⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Instantly he regrets it, leaning over to vomit onto the wet pavement beside him. Then he glances at his fingertips. They’re covered in blood.

Chan doubles over again, clutching his temples. His head feels like it’s about to split in two. What the fuck happened to him? He rocks in place until the pressure subsides enough that he can open his eyes again, at which point he examines himself. His shirt’s torn and splattered with red splotches. There are cuts and scratches all over his arms, and his knuckles are scraped to hell. He wipes grit from the concrete off his face and pats down his pockets. Empty. 

Was he in a fight? Maybe he was robbed. That would explain why he doesn’t have anything on him. Did someone beat him for whatever he had? If only he could remember, but he can’t… he can’t…

He can’t remember anything. Pulse spiking, Chan leans against the dumpster, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He needs to calm down and assess the situation. Figure out where he is and if he’s safe there before he tries to recall what happened to him. If he’s too exposed here, or too trapped, he needs to move. 

Wait. Why is that his first instinct?

He squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the rain, the buzzing light, quickly focusing his mind on what he is absolutely sure he knows, without a trace of doubt. His name is Lee Chan. He’s from New Seoul. Is that where he is now? 

SYSTEM REBOOT

“Augh!” Chan yells, grabbing his head again. “What the fuck?!”

SYSTEM ACTIVE. WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE SUSTAINED. 

His stomach heaves again. He spits to clear the taste of bile from his mouth. The CARAT interface in his brain has rebooted. Reflexively, he attempts to access his memories, stored on the implant, but when he reaches out, he hears a message in his head from the same synthetic voice as before.

REQUEST DENIED. SYSTEM DIAGNOSIS IN PROCESS. 

He’ll have to figure out the system later - he’s still hunched behind a dumpster with a wall to his back. If he stays here much longer, he’s a sitting duck. For whom, he doesn’t quite know, but he feels compelled to follow his instincts. They’re probably why he’s still alive. 

He staggers to his feet, only takes one step forward before cursing. “Fuck!” He hadn’t noticed the wound in his left leg earlier, too distracted by the pain in his head. There’s a gash in his thigh, visible beneath a giant tear in his pants, like someone swiped at him with a blade. It doesn’t look like the work of a cyblade, thank fuck, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. 

Bing!

A gentle chime sounds in his head.

SYSTEM DIAGNOSIS COMPLETE. ERROR INCURRED DURING MEMORY CORE COMMAND SEQUENCE EXECUTED AT 13:27 PM TODAY. DAMAGE SUSTAINED.

“What command sequence?” Chan queries inside his head.

UNABLE TO DETERMINE. 

Chan furrows his brows. That shouldn’t be possible - the implant’s diagnostics should be able to recall every command he’s ever given to the system. He’s 100% sure of that.

“How much damage?” He braces himself for the answer.

58% OF MEMORY CORE CORRUPTED. UNABLE TO ACCESS CORRUPTED CONTENTS. 

The memory core in his implant stores his entire life’s worth of memories - everything he can remember prior to implantation and everything he’s ever done since. Right now, he’s got literal holes in his memory. No wonder his brain feels like swiss cheese. 

Unfortunately, whatever happened at 1:27 today to leave him badly beaten and sleeping in the rain happens to be one of those holes.

BANG!

The slamming of the door to the bar closing ricochets off the walls in the alley like a bullet. Chan jolts, shrinking into the shadows as best he can, sharp gaze narrowing in on a drunken patron swaying their way towards the street. Chan needs to find a better place to hide, where he can tend to his wounds while he figures out what to do about his interface. He tests his leg, finding out how much weight it can bear before it begins to buckle, and then he creeps towards the end of the alleyway. 

He’s relieved to recognize the neighborhood he’s in, though most in his position would likely be alarmed to find themselves here - especially without any sort of protection. He’s in one of the many slums of old New Seoul, where dilapidated, nearly crumbling buildings from the previous century line the streets, and the airspace is crammed full of fluttering ad drones flashing obnoxiously bright advertisements, bathing the sky in an eternal neon glow day all night long. This isn’t a place where most people would want to conduct business, let alone live. 

Unless they had no other choice.

It must be sometime in the early hours of the morning, because many of the stores are shuttered, their heavy metal shields covered in electric shock warnings, meant to deter transients and thieves alike. There are multiple sirens going off in different directions around him, heralding the arrival of the armed forces that patrol this area - not to protect the residents, but to protect the corporations that have stakes here from the syndicates that run the slums. 

But he’s familiar with this particular section of town, enough to know to turn left out onto the street. There’s a place he’s been to before, about three blocks from here. A place that’s safe. He tries to recall why he knows that, and a face floats into his mind as his memory interface engages. He pauses for a second, ducking into the doorway of an abandoned business to get out of the rain, and leans against the rusted solid metal door there, buried under layers of graffiti, but thankfully not electrified.

“YN,” he whispers. That’s your name. It’s your place that he’s stumbling towards. And then he visualizes it, perfectly recreating the path in his mind. He thinks again of your face. Your eyes. But when he tries to recall more about you, he can’t. Another gap in his memory. But something stirs in his chest when he pictures your face, and again he feels that unshakable certainty. 

He follows the feeling. It leads him down streets that are mostly deserted, only a few electric motos zooming by as he slowly progresses down the sidewalk. The people he passes are mostly inebriated, either drunk or high on something, and in their own little worlds. A few of them appear to be surfers, riding along on a designer drug called Wave, and Chan knows innately to keep his distance. Surfers can be dangerous to be around in their altered states. He avoids attracting attention to himself, a skill that he knows he’s taken care to develop, even if he isn’t sure why. 

At the next block, he waits on the corner for a moment, shivering as the rain soaks into his tattered clothes. Across the street sits a row of old tenements, each apartment building leaning on the others around it like brothers-in-arms, preventing one another from collapse. He heads towards one of the buildings in the center, for a familiar-looking door. The door is locked, of course. He doesn’t have a key, nor does he have any tools to help him open it. But he has adrenaline, and a very persistent desire to survive, so he grits his teeth and kicks the door in. 

He stumbles, then kind of falls into a heap inside the doorway, and curses up a storm from the pain. He’d give his useless leg for some painkillers right now, or a bottle of liquor - any kind, he’s not feeling particularly picky at the moment. He hopes you have something strong that he can take before he starts dressing his wounds. 

Who are you to him, that he assumes you’re going to help him? 

He drags his fingers along the wall as he walks into the darkness in front of him, searching for a switch, but as soon as he’s far enough away from the light of the city behind him, his ocular implants activate night mode. There’s a long hallway in front of him, with boarded up doors on either side, and the stairwell heading upstairs is barricaded. He knows the place he’s seeking isn’t here - this is just a shortcut. He walks down the hallway, the floor sloping downward for a while before it rises towards a door at the other end, lit by a small band of light through the cracks. He rams this door too when he reaches it, until it spits him out into a little courtyard. 

He’s relieved to find there’s no one else in the courtyard this time of night. It’s an open-air courtyard, surrounded on the other three sides by the walls of other old buildings. Someone’s turned it into a greenspace - a few square feet of some ferns and other leafy plants, and in the very center, a Korean red pine growing tall. Trees are so rare in old New Seoul that he can’t help but divert his mission to approach the pine, and run his hand over the twisted trunk. Huh. The roughness of the bark is familiar under his touch. Something happened to him here. The memory is missing, but his fingertips remember for him. 

Suddenly, he sways, and has to let the tree hold him up for a moment. His leg’s been bleeding while he’s been walking - how much blood has he lost by now? He’s gotta get inside before he passes out. He continues on his way, a little slower than before, to the corner on the right, where two of the buildings meet. He doesn’t have to force the door here, a fire exit with a blinking blue light above the frame. 

Inside the tenement is another hallway, this one lit so brightly by floating ads that he has to shield his eyes for a few seconds until his night mode disengages automatically. These old buildings aren’t on the same grid as the tenements in the newer sections of the city and don't have ad screens built into the walls like those places do. Ad drones are programmed to follow tenets into the buildings, but they are notorious for getting stuck inside, buzzing around the overhead fluorescents like electric moths. Chan swats at an annoying soju ad that keeps strafing his left ear, and it careens into the wall, smashing into tiny pieces. 

The elevator doesn’t want to take him anywhere without a keycode, but it uses an old electrical system that’s mostly wires, and he’s always been good with wires. He rests against the panel of the elevator as it rises, and glances at his reflection in the filthy cracked mirror on the back wall. 

His face is coated in red splatters to match his shirt. He steps closer, touching his face, searching for cuts. Other than the incredibly sore spot behind his ear, he doesn’t appear to have any other wounds on his head. He’s covered in someone else’s blood. 

Shouldn’t that alarm him?

The elevator lets him out on a dimly lit floor that is somehow free from the ad drones. There are a few transients in here, lying on the ground in different relaxed positions. Surfers, coming down from their highs. He gives them their space, heading directly for the door at the end of the hall. There’s nothing on the door to distinguish it from the others, but Chan’s certain this is the one he wants. 

He raises his hand to knock, and his head suddenly spins. He loses his balance, falling forward into the door. Before he can regain his balance, it opens. 

He collapses in the doorway, barely able to crane his neck enough to look up into the beautiful face of an angel, lit by a soft blue neon glow. Wait, is he dying? 

The angel speaks. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

READER’s POV: 

As days go, today’s been a little… off. 

It starts as usual. Around 4:00 pm, you wake. Afternoon is your morning. Your lifestyle is more suited for the nighttime. Good thing you were born a night person, preferring the dark to the light.

You feel refreshed from sleep, but are reminded by a tender ache on your cheek that you’re not quite healed yet. Your last assignment lingers in the bruises on your body, unfortunate reminders that you’ll be happy to see fade. It wasn’t your best work, but you got the job done in the end. And you’d love to move on, except your liaison has been awfully quiet lately. You consider checking in with him while in the shower, rubbing yourself down with soap before turning the lever for a fifteen-second rinse. Why not pamper yourself a little today with a long shower? 

Unfortunately, the shower timer glitches, and you only get the usual ten seconds. You throw on a tank top, then a stretched-out long-sleeved shirt cropped below your chest over that, and a pair of leggings. At least making your breakfast goes better, and you carry your cup of instant noodles and a chunk of cheese outside. 

One of the perks of living in one of the oldest tenements in old New Seoul is that your apartment comes with an attached outdoor space in the form of a tiny patio. You’ve got a flimsy metal chair in the corner, where you sit and soak up some vitamin D before the sun sets - as long as the smog warnings don’t force you back inside first. 

This evening, there’s a blue cat waiting for you by the chair. You hold out your hand for her to sniff, and she lowers her head, allowing you to lightly scritch her ears. 

“Morning, Ash.” 

Ash meows, and waits for you to sit before bumping her head against your leg. You break up the chunk of cheese and toss it onto the ground for your favorite stray to nibble on, then turn your attention to the view around you. 

Your tenement is buried in a maze of buildings in the heart of old New Seoul. There are more windows than you can count surrounding you. More neighbors than you could possibly ever hope to meet, if you were the type of person to meet your neighbors. The city is loud, the voices of all these neighbors rising into the air to join the drones, and the birds, flocks of pigeons who land on your railing, uninterested in anything but picking at your crumbs. Ash chases them away while you listen to the chaotic call of your city.

You love it here. New Seoul’s been pretty good to you, considering you do not do good things. Not that you see anything wrong with taking lives in order to keep living yours. Everyone makes their choices, and everyone has to deal with the consequences. 

You are simply a consequence that they never see coming. 

After breakfast, you do your workout, a combination of stretches and cardio intended to limber you up and increase your stamina. It’s important that you keep in shape, because you never know when you’ll need to fight - or run. It starts to rain as you’re finishing up, and keeps coming down steadily for hours. 

While you listen to the raindrops hitting your window, you connect to your console, and access Nyx, a private online channel where people with your particular skills can find work. To your frustration, you’ve no new messages from Joshua. What is the point of using a liaison if he’s not going to connect you to any job offers?

You’ve only started using him in the last few months as a connection for work because things have been so quiet lately. It’s not that the market is drying up, necessarily - if anything, your industry is bustling as society continues to crumble around you and people are willing to do whatever it takes to succeed. But competition’s been picking up as more people turn to murder-for-hire as a way to make a few credits, willing in their desperation to bend their morals to the breaking point. If Joshua’s not going to help you get your name out there, then maybe you need to find someone else who can. 

You’re scrolling through profiles of other liaisons when your hall monitor sends you an alert. A techhead friend of yours, Junhui, set you up with a system to track any unusual movement on your floor. It’s an impressive array of old-school tech, consisting of motion sensors in strategic spots, along with CCTV cameras aimed at your door. It works without the grid, and it keeps you safe. 

There are always surfers in your hallway, since your next-door neighbor Mingyu deals. He’d been the one to explain the term to you - that “surfing” was a sport where people used oval-shaped boards to ride ocean waves. It’s a sport that’s been lost to time, swallowed by the rising tides that have claimed most of the beaches on the planet. These surfers tend not to move so much, but your motion sensors have been calibrated to account for them anyway. A glance at your camera’s feed confirms that it’s not one of them, but rather your best friend Minghao making his way to your door. He’s dressed in a black leather jacket, cycle helmet in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. 

You greet him with a warm smile. Minghao’s eyes zero in on the purple splotch beneath your right eye, and he sighs. 

“Thought I did a better job of teaching you how to duck than that.” 

“I did duck. That’s when they kneed me in the face,” you inform him, locking your door behind him. You have multiple physical and electronic locks, so the process takes a few seconds. Can’t be too careful in your line of work. “So shut up.” 

Minghao shakes his head. “No. C’mere.” 

He sets his things down on your kitchen unit counter, and opens his arms. You make a face at him, but step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tight, and you hug him back, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Minghao’s the closest thing you have to family. The two of you found each other when you were both way too young to be living on your own. You taught him how to steal. He taught you how to fight. Together, you survived. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells you, and you hum in reply. He says that every time he sees you again after you’ve completed a job. “I brought gimbap and soju.” 

“Green grape?” you ask, in a playfully hopeful way, and he nods. He always spoils you by bringing your favorites. You’d asked him about it once, and he said he liked taking care of you, in that quietly serious way of his. 

You think about that a lot. 

Your apartment is a little bigger than the modern tenements’ living units, but it’s still not very large, consisting of two small rooms and an even smaller bathroom with a single stall shower and toilet. The front room contains a kitchen unit, two-chair table, and couch, facing a projection wall that you keep turned off except for mandatory viewings. The other room is your bedroom. You have a full-sized bed and a tall clothing unit in there. It’s the bed that keeps you from moving to a more modern building. You can’t stand the tightness of sleeping pods, don’t understand how anyone could sleep while being compressed like that. You need your space. 

Minghao hangs his jacket on the back of a chair, and the two of you sit to eat. You share the details of your last hit between shots of soju. This talk of hunting down a target is nothing new to him. After all, Minghao’s the one who introduced you to this line of work. He thought you’d flourish. He was right, as usual. 

As you finish your tale, he shakes his head again, pouring you another round of shots. “I guess that could’ve gone worse. Remember the last time you went to Greater Tokyo?" 

He raises his shot glass, and you clink yours against his before you toss yours back. He tilts his head, exposing his elegant neck as he drinks. 

You wipe your mouth, nodding. “Yeah. I remember. But that was before I got these.” You raise your free hand, curling your fingers slightly. Tiny, razor-sharp blades extend from beneath your fingernails, then retract with the twitch of your muscles. “They helped.” 

“I’m sure they did, Sable,” Minghao laughs, calling you by the nickname you picked up when you got your blades. Everyone finds you cute and unassuming when you’re not on a job, like a fluffy little sable. Everyone always underestimates the sharpness of your claws. “So what’s next?” 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, rising from the table to flop dramatically onto your couch. “No offers at the moment. Or leads.” 

Minghao hums in sympathy, joining you. He crosses his legs, one boot over the other, and lies back against the saggy cushions. “Have you given any thought to my idea?” 

You don’t answer, watching your friend as he sighs, relaxing into your couch. He closes his eyes, and you take the opportunity to observe him unnoticed. He looks tired, forehead creased beneath his blue hair, like waiting for your response is stressing him out. Maybe it is. Maybe you should just talk to him about it. After all, he’s family. If anyone would understand, wouldn’t it be him? 

“I have been thinking about it,” you finally begin, slowly, “but I haven’t really come to any decision yet.” 

Minghao opens his eyes. “How much longer do you need?” You shrug, and he sighs. “Look, I don’t want to lay out all the reasons I think we should leave New Seoul again. I’m really tired today, and I don’t feel like making my case one more time. But you cannot deny that things seem to be drying up around here.” 

Again you shrug, not wanting to agree. If you admit that he’s right, then it will be harder to defend your desire to stay. Because you’re pretty sure that’s what you want.

He lets his head fall back against the back of your couch. He says your name, the real one, in a soft tone of voice. “Please. Think about it, okay? I know you don’t like the idea of starting over, but we’d be doing it together.” 

There was a time when you thought you didn’t need anything else in the world, as long as you had Minghao. Things have changed. 

BEEDOBEEDOBEEDO 

At that moment, your hall monitor begins going insane, letting out a shrill, siren-like alert. Minghao sits up as you grab your console and pull up the camera feeds. That’s a very special alarm that’s going off right now, set up to monitor for very specific individuals. 

“Who’s out there?” Minghao asks, leaning over your shoulder to view your screen. 

The figure is still halfway down the hall, so you tap on another camera, and gasp. “Oh, fuck me!” 

Minghao tugs on the console, trying to see better. “Is that - “

“The Neon Viper,” you nod, mouth set in a firm line. A rival assassin. What the fuck is Lee Chan doing on your floor? Is he here for you? 

“Oh fuck,” Minghao agrees. “Get ready.” 

You hand him the console, so you can run into your other room, and smash your hand on a tiny panel set into the wall. Part of the wall suddenly sinks in, retracting panels sliding opening to reveal a small array of weaponry. Another favor from Junhui. You grab your weapon of choice and smash the panel again to close the wall.

Minghao’s already waiting by the door, one hand on his hip, where his gun is holstered. He silently hands you the console, so you can check the cameras. Your rival, one of the deadliest assassins in all of New Seoul, is only a few feet from your door now. When he’s within knocking distance, he starts to lift his arm, then he suddenly lurches forward, barely catching himself on your door just in time. 

“What the fuck - he can barely stand!” you whisper to Minghao. “He’s bleeding out on my door.” 

“It could be a trick,” he warns, but you’ve already lit your cyblade, the electrified dagger humming to life as you nod to the door. 

“Open it.” 

Minghao sighs, but does as you say. There’s a weak shout from the other side as the wounded man falls over the threshold. The Neon Viper, so named for his ability to strike fast, like a fearsome serpent, lays in a trembling, wet heap at your feet, staining your carpet with his blood. What happened to him? More importantly, why is he here?

Chan weakly raises his head, and you point your cyblade at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss. 

“H-help m-me, please,” he manages to stammer out, before his eyes roll back in his head, and he passes out. 

The hallway is quiet as you and Minghao stare at the unconscious man. When you finally glance at your friend, he looks as confused as you feel. 

“Did he ask you to help him?” Minghao asks. You nod. “What the fuck.” 

Yeah, today’s been off. And your night is only starting. 

if you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

it has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world. - chaos theory

"THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT IS A PRINCIPLE IN CHAOS THEORY THAT STATES THAT SMALL, SEEMINGLY INSIGNIFICANT CHANGES IN INITIAL CONDITIONS CAN TRIGGER MASSIVE, UNPREDICTABLE, AND VASTLY DIFFERENT OUTCOMES IN COMPLEX SYSTEMS-"

Mingyu knows what the butterfly effect is. In fact, the exact audio recording playing on loop throughout the penthouse apartment is the same audio that's been haunting his dreams and the moments of almost sleep he's been having at his desk while filling out piles and piles of paperwork at the station.

Now, the audio is playing again at the third crime scene in as many months, and he's had it.

"Turn that shit off," he barks, walking through the flickering holograph of the caution barrier. His legs disrupt the light only for a second, shadows bounding off the walls as he enters the main living area. "I'm tired of hearing about the fucking butterfly effect."

He was tired of researching it, too. Researching why a serial killer would leave the same recording playing at each crime scene over and over again, researching what the murders could possibly have to do with one another. So far, the first five victims have no connection to one another, nothing that clues Mingyu into what's going on beyond the same audio on loop. He doesn't expect this sixth victim will have any connection to their predecessors, but he has to try.

A grisly scene paints the penthouse. It's a nicer home than anything Mingyu will ever afford with floor-to-cieling windows that overlook the neon smear of the city. Rain blurs against the glass, turning the glow beyond to a muted opaque color that clashes with the bright caution banners and the lights of the investigative unit called to the scene.

The penthouse reeks of the metallic tang of blood and the faint tang of the chemicals the collection team uses to take samples all around the apartment. The victim lies splayed across the massive obsidian coffee table in the main entertainment area, arms and legs extended at unnatural angles. It's a male body, the torso filleted open from sternum to pelvis with surgical precision, the ribs cracked outward like grotesque wings.

Mingyu has seen five of these now. Each one has been more elaborate than the last. Each one leaves him with the same hollow frustrating gnawing at his gut.

"Lee," he barks at the lead forensic tech hovering nearby. "Anything different this time? Prints? Core signature? A confession, perhaps?"

Chan shakes his head, his rain-slicked jacket shedding beads of water onto the floor. "Same as the others. No prints, and the audio rig is the same ghost job as the last. The victim owns the building, his name is Harlan Voss. He got a new Skin a few weeks ago at Sync Corp. Nice model, nothing too extreme."

Mingyu crouches beside the table, his boots squelching in the thin layer of blood that has spread across the marble. Through the windows, the city pulses below, bright signs for body rental shops and upgrade clinics flashing in the downpour. Towering buildings disappear into the clouds, connected by old elevated trains that rattle in the distance.

Mingyu looks at the body. Chan had said the Skin upgrade was nothing too extreme, but in a world where people swap bodies regularly, the word extreme has lost most of its value, especially for people like Harlan Voss who are wealthy enough to transfer the Core implanted in their brain stem to a new body anytime they want.

It makes permanent death uncommon for people of this caliber. Mingyu tilts his head to the side, examining the back of Harlan's neck where his Core is. Like the others, it's damaged, which means Harlan is dead dead. No transferring his Core to a new body after the death of this one, no regeneration.

It unsettles something deep in Mingyu like satisfaction, and he pushes it down. He has no time to be disgusted by the Skin jumping of the wealthy while the people below scrap together money to upgrade their Skins to something new or broken just for the prestige of doing it.

Mingyu pushes up to his feet, joints popping and back aching. He groans - unlike the dead victim in front of him, he can't pay to have the tiny device buried in his neck to be transferred to some upgraded flashy skin. One would assume that as law enforcement, he'd get some kind of special discount or offers to enhance his speed, strength or something, but Mingyu has quickly learned that only the wealthy benefit from anything in this city.

He looks around the room slowly, eyes scanning for anything out of place. A broken glass on the bar counter. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey tipped over, mixing with the blood into a pink mess. Framed pictures on the walls show vacation spots in brighter cities, the kind most people only see in ads. One frame lies smashed on the floor, exposing basic wiring behind the fancy cover. Typical rich place that looks expensive on top but cheap underneath.

"Why butterflies?" Mingyu mutters to himself. "Chaos theory. One small change leads to big results. Like a butterfly flapping its wings and starting a storm somewhere else."

The killer isn't hiding the message. Each killing has happened once a month - not on a perfect timing, but approximate. Each scene is bigger - more wing shapes, more lights, the same audio. But the victims are never the same and thus far, there's no link between them. No shared friends, no common jobs, nothing on the basic records. A nobody found in a cheap rental unit. An escort pulled from a job. Nothing ties them together except this ritual.

But Mingyu doesn't know what this ritual is.

Frustration burns in his chest. Five months of this, nights bleeding into days at the station, staring at paper files and holoscreens while rain water leaks onto his desk. His own body feels worn out - aches deep in his joints, eyes burning constantly from lack of sleep. Unlike the dead man in front of him, Mingyu can't afford a new Skin on a detective's pay.

"Detective Kim?" Chan calls, voice unsure. Mingyu spins on his heel to find Chan crouched by the body, holding a small device in his hand near the core in the victim's neck. "I think the core is damaged but not dead."

"What?"

Mingyu strides over, his long legs making it easy. Chan crouches lower, the glasses on his face sliding down his sweaty nose. Mingyu leans over, tilting his head as Chan gently nudges the victim's head to turn it more. The Core is exposed to the elements and cut, like the attacker had been cutting it out to kill it, but as it catches the light, there's a small blip of cyan along the side, flickering as it tries to regain connectivity.

"Holy shit," Mingyu whispers. "If it's still alive, can you re-gen this guy?"

"Maybe, but it's potentially damaged enough that he would come back with high-level personality disorders or other cognitive issues. We might be able to repair enough to access memory or information, though." Chan hesitates. "Legal might get involved. If he's got family or others left behind, they might demand the Core be delivered to them to figure out what to do with it or refuse access to us."

Mingyu's hums, thoughtful. The possibility of interference is higher than he'd like to admit. In the few cases that Mingyu has dealt with the elite, their spouses or family left behind have always been nearly impossible in active investigations. He's since learned that those who sit in gilded glass towers have more to hide than the criminals crawling on the ground, and they'd rather a case go cold than unearth their secrets.

"Are we required to notify them?" Mingyu asks, glancing at Chan.

"Yes?"

"What if we only found it was discovered functional later in a proper autopsy."

Chan looks uncomfortable for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. That would make sense."

"Autopsies get delayed, right?" Chan sighs and Mingyu grins, slapping him on the back as he stands again. "Glad we understand each other, Lee. Take care of this while I walk around the area, yeah?"

"Yes, Detective."

Mingyu leaves the apartment and takes the stairs instead of the elevator, his knees protesting with each step. The exercise feels good though, so he jogs down the winding stairs, mind racing. By the time he reaches the ground level, he's sore and his heart is pounding, both reminders that he's human and that he's in his natural body, two things he's grown to be proud of.

The lobby is sleek, made up of polished obsidian and soft blue recessed lighting. Mingyu strolls through the automatic doors, the air locks hissing as he lets himself out into the rain, shoes tapping wetly on the pavement.

Reaching into his pocket, he fishes out a cigarette - an ancient, old world habit in comparison to the sleek vapes most people use - and sticks it between his lips, digging around his pocket for a lighter. He finds it and flicks it, the orange flame licking upward as he lights the cigarette, taking a brief drag. The flame catches and he flicks it shut, taking a heavy drag and lets the smoke settle in his lungs before he exhales into the neon smear of rain.

The street level is quieter this time of night, most of the storefronts closed, their holographic signs still flickering anyway. The street is full of advertising and marketing for Skin modification services, Core implant repairs, temporary Skin rentals for people too poor to own one permanently but desperate enough to spend a night as someone else.

Neon bleeds across the wet pavement in streaks of magenta and cyan, reflecting off the rain to create a blurry kaleidoscope of light that makes Mingyu's eyes water as he takes another drag, flicking ash into a puddle where it melts.

He walks, letting his feet guide him around the perimeter of the building, cool raing tapping down on his head and neck like soft fingers. He doesn't bother with an umbrella, the rain sliding off his jacket as he examines the exterior, cigarette wedged between his lips.

The neighborhood is a mix of high-rises towering over strip malls, luxury boutiques selling pricey mods next to hole-in-the-wall clinics offering illegal and questionable upgrades. It's one of common liminal spaces in the city where the almost wealthy clash with the lower glass, each fighting for dominance on the ground while the megaliths of the city exist in their towers far above.

Mingyu wonders what the rest of them look like from on high. He imagines that they can't even see people like him, rotting beneath the clouds and scurrying around like ants beneath a boot that's constantly waiting to step on them. Mingyu has been stepped on plenty of times, but he hasn't died yet and he doesn't plan on it now, heading to the back alleyway behind the building.

Dumpsters filled with broken tech litter the alleyway, but Mingyu pauses when he sees a bunch of old, rotted Skins. He lifts his arm, covering his face with it to ward off the smell. Skins are still bodies - they're still organic material like any other living organism, and they break down the same way. Seeing tossed Skins isn't uncommon, especially near body-mod shops, but Mingyu is unsettled to see them just tossed, flies buzzing around them.

Pulling out his phone, he dials Chan up stairs. "Send a team down to the back alley, there's discarded Skins. None of them look fresh or functional, but maybe our killer tosses theirs."

"On it."

"Also have someone dispose of these before someone wanders around and tries to take them. They're rotted beyond use, the last thing we need is some kind of infection going around because people are re-genning bad Skins."

"Understood."

Mingyu hangs up the phone and takes the final drag of his cigarette before flicking it toward the dumpster. He continues on his way, searching - for what he doesn't know. Something. Anything. He just wants to find something to help him unravel the mystery upstairs, something he's missed previously.

As always, he finds nothing except the smell of wet concrete and biological decay, the distant hum of an elevated train line cutting through the noise somewhere. He circles back to the front of the building and finds himself looking upward. The building is a vertical monument to wealth that juts up into the rain-soaked sky, but it's got nothing on the monstrosities the corporation owners and mega-rich of the city live in.

The rain grows heavier, coming down in sheets. Mingyu slips under the overhang in front of the building, watching as the world vanishes to a blur of light behind the rain. From here, he knows the city by heart - it spreads out in layers, the commercial district with aggressive neon signage, the old industrial zones still smoking from plants that are ready to collapse any minute, and beyond, the entertainment and wealthy districts.

Trains arc across the space between buildings while autonomous vehicles move through the streets in perfect formation, headlights occasionally cutting through the dark toward him as they pass by the building.

They city pulses on despite the death upstairs, the desperation and money and excess and filth all tangled together, and somewhere in it, is the person Mingyu is hunting, the butterfly that haunts his dreams and all of the hours in between.

Mingyu sighs, jaw clenched as he watches the rain, the same words on loop in his head: The butterfly effect is a principle chaos theory that states that small, seemingly insignificant changes in initial conditions can trigger massive, unpredictable, and vastly different outcomes in complex systems.

-

 Mingyu stares at the six projected faces in front of him, the cyan of the holoscreen only broken up by the flicker as he switches from viewing all six of them at once to one at a time. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzes, glitching for a moment as it threatens to go out. It's been dying for three weeks now, humming like an insect trapped in a glass. No one has bothered to fix it, of course. The maintenance budget at the precinct is nonexistent, most of the funding funnelling into the new autonomous patrol units they send to patrol through the wealthy districts.

Down here in the bowels of the city, everything is falling apart. Water drips from a crack in the ceiling two desks over, landing in the metal track can with a constant metal drip that drives Mingyu nuts. The air smells like mildew and stale air undercut by the burnt coffee that tastes like battery acid every time he takes a sip. He drinks it out of a chipped mug anyway, needing the extra jolt of energy and unwilling to take any of the stimulants or quick fixes the young deputies prefer.

Mingyu's fingers drum on his mug to the rhythm of the dripping. He cannot unstick his thoughts from the six victims over six months, struggling to find the connection. He drags his finger across the holoscreen to pull up the first victim's file again, despite having read it a million times. The first victim is a male nobody, found in a cheap Skin rental unit in the lower districts, his body laid out with the same surgical precision and same butterfly effect audio playing on loop. The victim had no family, no friends, and the damaged Core had said unclaimed in evidence for two weeks unclaimed and uncared for before being incinerated per protocol.

Sighing, he swipes to the second victim, a female escort pulled from a job in the entertainment district. She'd been with a wealthy client a few hours prior, but the client had a clean alibi and had no problem letting them scan his Core for memories of the entire night. The escorts Core, like the first victim, had been damaged beyond recovery, just like the first, though the job had been done a little cleaner, a little better.

The third victim comes up as Mingyu stares. Mid-level corporate suit who worked in data analysis and had an entirely boring and normal life. No enemies, no debts, no reason for anyone to want him dead. His family had come to claim his Core two days after they'd been notified, and Mingyu was surprised to discover that in a world full of abnormal, the man had been even keel and plain with enough money to provide for himself and his family but not enough to do much else than that.

The fourth and fifth victims' only similarities were their involvement in the black market, though neither had crossed paths. The fourth had been a street vendor selling neural mods, but the fifth had been a retired surgeon who'd started performing illegal Core augmentations that had landed him with a fine and warning - not jail. Never jail.

And now Harlan Voss, the owner of an apartment complex. All of the victims had been from different parts of the city, the only thing linking them together was the ritual by which they had been left for him. Though Mingyu can't prove it, he feels like there's a joking edge to it now, like each death is meant to tease him and his inability to figure it out.

He leans back in his chair, the springs groaning under his weight. His eyes burn. He hasn't slept more than three hours in the past two days, and even that was broken up by the fragmented dreams of the butterfly effect audio bleeding into his fucking subconscious until he woke up gasping, the words echoing in his skull.

There's something he's missing. Mingyu knows he's on a timeline to figure it out now that Voss has been killed. Before, his superiors hadn't thought much of a serial killer stringing together some useless skins - people who didn't matter in the system. Though Harlan Voss doesn't matter, exactly, he's a step closer to the people up top that the city is obsessed with protecting, the people worth protecting.

Mingyu had learned a long time ago that people have become disposable. Bodies are just shells now, things you can rent or buy or discard when they stop serving you. Cores get pulled, transferred, reinstalled into something younger and prettier, and the person moves on. Humanity has been reduced to data, consciousness stripped down to the electrical impulses that can be copied, moved, and erased.

Death is so common to those at the top that it barely registers. But when real death happens - Core death - it turns heads, especially when it's a little too close to the gilded.

Mingyu's jaw tightens. His body aches, knees stiff, lower back throbbing from too many hours in this shitty chair, too many hours in the field in his original Skin. He feels every year of it, and though it makes him feel human, he can't help but be bothered how the wealthy don't age like this. They just buy new bodies by the dozen. Transfer over. Keep going. It's immortality for anyone who can afford it, cheating death over and over again.

Cracking his neck, Mingyu refocuses on the work at hand and pulls up the financial records again, cross-referencing bank accounts, transaction histories, anything that might link the victims. There's nothing, of course. Everyone has different banks and different spending patterns, different lives and different histories. The only thing they have in common is the way they died.

The butterfly effect is a principle in chaos theory…

Mingyu's phone buzzes on the desk. He picks it up to see Chan's name flash across the screen and he answers right away. "Lee, what have you got?"

"Core is ready," Chan says on the other side. "I've stabilized it enough for a read of the memory logs. You should come down."

"How long do we have?"

"Hard to say. It's pretty damaged. Could be an hour, could be less. If we're going to pull anything, it needs to be now."

"Heard. On my way."

Mingyu ends the call and stands. The holoscreen glows faintly in front of him, the six faces of the dead he can't seem to bring justice too staring back at him until he swipes again and they vanish. He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and heads for the door, shrugging the leather over his shoulders.

The forensic lab is two floors down, a section of the station most detectives like to avoid. Mingyu takes the stairwell, refusing to get stuck in the elevator for a sixth time, leaping down the steps as he takes two at a time.

Bright, sterile light greets him as he pushes into the lab, making him squint. Banks of equipment link the walls, shelves full of neural readers, Core analysis stations, data extraction devices and a section for biopsy and medical analysis. The air smells faintly chemical, kind of like the inside of a machine. He prefers the smell of the burnt coffee and damp upstairs than whatever it is that permeates the forensic floor.

Chan is standing at the far end of the room, hunched over a workstation where a cylindrical containment unit glows with a faint, sickly cyan light. Voss's Core floats suspended in the translucent gel, its surface marred with dark fractures that spiderweb across the neural casing, damaged from the attack. Mingyu watches as the light flickers, pulsing in irregular intervals while Chan tinkers with it.

"Lee," Mingyu greets, crossing the room in a few long strides.

"We've got maybe thirty minutes before this thing goes dark," Chan says without looking up, his fingers tapping on a tablet next to him. A holographic interface appears over the desk, cyan numbers and date reflected in Chan's glasses. "Give me a sec."

"Can we reanimate him?" Mingyu asks, crossing his arms over his chest as Chan works.

The lab technician shakes his head. "No. The damage is too extensive. A system reboot would require full neural integration, and the Core can't support that kind of load. It would collapse the moment we tried to initialize consciousness."

He taps a section of the holographic display, pulling up a three-dimensional model of the Core's internal structure. Half of it is shaded black, dead zones where the neural pathways have been damaged beyond repair. Mingyu sighs, nodding. They're lucky they have anything at all - a damaged Core is better than no Core at all.

"We can access the memory storage," Chan says, tapping something. "It's fragmented and corrupted in places, but there's enough intact data that we can pull maybe a few minutes worth of his life from it. Maybe more if we're lucky."

"How much is a few minutes?"

"Hard to say until we're in. Could be five, could be ten. Depends on how much the Core was actively recording before it got damaged." Chan glances at Mingyu, his expression cautious. "This isn't like interrogating a living witness, Detective. We're pulling raw sensory data that will be from Voss's perception. It'll be disjointed - memory isn't linear."

Mingyu nods. "Do it."

Chan's fingers move across the interface, initiating the connection sequence. The containment unit hums, a low vibration that Mingyu feels in his chest, and the cyan light intensifies, brightening until it casts sharp shadows across the lab.

The holoscreen shifts and for a moment, there's nothing but static and a wash of grey noise that flickers and shifts. Then an image resolves, making both Mingyu and Chan lean forward as Chan tampers with the interface, sharpening the image.

A penthouse. Floor-to-cieling windows. Rain. The perspective shifts as Voss moves, walking across the floor of his apartment to his kitchen and grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours two fingers worth into a glass. Voss takes a swig and then walks back to the living room where Mingyu recognizes the space and the coffee table where Voss's body had been cracked open.

"This is from earlier in the evening," Chan says, his voice quiet. "Before the murder."

Mingyu doesn't respond. He's too focused on the screen, watching as Voss sits down on the couch, picks up a tablet and scrolls. Nothing else seems to happen, nothing that screams he's about to be murdered. Mingyu is about to complain when the perspective shifts again to show a new scene.

Marble floors reflect overhead lights. The sound of Voss's footsteps echo across his memory as he passes a doorman in a crisp uniform and a name tag that reads Martinez.

Rain hits the screen, rippling across the holo in temporary distortion as Voss gets into a car. The driver takes off and Minguy watches as the city blurs past in a mess of lights and umbrellas, the sensory feed blurring and glitching as it tries to accommodate for the sights and sounds and thoughts and feelings of Voss in that moment.

Suddenly the image blurs and shifts so that Voss is standing in front of a strip club. The entrance is unmarked except for a single neon sign that flickers in shades of magenta and violet, hearts climbing up the side as holograms of girls beckon him in. He passes through the door and strobing lights cut through the feed, blinding both Chan and Mingyu like they're seeing it in the flesh.

Heavy base pulses through the feed as Voss moves deeper into the club. A stage dominates the center of the space, and on it, multiple dancers move with practiced precision, their bodies catching the strobing lights in fragmented movements. Here, the feed breaks off into fractal images as the Core flashes - a leg extended, an arch of the back, a turn that sends hair flying.

Mingyu tries to catalogue the faces as he sees them - a woman with pink eyes, someone with a swirling tattoo, another with sharp eyes that seem to track the crowd even as her body ripples across the stage like water. It's your eyes that makes Mingyu pause, cutting him down to the bone, your gaze more present than that of the far-off look of the others.

But then you're gone as the perspective shifts and the image bleeds into Voss in the bathroom, drunk and leaning heavily against the urinal as he relieves himself. Chan makes a disgusted sound as the memory jumps again to a small ramen cart somewhere in an unknown district.

"This is jumping around," Chan says, his voice cutting through the feed. "The Core is pulling fragments non-sequentially. We're seeing his evening out of order."

Another jump. More faces. A man in a leather jacket, arguing with someone Mingyu can't see. A couple pressed against the wall, kissing. A group of young people clustered around a table, their faces illuminated by the glow of their handheld screens.

And then, for just a moment, another face that belongs to a woman standing near the back of the bar, watching the crowd.

Mingyu's breath catches. He knows that face.

"Wait," he says, his hand shooting up. "Stop. Go back."

Chan's fingers freeze over the interface. "What?"

"That woman. The one in the back." Mingyu leans closer to the holoscreen, his exhaustion momentarily burned away by a spike of adrenaline. "I've seen her before. In the club footage. She was on stage."

Chan rewinds the feed, pulling up the earlier memory from the strip club. The perspective shifts back to the moment on stage. A woman with pink eyes, one with a swirling tattoo, one with sharp eyes. Mingyu points.

"Her," he murmurs. "She's in two of his memories."

"Could be coincidence," Chan says, but his tone suggests he doesn't believe it. "She could work multiple venues. Dancers do that sometimes."

"Or she was following him," Mingyu says. The implications settle over the lab like a weight. "Or she was part of it."

The perspective lingers on you for a fraction of a second longer than the others, just long enough for Mingyu to register your face clearly, and then Voss turns away and you're gone, swallowed back into the crowd.

The memory jumps again. Voss is back in his car, then in the lobby of his building, then in the elevator ascending to his floor. The doorman from earlier is talking to someone Mingyu can't see. Security personnel stand near the entrance, their faces blank and professional. A woman in a business suit walks past, her heels clicking against the marble, her face turned toward her phone.

Then Voss is in his penthouse. The perspective shifts as Voss moves, walking across the floor of his apartment to his kitchen and grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours two fingers worth into a glass. Voss takes a swig and then walks back to the living room where Mingyu recognizes the space and the coffee table where Voss's body had been cracked open.

"We're back at the beginning," Chan notes."

In the memory, the doorbell chimes. Mingyu leans forward, his pulse quickening when he realizes this must be it - this has to be the moment the killer entered the apartment. The image flickers and static washes across the holoscreen, distorting the feed. When it clears, the perspective has put Voss back in the living room again as the sound of the doorbell loops.

"It's corrupting," Chan notes, hitting a few buttons on his tablet. "Fuck, it's going to fry."

"Push it anyway. We're right there."

Chan obeys but the containment unit's hum rises to a high-pitched whine as warnings flash across the screen about the Core overheating. The holoscreen sharpens but Mingyu lets out an angry sound when he sees the memory loop back to Voss walking into the apartment building again, ignoring Martinez at the door as he heads for the elevator. The feed glitches, harsh reds and blues blooming across the screen before Voss is back at the club again, with you leaning forward, your eyes piercing even in the corrupted feed.

"No, go back to the apartment!"

"I'm trying," Chan shoots back. "I told you, this thing is damaged and we've got way more out of it than expected."

Audio fragments layer over each other, the pounding bass of the club's music mixing with the ding of the elevator, and the doorman's greeting. It's a mess of sound, too much information compressed into too little time, the Core's final desperate attempt to dump everything before it dies.

"Come on," Chan mutters to himself, trying to sharpen the feed as the containment unit whines. "Fucking come on!"

The doorbell rings again and Voss walks toward the door as Mingyu leans closer, his heart beating in his throat. Voss reaches out with one hand toward the door and the holoscreen goes dark, the containment unit's light dying as the hum cuts off sharply. An acrid smell comes from the Core where it smokes, the electrical wiring fried, filling the air with a metallic, burnt smell.

"Dammit!" Mingyu swears, punching a fist down on the lab table. The containment unit rattles and Mingyu leans on his hands, head hanging between his shoulders as Chan tries to pry the dead, smoking Core out of the unit. "Fuck. Fuck."

"Well," Chan sighs. "At least I recorded it all."

Mingy lifts his head. "What?"

"The data. I recorded it while extracting." He raises his brows. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I put it on a backup file so at least what we have - even if it's fuck all - is on a drive. I can run some facial recognition on everyone who passed through the memory."

Mingyu straightens, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "How long?"

"Couple hours, maybe more. Go home, Detective. Get some rest. There's nothing more we can do for a few hours and you look like shit, man."

Mingyu wants to argue, wants to stay and watch the facial recognition run in real time, but he knows Chan is right. He's been awake for thirty-six hours straight, his body running on caffeine and adrenaline, and his mind is starting to blur at the edges. He nods once, sharp, and turns toward the door.

"I'll call you when I have something," Chan says.

Mingyu doesn't respond. He walks out of the lab, through the sterile white corridor, and back up the stairwell to his floor of the precinct. It's quieter upstairs now, most of the day shift gone with only a few officers still lingering at their desks as they pour themselves over paperwork and their own cases. Mingyu grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, hits the power button on his computer, and heads for the garage.

Fluorescent lights flicker above his head as he jogs down the concrete stairwell, footsteps loud and echoing. The air gets cold and damp as he descends, the rain seeping in through the shitty insulation and clinging to the walls. By the time he reaches the garage level, he feels the moisture in his shirt and hair, clinging to him like a heavy second skin.

The garage is mostly empty, making it easy to spot his bike near the back. It's sleek and shining in the reflection of the light fixture above it, black surface gleaming. It's the single most expensive thing that Mingyu owns and his most prized possession, hours of learning how to take care of it and fix it because tune ups are out of his pay range poured into the machine.

He swings a leg over it and removes the helmet from where it hangs on the handle bars, popping it over his head where a cyan heads up display appears across the face shield. He presses the start button and the bike roars to life under him, vibrating as he nudges the footstand and rolls forward, twisting the throttle until he's coasting through the garage.

Rain hits him as soon as he hits the street level, cold and rushing off his helmet in neon rivulets. The streets are slick as glass beneath him, reflecting the towers of the city on either side of the road, ripping as he gasses it and his bike tears through the street.

He cuts through the lower districts and side streets, avoiding the elevated highways where there's always traffic and road closures because some rich asshole has paid a heavy fee for an expedited drive somewhere. Down here, the world is just like Mingyu likes it, all cracked pavement and burnt out street lights, the flickering holographic advertisements advertising very illegal clinics that he ignores because so long as they're not murdering anyone, he doesn't have time to care.

Mingyu doesn't go straight home, too wired to do anything but pace the walls of his tiny apartment in silence. Instead, he cuts into a mixed commercial district a few blocks from his apartment, heading for a stretch of storefronts and vendors that stay open late.

Above, the rain has softened to a drizzle, misting the air as he kills the engine and walks the bike forward to the curb before setting it on the kickstand. He pops the helmet off and takes it with him this time, not stupid enough to leave it unguarded downtown like he might in the garage of a police precinct.

He walks past a pawn shop with bars on the windows, the display cluttered with outdated neutral interfaces, cracked holoscreen displays and retro computers. The shop is closed, but he can see the security bot inside, patrolling as it tips back and forth while driving over uneven flooring.

Next to the pawn shop is a laundromat he's intimately familiar with from the apartment he lived in just two blocks away. In his earlier days on the job, he'd sit here on Sundays and listen to the machines hum, thankful for the warmth in the winter from the exhaust vents while he poured over cases and bitch work given to him until he could earn his keep.

Mingyu keeps walking, passing a convenience store with flickering signs and people that move with hunched shoulders against the drizzle. No one pays him much mind, everyone too preoccupied with their own lives as they scuttle along like beetles.

The automatic door of the 24-hour market hisses when Mingyu ducks in. Bright lights make him squint as he walks the aisle filled with bright neon prices and advertisements calling to him, products ranging from everything to instant meals, cigarettes and cheap liquor to disposable razors and batteries. A clerk sits behind the counter, scrolling through a tablet, ignoring Mingyu entirely.

Mingyu doesn't mind. He picks up a pack of ramen, a bottle of cold coffee from the refrigerated section, a pack of cigarettes, and a pack of caffeine gum in cherry flavor that he likes to chew late at night on the job for an extra kick of energy. The clerk rings him up without comment and Mingyu pays with his phone before scooping his things and heading back outside into the drizzle.

Pausing, he tears open the new pack of cigarettes with his teeth, rolling the plastic and tossing it into the trash. Fishing one out, he sticks it between his lips and searches for a lighter for a few seconds before lighting it and taking a deep drag, feeling his lungs expand as they feel with acrid smoke.

Mingyu can't help but think about you in Voss's memory, the dancer with the sharp gaze who appeared twice. It isn't much, but it can't be a coincidence - coincidences don't exist in Mingyu's line of work. He knows the city is full of people moving through the same spaces and crossing paths without meaning, but seeing you multiple times in Voss's memory is something.

The butterfly effect is a principle chaos theory that states that small, seemingly insignificant changes in initial conditions can trigger massive, unpredictable, and vastly different outcomes in complex systems.

Mingyu sucks in another drag and blows the smoke out in a sigh. As much as he hates for his killer to be right about anything, Mingyu feels instinctually that you are, that something about you has caused a ripple effect. He just needs to figure out how and why.

He finishes the cigarette and drops it, grinding it out under his heel while the smoke lingers in his lungs for a minute. Shuffling the bag in his arms, he heads back toward where he parked his bike, passing by a noddle stand on the corner with steam rising and the smell of frying garlic and chili oil cutting through the damp air. Mingyu considers stopping, but he's not hungry. He just needed to be somewhere that wasn't the station or his apartment.

Back at the bike, he opens the seat and dumps his belongings in the compartment before swinging back on and pulling his helmet on. The drive to his apartment is slow and winding, cutting through back alleys and misting rain until he's parking in the cracked-concrete garage and taking the stairs up to the fourth floor.

Mingyu shoulders into the apartment after unlocking the door, immediately toeing off his boots while he locks the door behind him. It's not much - just one room, a kitchenette, a bathroom with a shower that barely works and has no hot water, and one large window that overlooks the street, the view mostly obscured by the constant rain.

He sets the bag on the counter and pulls out the ramen before going through the motions, boiling water and tearing into the sauce packet with his teeth, mind far away from his little corner of the world while he thinks about you again, a thread among the chaos - a beat of a butterfly's wings, maybe.

- Mingyu jolts awake in the dim glow of his apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs. The ringing that cuts through the haze is distorted and confusing until he realizes there's a small green hologram lighting up over his phone. He fumbles for it, hand knocking over his reading glasses, his pistol, and the tablet he'd been using to research the stupid butterfly effect again.

Chan's name displays as the phone continues ringing, lighting up the world as Mingyu fumbles to answer. "Hello?

"You sound like hell," Chan replies, the sound of a keyboard in the background. "Facial rec pulled a hit on that woman from Voss's memory. Cross-referenced with club surveillance feeds from the entertainment district, looks like she's a performer at the club Wings. High end joint."

Mingyu leans against his headboard, running a hand over his face. The single window in his unit lets in the never-ending neon glow from outside, casting dull patterns across his bedroom. He hears the rain tapping against the glass, a constant companion.

"Wings. Got it. Send me the address."

"On it. It's in the mid-tier entertainment strip near the old elevated line. I recommend caution. It's on the mid-tier strip but it leans high end - the entertainment there aren't standard rentals."

"Name?"

"Looks like the stage name might be Psyche."

Mingyu frowns as he gets out of bed and grabs a dirty pair of jeans off the floor to shove one leg in, jamming the phone between his face and his shoulder.

"Like the wife of Cupid?"

"Seems that way."

"Anything else?

"Clean on the surface. No priors, no traffic tickets. Nothing."

"Well his memory showed her twice. Can't be random."

Chan sighs. "I'm inclined to agree. Like I said, be careful. Security at these places crack skulls first and ask questions later. You don't have money for a new Skin."

"Heard. Talk later."

Mingyu finishes getting dressed, his heart hammering the entire time. This is the thread - the butterfly's wingbeat. He can feel it in his gut, something sharpening into something purposeful, an instinct that has led him on every hunt for a killer he's been on.

He moves quickly, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt that smells like sweat and cologne, pulling on boots with loose laces, and tucking his gun in the back of his pants before hiding it with the hem of his shirt. He tucks a badge in his pocket, and heads out of the room, knocking his shin against the corner of the bed and cursing loudly.

At the door, he grabs his helmet and heads out into the hall, nearly jogging as he takes the steps down to street level two at a time. Rain greets him outside, making his shirt cling to his frame as he straddles his bike. The engine roars to life, HUD on his helmet flickering alive with the address overlay. He twists the throttle and tears into the night, tires slicing through puddles.

The ride blurs into a streak of neon and the lower streets give way to the mid-level sprawl, where wealth brushes against grit. Autonomous cabs hum past, their passengers hidden behind tinted fields. Elevated tracks arc overhead, sparks occasionally flying from aging mag-rails. Mingyu leans into turns, the bike's vibration thrumming through his bones, chasing away the last dregs of fatigue.

By the time he pulls up to the curb outside Wings, the rain eases to a misty veil, but the air hangs heavy with the smell of gas and rusting metal, a permanent smell that never really seems to leave.

He parks the bike on a side street and heads toward the front door of the club, uncaring that he's a bit damp and messy. The club is impossible to miss, the facade bright with iridescent panels that shift colors under a massive holographic marque that reads: WELCOME TO WINGS, WHERE FANTASIES TAKE FLIGHT.

Security drones hover discreetly at the entrance, red scanner lights sweeping patrons as they stand in line. The line is mostly men who look better dressed than Mingyu, umbrellas in hand to keep the rain off their backs as a security guard stands at the door checking IDs and taking money.

Mingyu gets in line and ignores the way the others look at him, tucking his helmet under his arm. He's bouncing with energy now, craning his neck to look up at the holograms above, dancers in all manner of fantasy writhing and twisting in shades of fuchsia and red and lavender.

It takes about ten minutes to reach the door where a security guard with one augmented eye looks at him, his lens turning cyan as he scans Mingyu. He holds out his hand for an ID, which Mingyu hands over immediately.

"Cover is two hundred creds. If you want a private room, see the bar. Private rooms start at five hundred."

"Two hundred?" He asks, feeling himself stall out. "Fucking hell."

"Pay or get out."

Grumbling, Mingyu takes out his phone and transfers over the credits, swallowing thickly when he sees how close it brings him to the negatives. He's not sure this qualifies for reimbursement at the station, but he's going to file it anyway.

"Head in. Any trouble and you're out."

Mingyu steps by as the door hisses open. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of engineered pheromones being pumped in through the vents with the smell of liquor. Bass pumps through the room, vibrating through the floor and up his spine. The main floor sprawls under a vaulted ceiling alive with projected constellations that shift in real-time, stars turning as though the club is spinning in time with the world's real rotation.

Dancers move with unnatural grace, and it takes Mingyu a moment to realize that all of them have wings. He spots one with dragonfly wings that glitter as she spends, refracting light. Another has raven wings, inky black even as she twists around a pole under cyan light.

He hadn't expected the theme to be so literal, but he's glad that the wings are wearables and not uncanny body mods. He slinks through the room between patrons, noting the privacy feels that shimmer in the distance to hide the VIP booths from prying eyes. The private rooms are further back, a neon sign above a shadow hall with fly away above it.

Mingyu's eyes scan methodically, cutting through the sensory overload. He clocks exits, security nodes embedded in the walls, the faint hum of surveillance drones disguised as decorative moths fluttering near the ceiling. No sign of you yet, though, so he drifts toward the bar, ordering a cheap synth-whiskey to blend in, the glass cool against his callused fingers. The liquid burns familiarly as he sips, eyes never still.

Then he sees you and the world slows down a little.

You emerge from a side alcove onto one of the elevated platforms framed by gossamer curtains that part around you, moved by some sort of air effect. You're wearing delicate butterfly wings, spans of translucent fabric that looks like real membrane catching the light. You're dressed in minimal strips of iridescent material, accentuating each one of your curves while leaving the wings unobstructed.

Just like in Voss's memories, it's your eyes that make Mingyu freeze. It carries the same piercing quality as you dance, cutting through the room. It's not the same hazy allure of the other dancers, but something more focused like a predator among pretty things.

Butterfly wings. It makes him go cold, the butterfly effect audio recycling through his head over and over as he watches you dance, your wings fluttering. Despite being fake, they look real, catching the light as you shimmer, more beautiful than anything else he's ever seen.

Mingyu finishes his drink and sets it down harshly as he turns to the bar and hails down a bartender to ask for a private room. The bartender slides over a tablet and Mingyu scrolls until he finds your stage name - Psyche - and nearly vomits the whiskey back up when he sees the price.

"Eight hundred credits for thirty minutes?" He growls. He curses under his breath and charges it to his credit card, knowing he's never going to pay it off before it gains sixty percent interest. "Better be fucking worth it."

A room number flashes on the screen and he memorizes it before stalking off toward the hallway of private rooms, glancing at your platform as he does. You tilt your head, hand going briefly to your ear before turning to get off the platform. It's then that he realizes you have an ear piece in. He files that piece of information away.

The private room is small and blessedly clean, the seats plush with a low table in front of them. He throws himself down and shivers, the room unnaturally cold. He glances around but sees no clock or anything else in the room except a private bar which he knows will cost extra, so he doesn't dare, instead staring at the door until it opens.

Mingyu's heart starts to hammer as you slide into the room, sitting up straighter. It doesn't occur to him that up until this morning, he's never done this before. The realization makes him nervous, palms sweaty as you slink toward him, smiling and tilting your head.

"New face," you greet, sliding onto the seat next to him. You lean against the seat, facing him as you cross one leg over the other. "Pretty face."

Up close, the details on your face come into sharp focus: faint iridescence on your skin like starlight, the scent of jasmine and amber, pretty eyes that swallow him whole.

"Looking to forget the rain outside?" You ask him, voice sweet and soft. "I can fix that."

Mingyu leans back, forcing a lazy smirk that does not reach his eyes. He plays the part - client with creds to burn, interest piqued by the exotic. "Something like that."

A small smile tugs your lips. "What do you want tonight? Escape? Or just a pretty distraction?"

"Distraction sounds good. Start with a dance, yeah?"

If you sense his confidence is feigned, you don't show it. You stand, the wings spreading wide behind you, catching the low light and refracting it into soft gradients of color. The music shifts to something slower and heavier, the bass making Mingyu's skin itch. You move with practiced precision, hips swaying as you step closer, one hand trailing along the back of the couch.

Mingyu's breath catches. He reminds himself it's the job and that he's here for information, not this. But his body doesn't listen as he becomes hyper aware of you, his fingers twitching as he fights not to jump out of the booth and away from you. It's not that he's bad with women - he's not - but this is new to him, never having paid for a moment of attention this intimate and sensual.

You turn your back to him now, the wings folding slightly as you lower yourself onto his lap. The weight of you is real and solid, warm through the thin fabric of his clothes. You roll your hips slowly and Mingyu's hands grip the edge of the couch to keep from reaching for you or pushing you off - he's not entirely sure which.

Your hair brushes his jaw as you lean back, your head tilting to rest near his shoulder, and he feels the heat of your breath against his neck. He can't help but shiver, the smell of your jasmine and amber so overwhelming he feels his lashes flutter.

"You're tense," you murmur. "Relax."

He can't. His mind is racing, cataloging details like the way you move, the control in every gesture, the sharpness in your eyes when you glanced at him earlier. This isn't just a performance. There's something calculated about it, something that doesn't match the soft, breathy voice you're using now.

You turn again, straddling him now, your knees pressing into the couch on either side of his hips. Your hands rest on his shoulders, fingers light, and you lean in close enough that he can see the faint shimmer of makeup on your eyelids, the way your pupils dilate in the low light.

"Better?" you ask, smiling.

Mingyu swallows. "Yeah."

You laugh, soft and knowing, and shift your weight, grinding down just enough to make his pulse spike. The wings flutter behind you, a distraction, a spectacle, and he realizes that's the point. You're good at this and he doesn't know why but he hates that it works on him, even if it's your job to do this, to pull focus, to keep the client's attention where you want it.

He clears his throat, forcing himself to focus. "You're good at what you do."

"I know," you whisper, tilting your head so that your breath fans against his ear. "Don't you want to touch me?

"Actually, I uh - want to ask you something."

You pull away from him and though your smile doesn't falter, your eyes shift. "That's expensive."

"No," Mingyu protests quickly, grabbing you and pushing you back a little. You flinch when he touches you and he lets go immediately. "Sorry, I don't want to like - that."

"Okay. Then what do you want?"

"You know Harlan Voss?"

It's the wrong question to ask. Your entire body goes rigid and your eyes lock onto his as your delicate persona shatters immediately. What's left is sharp, cold, and predatory. Mingyu's pulse spikes as you get off of him and put space between you, your eyes icy.

"Who the fuck are you?" you ask. Your real voice is a little deeper than the breathy rasp you'd used moments ago. "And what the fuck do you want?"

Mingyu holds up his hands. "I just need to ask you a few questions-"

"Get the fuck out."

"Listen, I'm not here to cause trouble-"

You hit a button he didn't see near the door and the door opens immediately. Mingyu makes a sound of protest when he sees a security guard appear at the door, his eyes glancing between the two of you.

"Problem?" He asks.

"He needs to leave. Now."

Mingyu stands slowly, adrenaline cutting through the tension in his body. His pulse is still elevated from the dance, from the heat of your body on his lap. He pulls the badge from his pocket and the security guard stiffens further. So do you, taking a step away from him again.

"You need a warrant, buddy."

"Detective Kim. Homicide. I'm investigating a murder, and I need to ask her some questions."

"I don't give a fuck who you are," you seethe. "Get out."

He sighs. "Can we just-"

"Get a warrant," you snarl, barring your teeth at him like something feral.

Mingyu realizes you're afraid of him. Not like someone caught in a lie or someone caught with their hand on the gun, but like someone who is cowering, like he might strike. He thinks it's odd, watching as you shake, eyes wide and trembling.

He could push. He could insist, make this official, drag you down to the station for questioning. But something in him softens, and he pockets the badge, raising his hands. "I'll leave. No trouble."

The security guard steps aside and Mingyu walks toward the door as he looks at you one last time. Your wings are still spread wide, trembling slightly, and your eyes are locked on him. There's fear there, yes, but something else too. Recognition. Guilt. Something. Before he can decide what, the security guard steps between you and cuts off Mngyu's line of sight, ushering him into the hallway.

With a loud shout that's lost to the pound of music, you slam the door. Mingyu sighs, staring at the door for a few minutes before he turns and walks back through the club, the music vibrating through the walls as he winds past the stages and the strobing lights. His mind is stuck on you, of course. The terror. The gaze. The butterfly wings.

The butterfly effect is a principle chaos theory that states that small, seemingly insignificant changes in initial conditions can trigger massive, unpredictable, and vastly different outcomes in complex systems.

He pushes through the front door and into the rain, the cold hitting him sharply. Mingyu shivers but stands outside the door, letting the rain cut through him, washing away the smell of jasmine and amber, clearing his mind a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“911, what is your emergency?”

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

You would recognise that eye anywhere.

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

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

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

“Wait-”

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

……………………………

“That’s impossible.”

“It was him.”

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

“I know what I saw, Josh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Josh…” Your voice trails off.

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

“Jeonghan sent Seungcheol to kill you?”

…………………………

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

Jeonghan tuts.

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

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

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

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

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

So he will burn you.

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

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

“Make sure you finish the job this time.”

……………………………..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo answers you, though.

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

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

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

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

“We need to call the police-”

You laugh dryly. Your face twinges with pain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call in anyone you need.”

…………………………

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clench your teeth.

“Shoot me.”

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

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

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

The human part is still his though.

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

With that, your husband crumples to your kitchen floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know what to do.

……………………………..

Seungcheol was a very clingy man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you sleep?” You ask.

No response.

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

Fuck this.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know you.”

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

“I’m your wife.”

“You’re my target.”

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

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

A small silence. Then he nods.

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

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

The door closes softly behind you.

……………………………………

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…………………………..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart aches.

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

…………………………

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

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

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

The answer is: everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hesitates.

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

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

“It doesn’t look bad.” He mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

“It was an obvious solution.”

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

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

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

……………………….

Things get smoother as time goes by.

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

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

And then that moment comes, the inevitable snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

………………………………….

You’re not really here, Seungcheol can tell.

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

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

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

It scares him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I can help.”

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

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

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

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

“How did you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He makes up his mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

………………………….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lip quirks up in a half smile.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lunch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seems that he understands that as well.

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

You don’t stop them this time.

………………………………..

“It doesn’t look right.”

“It looks exactly like it should.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Man, fuck you.”

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

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

“It’s a turd-pile made with love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, don’t do that.” He rasps.

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

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

Finally, you see him.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, it’s pretty hot.”

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

“Freak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could come just looking at him like this.

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

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

“You’re sure?” He asks. You nod.

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ANDROID J05HU9 AND THE HACKER

You haven't lived your whole life in the city of Chroma Nexus. Your life started out very differently than it is now. Your childhood was the stuff of dreams. You grew up in a luxurious city away from this neon hell city has become. You were raised with a silver spoon in your mouth. Your father worked at a bank that handled money for huge companies like FleXeon. Everything shifted when you were freshly seventeen, after a late night at business dinner you lost both your parents in a tragic car accident.

That night shifted everything for you. The house you had grown up in left you feeling haunted. Selling it was the only way you could escape the ghost of your past.

Taking the bullet train to Chroma Nexion changed your life. You realized with the money from your inheritance and your excellent programming skills, you had the ability to never work a mundane regular job.

Meeting Seungcheol made you realize that you could hack just about anything. He took you under his wing and you joined the team that he’s made. You learned Seungcheol had one goal in life, it was to rob the rich and give to people who truly needed the money.

On one of his missions you snuck into a tech corporation. In the basement you were searching around with Wonwoo. You found an android who looked to be a test robot of some sort. With Wonwoo's help, you brought the android to your home that night.

The side of his neck had "J05HU9" tattooed on his human-like skin. It took you two days to fully reprogram him and get him up and running.

Joshua is probably the greatest thing you've ever programmed. From the moment he rebooted you instantly had a connection with your new android.

CYBER SEX

The neon turquoise glow radiates off his pristine skin. You wish you could thank the engineer who crafted him for making him look this beautiful.

Seungcheol has you out a couple blocks down from the FleXeon lab. You're sitting at a computer in the back of a van that Seungcheol set up and Joshua is playing look out with Wonwoo. You've been looking into the FleXeon server nonstop, trying to find errors in their security programming. Seungcheol's goal is to bring down and expose FleXeon and their CEO for their creation of Lavender Haze, and their legal ways of acquiring money.

Whoever designed their security programming is good. Everything is well protected, and their files are fully encrypted. You lucked out and found a kink in their almost impenetrable armor. You were able to access a pretty high up employees’ emails. Sorting through them, you found employee identification information and mentions of blue dust and lavender haze. Reaching into your bag you grab the drive Seungcheol gave you.

You start uploading everything as quickly as possible. Being so close to the FleXeon building you know they have a security sweep in about five more minutes.

Tapping your fingers you watch as the data transfers. The moment it's finished, you hit the door of the van twice. The driver side opens and Wonwoo jumps in. The back door slides open and Joshua joins you in the back.

"Did you get it?" Wonwoo asks.

"Yeah."

"Good job, Starry." It's rare these days for anyone to call you by your actual name. You have a birth on your shoulder that looks like a star, which led to mostly everyone calling you Starry. Joshua is different, occasionally he'll call you Starry, but he mostly calls you his starlight.

"I'll drop you guys off at your place, so you can take your more subtle bike to meet Soonyoung and Jeonghan." Wonwoo says.

"Where are they?" Joshua asks.

"Dumb and dumber went to the lights district." Wonwoo says, rolling his eyes.

The lights district is the scummy part of town. The morally gray and corrupt tend to hang out there. The district is filled with clubs, and even more drugs. You already know why they went there. Soonyoung wants to get blue dust, and he knows a guy who sells it there.

Arriving at your place, you and Joshua quickly jump out of the van. Joshua was smart enough to bring both your helmets.

"I wish we could just take this to Minghao ourselves." Joshua hates when you go to the lights district.

"I would love that too, but you know how Cheol works. He said I have to pass it off to these two."

He helps you put on your jacket and fasten your helmet. He starts the bike with you sitting on the back holding on to him.

Joshua pulls out of the garage. You look at the sky to see it's raining just like it always seems to do these days. Luckily, motorcycle gear works for the rain.

The twenty minute drive to the lights district in the rain isn't pleasant. Arriving at the club you know you would find them at, Joshua parks the bike. He locks your helmets on to the bike. He grabs your hand as you walk up to the crowded club. The bass is booming as EDM music rattles the place.

This place is filled to the brim with people either drunk on Pop Rocks, or high on blue dust. Pushing your way through the crowd you find Soonyoung and Jeonghan in the back. Soonyoung has his tongue shoved down the throat of some girl with pink hair, while Jeonghan is sitting on the couch whispering to a girl with icy white hair. You let out a heavy sigh. This day has been too damn long. You spent hours jumping around locations, trying to get into the FleXeon system and now you're dealing with two of Seungcheol's highest ranked men, who thought it was a good idea to get high out of their minds on Blue Dust.

"Stay back here." You tell Joshua. Him and Soonyoung already butt heads. You don't want anything to unfold between them tonight.

"Soonyoung." You yell, leaving Joshua a few feet behind you leaning on the wall.

He smiles, peeling himself away from the pink haired girl. "Starry, you came!" He shouts. By the wild look in his eyes, and with how blown his pupils are you immediately know he's high.

Soonyoung yelling catches Jeonghan's attention. He pulls himself away from his girl and stands up. His eyes are just as blown as Soonyoung's.

"You guys couldn't make this easy on me, could you?" You huff.

"You're being dramatic." Soonyoung laughs.

You knit your brows glaring at them. They could have been somewhere closer. Instead, you and Joshua had to drive all this way in the rain, after working for hours. These two are already giving you a headache and it's only been a few minutes.

"I'm not being dramatic, you're being inconsiderate." You roll your eyes.

"Ouch, Starry is more sensitive than normal." Jeonghan holds his chest like he's wounded.

"You're just being bigger assholes than normal." You can feel Joshua's eyes burning into the back of you.

"You seem more irritated than normal." Soonyoung points out.

Joshua pushes himself away from the wall, he's already irritated with Soonyoung and his nonsense.

Jeonghan barks out a laugh. "Starry, maybe if you got laid you wouldn't want to kill us all the time."

"She's fucking lover bot over there, getting laid isn't her issue." Soonyoung laughs.

Joshua pushes himself off the wall. This is going to escalate quickly if you don't shut down these idiots.

"Maybe she needs some cock from someone who isn't a machine." Soonyoung laughs. He's definitely trying to get punched. If you knew Cheol wouldn't ring your neck, you would break Soonyoung's nose right now.

"Shut the fuck up. You're just jealous you haven't seen any pussy in months." You poke Soonyoung in the chest. "My issue is that I'm trying to drop off something extremely important and you and Hannie are out of your minds on blue dust."

You reach into your pocket grabbing the drive. "Here." You shove the drive into Soonyoung’s jacket pocket.

"Cheol is gonna fucking love the fact that his edgesunner, and right hand man are high off blue dust is scummy club in the lights district."

Soonyoung reaches for your hand. "Starry, don't be like that."

"Don't touch her." Joshua is standing by your side instantly.

Soonyoung holds his hands up and steps back. "Chill, lover boy. I'm not going to do anything to her. You and I both know I tease her but I love her."

Joshua laces his fingers with yours pulling you back from Soonyoung.

"Starry, I'm sorry." Jeonghan says, sounding sincere.

"I think we should go. I better not hear that Minghao and Cheol didn't get that drive."

"We'll go now." Jeonghan says.

Tugging on Joshua's hand, you lead him through the cramped club. Stepping outside, you're hit with the cold breeze. It seems the rain stopped. Releasing Joshua's hand, you zip up your motorcycle jacket. He walks over to your bike, grabbing both your helmets. He steps in front of you, helping you put your helmet on. He buckles the bottom strap before kissing the tip of your nose. Reaching up he slides your visor down before putting on his own helmet.

"Are we going home?" He asks, walking towards you. You push your visor back up. His eyes are shifting around. You know him well enough to know he's upset. Silently, you nod.

You follow him to the bike. He stops in front of it and pauses. You don't want him to drive while he's upset. "Shua?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about Soonyoung. I'm not interested in human men."

"Who are you interested in?"

"An android." You reach up, sliding the visor back down.

Joshua gets on the bike, and holds his hand out. You hop onto the back, wrapping your arms around his stomach. He gives your thigh three pats. Even if he won't say it out loud, you know that's his way of saying "I love you."

He revs the engine before he takes off down the dark alley. The asphalt below blows with the neon lights from above. The drive out the lights district takes about twenty minutes before you're back in the hub of the city.

Driving through, you look around at the video boards that line the tall sky scrapers. There's a clip of the president of FleXeon playing on repeat. That man is corrupt and helps run production of the drug known as lavender haze dust. His side company that people don’t know about. made an extra synthetic blue dust that's extra potent. Seungcheol is disgusted by drugs and will be pissed if he finds out any of you touched it.

Towards the east side of the hub, the less luxurious side, is where your apartment is located. Pulling into the underground apartment, Joshua parks the bike. You hop off and take off your helmet. Joshua takes off his own, and pulls your bag from the side compartment.

The parking garage has a low turquoise haze to it. The light near the elevator hums as it flickers.

Clicking the button you wait silently next to Joshua. Your neighbor who lives three doors down gets out of her small beat up two door car. She's a sweet older lady who works at the hospital on the edge of the hub.

"Late night out for you two love birds?" She's always in such a good mood. You don't understand it sometimes. She sees so much pain and destruction in that hospital and yet, she still smiles.

"Hello, Mrs. Opal. We wanted to go out for a late night ride." Joshua lifts his helmet to show her.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. You step back until your back is against the cold metal wall. Joshua presses the thirteenth floor button and stands next to you.

"When are you two kids going to get married and have some beautiful babies?" If only she knew that your lover is an android. Marriage and babies aren't something the two of you can necessarily have.

Joshua is one of the most humanoid androids you have ever encountered. His mannerisms and looks make him seem fully human. His tattoo on the side of his neck could be a give away, but most people don't know that the ink on his skin is a model number. You made the choice immediately not to make it common knowledge that he's an android. The last thing you need is people snooping around or trying to hack his programming. Or worse trying to steal him from you.

"Maybe one day, Mrs. Opal."

She looks at you and gives you a sweet smile. "Darling, you're lucky you found such a great man." If only she knew that you quite literally found him, and fixed him.

"I'm very lucky." You finally speak.

The elevator dings signaling your arrival to your floor. Joshua grabs your hand leading you down the hall towards your apartment.

"Have a good night you two." She says.

"Goodnight, Mrs Opal." He responds.

He stops at the door and types in the pin. Stepping inside, you're greeted by the turquoise neon glow of the city outside. You didn't bother closing the curtains to the floor to ceiling window that looks out into the dark city. You live in a one bedroom apartment. It's spacious enough for the two of you to live comfortably together. The high ceiling with exposed metal venting, makes the space look larger than it is.

Joshua grabs your helmet from you, along with your bag and places it on the table that sits by the door. He drops down to his knees to help you remove your boots.

"I need a shower." You sigh.

"Go shower and I'll make you something to eat." For someone who doesn't need food to survive, he's really good at cooking. He often eats with you even though his body just burns up everything.

Heading off to the bedroom, you grab a pair of panties and baggy shirt. Walking into the bathroom, you take your time stripping away your clothes. Your bathroom isn't huge by any means and your lighting is terrible, but the water pressure in the shower is perfect. Your whole apartment has a radiant haze to it, just like the rest of the city.

Opening the glass door, you crank the water on. It's scorching hot the moment you step in. After missions you always feel gross, maybe that's your self-conscious telling you what you're doing is illegal. Closing your eyes, you tilt your head forward, letting the hot water relax your tensing muscles. You were hoping Joshua would join you, but you know he's more worried about making sure you eat.

You're not sure what your life would be like if you didn't have him. Being with him has made your life worth living again. He's sunshine in this dark city with a fluorescent glow, and you're the midnight rain.

Getting out of the shower, you dry off and put on just a thong and a baggy shirt. Looking in the mirror, you realize how tired you look.

Walking out into the living area, you're greeted by the smell of ramyeon. Joshua is busy dishing two bowls. Your bare feet pad across the cold hardwood floor.

Sitting down at the small table near the kitchen area, you watch as he brings over food. While you were showering, he must have changed. He's now shirtless, wearing just a pair of sweatpants that are sitting low on his hips. It's clear he's not wearing anything underneath them.

He sits down across from you. He raises his brow, watching you pick up your chopsticks.

"Are you going to power down tonight?" This is the same question you ask him every single night.

"No." He picks up his own chopsticks.

You let out a heavy sigh, and rub your eyes with your free hand. This conversation is always so frustrating.

"Josh, you need to power down occasionally."

"Why?" He's annoyed by this conversation just like you.

"Because when you turn back on, it reboots. That will help get out any kinks in your system. I have to do the same thing with my tablet."

He puffs out a disgusted sound. "So I'm just like your tablet."

You set your chopsticks down. "Don't do that. Don't act like I'm calling you a robot or a device."

"But you are." His tone is pointed.

"From the first time I powered you on and fixed your software to give you emotions, I have never treated you like a robot. I have always and will always treat you like a human."

His brows soften, he leans back in his chair. A look of defeat plays across his face. "Powering down reminds me that I'm never going to be a human. I'm just an android."

You can't say anything, you just stare at him. You know how desperately he wishes he was a human.

"I sometimes forget that I'm not real."

"You're very real. You might not be human. But you're real, and you matter to me. So that's all that fucking matters." Your emotions are high after today and you know you should have just left this alone tonight.

"I'll power down tomorrow night. I don't want to do it after we just had a fight." It's probably best he doesn't do it tonight. The last thing you need to do is go to bed upset while he's rebooting.

"Okay."

You both eat in silence. You've both forgiven each other but there isn't much left to say about your fight. The food Joshua made is delicious, just like it always is. You get up to do the dishes, but he doesn't let you. He grabs the dish and heads over to the sink.

Standing at the window that overlooks the city you stand there wondering what the people are up to down below. The city is still pretty lively for it being close to four in the morning.

You hear him walking up behind you, but you don't move. His arms wrap around your stomach, pulling you back against him.

His hand taps your stomach three times. Closing your eyes, you rest your hand on his thigh and give it three taps.

"I'm sorry." He rests his chin on top of your head.

"I'm sorry too."

"It's been a long day." He sighs.

"I want to go to bed, but I just want to be with you." You desperately crave being close to him.

"I'm all yours, baby."

Pulling away from him, you turn around. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer to you. You don't want to think anymore. You want him to fuck every logical thought out of your brain.

Leaning up, you press your lips to his for a heated kiss. You don't need to explain to him what you want, he understands you completely. His hand slips under your shirt, running across the bare skin of your back. His hand roams lower down to the fleshy cheek of your ass. Your lips don't stop moving together. He kisses you like he's trying to say he's sorry a million times over.

Pulling away, you tug on his bottom lip. "Please just fuck me."

He backs you up until your back is pressed against the cold glass window. Pulling back a little, he looks down at you. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"

"No. Fuck me here."

He grabs your hips, spinning you back around. Your chest is pressed up against the cold glass window. Your thin shirt does nothing to prevent your nipples from hardening.

Pushing your hips back against his crotch, you can already feel him hardening. Joshua’s anatomy is very much like human man's. His body reacts the same as anyone else when he's sexually aroused. Technically, his anatomy is different then the average male. Whoever created him, blessed him with a massive cock. You know deep down inside they created him to be a sex bot.

His hand dips down to your core. He pulls your thong to the side. Two of his fingers rub your sensitive clit.

With his lips near your ear, he rasps, "you're already so wet."

He slides his fingers down to your needy core hole. He dips two of them in with ease. You're so desperate for him, you're pretty sure you could take his massive size without any prep.

The palm of his hand ruts against your clit, and he works his two fingers in and out of you. Gasps leave your lips as your head rolls back against his shoulder. One of your hands grip his sweatpants while the other grips the arm that's wrapped around your stomach, holding you against him.

Your high is rapidly approaching. Your body tenses, as you struggle to breathe for a moment.

"So good for me." He moans in your ear.

Your high breaks, and your walls flutter like a heartbeat squeezing his fingers. He rubs your clits, helping you ride out your high.

"Oh—" you pant.

"You sound so pretty." He whispers against your ear.

"Fuck me."

You push your hips back against the erection that's straining against his sweatpants. He presses you fully against the window. He pulls back just enough to push his sweatpants down below his butt. He pulls out his cock, pumping it slowly a few times. Another blessing from his engineer is that his "precum" works as the perfect lubricant.

"Keep your chest against the window, and push your hips back towards me." He grabs your hip and puts you into position.

With his cock in his hand, he runs it through your folds a few times. Each time he brushes your clit, you can't help but moan.

"Please." You have no problem begging him.

The rosy mushroom tip nudges at your weeping entrance. He pushes an inch in and pulls it out. He does it a few times, teasing you. You push your hips back, causing him to slip in further.

"Naughty girl." He gives your ass a quick swat.

"Please, Shua."

He lets out a little laugh. He grips your hips with both hands. He pushes his hips in slowly. He feels you completely, he's so big you can feel every single ridge of his cock. He starts at a slow but deep pace.

Your cheek rests against the cold glass. You could care less if anyone in the sky scrapers that line the sky can see you. Joshua is fucking you so hard, your brain has stopped working. The only thing you can process is the tip of his cock, kissing your cervix over and over again.

You rock your hips back, helping meet him with each thrust. The groans that leave his lips sound sinful. Leaning forward he starts kissing the side of your neck.

"Are you close?" He rasps.

"Yes." You whine.

Without saying a word, he pulls out of you. You can't even react before he’s flipping you around. He uses his enhanced strength to lift you up, as if you weigh nothing. He pulls your panties to the side before sliding you down his massive length. Closing your eyes, you lean your head back against the window. He's hitting a completely different angle in this position.

He thrust into you at a quick pace. His sweats slip further down his thigh with each thrust. Your back knocks against the glass over and over. His lips are anywhere they can reach. He starts by kissing your jaw and then moves down your neck.

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair. Tugging his head back, you desperately want to look at him. His lips part slightly as quiet moans pass his lips.

"Shua—" his name never sounds as sweet as it does falling from your lips in the haze of an orgasm.

His hips don't stop moving. He helps you ride out your high as your walls flutter against his cock.

Your hand talons into his shoulder, lost in a cock drunk haze.

His thrusts get sloppier as he rapidly approaches the edge. He moans your name like a sinful prayer. Similar to humans, he releases a cum like substance when he orgasms. He fills you to the brim, holding you flush against him. Leaning forward, he rests his head against your shoulder.

You're scared if he puts you down, you jelly legs won't work. He leaves a few open mouth kisses against your shoulder before he pulls away.

Slowly he pulls out of you. Gently, he sits your feet on the ground. Your legs feel like they're made of jello. He tugs your thong back over your core that's starting to drip out his release. He leaves you there just long enough for him to pull his pants up and to tuck his softening cock back inside them.

He lifts you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. He sits you down on the cold concrete counter. You immediately shiver at the feeling.

"Can you take off your panties?" Your eyes go wide. You aren't sure your abused core can take another orgasm tonight.

"I'm not going to fuck you anymore. I need to clean up my cum."

Lifting your hips you pull off your thong. You hold it out and he grabs it before tossing it in the hamper behind him. He reaches under the cabinet for a cloth.

You take this as your sign to spread your legs. A playful smile tugs at your lips. Dipping your fingers through your sensitive core, you collect some of his release. His cum like substance looks exactly like human cum. It’s thick and milky, but instead of being salty and sometimes unpleasant, his is sweet. It reminds you almost of a subtle simple syrup. Sticking your fingers in your mouth you taste his sweet cum.

Joshua gives you a smile as he shakes his head at you. He runs the cloth under warm water before stepping between your spread legs. He gently cleans up the mess he's made of you.

Before pulling you off the counter, he stands between your legs and leans of kisses across your face. He has one hand on your butt and the other on your cheek. The hand that's on your cheek, he taps three times before pulling back.

"It's almost five, you need to sleep."

He pulls you off the counter and carries you to your room. He lays you down gently on the bed. Crawling under the covers, you wait for him to join you. He's over by the window that looks out into the city. He pulls back the curtains to block a little of the morning sun that will soon be rising.

He joins you in bed and pulls your body close to his. You're laying on your side with him firmly pressed behind you. You smile at the fact that you're no longer wearing panties and just a shirt.

"Sweet Dreams, Starlight."

GLITCHES AND STATIC

It's a night where you finally don't have to work. You contemplated staying in all night and just spending time with Joshua. Somehow Mingyu and Wonwoo convinced you to go out with them. They seem to be the only two that don't cause problems when they go out. Sitting in a bar near your place, Joshua comes over holding a bottle of beer and a weird lime green looking drink.

He slides in next to you. Wonwoo was telling you about a motorcycle he was looking to get soon. Mingyu slides in next to him, holding the same two drinks as Joshua.

"Why did you bring over battery acid?" Wonwoo asks, picking up and examining the drink.

"It's called luminescent." Mingyu responds.

"Please tell me someone didn't make a new drug." You sigh.

"The bartender said it's like PopRocks but more citrusy." Joshua chimes in.

"PopRocks makes me incredibly drunk after one." You've blacked out too many times because of that potent sparkly pink drink.

"I think Starry should drink the beer." Mingyu says. It's the best idea, Joshua can't actually get drunk. He really only drinks to blend in socially.

"What about us?" Wonwoo looks at the fluorescent green drink.

"I'll drink it, you can drive us home." Luckily Wonwoo and Mingyu are roommates and rode here together.

Joshua goes to move his hand to grab his drink, and you immediately catch his hand twitching and locking up. You definitely haven't seen that happen before. Resting your hand on his thigh, you give it a squeeze. He glances at you, moving his hand to his lap. Taking his wrist in your hand you rub slow circles into the underside where his skin is delicate.

Wonwoo and Mingyu are oblivious to what is happening as Mingyu is talks about some cute bartender he met.

Joshua keeps trying to squeeze his hand. Slowly, the glitch works its way out. He grabs your hand, bringing the top of it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

You give him a knowing smile.

"Shua, you need to try this luminescent drink."

"Alright." With his other hand, he picks up the glass filled with the electric liquid.

Soon a very buzzed Mingyu has convinced Wonwoo that they should play darts. You and Joshua are given a moment alone at the table.

Running your finger along the side of the beer bottle, you're mindlessly playing with the condensation. Joshua is still slowly sipping on the electric drink. He opted not to chug it like Mingyu did.

"Is the glitch with your hand new?"

"Kind of." He sighs, flexing the hand that glitched.

"How long has this been going on?" You hate that he didn't tell you the first time it happened.

"About two weeks ago." He looks down at the table, embarrassed. He absolutely hates anything like this that reminds him he's not human.

"Two weeks and you didn't tell me." You stare at the side of his head.

"Yeah. It's fine. It will work itself out." He looks at you and gives you a smile. As if he's trying to convince both of you that it's fine.

"No, it won't. I need to look at your software and fix it."

Mingyu lets out a cheer, catching both your attention. Joshua grabs his drink, taking a big gulp to help cut the tension.

He sets the glass down on the table. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Sure." This isn't a conversation that you want other people to hear necessarily. You don't want the team finding out about him glitching. Seungcheol might not be happy if one of his enforcers are having processing errors and glitches.

After Mingyu's poor decision to drink a beer after the luminescent drink, Joshua helps move a very drunk Mingyu to Wonwoo's car outside. You stand by the bike, watching everything unfold. Wonwoo reaches into the glove compartment and grabs a packet of jolt. It's a sweet substance that helps sober people up from alcohol and blue dust.

Wonwoo pulls the substance into his best friend’s mouth and slaps his cheek. Mingyu shakes his head and from a distance you can see he's already sobering up.

Joshua closes the car door and walks over to your bike. You hold out his helmet for him.

The ride back to your place doesn't take too long. Arriving back at your home, Joshua immediately heads off to the bathroom. You head off to the bedroom and grab something to change into. Opening the bathroom door, you're instantly greeted by steam and the sound of Joshua humming a song.

Stripping away your clothes, you toss them in the hamper. Opening the glass door, you step inside. Nothing is said as Joshua steps aside, giving you room for the water. You stand there, facing the facet. The hot water feels cleaning.

Joshua presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around your stomach. Neither of you say anything as he holds you.

He pulls away and grabs your strawberry scented body wash. He takes his time washing your body, making sure to massage your tense shoulders.

Getting out of the shower, you both take your time drying yourself off. You don't bother getting dressed.

"Why did you not tell me?" You finally break the screaming silence.

"Because I didn't want you to worry."

"Shua, we don't keep secrets." Since the moment you turned him on, you never hid anything from him. Long before you were romantically involved, he was still your friend and your companion. You promised him from the very beginning you would never keep secrets from him.

"I know and I'm sorry."

"Let me look at your software and upgrade you."

"It's fine? If it gets worse you can." You can tell by the look on his face this is a losing battle tonight.

"Fine." You grab your clothes off the counter. You pull on a baggy thin tshirt, and a lacy pink thong, this is the usual attire you walk around at home and sleep in.

You can feel Joshua's eye burning into you as you walk out of the bathroom. You head off to the kitchen. You need a glass of water. You don't want to go to bed upset and you just need a moment to cool off.

Leaning against the counter, you look out at the bright city. You hear Joshua before you see him. You look up and find him dressed in just his tight boxer-briefs.

"I don't want to go to bed mad." He says, stopping in front of you.

"I'm not mad." You're not lying to him. You aren't mad, you're more stressed than anything. "I'm just worried."

"I know you are, and I'm worried too." You both know deep down inside he should at least shut down for the night so he can reboot slowly.

You sit the water down on the counter. Holding your hand out, you wait for him to come close to you. He grabs your hand, stepping right in front of you. He places your hand on his chest. If he was human, you would be able to feel his heart beating.

You drum your finger three times right above the void of where his heart should be.

"It would beat for you." In a perfect world, Joshua wouldn't struggle with feeling inadequate about not being human. Him being an android changes nothing for you. You don't love him any less because of it.

You tap his chest three times again. "Mine beats only for you."

You lean against the counter. You take a moment focusing on him. Recently, he seems to be more emotional. The only reason that could possibly be is he's worried about something going wrong with his programming.

He places his hands on either side of you, caging you in against the counter.

"I'm sorry."

Things between you haven't always been like this. It wasn't until last year when Joshua started fighting shutting down a few times a week at night. He's been with you for about three years and you have been romantically involved since six months after you found him. Things between you have always been intense, but in the last year and half, you noticed how much Joshua struggles with the idea of not being a human.

"We're okay." You whisper.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull his face closer to yours. Your lips touch, and the only thing your brain can think of is getting as close as possible to him. His hand grabs your hips, pulling you far enough away for him to slide his hand down your back, and to grab you butt.

You moan into his mouth, rolling your body towards him. He pulls away and immediately picks you up sitting you on the edge of the counter.

Instinctively, you spread your legs, and pull your panties to the side. He dips down and starts kissing your knee, making his way across your inner thigh. He kisses the top of your mound as he drags two fingers through your wet folds.

He focuses on licking your clit over and over again. Two of his fingers pump in and out of you, helping to stretch you out.

Your fingers tangle in his dark locks, hold his face close to your core. Looking down, you find him looking up at you through his lashes.

He eats you out like you're water in a blazing hot sun. Pushing your hips towards his face, you're growing desperate for your release. You just want him inside you, but you know he won't until you've came at least once.

He moves his fingers in a come hither motion, touching that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars.

The tidal wave hits you hard. Tugging on his hair, you try to anchor yourself. Your walls tug on his fingers and he keeps brushing your g spot.

"Fuck— Shua—" your words are nothing more than a broken plea.

He pulls back smiling. He dips his two fingers in his mouth, cleaning up your release.

"You sound so pretty when you moan." He steps back and takes off his boxers.

He pumps his massive erection, helping to lube it up before he stretches you out. Your kitchen counters sit at the perfect height for him to be able to fuck you while you sit on them.

He leans in close, giving you a wicked grin before kissing you. You moan into his mouth as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds.

He always likes to tease you with just the tip a few times before he slowly pushes his whole length in.

Your legs wrap around him, pulling him fully inside. His rose tip kisses your cervix as he bottoms out.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you crash your lips into his. He pushes his hips into yours at a slow and deep pace.

Time doesn't seem to exist when you're with Joshua like this. All that matters is just the two of you.

Leaning back, you look down at where you're connected, watching as he stretches you.

"Baby, take your shirt off." He tugs on the bottom of the thin fabric.

Pulling your shirt off and tossing it on the ground, you're left completely bare except for your panties he has pulled to the side.

Reaching forward, he grabs one of your breasts, groping it before he tweaks your nipple.

"Fuck—" you moan.

Leaning back on your hands, you push your hips to the furthest edge of the counter. One of Joshua's hands rests on your core. His thumb rubs circles on your clit. He picks up his pace, thrusting into you.

He lifts your leg up over his shoulder. The new position has him hitting different areas then before.

"I'm close." You moan.

He’s rubbing your clit harder, helping to push you over the edge.

"Oh fuck." Your eyes squeeze shut, and your head rolls back. Your orgasm hits hard. He doesn't stop thrusting or working on your clit. Unfamiliar pressure builds in your core. One specifically hard thrust makes you see stars, and liquid sprays from you, covering his crotch.

He gets a solid two thrust in before he fills you to the brim with his synthetic cum. He stops moving fully. Releasing your leg, he pulls you close to him. Your body is absolutely spent. Your head is resting on his shoulder. His large hand is running up and down your back, helping you soothe you.

"You've never done that before." He finally speaks.

"I don't think my legs can work."

"Let me clean you up and I'll carry you to bed."

Sitting on the counter, Joshua takes his time cleaning up the mess he made between your legs. He lifts you with ease, taking you to the bedroom.

It's not long before you're sound asleep in his arms.

-

It's another late night job. Minghao has a drive for you to look at. There is a meeting on the north side of the hub.

Soonyoung is already with Minghao, and Jeonghan is coming along to make sure no one is following you.

Minghao picked a better meeting place than Soonyoung is known to pick. You're at a little hole in the wall family restaurant. There is a flicking neon open sign at the door.

You're greeted by an older man who just gives you and Minghao a nod. He tends to like to come to this place for meetings. This sweet old lady is used to Minghao and his crew showing up.

He’s at one of those L shaped booths in the back corner. He's got a sea of plates on the table. Soonyoung is next to him, eating from a plate of noodles.

Minghao is tapping away on his tablet. Jeonghan slides into the booth next to Soonyoung. You follow next to him. Joshua sits on the edge keeping guard.

"Jeonghan, did you come just for the food?" Minghao quips not looking up from the tablet.

"No, Cheol sent me."

"Does Cheol not trust us?" Soonyoung responds.

"Well, he knows we have a taste for blue dust, and he threatened to end all of us if we touch it while working." Jeonghan reached for an empty plate.

"You two idiots are the ones who did dust while you were working." You glare at him.

"How did Cheol find out about that?" Soonyoung asks, glancing up.

"I told him." You don't care that you snitched on them. Them being high is a liability.

"Then why did he send you to babysit, you were also high?" Minghao says glancing up from the tablet.

"Because he knows I'll stop it from happening again. He already threatened to throw me off the FleXeon tower if I fuck up again." The thing about Seungcheol is that he's the ring leader and the man in charge, and all of your group loves and respects him, but you all know he's a very capable man and should be feared.

"He’s trying to get into Cheol's good graces by babysitting." You respond. You know Seungcheol is tough on Jeonghan but he cares about him the most.

Jeonghan starts dishing a plate of food. Him and Soonyoung start talking about the noodles.

Joshua reaches into his bag and pulls out your tablet. Minghao set down his chopsticks. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulls out a drive. With a firm push, he slides it across the table.

Picking up the drive, you connect it to your tablet. Opening the files, you see something unexpected. You open a drive called "the wife", your brows knit together as you scroll through evidence of an affair unfolding.

"The CEO’s wife is cheating?"

"He's blackmailing her." Minghao closes his tablet.

"That's illegal." Soonyoung says between bites.

"We can add it to FleXeon’s long list." Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

"There is some code that's blocking some security footage that I can’t figure out. I'm pretty sure you can break it."

"Should we be discussing this here?" Joshua finally speaks up.

"There isn't a soul in here and Ms. Rose knows to stay quiet. I make sure she's paid well for the trouble." You glance over to see the neon flickering open sign is turned off and the door is shut.

"I'll work on getting in. When do you want the drive back?"

"After you crack the code. Seungcheol wants a team meeting soon anywhere." Pulling the drive out, you hand it and your tablet back to Joshua. You notice immediately his hand glitches as he tries to grab the tablet. He closes his eyes as if he's trying to focus. His hand finally works and he's able to put your tablet away.

Minghao flags over Ms. Rose and hands her a hefty wad of cash. You and the boys all make your way out the door. Soonyoung and Minghao head off to their care and you follow Jeonghan off towards his. Seungcheol put him in charge of being the driver tonight.

Arriving at the apartment, Joshua is holding your bag and your hand. The elevator ride is quiet except for the hum of the elevator. The doors ding and slide open.

Walking into your apartment, you take off your shoes and immediately get your other tablet out. Moving to the kitchen table, you start sorting through all coding.

Joshua disappears for a while before coming back dressed just in a pair of sweatpants. Glancing over into the living area by the window, you see him messing with his hand. He needs to power down and reboot but you don't want to argue with him tonight.

"Are you hungry?" Joshua asks, walking towards the kitchen area.

"Yeah. I didn't really feel like eating at the meeting." In those kinds of setting, you don't normally have an appetite.

"I can cook you dinner."

"Can you make us ramyeon?"

"Yeah."

He moves around the kitchen quietly while you work on finding the coding Minghao mentioned. This job seems bigger than anything your job has ever done. Seungcheol’s goal is to take down FleXeon and to steal money from them. Once this job is done, and if it goes down correctly, you will have enough money for the rest of your life.

Once this job is done, maybe you and Joshua can find a bigger place or take a trip somewhere. You stop typing and just stare at your tablet. Maybe you and Joshua could live a more comfortable life. A life that doesn't involve you constantly doing something illegal. Honestly you don't really need a bigger space. This loft style apartment is perfect for you both. As long as you're together, you don't feel like you need more.

"Starlight?" Joshua sits down at the table across from you.

"Yeah?"

"You're zoning out."

He puts your bowl down in front of you. You close your and pick up your chopsticks. "I'm just thinking about what we can do after this job."

"What do you want to do?" He picks up his own chopsticks

"I don't know. Maybe we could leave the crew and stop working these jobs."

"We can if you want to."

"I thought about even moving."

Joshua glances around the apartment. "But this is our home."

"I know. I love this apartment and it feels like our home. Maybe we can take a vacation. Get some space from this city."

He reaches across the small table taking your hand in his. "I'll follow you anywhere you want to go." Joshua loves you so much, and it's not because you programmed him to love you. You made sure when you fixed his programming after you found him, you gave him emotions and free will. He fell in love with you because he wanted to.

You aren't sure what you want to do, you just know that whatever happens, you want him by your side.

THE NEON GLOW IN YOUR EYES

The lights district is definitely your least favorite part of the city. You finished working another stake out and a handful of the guys convinced you and Joshua to go out.

Standing by the table, you watch the large tv that hangs in the middle. There is a press conference with FleXeon CEO Kang Dohyun. Your eyes focus trying to read the subtitles as they sprawl across the screen. The company is working on putting out another line of androids similar to Joshua. It doesn't sit right with you that people are making androids to basically be worker and sex bots. Next to you are Chan, Soonyoung and Mingyu. Joshua is at the bar with Wonwoo and Jeonghan.

Glancing over, you see Chan pull out a container of blue dust. At this point, half your crew does it during their off time. You tried it a few times when you first joined the crew. The powder feels like instant adrenaline with heightened emotions that fades into relaxation.

You think the only ones in your crew who don’t mess with this stuff are Seungcheol, Joshua, Wonwoo, and you.

Soonyoung nudges your shoulder holding out the vile light blue powder in it. "You want a bump?"

"Soonyoung—"

"Come on, you're stressed and this will help." He raises his brow.

You glance over at the bar, seeing Joshua talk to the boys. He must feel you looking at him, he turns and gives you a smile, tilting his head.

Maybe Soonyoung is right, maybe this will take the edge off. Grabbing the vile from his hand, you pour a small dab on the back of your hand. You lick it off in one quick swipe or the tongue.

Taking a slow deep breath, the high feels like ice rushing through your veins. Your eyes feel incredibly heavy for a moment. The flutter and you instantly see Joshua's eyes locked on yours.

Joshua hands his drink off to Wonwoo and rushes over to you. Every single nerve in your body feels electric. The moment he's in front of you, he rests his hand on your cheek.

"Starlight, what did you do?" He leans in close so you can hear him over the booming music.

"Dust." Your pupils are blown wide as you share him.

Joshua hits Soonyoung's arm capturing his attention. "How much did she take?!" Joshua shouts over the music.

"A small hit, she's fine. Give her an hour and she'll be relaxed."

"I don't want her on the back of my bike in an hour."

Leaning in close Joshua brushes his nose against yours, helping to center you.

"Baby."

"Yes, Shua?"

Wonwoo and Jeonghan join the rest of the group. Wonwoo instantly can tell by Joshua's uneasiness what has unfolded.

"Did she take a hit?" Jeonghan asks.

"Yeah!" Chan shouts over the music.

"She hasn't done dust in years." Jeonghan says, patting Joshua on the back.

"Do you want me to get the jolt out of my car?" Wonwoo asks Joshua.

Joshua takes your face in both hands. There is a neon glow from the lights above shining in your blown pupils. He's seen you drunk before, but he's never seen you high.

"Do you want Wonwoo to get you a jolt?"

"I don't want to think anymore tonight." Between trying to take down FleXeon and worrying about Joshua and his software glitches, for once, you just want to shut down your brain that won't stop spinning.

"Wonwoo, later can you take the bike home and I'll drive your car?"

"Yeah." Wonwoo is a wise man, and he's well aware that something deeper is unfolding.

The booming music feels like it's rattling your chest. Joshua's hand stays on your waist, holding you close. Your eyes find Soonyoung's blown pupils staring back at you. For a while now, Soonyoung has had a love for the shimmery blue dust. He's the type that will take another hit before the relaxation kicks in.

Soonyoung has his eyes on a pretty blonde girl on the dance floor. He starts whispering something in her ear.

Before you start to dip down, you just want to enjoy this feeling. Reaching out, you grab Joshua's hand.

"I want to dance." You say with your lips against his ear.

He just nods. He takes your hand, leading to the crowded dance floor. Soonyoung is already dancing with the blonde, and Chan has found himself a pretty girl.

The whole time you're dancing with Joshua, every single sensation feels heightened to the max. The feeling of his hands on your body is electric.

Your hands are wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to you. Connecting your lips to the side of his neck, you kiss your way across his synthetic skin. Running your tongue along the "J05HU9" that runs down the side of his neck.

"I want you." You say just loud enough for him to hear.

He pulls away and looks at you with big doe eyes. He looks utterly confused as he just blinks at you. "Not like this."

He doesn't like having sex with you when you're drunk. You know there's no way he'll have sex with you while you're high.

"Oh." You pull back.

Shaking his head, he grabs your hand. "Starlight, not like this."

A slow, steady warmth starts taking over you. Your heightened emotions are making you crash. The feeling of rejection is crushing.

"Baby." He takes your face in both hands. "We're okay."

All you can do is blink at him. "You don't want me?"

"I always want you. I just need to take care of you tonight."

He leans in close, resting his nose against yours. He presses his lips to yours for three quick kisses.

"Should we sit down?" You pull back from him.

Taking your hand, he leads you back toward the table where Wonwoo, Jeonghan and quite high Mingyu are sitting.

If you were sober, you might enjoy the fact that Jeonghan is trying to be on his best behavior since Seungcheol clearly put him in his place.

Joshua helps slide you into the booth. He sits down next to you. His hand laces with yours, holding it in his lap.

Slowly, your heightened emotions are starting to dissipate. A jelly-like feeling is starting to take over. You feel incredibly calm and relaxed.

Closing your eyes you lean against Joshua. "I'm ready for bed." You mumble. It's been over an hour since you took a hit and your body is starting to crash.

"I think it's time Starry goes home." Jeonghan says before taking a sip of his beer.

"Do you want my car?" Wonwoo asks.

"How is Mingyu going to get home if you just have the bike?" Joshua asks.

"We all should head out. I'll take the bike, and you can take my car." Jeonghan says.

"Soonyoung and Chan left with those girls. I'm good riding the bike."

Joshua gets out of the booth and picks you up effortlessly. He holds you close, making his way through the crowded club. Mingyu follows behind Wonwoo closely.

Arriving at Jeonghan's car, Joshua sits you in the passenger seat. Looking over at Wonwoo's car, you see him pouring a jolt into Mingyu's mouth. Joshua works on buckling you up before giving Jeonghan his motorcycle helmet and his jacket.

Joshua hops in the car. "We'll be home soon."

The ride back to your apartment feels like a blur. Joshua parks the car and Jeonghan pulls up behind you on the bike. Jeonghan helps Joshua get you upstairs. Joshua lays you in bed and strips away your clothes, leaving you in just your panties. Going over to the closet, he grabs a baggy shirt and helps you pull it on.

"I need to thank Jeonghan, and then I'll be back." He leans down and kisses your forehead.

Heading out into the living area he finds Jeonghan sipping on a glass of water looking out into the fluorescent cityscape.

"I haven't seen her like that since she found you." Jeonghan says. Joshua doesn't say anything. He's not quite sure how to respond. "I used to think what she has with you isn't healthy for her, but I think it's the opposite. You ground her in a good way. You've become a home for her. She loves you so much, and it's clear you love her."

"Jeonghan, I love her so much."

"Did she program you to love her?" Jeonghan glances over at the android standing next to him.

"No. I have free will, emotions and feelings. The only thing she did was program me to make me have normal emotions humans have." Joshua's eyes bounce around the room. "When I first told her I liked her, she asked me if I made that choice on my own. Or if I felt like I owed her something."

"Do you think you owe her something?" Jeonghan loves you and only wants to protect you.

"No. I just can't help that I fell in love with her."

Jeonghan reaches up, patting Joshua on the back. "I used to worry about her all the time. Cheol found her right after she lost her family. She was so lost and lonely. He took her in and she joined our group. She used to live with me in the beginning. I would find her crying sometime in the middle of the night. Those nights used to rip my heart out. I just wanted to see her happy, and I hoped one day she would find someone who could love and care for her like she deserved." He pauses and looks back at the city. "I didn't think it would be an android she found, but finding you made a light start burning inside of her. Falling in love with you made her so bright."

"Jeonghan."

"You don't have to say anything else. Just do me a favor and always take care of her. Even if she wants to walk away from this crew, I just want to know you'll always be with her."

"I will."

"I should go." Jeonghan pats him on his back one more time before heading out.

Joshua stands there for a moment, locked into place. He knows before him you were a mess, and he doesn't remember his life before you turned him on, but he knows what little life he had before you got together, hollow and empty before you fell in love.

His hand feels weird. He looks down and tries to squeeze his hand. He takes a moment, trying to focus on getting rid of the glitch. He's just glad Jeonghan didn't witness this. It takes minutes before he starts feeling normal.

Walking back into the bedroom, he finds you sound asleep in bed. He strips away his clothes and stays just in his boxes-briefs. Pulling the covers back he curls up next to you.

He pulls your body close to his. He kisses the top of your head and whispers, "I love you."

REBOOT AND RESTART

Stationed outside Quantum Tower where CEO Kang lives, you're in the back of a truck with Jeonghan. Joshua is standing outside acting as a guard. Chan is roaming the area with Vernon.

Sitting in the driver’s seat is Seungcheol. It's quite unusual for him to go out on missions. He's got Jihoon at the base, his third in command, with some of the secondary team at FleXeon tower with Minghao looking into their security coding, while Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Soonyoung are running the perimeter there.

"So, the wife is fucking one of the broad members?" Seungcheol asks, looking into the back of the mirror.

"It seems that way." You're tapping away at your tablet. You're trying to access the wife’s financial records.

"It looks like she was being blackmailed by someone anonymous that the CEO hired." Jeonghan chimes in.

"Why is he blackmailing her?" Seungcheol asks.

"Because he's afraid she knows too much." You've managed to find her records and discover she's been paying large sums of money to an unknown account.

"Something else is going on with her." You say.

"What?" Jeonghan asks.

"A different account is sending her large payments from her."

There are two taps on the door, before Joshua slides the door open. Chan and Vernon pile in.

"We got to go. Security is doing a perimeter sweep."

You pull the drive from your tablet and hand it to Seungcheol. "Have Minghao look into this. See if he can figure out who owns this account. "

Seungcheol slides it into this jacket pocket. Jeonghan crawls into the front seat next to Seungcheol. Vernon and Chan buckle up.

"Alright let's head out." Seungcheol nods and shifts the car into drive. Joshua moves into the seat next to you.

Looking down at his lap, you see Joshua's hand is fully locked up. Reaching down, you take his wrist in your hand. You slowly start dragging your thumb across the delicate synthetic skin on the inside of his wrist, helping to soothe him.

No matter what happens tonight, you know that Joshua needs to shut down and reboot.

The ride to Seungcheol place is about twenty minutes. He lives in an apartment on the outskirts of the hub.

Seungcheol parks the car and everyone piles out. Entering the elevator, it's quite full. Joshua is pressed against the wall with your back plastered to his front. His arm is wrapped around you, holding you close to him. Glancing up, you find Jeonghan carefully watching you. Closing your eyes, you lean your head back against Joshua's chest.

The doors dig and Seungcheol steps out. The whole crew follows closely behind. Piling into Seungcheol place, you find the girl that lives with him. You don't know much about her. According to Seungcheol she's a childhood friend he looks after. The moment she sees everyone enter, she scurries off towards her bedroom. The door closes and shortly after Jihoon, Soonyoung and Minghao walk in.

Vernon sits down on the couch with Chan. Jeonghan immediately goes off to the kitchen. Seungcheol is standing by the window with Minghao and Soonyoung scrolling through his tablet.

Joshua is standing next to you. His hand keeps glitching. Looking down, you see him trying to get it to stop. Reaching down, you grab his hand. Maybe if you mess with it, it will help distract him.

"Kang is definitely making lavender haze, and his wife is well aware of it. It's clear he's just not making tech for androids like Joshua." Seungcheol walks over. "I think if we shut down his system, we can copy the software coding he used for his androids, wipe his accounts and set him up."

"How would we set him up?" Jeonghan asks, walking back into the living room.

"We're gonna make sure everyone knows FleXeon created lavender haze."

"I think between me and Starry, we could hack the programming and any of the FleXeon androids can be reset to have emotions and memories like Joshua." You knew at some point the software edits you did to fix Joshua would end up being used again. If Seungcheol wants to fix the FleXeon androids, you will. All the androids he has out in the city being workers and sex bots deserve a chance to feel human like Joshua.

You give Joshua's hand a squeeze. "We could do it."

"Hao, I'm going to have you see who is paying the wife." Seungcheol tosses the drive towards him.

Minghao catches it and salutes him. "Next week I want to send Soonyoung and Vernon into the building. Starry, see if you can shut down their security system for a few minutes."

"Okay." You're pretty sure you should be able to do that no problem.

"Alright, you're all free. I should check on Angel." Angel is the girl who lives with him. She's one of the few people who Seungcheol will show his softer side to.

Joshua walks over to the table and grabs both your helmets. You're exhausted, it's almost three in the morning. This mission tonight has lasted longer than planned.

Heading down to the garage, the elevator is filled with most of the group. Jeonghan and Jihoon stayed behind.

The doors open and everyone immediately starts going their separate ways. Wonwoo and Mingyu head off to Wonwoo's car. Vernon and Chan head off to their cars. Soonyoung and Minghao both walk towards their bikes they took here.

Joshua takes his time helping you put on your helmet.

"How is your hand?" You ask, watching him put on his own helmet.

"It's fine." He squeezes his hand to show you it works. You both know it's not truly fine.

He hops on the bike, and holds his hand out. You hop on behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you hold on. Driving out of the garage, you're hit with the sight of the wet asphalt. It must have rained while you were having your meet. The city neon haze leaves the wet roads glimmering in a glow of turquoise.

The ride back home is short. Joshua seems too quiet. You hate this feeling of impending doom.

Entering the home you share, Joshua takes your helmet before he heads off to the bedroom.

Following behind him, you start getting ready for bed. You get dressed in your normal sleeping attire. Joshua leaves after stripping down to a pair of boxers.

Walking into the living area, you find him staring out into the city below.

"Shua." He turns around.

"I won't fight you on shutting down tonight." You both know there is no point in fighting about this anymore.

"You'll only be down for about two hours. I just need to reboot your system."

"Okay." He lets out a sigh.

Walking off to the bedroom, Joshua lays on his side of the bed. Crawling into the bed next to him, you sit on your knees. He leans up, resting his hand on your cheek. He presses his lips to yours for a kiss.

He rests his hand on your thigh and gives it three taps. "I love you too." You respond.

He reaches behind his left ear and holds down a button that is barely visible. His eyes turn a bright blue before they shut. His whole body goes limp as he powers off.

Your eyes instantly well with tears. Reaching out, you rest your hand where his heart would be located. In order for his system to properly reboot he'll need to be shut down for two hours. You have this sudden feeling of loneliness that takes over. Crawling off the bed, you grab the tablet that controls his operating system.

You open it up and a hologram of his system appears. You go into his power settings, and set it for him to reboot back in two hours.

Closing the tablet, you look at him lying there completely lifeless. You know he needs to reboot every so often, and you even fight him about it, but you hate this.

Crawling back into bed, you curl up against him. Resting your head on his chest, you can't help but cry. Your tears continue to fall until you finally fall asleep.

When Joshua finally reboots, he instantly notices your tear stained cheeks. He knows you've cried yourself to sleep.

"Starlight." He whispers.

Your eyes slowly flutter open. "Shua?"

"I'm awake, and I'm okay."

"Can you hold me?" You whisper.

He moves you both so you're lying on your side and he's pressed up against you. He presses a few feather light kisses to the side of your neck.

He taps your stomach gently three times. "Goodnight, Starlight."

-

It's been five days since Joshua rebooted his system, and he may not want to admit it, but it didn’t fix his glitch with his hand.

You're in the lights district again. Soonyoung and Jeonghan are yapping about something. Mingyu is flirting with a girl at the bar, you're sitting at the table with Wonwoo, and Joshua.

Soonyoung walks over and pulls out a bag of blue dust. He holds it up towards you and gives you a wicked smile.

"Come on pretty girl, you know you wanna hit this." Soonyoung loves flirting with you. Joshua tries not to be fazed by Soonyoung, but it's hard sometimes.

"Soonyoung." You narrow your eyes at him.

"Last time you did this, I thought you and Joshua were gonna fuck on the dance floor." You instantly cringe at the reminder of what unfolded between you and your partner. His rejection still stings, but you understand why he did it.

"Knock it off." You respond.

"You act like you've never done dust before. My sweet Starry, we all know you're not miss innocent." Jeonghan fully focuses on what's unfolding.

"Soonyoung, knock it off. I don't know why you're flirting or antagonizing Starry, but you need to stop." Jeonghan put his hand on his shoulder.

"No drugs tonight." Joshua chimes in. He rests hand on your thigh, before giving it a squeeze.

"It's time for us to leave." You say.

You and Joshua get up and head out of the crowded club. You lace your fingers with Joshua, weaving your way through the club. Stepping outside, you notice the wet asphalt that has a neon glow reflecting off of it. You must have missed the rain while you were in the club.

Joshua releases your hand and grabs your helmet. "Where do you want to go?"

"I'm hungry."

"Do you want to go to Sarks?" Sarks is a little hole in the wall restaurant near your apartment.

"Yes."

Joshua helps you put on your helmet. Hoping on the bike, you sit behind Joshua with your arms wrapped around him. The ride to the restaurant isn't too long. This place has become a place that you and Joshua started coming to after late nights out. The place is located a couple blocks from your apartment. It's on the corner of a twelve story apartment building.

Walking inside, you're immediately told to pick your own table. This place is filled to the brim with people who work late. A few of the servers here are FleXeon androids, just like Joshua. Ever since you changed Joshua's software, you always wondered if you could change your favorite android Cherry's. She's a sweet girl, who was clearly programmed to act like the sweet girl next door. If Seungcheol's plan goes correctly, you want to give her the life she deserves.

She walks over to your booth and takes both your orders. You hand over the menu and watch as she walks away.

"What are you thinking about?" Joshua asks.

"I just hope if Cheol's plan goes correctly, maybe I can reprogram Cherry like I did you."

"She's sweet." Joshua looks over at your waitress putting your order into the system. "Does she just power down here every night?"

"Probably." It makes you sad to think about the fact that all she knows how to do is work. You aren't sure what Joshua's job was before you found him, but based on his original programming you're pretty sure he was supposed to be a sex bot.

"Cheol's plan will work, and we can save her. Maybe she can move in with some of the boys until we can help set her up." Joshua gives you a sweet smile.

"That's a good idea." You hope to help give other androids a life.

SYNTHETIC TEARS AND HIGH STRUNG EMOTIONS

You've both had the day off and you've spent the day locked away in your apartment.

Standing in the shower together, you watch as Joshua scrubs his shampoo into his hair. He stops moving and just stares at you with a blank stare. Immediately, you know his hand and possibly his arm is frozen. In the last couple days his glitch had gotten worse.

You don't want to fight about upgrading him, but you know that’s what you have to do.

His eyes start to dodge yours. He turns around so his back is to you. He finally gets his arm to move again. Stepping closer, you wrap your arms around him. Your cheek rests between his shoulder blades against his wet synthetic skin.

"I don't want to talk about it in the shower." He breaks the silence.

"Okay." You run your hand across the wet skin just below his bellybutton.

Getting out of the shower Joshua dries off quickly and pulls on a pair of sweats. By the way he rushes out of the bathroom you would swear he's avoiding you.

You take your time drying yourself off and applying your sweet scented lotions and oils. You get dressed in a pair of panties and baggy shirt.

Walking into the main living space, you find Joshua at the stove. He's making what you assume is ramyeon.

Heading over to the fridge you grab a bottle of juice. You look at Joshua watching as he's focused on cooking.

"I thought we should eat." He doesn't need food to survive. He only eats so he can feel more human.

"I'm hungry."

"Can you set the table?" It's clear he's trying to distract himself from the necessary conversation you need to have.

"Absolutely."

You grab some napkins and two pairs of chopsticks. Joshua dishes two bowls before bringing them over. He places the bowl in front of you. He sits down across from you.

You both eat in silencehe looming, much needed conversation, hanging over both of you like a dark cloud.

You take your first bite of ramyeon. Placing your chopsticks on the table, you give him a sad smile. He looks down at his empty bowl. Neither of you can avoid this any longer.

"Shua."

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "I know."

"You have let me upgrade you. If you keep glitching like this, a systematic error could pop up in your software."

He doesn't say anything, he just stands up. He grabs both your dishes and walks over to the sink. He doesn't bother cleaning them. He just rinses them with water.

"Joshua." You stand you. You don't want to play games right now. You just want him to listen to you.

He walks towards the living area. You follow him closely.

"I don't want you to upgrade me. It's a mild glitch, I'm fine." He sits down on the couch with a huff.

"Clearly you're not fine." You love him so damn much, but sometimes he's too stubborn. "Your mild glitch will lead to something worse if you don't let me fix it."

"No." He leans back pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Joshua—" He stares at for a long moment before standing back up.

He doesn't respond. He just walks over to the big window that overlooks the city. You stand frozen in place near the couch.

"Joshua, stop being stubborn about this." You hate that he never makes this easy on you. "If I don't fix this, the error could be irreparable. If we're not careful, it could corrupt your software, and I could lose you. I need you to realize I don't think I could live without you."

He turns around and you instantly recognize the sadness in his eyes. "What if something happens when you upgrade me? I'm absolutely terrified I'm going to shut down for an upgrade and I won't remember a thing when I wake up." You have this same fear, but you trust yourself enough to know that won't happen.

"You have to trust me." He walks towards you in two big steps.

"I do trust you. Just like you can't live without me, I don’t want to exist if I don't remember everything we have."

He drops to his knees in front of you. He rests his head against your stomach. His arms wrap around you, holding you close. Mindlessly you run your fingers through his hair, helping to soothe him.

"I won't let anything go wrong." You close your eyes as tears slide down your cheek.

"You can do the upgrade." He pulls back, and you see his glossy eyes, slowly leaking tears. Just like humans, androids have the ability to cry. "Should we do it tonight?" He picks himself off the floor.

"Yeah."

He stands in front of you. He leans down pressing his lips to yours. Pulling away slightly his noses rest against yours. "I love you." You both are truly in love, but it's rare you say those three words. Normally, you communicate it by three simple taps on the other person's body.

"I love you too."

He laces his fingers with yours, leading you off to the bedroom. He releases your hand and walks over to the shelf by the window. He grabs your tablet that you use to monitor the software, and the cable that connects behind his ear.

He hands off the equipment and lays down on the bed, in the same spot he sleeps in every night.

He blankly stares at the ceiling. The vice grip on your heart is making you nauseous. This is the last thing you want to do. But you know this needs to be done.

"I'm sorry." You truly are. You wish that you didn't have to do this. Upgrading his system scares you, just as much as it scares him.

"It's okay, Starlight." He reaches out for your hand. He brings it towards his lips and presses three kisses to the top of your delicate skin. "I love you." He releases your hand.

Closing your eyes, you try your hardest not to cry. "I love you too."

Taking the cord, you connect it into the small port hidden behind his ear. Plugging it into your tablet, the hologram of his software pops up. You start taking away the coding of his software.

"The software update should take about four hours."

"Okay. Get some sleep while it updates." He glances over at you.

Crawling across the bed closer to him, you lean down and press your lips to his. You kiss him like this is the last time you might get to kiss him. "I'll be right next to you when you wake." You can't help the salty tears that slide down your cheeks.

He reaches up resting his hand on your cheek. "I'll see you in a little while."

He pulls his hand away. You start the updating process. His eyes turn bright blue before they go completely dark as he shuts down.

For the first hour of his update, you lay in bed next to him, watching the tablet to make sure nothing goes wrong. You stay awake until your eyes have grown too tired to stay open.

You dream of Joshua. You dream of a life away from this neon city. You find yourself laying in the tall grass under the warm sun, curled up in his arms. On your finger is a matching gold band that both you and him wear. There's a warmth that fills your chest, that he's your husband.

You're woken up to the feeling of the bed moving. Your eyes slowly flutter open, and you find Joshua awake, laying next to you.

"Joshua?" You’re terrified he won't have his memories.

"Hi, Starlight."

"Are you okay?" You push yourself up.

He nods and gives you a smile. "All my memories are still there."

All the worries that have been eating away at you instantly disappear. Your eyes instantly start to water.

"Baby, don't cry." He hates seeing you upset.

"I was so worried." You push the blanket off you. You push yourself up and crawl into his lap. He rests his hand on your cheek, brushing away your salty tears.

"I'm okay. No need to worry anymore."

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you crash your lips into his.

His strong hands roam your back under your shirt. You pull away from the kiss, long enough to pull off your shirt.

Joshua maneuvers both of you so you're on your back and he's hovering over you.

He leans in, pressing multiple kisses on your lips before he starts leaving a trail of kisses across your jaw and down your neck.

Not much is said as he kisses away his across your chest, taking his time to toy with each of you nipples. He tags his tongue across your stomach. He stops at the top of your panties.

You're impatient and just want him to touch you. "Shua—" you plead.

Hooking his fingers into the top of your panties, he slides them down your thigh. Lying in the bed, completely bare, you stare at him with a mixture of lust and love in your eyes.

"What do you want, Starlight?" Normally, you would tell him to fuck you, but right now, you don't want that. You want him to be as close as possible as he can be to you.

"I just want you."

A smile tugs at his lips. He hops off the bed and makes quick work of removing his sweatpants.

"I don't need foreplay, I just want you."

He walks over to the dresser and pulls out the little container of lube. Even though his cock is self lubricating, he needs to make sure you're wet enough for him. He crawls on to the bed towards you. Clicking the container open, he pours some of the cool lube onto your core. He takes his time massaging you and helping to prep you for his massive size. He clicks it shut again and starts pumping his length, helping to lube up his cock.

Spreading your legs wide, you welcome him. Sex between you is always passionate, and can sometimes be on the rougher side. Right now you don't want that. You just want things to be nice and slow.

He pushes the tip of his cock in, earning a gasp from you. "You feel so good."

Your hand talons into his shoulder pulling him closer to you. You want him as physically close as he can be. His nose rests against yours as he pushes the rest the way in, the tip of his length is kissing your cervix.

He's resting on his knees, practically plastered against you. Reaching up, you hold his face in your hands. He's not moving, he's giving your body a moment to adjust to his size.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." You say as tears slide down your cheek.

"You're the best thing that could have ever happened to me." He gives you a smile that makes you feel like mush. "I can't imagine a life where I'm not by your side."

He starts moving at a slow but deep pace. The room is filled with echoing sounds of skin hitting skin and your moans and whimpers.

Your hands roam his body, touching anywhere you can possibly reach. His lips are constantly on yours, or kissing the side of your neck. He gently nips at your skin, definitely leaving marks in his wake.

The feeling of his cock stretching you out, with each thrust is intoxicating. Reaching between your bodies, your fingers toy with your clit, helping to push you closer and closer to the edge.

"Baby I can tell you're close." He moans against your neck.

You rub your sensitive clit harder, pushing you closer to the edge. He pulls back so he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. He lifts one of your legs resting it against his chest. He moves your hand away from your core. He rests his hand on your mound, and with his thumb he starts quickly rubbing your clit. Every muscle in your body tightens. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a loud moan. You high hits you like a ton of bricks.

Your orgasm hits hard and fast. Joshua never stops moving. He picks up his pace a little, chasing his own release.

"Please cum." You beg him.

He drops your leg and moves so he's hovering over you again. He crashes his lips into yours as he comes hard. He feels you to the brim with his sweet release.

Slowly, he stops moving, but doesn't pull out. He pulls his face away from yours and gives you the sweetest smile. "I love you."

Gently you tap his lower back three times. "I love you too."

He drags his thumb across your tear stained cheeks.

"I'm sleepy." You sigh.

"Let me clean you up, and then you can sleep."

Joshua slowly removes himself from you, before he takes his time cleaning you up. Neither of you bother getting dressed for bed, you both curl up in bed naked together.

OH THE LAVENDER HAZE

It's three in the morning and everyone is together for the big heist. Everything your crew has been working towards has led up tonight. Standing in Seungcheol's apartment you watch him as he stands in the kitchen area, talking to the girl who lives with him. She looks just as concerned as you would be if Joshua was going on this mission without you. The whole entire crew is here tonight.

Seungcheol walks back in. "Alright, here is the plan."

The plan is to split off into three separate crews. Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Joshua will go in Mingyu's car where he'll act as the getaway driver.

Vernon, Chan, Jihoon, are gonna be running security outside the building.

You and Minghao are going to be breaking into the security office with Soonyoung to shut down the whole system and copy all the files.

"Any questions or concerns?" Seungcheol asks.

"Do we have another person with Starry and Hao?" Wonwoo asks. You glance over at Joshua to see he looks anxious. Soonyoung is a very capable person of keeping both of you safe. Soonyoung can be vicious and even deadly if he needs to be. You've seen him get into fights and they're terrifying. Minghao is also extremely capable of protecting both of you. The gun he keeps tucked into his waistband and the knife he keeps concealed is enough to keep you safe. You're pretty confident in your own fighting abilities. When you joined the crew, Soonyoung and Wonwoo taught you to fight to protect yourself.

"We'll be okay." You chime in.

Joshua grabs your hand. He instantly squeezes it and stares at you with the same anxious look.

"Let's go."

"I'm team one, Jihoon you're team two, and Soonyoung you're team three." Seungcheol says.

Everyone starts heading out of the apartment. You and Joshua linger behind for a moment. He takes your face in both hands. He smiles before leaning in for a searing kiss. It definitely feels as if this could be a goodbye kiss and that's scary. Joshua's team is not going to have it easy. They're going to have to take out a lot of guards.

"I love you, be safe." You say with your lips against his.

"I love you too, and you be safe as well. Listen to Hao and Soonyoung. They will both keep you safe."

Following everyone down to the cars, you get in the back seat of the car Soonyoung is driving.

It's pouring outside. The rain leaves the asphalt with a neon turquoise glow.

Reaching into your bag, you pull out Joshua's tablet. You open it up and immediately his hologram pops up. You scroll through his coding, making sure there are absolutely no errors in sight.

Minghao glances into the back seat. "He's going to be fine."

"I know." You close the tablet and stick it back in your bag. "I'm just worried."

"Quit stressing about your robo boy. He's going to be fine." Soonyoung chimes in.

Arriving at the FleXeon building, Minghao already has the cameras up. You're working on shutting down their alarm system. Mingyu's car pulls up behind you. Soonyoung reaches into his bag and pulls out ear pieces for all three of you.

"No matter what happens, you both need to listen to me." He says. You and Soonyoung might butt heads often, but you're well aware he's a good leader. He'll make sure nothing goes wrong. Getting out of the car, the three of you pull up your mask and your hoods. The rain helps your cover.

The alarm system is fully down and Minghao has tricked the system into thinking nothing is wrong. After many nights casing this place, Soonyoung leads you both off to the side door that's near the security office.

He makes quick work, knocking two guards unconscious. The three of you rush down to the hall to the security room. Minghao immediately plugs his device in and works on shutting down the security system.

Soonyoung is standing at the door with his gun drawn. You watch him carefully for a moment before you start sorting through the system coding.

The second you're into the file database you start making copies of everything.

-

The moment Soonyoung gives the signal that everything is clear, Seungcheol leads team one into the building. Seungcheol's goal tonight is to not only steal all the company's data, but to also steal any tech they're storing.

Heading up to the lab is where they encounter their first batches of guards. Seungcheol's original plan was to knock them unconscious, but when one of them sends a bullet slicing through Joshua's synthetic skin, that's when things take a turn. Jeonghan and Wonwoo are both incredibly good shots. The two of them take down most of the guards while Seungcheol and Joshua knock out the others.

Walking up to the lab door, they're relieved to see that the lock’s been shut off. Stepping inside Joshua winces at the sight of different androids like him. Some of them aren't fully built, while others look like they're fully operational.

Joshua walks over towards this. Wonwoo puts his hand on his shoulder. "We'll get them later."

Seungcheol starts searching around. He finds a latch that opens another door. In there they find the machine that makes lavender haze.

"Got ‘em." Seungcheol starts snapping photos of everything. He grabs his duffle bag and starts filling it with close to a million dollars worth of lavender haze. Jeonghan disappears for a while and comes back holding wads of cash.

"Where is that from?" Joshua asks.

"I found a room with a safe in it."

"How did you get the safe open?" Seungcheol asks.

"I shot it, obviously."

Wonwoo barks out a laugh, and Seungcheol just rolls his eyes.

"Wonwoo, go with Jeonghan and start filling all the bags with the money. Joshua, start taking the androids to the van."

-

Through the security camera's tablet, you watch as Joshua moves through the building quickly. He's carrying as many androids as he can to the van Mingyu is in. Mingyu is helping load them into the back quickly.

Tapping away at your computer, you know you probably have another twenty minutes until you have all the data copied over. Your goal once you're done is to send a virus to FleXeon’s system. You and Minghao worked together to make itto nearly impossible to stop viruses.

"How is team one doing?" Minghao asks Soonyoung.

"Cheol says they need another thirty."

"I can keep the system down." You respond, not bothering to look up from your device.

"I found all the hidden files for the formula for lavender haze." Minghao chimes in.

"Make double copies of that."

These passing twenty minutes are some of the most stressful of your life. The data has finished copying and you're making sure to monitor the cameras. Your eyes go wide when you see more security heading towards the room you're in.

"Soonyoung, code red."

"Fuck." He says. "Code red, code red." He says into his com.

"Minghao, are you good?"

"Yeah. We have everything copied."

"Launch the virus." You respond. You start typing away. You launch the virus into the system.

Seconds later, Soonyoung starts shooting down the hall. You hear Seungcheol yelling over the com to clear out. You and Minghao move quickly to grab all your stuff. Reaching into his waistband, he pulls out a gun, and Minghao holds it out to you. Without even thinking, you grab it. He grabs another gun from his bag.

Soonyoung grabs ammo from his bag, reloading the gun. "Hao, guard Starry and get her out of here."

Minghao turns to you. He takes your face in both his hands. You must look terrified. You've been with this group for a long time, and this is the first time you're worried you might die because of a job. "Starry, I promise you won't get hurt."

"Okay."

"Stay behind me, and keep your gun drawn." He keeps holding your face. "Joshua will kill us all if we let you get hurt."

"Fuck what about Shua?" You realize if you're in a gun fight it might not be clear at the lab.

"He's fine." He releases your face. "Just hold my hand until I let go." He takes your hand in his.

"Okay, go." Soonyoung gives you the signal.

Another set of guards are running up. Minghao leads you out towards the door with his gun drawn. He takes two shots by the two guards blocking the door.

"Run." He shouts. You run next to him with your gun drawn.

You practically throw your body against the doo,r breaking your way outside. Soonyoung follows behind you.

Standing in the pouring rain you look over towards Mingyu's van to see him and Joshua soaking wet, loading a machine into the back. The moment Joshua turns and looks at you, he pushes his wet dark hair away from his face. Instantly, you see the tear in his jacket, and the slice in his arm. You're frozen in place staring at him.

Gun fire rings out, startling you. Minghao grabs your hand dragging you towards the car.

You see Jihoon and his team sprinting towards the van. Soonyoung grabs you from Minghao and practically throws you into the back seat. The car speeds away before you can even react. Looking out the window, you watch as team one breaks out of the building with guards following behind them.

Your eyes water thinking about the danger you're leaving behind. It's the dead of night and the fluorescent city, is a buzz with the sound of blaring sirens. Soonyoung drives like a mad man to get back to Seungcheol's place.

Salty tears slide down your cheek as you think about the chaos that has unfolded. Minghao's phone rings and he's quick to answer. He doesn't say much, you just hear him repeat yes over and over. He hangs up the phone and is instantly calling another person.

Soonyoung glances in the mirror looking back at you. Quickly you avert your eyes, the last thing you need is him teasing you about the fact that you're crying.

"Seokmin." Minghao says. That name immediately catches your attention. You know he's a medic. He's stitched up the boys a few times. Your heart sinks, and nausea hits you quickly. "It's Jeonghan and Wonwoo."

The car is silent for a moment outside the sounds of distant sirens and the rain hitting the car.

"Not fatal. Jeonghan was shot in the shoulder and Wonwoo in the ribs." He pauses again. "Cheol said Wonwoo was grazed pretty deeply."

"Soonyoung—"

"They're fine." He quickly responds. "Hao said he's not fatal. Seokmin will stitch them up.”

"Just meet us at Cheol's asap." Minghao hangs up.

Soonyoung pulls into the dark parking garage. Getting out of the car, you grab yourself. Soonyoung looks around making sure you're not being watched. You all rush towards the elevator.

Minghao presses the button and instantly the doors slide open. Stepping inside, Soonyoung quickly hits the close button over and over.

The elevator rattles as it heads up to the tenth floor. You blankly stare down at your shoes.

"They're fine." Minghao finally speaks. "They just need stitches."

The doors slide open. You all practically run down the hall to Seungcheol's apartment. Soonyoung punches in the code, and the door slides open. Sitting on the couch near the window, you find the sweet girl who lives with Seungcheol. She jumps at the sudden intrusion.

Soonyoung puts up his hands letting her know we aren't a threat. "It's just us. Seungcheol is on his way home."

"Is he okay?" You've never actually heard her speak before. Her voice is quiet and full of fear.

"Yeah he is." Soonyoung slowly puts his hands down. Silently she gets off the couch and rushes out of the room.

Minghao grabs his bag and walks over to the table. "Can I have the drive with the lavender haze formula?"

You reach into your pocket and grab one of the two drives that hold the information. You toss it over to him. He plugs it into his computer and starts typing away.

"What are you doing?" Soonyoung asks.

"I'm concealing some of the formula and anonymously leaking it."

There is a knock on the door. Soonyoung grabs his gun and walks over. He pulls the door open with his gun drawn. Instantly he puts it down at the sight of Seokmin.

Seokmin comes in and starts getting out all the supplies he'll need.

The door flings open and the rest of the crew follows in. Wonwoo limps in with the help of Joshua and Mingyu. Jeonghan is being helped by Seungcheol. Jihoon, Chan and Vernon follow in behind them.

Joshua stares at you with wide eyes. Everything is so chaotic that neither of you have time to talk.

"Vernon, do you remember how to do stitches?" Seokmin asks.

"Yeah." Vernon walks towards him.

"Okay, I'm going to need you to take Wonwoo to the restroom and full-clean out his wound and then stitch him up." Seokmin reaches into his bag and pulls out everything Vernon will need. "Mingyu and Soonyoung please help Vernon."

Everyone listens to Seokmin and takes Wonwoo off to the bathroom. Seungcheol brings Jeonghan towards Seokmin.

"We need to remove his jacket and I need to see if there is an exit wound." Jihoon and Seungcheol take a very dazed Jeonghan into the kitchen.

Joshua rushes towards you. He pulls you into his chest and kisses the top of your head. "Starlight, I was so worried about you."

"I'm fine, Hao and Soonyoung kept me safe." You pull away and glance at his torn synthetic skin. "I need to fix this later."

"Okay."

You hear Jeonghan scream. You take off towards the kitchen where you see Seungcheol holding him down as Seokmin is digging the bullet out of his shoulder.

You wince when you see a very obviously in pain Jeonghan let out another scream. You walk closer to him. He's turning his head away from his injury, wincing.

Reaching out, you rest your hand on his cheek. "Hannie, it's okay." His eyes go wide looking at you. "It's okay." You wish there was some way you could soothe him.

"Chan, get me a syringe of numbing meds from my bag." Seokmin shouts.

Moments later, Chan comes rushing in. Seokmin gives Jeonghan a full shot of the numbing meds. His eyes droop slightly as they instantly take effect.

Joshua grabs your hand, leading you away from the chaos. Moving into the living room, you sit on the couch feeling dazed. Wonwoo comes out of the bathroom with the help of Mingyu.

They sit next to each other on the other couch. Seokmin shouts for Joshua's help. He leaves you alone for a moment. Seungcheol heads out the kitchen and instantly heads towards the room Angel is in. He must be going to check on her.

Joshua walks out of the kitchen carrying Jeonghan. Jihoon leads them off towards Seungcheol's room. Seokmin walks out of the kitchen with his shirt stained with blood. Soonyoung walks of the bathroom.

"Is Jeonghan okay?" Soonyoung asks.

"Yeah. We knocked him out because he was in pain, but the bullet is out and stitched up. Luckily, it missed all the major arteries." Seokmin says.

Seungcheol heads back in and gives everyone the run down and then gives everyone a bag with money in it.

"This is just cash. I'll have more coming later." He lets out a sigh and pushes his fingers through his hair. "We can have another meeting in a couple days when Jeonghan is feeling better."

"Breaking news." The tv turns on blaring. "FleXeon is being exposed for producing the very illegal drug known as lavender haze. Police arrived on site now at the CEO house. The company is now under investigation."

Soonyoung barks out a laugh. "Looks like we were successful."

"Everyone keep your heads low for a little while." Seungcheol says.

MEET ME IN THE AFTERGLOW

Arriving back at your apartment, you sit down Joshua at the table and work on fixing his arm that's sliced open.

"They missed your wiring." His wiring is essentially his arteries. "If they hit those I might have had to rewire your arm." You know he's listening to you, but he's completely silent as he stares at the floor in front of him. "This is a simple fix."

"Does this feel weird having to fix your robot boyfriend? If I was human you wouldn't have to worry about my wiring." He glances up at you.

"If you were human, you could have been in bad shape like Wonwoo and Jeonghan." At this point you prefer he's a robot. You never have to worry about him getting sick or hurt like that.

"Do you wish I was human?" There's a deep rooted sadness behind his eyes.

"No, not at all. I promise, I've never once wished you were human." You aren't lying. Never once have you had that thought. You finish working on his arm, and move so you're standing in front of him.

"I wish I was human."

Reaching out you take his face in both hands. "I've never wanted you to be anything else." His eyes are wide and glossy. Slowly you drag your thumb across his cheek. "I love you for who you are."

"I love you too." He closes his eyes leaning into your touch. Leaning down you press your lips into his for a sweet kiss.

Stepping back, you walk off into the kitchen to wash your hands. Looking over, you watch as Joshua stands up. He walked over to the big window that looks out into the city. In the distance, the sun is starting to rise. The sky is becoming shades of cotton candy pink and orange.

"When I heard the first gun shot, I was scared they were going to take you from me." Joshua says as he blankly stares towards the windows.

Walking over, you stand in front of him and wrap your arms around his stomach. "I was scared too, but I knew the boys would keep me safe."

"Starlight, look at me please." You step back and look up at him. "Right now, I just want to be with you."

"Okay."

You aren't surprised when he reaches down and picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Crashing your lips into his, you kiss him as if you need him to breathe.

He pulls his lips away long enough to lead you both to the bedroom. In between kisses, you both strip away your clothes.

Laying on the bed with your legs spread wide, he eats you out like a man starved. He plays with you until you fall apart not once but twice. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close to your needy pussy.

Crawling up your body, he crashes his lips into yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it's absolutely intoxicating.

You aren't sure what his plan is, but all you know is you want him in any possible way. He grinds his already hard length against your core over and over, until you're moaning into his mouth. Practically on the brink of falling apart again.

"Shua—" you whine as he pulls away.

He moves so he's sitting with his back against the headboard. You waste no time crawling across the bed to get to him.

Sitting on his lap, you card your fingers through his dark hair. Lifting your hips, you reach down, lining his cock up with your needy entrance. Ever so slowly, you sink down on his length, inch by thick inch. He's snug inside you, but neither of you move. He looks up at you with needy eyes.

Neither of you seem to have any desire to move. You could sit on his cock for hours, and he would do anything to stay inside you forever.

"I have never and will never love anyone like I love you." You can't explain the love you feel for him.

"We may not be able to get married, but you're my wife." His sweet words earn a smile from you. He's never called you his wife, but you could get used to him calling you that.

"Are you going to buy me a ring with the money we just got?" You hold up your bare hand. You could actually care less about a ring, you honestly just want to tease him a little.

"I'll buy you anything you could possibly want." Leaning forward, he presses his lips to yours for a searing kiss. "Anything my pretty wife could ever want, I'll give her." He says between kisses.

Lifting your hips, you pull yourself off of him, until only the tip is left inside. You tug his hair back so he's looking up at you. Slowly you drop back down. He's so long he's practically bruising your cervix. Rolling your hips, your clit brushes against his pelvis.

Joshua's hands are anywhere they can touch. He doesn't help guide your movements yet. He'll help you move once he knows you're too tired.

Biting your bottom lip, you try your hardest to hold back your moans. His wet lips start leaving a trail of kisses from your jaw down to your breast. He takes his time teasing each of your pert nipples. He gently bites your nipple earning a moan.

"Josh—" you cry out.

He pulls away smiling. "Baby you feel so good."

You pick up your pace, desperately chasing your high. Reaching down your fingers quickly start rubbing your clit.

"I love watching you play with yourself." He moans with his lips against your neck.

Your orgasm is like a white hot ecstasy. Throwing your head back you cry out in pleasure. Salty tears slide down your cheeks at the overwhelming feeling. You two have had a lot of sex, but this feels extra intense. Your walls flutter around his cock like an erratic heartbeat. Your lips are parted as mindless moans pass your lips over and over.

Without saying anything, his large hands grip your hips and he helps guide you up and down his massive length. Your high is barely settled and he's pushing you right to the edge all over again.

"Fuck—" you whine.

"Can you cum again?" He asks.

Wordlessly you nod. He's fucked you to the point you aren't even sure if you can form proper words. He’s guiding you up and down, practically impaling you on his massive length over and over again.

Your orgasm hits both of you at the same time. He holds you down flush against him as he fills you to the brim with his sweet and sticky release.

Your body goes limp leaning against him. His hand runs up and down your back slowly, helping you relax.

"You did so good." He knows exactly how to praise you. Your mind can't process much other than the two mind numbing orgasms you just had back to back.

"Baby, I need to clean you up."

"Just let me lay here." You sigh.

He lets you stay sitting on his lap for about twenty minutes before he forces you to take a shower with him.

After showering you don't even bother getting dressed for bed after he dries you off. Curled up in bed together, your head is resting on his chest. Mindlessly he's drawing different shapes on your back.

"If you want, we could have a little wedding with our group. It doesn't have to be official, but they'll be there to witness us getting married." You say.

"I would like that. I meant it when I said you're my wife."

"And you're my husband."

What you have may not be conventional by any means. But the love you feel for each other is what people dream about finding. You know there is still a lot to be done by making sure FleXeon doesn't come back, and you and Minghao need to work on reprogramming the FleXeon androids. But for just a little while, you want to have time with Joshua. You don't want to think about an evil corporation. You just want to think about the future you have with Joshua.

However, to you, the idea of having to marry a stranger for the sake of alliance and not out of love felt like a death sentence. The idea of surrendering your virtue and your body to some foreign prince who saw you as nothing but a bargaining chip made your stomach churn uncomfortably. 

So instead of sleeping, you find yourself at the archery range behind the eastern stables, long after the castle has fallen into slumber. 

The moon stands proud and high in the sky, washing over the training grounds and the dew-kissed grass with pale light. You’d dismissed the guards earlier with sharp words about needing fresh air, which was both a lie and a truth. Now, you’re standing in your nightgown, nocking another arrow onto your bowstring with shaking fingers. You’ve been here long enough that you could feel the painful creases in your hands from wielding the bow for so long. Out of frustration, perhaps. 

As you prepare your stance and aim, you let the arrow fly, but it runs wide and embeds itself into the outer ring of the target with a dull thud. 

You let out an irritated groan, already reaching for another arrow from your quiver. But as you prepare to fit the arrow onto your bowstring, a pair of heavy footsteps from behind makes you freeze for a moment, before your shoulders relax. Only one man moved with that quiet, confident stride.

“Princess.”

The deep voice sends a shivering thrill down your spine that has nothing to do with the chilly air.

When you finally turn around, that’s when you see him𑁋Sir Kim Mingyu emerging from the shadows, wearing a dark tunic and breeches instead of his usual armour, with his sword still strapped to his hip. His broad frame casts long shadows across the grass, dark hair slightly disheveled from the breeze, his eyes flickering between your trembling hands, to the poorly shot arrow, then back to your face. Even in the nightfall, you can see the concern etched in his perfectly sculpted features.

He has always been one of the most successful knights in the kingdom𑁋strong, loyal, and overwhelmingly skilled with both blade and blow. Ever since he had been assigned to protect you personally three years ago, he had always been in your shadow; although at some point in time, he started feeling less like a shadow and more like a presence you silently yearned for.

Mingyu pauses a few paces away from you.  

“You should not be here at this hour,” he says, though his tone is more sincere than scolding. “It is not safe. Even with the castle asleep, there are eyes everywhere.” 

You lower the bow in guilt, fingers aching from the string. “I am aware.”

“Would you like me to escort you back to your𑁋”

“No!” You cut in sharply, before wincing at your tone and softening it. “I… I cannot go back. Not at this moment.”

Mingyu studies you for a long minute, the moonlight catching the sharp line of his jaw almost makes him appear ethereal. He doesn’t move closer𑁋not yet𑁋but he doesn’t retreat either. He can sense the anger surrounding you, clearly expressed by the way you seem to be striking the target, not aiming. 

And from years of watching over you, he knows when not to put more pressure on a wound that’s been hurting from the inside. He knows this perhaps more better than anyone. 

But he also knows it’s not his duty to assist you in that way. His duty is to protect you physically and nothing more. Not to soothe whatever ache may be plaguing your heart, or cross that invisible line that’s stood tauntingly right in front of him for years, just like now. Emotion has never been part of the oath he took. 

Yet… he still takes a step forward, then another, and another, until he stops directly ahead of you. 

“Let me assist you then,” Mingyu assures softly.

You scoff at that, rolling your eyes. “You are not on duty.”

His lips curve up into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “When have I ever been off-duty where you are concerned, princess?” 

That sends a lump to form in your throat and your heart thundering against your ribs. You almost want to push him away and order him to leave you alone, but his presence alone in front of you wraps around you like a comforting hug that you’ve always longed for. It’s almost enough to stop the restlessness coursing through your veins, if only for a single moment.

You hand him the bow and quiver. He takes it without hesitation, his large, calloused hand brushing over yours and sending warmth racing up your arm. Then he places himself directly behind you, close enough you can feel the heating radiating from his broad chest even through his tunic. 

“Show me your stance,” he orders. 

Biting at your bottom lip, you spin on your heel to face the target, bringing your arms up and positioning them as if you’re wielding an invisible bow. 

Mingyu’s eyes slowly trace over you𑁋over the line of your shoulder and the delicate curve of your spine beneath your nightgown. For a split second, his breath catches and his jaw clenches. He forces himself to focus back on your posture instead of allowing it to run lower. Gods, it feels debauched to think of you in that way. 

He steps closer until his chest is nearly flushed with your back, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill of the night. 

“May I, my lady?” he asks, letting his hands hover over your waist.

My lady. You’ve been referred by that term many times𑁋from the maids, servants, and the townspeople whenever you visited the villages. But it strikes you like an arrow whenever it comes out of his mouth. 

You swallow hard. “Yes.”

The second Mingyu’s hands settle on your waist, a spark races through your body. His large palms span over the thin silk of your nightgown. He smells faintly of earthy cedarwood, a scent you’ve come to associate with safety and comfort whenever he draws close to you. The roughness of his calloused skin drags across yours as he gently adjusts your posture, guiding your hips into a more steady alignment. 

You sense him step away briefly before caging his arms around you once more, his hands enveloping yours as he brings the bow back into your grasp. It feels more steadier in your hold with his strength supporting you, though you’re certain he can hear the way your pulse is racing against the wall of his chest.

His fingers press lightly over yours as he helps you fit the arrow into place, his thumbs innocently grazing the back of your hand. 

“Easy now,” Mingyu murmurs lowly, his voice devastatingly close to your ear. “You are trembling like a leaf in my arms, princess.”

Your breath catches. “I am not.”

“You are.” 

“The night is cold, that is why.”

“Then I shall keep Your Highness warm, yes?” Mingyu quips amusedly, chuckling lightly at the small pout that crosses your face when he peers down at you with that familiar soft charm. The sound vibrates against your back. You hate how easily he’s able to unravel you. “Now, breathe in with me, princess.”

You do𑁋you try to, at least𑁋drawing back a singular breath in rhythm with him. Your eyes falter to a fleeting close as you bask in his warmth and presence. Mingyu then guides both of your grasps together in pulling back the string of the bow.

“That’s it, good girl,” he mutters softly, the praise landing in that deep timbre before you have time to brace it; it almost makes you break your stance. “Focus.”

Mingyu notices it as well, a quiet yet sharp inhale leaving him and ghosting over the sensitive caress of your neck. He presses his body more against you, his large arms wrapping more securely, almost possessively, around you. How can you possibly focus when he’s tangled around you like this? 

Together, you slowly pull the bowstring taut. The world suddenly narrows to the whisper of his voice and the strength of his arms caging you in. 

“Release,” he commands. 

The arrow flies. 

And hits the centre of the clay target with a satisfying swipe. 

What possesses you in the next moment is beyond proper, maybe even beyond reckless. A wide grin splits your face in half, and before you can even process it, you’re turning around and enveloping your arms around Mingyu without a second thought. The bow and quiver clatters forgotten to the ground. 

You end up shifting your weight on him a little too eagerly from the buzz of excitement coursing through your limbs. Mingyu tries to steady you, but𑁋even in his tall and strong form𑁋it throws him helplessly off balance at the same time. He twists instinctively around you, hugging an arm around your waist while the other braces against the grass. 

The two of you end up falling in a heap on the ground, a startled yelp escaping your lips when the world tilts all too suddenly. But Mingyu absorbs most of the impact himself while shielding you from the worst of it. 

The air leaves his lungs in a soft grunt. 

It takes you an entire minute to realise what just happened. Now you find your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, with your nightgown pooled over his thighs. Mingyu lies directly beneath you, his dark hair fanned across the ground, staring up at you with equally surprised eyes that quickly soften into something… fond. You swear that you feel all the anxious thoughts that had been consuming your mind as of late disappear just from the comfort of his presence alone. 

You can’t help but gaze down at him for a long moment, taking in the way the moonlight paints his features in a silver glow, how it highlights his nose to the point you’re able to detect the small mole on the tip of it. When the corners of his mouth begin to lift up, that’s when you push yourself off him.

“I𑁋my apologies,” You sputter out of panic as you roll off of him, your face burning with embarrassment. “I did not mean to𑁋I just got excited because we𑁋Gods above, I cannot believe I practically tackled you.”

A deep chuckle rumbles out of Mingyu’s chest. He turns on his side instead of getting up, propping his head up on one hand. “You have nothing to apologise for, princess.”

You shake your head, brushing away some dirt clinging to the ends of your nightgown. “It was very much undignified.”

Mingyu’s grin only widens. “Undignified?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve survived worse battles, my lady,” he retorts playfully. “Trust me. If I can handle a sword tournament, then I am certain I can handle being attacked by an overzealous princess.” 

You blink down at him, processing his ridiculous words, when a laugh tumbles out of you before you could stop it. A real laugh. Not one of those polished ones out of courtesy that you were taught during etiquette lessons𑁋it’s the kind of laugh that causes your nose to wrinkle and your shoulders to uncontrollably shake off whatever decorum you have left. 

You don’t even notice the enchanted expression on Mingyu’s face until reality sinks back in again and the silence returns. A distant owl from somewhere calls beyond the stables. You feel your throat tighten. 

“I… I must return back to my chambers,” You say as you stand up, smoothing down the creases in your nightgown. “I do not want to be scolded about my rebellious behaviour again, neither do I want the maids to be reprimanded.”

Mingyu watches you with a thoughtful expression, the moonlight threading through his lashes. He’s always secretly adored the rebellious side of you𑁋perhaps it gave him a sliver of hope at times. Then with a reluctant exhale, he rises up from the ground, retrieves your fallen bow and quiver, and falls into step behind you like a shadow. 

“As you wish, princess,” he states, returning back to his composed demeanour. “I shall escort you back to your chambers safely.”

You think you’ve tried on over fifty dresses at this point.

Maybe even more, to be honest. You had been standing so long that the sun had almost shifted across the entire sky. Your limbs ache from being continuously prodded at by the seamstresses and your spine feels as if it’s going to crack with every gown that you try on, each one different than the last. There was crimson for passion and power, ivory for purity and virtue. 

The small comments the servants had been making throughout the session have left a permanent sour taste on your tongue. 

“The lower neckline ought to certainly entice Prince Moon of Wolhae…” 

“And the embroidery here on the train matches perfectly with Prince Lee of Seongguk…”

“Her Highness has lovely shoulders. They should be emphasised…”

You stare blankly at yourself in the full-length mirror that stood in front of you mockingly. Gods, you appear almost unrecognisable. Your lips are stained rose, your hair twisted into an elaborate hairstyle it feels as if your scalp is screaming for mercy, and this latest gown cinches your waist so tightly you’re basically buried in silk and feel almost lightheaded. 

Then, you find your eyes instinctively drifting to the figure stationed at the corner of the room.

Mingyu is standing motionless like a statue, yet you can sense that familiar commanding presence of his even when he isn’t doing anything. He’s wearing his silver knight armour, the polished plates gleaming underneath the natural rays of sunlight pouring into the room. His gaze seems to have travelled elsewhere in the room out of respect.

But for the briefest second, his eyes meet with yours in the mirror.

Your cheeks burn instantly.

“Your Highness?” a voice suddenly strips you out of your thoughts.

You blink at one of the seamstresses holding out a pair of necklace options to you, looking at you expectantly. 

“Would you prefer sapphire or emerald?” she asks. “In my opinion, I believe the emerald would compliment your skin beautifully… although sapphire would draw attention from Prince Kang of Wangbi. His house colours are blue, after all.” 

Her words stab you straight through the heart.

Your eyes dauntingly flicker between the two options. They’re both extravagantly beautiful, without a doubt meaning to mark you as available, desirable, ready for whichever prince offered the best fit for the kingdom, not for you. Only the kingdom. Love was perhaps an unattainable concept of fiction in the world you’ve been raised in since birth. 

The truth of it makes you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 

“Neither of them,” You deadpan quietly at first, before your voice raises more sharply, “I cannot bear anymore of this nonsense.”

The room freezes and collectively falls into a hushed silence. You see all the seamstresses exchange nervous glances with each other, all of them hesitating together. 

“But Your Highness, we must perfect any altercations for the𑁋”

“I do not care!” You snap back harshly, heat brimming in your eyelids. “I am exhausted from all the fittings and the expectations of the upcoming ball. So, please… leave me at peace. That is an order.”

For a moment, no one dares to speak, before the head seamstress bows deeply and begins to gather all the fabrics, pins, jewelry, and ribbons scattered around the room, not wanting to worsen the situation more than it already is. The other seamstresses follow in swift panic, and you watch them slip out of the door one at a time. 

Until you’re alone in the room.

Well, not entirely alone. 

Mingyu still remains. 

A trembling breath leaves you all at once. The slightest movement makes your knees wobble as you’re still wearing this awful gown. It feels too tight, too suffocating, and you want nothing more than to rip out every sewn pearl out of its wedge. 

You start with that by tearing off the pins in your hair and letting it clatter onto the floor. Strands of your hair finally tumble out of its confinement, making your scalp sigh in relief. Then you try to wipe the stain off your lips with the back of your hand, but it relents and only leaves a faint smear across your skin. 

Frustration boils even harder, and before you can stop yourself, you reach behind your back to tug viciously at the laces of the gown. 

“Traitorous dress,” You murmur under your breath self-depracatingly. “How dare they taint my body with their expectations…”

When your attempts to loosen the bodice comes to no avail, your shoulders sag to the floor in defeat. But as you lift your eyes back to the mirror, that’s when you spot Mingyu again. He’s shifted in your direction slightly, still rigidly standing in the corner in silence. You clench and unclench your fists at your side. 

“Sir Mingyu?” You call out to him.

Mingyu immediately shifts his attention to you. “You called, princess?”

“May…” You bite your lip shyly, glancing at him over your shoulder. “May you grant me some assistance?”

“Of course, my lady,” he responds solemnly, his eyes flitting down to where you’re weakly tugging at the strings of your gown. “Would you like for me to call in the maids?”

“I… no, I do not wish for the maids or anyone, for that matter.” You shake your head. “I… I am seeking your help.”

A stunned pause from him. “My help?”

“Yes,” You say, voice hammering in your chest as you spin on your heel to face him with an exhausted, pleading look. “Please… I feel as if I cannot breathe in this.”

Mingyu sucks in a sharp breath. He hesitates once again, conflict flickering in his dark brown eyes, before he inclines his head in a shallow bow. 

“As you command, princess.”

He crosses the room in three measured strides, the soft clink of his armour bouncing off the walls. You turn your back to him once more. In the mirror, you watch him approach you from behind. 

Mingyu slides his gauntlets off and sets them down on a nearby table before returning back to you. His nostrils flare visibly at the sight of your back offered to him, the beautiful line of your spine exposed willingly for him where the gown had already begun to slip. He’s standing way too close, close enough he can smell the lingering scent of jasmine on your skin.

“Sir Mingyu?” Your voice snaps him out of your thoughts.

He clears his throat soundly. “Yes?”

“Relieve me,” You croak out brokenly. “Please, I beg.” 

The soft plea strikes him in the chest like a blade. He mutters something under his breath that you can’t hear, despite the close proximity. With a shuddering inhale, his bare, trembling hands find their way to the laces, slowly beginning to pull them apart one by one. 

With each one loosened, you feel the suffocating weight of the dress slowly but surely dissipating away and giving you more room to breathe.

Mingyu keeps his eyes fixed on the laces𑁋tries to keep them fixed on the laces and nowhere else. His hands that are trained to wield swords and bows are surprisingly gentle with each one he undoes. Unbridled relief fills your ribs by the time he reaches the middle of your back, and you can’t help the little involuntary moan that leaves your mouth. 

His hands falter for a second from the sound. 

Gods above, help me.

The thoughts that swim around him are completely unbecoming of a knight. He has no right to notice how the silk of the gown parts beautifully like water, no right to think that if he leaned in a little more, he could brush his lips against the nape of your neck and breathe you in like a man begging to worship his lover. How it would be so easy for him to ruin his honour by ruining you instead. 

He would be gentle with you𑁋you are far too precious to be handled roughly. He would drop to his knees and worship you right there until the sun set and rose again if you requested, because the thought of some unworthy prince treating you like nothing but a prize at an auction angers him more than anything else. 

His armour suddenly feels too tight around his body. 

“Almost done, princess,” he mutters hoarsely. “Only a few more remain.” 

You nod nimbly at his words. You keep your eyes trained on the mirror as his hands continue the rest of their descent down your back, untying the rest of the lace. At one point, his knuckles accidentally graze the warm skin above your spine, causing you to flinch. Mingyu notices it right away. 

“My apologies,” he says and lets his hands hover above your skin, too afraid to continue. “I did not mean𑁋”

“It is alright,” You tell him. “I… I do not mind your touch.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw at that as he resumes the rest of the journey. By the time the last one is undone, he takes an immediate step back to give you more space to breathe, but the absence of his warmth hits you right away when the cool air caresses your skin. 

Slowly, you allow the gown to slip to the floor, leaving you in nothing but a thin and translucent chemise you had been wearing underneath. Mingyu redirects his eyes instinctively to give you whatever privacy he could𑁋always the honourable knight he is𑁋but his ears picks up the sounds of you shifting around the room for a few moments. 

You reach for a light robe draped on a nearby chair and slip it around your body, tying the sash around your waist. Then you turn back to Mingyu who is still facing away from you. A chuckle leaves you.

“You can look now, Sir Mingyu,” You assure him playfully.

Mingyu does not move right away. For a man who could read a battlefield like the lines on the back of his hand, he seems suddenly unsure how to interpret a simple room. But when he finally turns his head, he’s met with the sight of a faint smile across your face. 

You appear so vulnerable now. The gown from earlier had been extravagant, sure, but none could compare to this version of you standing in front of him𑁋the one who had stripped herself from all the frustrations the day placed on her. Gods above, Mingyu can stare at you all night and never tire if it means seeing you happy and comfortable in your own skin.

“You seem relieved,” he says, folding his arms over his chest.

A soft laugh escapes you. “That obvious?”

“Very much so,” Mingyu replies knowingly. “How are you faring?” 

A mixture of happiness and relief washes over your features simultaneously. You step up to the grand window and bask in the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the glass, letting out the deepest breath you never realised you’d been holding in this entire time. 

“Like I can breathe again,” You say, closing your eyes for a singular precious moment to allow the peace to wash over you. “Both physically and… metaphorically as well.”

Mingyu observes you for a few, long moments. Without hesitation, he steps up to the glass right beside you, his armour gleaming under the sunbeams. The window catches a perfect view of the rolling green hills up ahead and the royal gardens down below. 

The two of you stand in front of the window for a long while. Outside, the kingdom stretches out endlessly beneath the afternoon sky. The gardens bloom with a beautiful colour palette of serenity and rose quartz flowers and the rolling hills melt into distant mountain peaks that you’ve always dreamed of exploring if you ever got the chance to.

But you know you would never get that opportunity. You have always been confined to your duties as a princess since the very day you were brought into this world. The only world you’ve always known was within the walls of the castle and the expectations that came with it. 

As you were growing up, you’ve only ever yearned for something… more. Something real. Something where you can allow your heart to travel to wherever it desires without fear or consequence. To experience a love that wasn’t manufactured out of duty or arranged into existence. You’ve always wondered what real love feels like. 

You glance up at Mingyu ponderingly. 

“May I… ask you a question, Sir Mingyu?” You ask unsurely. 

Mingyu lifts a brow. “Of course, my lady.”

“Have you ever… courted a woman when you were younger?”

A flicker of surprise graces his features. He appears almost stunned to speak at first, his dark eyes widening slightly, before nostalgia softens his face. There’s a shadow of reluctance tucked behind his gaze as he ducks his head down briefly for a moment. Not to avoid, but to think.

“I… Yes, I have courted women back when I lived in the village, before knighthood,” he answers. “Most were fleeting though, and I have learned a lot from those experiences.”

You nod solemnly, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the next question you’re about to ask.

“Were you in love with any of them?”

Mingyu hums pensively. 

“There was one, yes. She was the baker’s daughter, while I was the blacksmith’s son,” Mingyu continues with a faint smile. “She always had the brightest laugh, and flour dusted her cheeks no matter how many times she wiped them.”

A knot in your stomach tightens from his words, the jealousy flashing through so irrationally. You hate how desperately you want to ask the name of who he speaks to fondly about; about whether or not she still occupies his heart to this day.

Mingyu notices the way you shift your feet uncomfortably.  

“But her father wanted her to marry another man, one with prospects and a bag full of coin.” He exhales slowly, letting his fingertips trace over the dust on the edge of the windowsill. “I had nothing to offer her, so… we parted ways ultimately. From what I hear, she is happily married with two children now.” 

That’s when you finally lift your eyes up at him, catching how the sunlight captures the warm brown of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” You mutter out quietly.

Mingyu just chuckles. “Do not be sorry, princess. It is all in the past.”

“Still,” You add in, shaking your head. “I have always thought of love as something… eternal. Lovers who stay together through thick and thin until the end of their days.”

Mingyu tilts his head curiously at you. “Has the topic of love been consuming your mind as of late, Your Highness?”

Heat rises through your cheeks at his question. For a heartbeat, you allow yourself to look at him. With Mingyu, you have always felt allowed to express yourself without the pretense of propriety. It’s always been easy with him, it seems. 

“Yes,” You confess bashfully. “It has.”

A heavy silence follows after your voice fades. A silence of contemplation and, oddly, comfort. You know if you speak such words to your parents or any other soul in the castle, they would look at you with nothing but disapproval and claim that your rebellious behaviour causes a negative look on the kingdom. 

Mingyu watches you carefully.

“Have you ever fallen in love, princess?” he asks simply.

The question steals the breath from your lungs. A simple question that requires a simple answer of yes or no. Yet… it is not so easy. 

You’ve read about love in the stories that fill the grand library’s walls. You’ve seen love in the way the palace gardeners tend to their blooms preciously through pricked fingers. You’ve heard about love when you overhear the stories told by the kitchen maids about the stable boys. Love has always surrounded you in every crevice in life, but it’s always felt so distant.

Until now. For the first time in your life, someone has asked you about your heart, not your duty. 

“I…” You hesitate, forcing your gaze back out the window. “I believe that I𑁋”

Before you could finish, a loud knock pounds at the door, startling you and Mingyu at the same time. Mingyu’s hand instinctively reaches out to his sword when a second more persistent knock arrives when the first one is left unanswered, already ready to shield you from any kind of danger. 

A muffled voice speaks through the wood, “Your Highness? The Queen requests your presence in the solar. She wishes to review the guest list for the upcoming ball.”

Dread slivers down your spine at the request. Your eyes flicker between the door and Mingyu𑁋when did he stand so close to you?𑁋who is already back to wearing that disciplined mask on his face, the warmth of his softened features that were there a minute ago now tucked away carefully. Yet his eyes… they still seem to betray him. 

The sight makes your heart stutter painfully in your chest. 

“Tell Mother I shall be there shortly,” You call back to the door. 

When you hear the servant’s footsteps fade away down the corridor, you release a shaky breath, grabbing the ends of your delicate robe and drawing it over yourself to hide how your chest is rising and falling erratically. You don’t catch the way Mingyu’s fingers tighten at his side, fighting the urge to reach out to you even if you are just an arm’s length away. 

“I do not want to go,” You admit unsteadily.

“I know,” Mingyu murmurs back. “But you must.”

You peer up at him with guilty eyes.

“I… I apologise for my question earlier,” You say weakly, bowing your head down apologetically even if you have more authority than him. “I did not mean to intrude on your past.”

Mingyu’s facade cracks at your words. He shakes his head. 

“You could never intrude, princess.” He hesitates momentarily, before adding on, “You may ask me anything and I will always answer truthfully. I… I feel honoured that you trust me with such vulnerable questions.”

Your heart squeezes as a grateful smile of your own graces your lips. 

You nudge him playfully with your shoulder. “May you escort me to the solar, Sir Mingyu?” 

Mingyu lets out a quiet sound that almost sounds like a laugh and offers his armoured arm for you to hold. He doesn’t bring up that you still have yet to answer his question from before. You’re the princess at the end of the day𑁋you don’t owe him an answer as much as he owes you one. 

“It would be my honour, my lady.”

Mingyu know it’s his duty to stand here𑁋to watch over the ball and ensure the safety of the guests, and especially you𑁋but he swears that he cannot breathe in his armour with every man that stands way too close to you. With every lowly prince that settles a hand on your hip, whispering sultry words in your ears that will attempt to sway you in their direction. 

No matter how far he stands away from you, he can still spot how visibly uncomfortable you are. He catches the stiffness in your shoulders, the polite smile on your face that never quite reached your beautiful eyes, and the brief, desperate glances you stole in his direction when no one else was looking.

Say the word, princess… and I’ll end this for you, he thinks. 

A low, bitter sound escapes his throat. He should not have the right to feel this jealousy when you’re only fulfilling your duties. He knows where your heart stands when it comes to the arranged marriages you’ve grown to despise. 

The only question is… if your heart did not lie with any of the princes, then where did it lie?

“Your Highness, it is an honour to share this dance with you,” Prince Moon of Wolhae whispers in your ear with a coy smirk. His hand is pressed firmly into the small of your back, pulling you closer than necessary as he leads you in a slow dance while the orchestra plays an intimate melody in the background. 

You force a courteous smile, even if every thought in your mind is begging you to pull away. Prince Moon stands too close to you, close enough his breath is too warm on your skin and his compliments come off intentionally calculated. You’ve already shared a dance with two other princes before him, and the activity of the day has begun to take its toll on you.

There was Prince Lee of Seongguk from earlier, who you swear had hands that trembled more than yours, but he was friendlier than the others. While Prince Kang of Wangbi spoke mostly more about his future heirs and himself than asking about you. And then there was Prince Moon, whose comments became more crude and entitled by the minute. 

“You dance beautifully as well,” he continues, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Together, we could build something unstoppable, should I say. Your kingdom’s ports… my army… and you in my bed every night, hm?”

You swallow down the bile rising in your throat, a grimace forming at your painted lips. “You are very forward, Prince Moon.”

He merely chuckles, seemingly dismissing your discomfort. “Because I know what I want, princess. And what I want is you.” 

Although Mingyu can’t hear your conversations, his blood boils and his fists clench so tightly it makes his gloves creak regardless. Get your filthy hands off her, bastard. You do not own her. 

Prince Moon keeps mumbling sweet poisons to you as the dance continues and the music begins to swell. The large chandelier hanging from the high ceilings casts shards of glittering gold on the floor, shimmering off your dainty circlet crown and the elegant jewelry that decorate your body.

“I admire your ambitions, Prince Moon.”

“Ambition is what wins kingdoms, my lady,” the man retorts easily, spinning you around with practiced ease. His eyes rake over your neckline as he dips you briefly, before bringing you back up with him face-to-face. His hand drops lower on your back. “Tell me, princess𑁋how do you prefer your maidenhood to be claimed? Sweet and gentle or… rough and delicious? I bet you have imagined it, yes?” 

Your stomach churns with disgust at his inquiry, but a traitorous flush creeps up your neck like a snake. Yes, you can’t deny that you have thought of it before, more often than a princess should, but never with a man with greedy hands, cold ambition, and who speaks to you as if you were some common tavern wench in front of the entire Royal Court.

You’ve imagined it with someone else entirely. A man with hands that are not plagued with conquest and rings of greed. But a man with hands as gentle as a feather on your skin. A man whose touch makes you feel wanted rather than hunted, who makes your heart ache out of longing and not out of fear. 

A man that you love. 

When Prince Moon spins you around again, your gaze frantically searches through the vast ballroom for Mingyu. You desperately try to decipher through all the smiling faces of the guests and nobles, through the goblets of wine being passed around, through the sea of glittering jewels and shiny silk.

Until they finally find him.

Mingyu is staring at you𑁋has been staring at you this entire time𑁋standing frozen in the corner with his dark eyes icy cold, unreadable, and almost… sad. Because a knight is not allowed to interfere with royal courtship or diplomacy. A knight is certainly forbidden from challenging a crowned prince over a woman who can never belong to him. 

But consequences be damned. He made a promise to the oath he took three years ago: to protect you for the rest of his life. If he receives punishment for fulfilling his oath, then he would gladly trade his knighthood to keep you safe from these perverted vultures. 

A smirk spreads across Prince Moon’s face when he notices the flush on your cheeks. 

“The idea certainly appeals to you, doesn’t it, princess?” he continues to pry.

Gods, you want to slap this man senseless across the face. 

“I believe you are forgetting yourself, Prince Moon,” You claim through gritted teeth. “I am not some conquest of yours to be spoken of so vulgarly.” 

Prince Moon’s nostrils flare in amusement. “Why are you pretending you do not crave the same things every woman does, princess?” 

For a spell, you simply stare at him. Then, you pull your hand away from his shoulder. The movement seems to break the rhythm of the dance instantly.

“I do,” You answer quietly.

The man’s smile widens.

“But not with a man who mistakes vulgarity for charm.”

His smile falters.

Around you, the orchestra continues to play, the sounds of the violins soaring to their crescendo as other couples drift across the polished dance floor, blissfully unaware that one dance has come to a standstill. 

You lift your chin to look at him, a cunning look to your face.

“You speak of kingdoms and armies as trophies, and of women as though they are no different.” Your gaze drops to the hand still resting on your lower back, and you reach down to pry it away as if it’s a leech. “I have met merchants at the market with more grace than you, Prince Moon.”

Irritation flashes across his face. “You wound me, princess. You would reject an alliance between our kingdoms over a few words?”

“I would reject any man who believes his merit is the gold upon his brow,” You deadpan sharply. “Or any man who believes a crown excuses the absence of decency.”

Several nobles glance curiously in your direction, but you don’t let their eyes tug at your determination.

“You may find that beggars cannot be choosers, Your Highness,” Prince Moon remarks stiffly, eyes narrowing down at you. 

You scoff lightly at that, rolling your eyes to his indifference. When the crescendo of the orchestra fades away, that’s when you take your chances to fully separate from him. With a cold smile and a searing glare, you rip his touch fully away from your skin, and it feels as if you can breathe out a long breath at last. 

After that, you offer Prince Moon a shallow curtsey𑁋more out of simple etiquette than respect𑁋as the violins fade into an awkward silence until there’s only the sounds of your thundering heart and the murmurs rippling through the surrounding nobles. 

“Thank you for your time, Prince Moon,” You begin evenly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as if they had been stained. “I appreciate your… candor. It highlights your character vibrantly. I wish you a pleasant evening and safe travels on your return to Wolhae.”

Prince Moon’s jaw tightens. Your eyes sparkle victoriously under the chandelier. 

“A pity,” the man chides in disbelief. “I had hoped that the stories of your grace were true. You do recall that your parents invited me here for a reason, is that not right, princess?”

You hold his gaze with a steely look.

“You are correct,” You answer. “But I am disappointed that a prince does not know the difference between an invitation and a promise.” 

Your words land hard enough for a hushed silence to fall across the room. Prince Moon has the audacity to open his damned mouth to argue, but it falls back to a quick close when he realises that everyone is watching this happen right before their eyes. Everyone is witnessing royalty reject another in the middle of the grand ballroom. Your hands at your side start to tremble, but you hide them carefully within the folds of your dress. 

Gods, you definitely know that your parents are likely going to place your head atop a spike in the morning for this. You can already hear in your head the lecture that awaits you after sunrise. But the strength you’ve been holding on for the past weeks all crumbled the second you shared a dance with the first prince. 

The adrenaline and anger that had been keeping your spine straight is now entirely drained from your body. Before your knees could buckle, a warm yet commanding presence appears by your side instantly. 

“Prince Moon,” a voice deadpans𑁋Mingyu’s voice. He bows his head low enough to satisfy simple etiquette. “Her Highness has made her wishes clear.”

Prince Moon flits his eyes to him, dragging a condescending look up and down his stance.

“And who are you to involve yourself in royal affairs?”

“Sir Kim Mingyu of the Royal Guard.”

“So you are a servant, then?”

“I am whomever the royals of this kingdom prescribe me to be,” Mingyu states without flinching. “In this case, I serve the princess of this nation, who has clearly expressed her displeasure.”  

The tension between the two of men only thickens that even seems the ballroom itself is holding its breath. Prince Moon’s face contorts with humiliated rage. For a second, you think he might consider snapping back again, but Mingyu shifts imperceptibly closer to you, his gauntleted hand hovering near your lower back.

The prince’s eyes flicker calculatingly between the two of you. Whatever he sees in Mingyu’s dead stare makes him think better of it. 

He offers a stiff, quite literally mocking bow to you. 

“Very well,” Prince Moon spits out. “Until we meet again, princess.” 

You watch as the man stalks his way back into the crowd. Murmurs ripple throughout the ballroom𑁋most appear to be siding with the prince, because of course𑁋but you don’t let it get to you, can’t let it show that it’s getting to you. 

“Your Highness.”

When you look back up at Mingyu, everything else seems to fade. Worry and the tiniest hint of anger𑁋not at you, but for you𑁋crosses his face when he catches you the hazy exhaustion on your features. 

“Shall I escort you somewhere quieter, my lady?”  he asks quietly so only you can hear, already offering his arm to you. 

You nod, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. You keep your gaze to the floor as he escorts you through the crowd of guests, who part like water for you and Mingyu, their scandalised eyes following every step.

“Did you see how she dismissed Prince Moon?”

“Bold… or foolish.”

“The King and Queen will not be pleased with this, certainly.”

You clench your jaw, trying to fight off the burn threatening to rise in your cheeks from their remarks. Mingyu doesn’t say anything yet, but the protective way he keeps you close to him is louder than any of their words. 

He leads out the grand side doors, down the torchlit corridor where you walk past the watchful eyes of your painted ancestors on the walls. The farther you travel away from the ballroom, the fainter the music becomes, and the more you feel like you can breathe again. 

Mingyu shuts the door behind you when you enter the grand library. The entire room had been cleared because of the ball taking place. Towering shelves of books stretch out endlessly before you, the smell of old ink and parchment lingering through the air. You always come here whenever you wanted to escape𑁋you forget at times that it’s still part of the palace. A quieter and vulnerable part of your world.

The books you’ve read here never judged you. 

Your shoulders drop to the floor before you realise how long you’ve been holding them up.

“I think I may have ruined everything,” You admit quietly after a long while of silence. “I feel as if I may have jeopardised my title, my status, and yet… I do not feel sad about it, but𑁋”

“𑁋relieved?”

You blink back at Mingyu in surprise. 

“Yes,” You finish. “Relieved, strangely.”

Mingyu tilts his head skeptically. He steps up into the space right next to you, where your eyes are roaming over the books on the walls.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he begins, clearing his throat soundly. “I believe that you were the most radiant one up there.” 

A choked laugh bubbles out of you despite everything. “Even if I humiliated myself in front of the entire court?”

“Especially then, princess.”

“You are just saying that to make me feel better, you liar,” You accuse teasingly. 

“Lying would be against my oath,” he remarks, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I have been nothing but truthful during our times together, my lady.”

The banter has always been easy between the two of you, you realise. The burdens and scrutiny waiting on the other side of the door feel less frightening to face when you know Mingyu is right by your side. You know that at any moment, this temporary peace could be ruined and you’d be exiled back to your duties𑁋or worse, exiled from the kingdom because of the scrutiny. 

Mingyu’s eyes roam over the quiet reflection on your face, and he feels his heart ache in his chest. 

“Come here, princess.”

You lift a puzzled brow. “What𑁋”

Before you can finish, he’s wrapping his armoured arm your waist and drawing you into his hold. The cool metal of his gauntlet presses gently on your lower back, and before you know it, you find yourself swaying together in the middle of the dead-silent library.

“No music,” he points out with a fond smile. “Just us.”

There’s no grand chandelier above your heads, no judging nobles or entitled princes. There’s only the soft glow of lanterns, moonlight filtering in through tall windows, and Mingyu’s presence wrapped around you. It feels more intimate than anything else. 

“You are terrible at this,” You say playfully, even while resting your cheek on his breastplate. “The armour makes you clunky.”

A huff of amusement leaves him. “Forgive me. I am a knight, not a dancer.” 

“It is alright,” You reassure him calmly. “Follow my lead.”

He does𑁋well, he tries to𑁋and there’s something so endearing seeing a man so formidable fumble a little when attempting to move with you. But after a few more turns, his movements become surprisingly graceful when he allows himself to stop overthinking about it. 

You lead him in slow, sweeping circles across the grand library, your shared giggles ringing out into the room when his armour accidentally clips one of the shelves a little too harshly. At one point, he spins you smoothly and dips you down, one arm secured at your waist while the other supports your back. Your circlet glints under the moonlight as your head tilts back.

He holds you there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, gazing down at you with such open adoration that you almost forget that no one else is watching you now. But when he pulls you back upright again, your faces are only a breath away from each other. Your breaths hitch at the same time from the closeness.

The world suddenly narrows. His scent fills all of your senses, and the way his dark eyes drop down to your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you, as if it was only ever meant for you. 

You rise on your toes instinctively, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. If you lean in a fraction closer, your mouths would meet in a soft yet long overdue𑁋

The heavy doors of the library slam open with a force enough to make the surrounding bookshelves tremble. Mingyu reacts faster than thought, spinning you around so that his body is a protective wall between you and the intruders. His hand flies down to the handle of his sword even as recognition hits him. 

Three elite guards step into the room with their expressions hardened. The captain strides forward, eyes narrowing between the two of you.

“By royal decree of the King and Queen,” he announces authoritatively. “Her Highness is to return to her chambers at once.”

Mingyu’s face turns molten. “She is under my protec𑁋”

“Stand down, knight. Consider this a warning for your actions tonight,” the captain spits back harshly. “There will be far worse consequences than a reprimand if you overstep your duties.”

Mingyu’s body visibly tenses, but he offers a stiff, obedient bow of his head. “Understood, Captain.”

The captain nods curtly, then gestures to his men. The two other guards step forward and take hold of your arms, already urging you to the door. 

“Mingyu𑁋” Your voice cracks as you twist your head back to look at him.

He takes one unconscious step forward, his hand twitching at his sword, but the captain’s warning glares stop him cold. 

The heavy doors slam shut behind you, cutting him off from view. The corridor feels colder without him. 

Your chambers is quiet, almost too quiet.

The heavy velvet curtains had been drawn tight that not even moonlight can spill inside to grant you peace, and only a few candles flickered on your bedside table, casting long, almost taunting shadows across the cold stone walls of your bedroom. You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed in your nightgown, with your knees up to your chest and your arms wrapped loosely around them.

No matter what, sleep refuses to come. After the ball had ended, you were banished immediately to your chambers by your mother’s icy command, her parting voice still ringing in your ears about how you had embarrassed the entire kingdom in one single night. 

Yet it’s not your mother’s voice that disturbs your sleep, not entirely at least. Rather it’s Prince Moon’s vile words. His words about your title, your autonomy, your maidenhood. You know that you shouldn’t allow his words to affect you as much as it does, but your mind can’t help but wander. All your life, your maidenhood has been treated like nothing but a transaction. A part of you that you always owed for alliances and bloodlines, not out of love. Never has anyone asked what you wanted. 

Your thighs press together underneath your nightgown, a restless kind of heat blooming low in your stomach. For years, you resigned yourself to this untimely fate; but tonight, after rejecting all the princes so publicly, you decide that this is the night where you would finally choose yourself. 

Anxiety throbs beneath your ribs as you rise from the bed and cross the room with bare feet. You pause right before the heavy oak door, fingers hovering over the latch. This is lunacy that you’re about to commit, but the fire in your veins refuses to be quelled by reason tonight. Opening the latch, you crack the door open enough to catch one of the maids passing by in the corridor.

“Hyejin!” You whisper-yell into the dark hallway.

The girl startles from your voice, her lantern swinging around when she turns to the sound. She glances both ways before rushing to your side with a silent bow. She has always been loyal and discreet, and knew better than to question odd requests at odd hours.

“Yes, Your Highness?” she asks hushedly.

“Find Sir Mingyu at once,” You instruct her urgently. “Tell him that I require his immediate presence. And do not notify a soul, please.”

Hyejin’s eyes widen fractionally, but she merely nods. “Of course, my lady. I shall return with him swiftly.” She spins on her heel and vanishes into the shadows of the hallway like a ghost. 

You shut the door and lean back against it, pressing a hand to your racing heart. The minute that drag feels like an eternity. Your legs pace around the room in anticipation, straighten your already-flawless blush-colour coverlet on your bed, adjust the candles, then you sit again only to stand once more.

Doubts swarm your head like storm clouds. What if he refuses? What if we are discovered? What if I am𑁋what if we are both𑁋ruined forever? But beneath all your worries burned a defiant need. You wanted this. You wanted him.

When three measured knocks land at your door minutes later, your breath catches in your throat. Pursing your lips tightly, you approach the door and unlatch it carefully. The door creeps open slowly, before a pair of heavy footsteps slips inside. 

The world suddenly fades into complete silence when Mingyu closes to the door behind him with a soft click and slides the bolt into place. He’s still in his ceremonial armour from the ball, the intricately engraved steel shimmering like stars under the candlelight and the red cape behind him flowing down to the floor like a waterfall. 

Mingyu’s ready eyes sweeps across your chambers naturally as he strides in your direction𑁋from the high curtains that drape down to the ground, to your heavy wardrobe, to even beneath your four poster bed𑁋to spot any kind of danger that might be lurking. It’s only when he finds nothing does he allow his gaze to settle back on you.

“Princess,” he calls worriedly, catching the distraught expression on your tired features. “What is the matter? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head diffidently. 

“No.”

“Did Her Majesty𑁋”

“No.”

Mingyu falls silent.

“Then why have you summoned me at this hour, my lady?” he asks, more softer this time. 

You hesitate, fingertips digging carelessly into the thin fabric of your nightgown. The words you rehearsed in your head suddenly feel too bold and dangerous.

This is it. There is no going back now.

“I… I want you to teach me,” You admit shakily. 

Mingyu blinks, arching up a thick brow. “Teach you?”

“About… pleasure.” 

The colour drains from his face almost instantly, before a deep flush creeps up his neck that you see hidden in the shadows of his gorget. He takes an instinctive step back, the metal of his greaves scraping against the floor. 

“I-I beg your pardon, princess?” he coughs out flusteredly, his voice coming out rougher than expected. 

The weight of your words hit you, but you refuse to let your courage crack anymore. You step up toward him until the tips of your feet barely graze his boots, closing the distance he tries to create. Even through his breastplate, you feel the heat radiating off him. It helps to ease your nerves only slightly.

“I want you to teach me…” You begin nervously. “...how to have sex.” 

Mingyu’s breath hitches audibly, his composed mask shattering entirely. His gaze turns dark as he fights the battle raging in his head right now: honour clashing with desire, duty against the tug of his heart. A shiver runs through his tall frame. He attempts to force his attention elsewhere, pretending this was nothing but his imagination, yet your request has permanently imprinted itself in his mind and… and he cannot deny that this is reality. 

Gods, the thought alone has him aching already. 

“Princess, I𑁋do you understand what you are asking me right now?” A pensive look washes over his face. “I am your sworn knight. You cannot… say such things to me. If anyone were to find out, we would both be punished before our next breath.” 

But even as those words leave his mouth, he betrays himself regardless. His hands flex at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out to you. 

You reach up to brush a path over his chest, and he sighs in restraint as if your hand burns him. 

“You are my sworn knight, Sir Mingyu,” You repeat, guiding your hand up until it rests on his warm chin. “The only man I trust the most in this world. With my life, with my heart, and now… my body.” A sharp heat prickles beneath your eyelids. “I do not care about the risks because I choose you. I always have. So I… I beg of you to show me what it is like to sully my virtue. Please.” 

Nothing but desire flashes through his thoughts. Mingyu rests his armoured hand over yours that’s on his chest and leans down to rest his forehead on yours. You both breathe each other in for a moment, his warmth breath grazing upon your lips.

That is, until he sinks to his knees, peering up at you with nothing but unyielding devotion, with your hand still in his. The position alone makes heat flood into your core𑁋seeing your powerful knight on his knees before you. 

“I am yours to command tonight, my princess,” he says, pressing a vowing kiss to each knuckle on your hand which sends sparks up your spine. “And I will show you what it is like to be worshipped so sweetly… that you forget every cage duty has tried to force on you.” 

Before you can speak, Mingyu flips your hand over to trace his lips over the pulse point at your wrist, never breaking eye contact with you. Slowly, he trails higher to kiss along the sensitive skin of your forearm, to the crook of your elbow, and one at your shoulder. Then he rises back to his feet, cups your cheek with a gauntleted hand, and begins to lean in. 

Your eyes squeeze shut naturally, your body bracing for the first real kiss. But Mingyu teasingly pauses just short of your mouth, a smile forming at his lips as he relishes the sight of your features up close for the first time. 

He mutters something along the lines of beautiful before claiming your lips. 

Mingyu kisses you slowly at first, learning the shape of your mouth, then it grows needier as you part your lips for him. His tongue brushes against yours tentatively, never demanding more unless he knows you want it. Your fingers curl desperately on the edges of his armour while the world tilts around the two of you. 

“I have yearned for the taste of your lips for years, my lady,” he whispers against your mouth, gripping your waist a little tighter. “To have you now is truly… a privilege I will never take for granted.” 

He begins to shed his armour with his mouth never leaving yours once, stripping his gauntlets and the heavy pauldrons on his shoulders until they fall uselessly to the floor. Piece by piece, the barriers between your bodies disappear𑁋the breastplate, the vanbraces around his forearms, the gorget on his neck𑁋leaving him in only his linen undershirt and breeches. 

Your impatient hands roam underneath his shirt, caressing over the strong planes of his chest. Mingyu chuckles at your eagerness and pulls off his shirt entirely, letting it join the pile of steel on the floor. You pull away from him to just admire in awe. 

Moonlight may have been kinder to the sight of him, but the candlelight illuminates him even more. His broad shoulders hold strength and the faint scars across his defined chest and abdomen make him appear more real. More yours. 

You trace over the line of an old battle scar beneath his collarbone. His body tenses from your touch.

“You are staring, princess,” Mingyu murmurs amusedly, though his cheeks are flushed. He strokes your lower lip with a fingertip. “Do I please you?”

“More than I can say,” You say with a soft smile. “My knight is… quite ravishing to the eyes.”

A boyish grin tugs at his mouth. He nuzzles his face into your neck. 

“Ravishing, am I?” he muses playfully, lips brushing against the skin there. “Then I suppose I must live up to my title, my love.” 

Without a second thought, he lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. A surprised giggle escapes you before it is swallowed down by another deep kiss. He carries you a few steps toward your grand bed. The velvet coverlet feels cool against your back when he lays you down carefully, his large body hovering over yours. 

His hands slip under your nightgown and chemise, his calloused hands caressing over your thighs. 

“May I take this off, princess?” he asks, dark eyes searching yours for any hesitation. 

“Yes,” You breathe out, clutching weakly at his shoulders.

Mingyu slowly draws the fabric upward. The cool air of the room kisses over the sensitive skin of your legs. You lift your hips up to help him, and he peels the gown over your waist, your breasts, and finally over your head. It flutters to the floor like a discarded flower petal, leaving you in only your thin chemise. The candlelight almost makes it appear translucent.

His fingers toy with the straps of your chemise, glancing back up at you for permission again. When you give him a small nod, his face softens with such tenderness it makes you far too shy to maintain eye contact as he peels the delicate lace down your body. Shivers run up and down your skin, not from the cold but from the weight of his stare. Like you’re the only star in the sky. 

His throat bobs visibly.

“Fuck, princess…” Mingyu curses, letting his hands glide up your sides before resting on the underside of your breasts. He caresses over one gently with his large palms, taking your nipple between his fingertips, causing you to let out a soft moan. “You are an art piece… crafted with perfection by the heavens themselves. Untouched by the world, but allowing her knight to ruin so sweetly.”

He leans down to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly while his free hand plays with the other. Your body arches needily against his, and the velvety heat of his tongue has you clenching around nothing. He continues his journey downwards, his mouth tracing a path of fire between the valley of your breasts and lower over your stomach, stopping when he reaches your mound. 

Mingyu spreads your legs a little wider, groaning when he notices how wet you already are. 

“Gods above, look at you.” He strokes soothingly along the inside of your thigh, settling between your legs more comfortably. “Your sweet little cunt is weeping for attention. May I taste you, my lady? This will be your first lesson in pleasure.”

You nod urgently, already digging your hands into the silk sheets of your bed.

With a grateful smile, Mingyu leans in and presses an open-mouth kiss to your folds. You jolt at the wet contact, but he grips your hips firmly to hold you in place. “Easy, sweet girl. Stay open for me. Let me devour this innocent pussy…”

He drags the flat of his warm tongue from your entrance and up to the little swollen bud at the top. 

“This pretty pearl right here is your clit.” He teasingly circles his tongue around the sensitive nub, before sealing it in his mouth with a loud suck that echoes off the walls of your chambers. “So sensitive… You taste like the sweetest, most forbidden nectar.”

You cry out a whimpered gasp when he sucks it more firmly, the pleasure striking you hard like lightning. Your hands find their way into his dark hair, burying him into you even more. Mingyu grunts at the sensation and doubles on his efforts, switching between gentle sucks and rapid flicks of his tongue on your pussy, keeping his eyes solely locked on the way your face twists with pleasure. 

When he pulls away for a breath, you look down and the sight nearly destroys you𑁋Mingyu, your loyal knight, between your legs with his lips glistening with your wetness. 

“May I… put a finger inside you, my lady?” he asks breathlessly, hot breath fanning against your slick folds. “Just one for now. Only if you want, princess.”

“Yes,” You sigh out, trembling with need. “I want it, please…”

Mingyu kisses your knee appreciatively and returns to your aching core. At the same time, he teases a thick finger at your entrance and coats it with your arousal, before gently pushing inside. Your body welcomes him instantly. 

The stretch is foreign to you, but he works it through you thoroughly. He curls his finger in an upward motion that has your walls fluttering around him. The simultaneous sensation of his tongue and fingers makes you grip his hair even tighter and your hips to grind against his face. 

“Mingyu, it feels so good…”

“Mmmh, good girl,” he praises sweetly, voice muffled against you. “Let me add a second one, yeah? To stretch you more open for me…” 

He works another thick finger alongside the first. The burn between your legs melts away the brief discomfort of the stretch into pure heat. His fingers thrust in and out of you at a steady rhythm as his mouth continues lapping at your pussy. Your loud, broken moans bounce off the walls of the chambers as the pleasure builds rapidly, your hips practically riding his face.

Mingyu growls when he feels your thighs start to tremble harshly around his head. 

“That’s it, my love,” he murmurs hotly against your dripping cunt. “Give me your pleasure, your first ever orgasm from a man who yearns for you…”

“Fuck, I𑁋Mingyu𑁋!”

Pleasure explodes through you like wildfire. A blissful cry of his name rips out of your throat, your back arching sharply off the bed as your walls clamp down tightly around his fingers. Your hips jerk against his face, riding the waves while he continues licking and sucking, drinking in every drop of your release. 

He slows when your moans turn into soft, overstimulated whimpers and your thighs fall open in exhaustion. With one final kiss to your swollen folds, he withdraws his fingers and hovers back above you. His heart squeezes with pride when looks down at your flushed, trembling body. 

“You are enchanting when you let go, my princess,” he says before kissing you deeply, and you taste yourself on his tongue. “I could spend the rest of my days between your legs and never tire.”

A subtle shift of his body has you feeling the heavy outline of his hardening cock through his breeches. Mingyu inhales sharply when you roll your hips against his once, his ears red with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. 

“I… fuck𑁋we do not have to, sweetheart,” he mutters, though the way he’s involuntarily grinding on you says otherwise. “You have given me so much than I deserve tonight, and I would rather die than cause you pain.”

You cup his cheek tenderly, grazing over his cheekbone. A fresh wave of nerves and desire twists in your belly.

“I want to,” You whisper. “I ache for it, Mingyu. Please… make love to me.” 

Something in him shatters at that, as if his last thread of restraint snaps into two. His eyes fall shut for a moment, nostrils flaring at your plea. When they open, his eyes have darkened with hunger, and he leans in to capture your lips with a kiss so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. His large body pins you deeper into the bed, the heat of his bare chest searing against your skin. 

Mingyu pulls away just long enough to shove his breeches down his thighs, kicking them away. Your eyes widen when his cock springs free𑁋thick and heavy, curled slightly with a glistening tip already leaking for you. It’s your first time ever seeing a man this undeniably aroused for you. He’s so beautiful and intimidating that you can’t help but just stare. 

He notices your wide-eyed expression and lets out a shy, self-conscious chuckle.

“Have I frightened you?” he questions worriedly.

You shake your head. “No… You’re… big. I did not expect…” The words die on your tongue, but hungry curiosity sparkles in your eyes. 

Tentatively, you reach down to touch his length, and his cock twitches harshly from your touch. He’s impossibly hard, the skin smooth and hot as you wrap your hand around him to stroke him experimentally from the base to the tip. A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest. 

“Shit…” he moans out, his hips jerking into your touch before realising it. “You do not have to𑁋fuck, your hand feels like magic𑁋”

You watch in awe as another bead of precum leaps from the tip. Emboldened, you swipe your thumb over it, spreading it down his shaft. Mingyu’s head falls forward into your shoulder, his breaths coming out in hot pants. 

“Easy, my love,” he warns, catching your wrist and pinning it to the bed beside your head, your fingers lacing together. “If there is a next time, you may touch me as you please. But for now… I need to be inside you.”

Mingyu uses his other hand to guide his cock to your entrance, rubbing the flushed head along your soaked and sensitive folds. He doesn’t push inside just yet.

“Tell me again, princess,” he commands. “Tell me you want your knight to corrupt you.”

“I want you, please,” You plead longingly. “Make love to me. Fuck me. Claim me as yours.” 

That’s all it takes.

With a groan, he starts pushing inside. His cock is much thicker and hotter than his fingers were. You gasp from the intense stretch, your nails digging crescents into his biceps as your body struggles to take him. He pauses to give you time to adjust before burying himself even more until he’s fully inside of you, whispering soothing praises and peppering your face with kisses to distract you from the discomfort. 

“Gods above, I cannot believe… I am inside of you, my lady,” he mutters hoarsely. “So warm… so tight…”

When the burn eases away, you shift your hips into his and let out a small, needy whimper. That’s all the permission he needs. 

Mingyu thrusts into you with a slow pace, dragging his cock along your sensitive walls. This was a dream that plagued him every night𑁋a dream of finally having you to himself and not those wretched princes, loving you the way you deserve, ruining you for any other man, even if it’s only for a single night. A night that he will cherish to his very grave. 

His jaw clenches tightly as he tries to keep himself from losing control too fast, but it doesn’t help when your moans grace his ears like a symphony and the way your nails are raking red trails down his back spur him on even more. 

“Mingyu𑁋ah𑁋faster, please𑁋”

“Faster?” he repeats breathlessly. “As you command, my princess.”

Bracing his strong arms at your sides, he snaps his hips deeper, harder, into you. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies shamelessly meeting reverberating throughout your chambers that you are sure someone can hear if they passed too close to the door, but the thought only sends a forbidden thrill through you. 

He swallows your moans with a devouring kiss as he continues to fuck you. One hand grips your thigh higher to hit that sensitive spot inside of you, and it sends that familiar pleasure to tighten in your stomach once again. 

You embrace your arms around his neck. “I’m close, Mingyu𑁋”

“Gods𑁋fuck, me too,” he says into your sweat-slicked skin, but his pace starts faltering. “But I have to… shit, I have to slow down, princess𑁋I cannot cum inside of you. I cannot ruin your future…”

Mingyu starts to pull back, but you feel the strain in him, the way his body is refusing to comply with how he slows his thrusts. But you don’t let him stray away; instead, you tighten your arms around like a vice, keeping every thick inch of you sheathed inside your cunt. 

“No, do not pull away,” You pant in his ears, fingers greedily threading into his damp hair. “I need you, Mingyu𑁋I do not care about the consequences. I choose this. I choose you. Fill me up, my loyal knight. I beg you…”

Something raw and possessive bursts out of him at your desperate pleas, his eyes flashing with overwhelming love and hunger. He curses lowly to himself, as if hoping the heavens won’t hear the sin he is about to commit, before driving back into you roughly, giving into everything he’s held back. 

“You will damn us both… and yet I cannot deny you ever,” he pants into your neck. “Your knight obeys… always. Take me, my love𑁋cum for me. Now.” 

Your second orgasm crashes into you harder than the first. Waves of ecstasy whiten your vision, your body arching off the bed as clench around his cock one final time. The feeling of your release sends Mingyu over the edge completely. He buries himself inside of you, filling you to the brim with thick ropes of his heat. He grinds slow and deep through both of your orgasms, pushing every drop as far in you as possible.

Mingyu doesn’t pull out of you yet for several long moments. He cages your trembling form in his arms as if he’s afraid the world might tear you apart if he lets go. He presses kisses along the column of your throat and up to your jaw, then to your swollen lips, lingering a little longer than usual. Only then does he draw away to peer down at you with glassy, vulnerable eyes. 

“I love you, my princess,” he confesses quietly. “I have loved you silently for years, since the first day I swore my oath to protect you. I have always adored your resilience, your beauty… among many other things.” 

Your blink sleepily up at him, your heart swelling at his words.

“I love you too, Sir Mingyu,” You whisper back, nestling your nose against his. “I always knew that my heart belonged to you, too.”

A soft, boyish smile crosses his lips, the kind that always made your stomach flutter during daylight hours when no one was watching. After some time, he coaxes himself out of you with a grunt, a generous trickle of his release coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you. His gaze darkens at the sight, but he does not push for more.

He rolls himself onto his back and wraps his arms around your middle, letting your head rest on his broad chest. One of his hands soothingly traces shapes on your spine while the other brushes through your disheveled hair. 

“Stay with me tonight,” You mutter into his skin. “Do not leave before dawn. I wish to wake up in your arms just once.”

“I will never abandon you, my love,” Mingyu assures you, tightening his hold on you. “But we must prepare ourselves for what the morning light will bring. If your parents find out𑁋”

“What if we run away together?”

Mingyu freezes at that. A shadow of conflict rises in his features, but there’s something else there too𑁋something dangerously close to hope.

“You cannot mean that, princess,” he tells you. “It is not so easy. You know that.”

“I do mean it,” You say back stubbornly. “I know I will never be forgiven for rejecting every prince at the ball. Gods, they will probably sell me off to the highest bidder by the end of the week. But I do not want a crown if it means being stuck in a loveless marriage. I want a life with you, Mingyu. A life where we can love freely and perhaps… build a family one day.”

He can imagine it so clearly: a life with the two of you in some hidden cottage in the mountains or a village by the sea, where he can wake up to your smile in the mornings and worship you into the depths of the night without fear or duty holding him back. A life with a little one𑁋or more, if you wish𑁋running around. A child who holds your tenacity and wields his softness. 

“You tempt me more than any devil, my love,” he proclaims, nuzzling his face into your hair. “But running away now without a plan would put you in greater danger. If we do this… we must be smart. Find allies and gather belongings. Perhaps… in a few months time, when the storm of tonight has settled.”

You pout lightly. “So we wait?”

“For now,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose. “But know this𑁋I am yours. If you wish to run, I will follow you to the ends of the earth and lay down everything for a chance at a life with you. I promise you that.”

The weight of his promise settles warmly in your chest more than the exhaustion crawling through your bones. You rise in his hold to kiss him deeply and unhurriedly, before allowing him to hold you.

“Rest now,” Mingyu orders softly when you part, tucking you into his side once more. “The world is still asleep. Let me hold you while I can. Tomorrow we face the wolves… but tonight, you are simply mine as I am yours, my angel.”

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A FOREST SHOULD NEVER BE SILENT.

The silence is the first thing you notice as you step beneath the canopy, the sound fading behind you like you've stepped through a veil. You glance up at the sunlight fracturing into narrow shafts of light that barely reach the forest floor, dissolving into motes of pollen and dust. The air is damp and heavy with the taste of loam and sap, a faint mineral scent of old stone drifting from somewhere.

It's unsettling. The quiet isn't the comfortable kind of a sleeping forest or the hushed stillness before dawn - this is the kind that's wrong and unnatural. The kind of silence that presses against your eardrums like water pressure, like the world itself is holding its breath. No birds, no insects, no rustle of small creatures fleeing through the underbrush or the distant call of something hunting. It's silence in totality, thick and suffocating.

You mind the trees as you begin to walk, looking up at the towering monstrous and twisted trunks, their bark ridged with age. Lichen blooms in pale patches across their sides, roots bulging and knotted, weaving through the forest floor. Above, the canopies stretch higher than any other forest you've walked through, the leaves and vines tangling together, light fighting to break through and reach you.

The air is heavier among the trees, the wet air sticking to your skin as you walk. You can smell the loam and sharp sap that drips from some of the ancient trees, amber hardened and crusted along dark bark like jewels. You think about climbing up one of the trees to collect the sap to sell to some idiot later with the lie that it comes from some mysterious source, but you're pressed for time and you have a long way to go.

Silence presses in as you navigate the trees. No birds sing. No insects hum. It unsettles you, your hand hovering near your dagger as you walk, fingers flexing. Silence has never bothered you before. In fact, you thrive in silence - excel at it, even. But this forest is one you don't know, and the vastness of it makes you feel exposed, the massive trees set too far apart and the protection of the hiding in the canopy too far above.

Massive does the trees a disservice. You've never seen trees like this, stretching upward for what feels like miles, so thick around the base that you could walk the pace of an entire ballroom thrice in the same time it would take you to walk around one of the green giants. It makes you wonder if this forest had been home to the giants once, but you're pretty sure that the giants lived further south near the mountains.

Until yesterday, you'd never heard of this forest. It's an unnamed swath of green on the map, unimportant and endless. You'd seen the rise of green as you neared Veris, the single village within dozens of miles of the dark green. You'd assumed it was just another part of the Vale, the massive stretch of northern land between Blackfrost and Aelia.

The deeper you walk, the darker it becomes. You pick through the trees carefully, following the map that you've memorized dozens of times before leaving the tavern and venturing off into the northern edge of the Vale. There are no official roads through this forest, no trade paths to cut through. It's just the towering trees and the interlocking canopy overhead, turning midday into muted twilight as you walk.

SURVIVAL CHECK | DC: 5 | MODIFER: +1 | ROLL ON DICE: 5 | RESULT: PASSED WITH 6

Vines loop between branches and ferns cluster waist high, their fronds slick with condensation. Sweat gathers at the nape of your neck and the small of your back, the forest unnaturally humid for the Vale.

You press onward, the ferns brushing against your leather pants. The silence presses in as you walk, thick and watchful. You'd heard of forests like this before, ancient groves where the world holds its breath, where the veil between realms thins to gossamer. You'd never expected to find yourself in one, but being a thief often brought you to places you never expected.

The job was worth the coin, to be sure. The offer from the wizards at the tavern in Veris had hummed with arcane energy, their gold real and solid. Half up front, the rest when you brought the relic deep within the temple back. In and out, no questions asked. It was the exact type of job you enjoyed, especially knowing you'd get to work alone. You don't feel nearly as alone as you'd like with the silent presence of the trees, but you press on.

Around you, the trees grow impossibly taller, their trunks wide enough that it takes time you don't have to walk around them, skirting their bases of peeling bark. It feels like hours pass, the eternal gloom of the canopy and the neverending trees making time slippery. You navigate northeast on instinct and memory, avoiding tangles of vines that snag at your cloak like greedy fingers.

The ground begins to slope upward, imperceptibly at first, then more noticeably, forcing you to lean into the incline. Roots bulge from the earth like the knuckles of buried giants, and you leap over them easily, a spring to your step as you go. You hum some raunchy tune you'd heard from a bard, the sound lost to the quiet of the trees around you.

A faint scent catches your nose and you pause, inhaling deep. You smell something acrid like charred wood and incense. It tugs at you, pulling you forward. A prickle of unease brushes along your spine as you walk, hyperaware of how you can't hear the sounds of your own steps or your own breathing.

In cities, silence means opportunity. It's what leads to an unguarded vault or a quick kill in the night. Here, the silence feels more like anticipation, like the forest is holding back something. With just your daggers, lockpicks and your own cunning, it makes the weight of your mortality feel heavier.

The slope steepens into a hill and you crest it with caution, dropping low to peer over the edge. Below, the forest opens up into a shallow valley, the canopy forming like a green dome above. You suck in a breath at the temple you see below - at least, what's left of it.

Nestled against the far rise and partially swallowed by the earth and overgrown vines is exactly the ancient temple the wizards had told you about. The sheer size of it makes your breath catch, its stone walls rising like ribs of an ancient god long decayed.

The ruins are carved from black obsidian rock veined with quartz that sparkles faintly though the sun doesn't pierce the green leaves above. The structure sprawls across the valley floor, towers crumbled like felled trees and arches collapsed into heaps of rubble. It's far larger than the sketch the wizards who hired you provided, icy and moss clinging to the towering bones of the building.

You study it from your vantage point, looking for signs of danger. You're sure there are wards and other spells here, but this place is old, and spells wear overtime, weakening as the years pass. Still, the silence unsettles you as you peer at the main entrance, a yawning archway flanked by statues weathered beyond recognition.

Flanking winds extend outward, their roofs caved in to expose interiors to the element. Runes etch the outer walls, faded but intricate, swirling patterns reminding you of symbols you've seen in forgotten tomes or on black-market artefacts from religious shrines across the realms.

RELIGION CHECK | DC: 20 | MODIFER: +2 | ROLL ON DICE: 8 | RESULT: FAILED WITH 10

The god is unfamiliar too. The wizards hadn't mentioned who or what the temple was for and you hadn't cared, fueled by the promise of a pouch of coins heavy enough to buy you an estate somewhere in the countryside, somewhere nice.

Now, start at the ruins, a knot forms in your gut. It's a weird feeling, not quite fear but some sort of primal wariness. You shake it off. Paranoia is not a rogue's tool of choice, and you have no intention of wandering back through the silent forest empty handed.

You descend the hill quietly, a shadow among shadows. The valley floor is uneven, littered with fallen stones and overgrown with brambles that you navigate with practiced ease. As you draw closer, the temple's details sharpen. Carvings on the walls depict scenes of worship, figures in robes prostrating before altars. The deity that looms over them is effaced, face and form chipped away as if by deliberate hands.

Near the temple, you don't go for the entrance, fearing traps. You go for a collapsed wall, reaching out with tentative hands to brush your fingers across the stone, probing for any sense of spellwork or ancient arcana. Cracks spiderweb the walls, wide enough in places to peer through, revealing glimpses of massive, empty halls with dust motes dancing in beams of light.

ARCANA CHECK | DC: 15 | MODIFER: +7 | ROLL ON DICE: 4 | RESULT: FAILED WITH 11

The stone is silent and cool, no immediate shock of magic, no humming current of power. You drop your hand, walking along the collapsed wall as the weird feeling intensifies. You can't help but feel as though the temple watches you, and ancient sentience stirring from eons of slumber.

Your heart beats a steady rhythm, adrenaline sharpening your senses. The scent of incense is stronger now, laced with something metallic, like blood. You flex your fingers, dagger now in hand, its balanced weight a comfort. Sneaking is your art - you've infiltrated dragon lairs and wizard towers with less preparation - but something about this place makes anxiety hum under your skin, your knuckles tightening on your dagger.

"This is just another ruin," you mutter, steeling yourself.

Stopping at a fallen archway, you stare at the gloom inside of the ruins. Vines frame the collapsed entry like curtains, thorns glinting in the green light. Beyond is a hallway filled with debris, no creature or living thing in sight. You creep forward carefully, holding your breath as you step under the arch's shadow. When nothing happens, you take another step in, and then another.

Nothing happens. No wards go off.

You exhale a little, gathering your bearings to navigate the intricate hallways the wizards had shown you on the map. The air in the temple is dry, the faint scent of incense following oyu as you drift further into the gloom, boots silent on the stone. You recall the pathway, trying to locate the sharp turns you need to follow to locate the stairs.

Turning north, you walk at a steady pace, eyes alert. Rooms open up on either side of you, revealing vast spaces with mostly intact ceilings. Some ceilings are caved in or the walls have given way in sections to roots that have clawed their way through stone and time. There is little in the rooms to tell you what this place is or what god it serves, no altars or statues to give you anymore hints.

Locating the correct hall, you take a sharp left and walk deeper into the heart of the temple, passing a chamber filled with mosaic flooring and an ivy ceiling. All of the rooms look different, some holding the remnants of iron braziers with twisted legs, others filled to the brim with broken pottery and rotted painting. You take it as a good sign that there are no skeletons or signs of human life, but the silence feels heavier than it should.

A set of stone stairs descending downward catches your attention. You nearly miss it in the dim, but the draft of cool, damp air draws your attention. You take the stairs down slowly, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness as you go. The air is cold as you vanish into the dark, pebbles of debris crunching lightly under your boots.

Your heart races as you near the bottom of the stairs, barely able to see a set of heavy stone doors at the base. Trepidation makes you slow, the silence so thick you can't hear anything else over the throb of the pulse in your neck. You stop on the last step, looking up at the doors. Like everything else in this temple, there are no runes or etchings claiming a god, no sign or sigil to give you and sort of warning what might linger beyond.

The door is carved from a slab of stone darker than the walls with no handles and no keyhole. You can barely make out the seam down the middle in the dark, and when you step closer, you see a faint depression the exact size of a palm. Licking your lips you lift your hand and hesitate.

Caution is a thief's best tool. You know that having a healthy amount of wariness has saved you more than once, and as you stand in front of the door, you can't help but feel like you should stop and turn back. You've never left something unstolen for the sake of fear though, and your pride makes you grind your teeth, thinking about the promise of gold and the thrill of the high once you complete a job.

INSIGHT CHECK | DC: 15 | MODIFIER: +1 | ROLL ON DICE: 1 | RESULT: CRITICAL FAILURE

"Fuck it," you whisper and press your palm to the depression in the stone.

At first, nothing happens. You stare at the wall, a little disappointed and put out. The stone is cool to the touch, a tingle working its way up your arm. Just as you're about to remove your hand, a soft click sounds - not from the door, but behind you. You spin, dagger out, but there's nothing there. Only shadows. Heart pounding, you hear a breath of air and the grinding of stone as the door opens behind you, prompting you to turn back around as the door yawns open, revealing the room beyond.

The chamber is massive, the ceiling gone entirely. A circle of daylight casts an eerie halo on the chamber's floor, green canopy and vines pouring in through the hole. The chamber is circular and spans what you can only guess is around two hundred feet across. At the north of the room, tiered steps lead up toward a dais, broken columns leaning awkwardly on either side. Chunks of masonry and stone litter the floor, and you're careful as you walk toward the dais, not wanting the roof or walls to cave in further or to catch yourself on a tripwire.

A prickle slithers down your neck as you see the tomb upon the dais. It's massive and carved from obsidian, the only thing in this temple that looks well-kept and unbroken. The sight of it makes you pause. You don't like that in a ruin of crumbling stone and broken ceilings, only the tomb looks undisturbed, just as pristine as it was the day it was carved.

From the corner of your eye, something moves. You turn your head, narrowing your eyes on the shadows across the room. Your eyes are sharp even in the dark, but something about the shadows seem darker, an unnatural drift of life that makes your fingers tighten on the dagger.

A shadow peels away from the wall and you tense, watching the shadow take shape. The shape is something like the suggestion of a human with limbs that are too long and blurring edges. It seems to drink up the light as it moves toward you, moving with a strange, crooked lurch. You palm your daggers, stepping backward as you put more distance between yourself and the lurking creatures, having heard tales of shadows whose touch could drain strength.

The shadow lunges, form rippling like spilled ink. It's faster than you expect, your instinct taking over as you wist to the side, an elongated limb cutting the air where you'd been a moment before. No sound comes from the creature as it moves, the silence eerie as it presses the attack. Your heart slams in your ribcage, adrenaline sharpening your senses as you bob and weave, remaining on the defensive as you try and feel the enemy out, to understand it.

Another shadow peels from a column and you curse, gritting your teeth as you dodge another swipe and look around the room to see more shadows. There are seven of them that you can see, but the pools of dimness in the corners of the room are thick, and you're unsure if there are more waiting to join the fight.

Your boots slide on the floor as you spin, raising a dagger to cut through the arm of the shadow closest to you. The blade meets resistance, but not solid flesh. You feel something vicious as the blade goes through, something cold and oily clinging to the steel as you flick the dagger and spin away. Black ichor sprays the column from the weapon and you make a face as the creature recoils, its arm blurring briefly like it's struggling to maintain cohesion.

Good. They're not exactly solid, but your weapons cause damage. The knowledge drives your confidence as you push forward, the halo of greenish light from above doing little to combat the gloom in the chamber. One of the largest shadows surges forward, splitting its arms into whipping tendrils of black. You drop low and roll, avoiding the silent strike as dust rises up around you. It lunges again and you meet it head-on, daggers crossing to block a lash.

A bright spark flares along the blade, the smallest spark of fire. It makes the shadow shrink back and you grin as you stand to your full height. The shadows arch out now, coming at you with more caution before now that they know you have fire. And you do have fire, the spark of magic tingling at your finger tips as you sheath the blades and lift your hands, feeling the familiar itch of magic as you summon the flames.

Fire is familiar to you - beloved, even. It's been the only warmth to save you on nights cold enough to kill you and the only light in the darkest parts of your life. You'd resented the fire once upon a time. There was so much magic in the world, and yet what could you do? Summon flames? Make them dance? It didn't feel fair that in a realm of faerie magic and knowledge hoarded in wizard's towers that your only gift should be something so insignificant.

Now, you know the power of fire. You know how to shape it and use it to defend yourself. What used to be a parlor trick has become a weapon after years of honing your craft, rudimentary but useful.

Flames materialize in your palms and the shadows halt. You grin, feeling the warmth of the fire but not the burn, the itch of magic stronger in your palms as you turn your hands to let the power surge. Bright streams of flames illuminate the chamber in an orange flash and hit the shadow closest to you. If it could make a sound, you think it might scream, the form convulsing as the flames eat through its body until it breaks into fading wisps of mist that drift.

The rest close in, deciding to overwhelm you rather than let you take them on one by one. You sidestep one and thrust your hand forward, unleashing a concentrated blast to its center, turning it into inky mist. You duck and slam a flaming palm into another, cringing at the hold feeling of its body - not solid, not gas, but something in between that is cold to the touch and almost there. Your flames weaken for a moment as the creature trashes and dies, leaving you to roll and dispose of the remaining wraiths.

Silence rushes back in as you stand, chest rising and falling. Cool air kisses the back of your neck as you look around the room, flames dancing between your fingers, waiting for another assault. No other shadows slink forward, but you remain tense, glancing toward the obsidian tomb on the dais. It remains unchanged, nothing emerging forward, nothing breathing. You stare at it for a moment longer before you extinguish the flames, hands held near the handles of your weapons at the ready.

You're not sure what the shadows had been, but it was obvious they were guardians of some sort. The wizards had warned you of the possibility of things in the ruins, but they hadn't the slightest idea what. It wouldn't have mattered if they did - a few vicious shadows weren't enough to deter you from a high-paying job. The job being the procurement of whatever the shadows had been guarding in the tomb up on the dais.

Placing your foot on the first step of the dais, you hesitate. Nothing happens. No more shadows appear. No traps are sprung. The step is solid beneath your boots, the dust sifting lightly from your foot. You take another step, followed by another, until you're walking up the dais.

The tomb looms in front of you, its surface gleaming faintly in the green-tinted light. Vines tangle motionless from the broken ceiling above, but it doesn't smell like greenery. It smells heavily of incense on the dais mixed with something metallic like blood. Your heart skips as you slide forward, feeling drawn to the thumb.

Cool air kisses your neck as you walk forward. The tomb itself is pristine, untouched by the decay that seems to have claimed everything else. Its black surface is polished to a mirror sheen, veined with quartz that catches the dim light and holds it, almost glowing faintly from within. There's no lid or seal - it's really just a rectangular basin carved from a single piece of stone, its interior lost to shadow despite the light pouring from above.

You should leave.

PERCEPTION CHECK | DC: 20 | MODIFER: +6 | ROLL ON DICE: 1 | RESULT: FAILED WITH CRITICAL FAILURE

The thought comes unbidden, sharp and clear. You should turn around, walk back through the chamber, climb those stairs, and never look back. The wizards can find someone else. Some other fool willing to crawl into the dark for coin.

But you don't move - you can't move, drawn toward the tomb, heart throbbing in time with something. Your feet carry you forward, one step after the other, all the way until you're standing at the very edge of the tomb, looking down into a pool of absolute darkness. The shadows inside don't behave like shadows should - they move, writhing and coiling like smoke or serpents or something in between the two, never quite settling into stillness.

Suspended in the darkness, something catches your eye. A blade. It hangs in the air above the tomb's base, pointing down as if thrust into something you cannot see. The weapon itself seems carved from shadow given form, black as the obsidian and yet somehow darker, drinking in the light rather than reflecting it. The hilt is wrapped in leather so old it should be crumbled to dust, but it looks fresh and supple, waiting.

Licking your lips, you reach out, fingers extending slowly toward the hilt. You know this is what you came here for, and though the wrongness of it pulls at you, there are no other roads. So you ignore the chill in the air around the blade, the way it feels wrong. Your fingers brush the leather and for a moment, nothing happens.

Then the world lurches.

Sound dies. The distant drip of water, the hush of the trees above, your own breathing - all of it snuffs out in an instant and the green light from above dims, shadows rushing in from every corner of the tide. In the sudden silence, you feel something wake up.

You feel it, but you don't understand what it is. There is a sudden presence, a vast and ancient and hungry thing pressed against the edges of your awareness like a hand against glass. The touch feels like its testing - searching - and your fingers automatically close around the hilt. It's like you cannot stop them, unable to pull your hand back or control your own hand. The blade comes free of its invisible sheath with a sound like searing silk and the presence blooms.

It slams into your mind with the force of a battering ram, not a physical blow but something far worse that bypasses flesh and bone to strike at the core of you. Your mind recoils, instinct screaming danger even as your body locks rigid, hand frozen around the hilt. The blade feels like ice and fire all at once, burning you like nothing you've ever touched before.

You think you're screaming, but in the heavy silence there is only the presence. Only the feeling of something beyond your understanding, pressing down on you until you feel liquid in your ears and realize it might be blood. Your head screams, your eyes ache, the pressure so intense that you think you might pop, body giving way to the immense weight of whatever is in the room with you.

Mine.

The word isn't spoken. It is. A declaration that resonates through your skull, through your chest, through every nerve and sinew. Not a voice but a knowing, absolute and undeniable. It is a terrifying voice - no, not a voice. More like a thought that presses against you, less voice and more alien sentience. You try to drop the blade, but your fingers won't obey. You try to step back, but it's like your legs have turned to stone.

Terror takes over. The presence presses deeper and you feel it now, the shape of something immense and terrible trying to find a way in. Fire erupts from your free hand without conscious thought, your instinct to defend yourself kicking in. Defense. The flames roar up in a column of orange and gold, casting wild shadows across the chamber walls. Heat washes over your face and the incense smells burns away, replaced by the smell of your fire. But the presence doesn't care - it only pushes harder.

Let me in.

"No." The word scrapes out of your throat, raw and desperate. "Get out."

The pressure increases. Your knees buckle. You catch yourself against the edge of the tomb with your free hand, obsidian cold against your palm. The blade remains locked in your other fist, impossible to release. Your head feels like it's splitting open. Like something is prying apart your skull from the inside, making room for itself in spaces that were never meant to hold anything but you.

You begin screaming like you've never screamed before, the sound echoing through the chamber, bouncing off stone. Fire explodes outward in a wave, a desperate, uncontrolled burst of power that scorches the air and sends smoke billowing toward the opening far above. For one moment, you feel the presence recoil.

Then it comes back twice as strong.

It crashes into you like a wave against a cliff, relentless and overwhelming. Your flames sputter and die, guttering out, leaving only smoke and the smell of burned air. You can't breathe. Cannot think. The presence is everywhere, filling every corner of your mind, drowning out your own thoughts with its vast, terrible awareness.

Cease your struggling. It only prolongs the inevitable.

"Fuck you," you hiss.

The words come out as barely a whisper. You try to summon fire again, try to pull at that well of heat, but the presence is there first, wrapping around your magic like a fist, squeezing. The heat flickers. Fades. You feel it slipping away from you, or maybe you're slipping away from it, you can't tell anymore, can't distinguish between yourself and the thing invading you.

You make a last ditch effort to resist.

GROUP ROLL REQUIRED TO PROCEED. INSTRUCTIONS: Congrats, Traveler! You've made it through the end of the first chapter. Now all that you have to do is roll the wheel and submit the symbol you rolled (just copy and paste it from the result pop up you get). Once submissions close, I will add up the rolls to see if our dear reader passes her wisdom saving through to resist being possessed by the ancient deity!

THE EVENING OF YOUR SISTER'S DEATH, YOU HAD DRAWN THE WORLD, REVERSED FROM YOUR TAROT DECK. You remember staring at it, unsettled, tracing the details as if the lines themselves could tell you what was coming.

It was one of those rare, hand-crafted decks, a fragment of the old world, tangible and delicate. In a world with so little physical art and so little understanding of the universe, you'd cherished the deck, a small luxury in a world where most people wouldn't have understood.

You remember knowing the card was a warning. The only trouble was you didn't know what for. You left the card face up on the desk and blew out your candles, your mother's voice calling through the estate's intercom again, impatient and angry because you were late.

Again.

To her, being late was a condition, not a habit. To you on that rainy November evening, it had been a kind of salvation, though perhaps salvation wasn't the right word. You didn't believe in gods or higher beings, but you did believe in the strange, quiet ways of the universe.

Strange, like how lingering over a single tarot reading could keep you from stepping into the restaurant when the gas explosion tore through the back of the block - when your sister, waiting at your usual table, became the first member of your family to die.

Gone in a moment, the entire direction of your life rearranged.

The world, reversed.

-

The rain over the Upper District is thin and metallic. It sheets off the glass buildings in vertical lines, turning each tower into a waterfall of neon and water. You watch the rain from the back of the car, forehead pressed to the cold window. The city slides past, a smudge of light.

Nexus Capital rises ahead of you, a monolith of glass punch through the low cloud ceiling. You stare at the building that's a feat of architecture with a list of awards and features in architectural magazines. You don't understand why a banking building needs to be an architectural work of art.

You don't find it to be very artistic anyway. Nexus Capital is one hundred and twelve floors of smoked glass and carbon fiber, no logos and no name, but a solid black tower threaded with light that everyone knows when they see it glow against the horizon.

Most nights, it turns invisible, like a trick of the light. If it weren't for the purple LEDs pulsing through the building's framework now, lighting it up to make air travel safe, you wouldn't even see it, though you know exactly where to look.

The car turns into the private ramp beneath the plaza, the security gates opening slowly. The car pauses as the driver cracks the window to state your business and clearance information. You wait, staring dully out the window as the scanners read the car for weapons and trace the plates. When it clears, the driver pulls through, continuing down the spiraling ramp toward the sub-level reserved for people who don't use the public lobby.

People like you.

You step out into a cold, concrete garage. Security guards are waiting on either side of the elevator for you, their charcoal suites pristine. They nod politely as you approach, heels clicking. One presses his palm to the panel, the lift doors opening with a soft hiss.

Your ride is eighty-nine floors, no stops. You breathe slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Four counts in, hold for four, exhale eight. Even numbers. Good numbers. Your pulse steadies.

The reflection in the glass wall of the elevator is jarring: black dress, black blazer, hair tamed, heels, minimal jewelry. The girl who used to sneak out of charity galas to stare up at the moon and fill jars of water to collect its energy is nowhere in sight.

A chime indicates your arrival and you stiffen. The lift opens directly into an executive corridor of basalt floors and recessed lightly. It smells faintly of cedar in the hall, no doubt pumped in by an unseen air filtration system, meant to give the offices an old, serious feel.

The eighty-ninth floor is nothing but meeting rooms and executive spaces. You walk along the network of empty rooms now, knowing the way by heart - you'd practiced the route a million times. Normally, even after hours, the meeting rooms would be full of people. This evening's meeting is high profile though, so the entire floor has been reserved and dismissed.

Double doors greet you as you turn a corner. A security guard is outside, tipping his head to greet you before opening the door to let you in. Inside is a massive board room full of people.

One entire wall is made up of glass, Hyperion glittering on the other side: neon arteries, ribbons of traffic, the distant strobe of a casino in the Pearl District. The table in the center of the room is a massive rectangle of smoked quartz, lit from beneath so it looks frozen.

You go straight to your side of the table where your father and board members sit. There's a single, high-back chair for you next to your father - it used to be your mother's, but after she'd killed herself a few months ago, she bequeathed the chair to you.

Her ghost clings to you every time you sit in the chair, a coolness sticking to your skin. You grit your teeth. This room needs sage and perhaps some selenite. It has neither, so you ignore the way a shiver slides up your spine, phantom fingers reminding you of the heaviness of her absence. Ghosts don't like to be ignored, but no one else in this room can feel the way spirit lingers, the way memories have a way of clinging to a place.

Today is not a day for fear and superstition. Today is the kind of day where you have to ignore all of your instincts in favor of being practical and analytical - the kind of girl your sister would have been, instead of you, the strange one who believed in the energies of the universe and its strange higher powers.

Lifting your eyes, you peer across the table as your father clears his throat to settle the room. Xu Minghao is seated directly across from you, the polished surface of the crystal table stretching like eons between you. He's narrower than the file photos, dressed in a suit so dark that it seems to eat the light around him. His hair is longer too, styled neatly around his ears to rest against his collar bones. It suits him, you think.

He's prettier than you realized, too. His face is exquisitely balanced between sharp and soft, his eyes fierce and burning as he stares at you, his mouth soft and supple. His equally sharp jawline is offset by a gentle nose, a blend of contrasts that make him breathtaking to look at.

And extremely intimidating.

"Shall we begin?" Your father asks. He's using his calm voice, the one he likes to use to show he isn't intimidated.

The Xu side inclines heads in near-perfect synchrony. Minghao's father, Xu Jian, sits at the center opposite your father, his hair dark and long like his son, threading with silver at the temples. Odd, you think. In a world where showing age is so rare, you find it fascinating that the Xu family's patriarch has deliberately decided to show his age. A powerplay, perhaps, that he does not fear how fast the world around him is moving, nor is he influenced by the trends of appearing young.

Xu Luli is the opposite. Minghao's mother is a radiance of youth, dressed in immaculate dove silk with a single jade pendant the size of a small egg pinned to her blazer. Her face has no obvious lines, full and flushed with color like she's still in her twenties. It's unsettling, and when your eyes flick to Minghao, you realize how much he looks like her with his full lips and sharp eyes. He's nearly her mirror, save for his eyes are dark and near-black where hers are uncanny stormy grey.

Across the table, Minghao sits perfectly upright, his hands folded loosely on the table. No rings, no watch, no jewelry at all. There's just a faint scare across the first knuckle of his right hand, pale against otherwise flawless skin.

Your father gestures to the lead counsel on your side to begin. She taps the table and a holo screen blooms above the quartz, rotating for all to see. It's a splitting of proposed assets, tallied net and financial worth, assets both tangible and liquid, and everything else about you both true and not splayed for everyone to see.

"Xu Worldwide Logistics currently moves forty-three percent of all container freight through Hyperion's docks in the Civ District," the lead counsel begins. "Post-marraige, joint control of the merged entity will be split sixty-forty in favor of Xu Worldwide Logistics, with veto rights retained by Nexus Capital."

Xu Jian smiles. "Forty-three percent is a conservative assessment of our business. Perhaps seventy-thirty would be more appropriate."

"Sixty-five," your father answers, smiling. "Thirty-five. That feels more appropriate. Our assumptions of your capital are conservative, as you say."

Jian bows his head and agrees.

You watch in silence as your assets are debated for you - assets you didn't have until a year ago, when your sister had been blown apart in a freak accident. Your hands sweat looking at the figures and numbers that shouldn't belong to you, the endless amount of credits, properties, offshore accounts and liquid assets you don't even understand.

Swallowing past a dry patch in your throat, you glance at Minghao. He doesn't look at the rotating holograms of your entire net worth reflected for a room full of suits - he looks directly at you. He's not staring, exactly, but you fight the urge to shiver anyway. His gaze is intense and cataloging, like he's reading every tiny expression on your face.

In fact, he probably is. Minghao's family isn't from Hyperion, but they've clawed their way to the top with the money and empire they've built in Hyperion, which means they know how to play the game. After all, if they didn't know how to play, they wouldn't be sitting at this table negotiating a political marriage to gain access to the one of the city's most powerful Syndicates.

"Along with the marriage comes guarantees," your father says, catching your attention. "Of additional security for shipments."

No one says Choi Syndicate. No one has to. This entire marriage is for the Choi Syndicate, who are seeking an advantage in the Yong Syndicate-owned shipping yards in the Civ District. While the Xu family has remained neutral thus far, the fact that you're all sitting in a room discussing your legal marriage to the heir of their business is an aggressive move for the Xu family.

"Additionally," your father adds, as though sensing the unsaid danger in the room, "Nexus Capital is partnered with Aegis Security Corp. They're a long-standing client of ours, and are happy to provide additional support, both personal and professional to the Xu family and clients."

You can't help the way you start to roll your eyes. Aegis Security Corporation is a legitimate business portfolio pledged to Nexus Capital, but that certainly isn't the security your father is promising. He's promising the Xu family Choi Syndicate protection, a silent acknowledgement that by being here in this room, they are agreeing to the risk of being targeted by other Syndicates but will be offered the protections of guns, money and blood that the Choi Syndicate can offer.

The smile the Xu patriarch gives assures you that he is right where he wants to be, though his son remains expressionless, eyes unreadable.

Minghao's mother leans forward, her jade pendant catching the light. "And the personal union? We understand the principal heirs will co-own the new holding company directly. We would like the details of residence, public representation, and succession details clarified."

This time, you do cringe. You can't help it. The word succession details crawls inside of your ribcage and threatens to start corroding. She means where will you live, who gets to be the press's shining star, and who inherits if someone dies inconveniently.

Or conveniently, depending on if you die and all your assets default to the man across the table. Which is a real threat that you've talked about with your father, knowing that he could be signing you over for someone to assassinate you and claim rights to all that you own. It is exactly why the proposal keeps the shipping assets in favor of the Xu family and the banking assets in favor of your family, a shared split but a majority of both residing with the original shareholder.

Your father looks to you to answer Minghao's mother. The message is clear: you’re the woman of the family. Speak to your counterpart.

"Residence will be the penthouse at the Observatory," you answer. "It's at the edge of the Upper District near the Estate District."

"The Observatory?"

"A starter home for us to settle. When we decide to have a family, there is a private residence left to me in the Estate District as dictated by my mother's will." She leans back, pleased. Your eyes drift to Minghao. "I assume Mr. Xu has no objection to living above the clouds to start."

"Height has never bothered me," he answers. His voice is soft, but the way he says it makes the hair on your arms raise. "It's a generous gift."

You learn forward, resting your forearms on the cold table top. The sleeves of your dress ride up just enough to show the faint bruise on your left wrist, fingermarks from last week when your father decided punctuality required emphasis. You adjust the sleeve, but when you look up, you see Minghao's eyes latched to the spot.

"Public representation," you continue quickly, trying to keep him engaged, "will be joint. Galas, council meetings, the usual. We smile, we shake hands, we let the photographers snap pictures. Public image is a joint effort and a joint success."

Both of his parents nod, pleased. Minghao is still staring at your covered wrist. "As far as succession, if one of us dies, the surviving spouse inherits full voting control of the merged entity for a minimum of five years. After that, it reverts to the strongest board proxy. Standard widow's clause."

"What is your security like?"

Minghao's question catches you offguard. You're unsure if he means the traditional security you use as the heir to one of the city's richest families, or the Choi Syndicate security you use to ward people away from you. You're sure he doesn't mean the spell jars hidden in the drawers of your room or the spell oils you tinker with.

"Standard," you offer. It seems like a safe answer.

"Standard." He frowns. "I find that the standard rarely does the job."

His father starts to speak, but Minghao lifts a finger, barely a centimeter. You watch in shock as it silences his father. It's so subtle you're unsure if anyone else notices it. Strange, for a son to dictate what a father does. You file that bit of information away for later.

"Do you have a recommendation, then?" You ask. "Feel free to propose something less standard."

His mouth twitches, a ghost of amusement. "Security protocols should be put in place. Travel routes, choices of driver, general schedules, should all have a shared veto. If one of us believes a risk is unacceptable, the other yields. No appeal."

Your father makes an angry sound. "You're asking for the right to countermand my daughter's security detail? That's entirely too controlling and rather convenient if you wanted her assets."

The accusation ruffles the feathers on the other side of the table, but Minghao remains nonplussed, eyes flicking to your father. His expression has barely shifted, but there's something subtle there, something sharp.

"I'm asking," he corrects, voice soft, "That neither of us dies stupidly because the other was too proud to listen. I find that joint decisions on matters of travel and security are often best, especially considering that this marriage will be highly publicized."

"Fine," you answer before your father can object. "Shard veto, with the amendment that our security teams are jointly chosen. You may not employ any member of security who has not been vetted and agreed upon by me personally."

Minghao inclines his head. "Agreed."

Above the table, a redline version of the agreement drafts as you trade amendments. Your eyes drop down to the scar on his knuckle again. It's thin and precise, the kind of mark left by a wire garotte or a very sharp knife. Not the sort of scar you get from yachting around the world like you've been told he does frequently.

Strange. In just a short manner of time, the list of strange things about Minghao grows longer. Something about him tugs at your tuition, a feeling of premonition you can't place. 

When you look back up, Minghao is watching you. His mouth twitches and your skin burns like you've been caught. You try to work out the expression on his face, but as his mother brings up the section regarding children, it's like dunking your head into ice cold water.

"Two," she says smoothly, fixing you with a pointed stare. "Minimum. More is fine. Bloodline continuity is non-negotiable. Two is safe, should the other-"

She cuts herself off, face going white. No one speaks. Your father is stiff next to you - you don't even think he's even breathing. Luli looks like she doesn't know what to do, caught between needing to apologize and the terrible of making such a bad social faux pas.

It's a reminder that the Xu family isn't from here. Arkos isn't a city that far away, but it's foreign enough in social structure, political makeup and culture that you're reminded how hard the Xu family must have worked to adapt to Hyperion's complex pecking order and social norms, and Luli has just made a terrible mistake. Were she in a room of Hyperion socialites or Syndicate women, she'd probably never recover.

"Should the other die," you finish for her. "Yes, we're quite familiar with the concept. Two minimum makes sense. Do you have a preference on gender?"

The silence in the room is so complete you can hear the faint echo of the city outside. You wait, staring across the table, trying to do anything but think about how intimately familiar you are with parents needing an heir and a spare, especially in a city like Hyperion. Luli's lips part, then close, surprised at how quickly you've addressed her concern and moved on.

"So do you?" You ask again, eyes flicking between Minghao and his mother who glance at one another. "I'm only asking because some families still care about sons carrying the name. Saves awkward paperwork later."

"Gender is irrelevant," Minghao answers. "Healthy heirs are all that matters."

"Yes," his mother agrees. "Healthy. And timing?"

You lean back in a dead woman's chair. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is what your sister had to sit through. Though you were only a few years apart, your sister is alien to you. Unfamiliar. Did she have to sit through board rooms and negotiate terms and rights to her womb? She did have to pledge herself to a total stranger and promise to pop out heirs?"

Of course she did. You wonder if she was any good at it. You never asked her. You'd been too busy hiding away from your family in the gardens, watching butterflies land on the water lilies while the house keeper told you about craft and how certain herbs had metaphysical properties. You’d been fascinated by her and her practice, an ancient, earthy belief that most people thought was nonsense.

"Five years," you tell her. "Minimum. Our data shows that the city's current climate is not ideal for infants." You pause as the lead counsel shows the data in question. "After that, we can revisit timelines. Medical oversight may be split eighty-twenty, with my priorities and preferences emphasized."

"I would prefer-"

"Accepted," Minghao says softly, cutting off his mother. She leans back, pursing her lips. You don't know much about Xu Luli, but she looks like someone who would prefer far more control over the birth of her grandchildren. Minghao's eyes slide back to you. "A final item, if you will."

Your father gestures for him to continue. Minghao reaches inside of his pocket and produces a matte-black rectangle no larger than one of your tarot cards. There's no logo or text, so dark that it drinks the light in like his suit does. He sets it on the table and flicks it with a finger, sliding it across the table like oil slick.

You blink in surprise when you realize it's a comm device, thin enough to slice paper with the faintest holo-sheen on it. You've never seen its make before, and you look back up at him, questioning.

"A private channel," Minghao says, addressing you. "Encrypted. Off-grid. Not monitored by family, counsel, or security. For discussions that do not belong in the meeting minutes."

Next to you, your father's scoff is immediate and sharp. "She doesn't need-"

"Voluntary, of course," Minghao assures. "Either party may choose never to use it. It exists, though. Personal devices will be the main point of contact."

Xu Jian's smile is thin. "A gesture of good faith and a family tradition. The Xu family places emphasis on having direct contact with our partners in times of turmoil."

"And what turmoil do you predict to befall this city?"

Minghao's father spreads his hands. "The world is ever-changing. It is not a reactionary practice, but perhaps a proactive one."

Your father's fingers drum on the table. The rhythm is familiar - you've heard it in the back of cars, against the arm of the couch, on the top of a desk. It's the telltale sign of his increasing irritation, the need to do something with his fingers before he strikes.

After a long beat, your father nods. "Voluntary."

Minghao dips his head. "We have no other amendments."

The lead counsel taps the table. The contract above ripples, red lines bleeding into final black. A soft chime confirms transmission, and you look down to see the new draft appearing in the table's interface in front of you. Your name is already glowing in the signature line, waiting for your official sign off.

Swallowing hurts. Your throat is desert-dry as you pick up the stylus, hating the way it shakes in your hand. You grip it tighter, fighting off the tremor as you glance up instinctively.

Minghao is no longer watching you. His head is bowed, stylus moving in a single, fluid stroke that ends in a flourish. He sets the stylus down with deliberate care, aligning it parallel to the edge of the table before he looks up at you again, expectant.

You look down and sign, a nervous trickle of fear cutting through you. Once executed, the documents appear across the interface in rotation, allowing for the room to sign as witnesses. You keep your gaze fixed to the document rather than him, but you can feel the eight of his stare settle on you like a blade pressed to the hollow of your throat.

"Ajourned," your father says as soon as the final signature is to document.

Chairs roll back in a sudden rush of sound. Quiet chatter rises, the polite and rehearsed gratitude backtracking the soft shaking of hands. A side door you hadn't noticed opens and two white-gloved staff glide in with trays of chilled plum-infused water, coffee, and tiny plates of yuzu macarons dusted with gold leaf.

You cringe. The refreshments are small but you know they cost more per bite than most people in the Lower District make in a week, the display of wealth so suddenly unfamiliar to you that you feel your stomach flip.

People begin to mingle. Your father is already shaking Xu Jian's hand, voice pitched politely again. Luli is laughing at something one of the lead counsel members is saying bright and lilting.

You stand, knees shaking. The air feels a little too thick for you, your pulse a frantic bird trapped inside your ribcade. You don't bother excusing yourself verbally - no one in the room notices you. They never do. So no one stops you when you slip through the door into the corridor.

Outside the boardroom the air is cooler. You breathe in the cedar-scent, walking away from the room. Your heels are too loud and you soften your steps, making it feel like you're sneaking off. And you kind of are, honestly. You need a break, a breather from the formality and the cage of formality.

You find a smaller meeting room, windowless and lit only by a single strip of amber light along the ceiling. There's a narrow table with four chairs and nothing else. You lean back against the door for a moment, letting out the breath you'd been holding the entire meeting.

Reaching into the pocket of your blazer, you produce a silk-wrapped bundle. The cards are warm from your body heat, the silk falling away as you unwrap the tarot set. You walk toward the table, shuffling the cards. You feel your anxiety ease with the familiar weight of them in your hand, the soft schk as they shift in your fingers.

You don't even ask the deck a question. You just need the feel of them, need something familiar in this strange building with these strange people. The cards speak anyway, three cards slipping from the deck to clatter on the table, face-up.

The Tower, upright. The Moon, reversed. Death, upright.

It feels cold in the room. You stare at them, teeth working your bottom lip as you process, your eyes dragging over each guard. Lightning splitting stone. Lies and illusion dissolvering. And ending that's a beginning. It's the usual trio that's been haunting you since you drew the World, reversed a year ago.

You don't hear the door open as you look over them. It isn't until you see a shadow fall over them that you flinch, whirling around with your hand flying to your chest.

Minghao stands just inside the threshold, one hand still on the handle, the other loose at his side. He closes the door without a sound, tilting his head to peer around you at the table of cards. You step to block his line of sight, vision pounding.

"Oh, it's you-" You break off, unsure what to say. He probably has no concept of tarot cards anyway. "It's a… hobby of mine."

Minghao says nothing. He approaches with deliberate, lithe steps until he's standing next to you but with a respectable distance between you. You catch the faint scent of pine and cold air clinging to his jacket, refreshing.

"What do they mean?" He asks, voice soft. "When they fall like this? What do you see?"

"You know what they are?"

"I know it's strange that you have them. You don't strike me as a wicked woman." You frown at the term wicked woman. It's slang for the women who work backdoor craft and ritual practices - you're curious how someone of his status knows the word at all. He points to the cards on the table. "Tell me, please."

You step forward, fingers tightening around the deck. "The Tower means sudden change. The collapse of something that was supposed to be stable. Violence, sometimes."

"The Tower like the rulers of the Syndicates?"

"Yes."

He hums. "Keep going."

"The Moon reversed is lies coming undone. Secrets dragging into the light whether one wants them to or not."

"I see. And Death?"

"Death isn't always literal." You don't know why you feel the need to clarify, but you do. "It's transformation. The end of one thing so another can begin. You can fight it or you can walk through it, but you never stay the same."

Minghao is quiet for a long moment. The light bathes him half in shadow, half in light, like a dark angel. He's so beautiful it's hard to think straight for a moment, hard to realize this is the man you're going to marry.

"You're practiced at reading these, then?"

"Very. I trust very few things, but these have never lied to me."

"You're too honest," Minghao's gaze lingers on the Death card before he turns to leave, not sparing you a glance. "It will hurt you one day."

—

The night of your engagement part, the party planning committee led by Xu Luli outdoes itself. The Sky Venue at The Elysian is an architectural wonder - one hundred and thirty-three floors up, the entire top level has been gutted and rebuilt into a single floating garden suspended beneath a retractable dome of smart glass.

Tonight, the dome is open to the stars. The air is warm despite the cooling season, the climate controlled by tiny micro-drones flying around the open dome, naked to the eye. The air tastes faintly of night-blooming jasmine, and guests wander through the garden with glasses of champagne.

Waterfalls pour from above into man-made koi ponds, night lilies floating on the rippling surfaces. Servers in white silk glide past, careful to avoid the ponds as they serve golf leaf canapes and cocktails served in what you think might be diamonds. In the corner, a string quartet plays on a platform of transparent glass suspended thirty meters above the ground, music cascading down and over the crowd.

Spared no expense, someone mutters as you walk by. Of course you didn't. This is the night that your family alongside the Xu's are selling you to the city and showing off their wealth.

A statement night, really.

You stand near one of the koi pongs in a gown of liquid obsidian. There are thousands of microscopic diamonds hand-stitched into the dress, making it look like you bend the light the same way as your fiancée's suit. Your neckline plunges just enough to be daring, and the back is open to the base of your spine.

A single strand of black tourmaline beads is loped around your wrist. To anyone not paying attention, it looks like diamonds. To you, it's grounding, steadying you against the thousand eyes currently cataloguing you.

Minghao finds you before you find him. He appears at your left shoulder without a sound, a flute of champagne in his hand. You flinch when you see him - over the last two months, you've been entirely unable to adjust to the way he materializes out of thin air.

"You look like a dark priestess," he murmurs. "Very on-brand, wicked woman."

You turn to him, trying to control your pointed smile. "Call me that again and I'll make your mornings quite unpleasant. I will hide hex bags where you will never find them."

His mouth twitches. He doesn't look at you, his eyes scanning the crowd, sharp as ever. He hands you the glass and you take it, knowing better than to dismiss him in public.

"Threats already," he observes. "We're not even married yet."

"I'm not a wicked woman," you say. "It's rude to call me one. I'm a practitioner. Kind of. I wanted to be. I don't sell phony fixalls from behind a Rose Room in the Lower District."

"And what is it you practice?"

"None of your business."

He hums. "You smell of incense and herbs, wicked woman. It's nice."

"If you're trying to upset me-"

"I'm trying to distract you." He glances at you, dark eyes glittering. "You have an angry resting face. It makes people think you're unhappy to be here."

"I am unhappy."

He lets out a small sound. You realize it's amusement and you feel an odd twitch behind your ribs. "I told you already, you are too honest."

In the last two months since your engagement, your interactions with Minghao have been minimal. He is doggedly polite, formal, and stiff, saying all the right things and smiling at all the right times, but none of it is real. He's so practiced and rehearsed that at first, you thought it might be real. But the more you watch him, the more you realize that Minghao is the perfect imitator.

Except now. His poking and prodding seems in jest, though you know there's certainly something more to it, something important that you're missing. This light banter is new to you, and you dislike that he asks questions about your practice. The elite don't often take kindly to those who believe in powers beyond money and Syndicates, but Minghao seems more amused than disturbed.

You glance beyond Minghao, eyes settling on the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. You feel your mouth go dry at the sight of Choi Moojin. He stands a distance away with his wife, dressed in a bespoke midnight suit, the mountain emblem embroidered in a threat of silver at his cuff.

The Tower of the Syndicate is the single most powerful person in the room, if not the city. Though there are two other Syndicates in the city, the Choi Syndicate has been strong the last few years, gaining a slight power foothold both politically and economically.

Not territorially, though. Their loss of the Port of Hyperion being located in the Choi-dominated Warehouse District to the Yong family had been a blow, and was the entire reason that your wedding to Minghao was happening at all.

As long standing patrons dedicated to the Choi family, your union to Minghao guarantees better assurances for Choi-owned shipping freight and better sway and management with the shipping authority.

A smart match. A political one. All dictated because the Tower of the Choi Syndicate needed it. Strange, that your entire life has shifted at the command of a man you've never personally met because he needs something from you that he'll never pay you back for.

A little ways away from the Tower and his wife, their children argue. At least, that's what it looks like they're doing. Seungcheol leans against a pillar nearby, murmuring something to his sister, expression heated. She ignores him, staring out into the crowd as though she can't hear him at all.

The Choi heiress is the kind of beauty that commands the attention of the entire room, even now as her brother mutters urgently to her. Recently engaged herself, you're surprised you don't see her fiancée lurking about. You're sure that Kim Yijun was on the guest list. Instead, she ignores Seungcheol, a haunted look on her face, a beautiful dove with a broken wing. She'd looked like that the last time you'd seen her too, an empty shell of the girl you'd gone to etiquette school with.

"Strange," Minghao murmurs, drawing your attention back to him. "To see them in person."

"Why?"

"They seem normal."

"They are."

Minghao hums but doesn't answer. Perhaps he has a point - they do seem normal. But why shouldn't they? They're two of the most privileged people in the room, growing up under a banner of Syndicate peace and prosperity. Had he expected obvious criminality? Knives and guns, threats of violence?

The way he observes them with his mouth slightly downturned tells you he might have expected exactly that. He's unfamiliar with the Syndicates, and you think belatedly of the scar on his knuckles, the one you often wonder after.

You drain your champagne in one swallow. "They're here to make sure this is a union they support, not cause violence."

"The union was their idea." You cut a glance at Minghao. It's a truth that no one says outloud, least of all here. He returns your stare, his eyes inky and unreadable. "They wouldn't suggest it if they didn't support it."

"You told me being too honest would get me hurt one day. Maybe you should consider that as well."

"Should a husband not be honest with his wife?"

A passing server offers caviar on mother-of-pearl spoons. You ignore him, your eyes on the Choi heiress who turns to her brother and says something that shuts him up. Minghao gives the server a single look and sends him scurrying away, your fiancée sliding a step closer to you.

"You strike me as someone who uses truths to hide other truths," you note, looking him up and down. "You'll tell me one honest thing to make me confident while you hide six others."

Something flickers behind Minghao's eyes. It's that same flare of something like that first day you met him. Maybe surprise or recognition. You're not entirely sure, but it does something to you that you can't name, a little tug right behind your ribcage.

"Observant."

"I have to be."

"What have your cards told you about tonight?" You give Minghao a sharp look. He doesn't look at you but he sighs. "It wasn't a barb. I'm not sparring with you- not anymore, anyway. I’m trying to get to know you."

He laces his hands behind his back, waiting. Minghao is good at waiting, you've noticed. He doesn't ask for things twice, and he never clarifies himself - save for you. There is power in silence and waiting others out, and Minghao maneuvers that silence like a carefully sharpened blade that he's intimately familiar with.

"The same three cards," you tell him eventually. "The Tower. The Moon, reversed. Death."

Minghao hums. "Violent change. Illusions stripped away. Transformation."

"You don't have to pretend to believe in it for my sake."

"I don't know what I believe in. Perhaps there is some truth to your tarot and the spell jars you keep hidden in your pockets. Who is to say?"

Before you can answer, a ripple moves through the crowd. You watch as heads turn and you find the source. The Tower is moving, slow and inevitable toward you. Your heart lurches and you glance around, looking for your father, who should be here to receive this conversation, but he's nowhere to be found.

Minghao's hand settles at the small of your back, making you swallow thickly. The heat of his palm against your skin is an inferno, but it grounds you as the Tower approaches with his wife, children and Wisdom in tow.

You glance at Yoon Minji, the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate. You hadn't noticed her at first, the woman a near imperceptible shadow lurking behind the Tower's wife. She's dressed in a blue so dark that it's almost black, hair pulled back and slick as oil. Her son is at her side, a twin shadow that you have heard is her image in more than just physical likeness.

Choi Moojin stops an arm's length away. Up close, he's larger than you remember, the kind of presence that fills up a room and makes you feel small. His eyes are fathomless, but surprisingly warm, a weird offset to the danger you know he poses.

"You look beautiful," he says, voice soft. "Congratulations on your engagement. Your families must be proud, you're an exquisite couple with good taste."

You dip at the knees and lower your head, bowing as deep as decorum for the moment demands. "Thank you, Tower. Your blessing is appreciated."

Seungcheol steps around his father, offering his hand to Minghao while his sister lingers behind him, a strange look on her face as she watches you, almost like panic. Her brother shakes Minghao's hand firmly before he takes yours and kisses the top politely. "Congratulations."

Minghao's fingers flex against your spine, the tiniest pressure before you drop Seungcheol's hand and the Choi's drift away. You feel yourself exhale as they do, relief flooding your system at their obvious approval. The Mountain will stand behind your marriage, which is as good as signing the paper and saying your vows.

The Wisdom goes with the Choi's, dipping her head toward you with a small smile that unsettles you, but her son lingers, drifting closer with a lazy grin.

Jeonghan offers a hand to Minghao. "A union of banking and shipping. Tell me, does love come standard with the merger, or is that an optional upgrade?

It's crass. From what you know of Yoon Jeonghan, it isn't surprising that he likes to see you squirm. Though he's next in line to be the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate when his mother steps down from the title, you're unsure if he's suited for it if he can't help but make inappropriate barbs at an engagement party.

You have half the mind to tell him so, but it's Minghao who answers, a sharp smile on his face as he shakes Jeonghan's hand. "We prefer equity over love."

Jeonghan laughs, delighted. "Enjoy the party. Congratulations on your union."

With a final wink, Jeonghan drifts away, chasing after Seungcheol who is arguing with his sister again. The Tower ignores his children, clapping someone on the back from Nexus Capital's board of directors.

Minghao's hand slides from your back to your wrist, thumb brushing the tourmaline bracelet once before he drops his hand entirely. You don't dare look at him. The touch is intimate and softer than you expect. It unsettles you that it’s the softest bit of warmth anyone has shown you in years.

Your fiancée waves to a group of people familiar to him but not to you. You expect him to lead you over and introduce you, but he doesn't, drifting away from you with a final look that you can't read. You watch him go, the place where his hand rested burning like a brand.

-

Your new penthouse is too large for two people. You knew that before you moved in, but with someone as quiet and absent as Minghao, it feels like you're on your own most days.

The penthouse occupies the entire crown of the residences at The Observatory in the northeast corner of the Upper District. Your new home is four thousand square feet of smoked glass, matte black steel, and pale ash wood that leaves the home cold.

The main living space is a single open expanse, the kitchen bleeding into the dining room and lounger. Floor to ceiling windows frame the open space on three sides, letting in the spill of city flights on a clear night. Tonight, it's cloudy, the fog on the glass pressing close and obscuring the world. It makes you feel like you're in your own dimension far away from Hyperion.

Your bedroom is in the east wing of the apartment, Minghao's is in the west. Two totally opposite ends of the space you're supposed to share together. Live in together. Be married in together. He'd requested your rooms remain separate, and though it hadn't bothered you at first, it does now.

It doesn't matter what bothers you, though. There's no one around to complain to. Your days have settled into a brittle sort of rhythm: you get up at seven to go to the gym to find him already gone. You never see him leave but when you make your mugwort and lemon tea, the kettle is always warm. He returns sometime between nine and noon, hair damp, expression icy. He gives you a polite nod, then vanishes to his wing of the apartment.

No words. Nothing.

You spend the hours alone learning the layout of your home. It's different from the rolling estate of your family. Smaller and bigger all at once, lacking the intricacies and oddities of a home that has been in a family for generations.

The windows never open - you suppose that makes sense, this high up. The air is triple-filtered and scent-neutralised, making the rooms feel dead and clinical. You decide to combat this every Wednesday after the cleaners have gone.

As soon as they're gone, you begin your work. The routine is simple, nothing extravagant. You take a small bundle of palo santo from the tin you keep with your tea and light one end, letting the sweet smoke rise. With the woody smoke drifting from the lit end, you walk the apartment slowly, clockwise while thinking on your intentions.

You trail the smoke along the windows, under the sofa, around the legs of the stools at the island. You grow hesitant when you near Minghao's room, but you let the smoke drift toward his door anyway. You don't open it, but your hands trace the doorframe, a small peace offering.

As you work, your mind empties save for your little intentions: peace, protection, harmony. You're kneeling in the middle of the living room, passing the palo santo beneath the low coffee table one last time when the front door opens without warning. You sit rod straight, turning to see Minghao come into the apartment. Your eyes flick to the clock and you frown. He's early today.

He's dressed in black workout clothes, hair damp, a bottle of water dangling in one hand. He stops the moment he sees you.

Smoke curls between you. He says nothing and neither do you. You half expect a question, a raised brow, anything. He looks at the palo santo in your hand, the thin ribbon of smoke, and then back to you. Something shifts in his expression that you can't place, but he doesn't say anything.

Instead, he steps carefully to the kitchen, giving you a wide berth despite the physical distance already between you, and opens the fridge. He takes out a second bottle of water, and sets it on the island counter top toward you.

"You look dehydrated," is all he says before he tips his head and walks back to his wing.

You remain on your knees, staring at him, lips parted a little. His bedroom door shuts with a distant click, leaving you in the silence and the curling smoke.

Eventually, you get up, knees cracking as you do. You feel a little dizzy and realize you are thirsty. You have no idea how he was able to clock that you're dehydrated by simply looking at you, but you file it away as one of Minghao's oddities, a neverending list that points to him not being the arrogant rich kid you expected.

Heading to the counter, you grab the water, the condensation on the bottle cold and exactly what you needed. As you drink it, Minghao surprises you by coming back out, a bag over his shoulder. You frown, eyes dropping to the bag.

"I'll be gone for three days," he tells you. "I'll see you on the morning of the third day."

"Where are you going?"

"Business." You don't like the ambiguity, but he's already halfway out the door. He hesitates and turns to you, mouth opening and closing as he chooses his next words carefully. "This is your home. Practice how you'd like."

"Pardon?"

"Your… practice. You don't need to hide it from me, Wicked."

You scowl. "I told you not to call me a wicked woman."

His mouth tilts. "I'm not. Simply wicked, is all. Not quite a wicked woman, not quite a practitioner, hmm?"

You glare through his logic and he shrugs, heading for the door and slipping through like smoke.

-

"Here," you say softly, shoving a bundle into Minghao's hand. He raises his brows, eyes skirting the crowd around you. "This is for you."

It's not the best time to give him the gift, but Minghao is never at the penthouse and keeps hours strange enough that you almost never see him despite living with him. The charity auction for the Archaeology Restoration Fund swells around you under the floating sky of the Lumina Tower, but as a moment of quiet opens up while you're standing next to the orchid walls, you take your change.

His dark eyes flick to your face, then back to the offering. He unwraps the silk with careful fingers, revealing the bracelet nestled inside. It is a deep blood-red cord, braided deliberately by your own hands over several quiet nights in the penthouse. Woven into the threads are three fine strands of your own hair, unmistakeable. At the center hangs a small, polished azabache charm, a piece of jet stone you sourced a few days ago. The stone is smooth and cool, carved with subtle protective sigils only visible under the right light.

He stares at it for a long moment, thumb brushing over the braided cord and the jet stone. Something unreadable flickers across his features before he quickly schools it away.

“You made this?” His voice is low, almost cautious.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"The red is for strength and safety. The azabache is for warding off the evil eye. The hair binds my intention."

"It's not a curse?" You scowl and his mouth twitches. "You threatened to hex me, forgive my hesitation."

Minghao turns the bracelet slowly in his fingers, the azabache catching the soft light. He runs his thumb over the braided strands of your hair, expression softening by the smallest degree. "You continue to surprise me."

"Yeah, well. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to."

Minghao is quiet for another long beat. Then, without a word, he slips the red bracelet onto his right wrist. The contrast of the vivid red cord against his black suit and pale skin is striking. He flexes his hand once, as if testing how it feels, then looks back at you.

"Thank you." There's no mockery or deflection as he lowers his hand. "I'll wear it."

"Don't read too much into it."

"Hm. Too late. Thank you, Wicked."

For a moment, the nickname sounds fond instead of teasing, and the noise of the gala fades. The glowing orchids, the drifting lanterns, the murmur of high society - all of it recedes and leaves the two of you standing in this small pocket of quiet among the spectacle.

-

When you were a little girl, you always imagined that your wedding might be somewhere in a forest, somewhere where forests still legitimately existed. You'd be barefoot, feet planted firmly on a mossy ground, and your hands would be bound in red ribbon to your lover, covered binding oil distilled from flowers and herbs over your wrists until the ribbons were saturated and heavy with the smell of herbs.

This wedding is not that.

The air in the bridal suite is scented heavily with orchids and warm vanilla, the florals spilling over their vases and decorating every surface even here when no one can see them. You stand motionless before the towering mirror, the weight of your gown weighing you down as attendants move around you, adjusting the train of your dress and the butterfly-delicate gossamer of your veil.

Thankfully, the gown is a little like what you imagined. Forgoing the traditional white, it's made of layers of midnight silk, covered in thousands of hand-stitched obsidian beats and microscopic diamonds that fracture in the recessed lighting, turning it into layers of constellations. It spills dramatically into a trail of inky fabric.

You'd commissioned the dress six weeks ago, requesting the design to echo the deep, light-devouring suits Minghao favored. It was a deliberate statement of unity, power, and ultimately, ownership. You'd done it on purpose, and your father had approved when he'd seen it for the first time this morning.

A small win.

Your fingers drift beneath the long sleeve on your left wrist, tracing the black tourmaline and jasper cord hidden against your skin. The cord feels warm, a quiet tether to something older and more certain than the spectacle awaiting you. You breathe deliberately - four counts in, four out. It calms the frantic bird trapped behind your ribs, but only barely.

The reflection in the mirror is alien to you. You've never seen yourself look more elegant and composed, but inside you still feel like the little girl who collected moon water in jars and whispered secrets into manifestation journals.

Beyond the heavy double doors, the ceremony garden waits. The Garden of Eden is one of the city's finest venues, a floral dream suspended three hundred floors above Hyperion's rain-slicked streets. Real, living soil fills massive engineered beds through the space with towering tropical ferns planted, their glossy fronds glinting with dew. Multiple water falls cascade from tiered rock formations into koi ponds, the splash audible even from behind closed doors.

You'd chosen the venue because it was the closest thing you could get to the living earth in Hyperion. Minghao's mother had chosen it because it was the most luxurious venue she'd ever had access to up until now, a haven reserved for the elite. The commonfolk of Hyperion didn't have access to house plants, much less the night-blooming jasmine climbing up trellises and arches or the deep blood-red roses and exotic orchids dotting the aisles.

Hundreds of guests are already seated under the domed ceiling with an engineered twilight sky. Hidden audio systems weave strings and the resonant hum of crystal bowls through the space, frequencies chosen to evoke harmony and solemnity. You can hear the din of the crowd over the sounds, the Upper District elites shimmering in jewels and silks worth more than entire city blocks.

A soft knock interrupts your thoughts. Mina, your lead attendant, slips inside. She's only a few years older than you, but she's sharp-eyed and had years of service with your family, previously working with your sister. You don't mind her - she's not a friend, but she's also not unfriendly, which you'll take.

“It’s time, miss," she informs you. "The Tower and his family are seated and the Xu family is positioned. The garden is ready."

You nod once, throat tight and dry. There is no escape. The contracts were signed in that cold boardroom months ago. You'd known since the moment your sister died that this is what your life was now - the Tower upright, sudden change. The moon reversed, lies coming undone. Death, upright, great transformation. You'd been pulling the same cards for months, each the same thing.

It was the universe's way of telling you that this was your fate, as inescapable as any hard law or scientific rule.

Fragrant air greets you in the corridor. The staircase is full of flowers and dripping in vines, the steps covered in moss and trailing ivy that release sweet smells with every step. Swallowing, you walk down the stairs carefully, attendants behind you and ensuring you don't trip until you're at the bottom of the staircase behind a private screen, preparing to turn the corner and walk down the aisle.

Taking a breath, you turn the corner. Your heart pounds in rhythm with the distant music as the aisle comes into full view. The aisle stretches in front of you, a pathway edge with living white orchids. The ceremony cuts right through the heart of a lush garden, mist curling around the guests feet as they rise, hundreds of them moving in a wave of silk and murmurs.

Eyes track you from every angle - envy, calculation, hunger, approval, curiosity - but you keep your gaze fixed forward, suddenly latching to the man waiting beneath the grand arch of vines and cascading blooms.

Minghao is a shadow given form. He's dressed in black on black, the fabric so absolutely it seems to absorb the light and color from the greenery. His hair is styled longer, framing the exquisite balance of his face. His eyes find yours instantly, intense and unreadable, a stillness that calls to you.

Your pulse thunders as you start the walk. The train trails behind, gently managed by two young attendants as mist from the nearest waterfall kisses your skin, cooling the heat rising in your cheeks. Anxiety coils tight in your stomach, a living serpent, but you move with the trained grace of someone who has practiced this exact path in rehearsals. Future matriarch. Bride. Pawn in a larger game of shipping lanes, banking power, and Syndicate alliances. You wonder if your sister felt this same suffocating weight on her own path or if it was cut too short to ever consider it.

When you reach the altar platform, Minghao extends his hand. You offer him yours, hating the way your hands shake. He grips your hand firmly, and the contact sends a subtle spark up your arm, grounding amid the overwhelming sensory storm of the garden. For a single heartbeat, the hundreds of eyes, the cameras, and everything else recedes, leaving only you and Minghao.

His eyes are fathomless, easy to lose yourself in. His hand tightens a fraction around yours, his eyes only for you. "Temperance upright," he murmurs, only to you. "Patience. Balance. You embody those qualities. I appreciate them."

You blink in surprise when you realize he's talking about the tarot cards. You don't know what to say, the compliment stunning you, but Minghao doesn't wait for you to respond. His eyes flick to the officiant, a respected and neutral legal arbiter provided by Hyperion's council for this special occasion. She's dressed formally, her face perfect and impassive, making it impossible to tell how old she is.

Her voice is solemn but commanding as she urges the guests to sit, the ceremony beginning. Your hand remains in Minghao's, dropped between your waists as you stare ahead with unseeing eyes. You hear the officiant's voice, but you barely hear the words, your pulse loud in your ears as your heart hammers, each word spoken another piece of your sealed fate.

Ahead, the officiant speaks of alliance between houses and the merging of love and families. When you exchange rings, your hands are shaking again, stilled only by Minghao's gentle fingers as he clasps your hand to steady you, helping you slide the plain obsidian band onto his fingers, his sleeve pulling up just slightly to reveal his red bracelet.

Your ring is just as dark, inlaid with gold leaf and precious black stones that make it glimmer and flash dangerously. It feels heavy. Permanent. You watch as his nimble fingers slide it onto your hand, the single scar on his finger catching the light.

"Say the vows," the officiant instructs softly.

"I take you as my husband," you start, nearly whispering. You glance up at him and he nods a fraction, urging you to continue. You continue, voice clearer. "I vow to stand beside you in shadow and in light, in power and in duty, in prosperity and in peril, until this union is dissolved by law or by death."

Minghao doesn't miss a beat. "I take you as my wife. I vow to stand beside you in shadow and in light, in power and in duty, in prosperity and in peril, until death."

"It's-"

He cuts off the officiant's correction. "I know the words."

Your heart flutters, Minghao's choice to skip until this union is dissolved by law or by death a deliberate choice. Somehow it feels more powerful the way he's said it, like he's promising only death can tear you away from him. You think perhaps it's just the last bits of you clinging to the idea of romance, the idea of love that makes you feel that way.

The officiant pronounces you husband and wife and thunderous applause erupts, mixing with the hush of the waterfalls. Minghao lifts your face toward his with careful fingers, his touch lingering at your jaw, fingers gentle as they tilt your face upward. His eyes flicker with something so quickly you don't catch the emotion, and then he's leaning forward, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to your lips. He tastes faintly of wine, the touch lingering as he pulls away quickly.

Husband and wife. The words sink deep, heavy as the rings now on your fingers.

-

The reception is an ode to extravagance that most people cannot fathom. Spanning across three floors, each level opens into cascading terraces of real gardens with multi-tiered waterfalls feeding into glowing pools where rare bioluminescent koi swirl and swim. Walls of ferns, flowering vines, and fruit-bearing trees create alcoves with glass benches and trickling fountains. Each table is overflowing with food that won't be eaten, servers passing by with platters of rare chocolates dusted in edible gold and endless flutes of vintage wines and champagnes.

You navigate the crowd at Minghao’s side, his hand a near-constant presence at the small of your back. The contact is grounding for you but probably possessive in the eyes of your onlookers - and there are many. But only a single onlooker matters tonight, and as Choi Moojin approaches with his wife, you feel your spine go rigid until he offers his formal congratulations and blessing. As always, his daughter lingers nearby with that familiar haunted expression, her brother behind her like a shadowed gargoyle.

You smile until your cheeks ache. You exchange pleasantries with board members, accept compliments on the dress, the venue, the fabricated love story fed to the press. The floral scents grow heavier, the constant murmur of voices and music pressing against your temples. The bird in your chest flutters more desperately with every passing minute, and after nearly an hour and a half of relentless performance, you need a break.

"I need a moment," you murmur to him. "I'm just going to go to the upper powder room terrace. I'll be brief."

He studies your face carefully, then nods. “Take Mina and let security know where you're going."

You slip away with your attendant after telling security where you're going and getting their nod of affirmation before they mutter instructions into an earpiece. Mist from a nearby waterfall cools you off as you walk up the stairs, Mina helping with the heavy train. When you're finally alone on a private terrace, security just outside, you let yourself relax against a stone fountain, drawing in deep breaths of the mineral-rich air.

For the first time since the ceremony began, your practiced smile slips. Your feet hurt, your neck and shoulders ache, and you're starving, wishing you could stop the pleasantries for a moment to just eat. 

A small, wet gasp cuts through the peaceful trickle of the fountain and you spin around, startled. Time fractures as you try to put the pieces together of the image in front of you. A man dressed as a server with the lower half of his face obscured by a mask stands directly behind Mina, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth while she screams into his palm. He draws a sharp blade across the softness of her throat, scarlet spraying.

Mina's eyes widen in terror, locking onto yours for a single, agonizing heartbeat before they glaze over, her body convulsing once before she goes limp. Blood pours down the attacker's arm and down the front of her uniform, spilling red onto the terrace floor.

A scream rips from your throat, raw and primal, echoing off the stone walls. "Security!"

No footsteps thunder toward you. No shouts of alarm. The doors remain closed. The posted guards don't answer your call, and the music and laughter from the reception floors below continue uninterrupted, as if the universe itself has muted you.

Terror floods your system like ice water. Your heart slams against your ribs so violently you feel it in your throat. Adrenaline surges, sharpening every sense while simultaneously making your limbs feel distant and heavy.

Your right hand dives into the hidden slit of your gown, fingers closing around the small, discreet knife you've kept on your person since your sister's death. You yank it free, gripping the handle with enough force that your knuckles hurt as you pivot from the fountain, putting it at your back for a sliver of protection.

The attacker releases Mina’s collapsing body and he crumples to the ground in a heap of blood-soaked fabric, her eyes open and staring. The masked figure turns toward you with predatory calm.

"Security!" You scream again, the sound of your voice bouncing off the terrace walls.

No one answers, and a single, horrifying realization crashes over you - either the guards have been compromised or they're dead, and this attack was timed with terrifying precision.

There's no time to think as the attacker lunges.

You twist desperately to the side, the blade whistling past your ribs by inches. The movement throws you off balance on the wet stone, but you slash out wildly with your own knife, catching the attacker’s sleeve and drawing a thin line of blood. He grunts angrily and pivots, his knife slashing at you again. You duck and stumble backward, the fountain’s stone foundation scraping painfully against your hip as you use it to keep distance.

Fear is a living thing inside you now, clawing at your lungs, making every breath sharp and ragged. I’m going to die here. On my wedding night. In front of a fucking fountain while people drink and celebrate without knowing. The thought fuels a desperate surge of fury and you lunge at him this time, catching him off guard as you stab upward.

You manage to nick him, but you don't know how to fight and his retaliation of your anger is brutal as his knife flashes against and slices across your forearm, cutting through silk and skin in a burning line of pure agony. Blood pours instantly, hot and slick down your wrist and hand, making your grip on your own knife slippery and you scream out in pain.

A second strike follows before you can recover, a deep gash opening up across your upper left arm as you turn away from him. The pain is white-hot and blinding, and you let out another choked, animal sound as your vision narrows, blood roaring in your ear.

Every heartbeat sends fresh agony through the gashes, but terror keeps you moving. You kick out hard, your heel connecting with the attacker’s knee and he staggers but recovers easily, closing the distance to kill.

And then Minghao is there, exploding onto the terrace like a force of nature. One moment he's at the door, the next he's a blur of controlled violence as the killer turns to face the more immediate threat. Minghao is fast, stepping inside the man's guard, hand shooting out to grip his wrist and twist with bone-cracking force. A sickening crunch echoes and the man screams, the blade clattering to the ground.

The man swings with his free hand, but Minghao ducks under the wild punch with fluid precision, driving his elbow upward into the man’s throat in a devastating strike. The sound is wet and choked, the cartilage shattering under Minghao's elbow.

You stumble backward against the fountain’s stone foundation, left arm hanging useless and burning, blood streaming down your fingers in hot rivulets. Your own small knife trembles in your right hand, slick with blood. Fear still claws at your throat, tight and awful as Minghao - your husband for less than two hours - moves like something trained for this exact kind of violence. The polished, soft-spoken heir from the boardroom is gone. In his place is something sharper, darker, and far more dangerous.

The attacker tries to recover, lashing out with a desperate kick, but Minghao catches the leg, yanks it forward, and slams his knee into the man’s inner thigh with brutal force, dropping him to one knee. Then Minghao is behind him, a single arm snaking around the attacker's neck. For a second, your eyes meet Minghao's, his gaze ice and fire all at once. Then, he snaps the man's neck hard, the crack loud and final.

The attacker’s body goes limp instantly, collapsing in a heap beside Mina’s body. Blood pools beneath both bodies, mixing with the water from the fountain and staining the delicate white orchids that edge the stone paving.

Minghao is heaving, catching his breath as he stares at you across the violent terrace. He takes a single step toward you before chaos erupts in the doorway, heavy footsteps thundering across the stone as members of the Choi Syndicate flood the space. Seungcheol is in the room first, face like thunder and gun in hand. Jeonghan is behind him, the lazy smirk gone and replaced with deadly focus, armed and gun raised over Seungcheol's shoulder.

Seeing Soonyoung surprises you - you hadn't realized the Sword of the Choi family was here. You'd heard he'd been unpredictable and unhinged as of late, but from what little you knew of him, he was Seungcheol's first line of defense and probably went everywhere the Tower's son did.

Behind him, you vaguely recognize another Sword of the Choi family speaking into a comm at his wrist. You've met Joshua several times at galas and parties, his family high up enough in the Choi Syndicate to run in the elite circles - you even remember them being disappointed he'd become a Sword instead of a socialite or something less violent.

More personnel pour in behind them, your father’s security, Nexus Capital executives, event staff in panicked disarray. The peaceful mist of the terrace turns thick with the metallic stench of blood and the overlapping shouts of orders while you lean against the fountain, light-headed and bleeding.

Your father’s voice cuts through the noise like a whip. “Shut it down! Shut the entire fucking wedding down! Seal the floors now!" He pushes through the growing crowd, face flushed with fury. “I want this building locked. Find out how the hell this happened under our security! Someone’s head will roll for this!”

The chaos swells. Guests from the lower levels begin to murmur and push upward as rumors spread like wildfire. Security teams from both families clash in their attempts to take control, voices rising in overlapping commands. Someone is already photographing the bodies. Another is calling for medical extraction.

Through it all, Minghao moves straight to you.

“Everyone back!” he barks, voice sharp as Nexus Capital security moves toward you. "I will handle my wife. Get away from her."

Minghao sits you on the edge of the fountain, the water spraying your back and soaking through your dress. He drops to his knees in front of you, shrugging off his jacket in one fluid motion and pressing the expensive fabric hard against the deep gashes on your left arm. The pressure sends fresh waves of white-hot pain radiating through your shoulder and chest, but you bite back a cry.

“Breathe," he instructs, voice soft. "In for four, out for four."

You look at him sharply. "How do you know that?"

"You did it the entire time we were at the altar, Wicked. Where are you hurt?"

"Cuts on my arms."

"Deep? Tell me ba-"

Your father pushes closer, still shouting as he interupts whatever Minghao was about to say. “Minghao, let my people handle this. We need to get her to a secure-"

“No,” Minghao snaps, rising to his full height while pulling you to his side, hands pressed against your wounds to staunch the bleeding. “No one touches her except me right now. This is my wife. My responsibility.”

The possessiveness in his tone sends a strange shiver through you, mixing with the adrenaline and pain. He begins guiding you slowly away from the fountain, toward the far side of the terrace where the chaos is slightly less suffocating, his hands never leaving the wounds, applying constant, firm pressure.

Joshua separates himself from the Syndicate group and approaches carefully, hands raised in a clear non-threatening gesture. Minghao pulls you away but you squeeze his arm and whisper, "Syndicate. High up. Don't offend him."

"I don't care-"

"I can help," Joshua cuts in, earnest and gentle. "My fiancée is here tonight. She’s an ER nurse and is always prepared because I'm a bit of a disaster. She has supplies in her bag. Let her patch your wife quickly and privately. We can move to the adjacent private lounge. It’s secure.”

Minghao’s jaw tightens and his eyes flick to you, assessing the amount of blood still soaking through his jacket and the way your legs are beginning to tremble. For a long second, he seems ready to refuse. Then he gives a single, curt nod. “Briefly. Privately. No one else comes near her.”

Joshua signals quickly. A moment later, a woman in an elegant deep emerald gown slips through the crowd, escorted by a man you don't know. Her expression is focused and professional, despite the surrounding chaos. She doesn't waste time with introductions, marching toward the small, adjoining private lounge just off the terrace.

Inside, the space is quiet, dimly lit with warm amber lighting, furnished with low couches and lush potted plants. She works with swift efficiency, focused on helping instead of introducing herself. She orders Minghao to keep pressure on your wounds while she cuts away parts of your dress to clean the gashes with antiseptic. The sting makes you hiss through your teeth, fresh tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Minghao’s free hand finds yours, squeezing gently, surprising you.

"Cuts are deep but clean," she says, voice clinical. "No major vessels hit. You’ll need proper stitches and antibiotics soon, but this will hold for now."

She applies quick-acting clotting powder, then wraps your forearm and upper arm in tight bandages. The pressure is firm, immediate relief against the constant bleeding. Throughout it all, Minghao stays close, one hand on your back, the other assisting where needed.

Your mind spins. Mina’s lifeless eyes flash behind your eyelids every time you blink. The wet sound of her gasp. The way the attacker moved, professional, silent, deadly. This wasn’t random. This was targeted. On your wedding night. In the middle of the most public spectacle Hyperion has seen in years with some of the heaviest security you've ever been around.

You glance up at Minghao. His face is a mask of controlled fury, but his touch on you remains careful, almost tender as the woman finishes securing the last bandage.

"That'll hold until you get her to her own private care."

“Thank you,” you manage, voice hoarse and shaky. The pain is still there, a deep, throbbing burn, but it is no longer actively bleeding you out.

Minghao helps you to your feet, keeping his arm securely around your waist. He nods once at Joshua and his fiancée. "We're leaving."

Joshua nods and opens the door, letting you back into the chaos.

Outside, your father is still shouting orders to shut everything down, demanding answers, threatening careers. Syndicate members move through the growing crowd like shadows, securing perimeters. Soonyoung and Seungcheol stand guard near the doors, expressions grim while Jeonghan leans against a wall, watching everything with those sharp, unreadable eyes.

Minghao keeps you tucked firmly against his side as he guides you out of the private lounge and through the swelling chaos of the upper terrace. His arm around your waist is unyielding, taking most of your weight while his other hand maintains relentless pressure on your bandaged left arm.

Every step sends fresh throbs of pain radiating through the deep gashes, but the clotting powder and tight wraps are holding. Still, warm blood seeps slowly through the bandages, staining the sleeve of your ruined obsidian gown. The once-beautiful dress now hangs heavy and ruined, torn silk clinging wetly to your skin.

“Clear a path,” Minghao growls, cutting through the crowd.

Syndicate members fall in around you without question, creating a protective bubble as he steers you toward a discreet service corridor hidden behind a wall of flowering vines. The lush greenery brushes against your shoulders, leaving faint pollen and the sweet scent of jasmine on your skin. Mist from the waterfalls still clings to the air, now carrying the unmistakable metallic tang of blood.

Your head spins. The adrenaline that kept you upright during the fight is crashing hard, leaving your legs unsteady and your vision edged with black spots. You lean heavier into Minghao’s side, inhaling the faint pine and rain scent that always seems to cling to him. He doesn’t falter. His grip only tightens, steady and sure.

The private exit corridor is dimly lit with recessed amber lighting, two armed guards stationed at the end snapping to attention when they see Minghao, stepping aside instantly. A reinforced service elevator waits. Inside, the space feels claustrophobic, the mirrored walls reflecting your bloodied, disheveled appearance back to you.

Minghao says nothing. He simply helps you out when the elevator doors open directly into an underground private garage reserved for the highest tier of guests. . An armored black car idles, its engine humming. The driver steps out briefly to open the rear door and Minghao helps you inside first, easing you onto the leather seat with surprising care before sliding in beside you. The door seals with a heavy, reassuring thunk, and the car pulls away smoothly.

Minghao leans forward toward the driver and speaks in a fluid, melodic language you have never heard before, making you frown. It doesn’t sound like any of the common trade tongues used in Hyperion or Arkos, but the syllables roll off his tongue with effortless familiarity, carrying the weight of something old. One of the dead languages, you think. The driver responds in the same tongue, short and affirmative, before accelerating.

You stare at Minghao, startled. He settles back against the seat. His suit is ruined with your blood, the dark black of his shirt somehow darker. His hair is slightly disheveled for the first time since you met him, a few strands falling across his forehead. His eyes are sharp and unblinking, fixed entirely on you. He hasn’t relaxed. Not even slightly. His posture remains coiled, ready, one hand resting on his knee while the other occasionally flexes as if wanting to reach for a weapon.

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze head-on. “Was that your people? Did your family arrange this? To test me? To test the alliance?”

Minghao doesn’t look away. His expression remains unreadable, but something flickers behind his dark eyes. “I’m not sure."

The honesty lands like a stone in still water. No deflection. No smooth corporate reassurance. Just the stark truth that unsettles you more than any lie could have. In a world built on calculated performances and half-truths, his directness feels dangerous and alien.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning your head back against the cool leather. The city lights streak across his face in shifting patterns of neon violet and electric blue.

“Thank you,” you whisper after a long moment. “For saving me."

Minghao’s jaw tightens. "You’re no use to my family dead.”

The words aren't kind or romantic. They carry no warmth, no reassurance. Still, they're true. In this transactional marriage of power, your survival is an asset. The bluntness stings a little, and it unsettles you. He's repeatedly told you that honesty would get you killed, and hear he is being honest himself.

Well. Honest to hide other truths, you're sure, as is his way.

You study him in the shifting light. The scar on his right knuckle stands out pale against the dried blood on his hands and you're reminded of the way he dismantled the attacker. It wasn't a survival reflex like your clumsy attempt had been - it was the training of someone who practiced and who fought efficiently, someone professional.

"Who are you?" You ask, narrowing your eyes. The car glides through a tunnel, plunging you both into momentary shadow before neon lights wash over you again. “You’re not who my family was led to believe. That wasn’t the fighting style of a logistics prince. You killed him like you’ve done it before.”

Minghao’s gaze hardens. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, watching you with that intense, cataloguing stare that makes your skin prickle. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

The warning hangs between you and you can feel the weight of his hidden truths again. None of it makes sense - the scar, the ancient-sounding language, the way his father deferred to him with a single finger twitch in that boardroom. Something isn't right with Xu Minghao, but you don't know what.

"I think I deserve to know who I just married," you say evenly. You ignore the warning, the throbbing in your arm. "My family thought they were allying with a neutral shipping empire from Arkos but you fight like someone who was trained to kill. You played into being an idiot party boy. You are not."

Minghao exhales slowly through his nose. For the first time, you see a flicker of something almost like weariness cross his features. He leans back again, eyes never leaving yours.

“This marriage is transactional,” he says evenly. “You don’t need to know everything about me. You only need to know that you're my wife and I would go through great pains to keep you alive. It has to be enough.”

The finality in his tone closes the subject like a door slamming shut. You want to argue, to demand more, but the pain in your arm is sharpening as adrenaline fully ebbs, and exhaustion is pulling at the fraying edges of your patience.

Minghao continues watching you, tense and alert, as if expecting another threat to emerge from the shadows at any moment. His hands, still stained red, rest on his thighs as the armored car glides through the upper levels of Hyperion’s streets, the neon sprawl of the city reduced to blurred streaks of violet, crimson, and electric blue beyond the tinted windows.

The car eventually slows and turns into a private underground entrance beneath a sleek, unmarked residential spire in the Upper District. Not the Observatory penthouse you selected as your starter home, but something else. A contingency location, you realize. One of the secure safehouses that must have been part of the joint security protocols you both negotiated and approved during those long, tense meetings.

When the vehicle comes to a stop, Minghao exits first, then reaches in to help you out with careful hands. His arm slides around your waist again, supporting your weight as your legs threaten to buckle on the polished concrete. Two figures step forward immediately from the shadows of the garage, security personnel you recognize from the joint vetting process you and Minghao conducted weeks ago.

A woman named Elara with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor, and a man named Kai, broad-shouldered and quiet. They were among the handful both of you had personally approved after rigorous background checks and interviews. Neutral. Capable. Unaligned with either family’s deeper entanglements.

“Status?” Minghao asks them.

“All clear, sir,” Elara replies. “The building is locked down. Three additional teams on the perimeter. No unauthorized movement.”

Minghao nods once, satisfied, and guides you toward the private elevator. The ride upward is silent except for the soft hum of machinery. When the doors open, you step into a spacious, fortified apartment that is elegant but deliberately understated compared to the Observatory penthouse.

Minghao leads you straight to a wide, low couch in the main living area, easing you down with surprising gentleness. Elara and Kai take up positions near the entrance, professional and unobtrusive. A medical attendant has already been prepared in an adjoining room, but Minghao waves off immediate further treatment for now.

He kneels in front of you, his bloodstained hands resting lightly on your knees as he studies your face. For a long moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the building’s air filtration system and the distant murmur of the city far below.

“I need one of your little wicked jars,” he says quietly. “The one you’re still hiding on yourself.”

You blink, startled despite the fog of pain and exhaustion. "Why? And how do you even know I have one?”

Minghao’s mouth twitches, the faintest bit of amusement. “I’m observant.” He glances meaningfully at the torn sleeve of your gown where the bandages peek through, then back to your eyes. “And considering you’re still alive after what just happened, they must work. I would like to keep one with me for what I’m about to go do.”

"What are you about to go do?"

"Something very violent."

The request hangs between you and you hesitate before you lift your trembling fingers to reach into the hidden inner pocket sewn deep into the bodice of your dress. The small glass jar is still there, warm from your body heat. Black salt, rosemary, hematite, sealed with wax and a drop of your blood. You press it into his waiting palm. The glass looks small against his bloodstained fingers.

Minghao closes his hand around it carefully before tucking it into the inner pocket of his ruined suit jacket. "Thank you."

He rises to his feet, but doesn’t step away immediately. Instead, he looks down at you with that intense, unreadable gaze. “Do not leave this safehouse until I return. Elara and Kai have their orders and they answer to us both. Doctor Tzintzun is here - I understand she is your family doctor."

You nod. "Be careful. Please."

Minghao lingers one final second. His thumb brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead in a gesture so unexpectedly gentle it contrasts sharply with the violence you witnessed barely an hour ago. It makes your heart skip, the breath getting stuck in your lungs for a moment. Then the mask slips back into place, the familiar cool and controlled calm you know.

He lifts his wrist, flashing the bracelet you gave him. "You’re protecting me, right? I'll be fine. I’ll return before dawn. Rest. Let the doctor fix your arm, Wicked."

He turns and walks toward the entrance without another word. Elara and Kai acknowledge him with respectful nods as he passes, and the door seals behind him with a solid, final sound.

The silence that follows feels immense. You lean back against the couch, staring out the windows where the city’s distant lights glitter like cold stars. Your left arm pulses with deep, aching fire, but the bandages hold. Mina’s face flashes behind your eyes again, her wet gasp and spray of blood, the way her body crumbled. You swallow hard against the rising nausea.

Doctor Tzintzun sticks her head out of the adjoining room. "Ma'am? Whenever you're ready."

You nod and allow her to come out and help you to your feet. She guides you toward the adjoining room to clean, stitch and re-bandage you again. As she does, your mind drifts back to the car ride and specifically, your new husband.

None of it makes sense. The ancient language. The brutal efficiency with which Minghao ended the attacker. His unflinching honesty when you asked if it was his people. The blunt truth about your value to his family. And now, the small spell jar resting against his chest as he walks into whatever shadows he’s about to confront.

You close your eyes as fresh antiseptic stings the wounds, tourmaline cord still warm around your wrist. The universe had warned you with its cards. The Tower falling. Illusions stripped bare. Death and transformation. Tonight, it delivered all three in blood and violence, but a steady sense of foreboding had been building all night, like the cards aren't done with you yet.

You wonder, as the pain dulls under medication and exhaustion finally pulls you under, what exactly Minghao is doing out there and what background taught him to be this way. As you fall asleep, you hope the small jar of salt, herb and intention will be enough to bring him back so you can find out.

-

Minghao moves through the rain-slicked unverbelly of the Civ District like a shadow. The neon glow from distant shipping cranes reflects off puddles stained with oil and blood, turning the narrow alley into a fractured mirror of Hyperion’s endless hunger. He's swapped the ruined wedding suit out for something more form fitting and breathable - and more importantly, free of your blood.

He'd scrubbed his hands free of your blood a few hours ago, but now someone else taints his knuckles as he presses his hand to his chest, ensuring the small spell jar that is tucked there is undamaged. It's a strange talisman, this jar that you've given him. He doesn't think they work, exactly, but it's a fascinating little practice, this stuff of yours. He's since looked into practitioners and the culture of women who practice craft, but he still can't understand how or why you came to it.

Still, he likes to wear the bracelet you gave him, often looking at it before going into a room to add another body to his list or before he has to do something he needs strength for. He's never thought much about luck, fate, or the universe, but now he carries the jar and bracelet on him like personal tokens of faith and protection.

Of all the things that Minghao finds most surprising, how often he thinks of you now is number one on the list. This marriage between you is purely transactional, a bridge between Nexus Capital's banking power and the Xu family's growing logistics empire. A calculated move to secure favor with the Choi Syndicate as instructed by the Virate to expand foothold in Hyperion.

But, strangely enough, he is fascinated by you. He's not fascinated by much, but when he'd seen you in that board room hiding bruises beneath your sleeves and drawing your peculiar tarot cards in secret, he felt a slight crack in his plan to use you and push you to the side. You were not the sheltered, obedient heiress they described. You were something sharper. Something that watched the universe with quiet, stubborn belief.

And tonight, someone tried to kill you.

He'd been shocked to find you with a knife in your hand despite the terror in your face. He'd heard you scream - he still doesn't know how, considering how far he had to run to get to you. The universe, perhaps. It impressed him to see that you'd fought back despite how bad you were at it, and the steadiness in your voice when you asked him point-blank in the car, whether his people had tried to kill you had nearly cowed him.

Most heirs in this city would have crumbled. You fought. You pushed. You handed him the spell jar without fully understanding why he wanted it, just that he did. He doesn't know what he wanted either, but it's warm against his chest and it's nice to have. Perhaps if a little jar of rocks and dirt and blood can save you from an assassination attempt, it can save him from whatever plot is unraveling in the shadows.

Minghao’s jaw tightens as he reaches the service door of the nondescript warehouse. The man inside - Strakos - is a mid-level fixer who'd coordinated the attacker's movement tonight. He'd been sloppy, though, and Minghao was incredibly good at finding out information in a city that didn't understand the nuances of the Virate.

He slips inside without sound. The interior is dimly lit by hanging work lamps, the air thick with the smell of rust, seawater, and cheap synth-cigarettes. Strakos sits at table, back to the door, reviewing holo-feeds of some shitty porno that makes Minghao's blood boil. This man had helped plan your death, and he's sitting in the middle of a warehouse, fully clothed watching someone get fucked over a couch.

Minghao strikes before Strakos has time to react.

One hand clamps over Strakos's mouth, yanking his head back while the other loops a thin wire garrote around his throat. Strakos thrashes, hands scrabbling at the wire as Minghao gathers it in his hand and pulls, his mouth brushing against Strakos's ears.

"You ruined my wedding," he murmurs.

The wire cuts through flesh and blood wells instantly, hot and dark. Strakos bucks wildly, knocking over the table as he gurgles, hands clawing at his throat. Minghao holds firm, knees braced against the chair as he pulls, gritting his teeth. Strakos's struggle is ugly and desperate, his feet kicking as the chair legs scrape against concrete, wet chokes escaping despite the crushing pressure.

Minghao’s mind remains clear, detached. This is not rage. This is correction. The Virate taught him long ago that hesitation kills empires.

He thinks of your face in the car, exhausted but determined, eyes wide with pain as you demanded the truth anyway. He thinks of the way you pressed the spell jar into his palm without hesitation. Of the faint scent of incense and herbs that always clings to you, the quiet rebellion of your tarot cards and hidden rituals. You are not soft. You are not simple.

You are as unexpected to him as he is to you, he thinks. And he's been very sloppy around you, unguarded and far too honest in the way that he keeps thinking will get you killed.

The wire sinks deeper. Strakos's struggles weaken, then cease entirely. Minghao holds the tension a few seconds longer, ensuring Strakos is dead before he finally releases, the body slumping forward onto the table with a dull thud. Blood drips onto the concrete floor, and Minghao smashes the phone to stop the crude holo from playing.

Minghao wipes the garrote clean on the dead man’s sleeve and tucks it away. He scans the room quickly, deleting the holo-feeds and pocketing a small data chip that might contain further connections. Only then does he pull out his encrypted comm device - the same matte-black rectangle he gave you all those months ago - and dials his father.

Xu Jian answers on the second ring. "Son."

“It’s done,” Minghao says quietly. He stares at the corpse, expression impassive. "Now to trace the loose threads of the web to the spider."

A long exhale on the other end. “Be careful. Your little display at the reception has the Choi’ curious.”

Minghao’s mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Let them wonder. The message is clear: she is under my protection now."

"They don't know we're Virate. You could have exposed us."

"I made a calculated decision and you'll say nothing more of it. The Choi Syndicate has other things to worry about than wondering if we're Virate. I want you to look into who hired these scum. If it was Virate, we have a problem."

"It will be done."

In Arkos, under the old laws of the Virate - a loose but iron-bound confederation of family lineages bound by blood oaths far older than the Syndicates - Minghao isn't the quiet heir he is in Hyperion. He's the patriarch, the lead of his family, raised from childhood within the Virate's hidden ranks and trained in their shadows, a hidden member loyal to the Triptych.

Jian might appear to be the head of the family in Hyperion, but Minghao's elevation through blood and merit in the Virate is where the Xu family truly gets their power. While his father played the public face of Xu Worldwide Logistics here in Hyperion, planting seeds and building legitimate fronts, Minghao had been the blade ensuring those seeds took root. The true power behind the throne.

Of course what he did tonight was a risk. He knows that. Honestly, if he was doing what the Virate asked of him, he would have let them kill you. You weren't actually a necessary piece to the puzzle, but he knows that with you alive, he has a better narrative with the Choi Syndicate and it's annoyingly perceptive Wisdom and her son.

Minghao grimaces at the thought of Jeonghan and his eyes that see far too much. He knows that tonight will be a grave error and that the Wisdom's son will dig his teeth into Minghao and ask questions and prod, but it can't be helped now. What's done is done and Minghao had taken a calculated risk that he could keep the Choi's away from the Virate ties in favor of saving your life.

His father sighs on the other end like he can hear Minghao's thoughts. "This marriage is already more complicated than we anticipated."

"She is not what we expected,” Minghao admits. "She fought tonight, though she doesn't know how. Most heirs would have just screamed and died."

"You sound fond."

Minghao exhales slowly. Fond. The word feels too small, which unsettles him. From the first boardroom meeting, something had shifted. What was meant to be a strategic union already matters more than it should, and just meeting you has complicated Minghao's world when Minghao has never had complications before.

He killed for you tonight without hesitation. Not just because you are a valuable asset, but because the sight of your blood on the terrace floor had ignited something cold and possessive in his chest. He's unused to the feeling.

"I protect what belongs to me," Minghao says eventually. "She is Virate now, though she doesn't know it. I'm committed to her safety as I would be for you or mother."

His father chuckles softly. “You always did prefer the old ways. Be careful, son. You cannot lean on the Virate. We're in the shadows.”

"I know the rules. I was forged by them.”

Minghao ends the call and slips the comm back into his pocket. For a long moment he stands over the body, rain drumming steadily against the warehouse roof. His thoughts return to you again and again, like a current he cannot escape.

You, sitting across from him in the car, shaken and unflinching as you asked whether his people had tried to kill you. The quiet strength in your voice when you thanked him even after his blunt reply. The way you fought with that small knife, desperate and untrained.

This marriage was never supposed to matter beyond its utility. Yet tonight, watching your blood spill, something fundamental had shifted. You're no longer simply the Nexus heiress - you're his wife, and in the old customs of the Virate, that bond carries weight far heavier than any corporate contract.

Minghao straightens his jacket and leaves the warehouse the same way he entered. The rain washes away the last traces of blood from his hands as he walks toward the car, ready to shower and sleep.

He'll return before dawn, as promised. And later, he'll find the remaining threads of tonight's violence and cut them clean. And perhaps, in the quiet of whatever time he finds, he'll decide how exactly he's going to be a husband to a woman who believes in tarot cards and moon water in a city that only worships power, violence and credit.

For now, the head of the Xu family has done his honor bound duty to his wife, and somewhere across the glowing city, you're probably sleeping. Bandaged but alive, carrying the barest hints and pieces of Minghao's secrets and your strange, annoying charm with you.

Minghao touches the small jar in his pocket once more, feeling its faint warmth against his chest, and allows himself the smallest ghost of a smile in the darkness.

-

Minghao steps out of the armored car into the private underground garage of the safehouse, the rain from the Civ District still clinging to him like second skin. The neon glow of the city filters down in muted streaks, casting long, fractured shadows across the concrete.

He moves on autopilot, muscles aching from the night's violence. His mind is still razor sharp though, cycling through every detail of the kill, every loose thread he'd severed tonight.

Elara and Kai materialize from their posts near the elevator, postures alert. They relax when they see Minghao and bow respectfully, straightening as he approaches. They're among the few personnel both you and Minghao jointly vetted, neutral enough to serve the new union without picking sides.

“Report,” he asks, walking into the kitchen.

“All secure, sir,” Elara replies immediately. "Doctor Tzintzun treated her and gave her something for the pain and to sleep. She’s resting in the east wing suite. She did ask about you."

Minghao’s chest tightens at the words. She asked about you. Of course you did. Even bleeding and exhausted, you pushed for answers, for truth. He nods once.

"No one comes in or out. Not even her father or anyone from Nexus Capital."

Kai inclines his head. “Understood. The Choi Syndicate has sent discreet inquiries. Mr. Kwon personally. They’re offering additional support.”

“Let them offer,” Minghao replies. “We accept the appearance of cooperation, nothing more."

Minghao dismisses them with a wave and heads toward the east wing, leaving them back at their posts. He finds you in the master suite, tucked beneath dark sheets. Your face is relaxed in sleep, but tension still lingers in between your brows and your jaw as you frown. The black tourmaline cord peeks from beneath the edge of the bandages on your wrist. Minghao stands in the doorway for a long time, simply watching the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Something unfamiliar and dangerous twists behind his ribs. He had not anticipated this complication. The scales feel tipped out of balance, like something new has taken root, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

Minghao finally turns away and moves to the bedroom across the hall to strip off his tactical gear with mechanical, practiced movements in the bathroom. He's careful with your little spell jar, setting it down gingerly on the counter where the low bathroom light catches the glass.

He lets the scalding water melt everything but his thoughts away. He stands under the spray, watching the water swirl around his fink and fade from pink to clear. The heat feels good, unwinding his muscles and burning him to the point that the only thing left are thoughts of you and this new predicament he's in.

When he can't take the heat anymore, he steps out and changes into something soft and comfortable before settling in the middle of his bed with his computer in front of him. With the tap of a key, the screen projects holograms around him in a circle, broken only by his arm as he inserts the data chip from Strakos' warehouse into the computer.

He finds limited information on it - remnants of someone referencing the union of Nexus Capital and Xu Worldwide Logistics. He taps his fingers on his knees. The enemies in Hyperion are endless, but few of them have killing power. Most of the people in the city who hate his family are business competitors, minor patrons of various Syndicates in Hyperion. None of them have the power to send a Syndicate-sanctioned attack on his wife, which means this hit is higher up than simple city corporations.

It could be Syndicate, he supposes. He's still learning about the nuances of the three powerhouses that sit at the top of the food chain in Hyperion, but he's not convinced the Kim or Yong family would be moved enough by the marriage to do something so public about it - especially not with Choi Moojin's daughter engaged to Kim Yijun as a sign of union.

A sour feeling settles in Minghao's stomach. The easiest conclusion to make is that the threat is from the Virate. A finger of dread traces his spine at the thought. In a way, families of the Virate were similar to families of the Syndicate - they vied for power, it was always at war, and the most powerful family was always the one that was ten steps ahead. Unlike the Syndicates of Hyperion though, the families of the Virate collectively answered to the three heads of the Virate, the Triptych.

Except members of the Virate didn't know the Xu families were members. Outside of the Triptych, the Virate didn't even know Minghao existed. To them, Xu Jian was a retired member who had moved to Hyperion when he was seventeen after being honorably discharged and given the blessing of the Virate. Even with their blessing, Jian had given up all ties, powers, assets and favors from the Virate for life. That was the way it worked. His wife Luli, who had tried to leave the Virate once before, had joined him.

They'd left a key part of them there, though. Their son. The Triptych was in need of a family with old ties to be removed and relocated elsewhere, someone they could trust and that could believably sever ties with the Virate. The Xu family had been just that, and they'd given their only son to the Triptych to raise in the shadows, nameless and unclaimed as a Shade, forged in the Triptych's perfect image of an assassin before sending him to do the single thing he'd been created for: win over a Syndicate in Hyperion.

He sighs. He's tired - he's always tired these days, even more so than when he was a teenager learning how to become a shadowed killer. The lying and scheming is often harder than the killing, and trying to uncover his enemy hiding in the dark without access to real Virate influence and pull is a challenge.

An email to his personal catches his attention. It's one of the Trustees of Nexus Capital with more of Minghao's access to his new assets - your assets that are now his. It's overwhelming. Nexus Capital’s vast banking networks, offshore accounts, silent partnerships, voting proxies. Pages of sensitive data scroll past full of liquidity reports, hidden holdings in Syndicate-adjacent ventures, influence maps.

Minghao swallows. It's exactly what he wanted. With this level of access, the family can begin weaving influence deeper into Hyperion's financial arteries, and through the Choi alliance, they can steer shipping lanes and capital flows without the Syndicates ever realizing a new, quieter power is embedding itself beneath their foundations. The Choi's believe this is nothing more than a political marriage for port advantages. They have no idea what the Virate is capable of.

Minghao should feel satisfied. This is entirely the reason he was given to the Triptych and raised as a Shade, a nameless member in the shadows, someone without influence and without a name, but one of the most valuable members of their society. Everything is proceeding according to plan, and yet for the first time in his life, he feels sharp, unwelcome conflict like the edge of an enemy's blade.

His gaze drifts again toward the door where you sleep just across the hall. You were never part of the equation. You were meant to be kept at a distance, polite and useful, a spoiled brat who would go to parties and be the socialite Minghao was told you were. Instead, you have lodged yourself under his skin and you haven't even done anything - you'd simply looked at him after he'd killed the attacker tonight not in fear, but wary recognition that Minghao was also not what he seemed.

Protecting you tonight had felt instinctive. Necessary. The thought of you lying dead beside Mina had ignited a cold fury he rarely permits himself. And that realization terrifies him.

Loyalty to the family and to the old ways has defined Minghao's entire life - every choice he has ever made. It gave him purpose when his father focused on building the legitimate Hyperion front, it forged him into steel when he was being wiped and cut and tested. Attachments were always meant to be managed, never indulged, and yet here he is sitting in a safehouse, conflicted over a wife he doesn't really know.

If future objectives ever require sacrificing your safety, or keeping truths from you that could destroy the fragile trust beginning to form - what then? A few months ago, Minghao would have said he'd cut you away no problem. Now, he thinks he might need to cut you out like cancer, nearly killing himself in the process to sever the tie.

How unsettling. He isn't sure how he's gotten here, but as always, it's up to him to figure it out. Right now is not the time, though, so he rolls his shoulders and continues working through the remaining hours of darkness, mapping pressure points within Nexus Capital, noting which Choi figures might be influenced over time. Every new door opened by the marriage is another step into Hyperion's core, his entire purpose.

The first hints of dawn begin to lighten the sky beyond the glass of the bedroom. He glances up and realizes his current work has no business being done in the light of day, so he powers down the computer, the cyan numbers and screens vanishing. He stands and shuffles across the hall to check on you, opening the door as quietly as he can.

You're still asleep, breathing steadily in the same position he left you in. Sighing, he sits down in one of the chairs, leaning so his elbows are on his knees and his chin rests in his elbows, staring at you as you sleep.

For the first time in his life, the sharp edge of his purpose feels negotiable. Not abandoned or broken, but rather complicated by the strange, stubborn woman sleeping in front of him.

Perhaps you are wicked, but rather for the things you do to him instead of your actual deeds.

-

The last place you want to be tonight is the Eternal Bloom Gala at the Celestial Atrium in the Pearl District. The atrium is a floating marvel suspended between three interconnected spirals, gardens far more exquisite than even your wedding dominating every space. Though it looks nothing like your wedding, it's close enough to make your stomach turn, your fingers brushing across the closed wounds, still healing since the attack three weeks prior.

Massive domed ceilings of smart glass reveal the night sky above Hyperion, projected stars mingling with the real ones when the clouds part. Tiered terraces overflow with tropical foliage and cascading waterfuls that tumble into artificially glowing pools full of night-blooming lilies the size of dinner plates.