you handle it?” you ask, your voice timid and cracking despite yourself. “The fear, the… the not being enough?”

Mingi sighs, a sound heavy with old pain that still lives deep within him. “Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I just survive it. I get through the day, the shoot, the performance, even if my brain is screaming at me that I’m not enough. And sometimes I talk to the others. Or I just… let myself feel it, even when it hurts.”

He turns to you, eyes warm and searching. “You’re not alone in this. We all have those days. You’re not ruining anything. You’re learning. You’re growing. That’s all any of us can do.” He places one large hand over one of yours, squeezing it gently despite the fact it was trembling.

You blink hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling. The weight in your chest eases, just slightly. It’s not gone, but it feels shared now. Less like a punishment, more like a burden you don’t have to carry alone. Maybe with Mingi you can carry the doubt a little bit more easily.

Mingi nudges your shoulder with his. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just need to be real. That’s what people connect with. That’s what makes you part of Ateez.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands finally stilling. The lights don’t seem so harsh now, and the set not so overwhelming. The voices of your members, your chosen family, echo nearby, familiar and grounding. San was running from Wooyoung holding what looked like a packet of chips, Yunho was filming some choreography to be released on Tik Tok later. Hongjoong was talking to the director. You realize that none of the look disappointed or burdened by your presence. You’re still scared almost witless. Still unsure of yourself and your ability. But for the first time all day, you believe, just a little, that maybe you do belong here. That maybe, with time, you can learn to carry the weight and still stand tall.

The director calls everyone back to set. Mingi stands and offers you his hand. You take it, and together, you walk back into the light for another group choreography shot.

“You have totally got this”, Mingi whispers lowly as he steps onto his mark.

You nod with resolve, taking a fortifying breath before the director signals for the cameras to get ready for the shot.

a/n: Thank you for reading my lovelies your support, likes, reblogs, comments and endless love give me the will to live in a major way xxx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

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The late afternoon sunlight slants through the windows of the practice studio, gilding the polished floor in honeyed gold. You’re in the middle of running through your choreography again: one, two, three, step, spin, each run-through locking the steps into your muscle memory. You’re ready for a drink break when you hear your phone begin to ring from its place beside the sound system.

You answer swiftly when you realise that your manager's name is scrolling across the screen. “Hello, Manager-nim.”

Ah, are you still rehearsing? Could you stop by my office after practice? We need to talk about your microphone for the live shows." He tells you, politely, still not comfortable with you yet, to treat you like the others.

You blink, pausing for almost a beat too long. “Of course.”

For a moment, nerves flutter in your stomach. Did something go wrong? Was there a problem they weren’t expecting? The thought lingers as you towel off and change into a fresh shirt, then head down the hallway toward Hongjoong’s studio.

Yeosang, who is sitting on a bench by the vending machine, catches your anxious expression. “You okay? Did Wooyoung ask to go through your wardrobe again?” he asks, his voice gentle. There’s always a calm steadiness to him that you find reassuring. He also seems to be the one who asks exactly the right thing at the right time to stop you spiralling too far

“Manager wants to talk to me about my microphone,” you say, trying to sound casual, but not really managing to do so. “I think it’s about picking the color for the live shows.”

Yeosang’s lips curl into a comforting smile. “That’s exciting! You get to pick your own color, make a whole statement about yourself.”

You blush. “But I don’t know what to pick. There are so many options. What if I pick something weird?”

He laughs. “Come on, I’ll go with you. Your choice can’t be worse than concrete gray.”

You laugh too, the tension easing. “Deal. Let’s go.”

Together, you head down the hallway, Yeosang’s shoulder brushing yours as you walk. The manager’s door is open like it is waiting for you to step inside.

“Ah, there you are. Good, Yeosang too. I wanted you to pick out the color and finish for your performance microphone. It’s a small thing, but it matters for your stage presence.” Your manager hands you a catalog, pages glossy with photos of microphones in every color and finish imaginable: matte black, metallic blue, pearly white, even a shimmering rose gold.

You glance at Yeosang, who leans over the catalog thoughtfully. “What do you think fits you best?” he asks, tilting the page so you can see better.

You hesitate, scanning the choices. “I want something unique, but… not too flashy. Maybe something that stands out but doesn’t steal the show.”

“San just picked his favorite color and went from there if that helps you choose.” Your manager explains, attempting to make it easier for you.

You think for a moment, “my favorite color is green. So maybe green then?” Flicking the pages towards the green selections page.

Yeosang nods, scanning the glossy pages, before he points to a deep, iridescent emerald. “This one’s cool. It’s got a subtle shine under the lights, but it’s not too loud. Plus, it’s kind of mysterious, like you.

You laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. “Mysterious, huh? I like that.”

Your manager smiles, jotting down your choice. “Midnight Emerald with a satin finish, then. Good pick. I’ll put in the order.”

As you leave the office, relief floods through you. “Thanks for coming with me,” you tell Yeosang, bumping his shoulder lightly. “I’d probably still be in there debating between pink and orange if you hadn’t helped.”

He grins. “Happy to help. Want to grab coffee to celebrate your new mic? Or to celebrate not making an awful choice?”

You nod, smiling widely, and the two of you wander out of the building into the street, the air crisp with the promise of evening. It is still early, so thankfully, the corner café is not overly busy. Yeosang orders an iced Americano, and you pick your favorite honey latte, settling at a window seat that catches the last rays of sunlight.

Yeosang takes a sip of his drink, watching you continue to relax. “Was there ever a different idea for what you wanted for your future?”

You take a deep breath, unsure of how to explain, “I wanted to be a police officer when I was little, then I saw a music show, the performances looked so fun and bright. I just knew that was what I wanted to do.” You start carefully. Yeosang nods in understanding. “My mother hated the idea, though; she didn’t speak to me for a week after I signed up as a trainee.”

Yeosang frowns for a moment. “I understand. I left home for a few days to prove I was serious about my dream. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer.” He smiles serenely as he takes another sip of his coffee. “Is she happier with your decision now?”

“Oh yeah, now she tells people I’m going to be famous and that her daughter is super talented.” You laugh softly, a grin forming on your face.

Yeosang grins in return. “ Did I tell you about the time I almost tripped over a cable during rehearsal, nearly taking out all eight of us like dominos?”  

“NO!” You gasp before you both burst into laughter, drawing a few curious looks from the other patrons.

After you both catch your breath again from laughing, the conversation drifts back to the microphone. “I think midnight emerald fits you,” Yeosang admits as he finishes his last mouthful of coffee. “It’s understated but special.”

You smile, feeling a quiet confidence settle inside you. Maybe it’s the coffee, or maybe it’s Yeosang’s easy presence, but suddenly the upcoming live shows don’t seem quite so daunting.

“Thanks,” you say, raising your cup in a toast. “To new microphones, and to new friends who know you better than you know yourself.”

Yeosang clinks his empty cup against yours, eyes shining. “To new beginnings and pretty colors.”

As the sun sets and the city lights blink on, you look out at the people now filling the street. “Have you finished for the day?”

“Yeah, I was finished when you found me by the vending machine.” Yeosang confesses, “Should we head back to the dorm? We can order in food.”

“That’s a genius idea.” You agree.  When you step out into the cooling air with Yeosang at your side, you realize you’ve made the right choice not just in microphone colors.

a/n: Thank you for reading my lovelies your support, likes, reblogs, comments and endless love give me the will to live in a major way xxx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

@leeknowinggg @tanzen-ist-gold @uno7 @ocean-dreamer-sky-chaser @skersey33