seung

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Peer Evaluation (Final Submission)

Course: ENG2041 — Contemporary Literature

Project: Final Research Paper

Peer Evaluation for Student: Y/N L/N

Attendance — 10/10

Y/N was never once late to our meetings. In fact, she was always annoyingly punctual and raised hell over me being late by a few minutes. Regardless, Y/N showed incredible discipline and never failed to show up to our meetings to discuss the project, even if she was half dead from the sleepless nights.

Contribution — 10/10

Y/N contributed equally to every stage of the project, if not the most towards the project. The success of this project is mostly owed to her, her sleepless nights and early mornings editing as well as revising the document and slides to ensure absolute perfection. Although, she refused to admit how my edits occasionally improved her work.

Communication — 10/10

Y/N responds to messages regarding the project inhumanely fast for someone who always has her head down in stacks of paper in her favourite spot in the library, specifically the seat next to the window that faces east. She had no issues stating her problems with my research, being firm in her opinions and communicating her concerns in a professional manner. As a result, our project quality had improved dramatically after I (begrudgingly) followed her feedback (though I’d never admit it to her face).

Work ethic — 10/10

Y/N has a work ethic like no other. While I admit that I was annoyed by her constant fixation on the minor details at first, I found myself growing to appreciate her attention to the details that many others, myself included, would glance over. I’ve grown to learn and admire Y/N for she doesn’t leave anything half done. She does everything with 100%, and it clearly shows in the project where everything had been carefully vetted, arranged and presented. I used to think rivalry meant proving I was better than her, but somewhere along the project and spending hours with her, I realised I had stopped trying to outdo her and started trying to become someone who could keep up with her instead.

Strengths

- Ridiculously hardworking

- Somehow always right

- Makes coffee taste less terrible

- Pretending not to laugh at my jokes

- Looks cute when focused

Areas for improvement

If I were to be very honest, there’s not much for Y/N to improve in. She’s somehow both an amazing student, friend and person all at once. Not many say that, myself included. Many of our batch mates are quick to compare us, but I truly don’t believe I’m even remotely close enough to be compared with her. I’m truly grateful and honoured to have had her as my partner and my rival these past semesters. (Though, she wouldn’t die if she stopped assuming I was only trying to annoy her all the time.)

Additional Comments

Y/N,

I never minded being paired with you. Actually, that’s a lie, because I was relieved.

Truthfully, I spent most of first year trying to find reasons to talk to you. At the time, I was nowhere near your circle. I’m sure you don’t remember, but I had painfully tried to talk to you about your day while Professor Min was talking, and you had hushed me almost immediately in annoyance to focus on the lecture. I was taken aback, but had kept my mouth shut for the remainder of the class. From that day, I kept a respectable distance from you thinking that you had hated my guts— only to realise that you hadn’t even remembered me at all.

I was quite hurt, to be honest. However, the distance allowed me to realise how you drifted towards people like Wonwoo, Jihoon and Junhui. The type of students you could study with or rather the type of students you could compete against (though honestly I’m unsure where Soonyoung fits into that group of yours). It was then I realised that perhaps competing with you would’ve been the easiest excuse to talk to you.

Turns out, arguing with you over stupid things like answer schemes and grades was a terrible strategy, because somewhere between getting paired for the project, rewriting your introductions just to spite you, fighting over your unnecessary Oxford commas, and staying in the library until midnight together when everyone else was at frat parties… I forgot we were supposed to be rivals.

The project’s over now. Soon enough, our semester’s going to be over too. Eventually, we never have to see each other in this class again, and I won’t really have an academic excuse to keep texting you anymore, so I guess I’ll need to be honest instead.

I’ve been in love with you for a while now.

Not because you got along with me in the end, or because we ended up working really well together. I’ve been in love with you long before Professor Min decided we’d make good partners (for the project). The project just gave me more time with you than I ever thought I’d get, and it gave me more to fall in love with.

Final grade — 100/100

I would gladly partner with Y/N again, no questions asked. Maybe I’m a little biased, but Y/N is the most reliable person to choose for a partner. Maybe not just for another assignment, though.

So, I’d like to ask her;

Dinner this Friday? A proper meal, not a cup of instant noodles you dig out of your cupboard at 2am when you can’t fall asleep, not a lunch where I’m buying to save your body from collapsing. A proper dinner, a proper date where we don’t talk about anything academic related the entire night— my treat.

Yours Sincerely,

Yoon Jeonghan

— — —

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Request for Reassignment of Final Project Partner

Dear Y/N,

I hope you have been doing well.

Now that the projects have come to a close, I figured I’d finally reply to the email you sent me at the beginning of the project.

As you know, I wasn’t able to accomodate your request for a change in partners. At the time, I believed it was important to keep the assigned groups unchanged in the interest of fairness.

Having now read your final paper and watched your presentation, I have to say I’m rather glad I did.

The two of you complemented each other’s strengths remarkably well, and it was evident throughout the semester that your collaboration became increasingly natural. Your final submission was one of the strongest projects this cohort has produced, and I suspect neither of you would have achieved quite the same result had I approved the reassignment.

Sometimes the people we least expect to work well with end up challenging us in the ways we need most.

Congratulations once again on an excellent project, and I wish you both all the best moving forward.

Kind regards,

Professor Min

— — —

⋆.˚ ★ — bonus screenshots of jeonghan driving joshua insane for the sake of his crush 🙂‍↕️

m. list

He stands in the middle of the kitchen, sticking out like a sore thumb and drawing stares from every worker. You keep your head down, cheeks burning under their whispers. Royals do not belong here. Not once have you seen one step foot in these quarters in the twenty something years you have been here.

His presence has already piqued too much curiosity. You wipe your flour-dusted hands on your apron and untie it with stiff fingers.

“This way,” you mutter, already turning.

Mingyu’s eyebrows shoot up. The silence stretches half a second too long before you realise your mistake.

“Your Highness,” you add quickly, the correction clumsy and too late.

He gives you that annoyingly charming smile—the one that says he noticed your slip and is quietly enjoying how flustered he still makes you.

Just like all those times before, you lead him toward the dim space beneath the grand staircase. The corridor between the storage shelves feels narrower than usual. Your heart pounds so hard it drowns out the clatter of pans behind you.

It has been weeks. Weeks of avoiding him since the engagement was announced. Weeks of hell.

The moment you slip into the shadowed gap, Mingyu turns. His hand finds the back of your neck, firm and certain, and kisses you without a word. Everything you rehearsed vanishes. You burn under his mouth. Your fingers push into his hair as his hands grip your waist, pressing your back to the wall. The faint sounds of the kitchen fade. He kisses you like he’s starving, tongue sliding against yours, body pinning you in place. He moans at the taste of lemon and lavender still on your tongue.

Prince Mingyu’s thumb traces your jaw. You hate how easily you open for him, how your bodies still know every line of each other.

“I see you’ve become acquainted with Lord Wonwoo recently,” he murmurs against your lips, voice low and rough. His breath is hot, mingling with yours. “Tell me… did his hands learn the shape of you the way mine have?”

You blink, dazed, the world narrowing to the heat of his body pressed flush against yours.

“You’re engaged to be wed soon, Your Highness.” The title slips out like a blade, detached and void of any warmth. “This has to stop.”

“You never call me that when we are alone,” Mingyu says, voice laced with an unfamiliar kind of roughness. His gaze drops to your mouth, then slowly drags back up your face.

“I take it that you must be quite upset with me then.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the sensitive skin just beneath it. The touch is so tender it almost hurts.

“What is this really about?” you demand, frustration cracking through the haze of want. Your hands fist tighter in the front of his tunic, unsure whether to push him away or drag him closer.

He ignores the question. Before you can even think of replying, his mouth claims yours again. He kisses you like he’s hunting for answers, tongue teasing along the seam of your lips until you part for him with a soft, involuntary sound.

One hand cups the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you, while the other grips your waist and pulls your hips flush against his. You can feel the restrained tension in every inch of his body. He breaks away just enough to speak against your lips, breath ragged.

“Wonwoo,” he whispers, “Did that bastard kiss you like this?” Another slow, consuming kiss follows. His palm slides up your side, slow and possessive, thumb brushing dangerously close to the curve of your breast. You arch into the touch despite yourself.

Mingyu notices. Of course he does. His grip on you tightens.

“Did he touch you here?” he whispers hotly against your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below it. He shifts the fabric of your dress aside. “Tell me he didn’t kiss you here.”

His mouth finds the spot just above your collarbone, hot and open, sucking until your knees weaken and a sharp breath escapes you. His hand slides down your side, gripping your hip hard, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how much he wants you. His thigh nudges between yours, rocking slowly.

“Or here,” he murmurs, lips dragging to the dip of your shoulder. He presses his body tighter, sucking harder, like he wants the mark to linger.

“He did,” you manage, steeling yourself. Maybe the lie would make it easier — a clean cut to sever the chains of his dangerous charm. “But the difference is that I actually felt something when Wonwoo kissed me.”

The words settle between you like falling ash.

For the first time since he had found you, Mingyu’s composure cracks.

“You can’t even look me in the eye as you say that,” he challenges, voice low and raw. He stays pressed against you, forehead resting against your shoulder as he breathes you in. Then his hand slips fully beneath your skirt, fingers tracing up your bare thigh until they find the aching heat between your legs. He presses two fingers against your soaked folds, stroking slowly, reverently, as though memorizing the proof of your desire.

A low, satisfied sound rumbles in his throat. He knows he still owns this part of you. Even the smallest surrender is enough to feed the addiction raging inside him.

“Choose,” he says against your skin, the words both plea and ultimatum. “Tell me right now that he makes you feel like this and I’ll walk away. But if you stay silent… if your body keeps telling me the truth…”

You shake your head desperately, voice cracking. “I cannot lie to you, Mingyu. I never could. But this… this cannot happen. You know it cannot.”

“Why must you push me away?” His eyes are glassy, shimmering with raw desperation as he slowly withdraws his fingers. The sudden emptiness leaves you aching, hollow.

“I cannot breathe when you are not near me,” he breathes against your skin, voice rough and fractured. “You are the only real thing I have in this cage. You think Wonwoo can give you what you need?”

“Our fates were already chosen,” you whisper, the words heavy on your tongue. “Nothing more can be done.”

“Fine,” Mingyu says, the single word laced with bitter resignation. His eyes darken with pain, jaw tight, as if the acceptance costs him everything. “Be with Wonwoo, but God forbid any man dare to utter your name with the same love I hold for you.”

The words fall like a curse and a vow all at once, his voice breaking on the edge of something dangerously close to ruin.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat softly, the apology tasting like defeat. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

Your hands fist tighter in his shirt. Another broken sound slips from your throat. Every atom in your body swells with something vast and terrifying you do not dare to name. You cannot afford these feelings. You were not born into wealth or title. All of this is meaningless — a fleeting, impossible dream that would only ruin you both in the end.

He doesn’t give you time to say anything more. With visible torment, he forces himself to pull back. The sudden space between your bodies feels like winter’s bite.

“That’s all I needed to know,” he says quietly, voice hoarse.

life is really hard. there’s so many obstacles, so many things that people have to deal with, losing their footing every day in a world that they’re still trying to navigate. there’s not a single person who has done this before. it only gets worse the older you get, and that’s something you’ve felt nothing but dread thinking about. it’s scary, getting older. for you, it just leaves more room for you to feel sentimental and reminisce on moments that you won’t be able to experience again, even the moment where you sit right here, lingering on such a thought. it’s all fleeting, and it’s scary to know that these last seconds of joy, happy memories of a certain era of life, are slipping through your fingers. even if there’s more to come.

the years fly by faster and faster, the longer you spend your time on this planet. even the summer, such a small fraction of the year, feels like it only lasts a week. the whole season smushed into seven days, days which you’ve spent on vacation with only one person. coincidentally, the same person you see when you think of the past however many years. there’s not a single person you’re more grateful for knowing, having met him as a child, keeping him by your side for your whole life.you remember it so clearly, over ten, nearly twenty years ago when you were knock kneed and second guessing every step you took. he saw you, and without thinking twice about it, he took you under his wing and hasn’t let you go ever since.

it was embarrassingly obvious that you were lonely, someone people didn’t like much, no matter where you went. you were used to navigating things on your own, and without the help of others, simply keeping to yourself and finding your own way. he was so bold, he didn’t even give you room to debate before claiming you as his best friend, helping you find your wings and become who you are today. you truly couldn’t credit anyone with their assistance in your success except him. he became someone you could lean on, and he quickly became your best friend, your crutch. it was easy to fall into a sort of dynamic where you were like family, being adopted by his own and becoming an extreme part of your life.

as you lay on this lounge chair, skin to skin while watching the waves sparkle under the moonlight, all you can help to do is reminisce on the time you’ve had with seungcheol. there’s not much time left until his special day, until he turns 30, welcoming you and all your friends into the third, melancholy decade of your life. with your head against his bare chest, you feel his heartbeat slow and his breathing go back to normal as the minutes tick by. yet, you still can’t seem to catch your breath. it feels like just yesterday you were cowering behind cheol’s teenage, yet still very broad shoulders while he introduced you to his other friends. you blinked and suddenly you’re no longer chasing him down the boardwalk, beer bottle spilling over your hand as you race to the beach, tumbling through the sand when you catch him. you don’t do that anymore. you’re in the same place you walked all those years ago, except this time you guys don’t play fight in the sand, don’t get shitfaced and do all the reckless things you used to. now, you’ve found love, sitting with him on a secluded area of the beach, laying on top of him with barely any clothing separating the two of you, reminiscing on the past almost-twenty years that you’ve known each other.

this makes your heart hurt, your anxiety kick in. you’re so, so grateful that all of your youth was spent with him. there was nothing but pure joy, and you still have that now, but there’s something in you that feels nothing but pure dread, knowing that the youth you were so used to is going away. not completely, but it’s morphing into something different, and you’re not sure how ready you are to take that on. not long after cheol’s birthday, it’ll be jeonghan, jisoo.. and you’re right there with them. soon enough everyone else will follow suit, and you really couldn’t put it into words just how much that freaks you out. there’s no way to explain it. when you look up at cheol, the arm that isn’t wrapped around you rests under his head, and his gaze is set on the sky above you both. he looks so beautiful, completely relaxed, face reflecting nothing but serenity as he lays with you. you’re envious of that, of his calm state of being, and happiness towards his special day and what comes after. eventually he catches your gaze, and he smiles softly, pulling you closer to give you a kiss. smooth, soft, and full of all the tranquility you wish you were feeling.

“talk to me.” he says, and you almost wanna curse at the way he knows you so well, immediately sensing the weight on your mind.

you sigh, “i just.. i don’t understand how you’re so calm.”

he chuckles, sitting up a little to place you properly between his legs. with your back to his chest, he wraps his arms tight around your torso. “what do you mean? should i be scared? am i gonna die tomorrow?”

you smile, just barely, a little huff of air leaving your lips. “no, no.. i’m talking about, like.. about growing up. you’re happy. embracing it. i don’t get that.”

he hums lowly, kissing your crown. “first of all, we grew up a long time ago. and of course i’m happy to be getting older. sure, we’ve come a long way, and i am entering a different stage, but it’s exciting to see what comes with it. personally, i’m especially excited to see how sexy i get once i’m thirty..” he laughs, nuzzling into your nape when you let out a little giggle.

“and.. you’re not afraid to lose what you’ve had in your twenties?” you look up at him, so much vulnerability, genuinely worried about this predicament, and you can see the way he softens at it.

he shakes his head, “nope. because i’ll always have those memories to keep. and i have you, the kids.. you guys are a part of my twenties. am i gonna lose you all after the next..” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes?”

immediately you’re shaking your head, leaning into him impossibly close. “no! of course not.. you’ll have me, them, for forever.”

“well? there you have it then. i’m not losing my twenties, or any of my youth for that matter, by turning thirty. i still have you all with me, and i’ll keep you until i die. and even after that.” he emphasizes the last part with a kiss to your temple.

you nod your head. “i just feel like life keeps moving. and it keeps getting faster, but i can’t keep up. i don’t remember the years getting so short, you know?” you fight the way you get a little choked up the longer you talk, but he notices, as always, hands starting to rub against your waist.

this time, he has to take a moment to think, going silent to think of a response. “i understand how you’re feeling. i think that way more than i’d like to admit, but..” he pauses again, “there’s nothing we can do but look up, right? not everything has to be at the pace you’ve set for yourself. you don’t have to be what everyone expects you to be right now. whatever part of life you’re ready for, whichever part you want to be, i’ll be here to love you and support you through it, okay?” he holds you by your chin, keeping eye contact while he speaks, pouting slightly to help push his point, jerking his head to force your verbal response when you nod. he smiles satisfactorily when he hears your little okay, leaning in to give you kisses, on your lips and all over your face.

“now. no more sadness, okay? there’s one minute left, and my birthday wish is for us all to be happy. happiness only, ‘kay?” he noses the crook of your neck, laughing when you flinch at the little kisses that tickle your skin.

seungcheol’s phone rings, jeonghan calling, and you know that means it’s hit midnight, and you reach for it to hang up on him. you turn to face him, reaching for the little cupcake set beside you. i’ll be the first one, you mumble, lighting the candle before looking at him with a smile. as you start singing, his face shines so bright under the orange glow of the flame, smile so wide and perfect, even after all these years. as the song comes to a close, you feel much more excitement towards the future than you previously had, even if it’s not by much. seungcheol’s eyes fall shut as you end the song, adding a few extra notes to be fancy, laughing as he makes his wish and blows the candle out.

“happy birthday, my cheollie.” with a finger you wipe icing on his cheek, immediately going in to kiss it off. when you try going back in a second time, he turns his head, holding you against his lips by the back of your head. this time, it’s a little more romantic than the last few, his hands holding your body as close to him as it can get.

he pulls away, not by far, your foreheads touching, “thank you, baby girl.” he kisses you again, “i can’t wait to spend my thirties and forever with you.”

Tonight’s target is a man named Arthur Kim. Age forty-three, married, with two daughters𑁋assigned to be executed under the orders of the Dominion for illegally accessing financial streams and attempting to sell them to some brokers located in the Undercity. A fatal error that costed him his entire life, and Minghao was sent to deliver the act within a termination window of two hours.

Minghao didn’t need all that time. 

In due time, the ocular implant in his eye pings, immediately locking onto the target’s heat signature through the reinforced glass and walls. Minghao narrows his gaze, heat mapping across his vision, following the man’s dull amber silhouette frantically pacing inside of his dimly lit and expensive apartment, as if already knowing what’s about to come.

A forty metre gap separates the two buildings. Minghao steps into the void without any hesitation. The wind roars past him as he launches himself off the ledge, his coat flaring out like wings. Twin magnetic grapples fire out from the wrist of his right bionic arm with a sharp hiss, cables flying across the chasm until they latch onto the Helix Tower’s exterior frame. 

At the apex of the launch, he releases the grapples and twists his body into a controlled dive towards the window. The second he makes contact, reinforced glass explodes inward as his boots smashes cleanly through Arthur Kim’s window, causing shards to rain across the carpet floor like confetti. 

The man in question spins around too late, eyes blown wide with utter panic, clutching nothing but a half-empty glass of whiskey in his trembling hand and useless revolver in the other that he shakily points directly at Minghao.

“Don’t… don’t come any closer!” he begs, fingers twitching around the trigger. “I have connections𑁋I-I have a family, a wife, two little girls𑁋I can pay𑁋”

Minghao doesn’t speak. He never does on missions like this. Words are wasted on the already dead.

Instead, he crosses the room in three, perfect strides, way faster than any modified human should. Arthur attempts to shoot, but the revolver kicks back into his grip and causes the bullet to go wide and harmlessly punch into the wall directly behind Minghao, barely grazing the edge of his temple. The second bullet misses again and punches a smoking hole through a video holographic family portrait that flickers and dies mid-laugh.

When Arthur tries to bolt towards the door, Minghao cuts him off with a firm seize to his throat with his cybernetic hand, lifting the man clean off the floor and knocking the breath out of his lungs with a choked gasp. The synthetic muscles and servos whirr softly under the plating as Arthur’s legs kicked uselessly through the air, causing the whiskey glass and gun to slip free out of his hands. 

Arthur’s screams are muddled when a sudden boom of thunder vibrates the world outside. Minghao doesn’t budge, even as the man claws at his grip with both hands. Forty-three years of soft living against a body rebuilt for war𑁋there was never a contest. 

Minghao tightens his hold ever so slightly. Not enough to fully incapacitate yet. He wants the man to feel it, to feel the consequences of his actions with a teasing crush to his windpipe. The ocular implant in his left eye feeds him live data: heart rate 179… 203… oxygen saturation plummeting from 97% to 47%. It isn’t long until Arthur’s face bloats and washes into a deep crimson. Veins stand out like ropes along his temples. His eyes bulge, whites shot through with burst capillaries, tears leaking from the corners as his tongue presses thickly against his teeth.

Nothing but a wet, gurgling choke escapes him, barely audible over the storm raging outside and Minghao’s ironclad grip. “Please… my girls…”

The man continues to spew out gargled, pathetic words𑁋about his family who he only wanted to provide for, his wife who didn’t know anything, his innocent little girls𑁋and Minghao doesn’t feel a single ounce of remorse for it. He was assigned a task to complete. There was nothing programmed in him for mercy or pity. 

When Minghao squeezes his fingers a fraction tighter, Arthur’s windpipe collapses with a wet, sickening pop. His eyes roll back completely in his head, his face drained of colour, as one final spasm jerks through his body before his arms drop limp to his side. Minghao holds him suspended in the air for a full ten seconds after the heart monitor flatlines before opening his hand.

Arthur’s body falls to the floor with a thud, sprawling among the glass shards and spilled whiskey. A thin stream of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth and pools beside his lifeless eyes. Updated data swarms through Minghao’s vision.

Target: Arthur Kim — TERMINATED Elapsed Time: 8 minutes, 53 seconds

Minghao exhales a breath through his nose, rolling his shoulders back. The servos under his bionic arm hum faintly through the movement of his artificial joints, recalibrating itself from the temporary exertion. Eight minutes and fifty-three seconds. It’s somewhat sloppy by his standards, but the noise of the storm did well to hide most of the struggle. Still, the Dominion would be satisfied with his work as they always are. 

He crouches beside the corpse, metal fingers brushing against the man’s neck to confirm zero pulse. Rain pours in from the shattered window, mixing in with the whiskey and the small pool of blood at his feet. This was definitely one of his messier missions, but the cleanup crew will do their task when he leaves.

He does a quick scan around the room, cycling through spectral overlays𑁋motion, thermal, electromagnetic. No alarms or security drones are detected. Arthur Kim had been arrogant enough to hide behind privacy glass and a single biometric lock on his door. What an amateur. 

The apartment is dead silent now, except for the storm outside slowly beginning to dull out. But what catches him for a split second is the glitchy sound of laughter. Minghao shoots a glance toward the broken holographic family portrait that Arthur had shot at just moments ago.

His gaze lingers on the screen as it flickers erratically. What remains is a looping fragment: Arthur Kim smiling wide with his arms looped around another woman, and two small girls in front of them, both of them with equally big grins as if the world had never once been cruel. The audio stutters with one of the girls saying, “Daddy, look! I drew you a𑁋” before restarting the loop again. 

Minghao forcibly tears his eyes away. He forces out a flat exhale through his nose, turning his back on the portrait entirely. Sentiment was a luxury for the wealthy civilians; for him, it was just irrelevant data. He mindlessly steps over Arthur’s corpse and treads his way toward the shattered window, climbing onto the rain-slicked ledge without looking back. 

The wind claws onto him immediately, trying to sweep him off the building. He activates the magnetic grapples through his hand and anchors onto the opposite structure. With one powerful pull, he’s airborne again, swinging across the forty-metre gap like a shadow trailing through the void. Then he finds himself running across the rooftop before stopping right at the edge.

Below him, the city continues its restless slumber. Minghao watches it all distantly.

Then he jumps down into the void as the rain washes away the city’s sins. 

This time, the fall felt a little longer than it should have. 

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ORANTE PARTIES ARE PERHAPS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE RESPONSIBILITY AS A PRINCESS.

The castle's grand ballroom has been transformed into a glittering display of excess, the crystal chandeliers reflecting torchlight and dappled shadows across polished marble floors, the heavy velvet drapery covering the walls in hues of crimson and midnight blue - all of it tailored to make the inside of the room feel like something from another world.

You hate every inch of it. You hate the weight of your gown and its scratchy material, you hate how you can feel the bone stitching of the corset digging into your ribs, you hate the brittle laughter and the clink of crystal goblets, the venomous whispers behind delicate gossamer fans. Most of all, you hate the way every eye in the room seems to track your every movement, measuring you, judging you, waiting for the perfect princess to make a single mistake so they can talk about it with practiced smiles.

A bard stands at the center of the hall, his fingers dancing over the strings of a lute as he sings a soulful ballad of lovers lost in the heat of one another, of stolen touches and a kind of passion you'll never understand. You wonder what it might be like to experience something like that, to be touched by someone who wants you so badly they risk everything, to have hands on your skin that aren't bound by protocol and propriety. To do something dangerous and sinful, to have someone hold you the way those lovers in the song held each other, with urgency and desire instead of duty.

You'll never be that, of course. You are forever bound to this kingdom where the entire world is your stage, where you must remain untouched and controlled, and you're constantly expected to perform.

You're not the only one performing tonight, of course. You're halfway through a painfully boring conversation with the Lord of Coin regarding taxes when a burst of laughter cuts through the murmur of the party. Your gaze drifts against your will toward the small crowd forming near the arched windows, and though you can't see the man at the center of their attention, you know he's there.

The court jester's voice drifts toward you, mischief wrapped in pretty velvet clothes and a silly hat. You'd seen him earlier tonight, dressed in his best midnight blue velvet doublet and matching pants, little crystals stitchy to the fabric to make it look like he's lost in a midnight sky. His eyes had been filled with particularly vicious mischief when they'd landed on you, but your father had whisked you away to greet the Lady of Harvest before the fiend could slink your way.

Jeonghan is a fiend. You are perhaps the only person at court who thinks behind the practiced smiles, card tricks and juggling that there's something far more dangerous, but you've never been able to convince anyone of it. And why should anyone agree with you? Jeonghan is favored among the court for his wit, rhymes and tricks, thrilling the men and charming the women as he slides through each party like smoke, taking the shape of whatever his audience desires most.

A fresh wave of laughter erupts from his audience, brighter and more genuine than anything else you’ve heard tonight. It makes your skin itch and you turn away from the crowd, focusing back on the conversation at hand and determined not to let Jeonghan ruin your night like he does at most parties, determined to vex you and make you feel affronted and flushed and-

No. 

You shove him from your mind as the conversation drags on while you sip spiced wine from your glass. As the Lord of Coin talks, you wonder what it would be like to leave this room. To go get somewhere lost in the city below. To fall into the bed of someone who would touch you like the lovers in the bard’s song, someone who smells like sandalwood and smoke and whose smile is sharp and familiar.

For now, you stay put and keep your eyes on the lord in front of you, ignoring the growing laughter coming from Jeonghan's corner. You hate that he enthralls them so - hate that even though you’re suspicious of him, he charms you in his own way, worming into your thoughts on lonely days, leading your mind astray to wonder how it is he does those tricks of his.

Your father appears suddenly, the Lord of Coin fumbling over whatever he was saying about inflation as the king puts a hand on your shoulder, grinning jovially. "Lord Hastings, forgive me, but I'm here to steal my daughter and spoil her with the fun part of the night!"

"Of course, Your Majesty!" Lord Hasting bows. "Thank you for the conversation, Your Highness."

"The gratitude is all mine, Lord Hastings," you nod, letting your father spin you away as dread knots in your stomach.

The crowd near the arched windows opens up as you approach, the members of the court bowing as you and your father approach the entertainment. Torchlight flickers on their faces, showing how flushed with delight they are as they watch the spectacle in front of them. Jeonghan stands in the middle of the, his midnight doublet fitting him perfectly as the crystals sparkle with his every movement.

Though the jester hat might look silly on anyone else, Jeonghan makes it look fashionable. His long, dark hair frames his angelic face, all sharp cheekbones and carefully sloped nose. His dark eyes find yours immediately, flashing as he grins. Your heart skips a little but you remain uneffected, staring at him as he juggles three daggers for the crowd as they ooo and ahhh at him.

You watch as the blades flash in the torchlight, each one caught cleanly while people gasp and clap. A lady nearby giggles behind her fan just as Jeonghan makes the daggers disappear into his sleeves with a quick motion. The crowd claps as he grins and bows politely, his dark eyes finding you again.

Irritation simmers, your gaze locking onto his and holding it. While everyone seems impressed, your instincts scream danger, wolf in fool’s clothing. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he steps toward you, the smell of his sandalwood and smoke clinging to him.

"Your Highness," he greets smoothly. "You look bored. Let me change that."

You say nothing but your father claps, his laughter booming as Jeonghan starts his performance. Cards fly from his hands in quick patterns and your attention is drawn upward as they flit through the air. He dances away from you and leans toward Lord Jeon, plucking a card from behind his ear before flicking his hand and turning it into a coin. The crowd laughs and claps as you stand there stiffly, watching as he charms his way through the nobles until he comes back toward you.

Jeonghan stops in front of you and holds out his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. The crystals on his double clink together as you stare at him, your stomach twisting when he looks up at you through his dark, silky lashes. To anyone else, the look might be reverent, but you see it for what it is - hunger. 

"For the best trick tonight, I need a volunteer," he murmurs. The crowd claps excitedly and when you glance at your father, the king urges you forward, excited. “Your Highness, would you do me the honor?”

Swallowing thickly, you place your hand in Jeonghan's. His skin is warm, sending a spark of heat up your arm as he guides you toward the center of the circle where he spins you in a twirl, the skirts of your dress flaring. The lords and ladies clap, delighted and shouting how beautiful you look, how wonderful their princess is. Jeonghan’s touch lingers a moment longer than necessary before he grins and lets go, eyes glued to you as he circles you like a wolf might its prey.

When he stops, he leans close enough that you can see the silver threading in his collar and the way his sleeves are tailored to allow free movement, probably full of pockets for all of his cards and daggers and other baubles he uses for his performances. He's close enough that the sandalwood and spice makes your lashes flutter, making you think of something dark - not at all the cheery jester he claims to be.

"Try not to look so afraid," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him. "The court might think you're afraid of a simple card trick."

"I'm not afraid," you snap.

"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"

You grimace. Ever the observationalist, seeing far more than anyone ever dares to give him credit for.

"Do your trick, jester," you growl.

Jeonghan grins as he produces a deck of cards from one of his sleeves, fanning them out again. "Choose any card but don't show me, love."

Ignoring the casual way he uses a pet name entirely unfit for his station, you select a card from the middle of the deck and when you flip it, you see the seven of swords. You angle it away from him, eyes darting between him and the card. His eyes watch you closely, the heat of them making you fight off a shiver.

"Show the crowd, I'll look away. Cross my heart and hope to die."

You roll your eyes when he turns his back to you. The crowd leans in as you flip the card, showcasing the front to them all. They all nod excitedly, tittering behind hands and fans until you flip the card back around, holding it close to your chest and away from Jeonghan.

"Good," he says when he turns back around, tucking the deck away in one of his sleeves. "Put the card against your palm, card face down."

You follow his instructions, holding your palm out with the card face down to conceal the seven of swords. Jeonghan reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as he presses his palm on top of yours, the card firmly kept between both of your hands. You hate the way your skin responds to the contact, the way the sudden awareness of him prickles up your arm.

"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.

"Hardly."

"Clever." He guides your pressed palms upward so that you're both holding the card between you, each of your hands pressing forward with equal force. "Good girl. Keep your hand steady."

A snarl works its way to your lips at the pet name, but before you can snap at him for the impropriety, Jeonghan shuffles closer and the crowd goes quiet. You realize how far away they seem, the sound dull like it's on the other side of a bubble. Jeonghan is close though - so close you have to tilt your chin up to look up at him, his eyes glittering as they watch you.

"You're quite good at playing a dutiful princess," he notes.

"You know nothing about me."

"Don't I?" His eyes search yours, and there's something sharp in his gaze, something that cuts through the fool's mask he wears. "I know you watch everything. I know you see more than you let on. I know you're the only person in this room who looks at me and wonders what I'm really doing here."

Your heart pounds harder, the rhythm so forceful you're certain he can see it in the pulse at your throat. He's far too close and far too observant for a mere jester. The air between your palms feels charged, almost electric, and you're acutely aware of every inch of space he occupies. You want to step back, to put distance between you and whatever game he's playing, but the crowd is watching and so is the king. So you look onward, staring at him as he smirks.

"Breathe," Jeonghan says, softer now, and there's something almost gentle in his tone that makes it worse somehow. "You're holding your breath, love."

“Stop calling me that.”

"Nervous?"

You glare. "No."

His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."

The word hangs between you, intimate and dangerous. No one else speaks to you like this. No one else would dare, but Jeonghan isn't like the others at court. He refuses to be cowed by your title and your cold shoulder, protected by the silly little performance he puts on, convincing others that he's a fool. It gives him a freedom that feels threatening, and you're the only one who seems to notice.

The hand that isn't pressed against yours moves, tracing a slow circle in the air around where your palms are joined. The movement is hypnotic, and you find yourself following the movement, watching as he repeats the motion a few times. For a moment, you feel a little hazy, eyes fluttering as your thoughts grow foggy. Then, your mind sharpens again, Jeonghan’s intense gaze coming into focus. 

"Picture your card," he instructs, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Imagine exactly what it looks like - the edges, the images. The way it's shaped. The colors used, the details of the card face."

You think of the seven of swords, trying to focus on the image of it, trying to use it as an anchor against the way your pulse races. It's difficult to do so with the warmth radiating from his palm and the way his breath stirs the air between you. He's close enough that you can count every one of his eyelashes and see the way his dark eyes catch the light from the chandeliers overhead.

As you try and picture the curling red numbers on the card and blue paint of the swords, you let your eyes flit over his sleeves. His hands. His pockets. You try to work out what exactly the charade is, ready to catch him in his trickery. You always try, and you always fail, never quite able to pin down the source of the performance.

"You're thinking about the card," he says, dropping his voice again so only you can hear. "But you're also thinking about how I'm doing this. Trying to work it out. Trying to catch me." You don't answer, feeling the heat hit your chest and cheeks as you flush under being caught. Jeonghan smirks, nodding. "You also don’t like being caught. Are you afraid of what I'll see when I look at you?"

"You see nothing, jester."

"Untrue." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "I see someone who's hungry to be wanted. Someone who wants to be touched like those lovers in the ballad the bard was singing, with heat and urgency and desperate desire. Someone who wishes there was a person bold enough to touch her the way a princess is never supposed to be touched. To want her not because of the crown but despite it." His eyes glint with something darker. "And I see someone who looks at me and knows exactly what I am. A wolf in fool’s clothing, right?”

You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. You hate that Jeonghan is right and that he sees through you as easily as you see through him. There's a part of you that's always craved this kind of understanding, someone who could look past the crown and what lies beneath, but not like this. Not from him.

Being known by Jeonghan feels like standing naked before a predator, and the worst part is that you're not entirely certain you want to cover yourself. Your chest tightens with the contradiction of it, the simultaneous ache to be truly seen and the primal need to hide from his gaze. 

"Now," Jeonghan says, and his voice drops again, intimate and teasing. "I'm going to find your card without ever touching the deck again. Without you saying a word." He leans in, just slightly, and you can feel the whisper of his breath against your temple, warm and deliberate. Your skin tingles where it touches. "Would you like to know how?"

You can't answer. Your throat has gone tight, and you're frozen there, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange, unwanted pull that keeps you rooted in place.

"I'm going to read your mind," he murmurs, and his lips are so close to your ear now that you feel each word as much as hear it. "I'm going to look into those careful, guarded eyes and see exactly what else you're hiding."

Your hands are shaking now, both of them, and you know he can see it. The crowd can probably see it too, but they likely think it's part of the act, part of the performance. They don't know that your heart is hammering so hard it hurts, that every nerve in your body is screaming at you to move, to step back, to break whatever spell he's weaving.

"It's the seven of swords," Jeonghan says, and his voice is soft enough to raise the hair on your arms.

Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself, before you can school your expression into something more controlled. The reaction is instinctive, damning, and you see the exact moment he registers it. See the satisfaction that flickers across his face.

"There it is," he murmurs, so quietly that you almost don't hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. "That's what I wanted to see."

Suddenly he steps back, and the loss of his proximity should be a relief but instead feels like an absence. His hand that was mirroring yours drops away to reveal that the card that was pressed between your palms is no longer there. You frown, mouth falling open slightly as he reaches toward your face. You go still as his fingers brush the edge of your jaw, feather-light and deliberate. It's barely contact at all, the barest whisper of his fingertips against you, but you feel it everywhere.

When he pulls his hand away, he's holding a card between two fingers, flicking it to show you the seven of swords. The crowd erupts in applause and delighted exclamations, the sound washing over you while you stare at him. You want to know how he did it, to know what you missed. Had his whispers distracted you from when he placed it there? Was it a trick of the light?

"Your Highness," Jeonghan says, and his voice is pitched for the crowd now, all performance and charm. He bows deeply, flourishing the card. "Thank you for your assistance."

When his eyes meet yours again, they tell a different story. They say he knows exactly what effect he's had on you. That he planned it, wanted it, enjoyed watching you unravel. It makes you step back, putting necessary distance between you as your heart hammers, your pulse deceiving you.

You excuse yourself as soon as the opportunity presents itself, your father turning to another lord as he laughs about something and the crowd pressing around Jeonghan, cutting him off from you. No one notices when you slip away from the gathered nobles, picking up the skirts of your dress as you rush for the exit, skin overheating.

Cool night air washes over you as you step into the gardens and away from all the noise and eyes. The sound of the ballroom has long since faded behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of water from the fountain somewhere deeper in the garden. You inhale deeply, letting the scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine fill your lungs, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.

The gardens are empty. Everyone is inside, drinking and dancing and watching Jeonghan perform his tricks. Out here, there's only moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, casting everything in silver and shadow. The paths wind between tall hedges and rose bushes, their blooms pale in the darkness. Your footsteps are quiet on the stone walkway as you move deeper into the maze, away from the ballroom, away from the noise and the eyes and the suffocating weight of your crown.

You walk without direction, letting your feet carry you past marble statues and flowering vines that climb the garden walls. The moonlight catches on the petals of white roses, making them glow like ghosts. Everything is still and quiet, peaceful in a way the ballroom could never be.

Out here, you can think. Out here, you can try to make sense of what just happened.

Except you can't make sense of it. Can't explain why Jeonghan's proximity affected you so deeply, why his whispered words felt like they were carving themselves into your skin, why the loss of his touch left you aching in ways you don't want to examine. You barely know him. You don't trust him. And yet-

"Running away, Your Highness?"

You spin around, heart leaping into your throat to see Jeonghan standing in the middle of the path behind you as though he's materialized from the shadows themselves. His little hat is nowhere to be found, dressed only in the velvet outfit with crystals glittering like stars. The moonlight above catches in his dark hair, turning it silver at the edges. His eyes gleam, and you become hyperaware of the unnatural quiet of his presence.

"I needed air," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Mm." Jeonghan takes a step closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Or you needed to escape me."

You don't answer - can't answer, because he's right and you both know it. He moves closer still, slow and deliberate, and you suddenly feel like he's a wolf giving the sheep time to run if it wanted to. You don't run, your feet planted to the stone path even as your pulse hammers in your throat, even as every instinct screams that you should walk away.

"You know," Jeonghan says conversationally, stopping just within arm's reach, "most people can't wait to be near me. They laugh at my jokes, beg for my tricks, hang on my every word." His head tilts slightly, studying you. "But you? You look at me like I'm something dangerous."

"You are dangerous," you say before you can stop yourself. “Even if I can’t prove it.”

His smile is slow and devastating. "Yes. I am."

The admission should frighten you. Instead, it sends heat curling through your belly, making your breath catch in your chest. He's standing close enough now that you can see the way the moonlight plays across his features. He's beautiful, with a sharp jawline and elegant nose, the curve of his mouth full and dangerous, the kind of beauty that bards say is dangerous, luring people into the spider’s web.

"But that's not why you ran," Jeonghan continues.

"It's not?"

He shakes his head. "You ran because of what I said in there. Because I saw through you, and you didn't like it."

"You don't know anything about me."

He takes another step, and now he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, can see the way his gaze travels deliberately over your face, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

"I already proved that isn't true, love."

Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks, your chest, spreading through your entire body. "You're far too presumptuous and entirely impromper."

"I'm observant."His eyes meet yours, and there's something raw in them now, something that makes your stomach flip. "And I know you felt it too. In the ballroom, when I was close to you. The way your breath changed. The way you leaned toward me even as you tried to pull away. The way you're looking at me right now, like you can't decide if you want to run or-"

"Or what, jester?" You demand, huffing. "If you know me so well, just say it."

Jeonghan's smile turns predatory. "Or if you want to stay right here and let me show you what you desire, no matter how improper it is."

Your heart is pounding so hard you're certain he can hear it. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" He takes one more step, closing the distance until you can feel his breath against your lips, until you're backed against the rough bark of a tree you didn't realize was behind you. "I'm not afraid of your crown, love. I'm not afraid of what anyone would say or do. I'm not afraid of you."

The words send a thrill down your spine that you absolutely should not feel. His hand comes up, not touching you but hovering just beside your face, close enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your cheek. You grit your teeth, refusing to lean into the hand the way you want to, refusing to give him the satisfaction again tonight.

"Why risk it, then?" You ask. "Only a fool would."

"I am a fool," he agrees. "Let me show you how foolish I am. Let me show you what it's like to be touched and desired. Let me show you what I've wanted to do since the moment I've met you and how I want to make you come undone. Let me make you lose all that polished control you loathe so much."

You should say no. Should push him away. Should remember every reason this is a terrible idea. But your body isn't listening to your mind, and you find yourself leaning toward him, drawing by the magnetic pull you've been fighting all evening.

"What do you say," he asks, hand coming to cradle your face and tilt it upward until you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Do you want your desires answered?"

You lick your lips and his eyes track the movement, pupils expanding. Swallowing dryly, you give the shallowest nod, damning yourself to desire, to the feeling of being wanted and seen.

It's all he needs. Jeonghan's eyes darken, and then his mouth is on yours and the world narrows to just the heat of his lips, the press of his body as he crowds you back against the tree, the rough bark catching on the fabric of your gown. He kisses you like he's starving for it, deep and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

You gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or reverent or careful, but instead it’s consuming, devastating, the kind of kiss that you never knew existed.

He tastes like wine and something darker, something that makes you want more even as your lungs burn for air. His teeth catch your lower lip and you whimper, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle beneath the fabric of his costume.

"I've wanted this for so long," Jeonghan murmurs against your mouth, then trails his lips down your jaw to your throat. "Wanted you. Do you know how difficult it was to keep my hands to myself during that trick? To stand so close and not touch you the way I really wanted to?"

His teeth graze your pulse point and you can't stop the sound that escapes you, half gasp, half moan. He makes a satisfied noise low in his throat, then his hand slides from your hip to your thigh, gathering the heavy fabric of your gown and pulling it up as you pant against the tree, your head digging into the bark.

"Tell me to stop," he says, but his fingers are already tracing the inside of your thigh, moving higher. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me all my chasing and teasing and prodding is for nothing and that I should leave."

“I can’t.”

"Fuck," Jeonghan breathes against your throat, and the crude word from his elegant mouth sends another wave of heat through you.

His fingers find the edge of your undergarments and he pulls them aside with deliberate slowness, exposing you to the cool night air. When his fingers press against you directly, finding you already slick, you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The gardens are secluded and shadowed, but not so far from the ballroom that sound wouldn't carry.

"Don't," Jeonghan says, his free hand coming up to pull your lip from between your teeth. "I want to hear you. Want to know exactly what I'm doing to you. Want to hear every sound you make when I touch you like this."

His fingers slip between your slick folds and you do cry out then, unable to stop yourself. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his costume, and he groans like your pleasure is his own. You feel a shiver go through him and you realize he’s just as affected by you as you are by him and it makes the heat even worse, the knowledge that he wants you this badly turning your blood to fire.

"So wet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you with maddening slowness. "So perfect. Is this what you were thinking about during the bard's song? Someone touching you like this? Making you fall apart?"

You can't answer. Can't form words. All you can do is gasp as his fingers circle your clit with devastating precision, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. Your legs turn molten and Jeonghan pins you against the tree with his hips, sliding one of his knees between your legs to keep you pried open for his hand. 

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"Yes," you manage, the word coming out broken. "Yes, I was thinking about being touched."

His fingers press harder, moving in tight circles that make your vision blur. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, and you can feel how wet you are, your entrance clenching around nothing as his fingers trace laze circles where you need him most, your hips twitching.

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he promises. "Going to make you come so hard you see stars.

He slides one finger inside you and you cry out, your back arching off the tree. He's watching your face with an intensity that should make you self-conscious, but you're too far gone to care, too lost in the sensation of his finger moving inside you, curling just right, finding spots that make you shake.

It feels so good - better than you imagined, even. Jeonghan is precise, leaning forward to leave bite marks and kitten licks up and down your neck as he works you slowly, finger pressing against your front wall in a way that sends you squirming against him. Your breath comes out in short, quick gasps, sweat gathering at the back of your neck as he fucks you with his finger, the wet press of his hand maddening.

"Look at you," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "So beautiful like this. So desperate. I want to see you fall apart. Want to see your face when you come."

He adds a second finger and you whimper, your hands sliding from his shoulders to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, and when he curls his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit, you nearly sob, rolling your hips forward into his hand, thighs trembling as you clench down on his fingers.

"You're so tight," Jeonghan continues, his voice a dark purr in your ear. "So perfect around my fingers. I can feel how close you are. Can feel you clenching around me. Do you want to come, love? Do you want me to make you fall apart right here in the garden where anyone could find us?"

The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through you, making you clench harder around his fingers. You nod desperately, squeezing your eyes shut as your cunt throbs around his fingers and you writhe against the tree. 

"You like that," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Like the danger of it. Like knowing that you're supposed to be in there playing princess while you're out here letting the court jester play with this pretty pussy."

His words are filthy and crude, and they shouldn't affect you the way they do, but combined with the movement of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his body pressed against yours, you feel overwhelmed and strung out, the feeling low in your stomach coiling and coiling and coiling until you're babbling and squirming and squeezing your eyes shut.

"Please," you gasp, and you're not even sure what you're begging for.

"I know what you need." His fingers move faster, harder, curling inside you with devastating precision. "You need to let go. Need to stop thinking and just feel. Need someone to take control so you don't have to be perfect for once in your life."

His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless patterns, and you can feel the pleasure building to an impossible peak. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in desperate gasps. Jeonghan invades your senses - the smell of him, the heat of him, the way his teeth scrape against your neck, the way his hair tickles against your skin.

"You're mine right now," Jeonghan growls. "Not a princess. Not a performance. Just mine. Say it."

"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours."

"Good girl. Now come for me. Let me feel it. Let me watch you fall apart."

His fingers curl one more time, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb works your clit, and the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, unable to stop yourself, your body convulsing against the tree as pleasure floods through you. You clench around his hand, throbbing as your body shakes until you feel like you can't breathe.

Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out your orgasm until you're boneless and gasping and oversensitive. He's murmuring praise in your ear now - how beautiful you are, how perfect, how he wants to do this again and again until you can't remember your own name - and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you're drunk off of him alone.

Finally, the waves subside and Jeonghan withdraws his hand slowly. You feel the loss of him like an ache, your legs still trembling and barely holding you up. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch through hazy eyes as he licks them clean, tasting you. The sight sends another pulse of heat through you despite your exhaustion.

"Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Even better than I imagined."

Reality begins to seep back in slowly. The cool night air on your heated skin. The distant sounds of the party still going on inside. The rough bark of the tree against your back. What you've just done, and who you've done it with.

You should feel ashamed. Should feel horrified. Should be scrambling to fix your dress and run back to the safety of the ballroom. You don't. You feel satisfied and boneless and strangely alive all at once, like you've finally done something that feels real instead of the pretty performance.

When you look up at Jeonghan, you see him watching you, his expression unreadable in the shadow of the tree. The breeze makes the leaves dance, kissing your cooling skin as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek with surprising gentleness.

"Regrets?" He asks, voices soft as the smoke that clings to him.

You should say yes and that this was a mistake, that it can never happen again and that you need to return to the ballroom and pretend this never happened. You should remind him that this is improper and unacceptable. Yet instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering.

"No," you admit. "No regrets."

Something like satisfaction shifts in his gaze, and he leans in and kisses you again. This time it's different - softer and slower, less consuming and more like he's savoring the taste and feel of your lips against his. You kiss him back, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the crystals click against your skin as his heart pounds beneath your palms.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard again, and your mind is spinning with questions you're not sure you want answered.

"How did you do it?" you ask suddenly.

Jeonghan tilts his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Do what?"

"The card trick. In the ballroom."

His smile widens, and there's something dangerous in it now."I already told you. I read your mind."

You shake your head, confusion and disbelief warring inside you. "That would make you something magical. Not just a jester with clever tricks."

"Yes," Jeonghan agrees, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "It would."

The implication of his words hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches, your mind racing through everything you know about him, everything you've seen, the way he seems to move through the world like something other. Like something more.

He's grinning now, watching the realization dawn across your face, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, more possessive, like he's claiming you. Like he knows exactly what he's revealed and doesn't care. When he pulls back, his lips are still close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth.

"what if i went on a date?"

the question comes out of left field, and your eyes fly up from your chemistry book to jeonghan's face. he currently sits in front of his vanity, sweater slightly askew on his shoulders as he brushes his hair.

"a date?" you repeat slowly, unable to believe the words coming from your mouth. "but...you're dating me?"

"not really." he puts emphasis on the really, a smirk ghosting his soft lips as he turns to face you. "this is just an arrangement between us, remember? you take care of the science part of my major, and in return i pretend to be your boyfriend so you can brag to your family and friends that the cute nerd isn't single anymore."

the words aren't new to you, but they sting nevertheless. jeonghan and you had made the deal at the beginning of the year, and both of you had made good on your promises: you did his work and tests when required of you, and he pretended to be your boyfriend around your nosy family and friends.

"i know the..." you trail off, cheeks burning with embarrassment as you continue moments later. "...arrangement we made, but still. you can't just..."

"just what? go on a dinner date with someone tonight at 7?" jeonghan throws the question out flippantly, curling iron in hand as he curls his bangs.

"what? you already made plans?" you question, and jeonghan turns around, pretty eyes twinkling with mischief as he shrugs. "let's say i'm hypothetically speaking here."

you roll your eyes, stomach clenching with something you don't dare mention. it creeps up on you slowly, heart starting to sink with the growing notion that jeonghan does have a date with someone other than you. someone more popular, more pretty, more outgoing—

"you know, our relationship isn't going to look believable if you're going on a date with someone else while we claim to be together. you really want to keep feeding into the playboy rumor?" you move to the edge of the bed, watching the way jeonghan's eyes flick from his reflection in the mirror to you behind him.

"and what does it matter to you?" he stands up, leaving his place in front of the mirror and approaching you. he hovers just inches away from your spot on the edge of the bed, cologne just heavy enough to drift in front of you.

jeonghan's brown eyes are glued to your face, searching your own expression for any cracks. his pretty face sends a flutter to your stomach, but it does nothing to cure the sickening feeling that's spreading throughout your body.

"you're not jealous, are you?" jeonghan smirks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. you stand up at his words, crossing the distance between you two—now, the two of you stand just millimeters apart, bodies tense and the air around you two even more tense.

"and what if i am, jeonghan?"

you fall silent after that, and you notice the way jeonghan's eyebrows kick up in slight surprise. a blush comes to his cheeks in a way that shocks you into a blushed silence yourself, and the two of you find yourself leaning in before either of you realize it.

and then—all of it stops. the two of you lock eyes, realizing just how close you two are to kissing, and scramble a few feet back like you both just got burned by the other.

"i'm not going on a date with anyone." jeonghan says quickly, almost tripping over himself in stepping away from you. "i was just teasing you."

DELUSIONAL Y/N FAN

There was a rule in the barracks. Well, an unspoken rule at that. Newbies have been warned, and seasoned soldiers are alert. The rule? If you left your phone unattended and it buzzes, everyone looks.

"Jeon."

Wonwoo didn't bother looking up from the novel in his hands. "Hm?"

"You've got a notification."

Across the room, Mingyu craned his neck dramatically toward Wonwoo's bunk before gasping loud enough for the entire platoon to hear.

"Oh, my god." Mingyu's jaw dropped.

Wonwoo sighed. "What?"

"It's her!" Mingyu exclaimed. That got everyone's attention.

Seungkwan sat up from where he'd been lying on his bed. "Y/N posted?"

Mingyu nodded solemnly. "Yup."

Wonwoo reached over for his phone. The movement was small. Casual, even.

"You have post notifications on?" Chan asked, genuinely horrified.

"...No," Wonwoo muttered.

"You picked up your phone before you even checked who it was." Chan pointed out.

Wonwoo unlocked his screen and opened Instagram. Just as Mingyu had confirmed, Y/N had posted. His thumb lingered over the screen. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Seungkwan saw the smile on his face, and he was amused.

"Oh, he's sick," Seungkwan laughed. "He's actually sick."

Wonwoo ignored him. The first photo was exactly what he expected. Another stadium, another sea of lights, another sold-out show. The second was backstage. The third—his smile grew bigger without realizing it.

"Wonwoo!" Soonyoung called.

"What?" Wonwoo echoed.

"You smiled." Soonyoung teased. Wonwoo looked at him and said, "...Did I?"

"You did!" Soonyoung chuckled.

"Oh, he smiled," Chan confirmed, pointing accusingly. "I saw his teeth!"

Wonwoo looked back down at his phone. "It was funny."

"What was?"

He hesitated. "...Nothing."

Mingyu lunged across the space between their bunks. Wonwoo tilted the phone away just enough.

"Lemme see," Mingyu said.

"No," Wonwoo replied.

"Why not?" Mingyu pouted. "I just wanna see."

"It's my phone, Mingyu. Check your own phone." Wonwoo scoffed.

Mingyu squinted his eyes, "You're being suspicious."

"It's not suspicious."

"It is when you're guarding Y/N's Instagram like it's classified information." Mingyu rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Wonwoo locked his phone with a quiet click. "I'm going to finish my book."

"Oh, he's embarrassed." Mingyu snickered.

"He definitely left a thirsty comment." Soonyoung chortled. "I didn't know you were that kind of fan, Wonwoo."

"I didn't leave a nasty comment," Wonwoo said, busy reading his book.

"You thought about it," Soonyoung said.

"Nope."

"You've thought about marrying her," Jihoon said from his bed.

Wonwoo blinked. "Probably."

The room fell silent. Then, the room erupted in loud laughter. Chan nearly fell off his bunk laughing. Seungkwan slapped his knee. Even Vernon looked up from the crossword puzzle he'd been pretending to solve. Mingyu wiped imaginary tears from his eyes.

"Our boy is never beating the delusional allegations." Mingyu ruffled Wonwoo's hair.

-

Training that afternoon was merciless. By the time they were dismissed, Wonwoo's shoulders ached, his boots were caked in dirt, and the only thing he wanted was to shower. Unfortunately for him, he found himself cornered outside the barracks by the self-proclaimed biggest Y/N stan, Boo Seungkwan, who had his phone out.

"Look!" Seungkwan said giddily.

Wonwoo glanced over. It was another clip from Y/N's tour. Shaky. Blurry. Someone had clearly filmed it from halfway across the stadium.

"She changed the acoustic section tonight," Seungkwan said. "Nobody saw that coming."

Wonwoo watched the first few seconds. "She wasn't feeling it."

Seungkwan frowned. "What?"

"The other song," Wonwoo answered, looking at Seungkwan in the eyes. "She wasn't feeling it."

Seungkwan huffed. "And how do you know that, Jeon?"

Wonwoo shrugged. "She always switches when she's tired."

A pause. Then Seungkwan pursed his lips, "You always say 'she always'."

"What?" Wonwoo tilted his head.

"Like," Seungkwan sighed. "'she always switches songs', 'she always wears that color', 'she always laughs like that'. Bro, you talk like you've known her your whole life."

Wonwoo only shrugged. In fact, he never argued. Arguing never helped, anyway.

That night, after lights out, the barracks settled into silence. Or as close to silence as six grown men could manage. Someone snored. Someone muttered in their sleep. Mingyu rolled over with enough force to make his bunk squeak.

Wonwoo reached beneath his pillow for his phone. One earbud. Volume low. He opened a fan-uploaded video. The quality was terrible. The audio peaked every time the crowd screamed. Still, he watched.

The camera shook violently as Y/N ran across the stage, waving at eighty thousand people like she had enough love for every single one of them. Wonwoo smiled.

"Careful," he whispered to the screen before she jogged down a staircase.

The person filming nearly dropped their phone. The video ended. Suggested clips appeared. He clicked another. Then another. Then another. A knock sounded against the metal frame above him.

"Jeon."

Wonwoo paused the video. "Yeah?"

"Go to sleep," Seokmin said sleepily. "I can see light from your phone."

"In a minute," Wonwoo said quietly.

"You said that an hour ago." Seokmin yawned.

"Mm."

Seokmin sighed and eventually dozed off. Wonwoo stared at the paused frame. She was laughing at something someone off-camera had said.

He wondered what it was. He wondered what city she'd wake up in tomorrow. His thumb hovered over the message icon before stopping. The time difference. She'd be onstage by now. He locked his phone. Rolled onto his back. Closed his eyes.

"Good night, Mrs. Y/L/N Y/N." Mingyu teased while his eyes were closed.

"Good night," Wonwoo said softly.

I SWEAR I'M TELLING THE TRUTH

Military life had a funny way of making days blur together. Wake up. Train. Eat. Train again. Sleep. Repeat. Some days went by so quickly that Wonwoo barely had time to think. Those were the good days.

Then, there were days like today. The kind where his thoughts wandered despite himself, and he moved around half-dead like a zombie.

The cafeteria had run out of coffee that morning. 'She would've complained.' Wonwoo thought.

Training had been pushed back because of the rain. 'She hates getting caught in the rain.' Wonwoo stared out the window.

Seungkwan had nearly slipped face-first into the mud. 'She would've laughed until she cried.'

Wonwoo sighed quietly. It was exhausting. No, loving her is easy. Missing her was exhausting. His brain had become annoyingly predictable over the past year and a half. Everything somehow circled back to her: the weather, a song, coffee, a dumb joke, a bird that looked like one she'd once spent ten minutes trying to photograph.

Aside from turning rotten as days go by, what else could he do but think of her?

"Jeon!"

Wonwoo blinked. "Hm?"

"I've been calling your name." Mingyu frowned.

"Sorry."

"You zoning out again?" Mingyu huffed. Wonwoo shrugged. Mingyu grinned. "Were you thinking about your girlfriend?"

Laughter rippled through the room. Wonwoo didn't even bother correcting him anymore. "Yeah."

Another round of laughter.

"So honest," Chan wheezed. "Bro's embracing the delusion now."

Wonwoo simply shook his head and ate kimchi.

By afternoon, the rain had stopped. The sky was clear. Training had finally ended. Wonwoo had just started untying his boots when someone called his name.

"Private Jeon."

He looked up. A staff sergeant stood outside the barracks holding a medium-sized cardboard box.

"Package for you."

Wonwoo frowned. He definitely wasn't expecting anything. "For me? Are you sure?"

The sergeant nodded. "Sign here."

He did. By the time he turned back around, seven heads were already at him. Mingyu pointed dramatically.

"Who's sending you packages?" Mingyu lifted an eyebrow.

"No idea." Wonwoo shrugged.

"Liar." Mingyu crossed his arms.

"I'm genuinely not," Wonwoo said.

Chan leaned forward. "Your parents?"

"Maybe." Wonwoo sighed as he sat on his bed.

"Open it." Vernon piped up.

"I'm tired," Wonwoo said, putting the box next to him as he continued to untie his boots.

"Open it." Seungkwan clapped.

"I'm showering first."

"OPEN IT!!" Soonyoung exclaimed excitedly. Wonwoo stared at him, then at everyone else, before sighing, "Fine."

Soonyoung, Jihoon, Seokmin, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Chan gathered around Wonwoo curiously. Wonwoo never received packages before. He barely got any visitors, too.

The tape peeled away with a soft rip. Inside, there was nothing flashy. Just neatly packed things. Coffee, instant ramen, protein bars, a new pair of insoles, and a small tube of hand cream from Yves Rocher that he loved.

Seungkwan tilted his head and pursed his lips, "Your family knows you too well. I mean, even my eomma doesn't know the hand cream I love."

Everyone nodded in agreement with their own anecdotes of how their parents don't know small things about them, too.

Wonwoo reached deeper into the box. His fingers brushed against thick paper. He pulled out a stack of Polaroids. His expression softened. Mingyu noticed.

"Aha!" Mingyu exclaimed.

"What?" Wonwoo asked.

"You did the smile." Mingyu teased.

"What smile?" Wonwoo played dumb.

"You know," Mingyu said. "The smile."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Wonwoo shook his head.

"But you DID." Mingyu huffed.

Wonwoo ignored him. The first Polaroid showed a sunrise over an empty stadium. The second is a blurry picture of a stray cat. The third, a paper coffee cup with her messy handwriting that read: Too bitter. 2/10.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "She still hates black coffee." He mumbled.

Silence. Wonwoo froze. 'Oops...' Wonwoo thought.

Seungkwan looked up. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"No, you definitely said something." Seungkwan eyed him suspisciously. "You said, 'she still hates black coffee'..."

Jihoon folded his arms, "You talk like you know her."

Wonwoo looked at the Polaroid for another second before placing it gently on his blanket. On a normal day, he'd let those comments slide. Today was different. He was missing Y/N more than usual. All the colors around him are dull, and his tasks are mundane. Against his better judgment, he said, "I do."

The room erupted into laughter. Chan laughed so hard, he had to sit down. Mingyu pointed at Wonwoo while laughing.

"Wow, he actually thinks he knows her!"

"Bro actually committed THAT hard!"

"You know what? Respect."

Seungkwan shook his head, grinning. "You're unbelievable."

Wonwoo didn't argue. He never argued. He simply reached back into the box. At the very bottom, a folded envelope. No sender's name. Just his. He unfolded the letter. The handwriting made his chest ache immediately.

My Dearest, Wonwoo,

Paris was loud. Portugal was louder. I still think Tokyo had the best crowd, but if you were here, you'd probably disagree.

He chuckled lightly.

I'm sending you stuff that I've picked up for you along the way. I hope you like them! I also hope you like the Polaroids :>

The coffee was insanely bad istg. The cat followed me for three blocks. The sunrise reminded me of you. We used to watch them all the time. I miss you so much, my love. I hope giving you this package can ease the pain of missing me too.

His grip tightened on the paper.

I love you, Wonwoo.

P.S. Please, please, please send me anecdotes of ur life in the barracks!! I hope they're feeding you enough bc I'll fight them lol jk. I'll see you soon (hopefully).

P.P.S I'm taking a hiatus after this long-ass tour. I'll travel the world with you... or maybe just chill at home with your buldak addiction. Maybe get married in secret and start a family? I don't know, but the possibilities are endless. I love you!

Yours always,

Y/N, writing from Amsterdam <3

For a moment, the barracks disappeared.

A private terminal. One week before enistment. The engines of her private jet hummed in the distance. She hadn't let go of his hand once.

"You know, I should stay." Y/N said to him. "I mean, I can wait until I send you off to your military service."

Wonwoo smiled. "No."

"I can postpone the first show fr you, love!"

"You won't do that." Wonwoo said softly.

"I would."

"You shouldn't," Wonwoo said, cupping her face with both hands. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I hate this."

"Me, too." Wonwoo smiled sadly.

She laughed weakly. "You're supposed to make this easier."

"I'm trying." Wonwoo chuckled lightly.

"You suck at it."

"Probably."

She hit his arm lightly. Just enough to make him smile. Then, she stepped closer and wrapped both arms around him, held him like she was trying to memorize every part of him. "I'll be back before you know it."

Wonwoo closed his eyes. "I know."

Neither of them believed it. A voice called her name. Five minutes. She looked toward the jet. Then back at him. Then back again. She kissed him. Once, twice. A third time after, she'd already started pulling away. The security staff politely looked everywhere else.

"Okay." She laughed through her tears.

"This time?"

"Yeah."

She made it halfway up the stairs before turning around one last time. Wonwoo lifted his hand. She mirrored the gesture. Then she disappeared inside. He didn't leave, not until the jet became nothing more than a white speck against the sky.

"Jeon?"

Wonwoo blinked. The barracks came back into focus. Mingyu was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Dude, you've been staring at that letter for, like, five minutes," Mingyu said.

"Sorry," Wonwoo said.

"So?" Seungkwan leaned forward. "Who sent it?"

Wonwoo carefully folded the letter. Placed it back inside the envelope, then looked at the six men staring at him.

"She's busy," was all Wonwoo said, completely disregarding Seungkwan's question.

HONORABLY DISCHARGED

The morning of Jeon Wonwoo's discharge was surprisingly... anticlimactic. No dramatic music. No grand farewell. Just paperwork. Sign here, initial there. Return your equipment. The military had a funny way of reducing nearly two years of someone's life into a stack of forms and a firm handshake.

"Congratulations."

Wonwoo bowed politely. "Thank you.

"Dismissed."

Wonwoo bowed one last time before heading back toward the barracks. His duffel bag sat neatly on the edge of his bunk, packed the night before. Wonwoo checked his stuff before he zipped his duffel bag shut and slung it over his shoulder.

"Well," Seokmin said, breaking the silence. "I guess this is it."

"So sentimental," Soonyoung teased, nudging Seokmin with an elbow. "You gonna cry?"

"I might," Seokmin said.

"You absolutely are."

"I'm definitely not crying because I'm gonna miss Wonwoo-hyung." Seokmin huffed.

"Oh, now you call me 'hyung'." Wonwoo laughed. A quiet laugh rippled through the room.

Wonwoo smiled. "Take care of yourselves."

"Look who's acting like a dad now," Mingyu snorted.

Chan crossed his arms. "Don't forget us when Y/N notices your comments."

"She notices," Wonwoo said. "Sometimes, I tell her in person."

The room erupted in laughter.

"There he goes!"

"Last delusion before discharge!"

"Never change, Jeon!"

Wonwoo chuckled. "I won't." He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a small paper bag. "I almost forgot." He handed it to Seungkwan.

"What's this?" Seungkwan eyed the bag suspiciously.

"Snacks." Wonwoo shrugged.

Seungkwan peeked inside. His eyes widened. "Wait... these are imported!"

"They're your favorite," Wonwoo said casually.

"Hyung-" Seungkwan said.

"I wasn't going to finish them."

Seungkwan looked strangely touched. "Thank you."

Wonwoo nodded once. He pulled out another bag. "Mingyu."

The tall man pointed at himself, "For me?"

"You kept stealing my instant coffee."

"Allegedly..." Mingyu said.

"I bought you your own." Wonwoo handed the bag to him. Mingyu opened the bag.

"You actually remembered?"

"Mm."

For a second, nobody joked. They just looked at him.

Jihoon cleared his throat. "You're annoyingly thoughtful."

"So I've been told."

Vernon finally spoke up from the corner. "You know..."

Everyone looked at him.

"If you ever somehow meet Y/N..."

Mingyu laughed. "Here we go."

"...Can you ask her for a video message?"

Seungkwan immediately pointed at Vernon. "You're not even sure if Sofia's a fan!"

"...Who said it was for Sofia?"

The room dissolved into chaos. Wonwoo shook his head, unable to stop smiling. "I'll see what I can do."

"See?" Mingyu sighed dramatically. "He still thinks he's gonna meet her!"

"He really committed to the character."

"So inspiring."

"Screw all of you," Seungkwan said. "I believe he'll meet her, and I'd also like a video. I also want to meet her."

"Seriously though," Mingyu said, "if you somehow meet Y/N... tell her hottest soldier from the military, Kim Mingyu, says hi."

Wonwoo could only stare at him. How could he tell his lovely girlfriend that the 'hottest soldier' says hi? Wonwoo can manage.

"And tell her Boo Seungkwan is her biggest fan, and I can do all the dances."

"Okay..."

"And get us signed albums." Chan chimed in.

"We each want video messages!" Seokmin shouted excitedly.

"Can I get a hug?" Soonyoung asked.

Wonwoo looked at him. "...No, I don't think so, buddy."

Wonwoo simply adjusted the strap of his duffel. "I'll see what I can do as well. Bye, everyone. It was nice knowing all of you."

"Take care, hyung!"

"We love you!"

"Stay healthy!"

"Don't marry Y/N without us."

Wonwoo paused with one hand on the door. "I'll keep that in mind."

The laughter followed him all the way down the hallway. It lingered even after the voices faded into the distance. Wonwoo glanced back only once.

The barracks looked exactly as they had the day he'd first stepped inside—rows of bunks, neatly folded blankets, and seven men who'd somehow turned into family over the course of nearly two years.

He shook his head with a quiet smile. They were loud. Annoying. Unnecessarily invested in his love life. But somewhere between endless drills, sleepless nights, and terrible cafeteria food, they'd made the days a little easier to get through. They just... didn't know it.

Adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, Wonwoo walked toward the front gate. One step. Then another. The weight on his shoulders felt different now. Lighter. Not because the bag weighed any less. Because he no longer had to count down the days. The guard at the gate gave him a polite nod before handing over his identification.

Wonwoo stepped through the gate without looking back. On the other side, his family was already waiting.

His father pulled him into a tight hug before he could even say hello. His brother gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, smiling in that awkward way brothers often did.

"Welcome home, son," he said.

"It's good to be back."

As they walked toward the car, Wonwoo's phone buzzed.

[Y/N my love ♥️] good morning over there, soldier. congratulations ♥️ i'm sorry i couldn't be there, but just know i'm in your heart all the time.

A smile found its way onto his face. After nearly two years, he finally got to type the words he'd been waiting to say.

[my wonwoo ♥️] Good morning, love. Thank you. I love you so much. See you soon :)

A typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

"So," His father smiled knowingly, "when's your flight?"

"Tomorrow." Wonwoo smiled.

His father nodded once. "Go ahead."

"What? That's it?" His brother blinked. "He just got out!"

"Well, she's waited long enough." His father laughed.

"We both have."

-

The flight felt longer than military service. Not literally. Just emotionally. He barely slept. Watched clouds drift by instead. Every few hours, he'd unlock his phone. Not to text her. Just to check where she was. London.

Tonight's show. The last stop. He smiled. Perfect.

-

Meanwhile, backstage was chaos.

"Five minutes!"

"Mic check!"

"Where's wardrobe?"

"I need someone on stage left!"

Y/N sat quietly in front of the mirror while her stylist adjusted the last few details. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm just tired."

"Sure?"

She laughed weakly. "It's just..." She looked down at the bracelet around her wrist. The one Wonwoo had given her before enlistment. "Today's our anniversary."

Her stylist's expression softened. "I'm sorry."

"Eight years and going strong." She smiled. "I miss him so much. He's the reason why I keep going on every show. I keep thinking that the better I do on stage, the quicker I come back to him."

"That's sweet."

"Wonwoo's my everything, Jia." She said softly. "He's amazing. He inspired me to write and perform."

"How did you meet?" Jia asked.

"We were nineteen..." She smiled.

Y/N was already a household name, juggling interviews between college classes, while Wonwoo was just another university student who happened to be paired with her for a group project. He never treated her like a celebrity, and she loved him for it.

What started as shared notes, late-night study sessions, and coffee runs slowly turned into movie nights, bookstore dates, and a friendship neither of them realized had become something more. One evening, after walking her back to her apartment, Wonwoo stopped her before she could head inside.

"I don't think I'll ever stop liking you," he admitted with a nervous laugh. "Would... would you let me be your boyfriend?"

She smiled so brightly that he forgot every word he'd rehearsed. Instead of answering, she stepped forward, kissed him, and whispered, "I thought you'd never ask."

-

The concert was everything the internet expected. Fireworks. Costume changes. Surprise songs from her very first album. A sold-out stadium with fans singing every word. Y/N gave them everything she had because she always did. Then, the final song. The last note echoed through the stadium.

Confetti exploded. She bowed. "Thank you for coming tonight! Thank you for supporting me throughout my career, ever since I was a young teen until now. I'm so blessed and grateful to have fans like you. I love you all and good night!"

The crowd roared. She looked around with the biggest, most genuine grin and gave a final wave before disappearing behind the curtain.

Backstage erupted into cheers.

"You did amazing!"

"Last show!"

"We survived!"

Managers hugged each other. Dancers cheered. Someone popped open a bottle of champagne. Y/N laughed as people congratulated her. Then she saw him standing quietly in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie she'd stolen years ago and never given back. For a moment, neither of them moved.

"Wonwoo?"

He smiled and waved.

She didn't think. She ran straight into him, hard enough that he stumbled back a step before catching her. "You idiot."

"Mm." He wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"You said you were staying home."

"You are my home," Wonwoo said.

"That's too cheesy, even for you."

"There's a first for everything."

She buried her face against his neck. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I don't." Her voice cracked. She pulled away just enough to cup his face. "Your hair is shorter."

"Military things."

"I like it." She smiled. "But I missed your long hair."

"Me too."

She laughed through fresh tears. "I've cried enough over you."

"Sorry," Wonwoo said sheepishly.

"You better be." She kissed him before he could answer.

The crew, to their credit, became incredibly interested in literally everything else. The floor. The ceiling. A stack of road cases. One lighting technician suddenly discovered a deep passion for checking cables. Nobody interrupted.

-

The hotel room was unusually quiet. Not because there was nothing to say. Because after nearly two years apart, silence no longer felt empty. Y/N lay beside him, lazily tracing circles across his bare arm while the city lights spilled through the curtains. Somewhere below, traffic hummed, people laughed, and life carried on as if nothing monumental had happened. Wonwoo watched her for a long moment.

"What?" she asked, catching him staring.

"You still do that."

"Do what?"

He glanced down at her hand. "The circles."

She smiled. "It's very comforting, and I know you like it."

"True."

Another comfortable silence settled between them. Y/N shifted closer until her head rested against his shoulder. "I still can't believe you're here."

"I'm here." Wonwoo smiled, and kissed the top of her head.

"If this were a dream, I never want to wake up."

"I'd say 'don't', but," Wonwoo said. "I would never want to experience a time when you never wake up."

She looked up at him. "I fucking love you."

"That's intense." Wonwoo grinned. "I fucking love you, darling."

She laughed softly. Wonwoo brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything, my love."

He looked toward the ceiling for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "There were days when training was so exhausting that I forgot to miss you."

She looked up.

"And there were days when," he smiled to himself. "I'd see coffee, or it would rain, or someone would say something stupid."

A tiny chuckle escaped her.

"And I'd think..." he paused. "'Y/N would've complained about the coffee.' or 'Y/N would've forgotten her umbrella.' or 'Y/N would've laughed at that.' I couldn't stop."

Her expression softened. "Wonwoo..."

"I was going crazy." Wonwoo shook his head as he laughed quietly. "The guys thought I was obsessed with you."

"You kind of are."

"I am." He nodded without shame. He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "But I had nothing to do except think of you the whole time."

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "I had maggots for brains, my love. I was like a zombie out there."

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Y/N laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so painfully him. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "I know."

"You do?"

"I had that feeling, too."

He smiled. "You?"

She nodded. "I'd finish a show and immediately wonder what you would've thought. I'd see a bookstore and think about dragging you inside. I'd order room service and accidentally ask enough for two."

Her voice grew quieter. "I kept forgetting you weren't there."

Wonwoo closed the distance between them, resting his forehead aginst hers. "We're making up for lost time."

"We are."

"No more fan cams." Wonwoo said and she laughed.

"No more grainy livestreams." He added.

"No more letters." She said.

"I liked your letters." Wonwoo said.

"I liked yours better." She smiled.

"I only sent three."

She nodded. "And I re-read all three."

His heart skipped a beat. "You kept them?"

She looked at him as if the answer should've been obvious. "They're in my suitcase."

A beat.

"Your Polaroids are in my suitcase." Wonwoo said, then he laughed—a full, warm laugh she hadn't heard in far too long. "I guess we're both a little crazy."

"No." She cupped his face. "We're just in love."

He kissed her gently. This time, there was no departure gate waiting for them. No boarding call. No countdown. No wondering what city she'd wake up in tomorrow. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he'd be there to see it with her.

BONUS

The hotel room was still half-asleep. Sunlight filtered through the curtains while the shower ran somewhere in the background. Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone when Wonwoo's voice carried out from the bathroom.

"My phone's on the nightstand."

"Mhm?"

"Can you call Seungkwan for me?"

She blinked. "Seungkwan?"

"I promised them a video message."

Y/N grabbed his phone and marched towards the bathroom, not caring about him showering. Hey, they've been together for eight years. They've seen everything.

"Are you serious?"

Wonwoo glanced at her through the foggy glass of the shower. "Yes."

"Okay, okay." She laughed to herself. "What will I say?"

"Just... say hi or something. Oh, and Mingyu says hi. Vernon would also like a video message. Seungkwan is also your biggest fan and he's so bummed that he's not able to go to your show because he's in the military. He's always watching the reels of your surprise songs." Wonwoo said.

"Really? Well, I'll be sure to give them all a special pass when I have my concert in Korea."

"But you don't have a Korean stop."

"I do now." She chuckled before exiting the bathroom.

Meanwhile, back in Korea, it was nearly lights out. Seungkwan had just finished brushing his teeth when his phone lit up.

Wonwoo Hyung is calling...

His eyebrows shot up. "Wonwoo hyung is calling!"

Within seconds, the rest of the guys popped up from around the barracks.

"Put it on speaker!"

"No, it's a video!" Seungkwan said.

"Oh my god. Video?" Seokmin asked.

"Yah, answer it!" Jihoon said impatiently.

Seungkwan accepted the call. "Hyung!"

The screen flickered.

"Hi!"

Seven of them froze. Y/N waved cheerfully from the hotel room somewhere in London.

"So, um," she laughed awkwardly. "I know you guys asked for a video message, but I figured a video call would be more fun and interactive? Maybe even more memorable."

Silence. Complete utter silence. Behind Seungkwan, Mingyu slowly lowered the cup of instant noodles he'd been holding. Chan's jaw physically dropped. Vernon blinked once. Twice.

Soonyoung whispered, "No, way..."

Y/N tilted her head. "Anyway, Wonwoo's in the shower. He told me to call..." she glanced down at the phone. "Seungkwan?"

"That's me!" Seungkwan exclaimed. "I'm Seungkwan."

"Hi!" her face lit up.

Mingyu moved to the side, off-camera, and shouted, "Oh my god, it's actually her!"

Y/N burst into laughter. "You must be Mingyu."

His eyes widened and walked back in frame. "You know my name?"

"Wonwoo may have talked about you guys when he got here." She chuckled.

"So he wasn't lying." Chan said and Vernon nodded.

"So you're..." Soonyoung scratched the back of his neck. "his girlfriend?"

Y/N proudly nodded. "Yes. For eight years."

"Eight years?!" Jihoon shrieked.

She nodded and smiled sweetly. "In fact, it was our eighth anniversary yesterday, and he surprised me here in London."

"You guys are practically married at this point." Vernon said.

She laughed. "Yeah."

Mingyu covered his face with both hands. "We've been bullying Y/N's boyfriend for two years."

"You called him delusional," Jihoon reminded him.

"I know!"

Seungkwan suddenly remembered something. "Wait..." He pointed accusingly at the screen. "So all those times he said, 'she doesn't like black coffee', 'she changes the acoustic set when she's tired', 'she notices my comments'..."

"All true." She confirmed.

The bathroom door opened. Wonwoo stepped out wearing a bathrobe. He smiled and waved at the guys. "Morning."

Y/N turned the phone toward him. "They have questions."

Wonwoo looked at the seven dumbfounded faces on the screen. No one spoke. Finally, Mingyu sighed dramatically. "Hyung..."

"Mm?"

"I owe you the biggest apology of my life."

Wonwoo thought for a moment. "You do."

"So you're really together?" Soonyoung asked again.

"Very much together." Wonwoo nodded, putting on his glasses. "Eight years is no joke."

"I won't be getting that hug, then." Soonyoung said quietly.

"I can still hug you!" Y/N exclaimed. "Wonwoo's not the jealous type, and he's not immature. I really got lucky."

Wonwoo blushed, causing a round of teasing from the guys. Y/N looked completely amused. "I like you guys."

Seungkwan shook his head, "I can't believe we spent two years making fun of your boyfriend."

"Now you know it's real and he's not delusional." She smirked. "Oh, before we hang up, I want to say hi to Mingyu and I want to tell Vernon that I promise to make a video greeting right after."

"Can we all get one?" Seokmin asked shyly. She chuckled and nodded. "Sure."

"Oh, and Seungkwan?" She called.

"Yes?" Seungkwan smiled excitedly.

"I know you know all of my dance steps and Wonwoo may have told me in passing that you do TikTok challenges of my songs. I'll happily do a TikTok with you when I have my concert in Korea." Y/N smiled.

"But... you don't have a concert here. It's done." Seungkwan said.

"I'm Y/L/N Y/N, Seungkwannie. I can make it happen, and I'm giving you all special passes and seats." She smirked as the guys cheered. She glanced at Wonwoo and he only shook his head with a small smile on his face.

The call ended a few minutes later. One by one, the guys climbed back onto their bunks, still trying to process everything that had just happened.

No one spoke. No one really knew what to say. Finally, Mingyu broke the silence. "We've been calling Y/N's boyfriend delusional for two years!"

"We really have," Chan muttered. "I even laughed the loudest, for fuck's sake."

"So..." Seokmin said. "are we terrible people?"

Jihoon didn't even look up from his book. "A little."

"I apologized!" Mingyu pouted as he defended himself.

"After two years." Jihoon answered back.

"I still said I was sorry!" Mingyu frowned. "Doesn't that matter?"

Before anyone could tease him further, a buzz came from Seungkwan's phone. He looked down and his eyes widened.

"Guys..."

No one answered.

"Guys!" Seungkwan said a little louder.

"What?" Vernon said.

"She followed me on Instagram."

Six heads whipped towards him.

"What?" Soonyoung asked.

Seungkwan turned his phone around.

@yn started following you.

"No way..." Soonyoung's jaw dropped. His phone buzzed, too. He quickly checked. True enough, he received the same notification as Seungkwan. "Yah! She followed me, too!"

Chan looked down at his screen. @yn started following you.

Vernon frowned at his own notification. @yn started following you.

Soon, every phone in the barracks buzzed one after another. Mingyu stared at his screen like it had personally offended him. "She's real."

"She's not AI, Mingyu-ya." Jihoon retorted.

Seungkwan scrolled through Instagram and refreshed the app. Y/N posted a few seconds ago. He quickly gave it a like before swiping through the photos.

The first few photos were from the final show. The confetti. The crowd. The dancers.

He swiped again and stopped. It was a more intimate, yet private photo. It was Wonwoo on what he assumed was their date after the call.

Wonwoo was across Y/N, and his face was strategically hidden by the cup he was drinking from. To the rest of the world, that's how Wonwoo was shown on her profile for the past eight years. Always protected, but never hidden.

The caption read: the last concert day was a blast! now, I'll be spending my days with my man. happy 8th anniversary, my love. you're the best surprise I've ever gotten.

Seungkwan bit back a squeal. He was too happy. The other guys had seen the post, too.

"So Wonwoo hyung really wasn't crazy." Mingyu sighed.

"No," Chan smiled as he looked around the room. "He just has someone worth going crazy for."

a/n: i think we all got maggots for brains while wonu's away. pls pls pls lmk what u think of this one! gosh, i'm so nervous abt it. i hope you guys don't mind me switching it up for a bit xo

The city lights blurred into streaks of neon under the relentless downpour, turning Seoul’s skyline into a glittering maze. Detective Jeon Wonwoo stood on the edge of the rooftop across from the Han Gallery, rain sluicing off his dark coat. His breath came steady despite the adrenaline surging through his veins. Six months. Six goddamn months chasing a ghost known only as Shadow and tonight the ghost was finally going to turn into something solid.

The gallery’s security system had been disabled with surgical precision: motion sensors looped, cameras frozen on empty corridors, alarms silenced like they’d never existed. Classic Shadow. But Wonwoo had anticipated the move. He’d spent weeks studying your patterns: the way you favored high-value, easily transportable art; how you always left a single mocking clue behind, a black feather or a smudged fingerprint in the shape of a crescent. Tonight’s target was the Starlight Necklace, a 47 carat diamond piece worth more than most people would see in ten lifetimes. It was the kind of bait you couldn’t resist.

"Unit two, in position?" Wonwoo murmured into the comms tucked in his ear.

"Affirmative. Perimeter secure. No movement on the east side."

He adjusted the grip on his Glock, the weight familiar and grounding. Most detectives would have called in a full SWAT team by now, but Wonwoo preferred to handle Shadow personally. You were his puzzle. His obsession. The one criminal who had slipped through his fingers four times already, always with that infuriating elegance that made his blood boil and his pulse quicken in ways he refused to examine too closely.

A flicker of movement caught his eye through the rain-streaked glass dome of the gallery’s atrium. There, black tactical gear blending with shadows, a lithe figure scaling the internal scaffolding like she was born to it. Shadow.

Wonwoo’s lips pressed into a thin line. "She’s inside. Moving to intercept."

He didn’t wait for backup confirmation. He vaulted over the narrow gap between buildings, boots slamming onto the gallery’s maintenance ledge. The rain made every surface slick, but he moved with the quiet precision that had earned him his reputation. Inside, the alarms remained silent thanks to your hack, but his own heartbeat thundered loud enough to drown out the storm.

He dropped through an access panel into the upper maintenance corridors, landing softly. The air smelled of polished marble and old money. Ahead, soft footsteps echoed, barely audible, but he’d trained himself to hear ghosts. He followed, gun drawn low, flashlight off. No need to announce himself yet.

The main exhibit hall opened below like a jewelry box. Crystal chandeliers hung. In the center, the Starlight Necklace rested on its velvet pedestal, glowing faintly under emergency lighting. And there you were.

You were crouched on the railing of the second-floor balcony, hood pulled low, a sleek backpack already bulging with tools. You moved with predatory grace, uncoiling a thin rope and anchoring it to the balcony’s ornate stonework. One leap and you’d be swinging down to claim your prize.

Wonwoo stepped out of the shadows. "Game over, Shadow."

You froze for half a second, then whipped around. Even with your face partially obscured by a black mask, he could see the sharp glint of surprise in your eyes, quickly replaced by something dangerously like amusement.

"Well, well" you said, voice low and smooth, carrying just enough edge to send a shiver down his spine. "Detective Jeon. I was wondering when you’d finally catch up."

"Hands where I can see them" he ordered, gun steady. "It’s finished. You’re not leaving here with that necklace."

You tilted your head, rain from a cracked skylight dripping down your hood. "You sound so sure. But we both know how this usually goes."

Without warning, you dropped. Not down to the necklace butsideways, launching yourself toward the emergency exit corridor. Wonwoo cursed and gave chase.

The pursuit turned the gallery into a battlefield of marble and glass. You were fast, faster than your file suggested and agile in a way that spoke of years of parkour and evasion training. You vaulted over display cases, slid under laser grids you must have mapped earlier and kicked a marble pedestal behind you to slow him down. The crash of stone echoed loudly.

Wonwoo leaped over the debris, closing the distance. "Stop! Police!"

Your laughter rang out, genuine, breathless, mocking. "You’ll have to do better than that, Detective!"

You burst onto the rooftop access stairs. The rain hammered harder up here, wind whipping between the high-rises. The city sprawled below you, a sea of lights and moving traffic. You sprinted across the gravel. Wonwoo followed, legs burning, lungs tight. You were heading for the edge, toward a narrow bridge of scaffolding connecting to the adjacent building.

He pushed harder. Ten meters. Five. You reached the scaffolding and started across, balancing like a tightrope walker despite the storm.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. He jumped after you, the metal groaning under your combined weight. Rain lashed his face, blurring his vision. You glanced back, eyes wide now, not with fear, but with exhilaration.

A gust of wind hit. The scaffolding shuddered. You slipped.

For one terrifying second, you hand missed the railing. Wonwoo lunged, grabbing your wrist just as you started to fall. The momentum carried you both crashing onto the rooftop of the next building. He rolled, pinning you beneath him before you could recover.

The impact drove the air from both your lungs. Wonwoo’s gun had skittered away somewhere in the chaos, but he didn’t need it. He had you.

You struggled beneath him, strong and slippery from the rain, but he was heavier, trained for this exact moment. He flipped you onto your stomach, yanking you arms behind your back. Cold metal cuffs clicked into place around you wrists with satisfying finality.

"Get off me" you hissed, but there was still that undercurrent of teasing in your voice.

Wonwoo hauled you to your feet, keeping a firm grip on your cuffed arms. You stood chest to chest on the rain-soaked rooftop, both breathing hard. He pulled your mask down.

For the first time, he saw your face clearly.

You were younger than he’d expected: mid-twenties, with sharp, expressive eyes that sparkled with defiance even now. Rain plastered strands of hair to your forehead. You lips, full and slightly parted from exertion, curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

Your eyes locked.

Time seemed to stretch. The storm raged around you, but in that moment, everything narrowed to the heat of your body against his, the way your chest rose and fell in sync with his own ragged breaths. Wonwoo’s grip tightened instinctively. You didn’t look away. Instead, you leaned in just a fraction, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath on his rain-chilled skin.

"Careful, Detective" you murmured, voice husky. "You’re looking at me like you’ve been waiting for this a lot longer than six months."

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched. He could feel the flush creeping up his neck, equal parts anger and something far more dangerous. "You have the right to remain silent" he started, voice low and rough.

You laughed softly, the sound vibrating through your body into his. "Oh, please. Recite it properly. I want to hear how it sounds coming from you."

He ignored the taunt and continued "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney-"

"Will you be watching the interrogation, Wonwoo?" You interrupted, using his first name like you were old lovers instead of hunter and prey. "I hope so. I’ve got a lot to say… just for you."

He spun you around and began marching you toward the stairwell, one hand on your cuffed wrists, the other steadying your shoulder. The rain continued to pour, soaking you both to the bone. Backup sirens wailed in the distance now, too late, as always, when it came to you.

"You’re under arrest for multiple counts of grand theft, breaking and entering, and evading law enforcement" he finished, guiding you down the stairs. Your backpack had come loose during the struggle; he’d retrieve it later. For now, the weight of your body against his as you walked was distracting enough.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, that smirk never fading. Water droplets clung to your lashes. "You tackled me pretty hard back there. Almost felt personal."

"It was necessary."

"Mm. Sure it was." You tested the cuffs with a small wiggle, brushing deliberately against him. "These are tight. You worried I’ll slip away again?"

Wonwoo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was far more complicated. Six months of chasing you had built something he didn’t want to name. Frustration, respect and now, standing this close, feeling the heat radiating from you despite the cold rain, a spark of raw, unwelcome attraction.

You reached the ground level just as two patrol cars pulled up, lights flashing red and blue across the wet pavement. Officers spilled out, weapons drawn.

"Detective Jeon!" one called. "You got her!"

Wonwoo handed you off to the uniformed officers, but not before you turned one last time. Your eyes met again through the curtain of rain.

"See you soon, Detective" you called, voice carrying over the noise. "Try not to miss me too much in the interrogation room."

He watched as they guided you into the back of the cruiser. You didn’t resist, just sat there with that infuriating, captivating smirk, staring straight at him through the rain-streaked window until the car pulled away.

Wonwoo stood alone on the sidewalk, chest still heaving, rain mixing with the sweat on his face. His hands flexed at his sides. The Starlight Necklace was safe. The case was finally moving forward.

The metal cuffs bite into your wrists as the officers escort you down the sterile hallway of the precinct. Your clothes are still damp from the rooftop rain, clinging uncomfortably to your skin, but you keep your chin high. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like insects. They push you into the interrogation room without ceremony: a small, windowless box painted in depressing shades of gray, with a heavy metal table bolted to the floor and a large one-way mirror dominating one wall.

"Sit" one officer grunts, shoving you into the chair. They secure your cuffed hands to a ring on the table, then leave you alone with the echo of the slamming door.

You lean back as much as the restraints allow, rolling your shoulders. The adrenaline from the chase hasn’t faded yet. If anything, it’s sharpened into something warmer, more dangerous. Detective Jeon Wonwoo. You’d studied him for months: his cases, his routines, the way he moved like a shadow himself. Tonight was the first time you’d truly been caught. And strangely, you weren’t entirely displeased.

Minutes stretch. Then the door opens.

He steps in alone, carrying a thin file folder. Detective Wonwoo looks exactly like the man who tackled you on that rain-slicked rooftop: tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair slightly tousled from the earlier chaos and those piercing eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses he must have put on for the formal setting. His white shirt is still damp at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing toned muscle. He closes the door behind him with a soft click.

You smile slowly, letting your gaze drag over him. "Well, hello again. Come to admire your handiwork up close?"

Wonwoo doesn’t smile back. He pulls out the chair opposite you and sits, placing the folder on the table with deliberate calm. His expression is neutral, professional, but you catch the slight tightening of his jaw. Good. You’re already under his skin.

"State your name for the record" he says, voice low and steady. He clicks a small recorder on and sets it between you.

You tilt your head, letting a playful lilt enter your voice. "You already know it. Or at least you think you do. Shadow is what you’ve been calling me in all those late-night reports, right? But since you asked so nicely… you can call me whatever you like tonight, Detective."

He ignores the bait. "Full legal name."

You sigh dramatically, leaning forward until the cuffs pull taut. The movement makes your damp shirt cling even more noticeably. "Fine. But only because you tackled me so enthusiastically earlier." You give him your real name, watching his eyes flick down for a fraction of a second before returning to yours.

Wonwoo opens the folder and spreads out several photos: surveillance stills of your past jobs, blurry shots of you in various disguises and one surprisingly clear image from a gala two months ago. "You’ve been busy. Multiple high-profile thefts over the last two years. The Louvre artifact last spring, the private vault in Busan and now the Starlight Necklace. We have you on camera this time."

You laugh softly, the sound echoing in the small room. "Camera? Please. I disabled every feed. That photo’s from the gala? You were there too, weren’t you? I saw you watching the crowd from the balcony. Looking very handsome in that tux, by the way. Very James Bond. Did you enjoy the champagne?"

His fingers tighten around the edge of the folder. "This isn’t a game. You’re facing serious charges. Cooperate and things might go easier for you. Who are you working with? Who fences the pieces?"

You lean back again, crossing your legs under the table as best you can. The cuffs clink. "Working with? Detective, you wound me. I prefer solo performances. More… intimate that way." Your eyes lock onto his. "Though I have to admit, chasing you around Seoul these past months has been the most fun I’ve had in ages. You’re very persistent. It’s almost flattering."

Wonwoo removes his glasses, setting them aside. He rubs the bridge of his nose, clearly fighting frustration. The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across his sharp cheekbones and full lips. You can’t help but admire the view.

"Flattering?" he repeats, voice dropping. "You nearly fell off a building tonight because of your recklessness."

"And yet here I am" you say sweetly "cuffed to a table across from the man who caught me. Tell me, Wonwoo, do you always pin your suspects down so thoroughly, or was that special treatment?"

Heat flickers in his gaze for a split second before he shuts it down. He slides another photo across the table: the Starlight Necklace in evidence. "Where were you planning to move this? Who’s your buyer?"

You glance at the photo, then back at him, biting your lower lip in mock thought. "Buyer? Hypothetically speaking… maybe someone who appreciates beautiful, rare things that are hard to obtain." Your voice lowers, teasing. "Like you, Detective. You’ve been hunting me for half a year. Tell me, do you think about me when you’re alone in your office late at night? Reviewing my files? Wondering what I look like without the mask?"

Wonwoo’s shoulders tense. He leans forward, mirroring your posture, his forearms resting on the table. The scent of rain and faint cologne reaches you. "I think about bringing you to justice. That’s all."

"Liar" you whisper, smiling wider. "Your eyes say otherwise. They’re very pretty when you’re trying so hard to stay professional. Did anyone ever tell you that you look cute when you’re frustrated? The little crease right here..." You nod toward his brow, wishing your hands were free to trace it.

He exhales sharply. "Enough. This is an official interrogation. Answer the questions. Accomplices. Safe houses. Previous jobs you pulled with help. Start talking."

You shrug, the motion making the cuffs rattle again. "What if I said I work alone because no one else can keep up with me? Not like you, of course. You almost caught me three times before tonight. That rooftop… mmm. The way you grabbed me? Very strong. Very decisive." Your tone turns playful and sultry. "I bet you’re even better when you’re not holding back."

Wonwoo stands abruptly, pacing a few steps to the side of the table. The movement reveals the way his damp shirt clings to his back and shoulders. You track every motion, enjoying how the tension coils in the air between you.

"Stop deflecting" he says, turning back to you. "We recovered your gear. Tools, ropes, the hack device. Forensics is going over everything. Make this easier on yourself. Tell me who you’re protecting."

You watch him with open appreciation. "Protecting? The only person I’m interested in right now is you. Tell me, Detective, how does it feel knowing the criminal you’ve been obsessed with is finally sitting right here? Cuffed. Helpless." You tug lightly at the restraints for emphasis, eyes sparkling. "Or maybe not so helpless. You seem a little… distracted."

He stops pacing and returns to his chair, sitting heavily. His gaze is intense now, darker. "You’re playing a dangerous game."

"I like dangerous" you reply immediately. "Especially when it looks like you. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, those intense eyes that won’t stop staring even when you pretend to read your little file. Have you been imagining this moment? Me, caught. You, in control." You lean as far forward as the cuffs allow, voice dropping to a husky murmur. "Because I have. More than once."

A heavy silence falls. The recorder continues to hum softly. Wonwoo’s fingers drum once on the table before he stills them. You can see the internal battle: professionalism versus the undeniable pull crackling in the room.

"Names" he says finally, voice rougher than before. "Give me something useful and I’ll talk to the DA about leniency."

You tilt your head, letting your hair fall over one shoulder. "Leniency? How generous. But what if I want something else from you, Wonwoo?" You deliberately use his first name again, savoring the way his eyes narrow. "A conversation that isn’t so one-sided. Maybe after this, when the cuffs come off… or even before. You could uncuff one hand. Just for a minute. I promise I’ll behave."

He scoffs, but there’s no real heat in it. "You’re unbelievable."

"And yet you’re still here. Alone with me. No partner watching through the mirror?" You glance toward the glass. "Or are they? Wave hello for me. Tell them the detective is doing an excellent job staying focused despite how much I’m clearly affecting him."

Wonwoo runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling. "The Starlight Necklace wasn’t your only target tonight. We found evidence of planning for three more jobs. Talk."

You smile innocently. "Evidence? Or are you just guessing? You’re good, Detective, but I’m better at covering my tracks. Except when it comes to you. I left that feather at the last scene on purpose. Did you keep it? A little memento from Shadow to her favorite pursuer?"

His silence is telling.

You laugh, low and delighted. "You did. How sweet. I knew there was something between us. All that chasing… it’s practically foreplay, don’t you think?"

"Enough" he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction. He stands again, walking around the table until he’s beside you. Close enough that you almost have to hurt your neck to look up at him. The proximity sends a thrill through you.

"Trying to intimidate me with height?" you tease, eyes tracing the line of his throat. "It’s working. In all the best ways. You smell like rain and look very determinate. Very attractive."

Wonwoo places one hand on the back of your chair, leaning down. His face is inches from yours now. You can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his pupils have dilated slightly. "You’re under arrest. This, whatever game you’re playing, won’t work."

"Won’t it?" you whisper, holding his gaze without flinching. "Because your heart is racing. I can practically hear it. And mine…" You let the words hang, letting the tension thicken. "Mine hasn’t slowed down since you pinned me on that rooftop."

The air feels charged, heavy. For a long moment, neither of you moves. His breath brushes your cheek. You wonder if he’s about to do something, kiss you, shake you, or storm out. Instead, he straightens slowly, jaw clenched so tightly you worry it might crack.

He returns to his seat, but the professional mask is cracking. "We’re not done here" he says quietly. "Not by a long shot."

You smile, slow and victorious. "Good. I was hoping you’d say that, Detective. I could do this all night."

The interrogation continues, your teasing never letting up, each deflection laced with flirtation that pushes him closer to the edge. The rain from earlier still clings to both of you, but the real storm is building right here in this small, locked room, between the hunter and the woman who refuses to be easy prey.

Hours have passed since the interrogation. The precinct has quieted down for the night, most officers gone home or out on calls. You’re no longer in the main holding cell but in a smaller observation room adjacent to the interrogation area: temporary placement while they process your paperwork. Your wrists are still cuffed in front of you now, chained to a sturdy ring on the wall, giving you limited movement. The room is dimly lit by a single overhead light, the air cool against your skin. Your clothes have dried somewhat, but the memory of the rain and Wonwoo’s body pinning you lingers.

The door unlocks with a heavy click. You lift your head, a slow smile spreading across your lips as Detective Jeon Wonwoo steps inside. He’s changed into a fresh black shirt, but the exhaustion and tension from earlier are etched into his face. He carries no folder this time. No recorder. Just himself, closing the door firmly behind him and locking it.

"Back so soon?" you murmur, voice husky from the long night. "I knew you couldn’t stay away."

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately. He stands there, eyes dark and intense as they rake over you: your slightly disheveled hair, the way your shirt still clings in places, the cuffs holding your wrists above the wall ring. The air thickens instantly, the same electric charge from the interrogation room returning tenfold.

"Final questions" he says roughly, but the excuse sounds weak even to your ears. He steps closer, stopping just out of reach. "You didn’t give me nearly enough earlier."

You laugh softly, tugging lightly at the cuffs so they clink. "We both know this isn’t about questions, Detective. You’ve been thinking about me. About this." You shift your stance, letting your hips tilt invitingly. "I could see it in your eyes the entire time. How badly you wanted to stop me from talking by other means."

His jaw clenches. He takes another step, then another, until he’s right in front of you. Towering. Close enough that you can smell his clean scent mixed with lingering traces of rain and coffee. "You talk too much" he mutters.

"Then make me stop" you challenge, eyes locking onto his. Your voice drops to a whisper. "Or are you still pretending to be the perfect, in-control detective?"

That does it.

Wonwoo’s control snaps. One large hand grips your chin, tilting your face up as his mouth crashes down on yours. The kiss is rough, hungry, all the pent-up frustration from months of chasing and the hours of teasing exploding between you. His lips are firm and demanding, tongue sweeping in when you gasp. You kiss him back just as fiercely, nipping at his bottom lip, pouring every taunt and smirk into the contact.

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. His free hand slides down your side, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise as he presses you back against the cool wall. The cuffs limit your movement, keeping your arms raised and stretched, leaving you open to him. Vulnerable, yet you’ve never felt more powerful.

"Fuck" he breathes against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you. His glasses are fogged, lips already swollen. "You’re impossible."

You smirk, breathing hard. "Yet here you are, kissing the criminal you arrested. How very unprofessional, Wonwoo." You deliberately arch into him, feeling the hard line of his body. "I like it."

He doesn’t reply with words. Instead, he kisses you again, deeper, more possessive. His hand moves from your waist to the hem of your shirt, pushing it up roughly. Cool air hits your stomach as he palms your skin, fingers digging in. You moan into the kiss, the sound spurring him on. He breaks away to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking at the sensitive spot just below your ear until you’re shivering.

"Still think you’re in control?" you tease breathlessly, even as your body betrays you by pressing closer. "Because these cuffs say otherwise."

Wonwoo pulls back, eyes blazing. In one swift motion, he reaches for the chain and adjusts it slightly, giving you just enough slack to lower your arms but keeping them bound together. He spins you around suddenly, pressing your front against the wall, your cuffed hands now above your head. His chest molds to your back, hard and warm.

"You talk too much" he repeats, voice dark with arousal. One hand slides around to cup your breast through your bra, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens. You bite back a whimper, pushing back against the obvious bulge in his pants.

"Make me" you gasp, grinding against him deliberately. "Or can’t you handle a little sass while you fuck the woman you’ve been obsessing over?"

The words ignite him. He yanks your shirt up higher, then unclasps your bra with impatient fingers, freeing your breasts. His hands are everywhere: squeezing, pinching, rolling your nipples until pleasure borders on pain. You moan louder, the sound echoing in the small room. His mouth returns to your neck, biting down as he grinds his hips forward, letting you feel exactly how hard he is.

Clothes come off in a frenzy. He spins you again to face him, stripping your shirt and bra completely, then shoving your pants and underwear down your legs. The cuffs make it awkward, but he doesn’t remove them. He wants you like this, bound, at his mercy, yet still challenging him with every look.

You kick the fabric aside, standing bare before him. Wonwoo’s gaze darkens as he drinks you in, one hand sliding between your thighs. His fingers find you already wet, slick with need.

"Fuck, you’re soaked" he growls, circling your clit with practiced precision. Two thick fingers push inside you without warning, curling just right. Your knees buckle, but he holds you up with his body, pinning you to the wall.

"Ah...Wonwoo..." you moan, head falling back. You roll your hips, riding his fingers shamelessly. "Is this what you imagined during all those late nights? Me, dripping for you?"

He pumps his fingers faster, thumb pressing firmly on your clit. "Every damn night" he admits through gritted teeth, finally giving in to the truth. "Thinking about shutting that pretty mouth up."

You laugh breathlessly, the sound turning into a sharp cry as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Pleasure coils tight in your belly. "Then do it. Shut me up. Fuck me like you mean it, Detective."

Wonwoo curses, withdrawing his fingers. You whine at the loss, but he’s already undoing his belt, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. He’s thick, hard, the head glistening. You lick your lips at the sight.

He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his hip, opening you to him. The cuffs keep your arms raised, stretching your body beautifully. With one hand bracing against the wall beside your head, he lines himself up and thrusts in deep in a single, powerful stroke.

The stretch burns deliciously. You cry out, nails digging into your own palms from the cuffs. He’s big, filling you completely. Wonwoo buries his face in your neck, groaning deeply as your walls clench around him.

"Move" you demand, voice wrecked. "Or are you going to tease me now?"

He pulls back and slams in again, setting a brutal pace. Each thrust rocks you against the wall, the sound of skin slapping skin mixing with your moans and his low grunts. His free hand grips your thigh hard, holding you in place as he fucks you relentlessly. The angle is perfect, hitting deep every time.

You meet him thrust for thrust as best you can, challenging him even now. "Harder, Wonwoo. Is this all the big bad detective has? I expected more after that rooftop tackle."

He growls, the sound primal. He adjusts his grip, lifting your other leg too so both are wrapped around his waist. The new position lets him drive even deeper, pounding into you with raw intensity. Sweat beads on his forehead. His shirt is open, buttons popped in the frenzy, revealing toned chest and abs flexing with every movement.

Pleasure builds fast and overwhelming. You kiss him messily, biting his lip, sucking his tongue. He returns it with equal fervor, one hand sliding up to grip your throat lightly, not choking, just holding, possessive.

"Come on" he rasps against your mouth. "Let me feel you. Come for me, you infuriating, perfect-"

The orgasm crashes over you without warning. You clench hard around him, crying out his name as waves of pleasure rip through your body. Your vision whites out, legs trembling around his waist.

Wonwoo doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release. His thrusts grow erratic, deeper, more desperate. You watch his face through half-lidded eyes: the furrowed brow, the parted lips, the raw need in his gaze as he stares at you.

With a deep, guttural groan, he buries himself to the hilt and comes hard, pulsing inside you. His hips stutter, body shuddering against yours as he rides out the climax.

For long moments, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the building. Wonwoo keeps you pinned to the wall, still buried deep, forehead resting against yours. Sweat mixes with the remnants of earlier rain on your skin.

You smile lazily, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "See? Told you it was personal."

He huffs a tired laugh, the sound surprisingly soft. Slowly, he lowers your legs, keeping an arm around your waist to support you as he pulls out. The loss makes you both hiss. He tucks himself away and helps adjust your clothes as best he can with your cuffed hands, the gesture strangely tender after the roughness.

But the heat in his eyes hasn’t faded completely. He cups your face, thumb brushing your swollen lips.

"This doesn’t change anything" he murmurs, though the words lack conviction.

You lean into his touch, eyes sparkling with challenge and satisfaction. "Doesn’t it? We’ll see about that, Detective."

Morning light filters weakly through the small, high window in the holding room, casting pale rectangles across the concrete floor. Your body aches in the best and worst ways, reminders of last night’s raw intensity lingering in your muscles, between your thighs and in the faint marks hidden beneath your clothes. The cuffs remain, though they’ve been loosened slightly. You sit at the metal table, hands resting on the surface, staring at the one-way mirror. Waiting.

The door opens sooner than you expected. Wonwoo steps in, looking like he hasn’t slept. Dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly messy, wearing the same black shirt from last night but now neatly tucked in. He carries a fresh file, thicker this time and two cups of coffee. He sets one in front of you without a word, then takes the seat across the table.

You wrap your cuffed hands around the warm cup, inhaling the bitter scent. "No recorder today?" you ask quietly. The sass from yesterday has softened; your voice is calmer, almost gentle. The night changed something between you. You can feel it in the way he looks at you now, not just hunger, but conflict.

Wonwoo shakes his head. "Off the record. For now." His eyes search your face, lingering on your lips before flicking away. "How are you feeling?"

A small smile tugs at your mouth. "Sore. Satisfied. Confused about why the detective who fucked me senseless is bringing me coffee instead of charging me with everything he can."

He winces slightly at your bluntness but doesn’t deny it. "Evidence came in overnight" he says, opening the file. Photos, documents and transcripts spill across the table. "The Starlight Necklace had a tracker. We recovered it, but more importantly… we found connections to a larger network. One that suggests you weren’t always working alone. Or at least, not by choice."

You sip the coffee, letting the warmth ground you. For the first time in the interrogation process, you don’t deflect with teasing. "I wasn’t. Not entirely."

Wonwoo leans forward, elbows on the table. The light highlights the sharp line of his jaw and the intensity in his gaze. "Talk to me. Really talk. No games. Why do you do this? The thefts, the risks. You’re smart enough to do anything else."

You stare into your cup for a long moment, the steam curling up like ghosts from your past. The vulnerability feels foreign, but after last night, after feeling him come undone inside you, after the way he held you afterward, you owe him something real.

"My sister" you say finally, voice low. "She got sick when we were younger. Really sick. Our parents were gone and the medical bills… they buried us. I did what I had to. Started small: stealing food, medicine. Then it turned into something bigger. People noticed talent. Offers came in. The kind you can’t refuse when you’re desperate and the hospitals keep sending new invoices." You meet his eyes steadily. "I became Shadow to save her. She’s in remission now, but the debts never really went away. And once you’re in that world, it’s hard to get out. They own pieces of you."

Wonwoo listens without interrupting, his expression unreadable but his hands clenched tight on the edge of the table. "Why not come to the police? Witness protection. Something."

You laugh bitterly. "The people I worked for have reach inside these walls. I’ve seen it. Turning myself in would have gotten her killed faster than any illness." You lean back, the cuffs clinking. "Last night… that wasn’t part of any plan. But you caught me anyway. And now here we are."

Silence stretches between you. Wonwoo rubs his face with both hands, exhaling heavily. The internal battle is clear on his features: the dedicated detective who has spent months building this case versus the man who pinned you against the wall and lost himself in you.

"I should turn everything over" he says quietly. "The evidence is solid. You’d go away for years. But after last night… after hearing this…" He gestures vaguely at the file. "There are gaps. Inconsistencies that could point to coercion. Extortion. I could push for a deal. Reduced charges. Protection."

Your heart skips. You study him carefully. "But that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it? It’s the fact that you want to help me. Not just as a cop. As the man who couldn’t stop himself from coming back here last night."

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he reaches across the table and covers your cuffed hands with one of his. The touch is warm, grounding. "I’ve never crossed a line like this before. Never. You make me question everything I stand for. Duty. Justice. All of it feels… complicated now."

You turn your hands, interlacing your fingers with his as much as the cuffs allow. "Then complicate it more. Help me disappear. Not forever. Just long enough to cut ties with the people pulling the strings. I have information that could bring them down, real ones, not just me. In return, I disappear. Or…" You pause, letting the words hang. "We find another way. Together."

Wonwoo’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a small, unconscious gesture that sends warmth spreading through your chest. "You’re asking me to risk everything. My badge. My integrity."

"I know." Your voice softens further. "And I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away right now. But last night wasn’t just sex, Wonwoo. You felt it too. The way we fit. The way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching. Like I was more than just a criminal to catch."

He stands suddenly, pacing the small room like he did during the interrogation. Morning light catches his profile, highlighting the tension in his broad shoulders. "Evidence suggests your sister’s medical records were tampered with, pressure from the network to keep you compliant. I can use that. Build a case against them instead of you. But it would take time. And you’d have to stay in custody. Cooperate fully."

You watch him move, remembering how those same shoulders felt under your hands last night. "Or you could look the other way for one transport. A staged mistake. I vanish and you get credit for dismantling the bigger ring with the intel I give you anonymously."

He stops pacing and turns to you, eyes burning with conflict. "That’s not how this works. I don’t break the law."

"Yet you broke protocol last night" you counter gently, no accusation in your tone. "You came to me. You touched me. You let yourself want something outside the rules."

Wonwoo approaches the table again, bracing his hands on it and leaning down so your faces are close. You can see the exhaustion, the desire, the moral storm raging behind his eyes. "I can’t stop thinking about you" he admits, voice rough. "Even now. Knowing what you’ve been through… it makes me want to protect you. But I swore an oath."

You rise as much as the cuffs and chain allow, bringing your face inches from his. "Then protect me the right way. Not by locking me up forever, but by giving me a chance to make it right. I’m not innocent, Wonwoo. I’ve stolen. I’ve hurt people indirectly. But I’m not the villain you thought I was when you chased me across that rooftop."

He closes the distance, forehead resting against yours. His breath mingles with yours, warm and coffee-scented. For a moment, it feels like last night again, the intensity, the pull, but softer. More real.

"I need time to think" he whispers. "To review everything. There might be a way to get you into protective custody with a deal. Witness status. Your sister safe. You… out of that life."

You nod slowly, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "And if there isn’t? If the only way is riskier?"

Wonwoo’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing your jaw. The touch is tender, at odds with the man who fucked you against the wall hours ago. "Then I don’t know what I’ll do. But I won’t let them have you. Not the network. Not the system if it’s unjust."

The confession hangs heavy in the air. You turn your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. "That’s all I needed to hear. Whatever you decide… I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in years."

He lingers there, thumb stroking your skin, eyes searching yours for answers neither of you fully have. The file on the table represents two paths: one of duty, cold and clear, and another of messy, dangerous possibility: alliance, redemption, maybe even something deeper.

Finally, Wonwoo straightens. He gathers the papers but leaves the coffee. "I’ll be back later today. Don’t do anything reckless."

You smile faintly, the familiar teasing spark returning just a little. "No promises, Detective. But I’ll behave… for you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“911, what is your emergency?”

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

You would recognise that eye anywhere.

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

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

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

“Wait-”

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

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground. 

No, that’s a branch. 

Or is it a plank? 

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself. 

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix. 

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire. 

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute. 

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy. 

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp. 

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow. 

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.” 

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart. 

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water. 

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all. 

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean. 

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess). 

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze. 

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon. 

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances. 

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters. 

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door. 

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly. 

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward. 

“They’re handling the situation, your High–” 

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe. 

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares. 

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is. 

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?” 

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option. 

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself. 

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with  equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up. 

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father. 

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back. 

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.” 

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.” 

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain. 

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes. 

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold. 

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.” 

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.” 

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice. 

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here. 

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself. 

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?” 

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now. 

You wait with baited breath. 

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.” 

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle. 

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.” 

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends. 

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship. 

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.” 

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.” 

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi. 

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember. 

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen. 

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul. 

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one. 

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel. 

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold. 

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?” 

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you. 

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in. 

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did. 

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you. 

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake. 

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work. 

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things. 

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands. 

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away. 

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet. 

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself. 

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place. 

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters. 

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is. 

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you. 

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind. 

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation. 

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink. 

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!” 

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.” 

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.” 

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel. 

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.” 

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was. 

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?” 

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths. 

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word. 

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this. 

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all. 

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still. 

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument. 

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.” 

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause. 

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.” 

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway. 

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head. 

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience. 

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?” 

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull. 

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant. 

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?” 

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.” 

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?” 

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue. 

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?” 

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest. 

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit. 

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt. 

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long. 

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level. 

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?” 

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.” 

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard. 

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope. 

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.” 

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion. 

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

“Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line.” 

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed. 

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour. 

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it. 

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?” 

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising. 

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew. 

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime. 

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops. 

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another. 

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable. 

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support. 

“I did.” 

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.” 

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.” 

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip. 

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.” 

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it. 

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence. 

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship. 

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin. 

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water. 

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever. 

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table. 

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat. 

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men. 

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open. 

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong. 

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command. 

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.” 

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves. 

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map. 

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow. 

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.” 

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.  

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either. 

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker. 

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?” 

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile. 

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.” 

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face. 

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.” 

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs. 

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest. 

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock. 

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein. 

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long. 

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach. 

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted. 

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself. 

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing. 

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support. 

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch. 

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place 

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!” 

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet. 

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have. 

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet. 

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again. 

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel. 

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth. 

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back. 

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms. 

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline. 

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.” 

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room. 

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards. 

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs. 

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day. 

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such. 

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head. 

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye. 

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either. 

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan. 

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone. 

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside. 

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through. 

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study. 

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle. 

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment. 

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same. 

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this. 

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands. 

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over. 

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get. 

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats. 

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings. 

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash. 

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest. 

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes. 

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard. 

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed. 

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore. 

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone. 

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.” 

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons. 

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this. 

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17. 

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling. 

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy. 

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship. 

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him. 

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life. 

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face. 

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck. 

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot. 

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest. 

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly. 

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks. 

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.” 

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—” 

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks. 

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic. 

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts. 

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat. 

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself. 

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing. 

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding. 

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent. 

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation. 

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed. 

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature. 

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly. 

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says. 

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land. 

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself. 

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects. 

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies. 

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan. 

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause. 

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.” 

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy. 

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests. 

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?” 

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum. 

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall. 

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’. 

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway. 

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain. 

There was something you wanted from him. 

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight. 

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky. 

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face. 

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face. 

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.” 

A kid. He was a child. 

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever. 

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either. 

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person. 

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway. 

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head. 

So you pulled the trigger. 

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry. 

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway. 

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you. 

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly. 

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve. 

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.” 

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you. 

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back. 

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out. 

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks. 

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right. 

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher. 

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them. 

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized. 

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch. 

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said. 

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention. 

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging. 

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop. 

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused. 

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows. 

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices. 

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side. 

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand. 

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups. 

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer. 

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make. 

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size. 

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again. 

“I’ll do seven!” 

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp. 

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks. 

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm. 

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left. 

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits. 

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you. 

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here. 

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley. 

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet. 

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market. 

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father. 

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand. 

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall. 

“Are you alright?” 

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze. 

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own. 

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe. 

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas. 

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless. 

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean. 

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.” 

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market. 

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.” 

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality. 

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most. 

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market. 

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known. 

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to. 

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks. 

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air. 

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you. 

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it. 

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway. 

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him. 

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects. 

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts. 

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above. 

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand. 

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away. 

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it. 

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh. 

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand. 

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says. 

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck. 

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it. 

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse. 

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.” 

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right. 

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands. 

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent. 

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?” 

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck. 

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form. 

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass. 

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs. 

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip. 

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck. 

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing. 

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone. 

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again. 

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving. 

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again. 

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air. 

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all. 

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so. 

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing. 

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back. 

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth. 

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort. 

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of. 

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done. 

You just pushed Chan overboard. 

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs. 

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck. 

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know. 

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle. 

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense. 

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position. 

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well. 

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?” 

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water. 

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean. 

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice. 

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours. 

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day. 

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck. 

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat. 

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes. 

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters. 

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this. 

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress. 

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it. 

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes. 

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt  hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident. 

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?” 

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun. 

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away. 

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping. 

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it. 

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled. 

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab. 

“Make me what? you grind. 

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain. 

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise. 

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

in his peripheral vision, he notices the excessive amount of times you raise your hand to the side of his head, suspiciously pressing something small onto the black surface of his headphones.

at first, he assumes you were fidgeting or brushing off fluff from his hair. but after a few minutes, he takes his eyes off his phone screen and turns his head to you, catching a glint of something shimmering between your fingers.

he tilts his headphone off one ear and glances at the abnormal number of sticker sheets on your lap. "cats?" he asks flatly.

"tabby cats," you added, using your empty hand to guide his chin back to its original position. you place the sticker next to the other cats. "with holo finish. very shiny."

vernon puts his phone down to remove his headphones fully, only to be met with half its surface decorated with cat chaos. he has to give you credit, though, for how lovingly you arranged them: sleepy cats, angry cats, rainbow cats, and... a banana cat?

you nuzzle your cheek further into his shoulder and mumble, "you don't like?"

his eyes quickly meet with yours, which stare right at him. "no, i do. i do like them. a lot," he says, pointing at one with his thumb, nodding, "i like this one in particular. rainbow cat."

you hum in response, going quiet once he puts his headphones back on. your fingers rest on his arm while he resumes scrolling--but he's not really thinking about his phone anymore.

"you can put more on if you want," he murmurs.

you look up at him. "you want more?"

he taps the surface of the opposite ear, grinning. "well, i can't have one side untouched."

without a second thought, you grab your sheets and smile wildly, crawling over his lap to snuggle in on his other side. he barely reacts to the sudden shift onto him--just adjusts to make room for you.

Yeah, so homebodies you had become. 

Really, who would want to leave the house when the human incarnation of a god, Xu Minghao, your soon-to-be husband, led intense and relaxing meditation sessions for you? In your vast garden, greenery swallowing the senses, the small swish of the coi pond pattering softly to one side, your lean fiancée speaking with ultimate rest dripping off of every word. It was like your own personal heaven! 

But alas, work calls — Minghao had been working tirelessly with Vernon for their new subunit. Slipping in the front door early in the morning, cap pulled low as his feet dragged against the polished wooden floors, fatigue radiating off his body when he quietly pulled your body into his and cocooned himself around you. 

This was no new routine; you’d been with Minghao for years, through comebacks, daesangs, scandals, you name it, you stood by his side, a solid and hushed rock. However, there was once upon a time when you and he enjoyed indulging in the bustling Seoul nightlife, awake until all hours of the night and dancing carelessly under strobe lights. It was an era you both look back at with soppy nostalgia. 

The bass vibrated through the darkened club, the sound of a hyperpop song penetrating your flesh and transforming into sweet endorphins, a buzz of adrenaline and raw energy surging through you. Beside you, your best friends Jun and Mingyu nodded nonchalantly along to the beat — sunglasses securely over their eyes, making them resemble a pair of handsome bodyguards rather than two idols on their night off. 

A mix of tequila and soda zipped through your straw as you leaned on the wall between the two, their chatter rapidly adapting to include you. ‘I mean, I never coined them for the clubbing type,’ Jun shrugged, halfway through a conversation with his bandmate, who had his eyes narrowed at his phone in his hand. 

The three of you had perched on a balcony, watching the dance floor swarm with bodies, arms flailing to the music, heads bobbing to the beat. Dark purple and white lights flashed, illuminating the floor in brief intervals, revealing people intertwined with one another, others busy looking at their keys and some drunken party-goers grinding with lustful gazes. 

‘Well, they’re on their way.’ Mingyu shrugged, pulling your gaze away from your inspection of a particularly messy make-out session in the middle of the crowd – gross. 

‘Who is?’ You question, lifting your drink lazily to your lips. 

‘Remember Vernon and Minghao?’ Mingyu questioned, slinging his arm around your shoulders, his beer almost spilling onto your heels with his clumsy movement. 

‘I know the names.’ You reply, nibbling on your straw and eyeing a broad-shouldered man, leant nonchalantly against the bar. 

This was your routine: Jun and Mingyu would drag you to the club. Most of the time, the three of you partied yourselves out together, strolling home in fits of drunken giggles, Mingyu slung between you and Jun like a human piñata — letting his slackened body flop onto your sofa whilst you and Jun top-and-tailed. But occasionally, one of you would spot someone, get busy and be whisked away into the night. 

‘They’re on their way.’ Mingyu finishes, and you shrug, preoccupied by the muscled man downstairs — Tall, dark and handsome. 

As the music shifted, Jun pulled you eagerly onto the dance floor, ready to rock, twist, point, any drunken dance move that his body could conjure in the moment, a loud laugh escaping your lips when he pokes the person behind him. 

The music was something booming, high-pitched vocals over a speedy tempo, making your hips sway with easy finesse, Jun matching you with a cheeky pout on his face. At some point, Mingyu had disappeared into the crowd to collect his bandmates, leaving you and Jun to continue letting the beat pump through your bodies. 

Bodies slick with sweat stuck to yours, the alcohol-induced euphoria swimming through your system and rendering you careless, as all you thought about was feeling the music travel through your bones. 

Through the crowd, your abnormally tall friend weaselled his way through, two drinks held haphazardly in his hand as he held them above head height, almost spilling the beverages on multiple unassuming party-goers' heads. 

Behind him, two men materialised, both of whom you recognised from Instagram posts, music videos and whatever else your two best friends were involved in. The shorter of the two had a snapback perched backwards over his hair, and he sported a shy grin as he greeted you with a polite nod, ‘Vernon.’ 

Next to him, your gaze hovered, the second man making your breath hold tightly in your throat — He was gorgeous. The sort of gorgeous that is plastered on the front of fashion magazines. The sort that almost made drool slide down your chin. 

Minghao, you can only presume, had a pale face, framed by a sleek black mullet, wisps of hair tickling his sleek cheekbones. The enticing dark chocolate eyes were sharp, and it felt as if Minghao’s gaze was swallowing you whole. Lazily, he dragged his eyes down your body, a small smirk on his plump pink lips as he consumed you with his look alone. 

‘Minghao.’ He leaned forward with subtle ease, his strong hand ghosting your waist as his hot breath tickled your ear.

That was the night that changed your life. 

Messy makeouts in the bathroom corridor, arms desperately pulling each other close, feeling all of your soft skin and lathering in the rosy scent of your perfume. Tugging his fluffy hair closer, dragging him lustfully to bed, arching your back involuntarily as his hot mouth met you. 

You and Minghao were like two magnets, snapping together with force as soon as you met. There was no doubt in your mind that he was your person from the moment you set your eyes on him. And he — he was smitten, absolutely enamoured by you; he practically fell to his knees when you stepped out of your front door for the first date. 

Now, six years later, you were each other’s forevers. The gorgeous engagement band on your finger confirms that. Minghao hunted far and wide for the ring that felt authentically you and him, searching across countries, visiting jewellery stores for hours at a time, researching different materials and styles. 

An unexpected hunt on a work trip to Beijing made him stumble across a delicate twist of silver that was bent into two smooth spirals,  a discrete diamond framed by the curving silver work. It was so perfect that Minghao didn’t hesitate — he signed the papers and strolled out of the store with a bashful grin on his face. 

Then, on that starry evening when he got down on one knee, you felt your heart explode in your chest. Adoration surging through your body as you looked at your boyfriend’s sincere smile, his warm eyes glazed with anticipation as he bared his heart to you in an engagement box. 

As the streetlights strobed softly through the private car's window, your ring glistened against your knee. A symbol of unrequited love that decorated your body every single day. 

The vehicle was a buzz of your best friends, Jun squished in the middle, whilst Mingyu took up way too much space next to him, talking animatedly with Alice in the front seat. Both men were a concoction of shirts and cologne, sunglasses perched in their hair. It had been a long time since you’d been to a club, life moving in a gentle motion away from partying, so you were beyond excited to be indulging in one night of drunken fun with your best friends and fiancée. 

Minghao was already at the bar the company had hired out, without a doubt networking, talking to devoted fans and bantering with his sub-unit counterpart. 

You could already imagine his lean body, glistening in the low lighting, his shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair tickling his cheeks under a nonchalantly placed cap. Ring finger decorated with a shining silver band as he DJ’d. God, the vision practically made your panties wet. 

‘What are you daydreaming about?’ Jun nudged at your side, all heads turning to yours as you rapidly snapped out of your drool-inducing vision of your fiancée. 

‘Nothing,’ You reply, perhaps a bit too fast, the flustered expression on your features refusing to be wiped off. Trying to faux calm, you absentmindedly brush invisible dust off your dress. 

‘You’re disgusting.’ Jun replies with a distinct scrunch to the nose. 

‘What?’ You reply, with widened eyes and a sarcastic look of shock. Jun shakes his head at you, the car slowing as it swerves down a side street in Tokyo, vivid neon lights glowing above your heads. 

Crowds of people hover by a bar and you can only presume that’s your destination. There was an atmosphere of anticipation, the beckoning call of music reverberating out onto the slim street, and the car halted, people ecstatically staring through the glass. 

As soon as the door opened, you smiled and waved with the politeness you’d be forced to adopt the moment the tabloids caught wind of you. Teethy grins, small bows at fans, waves towards the crowd. However, as the audience swarming outside were struck with Jun and Mingyu's presence, you slipped through the entrance, staff easily directing you to the small stage, where the main act was fooling around. 

The bar was packed from wall to wall, bodies crammed in as fans excitedly screamed, hollered and shouted at their idols. The air was thick with smoke that clouded heavily in the corners and dampened the lights. A loud and bass-heavy hyperpop track shook the room as it bounced with a tinny crunch out of the speakers and flowed through the atmosphere. 

This environment felt like travelling back in time, the thumping of dance music and the scent of strong alcohol dripping nostalgia through you. The hum of bodies pressed into the space brought you back to those long and late nights of the past, dancing sweatily with strangers, not having a care in the world. As you rolled your shoulders, the muscles loosening instinctively, you felt the weight of adulthood dissolve as the atmosphere swallowed you.

The staff member broke the crowd, guiding you through the barricade with a polite nod. The blonde locks wisping in the busy air caught your attention — your fiancée, looking devastatingly gorgeous, was perched in front of a set of decks, headphones slung around his neck as his stare zeroed in on the buttons. Minghao’s hair was hanging carelessly along his shoulders, a slouching cap resting on his head. He had a pair of dark sunglasses shielding his eyes from the hundreds of phone flashes shining at him. As he bobbed his head along to the beat with effortless indifference, you decided his nonchalance was perhaps the most attractive thing on the planet. 

There was a cloudy grey tank top hanging loosely off of his toned chest, his tattooed arms revealed to the world as they flexed when he held his hand up in motion. Minghao looked delectable, his body glistening in all the right ways as you watched with your mouth hanging. Even after six years, he still made you speechless daily. 

As if your stare burned through him, his head turned straight towards you, his face softening in recognition as he quirked a sweet smile towards you. With a brief lean into Vernon, he stepped down and sauntered over to you, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he inspected you. 

With discretion, he slid his arms around your waist, his smile converting into a smirk as he raked his eyes down your scantily clad body — your dress hugged all the right places, revealing a modest amount of cleavage and displaying your long legs for appreciation. 

‘My love, you look beautiful.’ Minghao mutters in your ear, his hot breath fanning your soft skin, the surface puckering into an array of goosebumps. Your fiancée’s deep, seductive tone sent shivers down your spine, and you allowed your hands to rest on his shoulder, feeling the cotton beneath your fingertips. 

‘Hao, you look-‘ There wasn’t even a word to describe how godly he looked. ‘Fuck, you look so good.’ You let your hand skim his bicep, squeezing the tough muscle lightly as he leaned forward, tilting your jaw to kiss you. His soft, plush lips, which you had the privilege of kissing daily, still sent electricity sparking across your body, the taste of mint gum and Coke infiltrating your mouth with ease. You both knew you could easily be here all night, wrapped up in one another, refusing to falter until you knew exactly how good his mouth tasted. 

However, the hoards of cameras and fans watching closely ignited a consciousness that forced Minghao to apprehensively pull away, his lip caught between his teeth. 

‘Proud of you, baby.’ You say wholeheartedly, sending him a sincere smile before pecking him lightly and running the pad of your thumb over his cheek. 

‘I love you,’ He says back, his eyes practically oozing adoration. ‘Wouldn’t be here without you.’ 

To this, you smile with unrestrained happiness, letting your hands run lightly down his torso before giving his waist a squeeze and ushering him back to the decks. Throwing a quick wave at Vernon, who insisted on a sweaty congratulatory hug, you joined the rest of your friends who’d made their way to the viewing area. 

The crowd was alive, chanting and buzzing at the two boys, who danced and waved happily, both radiating shy nonchalance whilst simultaneously bringing life to the room. 

‘Put your drinks up!’ Your fiancée shouted, jumping excitedly with Vernon, his face radiating as joy rumbled through him — and you couldn’t help but appreciate how breathtaking he looked as euphoric glee zoomed through his skin.

Alongside you, Mingyu had arrived with a bottle of tequila, shot glasses lined up with precision. With a huge laugh, Mingyu poured one out, slinging it back before pouring another, then a line, linking his arm with yours to knock it back with the old trick you shared. 

The sting of the spirit was dulled by the bittersweet flavour of nostalgia it arose on your tongue. It was a twisted sentiment to your early twenties, those party days, the ones that brought you and your friends together — the ones that brought your husband-to-be together, and it bloomed a subtle warmth in your chest. 

Watching the man you cherished, so in his element, moving seamlessly to his own music, smiling wide enough to blind a nation, brought bliss to your heart and you inhaled deeply as if it could pause the moment.

Mingyu and Jun, dancing with drunken silliness next to you, expressions of happiness playing on their features. Roars boomed as Vernon and Minghao stood on the platform the decks sat on, dancing in sync to the songs they’d work tirelessly on. 

And if you’re being honest, you don’t really party, you just sit at home, but tonight you were throwing it back to those long euphoric nights, letting your body sway freely and laughing wholeheartedly with your closest friends. 

As the night stretched on, the bar darkened, the atmosphere still electric even as a different DJ took to the decks. Minghao had eventually shuffled his way over to you, sliding both hands around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your neck. The hair on your body stood up at your fiancée’s skinship, the thumping in your heart intensifying with his hot hands as they lightly massaged your skin. 

‘Hey sweetheart,’ He said with a dipped voice, leaving a light kiss on the crook of your neck. You turn rapidly to face your hot, sweaty and frankly, very sexy fiancée, his cap pulled low as you join your lips with his; alcohol induced lust daring to poke through. 

‘You were amazing up there,’ You breathed, a bashful smile appearing on Minghao’s face as you complimented him. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ 

There’s a glaze over his eyes that is somewhere between adoration and gratitude, the mixture making his chocolate eyes shine with unapologetic happiness. Instead of replying, he simply pulled you in once again, savouring the sweet taste of the plush lips you possessed. 

The whirlwind of friends and colleagues then sweeps him away, people approaching with waves of congratulatory exclamations. You leave him with a tender kiss on the cheek, a reminder of how proud you are, and then disappear off to Alice. 

With drunken confidence, the two of you dance, shaking your hair, swaying your hips, letting big hearty laughs tumble out of you. As the songs beat on, Jun and Mingyu materialise at your sides, moving exactly how they did all those years ago — Jun producing the strangest moves he could conjure, making you almost wet yourself in fits of giggles. 

As Mingyu twirls you effortlessly, your sweet-faced soon-to-be-husband arrives, sliding in close to you, his body moving like liquid against you. The sensation of his hard chest pressed against your back made tingles shoot down your spine, the familiar scent of his musky beechwood aftershave wafting over you.

‘Back already?’ you say with a turned head, only his light curtains visible as he presses tickling kisses along your neck.

‘Forgot how attractive you are when you dance like this,’ He mumbles, nipping on a spot that elicits rather inappropriate sounds from you. The heat of the bar seemed to have settled on your skin as a heavy dew, your pulse racing at a quickened pace. 

‘Hao,’ You exhale with heft, hoping the release would ease the growing heat between your legs. You lean your head into the crook of his shoulder behind you, his lips forced to disconnect with your neck as he grumbles quietly. ‘We’re in public.’ 

The shy and bashful Minghao that presented himself to the public was long gone — his shameless flirtation and risqué-nature penetrating through his persona. You knew this version of Minghao very well. It was the one shielded from his fans, one reserved specifically for you, the one that devoured you on a balcony the night of your engagement. 

And his lusty gaze made the heat pooling between your legs feel more and more bothersome. 

‘I can’t help myself,’ He says quietly, ‘you look too good, it’s driving me insane.’ His arms don’t falter from their secure place on your hips, tugging you impossibly closer. It felt like you were younger again, kissing carelessly in the club, letting the music take you both away as you indulged in one another.

‘Hao,’ A shaky breath leaves your lips, ‘We can’t exactly slip off, this is your party,’ 

With a sigh of frustration, he lands one more nip to the sweet spot on your neck, ‘We’re leaving as soon as it’s socially acceptable.’ 

It, in fact, was not socially acceptable to leave until three in the morning. In those hours, everyone had gotten impossibly drunker. Beside you, Mingyu, almost asleep, stood up, his speech slurred in that hilariously whiny way that was so reminiscent of dragging his tall frame down the dark Seoul streets. 

Minghao had hovered around, often being pulled in every direction by various guests, his gaze hot on your figure as you continued to dance or mingle. You could feel eyes burn into your body when you bent over to pick up a spilt beverage, and he used it as a convenient excuse to practically run to your side — skilfully placing himself to conceal your exposed thighs. 

Like a perfect scapegoat, Mingyu almost toppled over into both of you. The lanky man’s absent gaze was practically begging for bed, and who were you both to make him stay any longer? 

‘We should take him back to the hotel.’ You say with a pout, bidding goodbye to Jun with a tight hug. Minghao had rapidly slipped off to also spout all variations of valedictions to the remaining guests. 

Three slightly long, awkward hugs, around ten polite bows and countless ‘goodbyes’ later, you and Minghao had Mingyu slung over your shoulders, his body borderline slack between you as you both dragged him into the car. 

As much as you could mentally thank Mingyu for always drinking himself into the perfect escape plan, you didn’t want to praise him for the impending spine problems his years of drunken slackness will inevitably cause you.

There were many ways you’d rather be leaving the bar. Through a back door, hands tangled in Minghao’s mullet, tugging when his lips hit that sensitive spot on your neck. Or in a private car, just the two of you, your hand eagerly stroking torturously slowly up his thigh, skimming his crotch with routine obliviousness. 

But alas, Mingyu collapsed onto the seat with a thud, babbling incoherently as he lay his head on your lap. Minghao just tutted as he climbed into the passenger seat,  turning to see you display a shrug, raising your hands in defeat. 

Even through Mingyu's meaningless utterances, the sexual tension was rife — Minghao stayed glued to his phone, his hat low as his teeth nibbled on his lip in frustration. He was vying for a distraction, and his Instagram feed had never been so boring. 

You, on the other hand, leaned on your wrist as you watched the busy, late-night traffic blur past the window. Neon lights and hordes of bodies meshed together in the dark night, the lowlight skimming your fiancées strong jaw, which was very obviously clenched, his plump lips glowing with each passing streetlight. 

God, you were ready to devour him. 

The minutes skidded by almost painfully, Tokyo dragging through your vision with snail-like slowness. Mingyu was fast asleep on your lap, muttering to himself drunkenly — If your head wasn’t spinning with visions of the gorgeous man in the front seat, you might find this heartwarming and so reminiscent of times passed. Mingyu follows his usual routine, getting too drunk and having to be hauled home by you or whichever oblivious friend was roped in to take half of his weight. Stumbling into the hotel elevator with someone hot on his trail, apologising profusely to whichever member of the public he may have embarrassed himself in front of. Then, collapsing onto the closest comfiest surface — the hotel bed, and passing out without a word. 

It made you giggle at how his habits had never changed and how yours remained, too. Popping two painkillers onto his nightstand, filling up a cup with water. All the usual things that came as second nature. Minghao watched you closely with adoration. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t fall deeper in love with you, and today he really felt it. Even through the chaos, the stress, the pressure, your presence was ever-grounding; even if it made his brain scatter when he saw you. 

Your fiancée lingered close behind you as you clicked the door shut slowly, the dim hallway abandoned at this heinous time. The warm glow made your body shine, the expanse of your neck exposed when you swept your hair to the side, your long legs practically glistening for Minghao to ogle. He traced the curve of your waist in your tight dress, biting his lip at the swell of your ass as you twisted to look at him. 

‘Let me get out of the door first,’ You joke, recognising the lust dripping off of his gaze. Without hesitation, his tongue slipped out of his mouth, licking his lips as if you were his favourite meal. 

You were. 

The tether within Minghao had snapped, finally alone after hours of pent-up frustration, and he had you pushed up against the wall with lightning-quick agility. One strong arm wrapped tightly around your waist to pull his hips flush against yours, the other cradling your face with softness, the rough pad of his thumb savouring the feeling of your skin below it.

Without hesitation, he joined his lips to yours with desperation, his body aching to taste the alcohol on you — and now he could taste it, he felt utterly intoxicated. The plush of your lips was so familiar, but it never failed to make him feel like every hair on his body was standing on end. 

‘Hao,’ You breathed out in a quiet whine, your hands lacing through Minghao’s soft hair with an instinctive tug as he let his lips begin their assault on your neck. He knew exactly how to make you fawn, his teeth grazing your sensitive spots as he left discrete marks along your exposed shoulder. 

To be honest, he didn’t care that people were sleeping behind plywood walls; you were too delectable to treat anyone else with regard. A sick part of him wanted them to hear how good he made you feel, he wanted them to know that his fiancée would only moan like this for him for the rest of her life. 

Your nails clawed harshly at his biceps as the feeling of his lips made heat pool pathetically between your legs, his lusted-over gaze burning through you when he pulled back to examine his art. 

This was Minghao’s own personal Picasso. The sight of you, face flushed and screwn in an expression of blissful pleasure, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin as your head leaned on the dark wall behind you, the expanse of your neck exposed and actively developing little bruises. The dress, which was, quite frankly, a method of torture designed specifically to make Minghao suffer, was bunching up and revealing your hot skin to his eyes. 

‘Oh baby,’ Minghao sighs, letting his arms pull your body into his. You took advantage of his moment of weakness and began to pepper kisses up the column of his throat, trailing along his jaw and nibbling his ear gently, smirking as the skin under your fingertips rose in goosebumps. Sometimes you forgot how easily you affected him, the hotness of your breath eliciting his body to react rapidly, his eyes fluttering shut tightly as he groaned loudly and unapologetically. 

The hallway had dissolved into a desire-driven blur around you both, the almost pornographic moans tumbling out of your fiancées mouth floating you away on a cloud of pure sexual need. 

‘Baby, I need you.’ He manages to gasp out, your hand now feeling his toned stomach with daringly slow accuracy whilst your mouth continues to run circles around his brain. 

‘Can’t have me in a corridor, Hao.’ You state between sloppy kisses, not parting from his skin for longer than a few seconds. 

He turned his head and emitted a sound resembling a hiss as your mouth was forced to leave his body, ‘I’ll have you right here, sweetheart, don’t test me.’ 

The tone was icy, the dominance in his voice almost making your knees give way. His hand was resting with a strong presence on the back of your neck, his drooped eyelids penetrating you with so much intensity it was overwhelming. 

Not willing to try your luck with Minghao — Knowing he’d bunch your dress up and tear your underwear off for anyone to see, you take his wrist in your hand, dragging him to the elevator. There’s a cocky smirk that’s landed permanently on his features, his eyes watching the way your ass giggled as you jogged lightly to the end of the hallway, pulling him along. 

The doors slid shut, but before they could ring out a quiet ding! he has you pinned against the mirrored wall, his body heavy against your back. 

It’s embarrassing the way you arch into him, your breath heavy as it already begins to cloud the mirror in small hues. Behind you, he has one of your arms secured to your back, intertwining his fingers with yours in an intimate gesture. Yet, his eyes are darkened as they scan your face in the mirror, the need rife in your hooded gaze as you meet his hungry look. 

Your entire body is squashed against the mirror, making your cleavage bulge out of your skimpy dress, and Minghao can’t help but stare at it as he reattaches his mouth to your neck eagerly. The hardness of his throbbing cock is tough against your ass, and you gasp sharply when he smoothly thrusts himself against you. 

‘Look at you,’ He coos with fake sympathy dripping off every word, his mouth ruthlessly working at your exposed skin. ‘Such a greedy girl, rubbing yourself against me in public.’ 

Your fiancées taunts make you impossibly wetter, and you attempt to stifle a moan that was escaping you. Minghao pauses sharply, squinting at your already fucked out reflection. ‘It’s too late to be quiet now, baby, you’ve already let the whole floor know how good my lips make you feel.’ 

It’s embarrassing. Almost humiliating, how he has you completely at his mercy before you’ve even swiped your room key — in the elevator where anyone could see you, where any innocent passerby could watch as your fiancée ruts his stiff cock into you, when any of his members could walk in to your face flushed and already fucked out before Minghao has even touched you. 

As the elevator begins to halt, he releases his grip on you, taking your hand sweetly and pulling you into his side. It’s mind-boggling how versatile Minghao is, the doors sliding open with torturous pace as a fellow hotel guest nods politely to your fiancée, entering the space that held the ghost of said man, practically dry-humping you against the wall. 

Minghao’s grip around you was tight, his hand absentmindedly tugging your dress to cover your exposed thighs as he smiled awkwardly and bowed to the stranger, keeping your head tucked safely into the crook of his neck. 

You knew this was killing Minghao. Even the redness on your face did not compare to the restraint he was exercising with each passing moment. 

The elevator slowed once again, and Minghao couldn’t pull you out of there faster, his cock painfully hard in his trousers; he was already facing your shared room by the time the door to the elevator slid closed. 

Beep! The hotel door clicks open, and everything becomes a whirlwind. Minghao has you pressed against it with wicked ease, pulling your lips to meet his in a sloppy, needy kiss that radiates heat from him. Your hands are sliding beneath his shirt, letting your nails scratch along the toned muscles as his hand smooths over your ass, grabbing at it harshly as he attempts to pull you closer. 

Minghao’s lips are working on the sweet spot below your collarbone, tasting the skin with unfaltering intensity. You let your hands roam, tangling them in his hair, scratching at his back, squeezing at his waist — you feel every inch of him like you’re learning where everything is. 

With a rough tug, your dress is pooled around your waist, your braless chest bouncing out with the release of the cloth binding it, and Minghao lets out a long groan, his eyes closing as he lets his head slack. He is devilishly handsome, his jaw defined in the low light as it flexes at the sight of you. 

‘Sweetheart,’ He speaks whilst he inspects every inch of you closely, bringing his hot mouth to your chest once again, his tongue drawing patterns against your skin as he brings one of his hands to toy with your nipple, his long fingers working automatically to pinch and caress you. 

Loud throaty moans tumble out of you as he fails to neglect your other nipple, letting his mouth trail hot kisses around it before sucking with perfected ease. If Minghao’s arm wasn’t securely around you, the feeling would’ve made you collapse to the floor — he knew your body like the back of his hand, nipping and sucking on every single sensitive spot, touching every place that set your body on fire. Except where you needed him most. 

‘Hao,’ You moan, and he just grunts against you, not faltering for a second from his heavy assault on your chest, the sight of him devouring you almost enough to have you cumming. ‘Baby, I need-‘ 

He pulls off of your nipple with a dirty pop, his pent-up gaze watching as the pleasure drops off your face with the lack of contact. It was filthy, the arousal that pumped through him when he watched you become absolutely desperate for him. 

‘Need what baby?’ He questions, his movements so slow that they almost cease, making your eyebrows furrow and your lip jut out in a pout. Pathetically, you let your slender hand reach for the waistband of his trousers, but he’s like a hawk, pinning both of your wrists above your head. 

It’s humiliating how turned on you are — completely under his control willingly. His frame is fully clothed, whilst yours is a mess, dress in a rushed bunch around your waist, panties dripping. 

‘What do you need?’ He questions, gaze burning into you as he drags his eyes down your curves. ‘Use your words, baby.’ 

‘Need you,’ You whine, wiggling to attempt to reach for his waistband again, but his grip is steady, keeping you absolutely merciless. 

‘Need what part of me?’ He blinks, big innocent eyes staring at yours like he wasn’t already ruining you without even a touch. 

Your face is utterly flushed as embarrassment and arousal mix into a vicious vision of want, the outline of his hard cock practically pounces at you. Minghao uses this moment to let one of his big hands ghost over your panties, his touch so light that you buck your hips instantly, desperate for him to give your clit any stimulation. 

A taunting laugh escapes his lips before his ruthless mouth is back on your neck, nipping and sucking as your head falls back in pleasure. The sudden attention forces a moan to escape you, and he stops, the brief contact ripped away so savagely that your brain is fuzzy with frustration. 

‘I asked you a question, sweetheart.’ He repeats, letting your restrained hands fall as he tugs you lightly towards the bed, pausing as you near it. Without a word, he slips your bundled dress off of your frame carefully, discarding it as you kiss him, pulling his neck to yours before he even has a chance to appreciate your almost naked body. 

‘Need your cock baby,’ You mumble against his lips, and he groans at your needy answer, his pants feeling uncomfortably tight around him, and you let your nails scrape his lower abdomen in that way that has his body in shivers. 

Minghao is so enticed by you, the way your lips mingle with his effortlessly, the ways in which you know his body, the ways that can almost make him cum in his pants with just a feather-light touch. 

You’ve slyly twisted, pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed, your lips not parting as you masterfully manoeuvre yourself between his solid thighs. 

Minghao thinks this might be a mirage. A vision of ecstasy in a moment of desperation. You, his beautiful fiancée, on your knees in front of him, your lips swollen from his assault on them, tiny marks along your neck from his greediness to mark you. There’s a distinct thirst in your eyes as your hands fumble with his belt, and Minghao thinks it might be the most attractive thing he’s ever seen. 

Like an expert, his belt is unbuckled, and his trousers are tugged down, your light touch carrying the weight of hours of teasing. As you let his cock spring free, he hisses, the scene in front of him so dirty he could cum right now.

Your fiancé's biceps are flexed as he holds himself up, leaning back and watching you with squinted eyes. His cock is so pretty, you sometimes forget, and it shocks you all over again – It’s pale and long, not too girthy but beautifully slender. The sight of it alone makes your pussy clench around nothing, the memories of it kissing your cervix infiltrating your mind. 

Drool pools at the corner of your lips, and without further ado, you stroke your fingertips lightly along his cock, letting your thumb drag over the tip, a string of tangled grunts tumbling out of him as you spread the leaking pre-cum down his shaft. 

After a few eager strokes, you bring your mouth to him, kitten-licking him with precision, his teeth gritted as he lets out a hiss, your warm mouth sending spikes of pleasure up his body. His cock was more than a mouthful, the salty pre-cum lathering your tongue as you gradually make your way down him, gagging as your nose grazes his stomach. 

Your engagement band glints as you grip his thigh, beginning to piston your head, throaty moans slipping out of his mouth as you take him so well. 

‘Fuck baby,’ He groans, and an involuntary sound of pleasure leaves you, your nipples perked in arousal as you speed up. Minghao runs his fingers through your soft hair delicately, the sensation prickling your skin as he gathers your locks and guides your motions with desperation. ‘You look so pretty.’ 

It was so filthy, the squelch of your mouth working against him and his heavy, breathy moans at free flow as the feeling of your tongue around him takes over. Minghao is seeing stars, the sight of you alone pushing him closer, yet alone the stimulation on his cock.

‘Baby, baby.’ He pants, his breathing climbing rapidly as his release nears, and he pulls your head away from him carefully, refusing to come from just your mouth – he needed to be inside you, watching your eyes roll back as he bottoms out. You pout, looking up at him with red cheeks, your lips glistening with his pre-cum and your spit. ‘I want to come inside you.’ 

His words make you ache, your pussy practically begging for something – anything at all. 

Minghao lifts your jaw up to his, rejoining your lips. The salty taste of himself on you infiltrates his mouth as he pulls you onto his lap, his strong arms reaching to squeeze at the expanse of your ass cheeks as his cock is trapped between you both, nudging at your clit in selfish intervals. 

‘Take this off.’ You whisper, hands already pulling at his shirt, and he whips it off, sparing only a second before his tongue is intertwined with yours again, your fingertips feeling his smooth skin and tracing his abs. 

You push his body down, crawling over him to grind your clothed entrance against his hard cock. Pretty moans falling out of you as your clit gets the stimulation it was craving, forcing your eyes to squeeze shut as your body is submerged in pleasure. Your fiancée is breathless below you, your hair dangling down into his face as your expression presents as angelic, all-consumed by pleasure. Minghao always thought you were the most beautiful woman on earth, but god, you glowed in a different way like this. 

Breathing shallowly, you continued dragging yourself against his hardness, your eyes locking with Minghaos as he tilts his head back into the mattress, his gaze lusty yet determined. Those strong arms working their way down to your wetness as you pause your movements, desperate for your fiancée to touch you. 

‘Oh my poor baby, you’re soaked,’ He said, using his middle finger to trace circles over you, the panties ruined and your thighs almost dripping. You couldn't even muster a response, his light teasing pressing all of the right spots, and you drop your head to the crook of his neck as he continues his lazy circles. ‘Do you want me to stop?’ 

You knew it was a baited question. Minghao wanted to see you squirm. 

‘No, please.’ You beg, your mouth hot against his sensitive neck as you speak into it, biting at the skin gently. 

‘Look at me.’ He says sternly. Pressing one finger into your dripping hole, pushing your panties inside you. It was ludicrous and practically a sin to be so hopelessly at his expense, but you couldn't think past how good it felt. 

‘Look at me.’ He repeats with a grit in his teeth, halting his movements to get your full attention. With a rapid snap of the neck up, your faces are inches apart, his hot breath mingling with yours as he scans your gorgeous face, your cheeks reddened, your lips jutted. 

You were so beautiful. 

‘Good girl.’ Before you can even moan, his mouth is back on yours hungrily, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he guides your soaked clit to rub against his painfully hard cock. ‘Stay just like this, baby.’ Then, in a subtle movement, he slides out from underneath you and discards the rest of his clothing, kneeling behind you. 

The heat of his body radiated as he stroked himself whilst inspecting you, wetness dripping down your spread legs, pussy gleaming with arousal. It was one of his favourite sights, and he can’t help himself as he runs his hands up and down your plush thighs, squeezing your ass and letting the cool of his metal engagement band send shivers up your spine. 

‘Hao, please.’ With desperation, you push your hips backwards, his cock brushing you, and you let out a hum of satisfaction. 

Wordlessly, Minghao begins to guide his cock into your dripping hole, the sensation of you so tight and warm around him making a heavy groan fall from his throat. Similarly, tears begin to cloud your vision as sweet relief washes over you, the feeling of him dragging against your walls combined with his throaty sounds making you dig your nails into the soft white covers. 

Slowly, he bullies his way into you, his member hitting every single spot that has you clawing desperately at anything you can. As he bottoms out with a hiss, a loud moan leaves your lips, the overwhelming feeling of his tip mingling with your cervix, making you clench around him. 

It felt insane how well his body slotted into yours. Your pussy was moulded to fit his cock, your walls hugging it in every single place. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of being conjoined with one another, ecstasy blasting through you both as you thrive in the overwhelming feeling of one another. 

Unable to restrain himself, Minghao begins to fuck into you with a quickened pace, the room becoming a soundtrack of filthy sounds; his hips slapping your thighs, the squelch of your soaked hole, the mixture of grunts and moans the two of you emit. 

Minghao’s eyes stare as your skin jiggles with each thrust, his fingers gripping your hips so tight that bruises will blossom beneath them tomorrow. His breathing is heavy as he relishes the euphoric feeling of you bent over, receiving him so willingly and squeezing him impossibly tighter. 

The wicked thrusting has you seeing stars, the sensations overwhelming, and you start hurtling towards your release, moans running at free flow out of you as your fiancée only quickens his pace. 

‘H-Hao,’ You moan, gripping the mattress below you as if it could receive some of the immense pleasure rippling through you. 

‘Yes, baby?’ He pants out, letting one hand rub up your side in a soothing manner, his hips and arms doing completely contrasting things to your body. 

‘I’m close.’ You sputter out, lathered in his deep strokes that were practically splitting you in half. 

‘Mhm,’ He hums, only speeding up impossibly faster as he wraps a strong arm around your waist to pull you into him, not letting his cock disconnect from the comfort of your slick. 

Your head is slack on Minghao’s shoulder as he holds your back tightly to his chest, letting his hand ghost over your neck. He nips at your ear as he continues to piston into you ruthlessly, your release within an arm's reach. 

‘You’re doing so well, baby,’ Minghao whispers in your ear, tightening his grip on your neck as he chases your high. ‘Such a good girl, my good girl.’ 

That was all it took before you were tightening around him, high-pitched moans tumbling out of you. The coil within you snaps, sending your vision white, heat flushing out of you as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. 

Minghao keeps fucking you ruthlessly, holding the weight of your body as he chases his own release, small whines escaping your mouth as he overstimulates you. The grip of his hands gets tighter and tighter as he grunts in your ear, muttering incoherently as all he thinks about is how good you feel. 

‘Fuck ____.’ He gasps, his breath taken from him as he spurts inside you, his warm milky release coating your insides, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he slows. 

The room is swamped in the sound of heavy breathing, Minghao pulling out and helping you lie down gently, kissing your shoulders, all the way down your spine and then returning to kiss the crown of your head. 

‘You’re so beautiful.’ He speaks with delicate sincerity, your sleepy gaze watching his naked figure disappear off to the bathroom. 

‘I love you.’ You mumble, grinning shyly and nuzzling your face into the pillow. Your fiancée reappears with a wet towel, wiping you cautiously as he appreciates your gorgeous figure. 

‘I love you more, my love.’ He replies, Your vision became as your body relaxed into the plush mattress. With a light but solid grip, you tug him onto the bed, his musky scent washing over you once again, and you sigh happily.

‘Just cuddle me, baby.’ You murmur, tiredness taking over you as he pulls you into his chest, placing the covers over the two of you. Peppering kisses on your head, he watches you gently doze off, and his heart feels like it could burst with how much he adores you. 

Even submerged in sleep, your hand finds his, engagement rings clicking quietly together, and Minghao closes his eyes in contentment, letting sleep lull him away with you.