Seonghwa’s eyes immediately zoom in on the sliver of skin between your baggy sleep shirt and shorts. Oh, how he loves to run the pads of his fingers over the soft flesh when you cannot move an inch. He can’t help it, he’s addicted to you. His index finger slips under the waistband and he immediately gasps and pulls back. 

The sleep paralysis demon’s gaze descends to your ample thighs that are on display for him with your blankets practically kicked off. His hands squeeze and massage the skin there. There’s plenty for him to touch, pushing one leg a little upwards so he can feel the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

Seonghwa has to stop, he knows he does. He’s only ever admired your soft skin, he’s never gone beyond a touch in your innocent areas. 

But tonight, you let out the tiniest whimper. It’s barely there in the night air before it’s gone, but Seonghwa fucking heard it.

In an instant, Seonghwa’s straddling your body on the bed, hands pushing up your shirt, both palms sliding up your ribs. He stops just barely under your breasts, before he can cup you. He breathes in deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he attempts to get himself under control.

You’re his beautiful dark angel and temptation itself. Typically, he’d be fine terrifying the shit out of you, or anyone for that matter. But one of these nights he had caught the whiff of arousal from you and it had intrigued him. Had you gotten off in an attempt to fall into a deeper sleep and avoid him? 

Or… he allowed himself the thought that he was the object of your desire. Imagine if during the tiny moments of shadows clinging to him, his eyes white pinpricks in the otherwise dark room, you were rubbing one out to him?!

Seonghwa swallows loudly and his hands creep that half an inch until he’s carefully bouncing your tits in his palms. He licks his lips at the thought of your nipples. He’s yet to touch or see them and he’s almost drooling for the chance. 

“Did you really think a silly dreamcatcher was going to keep me away, hmmm?” Seonghwa hums mockingly. “I’m much more powerful than a trinket.”

With an almost petty push, Seonghwa shoves your shirt upwards. His thumb flicks your soft nipples, making them pert with the touch. It’s not long before Seonghwa’s extended his lanky body along yours, all thoughts of holding back gone. His tongue is wrapped around your nipple, sucking greedily. His fingers have finally shoved under your waistband and have been teasing and tempting your outer and inner lips with brief touches. 

Your breathing has quickened at the pleasure that Seonghwa offers. You can’t move as the paralysis demon takes advantage of the moment that he haunts you. You’re wet and Seonghwa smirks to himself. His beautiful dark angel is enjoying what he’s doling out. 

He pops off your nipple to watch your face as he finally, treacherously, circles your clit with his middle finger. Your eyes race behind your lids and your eyebrows faintly furrow at the tease. 

“Do you like that, Angel?” Seonghwa murmurs into the shell of your ear, eyes hooded in lust for you. 

The paralysis demon becomes addicted to the way your hips twitch upwards as he edges you with brief touches to your clit, every so often moving back to your hole to sweep up some more wetness and to go back to circling your clit. It’s slowly rising from its hood, and your breathing is getting faster. 

Your quiet noises escalate to something a little bit more louder, a little bit more fearful. Seonghwa feels the tendrils of your horror feeding him and his eyes snap upwards to your face. That moment that used to be when he fed from you came without his knowledge. Your eyes were open and fully capable of seeing him touching you in such a taboo manner.

Before Seonghwa can control his powers, he snaps out of existence, a pure instinctual reaction to his worry. For he had not intended to feed on your fear that evening, while touching you so intimately.

You sit up and gasp, bringing a hand to your chest, clearly to calm your beating heart. “What the hell?” You cry out, unsure exactly what that had been all about.

Your eyes find the broken dreamcatcher beside your pillow and you whimper for a different reason. Seonghwa can’t help but close his eyes and breathe in your delicious terror. You fed him quite well, even though it wasn’t the normal quiet build up of fear. 

“Seriously, what the fuck?” You shout louder, throwing the broken dreamcatcher. “Am I broken too?”

Seonghwa chuckles to himself, not like you could hear him regardless, but it’s the quiet kind of chuckle that only comes from a man that’s satisfied with a bewildered but turned on partner. 

“You’re perfect for me, not broken, angel,” He says in the mirror to your world that is the demon realm. 

You gather your blankets around yourself and with a huff, close your eyes tight and attempt to go back to sleep. But your heart is still beating wildly. Seonghwa can feel it pulsating. You definitely weren’t feeding him anymore, which meant…

Seonghwa leans forward, over the bed, and hears a soft gasp come from you. Were you…? 

A diabolical grin pulls at the sleep paralysis demon’s face. You were finishing what he started. He leaves your room with a newfound confidence. Tomorrow night would be a whole different story. 

When your sleep paralysis demon visits you next, excitement thrums through his veins. He’s always excited to see his beautiful dark angel but this time, knowing that you crave him like he craves you, brings newness to his visit. 

He smells the air and then laughs condescendingly. “Sage? Really, Angel?” He sees the circle of salt around your bed as well. Why were you playing hard to get when you got so wet at his inquiring touches? Seonghwa clucks his tongue at you. You deserve punishment for trying to stop him. 

This time, as he crawls on the bed, he pinches your nipple roughly through your shirt in passing and then begins to undo the belt to his pants. He’s imagined pushing his cock into your pliant mouth a million and one times. He feels himself get hard as the anticipation gets to him.

“There’s my girl,” He coos at you, smearing his cockhead against your lips. 

Capturing your chin between his thumb and index finger, he drops your jaw and pushes past your precum smothered lips. His roll into the back of his head as your warm and wet mouth encompasses his length. His eagerness to fit himself entirely into you causes you to choke, having shoved too deeply into your mouth. He lets out a desperate cry. The feeling of your throat desperately trying to swallow him has his heart speeding up as well. 

He can’t help himself, really, as his pelvis presses flush with your lips. The sweet, wet, choking noise you continue to make becomes music to his ears. Spit is starting to spill out of the corner of your lips and the blowjob is only getting messier. Seonghwa has to reign himself back in before he explodes in your mouth. That’s not how he wants his first time with you to go. 

“Such a temptation, Angel,” He murmurs, lovingly wiping the mixture of his precum and your spit from your chin. 

Your eyes are open now and Seonghwa grins wildly. “There you are. Just in time. I want you to watch while I take your body exactly where you want to go.”

You make weak noises of distress and Seonghwa is fed with your fear. He closes his eyes and drinks in your offerings. “I’ll repay the favor, don’t you worry.”

Seonghwa removes your sleep shorts and thumbs your clit through your underwear. He barely touches you but a wet spot appears through your grey panties. “Did you get wet from taking me so well in your mouth? Ugh, you’re so perfect,” Seonghwa whispers reverently. 

Your breath is coming out in short, panicked spurts. Seonghwa licks his lips lazily. “I know what you did after I touched you last night, Angel. You liked how I played with you while you slept and while you couldn't move.”

You let out another noise, this one of clear disagreement, which causes Seonghwa to chuckle. “Of course you did. Why else would I be drawn to you, to feed from your fear?”

Your sleep paralysis demon pushes aside your panties and ruts his cock along your wet folds. He doesn’t need to coat himself in anything, your mouth having done a damn good job, but he likes the way your breath hitches and your thighs clench with your restricted movement. 

“Your throat took me so well, I’m sure your pussy will as well,” Seonghwa hums in contentment. 

You both let out a moan in unison as he enters your sopping cunt. The stretch is something for you, and you clench down on his length. 

“Oh yes,” Seonghwa hisses, feeling your walls fight his girth. “I’ll fuck you for every inch.”

His hips rock forward, opening you up for him. Seonghwa leans forward, running a finger down your cheek. “So good for me. I’ll make sure you come this time, Angel. I promise.”

You let out a whine. Seonghwa can’t help but press his body against yours, leaving all his weight on you. He likes the way your soft curves feel against him. You let out more distressed noises. 

“You’re going to come so hard, angel. Breath restriction’s a bit of my area of expertise,” Seonghwa chuckles. 

Seonghwa continues to thrust into you and this time, the noises you make are tiny little cries of pleasure. “You gonna come? You gonna come for me?” He leans so that he can whisper the next part against the shell of your ear. “Come apart for me, Angel.”

You let out a long, drawn out moan as your climax hits you like an avalanche. It takes your breath away. You can’t close your eyes as it sweeps Seonghwa away as well. He lets out a loud cry, back arching as he unloads directly into you. Those terrifying pinpricks of light disappear but the darkness continues to consume you. Your vision starts to dim and you make a panicked screech.

“Oh fuck,” Seonghwa curses, and he lifts himself off of you. 

You suck in greedy breaths of air as the weight of your chest is lifted. In through your nose and out. You whine and whimper at the terrifying experience.

But all Seonghwa can focus on is the dark, viscous fluid that’s leaking from your pretty cunt. His lips part in awe. “My cum looks so good dripping from your pussy, Angel.”

Then suddenly, your sleep paralysis demon is gone. You can move now but the first thing you do is groan and put your head in your hands. Had you actually enjoyed that?! You let out a yelp, as sitting up has encouraged the foreign fluid in between your legs to gush out even more. 

“What the fuck?” is still the only thing you can manage. Because seriously, what the fuck was going on right now?

Your sleep paralysis demon had fucked you. You had come because of it. You shudder and you're not sure what's the cause: excitement or terror. Or maybe it's a little bit of both.

“today’s top story, yet another heroic endeavor by spiderman in supporting law enforcement efforts to shut down a lethal drug trafficking ring in the northern borough of the city.”

the news reporter’s voice drowns out beneath the bar patrons’ commentary, meshing with the sound of ice in cocktail shakers and glasses shuffled off of the bar counter. you glance up at the tv screen, a clean dishcloth between your fingers as you wipe down the sticky residue of someone’s espresso martini.

“spiderman is just so cool,” one of the girls in front of you swoons, stirring her drink by its thin, black straw. “i wonder what he looks like.”

“he has to be hot,” her friend chimes in after a sip of her own drink. “you can just tell.”

“oh, brother,” you mutter under your breath, tossing the now-soaked dishcloth into the dirty pile while you reassess your ingredients and look back up at the girls with a feigned smile and a renewed kindness in your tone. “how we doing, ladies? can i get you anything else right now?”

“one of those,” they joke, pointing up at the tv screen. you sigh and glance over your shoulder, the news still plastered with videos of spiderman swinging across rooftops and the blur of blue and red in the night sky. a still image is displayed while the reporters continue to discuss spiderman’s great success, the whites of his mask narrowed into slits at the camera.

your heart sinks like a rock to the pit of your stomach. it had been several weeks since you’d discovered yunho’s secret identity as spiderman. the fact that he’d pushed you away so much to the point that you would break up with him and move halfway across the city. a futile effort, considering he’d landed on your rooftop and snuck his way back into your life, regardless.

ever since you’d found out, your nights were sleepless and you were dying to vent to someone. it was a frustrating situation to be put in, torn between needing sound advice on how to handle your breakup with yunho while respecting him wanting to remain hidden behind spiderman’s mask. it was the only thing you could think about when you weren’t working late nights at one of your local bars.

of course, he just had to ruin that, too.

“why wouldn’t you tell me?” you stare back at him, drawn into a newfound fear for his safety. 

“why would i?” yunho threads a hand through his hair, more exasperated than you’d ever seen him as he finds comfort in staring out of the window instead of you. “for you to become collateral?”

“so, you made the choice for me?” you ask, equally as frustrated. “treating me like garbage and pushing me away made you feel better?”

“it did,” he answers coldly, his eyes narrowed into slits as he glares back at you. “at least i’d know you were safe, even if you hated me.”

you shake the memory from your mind and return your focus to an order for another round of shots for the guys celebrating one of their birthdays in one of the reserved booths.

it’s well past two in the morning by the time you wrap up your closing shift. despite your poor sleep schedule, you were beyond exhausted from tonight’s crowd and were more than ready to take a nice, hot shower and slip into bed. the bar becomes eerily quiet by the time you leave, greeted by the sound of passing cars and drunken groups of friends stumbling to their apartments for the night. your feet ache with every step towards your own place a few blocks down as you fish for your water bottle in your tote bag.

“yo!” a voice calls out from behind you.

closer this time, “hey, slow down!”

a chill runs across your skin as your fingers curl tightly around the straps of your tote and your pace quickens. the sound of footsteps behind your own become louder with every breath you take, the scent of vodka and cheap cologne becoming more evident as you hear the men chuckle behind you. one of them finally catches up to you and falls into your pace, his steps matching yours as a drunken smile stretches across his face. his friends flank you on either side, equally as intoxicated. you quickly recognize them as the group of guys you were serving at the bar and grimace, your eyes glued forward without a word in response.

“what’s wrong, baby?” one of them says sleazily through a slur. “we just want to say hi.”

“i’m good,” you say, clipped as you try to steady your racing heart with a deep inhale.

“c’mon,” another urges as he circles you to stop you in your tracks. “you don’t wanna have a little fun tonight?”

“i said, i’m g—”

you can barely get the words out when a whoosh echoes through the streets and silky, webbed strands envelop the man to your left to yank him backwards. the rest of the guys freeze around you, their eyes wide and lips parted as he’s thrown into a row of trash cans with a resounding clatter. you turn to the noise, your hand already reaching for your pepper spray when a figure emerges from one of the alleyways.

“she said, she’s good,” a low voice warns beneath a deep red and blue suit. you arch a brow at the sight of spiderman and resist the urge to roll your eyes while the men around you cower in fear and dart down one of the adjacent streets.

a heavy silence settles between the two of you. it’s impossible to see yunho’s eyes beneath his mask, but you’re sure that he was staring back at you. the sound of the men stumbling away grows faint and you don’t say a word, not so much as a ‘thank you’ before turning on your heel and returning to your route home.

you feel your blood boil when footsteps remain in sync behind you and curse under your breath.

“go away,” you snap without turning around. he doesn’t answer and continues at a safe distance behind you as you come closer to your apartment. “seriously, go away.”

“why?” he asks, muscles flexing beneath the woven fabric of his suit. you hear the amusement in his voice and it only irritates you more. “can’t a friendly neighborhood spiderman make sure a young lady gets home safely?”

“i didn’t need your help.”

“well, you got it, anyway.”

you give up on trying to send yunho away and focus on getting home. as much as you didn’t want to admit it, there was a sense of comfort knowing he was with you for the rest of the way, especially at such a late hour. he doesn’t say much otherwise, just follows you until you make it to the main doors that lead into your building. you don’t say anything or look at him as you fish for your keys and head up to your apartment.

you’re barely able to make it into your bathroom and have the hot water running when the sound of your fire escape clanging captures your attention. fear creeps back along your skin, evading any logical answer like rats running along the rusted iron or a landing bird. you peer around the edge of the doorframe into the living room and nearly pass away when a male figure is seated on your couch.

“are you out of your fucking mind?” you ask, storming towards yunho with knitted brows.

“hey, i just wanted to check on you.”

“first of all, this is breaking and entering,” you scold, arms folded across your torso. “i’m sure the city police would be thrilled to hear that their golden boy, spiderman, was acting like a criminal.”

“i don’t think i—”

“and second,” you continue, “i’m fine. checking on me is a privilege you lost a long time ago, yunho.”

only then does he reach for the mask and tug it off, the fabric crumpled between his fingers as he looks up at you. he looks exactly as you left him, with hair falling over his big, brown eyes and that same boyish charm that had drawn you to him in the first place. there’s a cut that sears through the corner of his lips, blooming red as the bruise heals.

“you seriously can’t be upset with me for not wanting you to be in danger,” he argues, an edge in his voice you don’t quite recognize.

“you shut me out until i broke up with you,” you correct him, “not to mention, you never bothered to ask me if i cared about you being spiderman. you just assumed i’d get in the way.”

“i never said you’d—”

“i’m not having this conversation again,” you scoff. you don’t spare a passing glance in his direction as you storm towards your bedroom and slam the door behind you. it creaks open seconds later with yunho following you closely.

“so what, you’re just never going to speak to me again?”

“yes!” you cry out in sheer exasperation. “if you’d have never landed on my roof, if you never left your shit in this apartment, i’d have been fine!”

yunho doesn’t answer.

“you’re the one that wanted me to stay away from you.”

“i did.” you blink in surprise as yunho agrees, eerily calm. “and then i landed here. and then you showed up at my place for the first time in what felt like forever. and—” he swallows. “—i still think you need to keep your distance. but, i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since then. i never have, actually.”

you stare at him for a long, drawn-out moment until a dry laugh slips past your lips. “so, what? your plan was to show up with this confession of yours and act like i’d come running back into your arms?” yunho glares at you, taking a step closer so that you could meet his gaze.

“oh, and you’re acting like i’m the only one that feels this way,” yunho counters, arching a brow. “you can be as angry as you want, i know how you really feel.”

“and how do i feel?” you ask as you dig your fingernails into the heel of your palm with a pointed glare up at him. “enlighten me.”

“you’re not mad at me,” he answers, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “you’re mad at the fact that you still want me.”

“i don’t want you,” you answer. you can already tell he’s picked up on how quickly you defended yourself and bite your tongue.

“you don’t want me?” yunho repeats, his smile growing until his voice lowers. “say it again.”

“i don’t want you.” you struggle to keep your voice as steady as you can with yunho closing the distance between you. the scent of his cologne envelops you, even with his suit still on.

“say it again,” he breathes, almost begging as he ghosts his lips over yours. every bone in your body aches to back away, to shut him down right then and there so that he could feel every ounce of hurt he’d left you with over the last few months.

“i don’t—i don’t want you.” you stumble over your words and your eyes flutter shut against your will, your body melting under his touch when he brushes a thumb against your cheek.

“liar,” he groans before biting down on your lower lip and threading his hand through your hair to yank your head back. a strangled gasp slips out of your mouth when his lips trail down to your neck. he breathes against your skin, the tip of his tongue gliding from your collarbone to the shell of your ear before he mutters in an even more strained voice, “say it again.”

your breath dissolves into a muffled whimper as you purse your lips to silence yourself. yunho backs you towards your bed until you’re laid beneath him. with a knee, he pushes your thighs apart and settles between them with a hum before reclaiming your lips in a hungry kiss. just as you’re about to reach for his shoulders, you hear a familiar whoosh and gasp when your wrists are bound to the headboard in one swift motion. yunho leans back onto his haunches, a smug expression etched across his face as he presses a kiss to the inside of one of his wrists.

“seriously?” you flex your wrists beneath their restraints, the silky rope of the spiderwebs wrapped tightly against your skin.

no matter how hard you yanked against them, you were tethered to the bed. you glare at yunho as he pulls at the hem of your shirt until your torso was exposed. you shudder as he trails his hands along your skin before pulling your legs around him. the length of his cock, already rigid, presses against your clothed entrance and you let out an involuntary moan at the sudden friction. yunho twitches in pleasure and bucks his hips against yours to earn another sound from you.

his muscles flex beneath the suit and your hands are itching to glide over every inch of him. irritation fuels the way you thrash against the webs on your wrists as yunho continues grinding against you, his face buried in your neck to stifle his own moans. desperate to regain control, you press your heel into the small of yunho’s back to pin his weight against you.

quick to sense what you’re doing, he stills and stares at you for a moment. his eyes trail over you, the way your chest heaves in an attempt to steady your breathing while you try to bring your thighs back together. with a huff, he hooks a finger around the waist of your pants until they’re tugged off and you’re left in your panties.

before you can say anything, the sound of him shooting webs to tether your ankles to the sheets in a similar fashion to your wrists has you seeing red. yunho seems pleased by the way you become more and more enraged, his smile still fixated on his face as he rubs your thighs with broad hands.

“what’s wrong?” he asks teasingly. the jest is gone from his voice almost immediately, replaced with something darker. “you don’t want me to make you feel good?”

“i don’t care,” you quip, disappointed by the shakiness in your voice. yunho nods once and shifts away from you so that he has enough room to drag his suit down by its collar. he’s able to shove it onto the floor, left only in his boxers before he moves to settle in the armchair beside your bed. “what are you doing?”

“why does it matter?” yunho asks with a devilish glint in his eyes. he lowers a hand to his waist, then the hem of his boxers before he palms himself through the fabric. his mouth falls open, more dramatic than usual so that you were well aware of what you were subjected to staring at. you watch with hungry eyes as he frees his length and wraps his hand around it firmly, pumping long, languid strokes that have him dropping his head back with a sigh.

“yunho.” you say his name sternly, all too aware of the way your limbs were all restricted. you scold yourself mentally for the way heat rushes to your core at the sight of him touching himself while he looks at you through half-lidded eyes. he was undeniably delicious and you were undeniably desperate to feel his touch again. “yunho.”

“yes, baby?” he asks in a breathy voice. he pumps faster, coaxing another moan from his lips as his hips twitch against his hand.

“stop.”

“why?”

your pride gets the better of you as you swallow, growing more and more irritated by the fact that you couldn’t even press your thighs together to satisfy the heat between your legs. yunho recognizes your hesitation and moves his hand faster with a blissful sigh until you let out a frustrated groan.

“stop,” you repeat, feeling the way that color rushes to your cheeks as you avert his gaze. “i want you to fuck me.”

“what was that?” yunho lowers his hand as he readjusts his boxers back over his length and approaches the bed slowly. “couldn’t hear you.”

“i want you to fuck me,” you mutter again beneath your breath, a bit louder this time. he scoffs and settles back between your legs, lowering just enough to whisper against your ear.

“good girl,” he mumbles, his breath hot. “wasn’t so hard to tell the truth, now, was it?”

you whimper when he slides two fingers into your mouth, gliding your tongue over them so that he could move your panties to the side to finger you. you gasp at the sudden stretch, your back arching off of the sheets as he falls into a steady rhythm against your walls.

“fuck,” you exhale with your head thrown back against the sheets. the fact that you weren’t able to feel yunho, to drag your nails across his skin and feel the way he tensed under your touch had you near spiraling. you tense your legs against the webs wrapped around your ankles, unable to break free and groaning at the realization.

“easy,” yunho chuckles, adding a third finger inside of you to stretch you out even further. he doesn’t pay attention to the whine that escapes you as he continues, “let me make up for lost time.” his free hand reaches to cup your breast, massaging the soft tissue and sending another jolt of pleasure down your spine.

“ngh—right there,” you mewl when you feel the brush of his knuckles with a curl of his fingers, your stomach in knots as he repeats the motion against your most sensitive spot.

“you like that?” yunho picks up his pace, his eyes locked on yours as his hand continues to roam over your torso while the other fingers you relentlessly. you can feel your breathing become shallow, coming in low, staggered gasps as pleasure rushes to your core quickly enough that your vision blurs. “come for me, baby.”

your orgasm crashes over you as a drawn-out moan drags you across your high. yunho continues to pump his fingers in and out of you until you settle, your chest heaving with every breath until he removes his hand and brings it back to your mouth. you take in each of his fingers covered in your release and whimper against his knuckles as you taste yourself. yunho arches a brow, clearly turned on by the way you looked at him with his fingers stuffed in your mouth.

“god, i need to fuck you,” yunho growls, tugging off his boxers and positioning himself at your entrance without another word. he brushes his tip against your clit, already sensitive and causing you to jerk your hips towards him. with a deep exhale, he sits back onto his haunches and reaches for each of your ankles, tearing through the webbed binds with superhuman strength so that your legs were once again free to move.

you welcome the unexpected freedom, allowing yunho to angle your legs so that they were pushed back to either side of your head against the sheets. you watch as he drinks in every last drop of you with feral eyes fixated on your entrance, dragging the tip of his cock between your folds until he was slick with your wetness. 

“would you just fu—agh!” your protests are cut short when yunho suddenly bottoms out inside of you, his length filling you and stretching against every nerve ending against your walls. you let out a blissful sigh in unison, the feeling of him something you hadn’t realized you were craving for so long.

with a hand pressed to your ankle to deepen his thrusts inside of you, yunho begins to move. his hair is more disheveled than ever, falling over his face as he pants through swollen, parted lips in an attempt to swallow down air. your wrists twitch against the remaining restraints, your own breathing staggered as he fucks you into the mattress.

yunho lowers himself back against your ear, his voice coming out between grunts, “i know you missed this, pretty girl.” he pounds into you harder, the bed creaking against the aged wooden floors. “let me hear it.”

you no longer answer in coherent sentences, caught in a symphony of moans that he mirrors when he presses a forearm against your waist to steady you. his lips meet yours again in a mess of open-mouthed kisses, his tongue entangled with yours as you feel another climax threatening to spill over. yunho senses this, lowering his hand to massage his thumb against your clit in tight circles. he grins against your mouth, drunk off of fucking you as he brings you closer and closer to your high for the second time.

you clench around yunho, sucking him in until you feel every inch of his length dragging along your inner walls while the pressure from his thumb nearly has you seeing stars. instinctively, you try—and fail—to pull your arms free from their restraints as yunho’s pace begins to falter, his hips bucking violently against yours until he cums and fills you to the brim as your own orgasm rocks your body.

yunho pulls out of you as he fights to catch his breath, reaching for his discarded boxers and hurrying into your bathroom for a towel to help clean you off. all the while, he leaves you tied to the bed beneath his spiderwebs and you glare at him from the sheets.

“hello?” you ask, wriggling your arms for emphasis. yunho glances over his shoulder as he sits beside you, feigning ignorance.

“what’s wrong?”

“yunho, i swear to fucking—” you’re cut off when he tears through them in a similar fashion to the way he handled your ankles earlier, finally allowing you to rotate your wrists to regain much-needed circulation.

the room falls into another silence as it was before, heavy and laced with tension. only now, there was an added layer between you that made the situation all the more complex. at the end of the day, yunho was your ex. it didn’t matter that you were still getting over him. it didn’t matter that you’d learned about his secret as the friendly neighborhood spiderman. it didn’t matter that he’d just fucked you senseless. he’d spent months, pushing and pushing until you were left with no choice but to walk away.

“so …” you trail off, avoiding yunho’s gaze entirely as he stares at you. there’s something longing in the way he looks at you, something that you don’t notice as you continue to distract yourself.

“so.”

there was little to be said before a faint beep echoes throughout your bedroom and yunho’s body freezes beside you. quietly, he picks up his suit from beside the armchair and steps back into it without a word until he glances at the attachment on his wrist that flashes with an incoming notification. he looks at you from across the room, the moonlight pouring through the window illuminating his silhouette.

you stare at him, at the way his hands clench and unclench beside him into tight, nervous fists. he holds his mask in one of his hands, ready to tug it back over his head and disappear into the night. he looks toward the window nervously, already plotting how he could make his exit.

hongjoong

when you asked hongjoong to teach you how to dj, you didn’t expect to be thrown into a sound engineering crash course.

“so, you’re gonna want to make sure the bpms and the keys are both in sync,” he instructs you as he messes with the settings on his laptop before moving to the turntable console between you. “the camelot wheel can be helpful when you’re starting out to transition between songs.”

“the who?” you squint at him, growing increasingly frustrated as you try to follow along with his complex guidance. hongjoong looks up at you, a smirk etched across his features as he beckons you over.

“c’mere.” you follow his lead, allowing him to place his hand over yours as he guides you through a demonstration of operating the turntable. you watch carefully and listen as the speakers move smoothly from one rnb song into another. “see?”

only when you turn up to look at him do you realize just how close he was. his grip over your hand tenses slightly when he meets your gaze, something darkening in his eyes as he swallows. you part your lips to speak when he clears his throat and takes a step back.

“did … did you have any other questions?” he asks, his gaze flickering to your lips for a split second that you’re sure he doesn’t realize you notice. it was no secret that you and hongjoong had been dancing around the will-they, won’t-they of your relationship for months and you were starting to hit your limit with how patient you could continue to be.

“uh, yeah, actually,” you say, crossing your arms over your torso. “could you actually show me how to record and upload samples to use in mixes?”

“oh—! sure thing,” hongjoong answers with disappointment evident on his face as he shifts his focus back to the laptop. “do you want to send them over to me after so i can give you feedback?”

“i sure do.”

the next weekend, hongjoong is sat at his own desk in his dorm as he sifts through another mix for a campus event he was recruited to work on music for. he brushes a hand through his hair, sorting through files when a notification pops up from you with an audio file attached.

you: heyyy you: just got done messing with this, lmk what u think you: [1 attachment: audio file]

a smile tugs at his lips as he sets his headphones over his ears. he had been enjoying teaching you about one of his favorite hobbies, especially considering it gave him an excuse to spend more time with you. it impressed him how much of a fast learner you were, especially—

“fuck, hongjoong.”

hongjoong triple checks that his headphones were connected as he glances around his otherwise empty dorm. the sound of you whimpering fills his ears as he stares blankly at his screen, watching the timer on the audio file creep ever-so slowly. he shifts in his armchair with his fingers tightening around the handles as he feels a familiar heat rising beneath his skin and between his legs.

the sound of you nearly approaching your climax urges him to finally slam on the pause button before reaching for his phone to thumb a quick message to you.

hongjoong: you need to come over. now

seonghwa

“you’re distracting me.”

“i wouldn’t call this distracting.”

“i would.”

seonghwa peers up at you from where he sat cross-legged on his dorm room floor, nudging the frame of his rimless glasses further up the bridge of his nose. an assortment of plastic bricks surround him, neatly organized into piles by colors and shapes. the manual for assembling his latest starship is open in front of him detailing the next several steps to follow. even after several months of knowing him, it still astonished you that the campus-feared teacher’s assistant was a violently passionate lego enthusiast that spent his nights like this.

that is, when he didn’t have you bent over the edge of his bed while he fucked you senseless.

like many nights in the past, he sat on the floor fixated on his latest passion project while you observed him quietly from the comfort of his bed. there was something undeniably attractive about watching him as he worked. the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his arms flexing with every brick perched between his fingertips. you spent these nights ogling him while he couldn’t spare you so much as a passing glance with his attention zeroed in on his legos.

he lets out something akin to a chuckle, the corner of his mouth upturned as he finally allows himself to glance back up at you. his eyes darken, at least for a split second, as he takes in the little black number you’d chosen to wear for the night. the lace lingerie clung to all of the right places, your thighs crossed over one another as you prop your head up in your palm.

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” you tease, sliding off of the sheets and onto the cool tile floors so that you could drape your arms over his shoulders. seonghwa works to remain unfazed as he fishes for another row of bricks but you feel the way his pulse quickens when your palms come to rest over his chest.

“baby,” he mutters in protest, rereading the instructions in front of him as his focus begins to falter.

“hm?” you draw long, languid strokes over his torso with your lips pressed to the shell of his ear.

“baby,” he repeats, his voice stern in warning this time. your gaze flickers down to where the legos clatter to the ground in front of him as they slip from his fingers.

“keep going,” you urge him, “i just wanted to get a closer look.”

“no, you just want to torture me,” he retorts, picking up the pieces where he’d left off and quickly losing focus as he flips to the next page.

“well, is it working?”

“no.”

“okay,” you say suddenly as you release him and move to stand back up onto your feet. seonghwa glances over his shoulder at you, his expression unreadable until you feel his fingers close around your wrist to tug you back into his lap.

“i guess i could use a break,” he hums, wrapping broad arms around your waist as you lean into him with a triumphant smile.

yunho

“i can’t believe you guys are missing spring break at the beach to go to comic-con,” you call out to your boyfriend as he hurries around the room to pack his suitcase. he fishes through his closet for the various accessories to his spider-suit. you don’t know why you’d even questioned who he’d want to dress up as, considering he was easily the biggest marvel fan you’d ever met.

“it’s not my fault that it falls on the same week!” he protests, still fixated on collecting his things. “this might be the last chance we get to see the full cast together on a panel.”

“oh, the agony,” you tease, raising your hands in surrender when he turns to pout at you. “i’m kidding! it’ll be fun. make sure to take plenty of pictures. i’m still mad you won’t let me see the costume you put together.”

“it has to be a surprise,” yunho scolds, leaning over to his bed where you lay to press a chaste kiss to your lips. and a surprise, it was.

the second you opened yunho’s instagram stories from comic-con, the last thing you were focused on was the party surrounding you while you lay on the sand with a drink in hand. when he said he was planning to go as spiderman, you expected a halloween-quality costume. he’d spent so much time focusing on studying for midterms and getting ahead on his thesis research that you assumed he had no time for anything else.

your thumb remains pressed to your phone screen as you take in every last stitch of his costume. the way the red and blue fabric clung to his muscles, his hair tousled and falling over his eyes as he smiles at his reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror. his large hands were covered with the webbed material, curled around the edges of his phone.

after that, you could barely focus on enjoying your spring break. days at the pool or nights at the bar were interrupted every time you got a notification from yunho’s account. one minute it was a video of him perched on the hotel rooftop, dangling from a light pole, the next was another onslaught of mirror selfies with his friends that had joined him in their own superhero costumes.

in the years you’d known him, not once had you ever entertained the thought of what it would be like to hook up with him as a superhero alter ego. then again, there was a first time for everything.

you’re fast asleep in your dorm when you hear a soft knock at the door, one that barely stirs you awake as you shove the sheets aside and welcome in a jet-lagged yunho.

“hi, baby,” you mumble sleepily when he pulls you into a tight embrace. his familiar scent comforts you, the weight of his body on yours warm. “how was it?”

“insane,” yunho answers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling away just enough to meet your gaze. you recognize the look in his eyes immediately and arch a brow as he lowers his hands to your waist with a squeeze. “but, we can talk about it tomorrow. right now, there’s only one thing i really, really want.”

“oh?” you feign ignorance, tracing your nails over the nape of his neck and smiling when he shudders slightly. “and what’s that?”

“well,” yunho says as he presses a kiss just below your jaw, “i really want to show my girlfriend how much i missed her.”

“on one condition,” you reply, startling him as he looks back up at you in confusion. “the suit stays on.”

“the suit?”

“i need the friendly neighborhood spiderman to show me how much he missed me, too.”

yunho grins, already reaching for his luggage. “the suit stays on, then.”

yeosang

“you want to start streaming?”

yeosang stares back at you, partly without a thought and partly from the anticipation of your reaction. you glance between him and the onslaught of equipment he’d picked up at the department store—a mic, a new webcam, memory cards. everything was splayed across his desk that he’d often use for gaming instead of the assignments he needed to get done.

“i—” you stop yourself, thinking hard before you answer him. on one hand, your boyfriend was a naturally shy person that you couldn’t imagine being thrown into the pressure of becoming a popular web streamer. on the other, you knew he was the type that wouldn’t back down from the opportunity to become the best at yet another hobby. you finally sigh and mirror his smile. “i think it’s a great idea.”

“you do?” the elation that spreads across his face is unmistakable as he begins to fidget with the devices on his desk. he begins to ramble, much to your amusement as you settle onto his bed and observe him quietly. “oh, it’ll be so much fun. i can stream league and then when there’s competitions, i can do, like, maybe you can join, too! we can …”

it’d been at least a year since yeosang had introduced the idea of streaming to you. what was once considered a nerdy little hobby of his had become a near-full-time job in addition to your classes. truthfully, you had expected him to grow tired of managing a streaming account and move onto the next hobby. but, it consumed him and he became increasingly focused on it. almost, too focused.

it was to your misfortune that he was able to hit five hundred-thousand subscribers when you were planning to celebrate your third anniversary together. as much as you wanted to focus on spending time together—alone—you knew this was a huge deal for him and that it was a balancing act.

“why don’t you stream for a little and then we can head out for the night?” you suggest.

“are you sure? i’m totally fine with postponing and doing something over the weekend—”

“no, no,” you scold, a mischievous glint in your eyes when he tries to reason with you. “i insist.”

“thank you all so much for the support.” yeosang beams at the webcam later that night as celebratory comments flood the chat. “i couldn’t—hah—it means a lot.” he bites back a groan with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, his hand gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn white. “i have tons of new content—ngh—planned for the rest of the season.”

you try not to laugh from beneath the desk—although, it’d likely be impossible with your mouth occupied otherwise.

“huh?” he struggles to focus on the comments asking if he was alright. “oh—! yeah, yeah, i’ve never—ah—never been better.” you feel the way his thighs tense beneath your palms, a clear sign that he was close. he lets out a long exhale before he rushes to bid farewell to his viewers. “okay, i’ll see you all this weekend when the new skins drop, bye.”

the computer shuts off and yeosang shifts his chair away from the desk, bringing you with him until he guides you to your feet and onto his lap. he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, his lips parted as he fights to catch his breath.

“you’re evil,” he scolds, forcing a smile out of you.

“i know.”

san

“i really need to rehearse these lines,” san grumbles as he flips through the script in his lap. he’d spent hours scouring through the material, his eyes dry and burning from staring at the words beneath the fluorescents. you had graciously agreed to listen and provide feedback—although, you weren’t sure how helpful you’d be considering you weren’t the one involved in theater on campus—while running through one of your assignments.

“you’ve sounded great so far!” you call out to him from one of the audience seats. he looks over from the stage, his face contorted into a near-permanent pout before he looks back down at the script. “c’mon, would it help if i helped you out?”

“maybe,” he replies, finally looking over to you. he gestures for you to join him on stage and points you in the direction of the extra scripts as you scale the stairs. you follow his instructions and turn to the pages he was reading off of, nearly stopping in your tracks when you see the scene he’s rehearsing.

“okay,” san sighs, rolling his neck and shoulders before standing across from you with his own script in hand. “ready?”

“uh,” you swallow, struggling to hold his gaze, “sure.”

you’d long been attracted to san, even since freshman year when you had orientation seminars together. by some stroke of luck, you became inseparable—something you found solace in, until you began looking at him differently against your will and noticing every last detail about him. the way his body flexed when he acted, the way his eyes disappeared when he’d smile.

“hello?” san waves his hand in front of your face with a laugh. “help me out here!”

“sorry, sorry,” you blurt out, shaking your head before taking a deep breath to prepare.

“past the point of no return,” san begins, his voice dipping lower as he slips into character. you hold his gaze and try to ignore the way your heart races at the sudden shift. “no backward glances.”

he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “the games we’ve played until now are at an end.”

you swallow dryly, your eyes darting onto the page for your line before you return to him. “past all thought of ‘if’ or ‘when’.”

“no use resisting.” he lowers his hand to capture your wrist between his fingers and you feel your breath hitch as he draws you in closer. “abandon thought.”

you both lower your scripts entirely, your hand still in his as you notice the way san’s chest begins to shudder with every breath. he averts your eyes, instead focusing on your lips as he purses his with a hum. the auditorium becomes too hot, too quiet as you become painfully aware of how close you are.

“san?” you say his name quietly in question. he doesn’t respond, just reaches for your jaw to brush his thumb across your cheek and tether your gaze to his. the way he looks at you sends a shiver down your spine and your eyes flutter shut as he leans in to press his lips to yours.

the moment he pulls away, the tension between you becomes too heavy to ignore. he looks at you with pupils blown wide and a kind of desperation you hadn’t seen from him before.

“do you, uh … do you want to go back to my place to keep practicing?”

mingi

mingi pulls away from you in an attempt to catch his breath as you peer up at him through your lashes. textbooks are strewn across the dorm room floor, a stack of study guides piled high on his desk that you nearly knock over when he pulls you into his lap in his armchair. you swallow down air and brush the hair falling over your face before adjusting your hoodie.

“we need to get back to studying,” you grumble, finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the way mingi’s large hands caress the small of your back before settling on your waist. he snakes his way back under your hoodie, his fingers tracing soft, slow circles against your skin. “if i don’t do well on this test, i’m fucked.”

“i know.” mingi presses a kiss to your collarbone, shifting his weight in an attempt to quell the sexual frustration churning at his core. “it’s just—it’s a little hard to focus when you look so good.”

“mingi.”

“yes, baby.”

“i’m wearing a hoodie and sweats.”

“so?”

with a scoff, you roll your eyes and swat at him before sliding off of him begrudgingly to return to your study guides. it was a gift and a curse having mingi at your disposal. he was exceptional when it came to organic chemistry, which meant he made the perfect tutor for your weakest class. on the other hand, your little arrangement as friends with benefits meant it occasionally got in the way of your studying.

or, well—frequently.

“okay, let’s make a deal,” mingi says matter-of-factly. “let’s get through the organic reactions pathways and then we can take a break.”

“a break, or a … break?” you ask, arching a brow with a knowing smile in his direction.

“you tell me.” he shrugs, mirroring your expression.

the pair of you are sat across from one another shortly after, cross-legged on his bed as he begins to recite the material to you. he goes into a complex description of molecule structures that you try to follow along as you take notes, your mind quickly wandering when you think about the feeling of his hand on your throat from the night before as he fucked you into the mattress.

mingi snaps in front of your face and you blink rapidly, feigning attention with a dramatic nod. he narrows his eyes at you before pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh and setting aside his laptop.

“i know that look,” he says, folding his arms as he stares back at you.

“what look?” you ask with the most innocent expression you could muster. you pray that your mind stops wandering as you look back down at the notes between you. “i’ve been listening!”

“okay, then repeat what i just said.”

“you were talking about how addition leads to a reduction in saturation.”

mingi blinks in surprise, his mouth slightly ajar as he tries to stop himself from lecturing you to pay attention. “that was right.”

“and i might have been thinking about last night,” you mutter under your breath, barely loud enough for him to catch as he whips his head back up at you.

“oh,” he says, mindlessly scrolling through his notes before he sets aside the laptop and reaches for you with a resigned sigh. “well, come to think of it … we might need to take that break a little early.”

wooyoung

when wooyoung asked you out to go stargazing, you couldn’t imagine anything more romantic. laying beneath the stars beside one another, your head pressed to his chest and the rhythm of his heartbeat while you talked for hours on end. you could see it now—sprawled across a picnic blanket, enjoying one another’s company as you finally have the opportunity to have him all to yourself.

you didn’t anticipate just how much of an astronomy nerd wooyoung was.

“okay, so right up there is the summer triangle,” he informs you, peering through the viewfinder on his telescope as he gestures to the stack of reference books he’d brought along. “there’s three huge stars—vega, deneb, altair—you can’t miss ‘em.”

“i think i see them,” you say, although your eyes are fixated on wooyoung’s every move as his excitement grows from your supposed discovery. he adjusts his glasses and narrows his eyes, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his flannel. you glance up at the sky that was clear aside from scattered stars. he sighs contentedly, sitting back on his haunches.

“thank you for coming along,” he says earnestly, looking over to you with a broad smile. “it’s nice to be able to share this with someone.”

“of course.” you reach over and pat a hand over his, the gesture earning a flush of pink across his cheeks as he clears his throat nervously. “i think it’s cute that you’re so into astrology.”

“astronomy.”

“right.”

“well, i’m a sagittarius, in case you were wondering,” wooyoung replies as he bursts into a fit of laughter at your mistake.

you roll your eyes and shove his chest playfully, missing just enough to lose your balance and topple over onto him. his arms wrap around you instinctively, the scent of his cologne engulfing you as you grip the fabric of his shirt in tight fists. suddenly, the sounds of the night around you grow faint, nothing but your heartbeat thrumming in your ears while your breath escapes you, low and shallow.

“sorry,” you mumble, although neither of you move.

“i don’t mind,” he replies, his voice soft as his grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly. his gaze trails over your face, his lips parted as he thinks of something, anything to say in the moment.

“do … do you want to get back to stargazing?” you ask, about to shift your weight off of him when he holds you firmly against him with a renewed glint in his eyes.

“actually,” he says, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen over your face, “why don’t we take a break?”

“oh?” he turns you so that you’re laid back onto the picnic blanket, his arms on either side of you. he looked nothing like the bashful stargazing enthusiast from just seconds before, now staring down at you with a knowing grin threatening to break across his face. you take the opportunity to get under his skin and hook a leg around his waist so that he’s drawn closer to you. “and what did you have in mind?”

“i could think of a few things,” wooyoung hums before you hook a finger around the collar of his shirt and pull him into a kiss.

jongho

you had no idea what you were in for when you asked jongho out.

he always kept to himself; never stayed back when class ended, didn't seem to have much of a relationship with the other students. something about him intrigued you that you couldn't put your finger on. he seemed like he would be sweet under that rigid exterior and somehow it became your personal mission to uncover his personality, whether he liked it or not.

"hey, do you think you can help me out after class with this assignment?" you'd ask.

"sorry, i have somewhere to be," he'd answer, shuffling through slides on his laptop without so much as a glance at you. "but let me know how it goes."

"hey, would you be open to helping tutor some of the freshmen that are on track to take this class?"

"i don't think i have time for it," jongho would reply, dry as ever and making your blood boil. "but i think some of the others were mentioning being down to help."

it wasn't until one faithful evening when you somehow got him on the way to his car that you nearly cornered him in the parking lot. that is, if you'd consider flagging him down and running towards him with your heart nearly about to explode a subtle attempt. jongho stared at you through the lenses of his thick-rimmed glasses, his eyebrow arched in question as he observes you trying to catch your breath.

"would—hoo—look," you say, slamming a hand on the roof of his car. he doesn't so much as jolt. "i think you're hot. i don't know why, especially considering you never seem interested in hanging out. but, i do. and i've been trying to hang out with you outside of class and i'm tired of trying to drop subtle hints."

"oh, you weren't subtle," jongho scoffs, something akin to a smile etched across his features.

"funny," you huff as you watch him put away his backpack in his backseat before turning to you.

"i'm actually headed to hang out with some friends. you can join us, if you're free."

"oh, so you do have a life outside of class?" you ask as he rolls his eyes playfully and gestures for you to enter his passenger seat.

the ride to wherever jongho was taking you was silent, save for the baseball podcast he seemed to be intently listening to as he kept both hands on the steering wheel. you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, a small part of you wondering if you were about to be dragged to something that would bore you to death when you thought he might have been more interesting beneath the surface.

boy, were you wrong.

the second he pulls into the parking lot of one of the busier barbecue joints and a group of guys you recognize faintly from across campus holler at his entrance, you realize that he was the complete opposite of what you'd expected. it was as if he was swapped out with a clone, full of life and laughter and eager to accept a round of drinks. he sang at the top of his lungs, cracked jokes like it was nobody's business and downed beer like a forlorn sailor.

“so, you’re jongho’s girl?” one of the guys ask you. his question steers your attention away from the fresh bottle of soju you were about to crack open and you glance in jongho’s direction before answering.

“well, i—”

“yeah,” jongho interjects, “she is.”

After you stepped in, though, the frat flourished, and the boys owed you a debt of gratitude, and the wanted to show that gratitude by officially swearing you in as their sweetheart.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mingi greeted you with his low, rumbling voice as he sat down next to you on the couch. “How are you?”

“Could be better,” you replied with a small smile. “Seonghwa missed my double stuffed Oreos request on the grocery list again.”

“Oh, I did the groceries this week,” Mingi said with a tinge of guilt. “I had no idea you wrote that.”

“That’s okay, Gi! I’ll just rewrite it on the list and underline the shit out of it next time.”

“Still… I feel bad…” Mingi murmured. He leaned towards you and said, “Let me make it up to you.”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

Without a response, Mingi placed his hand gently on your knee, his fingers teasing you by pushing your skirt up slightly. He brushed his nose against your ear as he tucked your hair behind your ear, a small, rough sigh leaving his lips and ticking your skin. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, your lips slightly parted in anticipation, your eyes fluttering. Mingi flirted with you all the time, and you jokingly would tell him that you would give him a chance if he was being serious, and you felt nothing but serious energy from him at that moment, so yes, you would give him that chance.

“Hey!”

The sound of San’s voice snapped you and Mingi out of your trance, the two of you giving the boy all of your attention.

“Don’t you remember what Hwa said?” San said with a slight frown. “No touching the sweetheart until tonight.”

“Why? What’s tonight?”

“Your initiation, duh,” Wooyoung, who popped up behind San, said matter-of-factly.

You for sure thought Wooyoung was messing with you because you knew that the boys had scheduled a frat party that night, but when the night arrived, you realized he was dead serious. There was no party. Instead, the living room was decorated with an assortment of beers, wines, and hard liquors, and they were all brand new, which freaked you out even more because you had never seen so many unopened, high quality bottles of liquor in the frat house before.

“Joong,” you started, your tone accusatory. “Do not tell me you used frat funds for this…”

“No, sweetheart. We used our personal money for this,” Hongjoong shook his head. “Come. Have a drink.”

You eyed the boy suspiciously, but you joined him in the living room anyway. The second you sat down, he handed you a glass of your favorite red wine— you never told the boys about your favorite wine, so you wondered how on Earth they figured it out in the first place— and willed you to drink it.

The wine warmed you up instantly, and your entire tense body relaxed almost instantly at the familiarity of the hints of black cherry. You sighed softly and relaxed into the couch cushions, only for that relaxation to quickly leave when you realized the eight pairs of eyes boring into your soul.

“W-What…?”

“Choose,” Seonghwa stated softly.

“What…?”

“Choose one of us to start your initiation,” Jongho explained a little further.

“How am I supposed to choose when I don’t even fucking know what this initiation is?!”

“Alright, fine,” San pushed his way past the boys. “I’ll start it for you, then.”

Without a second to waste, San took the wine glass out of your hand and shove it into Hongjoong’s hands before forcefully grabbing your face and bringing it near his. Your entire body jolted with excitement, but in the same breath, you also wanted to slap San and tell him to knock it off, but the way he was holding you made arousal pool in your panties at an alarming rate.

“Welcome to ATZ,” he started, a smirk playing on his lips. “If you really want to be our sweetheart, you’re going to obey our every order, got it?”

You responded with a mere nod, warmth flushing through your extremities. Your body only god hotter when San reached behind him and gestured for someone to hand him a bottle of whatever liquor, and with one hand still on your face, he took a swig from the bottle before immediately connecting his lips to yours. You could taste the sharp burn of vodka hit your tongue and go down your throat, nearly choking you. Yet, the motion itself was erotic enough for you to let the burn somehow turn into pleasure, the giddy feeling inside you getting stronger.

As San’s kisses got more passionate, lingering traces of vodka mixed with your saliva and started dripping down your chins. He moved entirely so he pinned you against the couch cushions, one of his hands choking you lightly while the other grabbed your wrist. You were so sucked into San’s kisses that you didn’t realize that someone had moved to the other side of you and started pulling your skirt down.

“Just relax, sweetheart,” you heard Seonghwa purr into your ear.

Along with your skirt went your panties, leaving your bottom half stark naked. Seonghwa pulled one of your thighs one way while someone else pushed your other thigh the other way. It was when San broke your chain of kisses to start decorating your neck with dark marks did you see Mingi kneeling before you, his tongue dangerously close to your inner thigh. You let out a whimpering sigh when you felt him trail his tongue along your thigh and closer to your cunt, the sigh turning into a slight moan when Seonghwa’s fingers reached for your clit and started drawing circles around it with the pad of his finger.

“I never knew you could make a sound like that, sweetheart,” Hongjoong chuckled as he downed whatever was left of the wine in your glass.

Tilting your head towards him with the tips of his fingers, Hongjoong’s lips met yours softly, leaving you with the sweetest kiss. You cupped his face with one hand while your other reached down to Mingi’s head and grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging backwards while trying to get him to stop licking stripes up and down your pussy. San, meanwhile, lifted your shirt and bra up to reveal your breasts, his lips and Seonghwa’s lips immediately claiming one perky nipple each.

As the four of them ravished you, the other four started feasting away on the alcohol— you can’t expect to leave bottles of alcohol in front of frat bros and expect them not to drink it, now can you?— the beer bottles clattering to the ground and the shot glasses slamming onto the countertop.

All the four men were simply just caressing you, kissing you, but your brain was turning to mush at an alarming rate. You were so out of it that you didn’t even realize that they had gotten all of your clothes off you entirely, leaving all of your skin exposed and ready for the other four to start with you. Yunho had opted to kneel on the ground next to Mingi and caress your legs, his soft fingers trailing across your thigh and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Yeosang stood behind the couch and collected your hair for you to hold it back, allowing him to leave kisses along your temple and trail his tongue along your ear. Wooyoung chose to forcibly get your hand out of Mingi’s hair and move it to his crotch so you could cup his slowly stiffening cock through his pants, and Jongho snuck his way onto the couch so he could grope your waist and leave bite marks along the gentle curve of your hip.

“Mingi,” Seonghwa said as he started pushing the boy’s head away from your pussy. “We need to open her up.”

Nodding, Mingi moved away from you, giving Seonghwa the opportunity to slide down and sit between your legs. The other boys started leaving your side one by one as Seonghwa cupped the underside of your thigh and pushed your legs up, your knees pressing against your breasts. Then, you felt his tongue prod into your asshole, making you nearly jump off the couch had it not been for his insane grip on your thighs and Yeosang still holding your hair back.

“H-Hwa, don’t!” you cried. “It’s dirty!”

“Sweetheart, don’t tell me you forgot what I said already,” San tsked.

"Of course I didn't, Sannie, but—"

“No buts,” Yunho, now shirtless, stood before you. “Just go with the flow, sweetheart.”

Gulping, you nodded, allowing Seonghwa to resume. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt his tongue prodding once more, your cunt and ass tightening in the process.

"No, sweetheart. You need to relax," Seonghwa murmured.

But you could do anything but relax. So, Yunho decided to help you out. He directed your attention to him and kissed you sweetly, his talented lips clearing out your mind. The way his hand traced the outline of your body as it went up to rest on your neck made your body lean towards him, an erotic sigh leaving your soul as he kissed you more and more passionately with every passing second. Yunho kissing you was enough to distract and relax your body, allowing Seonghwa to open you up as he wanted. He stuck two fingers in your asshole and pulled them apart, making you whine loudly into Yunho’s mouth.

As the two worked on you, the rest of the frat took the opportunity to strip themselves down, low grunts and moans rippling through them as they started stroking themselves. Once Seonghwa deemed you stretched out enough, he got up and shed his own clothes while Yunho choked you lightly as he moved you down from the couch so that you were kneeling before the eight of them.

“Alright, sweetheart. Suck,” San ordered as he slapped his thick cock against your cheek.

You looked up at him with half-lidded, lust-filled eyes, a smile playing on your lips as your hand reached for his cock. You only took the tip into your mouth, your hand rubbing the length as you moaned with his cock in your mouth. All you did was suck the tip of his cock, taking it in and out of your mouth with a little pop, making the boy groan in slight frustration. When Jongho stole your hand from San’s cock so you could start jacking him off, and when Yeosang took your other hand to do the same, San grabbed the back of your head and forced you down on his cock, making you gag loudly. He moved your head forcefully, continuing to make you gag as you sucked him off properly, the sound reverberating through the room.

“God, she sounds like such a fucking slut,” Mingi commented as he smirked at the sight of you on your knees sucking the thick boy off.

“Hey, show some respect,” Hongjoong snapped. “She’s our sweetheart.”

“Our slutty sweetheart,” Wooyoung couldn’t help but let out a little laugh as he bent down to give your ass a tight slap.

You couldn’t help but moan, your body jolting towards San when you felt Wooyoung’s hand go from slapping your ass to grabbing it and pulling upwards. San finally let you surface for air, only for Yunho to interject, his hand guiding your face to his massive cock.

“Don’t just focus on San, sweetheart. We all want to stuff our cocks in your face,” Yunho said, his soft voice very misleading considering the words that just left his mouth.

And so, all eight of the frat bros took their turns stuffing their cocks in your mouth. While you were choking on Mingi’s insane length, Hongjoong moved behind you, pushing you forward so that you were on your hands and knees. He licked his hand and ran his fingers along the folds of your sopping cunt, his fingers teasing you by slipping inside briefly.

"You're so fucking wet, sweetheart. You want us that bad, do you?"

You couldn't respond properly— you still had a mouthful of Mingi in you. Luckily, Hongjoong's didn't bother waiting for a reply from you. He rubbed the tip of his cock along your folds slowly before entering you at that same pace, the feeling of his cock filling you up making your entire body tingle. He watched as you curled your toes, making him chuckle slightly.

"You like my cock inside you, sweetheart? Of course you do," he sighed out. "You're so fucking tight... You feel so good, sweetheart."

He moved at a gentle pace, but each motion was enough to make you feel good already— you just needed a little boost. You brought your hand to your clit and started rubbing, only for someone to snatch your hand away.

“Nuh uh, sweetheart. That’s our job,” Wooyoung quickly denied you.

Sliding into the space underneath you, Yeosang was the next of them to press his tongue against your sore bud, the wetness from his tongue and the way he swirled it around your clit getting you to satisfaction much faster than your fingers ever could. You took Mingi out of your mouth to cry out loudly as you came, your walls fluttering around Hongjoong’s cock as your arousal dripped out of your stuffed cunt.

You clenched so hard around Hongjoong’s dick that he ended up coming without warning as well. He rammed his hips into yours and came inside, his cum heating you up as he filled you up.

“Hey, you said we wouldn’t cum inside,” Seonghwa pointed an accusatory finger at the oldest boy.

“N-No, I want you to fill me up,” you caught yourself whimpering. “I want you all to fill me with your cum.”

“Well, you heard her,” Hongjoong said slyly. “And who are we to say no to our sweetheart?”

You telling the boys that you wanted them to cum inside you excited them more than you anticipated. Within seconds, you were seated on Jongho’s lap, his girth spreading your walls so far that you thought you were going to tear while Wooyoung stood before you, his knee pressed into the couch as he rubbed you from the front with his cock.

“Woo— Hnngh! It’s n-not going to fit,” you said while moaning as Jongho thrust from underneath you.

“Oh, trust me, sweetheart. You’re going to fit us both.”

With that, Wooyoung slid his cock into you, a scream of pleasure leaving your lungs as you flung your head back and closed your eyes, just letting yourself feel both of them inside you. You thought there would hardly be any space for either of them to start moving, but Jongho proved you wrong when he held your waist tightly and started moving your body up and down while Wooyoung rolled his waist against yours. You could hear Jongho’s desperate grunts in your ear and Wooyoung’s erratic breathing against your skin as he pressed his face into the nook of your neck.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Jongho bit out. “You feel so fucking good, I don’t think I can hold back anymore.”

Responses evaded you. Instead, you turned your head to kiss Jongho, your fingers pressing into his scalp as you held the back of his head. You briefly made eye contact with him, the dark lust in his eyes sending a wave of heat through your body, the heat only increasing when he kissed you, his tongue inviting yours to dance. Your other hand went to Wooyoung’s neck, your nails digging into his skin and leaving deep crescents as you kissed Jongho passionately.

Wooyoung thrust into you in a way that made your body lean into Jongho’s firm chest further, the slightly altered angle of your body doing it for the boy underneath you. He grunted against your lips as he came, his ropes of cum shooting deep inside you. The second the other guys realized he came, they grabbed for you, pulling you off his lap. Soon, you were pinning Wooyoung to the couch, his cock still inside you.

“Hyung, come here,” Yeosang said to Seonghwa.

Getting on top of you, Yeosang slid his cock along your ass, the tip teasing your asshole every so often as Seonghwa knelt on the couch behind you.

“Forget about double stuffed, sweetheart,” Seonghwa quipped. “You’re going to get triple stuffed tonight.”

Without giving you time to ponder the implications of those words, Yeosang forced his cock into your tight asshole while Seonghwa slipped his cock into your pussy, the three of them fully inside you.

“Oh my God!” you cried as they pressed further until they were all completely inside you.

“Shit, her asshole is still really fucking tight,” Yeosang swore, the profanities leaving his mouth making your entire body thirst for him.

Your eyes watered up when Yeosang began to move, your hole tight and red as it swallowed him, the sight of which nearly drove Yeosang up the wall. He mercilessly fucked your ass, not wanting that tight feeling to leave as you squeezed his cock just right. You wanted to cry, nay, scream his name, but before long, San was standing in front of you, forcing his cock down your throat again.

“Good, sweetheart,” he praised as you gawked obnoxiously. “Very fucking good.”

Below you, Wooyoung’s pants were getting breathier, high moans and groans leaving his lungs. He bit his lower lip as he tried desperately to hold his orgasm at bay as he did not want the other guys stealing you from him just yet. But, he was finding it a little difficult to move at the pace he wanted with Seonghwa’s cock stuffed in your cunt. Thankfully, when Seonghwa pulled out, it allowed Wooyoung to ram his hips upwards, the slapping of his waist against yours overpowering your moans.

Seonghwa had decided he wanted to move to your asshole, so while you were distracted by Wooyoung’s insane hip thrusts, Seonghwa shoved his cock into your asshole, practically making you feel like Yeosang and Seonghwa were going to tear you a new one. San had to pull his cock out of your mouth before you bit down on it, making him opt to repeatedly shove his cock in your mouth over and over again instead of having you continuously suck it.

Wooyoung couldn’t hold back anymore. The erotic noises of your cunt and ass and you sucking San off did it for him. He groaned loudly and blinked stars out of his eyes as he came, filling you with your third load.

“Woo, pull out,” Seonghwa ordered. “I’m close, too.”

You were surprised to hear Seonghwa say that— he sounded way too calm and collected to be close. But, when all three boys pulled out, you turned to see that Seonghwa’s jaw was slightly dropped, and his eyes were fluttering when he re-entered your cunt. Despite three loads of cum inside you, you were still insanely tight for him, and him being in your ass just moments prior squeezing and nearly snapping his dick off was already plenty tight. Yeosang, who had resumed with your asshole, snapped you back to attention when he slapped your ass, your back arching as a result.

Seonghwa had barely entered you, and he was done. You pressed your chest against Wooyoung’s and pushed your ass upwards, and as a result, Seonghwa came hard. He grabbed your ass cheeks and let out a low, shuddering groan as he came, disappointment evident on his face— he wanted to fuck you more. What a shame. The second Seonghwa pulled out and moved away, Yeosang switched to your cunt and immediately came. He had been holding his load for quite some time, and he wanted to fill your cunt, not your ass, with his seed.

The five of them swam inside you threatening to spill out when you relaxed your pussy just enough, but you clenched and held it in. You wanted to keep them inside you for as long as humanly possible.

San determined that it was his turn after you were left panting for dear life on the couch. He nimbly picked you up and laid you so that you were bent slightly uncomfortably, your head and shoulders pressing into the ground while your ass rested against the edge of the couch. San stood over you, his thick cock twitching in anticipation as he prepared to drill into you. As he adjusted his position, Yunho and Mingi knelt by your side, their cocks slipping into your open palms, and Wooyoung bent over so that his face was above yours but upside down— he had every intention to Spiderman-kiss you.

Before you realized it, San’s cock was inside you and throbbing while staying still, a long moan leaving him. Wooyoung didn’t give you the chance to moan. He kissed you roughly, his lips tugging upwards on your lower lip. You were a little too focused on Wooyoung to the point where Yunho and Mingi had to forcefully move their own cocks in your loose grip— not that they really minded, though, because they were waiting their turn to fuck your cunt.

To say San’s cock was literally drilling into you would be an understatement. He was annihilating your pussy and back with the amount of force he was using to thrust. He had a tight grip on your waist as he rammed his waist into yours repeatedly, your entire body shifting with every rut.

“S-Sannie! I’m c-cumming!” you cried as you broke off your kisses with Wooyoung.

“Fuck, sweetheart, me— Oh, God!”

San didn’t get to finish his sentence— he just finished. He pressed a good majority of his body weight onto you as he shoved his cock so far deep inside you that it hit your cervix, making your entire body shudder as you came; and the second San pulled out, Yunho and Mingi were on you like vultures. Mingi grabbed you and hoisted you in the air quickly, your legs dangling as he kept his arms secure behind the backs of your knees.

“Oh my God, Mingi, do not fucking drop me,” you yelped as you clung to him.

“Relax, sweetheart. I have no intention of letting you go,” his deep chuckle reverberated in your ear.

Without using his hands to help him, Mingi was able to successfully sink you down on his cock, making you cry loudly as you felt his length slide inside you quickly. Before he could even start moving you, Yunho pressed his chest against your back, his own cock making its way inside your cunt as well, earning yet another cry from you.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted as the two men with the longest lengths fucked you midair, the two of them moving you so that you were bouncing on their insane cocks.

You could barely keep your head on straight with them fucking you like that, but with the addition of their low grunts and groans in your ear, you were losing your mind completely. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you leaned backwards into Yunho, your grip on Mingi loosening like your grip on reality.

“Look at you all fucked out by our cocks, sweetheart,” Yunho teased.

“You really like double stuffed that much, huh?” Mingi added to the teasing.

You wanted oh so badly to tell them to shut up, but you could only scream their names as you felt your climax rapidly approach. You brought your head back to face Mingi’s, your lips immediately searching for his as you did your best to hold off on cumming. But, when Mingi pulled you towards him to meet your desperate kisses, he rubbed against your G-spot, making you cum instantly. Your cunt clenched so tightly that both boys subsequently came, their loud groans echoing in the living room as their cum spurt deep inside you, leaving you with the cum of the eight of them threatening to spill out of you had it not been for the two massive cocks blocking its path.

Mingi let you down onto the ground, the cum flowing out of you, leaving you sitting in a pool of their cum as you fought to regain your breath and sanity. Blinking stars and tears out of your eyes, you looked up to see all eight of them hovering above you while stroking their cocks.

“So, sweetheart,” Hongjoong spoke. “Welcome to ATZ.”

You couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed— was that really it?

“Do you want more, sweetheart?” Seonghwa chuckled looking at your expression.

Biting your lower lip, you looked up at him and nodded, all eight boys’ breath hitching.

“Believe me, sweetheart. We’re not done fucking you yet.”

he's so, so incredibly clingy— you were only gone for a few hours, yet he treats it like it's been years since he last saw you. he sits next to and watches you eat with starry eyes, neglecting his food until you scold him to eat. even then, he simply opens his mouth childishly, going "ahhhh" until you give in and feed him yourself. the victorious smile on his face is enough to keep you from getting annoyed with him.

puppy!beomgyu who can get a little possessive sometimes— but it's a normal trait for dog hybrids, isn't it? it's the only way you can reason the way he's acting tonight. you only agreed to let him be your plus one to your company dinner after he started crying when you said no; you'd only done it in fear of him getting overwhelmed from being in such a crowded room, and now you wonder if you should've put your foot down back then.

he's quiet— it's unusual to see him like this, so reserved and observant. but, that's not what's been bothering you tonight, no, it's the way he's been looking at anyone that even thinks about approaching you— his ears press flat on his head, his mouth pulling back in a snarl whenever your male coworkers greet you— when soobin manages to get past his defenses and pulls you in a quick hug, you almost think you're about to witness a fight go down.

beomgyu's not above admitting to jealousy; he's done it so freely in the past, always coming to you with a pout and a plea to not let anyone get so close with you, to not let them "scent" you. no matter how many times you told him that your human friends don't do that, he insisted anyway.

when beomgyu had pulled you away from him, nails digging into your wrist, you tried to keep calm— you knew he'd take it the wrong way if you started scolding him to behave. you do, however, have to tell beomgyu to fix his face after seeing soobin get so nervous under beomgyu's intense gaze.

it was like setting off a ticking bomb— he'd already been on edge earlier, but you think this might've pushed him past his limits. as soobin continued to laugh and joke with you, he resigned to go sit at your table and watch from afar. and while you wanted to run to his side and make sure nothing was wrong, a part of you knew it was better to leave him alone.

puppy!beomgyu who proceeds to watch you for the rest of the dinner. quiet and calm, eerily so— his dark pupils following your every move, watching you go from person to person, a bright smile on your face and your movements so free and happy; if you had looked a little closer, you would've been able to pick up on the way he was burning with jealousy.

the car ride home is dead silent. even with the radio playing, it still feels like there's no noise at all. not compared to the way he'd been talking your ear off on the way there, rambling about how excited he was to finally meet your coworkers. when you glanced over at him, he turned his back to you, looking out the window instead. his tail thumped rhythmically against the leather seats.

he gets out the car as soon as you pull into the driveway; you try to scold him for doing so while the car is still moving, but the only response you get is the slam of a car door, and the sight of him stomping off into the house. you're sitting in the driveway for a good twenty minutes, wondering what you could possibly do to remedy the situation.

it was all just a matter of jealousy, wasn't it? maybe you hadn't done enough to prepare your puppy for all the new scents, the people, everyone approaching you— you should've known better than to throw beomgyu into such a situation.

when you finally go inside your house, it's quiet… it feels wrong, stepping in such a dark and still home, always used to the white noise of the television and beomgyu's absentminded humming. instead, the only light you find is that of your bedroom lamp bleeding into the hallway. you follow the source, ready to bow your head and apologize.

but when you push open the door to your room, you find something entirely different— puppy!beomgyu lifts his face from your pillow, tear stained and flushed, his hair ruffled and falling into his eyes. when his pupils meet yours, blown out and shiny, his hips rut faster into your other, folded pillow.

he's facing you, back arching as his mouth falls open, a broken little moan slipping from his throat. his face falls back on your pillow, and he hugs the other one tighter, drool pooling out his mouth as he thrusts deeper into the makeshift hole he's made— your eyes fall to his lower half, mouth drying at the way his tail jumps with pleasure and he cries out your name.

puppy!beomgyu who begins to cry after seeing you freeze at the doorway, brows pinching together and tears dotting his lashes as his whole body flushes with humiliation— yet, he can't bring himself to stop, and his whole body rocks as he keeps going.

"m'sorry…" he whimpers, "i just— i can't… i can't stop. m'sorry…"

your heart pounds against your chest as he continues to whine for you— his stare won't leave your face, hungry for every reaction as he continues to fuck your pillow, his eyes rolling back as he inhales the faint scent of your shampoo on the fabric he's stuffed his face into— when he finally pulls back, he takes a deep breath, his ears perking up as he catches your scent change.

"master…" he begs, "please, please come touch me— i need you, please…"

embarrassed, he buries his face back in your pillow, his whines muffled and the red tips of his ears poking out. you hear your name slip from his lips, and it's enough to have you moving forward.

puppy!beomgyu who you always thought was pretty— but right now, as you turn him over and he looks up at you with big empty eyes, you think this might be the best he's ever looked, his cheeks a light pink and his dark hair splayed like a halo around his head. when you rip the pillow from his lap, his cock bounces up and against his tummy, sticky tip leaving a trail of precum against his skin— his lashes flutter, sending you a dazed smile as he watches you undress.

your puppy has always been so noisy— so it shouldn't be a surprise to hear the way he whines and whimpers at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his cock, taking him all the way and grinding down until he's bottomed out inside you. all he can do is cry out how good you feel with teary eyes, grabbing at your hips and thrusting up to try and fuck you— you have to pin his hands above his head and scold him to sit still.

puppy!beomgyu who does just that; he does whatever you tell him to, moaning out your name and apologizing for his behavior, begging for your forgiveness while you continue to ride him, your breasts bouncing in front of his face only serving to drive him mad.

"do whatever you want to me— use me, please," he whines, "but only me— i want you to look at only me, miss."

pull his hair, bite his neck, slap his face when his hips jump and he tries to control the pace— he loves it all, and he doesn't even try to hide it. he'll cry for mercy whenever you slow down, holding off from letting him cum until his chest is flushed pink and his face is shiny with tears, calling you mean but still listening when you tell him to not cum yet.

he lets this go on as long as you want it to, letting you cum on his cock over and over again, eyes rolling back every time he feels you milking him, squeezing his length tight— but he holds off from doing the same, each quiet plea instantly shut down with a look. you let it go on until he finally breaks, his nails digging into his palms as he fights to not disobey your orders to not touch you, fresh tears spilling from his eyes.

"please miss, can i cum now?" he'll sniffle softly, blinking away tears, "i promise i'll be a good boy from now on, 'm sorry for overstepping, but please— i can't hold it anymore, please—!"

you can't deny your puppy— not when he begs so sweetly, staring up at you with starry eyes as you finally give him permission to let go; he throws his head back, body tensing and his hips stuttering against yours as he cums deep inside. it's so much, and all you can do is roll your hips against his, cooing out how well he did and helping him ride out his orgasm.

"so good, so so good— y'treat me so well master, thank you," he hiccups, his cock continuing to pump you full, "i'll be a good pup from now on, i— i promise…"

puppy!beomgyu who whines for you to stay on top of him, even after he's calmed down; who says with a shy smile that you smell like him now— and when you place a fond kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back and telling him how good he was for you, he gets hard again.

“Can I sit on your lap while you play Valorant?” Was a question you asked one evening, seating yourself on the small couch behind Yunho’s gaming setup. It was innocent, sweet even. A yearning to be closer to your loving boyfriend while letting him still play his game in his free time.

“Yeah, you just gotta stay still,” was his response, followed by him spinning to face you and opening his arms. You quietly thanked god for bluetooth headphones so you wouldn’t tangle with his chords, then made your way home, straddling his lap and hugging around his torso. He hugged you close briefly, then unmuted his mic and told his group he was ready to queue. 

His first comp game wasn’t so bad. He did very well, and instead of yelling like he normally did when he was frustrated, he would just bury his face into your shoulder until the next round began. It was honestly nice. Usually he’d play two or three games in a session, so you tried your best to keep yourself still while he was continuing on. About halfway through the second game, you got really squirmy. At first he let it pass, thinking you were just adjusting yourself, but after moving a bit too much for his liking, you felt his left arm raise slightly and tap his mic to mute it. 

“Gotta stop movin’ baby, you’re makin’ it hard for me to focus. If you keep squirming you’re gonna have to get up.” You froze, mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ to him before he unmuted his mic and kept playing. Of course though, a warm sensation between your thighs, not just from his legs, kept creeping through your body and settled low in your tummy. What at first was a very sweet and intimate position suddenly became blazing hot, setting a fire in your body that only made you shift around more. Yunho wasn’t having it. 

When he died in a round, he lifted up and muted his mic again. “What’s got you moving so much baby?” He asked, his hands pulling your face from the crook of his neck and holding it to look directly into your eyes. Then he saw it. Blown pupils, flushed cheeks, what he swore felt like drool on his collar--and smirked. His eyes lit up like Christmas without intention, looking at you seemingly already ruined just from shuffling around in his lap a little bit.

“I see what’s wrong. You get all hot and bothered sitting here baby? Want me to fix it?” If your face was just a tinge of red before, it was surely a color adjacent to crimson red now as you nodded meekly. You could almost watch the thoughts form behind his eyes, as his look went from stoked to devious within seconds. “Let me play out this round baby, then you can sit on me properly.”

You swallowed thickly at that. Yunho had suggested cockwarming in the past, and you agreed that it was something you wanted to do with it. You weren’t expecting it to come so soon, but you were not complaining or wanting him to stop one bit. So, you buried your face in the crook of his neck again, nodding into it, shifting your hips slightly. You felt him getting harder from underneath you, and his erection rubbing through the fabric of your shorts and his sweats almost felt heavenly after going untouched throughout his first game and a half. 

When he died in his round, he acted fast. He re-muted his mic, lifting his hips enough to pull the sweats from them, not before accidentally ramming your clit with the tip of his dick through both of your pants, causing you both to groan out in unison. Before you knew it, he was planted back in his seat and your hips were being lifted, shorts being pushed to the side and two thick fingers invading your pussy. He worked quickly, scissoring you open with his fingers before you felt his tip pressing against your entrance. 

Slowly, he slid you down on him, settling his hands on your hips briefly once fully seated in him. He gently kissed your forehead, then pulled you close to him in a similar position to before. “Be quiet for me.” You felt him reach forward and unmute his mic, before wiping his hand on his sweats and returning back to his game. Your head was spinning, filled to the brim with no end in sight as long as he kept playing the game. You tried to move just a little bit, and just as fast as his right hand left, it came back and held you down briefly, as if saying “don’t.” 

You forced yourself to stay still.

You heard him groan in frustration a few minutes later, hearing his team complaining about “overtime” through his headset. He kept playing the game to the best of his ability, ultimately ending up losing in the end. “One more, one more,” he said into his mic, making you instantly begin screaming internally. His dick was digging into that one sweet and dizzying spot in you, and the fact that he’s queuing another game because he “can’t end on a loss” was going to be the death of you. 

You let out a quiet whine in protest, but shifting to look back behind you briefly, he was already in agent selection. He kissed the side of your head to soothe you, running his hands up and down your sides once he was locked in. After the selection phase ended, the game didn’t take too long to load in. Once his hands left your sides, you were back to suffering. Three rounds in, you couldn’t take it anymore, and slowly began to rock yourself back and forth on him. He looked down at you with a quick ‘quit that’ glance, as he was still alive in the game and trying to clutch a round. 

You, however, couldn’t take it anymore. You kept going, ultimately making him lose focus and die, losing him the round. He tapped his mic muted, and grunted out a quiet “that’s enough.” before you knew it, you were being lifted suddenly, then pushed into the wall next to his setup. You couldn’t even think at all, his hips instantly pistoning against yours, making you cry out and clutch to the back of his shirt. He grunted into your ear, then bit the flesh directly under it. You couldn’t help but moan out, his hips angled to hit that perfect spongy spot inside that he learned so well. 

“You wanna keep movin’ all around when I’m trying to play my game hm? I would’ve given this to you later, but you win. All for you, brat.” His pace somehow didn’t let up, despite him being standing and holding your weight up all at once. Your nails were clawing at his back through his shirt, surely leaving little red lines to discover for later. His headset was still on, and you could hear his teammates asking what he was doing and why he was afk. 

He tossed them off after about two minutes of that. He couldn't stand hearing them complain about throwing anymore, especially when he had your warm heat to teach a lesson. With them out of the way, he nudged your face up to meet his, before taking your mouth in a hot and messy kiss. You felt tears brimming in your eyes, the pleasure becoming too much and feeling all too familiar. You moaned into his mouth, him drinking it up while somehow keeping his pace even. 

He seemed to pick up on your queue, because his left arm changed grip on you before his right hand moved up to rub your clit. Within seconds, the movements pushed you over, cumming all over him. He pumped a few more times, before pushing himself all the way in and filling you up. When he looked back at his game, his team had forfeit, and he had an afk warning on his screen. He just looked back at you and smiled, before gently lifting you off him and helping you put your feet back on the ground. 

He slowly guided you over to the couch, sitting you down before leaving the room. He came back with a damp cloth and two water bottles. Carefully, he moved your shorts back to the side, using the warm cloth to clean you off. Without letting you lift a finger, he opened the water bottle, bringing it up to your lips and prompting you to drink it. You drank in slow sips, his eyes gentle and encouraging as you did so. 

After a few minutes of letting you rest, he took you to the bathroom to run you a warm bath. He sat at the edge of the tub, taking care of you and helping you clean off.

“Are you mad?”

“About what baby, why would I be mad?” he asked, face looking questioning like a puppy.

“About your game, I made you lose and I ruined it…” You studied his face, and instead of remembering with a scowl like you would think, he just softly smiled at you.

“I guess I was upset at that moment, but I can’t really stay mad at you. Besides, you didn’t get me banned, so I could care less. In the end what matters is you.” He took your hand in his, gently kissing the back of it, despite it being wet and soapy. The smile reached his eyes in a soft and genuine way, and it stayed on his face as he dried you off and laid you both down for bed.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

The next time you wake up, you’re alone. 

Everything hurts but also… doesn’t. Like something is blocking you from feeling any of the pain from before. A dull, underlying discomfort. 

You don’t remember much of what happened, why you ended up here, wherever you are. There’s a black hole in your memory that turns everything fuzzy and confusing. What you do remember is how cold you were, near freezing. Cautiously, you move each finger one by one, and wiggle your toes, making sure all were accounted for. You remember two loud, sudden noises. Someone else got hurt. Two others, you think. You can’t recall who, though. 

You remember being touched by strangers. The thought terrifies you all over again, and you slowly squeeze your thighs together, testing for any soreness. You don’t feel anything. A huge mental weight suddenly lifts off of you, and you sink further into the bed, turning your head to the side to cry in relief. Daddy would’ve been so mad… 

When you eventually open your eyes, the first things you see are balloons.

Odd. 

Off to the side, they float on a large shelf beneath a large flat screen television, telling you to get well soon in funky fonts. Underneath the balloons are an array of gifts, each one differing in packaging and size, and a teddy bear perched on top of the pile like a throne. You wonder if they’ll find and give you Puppy sometime soon. That would be a greater comfort than the teddy bear, even if it did have a cute red ribbon tied around its neck. But you breathe a sigh of relief upon the sight of all the gifts. A wave of comfort washes over you at the thought of Yunho sending you all of these. He must not be mad at you anymore, and sent you these, knowing how scared you are here. You can’t wait to see what he got you. 

You see that they have also placed a small Christmas tree in the corner. 

Right… you remember, it is Christmas – or at least it was recently. 

You groan as you shift to get more comfortable, and feel a small tug within your chest. Your eyes fly open and you panic once you see multiple tubes protruding from your chest and arm. Immediately, you want to rip whatever is in there out, but your hands are still restrained. A rough scream that sounds just like Yunho’s name tears from your throat and two nurses run in, trying to calm you down. 

“No!” You try to scream at them, but it comes out as a breathy, broken cry, “No! Leave me alone!” 

Both nurses back off right away. One of them calmly tries to explain to you that you’re in the hospital, and the tubes you see are to drain the fluid in your chest, and an IV to keep you hydrated. You don’t respond. You regress further. 

Daddy hasn’t given you permission to speak to any of these people. 

He’ll take the presents away if he finds out.

He’ll leave you here. 

You press your mouth together, refusing to say another word. Curling up on your side, you don’t even look in their direction. In this position, there’s an added pressure somewhere in your chest and a pull in your shoulder that you don’t like. Yet you don’t move. You hate that they’re looking at you. They’re not allowed to. 

One of them brings the teddy bear over, setting him down on the foot of your hospital bed, leaning against the footboard. Eventually, after checking your vitals and trying – and failing – to ask you a dozen questions you don’t want to answer, they leave. 

You break down as soon as you’re alone again. 

You don’t understand… why did Daddy leave you here? He would never leave you out in the world unprotected, no matter what. He didn’t even assign one of the boys to stay with you. It just does not make sense. The not-knowing overwhelms you, and your temples begin to throb from stress. 

The only comfort you can find is in being asleep. So you’ll sleep until Daddy comes to get you. 

Until he brings you back home. 

  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sleep is something you’re not really afforded. 

You wake up often due to the pain, sometimes pressing the button for the nurse to administer more pain-killing drugs to your system, and several times throughout the day – and night – people walk in to poke and prod you. They keep asking you questions. The same ones, every single time, every single shift. It’s always loud, bright, and disorientating. You hate it here. You miss the blackout curtains throughout the apartment, shielding you from this blinding light. You miss waking up snuggled next to Yunho. You miss that safety. 

The nurses finally freed your hands from your sides earlier this morning and you don’t even thank them. You hid your hands under the blankets, like a child that didn’t want to give you their favorite toy. In your somewhat newfound freedom, you pulled the blanket higher over you, so you really didn’t have to look at anyone if you didn't want to. It’s easier to block out the world this way. 

By mid-morning, you’re unable to fall back asleep, which you kind of anticipated. Still, it’s desperately annoying. One of the nurses that had come in when you first woke up stands by your bed, checking your vitals and typing something into her laptop. She checks on the dressing that covers your wound. You watch her work for a while. You decide that you dislike her the least. She keeps the shades drawn, having noticed your agitation when the sunlight streamed into the room. And so far, she’s been nice. She can read what you want better than the other nurses. 

You startle her by speaking. 

“Where is he?” 

She jumps and clutches her chest, not expecting a question from you. But she quickly regains her professionalism and asks, “Where is who, dear?” 

“Da–” You think twice in the middle of saying it. You need to be specific. “Yunho.” 

“Yunho?” She repeats. 

You nod twice. 

“I– I don’t know, dear. Is he your boyfriend?” 

You drop the conversation there, frustrated. And partly because you don’t know how to answer her question. Whatever your relationship is, it’s so much deeper than that. 

“You say his name a lot in your sleep,” she mentions, resuming her typing after flicking through your chart again. 

She looks up at you, hoping for an explanation, but you just turn onto your side, closing yourself off. You don’t move again until she leaves, and even then you wait a few extra minutes to make sure she’s gone. 

Sleep drags you down out of nowhere. It’s welcomed. 

But of course, it doesn’t stay with you for too long.  

“Honey?” A woman’s voice stirs you out of your deep slumber about two hours later. A gentle hand shakes your shoulder, just enough to wake you up. You grumble and rub your eye, intent on ignoring whoever this is and going back to sleep – it doesn’t register that you’re no longer restrained just yet. But she speaks again, and the words catch your attention. “Someone’s here to see you.” 

Your eyes open and you push yourself up all at once, looking around the room. Did they find him that quickly? Is he going to take you home? A dangerous hope blooms within you, watching the door. 

“Your parents are right outside. Do you want to say ‘hi’ to them?” The nurse asks. 

Parents…? 

The word feels foreign. Wrong. The only person in the world you have is Yunho, you know that. Your parents stopped looking for you. They don’t care. Their faces are blurry, names forgotten. 

You don’t say anything to the nurse, staring at the mattress in silence, hoping she’ll go away. You hope everyone will just go away. The nurse gives you a minute to answer before going to the door, waving two people in. 

A roughly middle-aged man and woman enter your room slowly. The woman clutches the man’s sleeve, staring at you through watery, round eyes. The man holds a small present in his shaking hands. They appear to be exhausted, maybe jet-lagged. There are dark circles under the man’s eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. They both look at you like you’re a ticking time bomb, ready to detonate at any second. 

“Hi sweetie,” the woman says softly, keeping her distance even though you can tell it’s taking a lot of effort on her part to do so. 

The man chimes in, “Hey, kiddo.” He stops himself from saying more. 

The nurses must have said something to them. 

Again, you don’t reply. You keep your eyes on them, watching and waiting for them to do something that Yunho wouldn’t like. Their being here… it doesn’t sit well with you. There’s absolutely no way Yunho would ever let them see you. Especially not unsupervised. For the hundredth time, you wonder where he is, why he’s letting this happen. 

The two people in your room dare to come closer, and you tense with each step.  

Misplaced blame shrouds them both.  

Once they’re close enough to see the extent of your injuries, the woman collapses into one of the chairs near the bed.    

“Oh, my poor baby.” She cries, unable to tear her gaze from the violent purple and red bruising that covers every inch of your throat up to your jaw, and down towards your chest. 

Ugh. 

This display of emotion annoys you – or maybe it’s hearing the nickname Daddy gave you coming from someone else’s lips. You even roll your eyes, though you instantly feel guilty for doing so. She weeps harder, covering her face with her hands as she tries to pull herself together. The man places a hand on her shoulder, and the small action triggers something. 

A memory. 

You remember the airport, waving goodbye to… someone. A man and a woman, the man’s hand on the woman’s shoulder. To control her? To comfort her? You can’t tell anymore. They had waved goodbye until you were out of their sight. They had shouted encouraging words after you so that they may follow you on your journey, far from home. 

They had picked you up from school, taken you to doctor’s appointments, held your hand in the dentist’s chair, let you sleep in their bed when you woke up from a nightmare. One of them coached your soccer team when you were a kid, you just couldn’t remember which one. You loved them once. 

This was all lifetimes ago, now. 

You’re different. You’re not theirs. They stopped looking for you. They gave up. 

Yunho would have torn the world apart if you ever went missing. He wouldn’t have stopped his search, not for anything. Of this, you’re certain. 

“I’m sorry,” the woman says through sniffles, plucking a tissue from a nearby tissue box and wiping her eyes. “We’re so sorry, sweetie.” 

You don’t look at them. You don’t want to, even though your body naturally starts to relax around them. It’s recognizing them before your brain does. The heart monitor records how your pulse gradually begins to slow to a normal pace. 

The man changes the subject, pointing out the pile of presents. “Looks like you didn’t miss Christmas after all.” 

You almost shrug. The most he gets in response is a slight twitch in your left shoulder. 

“Do you wanna see what you got?” He asks. 

Yes. But not with them. You don’t want them to touch what Yunho got you. The man picks one of the presents up, bringing it over to you. The tag is written in unfamiliar handwriting. 

To: Y/N

From: All The Staff ♡

Oh… well, that’s nice of them, you suppose. All you do is stare at it, unmoving. It’s not from Yunho, so you really have no desire to open it. 

But the man takes it upon himself when you don’t unwrap it. Growing more and more agitated, you clench your teeth, hands itching at your skin. You don’t want your first present to be from strangers. No. 

You look away before you can see what it is. 

“Oh wow,” he says, pulling the gift out of the box. “The staff got you a weighted blanket. That was nice of them.”

Your shoulders hunch and you bow your head, not wanting to hear. He places it over your legs, and it takes every single ounce of self-control to not throw it off of you like a petulant child. The weight of it feels claustrophobic, meant to keep you here forever.  

“Gotta make sure to thank them when they come in again,” he reminds you innocently, but that’s the last straw. 

He doesn’t tell you what to do. You press the call button for the nurse to come back in. You hope it’s the one you like. 

“Are you okay, sweetie?” The woman asks, worry lacing between every syllable. Her eyes are still red from crying. “Are you in pain?” 

Right away, the nurse you want comes in, her eyes sweeping across the room, trying to figure out what you need. 

“Hey, honey. What’s going on?” 

Keeping your head off to the side, all you do to answer is point over at the door. It only takes the nurse a second to realize what you want. 

“Okay, no problem. Mom, Dad, we’ll see her tomorrow, okay?” 

You want to correct that, to say that you don’t want to see them tomorrow at all, but remain silent. They’ll just keep coming back anyway. Deep down, you know you’re expected to go home with them. But that’s not what Yunho wants.   

The woman cries again as the two of them leave, escorted out by the nurse, and you can hear her until she reaches the end of the wing. You don’t relax until you know they’re gone. With a swift kick, the blanket falls off the side of the bed, and the weight is gone as well. That’s enough excitement for one day, surely. 

A knock on the door shatters that hope. 

Thankfully though, it’s just the nurse from before. She lets herself in quietly, picking up the discarded blanket and setting it down over the back of one of the chairs instead of placing it back on you. Smart. 

Then she sits down. 

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t look at her. You watch the clock like it’s the most fascinating thing to you, never wanting to miss a single second. You tap your finger against the mattress, the one with the pulse oximeter on it. 

“It’ll all get easier,” the nurse says, this time startling you. “Just takes time, you know?” 

She doesn’t expect a response, and you don’t really give her one. However, a shrug in response from you is still considered progress. She’ll gladly take it between the alternatives. You suppose she’s right, but you’re not happy about it. You don’t want to get used to a new normal, whatever it may look like. The uncertainty of it all scares you.  

There’s another bout of silence. 

“Your parents don’t know who ‘Yunho’ is… do you know his address or number?” 

You used to know his number, but you haven’t exactly seen your phone in about a year. You’re pretty sure Yunho chucked it into the Han River the same night he took you. He couldn’t have it potentially alert your location and bring the police right to his doorstep, per se. You bite your lip, shaking your head. It’s frustrating to be able to remember select, small details like that, and not what happened recently. Or your parents. 

Wanting more answers, you point at your throat and chest and then your wrist, hoping you’re making it clear you’re asking when this all happened. Two days ago? A week? The nurse tilts her head, confused. You point towards the Christmas tree and tap your wrist again. 

After a few moments, she seems to understand. 

“How many days since…?” She gestures to your injuries. 

You nod, looking down again. 

“It’s December twenty-seventh today, so… four days ago.” 

Huh. So that’s why the man said you didn’t miss Christmas after all, even though technically you did. You woke up only yesterday, the twenty-sixth. A brief memory of being happy to know the date again flashes in your mind, but you can’t place when that was. December something. Someone had told you the date… who was it? Why can’t you just remember? 

You look up at her, as if she has the answers. Speaking of names you don’t remember, you point at her nametag, unable to read it. You’re sure she’s told you before but you weren’t exactly in a get-to-know-you mood yesterday.  

“My name?” She clarifies. You nod. “Jiyeon.” 

Pretty. It’s nice to put a name to a face. You repeat it over and over in your head so you can maybe remember it later. Hopefully everything else will come back to you in time. It’s just going to be frustrating for now. At least you still remember Yunho. The thought of him is keeping you somewhat grounded while you’re here, though it raises a lot of questions you don’t have the answers to. And no one here knows who or where he is, which brings up even more unanswerable questions. 

A loud siren blares through the hospital halls, calling all available medical staff to one of the rooms. An automated voice announces that it is a ‘Code Blue’ and Jiyeon springs up from her chair at once, telling you that she’ll be right back before rushing out. Before the door closes behind her, you see other nurses sprinting down the hall as well. You blink, and you’re alone again. The announcement stops after about another minute or so. 

Jiyeon doesn’t come back right away like she said she would. Eventually, you just stop waiting for her to return. The silence creeps in, burrowing into your ears and you paw around at the blankets to try and find the remote for the TV. You find it on the table next to you, within reach. It’s similar to the remote you are used to in Yunho’s apartment, which is helpful. With a push of one of the buttons, the television blinks to life. Color explodes across the screen. 

You relax once you see it’s some sort of children’s cartoon program, something that Yunho would allow you to watch. It entertains you for a while, but it quickly becomes too overstimulating. The voices and sound effects mixed with the bright colors proves too much for your head to handle at the moment. The channel switches to the news. The two anchors relay all the information about a recent bus crash somewhere in the city before moving on to a singing program, and you decide it’s good background noise. You lower the volume a little more, and turn on your side, intent on trying to fall asleep again. 

An hour later, with no success, you just listen to the news anchors once they reappear on screen. You don’t want anyone to come in, but you are antsy that Jiyeon already broke a promise to you. She said she’d be right back. You know it’s selfish of you to think you’re the only patient that she should pay attention to, but you can’t help it. However, you guess you’re used to being alone. 

Unfortunately, you’re not left alone for long. A nurse you don’t think you’ve met before comes in, alongside a tall man. A doctor in a long white coat, holding a clipboard. On sight, you instantly tense up, scooting farther up the bed to put distance between you and him. Your pulse quickens, and each pound of your heart hammers against your bruised chest. 

“Hi, Y/N,” he says warmly, standing at the foot of your bed. “Glad to see you awake. I’m Dr. Ahn. I just wanted to touch base with you and see how you’re doing.” 

You bring your knees in so your feet are no longer that close to him. If he’s going to touch you, you’re going to see him coming towards you first, which gives you time to act. You don’t like him saying your name so casually. 

He’s obviously been briefed that you are refusing to speak, because he doesn’t wait for a response from you. He flicks through your chart like he’s reading the newspaper. 

“Your vitals are looking good, so no issues there. We’ll be taking the chest tube out this afternoon, see if your lung is doing what it should be on its own. Your parents are gonna be here all day, so if you want them in here when that happens, just let us know.”

You glare at him as he gets closer, checking your IV bag. The squeak of his shoes against the floor make you nauseous. He notices you staring and offers a small smile. 

“You’re very brave, you know,” he says, patting your knee. You resist the urge to bite his hand off. Your skin crawls, astounded at his audacity. A wave of anger and fear crashes into you all at once, and you shove his hand away. You ignore the surprise on his face, more preoccupied with how frightened and fed up you are. Can’t they just get all of this over with so you can go home? At this point, you’ll walk back. You don’t care if that’s what you have to do to get back there.     

The doctor says something to you, but you ignore him. You watch the door, waiting for Yunho to come in and kill him for touching you. 

The young nurse speaks up next, taking his place beside you.  

“Y/N, I’m Nari. I’m a sexual assault nurse examiner. I would like to perform a Sexual Assault Forensic Exam on you, but only with your permission. It’ll be entirely up to you if you want to send the results to the police as evidence. Do you think that’s something you’d like to do?” 

You freeze. Sexual assault? 

Your pulse skyrockets. Is that what they think this is? Is that what you’re a victim of? Is this why they’re keeping Yunho from you? They don’t understand. No one does. Yunho didn’t put you in the hospital, surely not. He wouldn’t. He’d never hurt you this bad. Even when he had burned you, he made sure it wasn’t bad enough of an injury for you to need a visit to a hospital. He’s smarter than that. Minor injuries, or death. No in between, and certainly no hospitals. You breathe heavier and heavier, suddenly feeling like you can’t get enough air into your lungs. 

Both of them see that you’re getting worked up again and back away, getting out of your space. 

“It’s okay, honey,” Nari says, trying to calm you down. 

You want to yell at them, scream, cry, throw things, but you force yourself to keep quiet and still. If they think Yunho made you into such a mess, you won’t just play into that theory so easily. No. You won’t prove them right by acting up. 

You flip that same switch that always straightens you out. Suddenly you’re calm, indifferent. You can’t let them continue to think that Yunho was a bad influence on you, so you’ll be on your best behavior. However, you’ll still keep the no-touching boundary. You’ll talk to people when they’ve earned the right. You breathe normally again, settling back against the hospital pillow like nothing happened. 

Dr. Ahn and Nari stare at you, utterly perplexed. You don’t meet their stunned gazes. In fact, you only look up again when you hear Dr. Ahn leave. 

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’ll see you later to remove the chest tube, alright?” He’s already halfway out the door before he finishes his sentence. 

Nari lingers for a little longer before leaving as well. You almost relax once she’s gone but you hear her run into someone just outside your door. 

“Jiyeon!” She says, “I’m glad I caught you.” 

You perk up. Jiyeon was on her way back to your room. 

“What’s going on?” You hear Jiyeon say, lowering her voice. 

“Okay so… she’s refusing the SAFE,” Nari starts, seriousness lacing through her words. 

Jiyeon exhales. “Okay,” she says, processing that as Nari continues. 

“And she responded badly to Dr. Ahn. I think we should keep the male staff to an absolute minimum when it comes to treating her.”

“I agree,” Jiyeon says. “I’ve been trying to tell them.” 

Your heart warms a little upon hearing that. She’s been sticking up for you even when you’re not around to hear it. She probably doesn’t realize you can hear her now. 

“I’m gonna try and hold off the detectives until tomorrow. Does that sound good?” 

“Yeah, she’ll be off the chest tube and in less pain, I think that’ll be okay. Her dad said the family lawyer flew in this morning, too. I’ll talk to her about it. I don’t want her getting caught off guard by such a big visit.”

“Okay… alright, thanks, Ji. Have a good rest of your shift.” 

“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Knock knock.

Your door gently opens, and Jiyeon peeks in. You’re still curled up, knees bent and feet flat on the mattress, absentmindedly running your hand over the soft blanket. 

“Hey, Y/N,” she smiles as she comes in, settling back down in the chair she was in earlier. “Doing okay?” 

You nod, keeping your expression neutral. 

“Good. Listen, I wanna talk to you about tomorrow. There are some people who would really love to come talk to you, and just figure out what’s been going on the past year. I can try to be in here with you, or, if I’m not available, I can get Mijoo to be there.” Mijoo must be the other nurse, the one who told you that your parents were here. 

Jiyeon waits, giving you space and time to say anything before continuing. 

“Y/N… I want you to know that all of these people, they just want to help you. Our number one goal is to help you in any way we can. Does that make sense, honey?”    

The words impact you, but it just takes a while to process and believe them. They sound genuine coming from her, but you can’t say the same for the others that she’s talking about. Your trust is not so easily earned anymore. Especially not here. Jiyeon is nice, yes, but that doesn’t mean you trust her as much as you did Yunho or– 

Oh my god– 

There were two shots that night. Both hit their targets. 

Three bodies in the snow. 

Unbeknownst to Jiyeon, a certain word she said triggers a memory or two. There’s a familiar voice in your head, “There are other people who want to help you. Protect you.”

“Angel, please let me help you.” 

Seonghwa’s injured. Mingi’s shot. They’re hurt. Hell, you don’t even know if they’re alive or dead. You cover your mouth with your hands.

Jiyeon’s voice cuts through your panic, “Seonghwa and Mingi?” 

You realize you must have said their names out loud without even noticing. 

“They came in with you,” she says, scooting her chair closer. She doesn’t try to touch you, which you appreciate in this state. “They’re here, don’t worry.”

“Alive?” You ask, and she hides her reaction to you speaking quite well, maintaining a calm demeanor. 

“Stable,” she confirms. “I can’t really tell you anything else, for privacy reasons.”  

The sigh of relief that leaves you is from your very soul. 

Stable. Alive. Not dead. 

If only you knew anything about Yunho. 

“Can I see Seonghwa?” You hear yourself saying before you can stop yourself. 

Jiyeon shifts, fidgeting with her ID badge. “I– I don’t know, honey. That may not be such a good idea.”

“Why not?” You ask, not understanding why you shouldn’t be allowed to see him. 

She shifts again, avoiding eye contact with you, clearly trying to think of a professional answer that will satisfy your question without saying too much. She looks over her shoulder, towards the door. You follow her gaze, not understanding why she’s looking over there. 

“I’ll ask,” she says finally, faking a quick, small smile. You don’t return it. “Anyway– back to what I was saying about tomorrow. Do you think you’ll be up for that?” 

You almost forgot what she even said. It takes you a long moment to remember. Something about people who want to talk to you, that either she or Mijoo will be with you while they talk to you, how they want to help. Something tells you that you’ll have to do this eventually – it’s not something you can ignore. 

You nod, even shrugging a little. 

Jiyeon sighs with a small grin playing on her lips, and she pats the bed. “Great. I’ll let them know.” 

She gets up to leave again, but you make a small noise, like a cat not wanting their owner to leave for work. There’s something you want to say, on Yunho’s behalf. It takes you a couple minutes to force the words out, pushing past the mental block. 

“It’s… not assault,” you manage to get out. Jiyeon’s eyebrows furrow, but she says nothing, waiting for more. “He– he didn’t sexually assault me.” 

Now her face is unreadable, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe that at all. It’s rather jarring when she doesn’t say anything back to you. She just pats the mattress again, and sees herself out. 

You look away too quickly, missing the two policemen guarding your door. 

You deflate once the door clicks shut behind her. The teddy bear continues to stare at you, still leaning against the footboard. You’re rather surprised you haven’t kicked it off in your sleep yet. Or maybe you have, and someone put it back on the bed. 

Whatever. 

You pull the blanket up and over you, ready for this day to be over already. At least you got some answers, though. Seonghwa and Mingi are accounted for. They’re both here, somewhere. Since you have similar injuries, you bet that Mingi is probably even on the same floor as you. Two people you know and are familiar with. They’re here and they’re ‘stable’. 

It’s quite a comforting thought. 

You hug the blanket, tucking it under your chin where the bruises aren’t so bad, and decide to try and sleep again.   

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You get about three hours of sleep before you’re woken up to remove the chest tube from you. 

Gladly. 

Every time you breathe, you can feel it rubbing against your ribs. It’s rather uncomfortable. 

It’s a semi-quick procedure, albeit a bit painful as it’s being removed. Later, they wheel you into a room to be X-rayed, to make sure your lungs remain expanded, working properly. Judging by the satisfied looks on the nurses faces, it must be a success. 

By the time you get back to your room, you’re exhausted, but you already know you’re not going to be able to go to sleep until tonight. You eat your lunch quietly, finishing everything on the plate and showing Mijoo when she comes back in to take the tray away. You flick through the same channels before finally giving up and landing on the sports network. It’s a replay of a baseball game from over the summer. You’ve never been interested, but you remember Yunho talking about a team he liked several months ago. You can’t think of the name of the team for the life of you, but you know it isn’t either of the ones on screen right now. Hm. 

You’re trying to figure out and understand the rules of the game when there’s a soft knock on your door. As usual, you don’t really react, but your eyes instantly snap to the door, waiting to see who walks in. 

It’s two men. One is obviously a police officer of some kind, complete with a badge pinned to his chest. You’re taken aback by his presence entirely. The second man, you don’t recognize at first. Dressed head to toe in black, sunglasses on even though he’s indoors, face mask, and black fluffy hair. It’s the hair that gives him away, as well as the sweater he’s wearing. 

“Seonghwa!” You gasp, sitting up. 

He takes his sunglasses off, looking over at your window. Of course you still had the shades drawn. He won’t need his glasses in here. Unsteadily and slowly, he makes his way over to the chair by your bed, taking your hand in his when you reach out for him. He sets something down on the floor that you didn’t realize he was holding before. His eyes linger on the officer who stays put by the door, waiting to see if he’ll break you two apart.  

“Hi, angel,” he says quietly, like talking any louder will earn him another concussion. The officer shoots him a look, which Seonghwa sheepishly looks away from. 

You lower the TV volume, as well as the volume of your voice, “Are you okay?” 

He shrugs, glancing down at his sunglasses that dangle off of his free hand. The obvious answer is ‘no’. You both know that. 

“Linear skull fracture. Could’ve been worse. I got discharged today,” he says, lightly touching the back of his head. On instinct, he checks for blood when he lowers his hand back down. “Are you okay?” 

You squeeze his hand, bringing it closer to you. “Yes… kind of. They want to bring in detectives tomorrow to talk to me.” As you finish your sentence, you look over towards the officer. He doesn’t look like he’s paying too much attention to what you’re saying. Then again, you could be wrong. 

You still have no idea what he’s doing here. 

Seonghwa nods, taking that in. He pulls his face mask off too, putting it in his pocket. His lip is split but healing, the skin there a noticeably darker color. The dark circles under his eyes are fading, and his skin has more color to it than before. That’s good. He looks much better than last you saw him. He looks alive. 

“You should talk to them.” He clears his throat, playing with the face mask and sunglasses in his hand. 

“Okay…” you acquiesce. Only Seonghwa could’ve made you agree to do that. Him or Yunho. Maybe that’s why the nurses let him in to visit you. 

Seonghwa chews the inside of his cheek for a moment or two, looking down at your intertwined hands before seeming to remember something. 

“Oh yeah,” he mutters to himself, leaning down to give you what he had brought in. It’s a little gift bag, with sparkly white tissue paper peeking out at the top. You prop yourself up even more. He glances over at the pile of presents on the desk, comparing the size of some of them. He hopes you like what they got you. 

“The boys and I, um… we got you this.” 

You unlock your hand from his so you can open your gift, setting the tissue paper down on your lap to unveil two items: a leather-bound journal, and a small, flat box. You pause, knowing what type of box this is. Seonghwa’s leg bounces from nerves, alternating between watching you open it, and the baseball game that apparently just got interesting. You take the journal out first, flipping through the fresh, blank pages. The edges are silver lined. The leather feels expensive, definitely high quality, and there’s a pure white ribbon attached to the spine of it for you to use as a bookmark. 

“I needed a new one,” you murmur, saying it more to yourself than to Seonghwa. “Thank you.” 

You set it down on your lap, peering into the gift bag to see if that box is still inside. It is. It wasn’t an illusion or trick of the light. You pick it up like it’ll break, glancing up at Seonghwa as if to verify that they really got you jewellery of some kind. His leg keeps bouncing rapidly, carefully watching your reaction. 

Engraved within the deep maroon lid, is the word, ‘Cartier’, and your heart skips a beat. No way. When you lift the lid off, you’re met with a stunning silver bracelet, thin and delicate and beautiful. There are tiny black stones intricately embedded into the silver, and you look back at Seonghwa for answers on what they are. 

“It’s obsidian,” he explains rather sheepishly, “it’s meant to um… it’s supposed to protect you. At least, that’s what Wooyoung said.” 

“Wow,” you breathe, almost too nervous to take it out and try it on. It looks so dainty and fragile nestled between the velvet interior of the box. “It’s just… it’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

Seonghwa scoots forward, taking it from the box to help you put it on. It’s so light against your skin, and it catches what little light filters through the shades effortlessly. If you thought the journal was expensive, this must be worth so much more. You bring your wrist up to your face, looking at it closer. Every single detail is perfect. How did they– why did they do this for you? 

“You deserve it,” Seonghwa says, as if he was reading your thoughts. 

There’s a long pause between the two of you. The baseball game and the accompanying commercials break up the silence adequately. Your free hand keeps touching the bracelet, running your finger over the deep black stones. It’s much prettier than the hospital one you have to wear. The officer keeps staring at Seonghwa, like he’s waiting for him to make a wrong move, or say the wrong thing. Occasionally, you’ll steal a quick glance over to both of them before returning back to the game. Before long, you and Seonghwa just pretend to be interested in it, unwilling to talk about anything serious just yet. 

“Do you…” you swallow hard, hoping he’ll actually tell you something about this. “Do you know why Yunho hasn’t come to see me? Is he still mad at me?” 

Seonghwa pales. 

The officer clears his throat. Seonghwa stops talking. You glare at the officer, anger flaring up. 

“Can you give us some privacy, please?” You ask, tone more impolite than your words. When the officer doesn’t move, ignoring you to just continue staring directly at Seonghwa, you almost lose it. You’re so tired of not being listened to here. And the way he’s just standing there silently, observing and eavesdropping like an invasive ghost is making your fucking skin itch. 

“An– Y/N, he has to be in here with me… it’s for your safety.” Seonghwa explains in a meeker, unsteady voice. 

“You won’t hurt me,” you insist, a little surprised at how much you actually believe that. It was barely a formed thought in your head before you said it out loud. It must be true. “He won’t,” you say to the officer, trying to convince him. 

Seonghwa takes your hand again, “It’s alright, it’s alright. He has to be in here to make sure that we’re both safe. That we’re not mixing up our stories.” 

You bring his hand closer, frustrated tears starting to gloss over your eyes. 

“I don’t understand…” you mumble dejectedly. “I can’t even remember most of it.”

He gets it. His memory is just as patchy, if not worse due to his injury. “No one’s expecting anything from you right now. All you need to do is focus on getting better.” 

You try to agree with him, stubborn as you are. You know he’s right. In time, you will know everything, you’re sure. It’s just hard to be patient when there are gaps in your memory you’d really like to fill. Which brings you to ask your next question. 

“Have you seen Mingi?” You ask, suddenly very interested in your blanket, avoiding eye contact for now. You feel kind of stupid for asking, but are curious nevertheless. Of all people, you know that Seonghwa will give you the answers you’re looking for if you ask him. 

He sighs shakily, squeezing your hand tighter. “I’ve heard that he’s okay. I’m not really allowed to see him.” It’s obvious that he’s trying extra hard to cherry-pick the words he uses in front of you and the officer. 

‘Keep it vague,’ they had told him before entering your room. ‘Don’t push it.’ Jiyeon had to pull so many strings to even get him allowed to be in the room in the first place. Even more to allow him to bring the gift in. Seonghwa knows his lawyer is probably freaking out right about now. Oh, well.  

“But– why–?” You shake your head, pressing your free hand to your forehead. You know you should just drop it, but you can’t. “Seonghwa, where is Yunho? Tell me.”  

He leans back, away from you and peeks over at the cop. This, he knows, he really cannot say anything about. 

Basically, he only knows what Wooyoung and Jongho told him. Both of them came to the hospital yesterday to visit him, and to supply him with some updates, as well as your gift on the off chance he’s allowed to give it to you. In a word, the two of them are conflicted about their roles in all of this. They feel just as guilty, but were never as involved as the rest of the group. Hongjoong, effectively, saved them from most of the legal trouble the others are currently facing now. They’re free. They spent one night at the police station, answering questions, and that has been it so far. 

Hence, the need for a cop or two outside your room, as well as Mingi’s. It makes everyone who knows more details about this than the general public feel more at peace, knowing that there are two that essentially ‘got away with it’. 

Wooyoung and Jongho told him that Yunho has been charged with aggravated assault since neither you, Seonghwa, or Mingi died. However… they’re having a hard time finding any concrete evidence to pin any of the attacks on him. They have the group as witnesses to the shooting of Mingi, but nothing else. Just word of mouth simply isn’t good enough. It’s highly likely that Mingi will testify against Yunho, so his security will be ramped up soon. Apparently, since the boys told them, the cops working your case have been trying to find any evidence that links him with the manager’s death, and the girls before you. The apartment has been picked apart piece by piece, swept through by forensic teams and equipment. Evidence collected, bagged, and shipped off for analysis. The detectives have a lot of grieving families and loved ones looking at them for answers right now. The pressure is building. 

You are their miracle. The one who can put him away for good. 

The question is: will you? 

“Tell me, Seonghwa. Please?” You shake his hand, trying to convince him. 

“He…” Seonghwa gradually begins to shake, pulling at the collar of his sweater with his free hand, looking anywhere but at you. He’s just so nervous as to how you’ll react. The only way to find out though, is by telling you. 

But the officer beats him to it. 

“He’s been arrested. That’s all you need to know.” 

Seonghwa winces, and you blink. 

First of all, you’re angry that the cop so rudely interrupted your – what should be – private conversation, and secondly, what he said just doesn’t compute. 

“Was Hongjoong arrested too?” You ask Seonghwa in a quieter voice, ignoring the cop once again. 

He takes a deep breath. “No… not yet, at least. But they’re gathering evidence against us–” 

“What more evidence do they need?” You interrupt, gesturing towards yourself. 

“What?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing together in total confusion. 

“Hongjoong shot me.” 

Now Seonghwa is really taken aback. Who told you that? 

He blinks before repeating his last question, “What?” 

“Hongjoong shot me.” You repeat yourself as well. In your patchy memory, what you do recall seeing clear as day is Hongjoong reaching for the gun right before you were shot, and holding it in his hand afterwards. It makes sense to you that that is what happened. 

The cop in the corner starts to get antsy, silently making sure his bodycam is still recording everything accurately. Anything said in here has to be reported back, especially if it relates directly to the case. You saying that someone else shot you could be detrimental to the aggravated assault charge they booked Yunho with.  

“A-angel, no…no, no, Hongjoong didn’t shoot you. Yunho did.” Seonghwa says as gently as possible, subconsciously leaning farther back to avoid a potential explosion. This time, the officer lets the pet name slide. 

“How do you know?” You snap at him. “You were unconscious almost the whole time.”   

He doesn’t even flinch. “Wooyoung and Jongho told me.” 

Well… Wooyoung and Jongho were definitely awake during that whole ordeal, so it’s hard to discredit what they say. Nevertheless, your mind argues against believing it. They’re just trying to demonize Yunho, surely. Of course. 

“No, that… he wouldn’t… that doesn’t make sense.” 

Your breathing turns erratic, though you fight to control it. The thing is, it does make sense. 

Even if you deny it, your memory reorders itself. 

Hongjoong trying to get the gun away from Yunho, he grabbed his arm, not the gun. Not until after you were already on the ground. Even then, you try to reason against your memory that because he touched Yunho, the shot was accidentally aimed at you. That explanation would satisfy you if you didn’t remember moving to protect Seonghwa at the same exact time. The look of pure shock on Yunho’s face… wasn’t because Hongjoong shot you. It was because he shot you. 

Well… you always knew he would. He’d made it clear to you that he would. This is an outcome you’ve been trained to expect if you acted out. You stood in front of a loaded and aimed gun. That probably counts. 

Contrary to what Seonghwa expects, you process this information quietly. There’s no outburst. Not yet. Just a silent realization that you’ve been wrong. Confident in your incomplete and ungrounded recollection. You go into damage control right away. It was an accident. He didn’t mean to. But there’s a price to having your memory begin to repair itself: the truth. You had prepared to die. You accepted it.  

And yet the knowledge that Yunho isn’t coming to bring you home nearly kills you. All the time you wasted in this room waiting for him, wondering why he let you come here… 

So, you attach yourself to the nearest person. As usual. You clutch Seonghwa’s hand with both of yours, desperate to keep him here. Maybe he’ll take you back to the apartment. You can wait there until Yunho is released, right? They can’t make you go home with your parents. You’re an adult. But you can’t convince yourself that you can function on your own. And you can’t ask Seonghwa to uproot his life, though a selfish part of you wants to. However, before you interrupted him, he mentioned that the police are gathering evidence ‘against us’. 

The thought of losing Seonghwa next is almost catastrophic. 

Your pulse spikes, beeping incessantly on the monitor. Unfortunately, the cop notices. And, with the worst timing imaginable as you feel the world as you know it on the brink of falling apart, the officer takes a step towards Seonghwa. 

“That’s enough. Let’s go.” 

Without a fight, Seonghwa stands, sending an apologetic look your way. 

“No, no, don’t–” You pull him back, “Please, please don’t leave.” 

“It’s okay–” He tries to reassure you, but the cop pulls him by the arm, breaking you two apart. 

You call his name again, but the officer hurries him out, calling for a nurse. You don’t want a nurse. You want him to bring Seonghwa back to you. Alone, preferably. Body shaking uncontrollably, you throw the blankets off of you, and set your feet on the ground, trying to remain steady. You’re already out of breath by this point, and sobbing rather loudly from distress. Not a good combination for your lungs. Again, your pulse increases its pace. 

You don’t even hear Jiyeon come in, but suddenly she is at your side, helping you lay back down. No one is listening to you. Jiyeon said they care, that they want the best for you, so why can’t they just give you what you obviously really want? 

Jiyeon is saying something to you, but the world suddenly seems so far away and way too close all at once. The feeling of her hand around your wrist causes you to panic, reminding you of the rope tied around it a few nights ago, as well as the restraints on the hospital bed, and you twist and yank it out of her hold. You must’ve accidentally scratched her because she too pulls her hand back quickly, keeping it close to her chest as she assesses the damage done to it. Nothing bad, but you definitely scratched her hard. 

Another nurse runs in, then two more. Jiyeon shoos them out before they can crowd your space and overwhelm you more, calmly but firmly telling them that she’s fine and to go back out. It was her own fault, touching you in this kind of state. She’s just worried about you. 

Once back down against the pillows, you keep your hand on your chest. You’re not sure why… maybe you’re just waiting to feel your lungs collapse or your heart stop. Something to blame this panic on other than the truth. 

The truth that everyone you have loved has left or is leaving you. 

“Honey, let’s calm down now. Tell me what’s wrong.” Jiyeon prompts after checking your vitals to make sure you’re stable. 

“They took him,” you sob, looking back at the door to the room, hoping and praying he comes back in. “I– I got upset ‘n panicked so they t–took him away.” 

Jiyeon nods sympathetically as you talk, giving you the space to air everything out that’s weighing on you. 

“I ruined it, I ruined everything,” your voice pitches all over the place. “They’ll never let me see them again.” 

The door doesn’t open, no matter how many times you look over at it, and no matter how hard you internally beg him to come back. No one is coming to save you anymore. That plan has already been carried out. Yunho’s locked up somewhere, Seonghwa isn’t allowed to see you unsupervised, and even if you decided that you wanted to see him as well, you’re sure Mingi is beyond off-limits now, too. Especially if and when he tells the truth. 

God… everything is such a mess, and it’s all your fault. If you had told Yunho about the plan to get you out, maybe none of this would’ve happened. There’d be hell to pay, sure, but you wouldn’t have disappointed him as badly. If you didn’t look at Mingi through rose-colored glasses, maybe you'd still be in the apartment, impatiently waiting for Yunho to come home. Mingi wouldn’t have been shot. Seonghwa would’ve never gotten hurt that badly. Yunho wouldn’t have been taken from you. Glancing around at your hospital room, a heavy thought makes you sink deeper against the pillows.  

Technically, you aren’t even supposed to be here. And you don’t just mean in this hospital. 

You wipe your eyes with the corner of the blanket until Jiyeon hands you a couple of tissues. They’re from the box that your mom had used that morning. Another wave of guilt crashes over you, remembering how you’d been rather mean to her. 

She lets you cry it all out. You’re not sure how long that takes. When you eventually calm down just enough to speak again, you crumple the tissue in your hand, staring at it for a moment. 

“Are my parents still here?” You ask, tossing the tissue into the nearby trashcan. 

Jiyeon nods. “They are. They’ll be here tomorrow as well.” 

You bite your lip. You’re not ready to see them again, moreso out of fear that you’ll end up hurting them again. But it’s a nice thought that if you need them, they’re available. It’s a tricky thing to want to be alone, but not feel alone. 

“Tomorrow…” you echo, not finishing the rest of your thought out loud. Maybe tomorrow you can try again. Your eyes flick over to her, hoping she understands. 

As usual, she does. 

Once she makes sure you’re calm for the time being, she jots down your vitals for her notes later, and sighs. 

“Okay, honey,” she says, and pats the side of the bed again, “I’ll talk to them. Get some rest for now, I’ll have Mijoo bring in some dinner later. Okay?”

You respond with a short hum, retreating back into your silence. Maybe it’s best if you’re just seen and not heard after all. Maybe Yunho was right… of course he’s right. But something demands to be said. It sits uncomfortably in your mouth, pressing against your teeth and blocking your airway until you let it out. Jiyeon twists the door handle, just about to let herself out.  

“I was supposed to die…” you mumble, sniffling into your pillow. You trace the silver bracelet against your skin. 

Jiyeon freezes in place, the door halfway open. She doesn’t look back at you, doesn’t try to put you right. The staff assigned to you have recently been notified of what happened. 

She knows you’re right. 

The door closes behind her with a small click, and you’re alone again. And being alone is exactly what you wanted, and at the same time, your biggest fear.     

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the afternoon into the evening goes by less eventfully. 

You manage to sleep, even sleeping through your prescribed dinnertime, and wake up to a tray covered in tinfoil to keep the food hot. You eat slowly, having no one to show your progress to, and come to terms with the fact that Yunho isn’t going to find out if you ate everything you’ve been given or not. It’s rather hard to ignore that so far, they haven’t given you proper utensils to eat with. More like knives and forks for kids, rounded and blunt so as to not inflict any potential damage to the user. The spoons are always nice, though. You lazily push around some of the rice left on your tray, a little unnerved that no one’s watching you anymore… and a little relieved. 

No more newcomers or visitors come into your room for the rest of the day. As night creeps in, you keep replaying your interaction with Seonghwa. You wish you can just be… you don’t know. Normal? Is that the word? Everyone looks at you like you’ll shatter any moment, and they’re basically right. You pretty much proved that today. But what he said sticks with you: “No one’s expecting anything from you right now. All you need to do is focus on getting better.” 

So that’s what you’ll do. Yunho placed him in charge of you while he was gone, and now it’s just extended time. You follow directions, you obey orders. That’s what you’re good at. That’s what you can concentrate on for now, until you and Yunho can see each other again. 

If they’ll let you. 

You run a hand through your hair as if to push that thought away, but your hand gets caught halfway through. Ugh… you haven’t bathed in way too long. You look towards the bathroom, hesitant to go in. Mijoo had told you how to properly wash around the stitches and bandages to avoid any infections or accidentally removing them. It’s just… the water. 

Facing the water by yourself is more daunting than you know it should be. But you feel just gross enough to at least try. You decide to at least stay in there long enough to wash your hair, you feel like you can still smell the forest air from each strand. 

It’s a slow trek from your bed to the bathroom, often taking breaks to breathe and reset. Luckily, it’s not too far of a distance. You manage a small grin at your efforts when you finally reach your destination, this being the farthest you’ve walked by yourself since you’ve been here. But now, you have to continue standing up and face one of your biggest fears. One hurdle down. 

Flicking on the light, your ears ring at the sudden, blinding brightness of the sterile room. It’s a small space, no bigger than Yunho’s closet. The strong scent of the level of cleanliness in here disagrees with what you just ate, but you try to ignore it as best you can. 

You almost back into the door when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror. For the first time, you see how bad your injuries still are. Nasty red and purple bruises cover your throat and neck, your chest is basically grey from the severity of the surgery you underwent, and your eyes and cheeks are both sunken in. You’re scary. A patchwork nightmare. After being so used to keeping up appearances for Yunho, this is like getting a lightning bolt straight to the brain. This is what Seonghwa saw when he walked in earlier today. You cover your face with your hands. 

“Oh, god…” you lean against the door for support, sneaking another glimpse at your startling reflection. You’re not just smaller, you’re diminished. The hospital gown wilts off of your thin frame like it’s meant for someone else, there’s a matching cut on your bottom lip that’s similar to Seonghwa’s, and a hauntedness about you that doesn’t sit right at all. A would-be corpse stares back at you through the mirror. You can almost see the dirt that’d be covering you, embedded into your decaying skin.  

All you want to do at this moment is to wash that corpse away. 

Undressing winds you, but you’re too determined now. You have all night to sleep, and you know you’ll feel much better once you’re clean. It’s just the process of getting clean you have to get through now. That’s your one and only goal for tonight. 

The rush of the water hitting the tile nearly decimates all of your confidence in one fell swoop, though. You have to grit your teeth and close your eyes, pushing back against the memories as they come. You force yourself to breathe deeply as you finally step into the shower, the warm water only comforting for a fleeting moment. Turning your back to it helps a little, and after a while your shoulders start to relax, no longer tense and hunched by your ears. The lack of curtain aids you tremendously, as you can see the entirety of the bathroom at once, knowing you’re still safe. No one’s watching you or keeping track of how long you’re taking. You can take this as slowly as you want to. 

Keep going, you tell yourself. 

It also helps to imagine that Yunho is just outside, waiting for you to return to bed, even though your brain keeps replacing him with Seonghwa. Now that you know what you looked like today, you feel a huge crash of embarrassment overcome you more than anything else. You forget your fear just for a second, leaning a little farther back than you are ready for. The water cascades down, dripping off the ends of your hair and you freeze. 

This part is the biggest hurdle.  

You’re not in the apartment… you’re not in trouble… you control it. 

You have control. 

The droplets that drip past your ears kind of make you want to die, but you push through it. Little by little, you tilt your head back, letting more and more of the water fall over your hair. You cover your face with your hands, keeping it as dry as possible, and just sit with the discomfort for as long as you can. Instead of any feelings of accomplishment, you only notice the beginnings of panic stirring somewhere in your body. Time to wrap it up while you’re able to keep yourself in here. Shampooing is easy, and you get through rinsing your hair okay, repeating the process even slower than before. 

By the time you get out, you still don’t feel very proud. Not yet. You’re exhausted, and ready to lay down again. What warms your heart as you finally step out is thinking about how much Yunho had praised you after every bath since that day he corrected you. To the best of your ability, you combat every negative, fearful thought with something you think Yunho would say to you. How proud he’d be. It’s enough to keep you on your unsteady, weakening legs to redress and open the door back out into the room. 

Halfway back to bed, that’s when the exhaustion really hits you. You sit down in a chair by the window and catch your breath. You’re not dizzy, but you’re definitely caught between the borderline. Looking up, you see that your water is both mere feet and hundreds of miles away. 

“Fuck…” you sigh. 

Your hand jumps to cover your mouth, horrified. You look around the room out of instinct, waiting for someone to yell at you for saying such a vulgar word. You know better. Only Daddy is allowed to say that word. Yet the room stays the same. Nothing happens. No one redirects you. 

But they’ll have it on camera, you tell yourself. In the dark, you try to find where they’ve hidden theirs. You don’t see any. 

You’re digesting this when something blinks at you from outside. 

Something white casts the faintest glow past the edges of the shades that cover the windows. High in the sky and constant, unblinking and unmoving – at least not that you can see from where you are. It is no plane or light atop a building. 

The moon. 

You hadn’t seen it in such a long time. In all honesty, you had stopped trying to look for it, especially after Yunho covered up all the windows. The sunlight in the apartment could only creep in around the sides, lighter than air and able to weave its way past the smallest opening. The moonlight was never granted access to you. But this moon tonight is full and glowing brightly, and you wish you could see it properly beyond the shades. 

It hits you hard: you don’t have to wish to see the sky anymore. 

You lean forward before stopping and looking back over your shoulder, just waiting for someone to stop you at any second. You sweep the room one more time for cameras. Maybe you’re tired and missed one because you didn’t look hard enough. Regardless, no matter how hard you search and double check, you find none. Your hand pulls the shades back, only about two inches, just to peek. No one appears behind you. The shade lifts easily, opening even further. No one intervenes. 

The window is now fully uncovered, unobstructed. And you’re unharmed. Your forehead presses against it, your breath fogging up the glass as you exhale through your mouth. 

The snow is in the process of melting away, only a couple of inches left on the ground. The roads below, from what you can see, are completely clear with the amount of hospital traffic in a big city like Seoul. There’s no one outside on the streets, just a couple of nurses, doctors, and other hospital staff leaving work for the day, pulling their puffer coats closer to their bodies as they juggle their car keys and bags. Stoplights take their turns turning green, yellow, red, and cars glide past to dozens of unknown destinations. You decide you like the world like this, with less people and quieter streets. Sleepily humming instead of the shouting of car horns, the music in stores to entice people inside, the hundreds and thousands of strangers that you’ll never know the names or stories of. 

You wonder if you’ll feel like this forever, always looking at life from above and never from within.  

It’s quieter in the world that Yunho has kept you in. Safer… right?

‘You’re safe,’ says the voice that sounds more and more like you, slowly advancing forward again, venturing back from her forced hibernation. The other voice in your head is still there, just without her pedestal and carrying less authority than before. Less weight to each word. That one doesn’t have too much to say tonight, which is a first. 

You stay by the window until sleep beckons you, unwilling to sleep so uncomfortably in the stiff chair. When you finally tear yourself from the view, closing the shades again and tucking yourself back in bed, you fall asleep with moonlight flooding the entire suite. Though a part of you misses the tealights, you think this is not a bad alternative. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Head clearer than it has been since you woke up, the next day carries the calm theme from last night. 

You’re still selective on who you give your voice to – Jiyeon is off today, so you’ve been mostly silent so far – but there seems to be… life within you again. More than what the staff have seen thus far. It’s promising. It’s better. Everyone’s feeling a similar cautious optimism to your sudden switch. Although they’re quick to note your ever-present, continuing aversion to male staff. 

Which is why you’re still nervous about meeting with these detectives soon. They’re supposed to be here in two hours, and you don’t feel ready. Exactly what you’re not feeling ready for, you’re not sure. It’s not something you can pinpoint exactly and neutralize the problem. Unfortunately, you’re sure you’ll find out if and when the detectives do something to unintentionally set you off. You sigh, once again feeling out of control in a situation that hasn’t even happened yet. 

You push your empty lunch tray further away, like it’s offended you by overstaying its welcome. Your hands itch to wash it, to be good. The television is a good distraction. Today you’ve got it tuned into a nature documentary. You have a theory that maybe seeing the outside world inside may help you assimilate back into it later if need be, although deep down, you really hope you don’t have to. It’s the fear talking, but it's so loud and impossible to ignore. It’s the self-doubt that makes you want to give up and turn the TV off altogether, the memory of going out onto the balcony and feeling fresh air again hitting you hard. And the woods… that’s a whole other battle. 

Let’s just say you’re very happy the little Christmas tree in the corner of your room is fake. The scent of sap and bark will haunt you for quite a long time. 

At two o’clock, you’re making some progress, walking around your room, still avoiding the pile of presents you’ve yet to open. The gift Seonghwa gave you is enough. You’re just trying to build up endurance again, impatiently wanting to walk without difficulty. For some reason, it felt much easier to walk last night. Maybe it’s because at night it feels like less eyes on you, no spotlight from the sun even if the shades block most of it out. The day just feels too exposing. There’s too many people who could walk in and start fussing over you. You don’t want that. You know your limits better than anyone else. 

You may as well have spoken it into existence though, because you’re just catching your breath when you hear someone coming right up to your door. As if you’re getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing, you quickly sit in the chair by the window that you were in last night. The door opens just as you sit down. At first, you avoid eye contact with whoever it is, hoping that they don’t comment that you’ve moved. Giving yourself something to do to really sell the nonchalance, you play with your new bracelet again. The person in your room pauses near your bed, mere feet from you. You almost cover the bracelet protectively, not wanting them to ask where you got it… or who gave it to you. 

“I’m glad you liked our present,” a man’s soft voice says, cutting through the silence.

You react at a record speed. You know that voice. It’s the same one you heard in here yesterday.

“Oh my god–! Seonghwa!” You nearly shout, standing up a bit too quickly than you’re used to. 

He must see you stumble or sway, because he makes it to your side in two strides, hands ready to catch you if you fall back into the chair. But you’re determined. You stay upright. You resist the urge to paw at him, to make sure he’s real and that he’s here again so soon. He fusses with you to sit, to rest ‘like he told you yesterday’, he nags. If it was anyone else, you’d be staring daggers at them right now. With him, it just warms your heart, and you cooperate, sitting down slowly and smiling as you watch him drag a chair over to sit with you. You’re just happy he’s here. 

He’s wearing sunglasses indoors again, so the bright lights of the hospital must still be bothering him. You look over at the shades, just in case they can be drawn any tighter to totally block out what little light comes in. 

“Technically you asked for me specifically, so they let me come back. Still supervised, of course.” He answers your question before you even ask it. You look away from him for the first time and see a different officer than before, standing by the still-open door. “The door will just stay open the entire visit. Alright?” 

Honestly, you’ll take it. It’s a small price to pay if it means that Seonghwa is allowed to come see you. 

“Yes, sir,” you say habitually. 

You watch his small grin slip completely from his face. The room feels a bit colder. 

He supposes he can’t just expect all the ‘training’ and trauma you endured to just melt away all at once merely because you’ve been freed of Yunho, but he can’t deny that it shocked him back into reality. Such a small, simple word, and yet the history within its use is ten months long. 

Seonghwa ignores the moniker usage, and does a really good job of pretending that that doesn’t affect him at all. But it does. You can tell it does. 

You self-consciously look away, hand still covering up the bracelet as if you’re scared he’ll take it away as a result of his disapproval of your word choice. Gifts are never permanent, never your sole property. They are privileges, not rights. Based on a reward system, they’re the best way to steer you towards good behavior – following rules, staying quiet, knowing your place.  

Luxuries can be taken away.

“I– um,” you stall, trying to change the subject, “how– how are you?” 

Glad to shift the focus somewhere else, Seonghwa replies, “I’m alright. How about you?”

“Okay. I have my ‘meeting’ soon… the lawyers.” You glance at the clock, hoping that time hasn’t somehow jumped forward an hour. You hope this time Seonghwa will stay for longer. 

He scratches the back of his neck. “Right,” he says, keeping his tone as natural as possible. “I had one of my own this morning.” 

There’s an uneasiness to his voice there that you pick up on. He still hasn’t removed his glasses, so you can’t tell if he’s looking at you or not. Something’s not sitting right, and it’s not just because of a certain word slip. He must notice your look of concern, because he rolls his shoulders back, trying to relax himself. The facade he kept up around you at the apartment is getting to be too heavy to carry with him now.  

“The story will break tomorrow,” he says through an obviously fake grin, trying to make you not feel guilty about it. He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. Once or twice, he looks up at your bracelet that you’re still playing with.  

It takes you a minute to understand what he’s saying. You adjust how you’re sitting, just to give yourself something to do. All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

‘The story’... reported by outside perspectives with a mystery narrative. No one has asked for your side of it all yet. The boys have probably already given their testimonies, their witness statements as to what happened. Days ago, most likely. That’s one thing you forgot about while staring out the window last night: the world keeps turning. It doesn’t wait around for you. But that’s what today is for. The public can have their crumbs of facts and multitudes of theories about you, but only those closely involved will ever really know the truth of all of it.  

“Listen… as far as, y’know, the legal aspect of everything, we want you to know that we will accept any charges you wish to file against us.” 

There’s a grim, solemn air around Seonghwa that unsettles you. The cop by the door side-eyes the two of you but ultimately says nothing. He’s better than the one yesterday, that’s for sure. 

But… charges. You vs. all of them. Your legal team against eight different sets. Nine stories, all with varying perspectives. You wonder if anything you say will hold any weight to it on account of how bad the fogginess in your memory has become. You wonder if Seonghwa’s worried about the same thing. He keeps subconsciously touching the back of his head, making sure nothing is behind him that could hit it. You desperately want to ask how that happened, but it’s probably a not so pleasant subject to talk about. You’d rather avoid making him feel more uncomfortable than he already is. 

In the silence between you, Seonghwa just listens to the background noise coming from the hospital hallways. The nurse’s station is mere feet from your door, so he lets their quiet chatter fill in the spaces. What he said to you is true; they will accept any charge brought onto them. It’s the very least they can do for you, to accept full responsibility for not doing more. 

The public is going to eviscerate every last one of them, and they brought it on themselves the countless times they could’ve gone to the police and didn’t. All for the same result. Yunho threatened to drag them down with him, and it’s happening, albeit by their volition. 

A gentle, repeated three-note chime coming from his phone seems to pull him back from his brief stupor. Automatically, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small medicinal bottle. You watch as he taps two white pills into his palm before popping them into his mouth, chasing them down with water. 

“Pain-killers,” he explains, twisting the cap of the water bottle back on. He leans back in his chair, but not before feeling the air around where his head will be, and sighs. The exhale comes from deep within his chest. You watch his hands, searching for something. He notices you looking. 

“What?” 

“You’re not wearing your ring.” You point out. 

Seonghwa looks down at his hand, as if to confirm. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “it just… doesn’t feel right anymore.”  

In all honesty, he didn’t think you’d even notice. He had taken it off on the second day of his hospital admission, when Yeosang and San had come to visit him. It felt heavy in his palm, like a weight that he could no longer bear. He’s not quite sure where it is, as he told San to take it back to the dorms, wherever they had all put theirs. The only ring missing from the pile is Yunho’s, but it has more than likely been confiscated by that point already. 

“What time is your meeting?” He asks, changing the subject. 

You glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s at three,” you inform him, finding a stray piece of hair to play with. You lean back against your chair, mirroring him. “How long can you stay?” 

At this, he hesitates. The officer by the door offers no help or answer. 

“Well… I can stay until the detectives get here.” He says uncertainly. Again, the cop says nothing to contradict what he says. 

You nod. “My parents may get here before them.” 

“Ah…” Seonghwa rubs his arm, a subconscious way to try and calm himself. “I doubt they’ll want to see me hanging around you.” 

“I asked for you,” you counter, leaning forward again for emphasis, wanting him to hear and remember that part. “I get… I get nervous when you’re gone.” You admit in a murmur, barely audible.  

Seonghwa still doesn’t look at you, staring off a thousand yards into the tile floor, his hand on his arm pausing a couple of seconds every so often before continuing the attempt to soothe himself. Honestly, he doesn’t know how to feel right now. He supposes he should feel flattered maybe, or content with knowing that his presence is beneficial to you, but is it really? He fears that his presence only keeps you stuck… he reminds you of Yunho based on association. That name you called him by earlier only proves that. Although he knows there’s no one else around that you trust right now, he doesn’t feel very deserving of that trust. He should give you space after today, let you rebuild a new relationship with your parents, and restart a normal life. As normal as you can possibly achieve after all of this. 

“Still, you should be with your family,” he says carefully, “I think it’ll help.” 

You don’t say anything right away, unhappy that he doesn’t volunteer to stay. You’re behaving like a child, you know that, but you can’t help it. 

“If they weren’t here, would you stay?” 

Seonghwa picks up where you’re trying to go with that question at once. “A– Y/N, don’t replace your parents with me. Give them time.”  

Of all people, why must Seonghwa not listen to you, either? Your fuse never used to be this short. Why is it sparking and hissing now? 

“What if I don’t want to? I asked for you specifically–” 

“You only asked for me because you’re not allowed to see Yunho instead.” Seonghwa snaps, speaking before he could think. 

The flames of his words settle in the short distance between you two. He pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing at the throbbing in his head as well as what he just said. Hopefully the painkillers work fast, his vision is already going black around the edges every other time he blinks. If he’s honest, he doesn't regret saying it, moreso how he said it. It’s a sentiment he’s been harboring since the first day he was assigned to look after you. Something far from love, but a relative fondness. A soft spot just for you that he doesn’t know what to do with. Nothing about your situation nor your relationship with him is easy to navigate or filter through. He’ll keep his distance because he wants to do the right thing, show his support for you always but never cross an invisible line he’s drawn for himself. 

He won’t be like Mingi. He won’t believe your traumatic attachment to him is real, or healthy for that matter. It’ll only hurt you in the end. 

At the same time, he knows he’s hurting you now. 

You lean back again, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively. 

It’s not true… it’s not. You’re happy to keep telling yourself that, even if you don’t fully believe it. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

The blunt truth of the matter you’ve been avoiding and ignoring like the plague is that Yunho has been arrested. He’s not coming back for you. Not anytime soon. The detectives coming to your room today are going to take whatever you say as evidence against him. Even if you don’t say anything, they’ll take it to mean you’re so traumatized, the whole ordeal has rendered you mute. No matter what, you’re not going to be allowed to see Yunho ever again. 

You swipe at the tears that pool in your eyes, refusing to let them fall. If they do, you’re afraid that the cop may take Seonghwa away again. God dammit, you think before mentally berating yourself again for using another swear word, even just in your head.  

“I didn’t do that for someone I don’t genuinely care about,” you sniffle, speaking to him but keeping your eyes down. 

Seonghwa’s breath hitches slightly, and you wonder if he’s starting to cry underneath those sunglasses. A petty part of you thinks, good, I hope he is. 

Besides, you only jumped in front of a bullet meant for him. 

But you think back to when you had upset him only a few nights ago now, in the living room in the middle of the night. It never feels good to intentionally hurt the ones you care about. The ones you let in. You’re just lashing out because he struck first, trying to get the last word in. Very Yunho-esque. 

Needing to lie down, you stand shakily, slowly trudging back to bed. With time, eventually you calm down. You let Seonghwa sit there, working it out on his own, until the clock nearly runs out. The officer whistles for his attention, breaking him out of another dissociation, and signals him that it’s time to leave. You don’t shy away from looking at him this time.    

When he’s only a couple of feet from the door, you call out to him one more time. 

“Seonghwa?” 

He looks over his shoulder. The officer does too. 

“I’d still like you to come back… if you can.” The insinuation of the incoming chaos ahead is thinly veiled in your words. 

Seonghwa nods once, internalizing what you said, and leads the officer out. It’s a bittersweet change from yesterday, when he was basically dragged out. 

Barely granted two minutes of silence and alone time to process everything, there’s another knock on the door. This time around, you know who it is. 

Your dad opens the door slowly, like he’s trying to not startle you. 

“Hey kiddo, it’s us.” 

Your mom follows suit, a small bakery to-go box in her hands as she comes in. “Hi, sweetie.” 

You swallow hard, managing a small “Hi…” in return. 

Your mom looks like she could explode, cry, and laugh all at once. It’s a lot to contain so as to not overwhelm you. 

She’s really trying her best to hold it together for you. It’s thoughtful. You remember she was a sweet lady. Always wanted the best for you, supported your dreams no matter what. 

Naturally, mainly because it’s such a bright pink color, your eyes drift to the bakery box in her hands. She places it on the portable table near your bed. Her perfume smells familiar… like home somehow. It’s nice. 

“Don’t feel pressured,” your mom starts, “I know you just had lunch not too long ago but… you used to love the chocolate cupcakes I used to make for you, so I just…” she trails off, knowing she’s over-explaining herself a bit too much. 

Your eyes light up – you haven’t had cake in god knows how long. And your favorite, too. 

You grab the box and set it on your lap, sitting up against the pillows. Once open, the chocolatey smell hits you at once and the corners of your mouth twitch, almost grinning. Your parents try not to stare at you, not wanting to make you feel like you’re under a microscope while eating, and you appreciate that as you take a small bite of the cupcake. 

Perfect. 

It’s so rich and decadent your eyes close as you chew. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, placing the cupcake back in the box to eat later. You don’t particularly want chocolate all over your face when the detectives arrive. And, you’ll enjoy it more when you’re not as full from lunch. Maybe you’ll find a way to ask her for another one. 

Your dad helps you put it back on the table and goes over to the window to retrieve a chair for your mom to sit in. He drags it back to its original spot near the bed and you just keep looking at it. Seonghwa had been in that chair mere minutes ago. You’re not sure how kindly your parents would take that piece of knowledge; Seonghwa had gotten so antsy at the idea of being seen in here with you by them. 

“So,” your dad says, standing by your mom who is placing her purse down by her feet, “did they tell you about talking to the detectives today?” 

You nod. 

“Okay, good. We’re also gonna have a lawyer here as well. She’s really good, I’ve heard.” 

You’re not really sure how to respond so you just… nod again, looking down at your lap, picking at your nails. 

Your mom notices how fidgety you’re becoming and asks, “Who gave you that? It’s beautiful.” 

She points to your bracelet with a small smile, curiosity in her eyes. Your heart drops to your stomach. Do you tell them? Yunho had beaten it into you not to lie, but you really don’t want to deal with a lecture or horrified reactions or worse, the two of them making it impossible for Seonghwa to come see you. Something tells you it will already be borderline impossible without their help. 

“A friend,” you say carefully. Not a lie, but not a very detailed answer either. 

The universe has such divine timing for you because before either of your parents can ask anything about this ‘friend’, there’s a knock on the door. You hide your sigh of relief as they turn to look towards the three people who enter, two women and a man. One of the women and the man are dressed similarly, a slight step above business casual, while the other woman is dressed formally, everything tailored and sharp down to her briefcase. All business. But she smiles at your parents and instantly goes over to shake their hands and mention how good it is to meet them in person and not over the phone. Then she turns to you. There’s still a smile on her face but her eyes change into something more serious. 

“Hi, Y/N, I’m Choi Hyein, I’ll be representing you in this case.”

She pauses then, but not to wait for you to say anything. Her pause feels intentional, giving you a chance to really look at her, and to register that she’s on your side for this. She is no threat and no enemy. It’s definitely reassuring.  

The two detectives linger about six feet from the door, measured and alert. The man scans the room like he’s mapping it. The woman lingers half a step behind, already pulling a small recording device from her pocket. You stiffen at the sight of it. But you’re grateful that they don’t crowd you; there’s already so many people in here – more than you’re used to – and they’ve been advised to give you your space. 

“Ms. Y/L/N,” the man says, voice steady. “I’m Agent Lee. This is Agent Jang. It’s nice to finally meet with you. We’re here to take your statement.”

You simply nod politely, not quite sure what to do with your hands. For now, you just keep them on your lap, still twisting and playing with the bracelet. 

“I know this is overwhelming,” Ms. Choi says, voice pleasant but serious. “So we’re going to walk you through this carefully. If anything becomes unclear or too much, please don’t hesitate to ask for clarification or a break.”

Her words make you feel less trapped. You’re not going to be forced through anything if you panic. Hopefully, you won’t, but the exit ticket is nice to have just in case. A choice. Options. 

You’re in control.

“Okay,” you breathe, straightening up a little more.

The detectives seem to relax, knowing that at least for now, you’re onboard. You may give them the answers they need, the final pieces to fit the puzzle. Your mom gets up and lets Ms. Choi sit in the chair by you, while she and your dad stand against the wall near your bed. The two agents move to the window, Agent Lee leaning against the sill and Agent Jang taking the chair. There’s so many eyes on you. 

Agent Jang presses the record button on the little device, crossing her arms and holding it by her elbow. At first, she speaks quietly into it, like she’s talking to herself. “This is Agents Jang and Lee conducting an interview with Y/N Y/L/N. It is the twenty-eighth of December, two-thousand-twenty-five.”

She rolls her shoulders back, clearing her throat as quietly as she can before looking up at you again. Ms. Choi opens her briefcase to retrieve her laptop, intent on writing notes throughout the entire process. You imagine she is also recording this conversation. 

“Let’s start from the beginning,” she suggests, leaning forward a bit. “Can you describe what happened on the day you were taken?” 

Taken. Like you were plucked out of existence. 

“Um…” you itch your arm for no reason other than to just give your hands something to do. Everyone’s watching you. Analyzing you. Waiting for you. 

It’s just like the shower: one thing at a time. But last night, you didn’t have five pairs of eyes looking at you the whole time. 

You look down, trying to recall as much as you can. Something about ice cream… a nightclub maybe? It was blindingly bright and then harrowingly dark. The air was cold, but less so than your recent night in the woods. You had a coat… or he put his around you? What was the weather? There was something pressed against your face, it made the lights above you swirl and your head hurt until you fell asleep in his car. You woke up in his bed. 

“We went out,” you swallow hard. 

“Do you remember where?”

You shake your head. 

And then comes the question you’ve been dreading since yesterday. Agent Lee is the one to ask it. 

“Do you remember who took you?” 

The first instinct is to deny Yunho had anything to do with it. Protect and deny everything – clear his name, be good, be quiet, shift the blame elsewhere, go back to him somehow, deny, deny, deny. It wasn’t safe, you could say, someone else was after you. Yunho just let you stay with him until that mystery threat was removed. There is someone still on the run, loose in the world. But you imagine that the police have swept through the apartment by now. They’ve seen the footage and the chemicals he had on hand to knock you out, they’ve probably found the gun. 

Not many people in South Korea have a gun. 

You’re torn. If he’s already been arrested, though… no– you can’t turn your back on him. This is exactly what he was talking about. Yunho gave you an inch of freedom, leaving you with Seonghwa, and you immediately disregarded all of your rules and responsibilities. But you’re not stupid. Being arrested for his actions towards you obviously means what he did was rather… harmful, to put it into a simple word.  

You press your lips together, stress making your arm even more itchy. There’s no clear answer, at least not in your mind. How can you turn your back on him so easily?   

“Honey…do you know who took you?” Your mom asks, squeezing your dad’s hand so tight he winces. She loosens her grip for a couple moments before forgetting and repeating the same pressure. 

“No,” you say monotonally, “I have no idea.” Your nails leave white scratches against your reddening skin. 

The mood in the room shifts, like everyone already knows the answer and you just won’t confirm it for any of them. Your parents look at Ms. Choi, helplessly, as if she can make you give him up at the drop of a hat somehow. They all stare at you in complete disbelief. They look at your body, shadows of intense abuse and malnourishment, shaking like a leaf, your irises dulled grey from seeing too much, haunted by memories and nightmares alike. 

“Are you sure?” Your mom presses, her rings digging into your dad’s hand. “You don’t have to protect anyone. You can tell us. Whoever it is can’t hurt you anymore.” 

But it will hurt him…

And it will hurt them.  

Part of you says ‘fuck it, tell them’. Let all of the boys fry, let them burn, make them watch everything they’ve worked for come crashing down in a shameful spiral. Give them just a taste of your suffering. 

But you think of Seonghwa. 

Hongjoong, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, Jongho… even Mingi. The ones who worked tirelessly against their own friend – someone who was once considered their brother – to free you. Do they deserve that? The knowledge of what they’ve done, what they’ve been forced to become a part of, may be punishment enough. You will be the source of their shared guilt and shame forevermore. 

You will haunt them to their graves regardless. 

That quieter, but equally sinister voice pipes up in your head, reminding you that they’re the ones who tore you and Yunho apart. Though, it is getting harder and harder to be angry with them about that. 

The decision you make is not said without a slight waver, that loyalty to Yunho still digging its claws into your vocal chords, but it needs to be said before you tell the room anything further. 

“I don’t want to punish the ones who helped me,” you preface.

Based on the vague facts they’ve heard from the detectives, it’s quite hard for your parents to hear the plural attached to that noun. Your dad crosses his arms and covers his mouth, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Your mom is shaking. A small part of you wants to reach for her. 

You don’t. 

“That’s a reasonable position,” Ms. Choi says, closing her laptop halfway. “We can advocate for that. We can make it clear that certain individuals acted under duress or made sincere efforts to protect you, which led directly towards your release. However, I will not promise that I can fully exempt them from the law if they are held liable in court.”

The weight of relief that lifts from your shoulders as she talks suddenly slams back down on you again. You wonder if Seonghwa’s lawyer has told him this exact thing already. Most likely. And the others as well. As for Yunho and Mingi, well… their lawyers are going to be in a much harder position if either of them tries for a ‘not guilty’ plea. You have no idea if Mingi is even coherent or awake to have had a talk with his yet. 

Regardless, if there’s a chance you can help them, even just a fraction as much as they’ve helped you, you’ll do it.  

Agent Jang draws your attention back to her, “Y/N, can you tell us who did this to you?” 

Your heartbeat feels erratic, like your pulse is skipping every other beat and then really hammering the next to make up for it. Are you going to denounce him like this? Condemn him like he means nothing to you? You feel like your chest is opening back up again, as if your ribs are trying to crawl out of the wound like a spider. That authoritative, warning voice tries to convince you to not say anything, that he’ll find out and somehow come back to kill you – this time for real. 

What if you tell them and he gets out? Will he even want you back? 

There’s so many outliers, variables, differing scenarios, all being met with uncertain outcomes. You can’t predict the future. You have no idea what will happen tomorrow…how can you decide the fate of all these people? You were so level-headed and clear this morning. It’s overwhelming that his influence has this much of a chokehold on you. 

Even now, you’re just his little puppet, aren't you? 

You look down at your arm that you’ve been lightly scratching this whole time, just skin and bones. The image of the walking corpse in the mirror last night pushes to the front of your thoughts. 

Just tell the truth. Let them decide, it says. 

Maybe you don’t have to make the decision. Everything you say will be without bias, only reciting facts about what happened, and you’ll let them reach their own conclusions. That’s… reasonable, right? 

You roll your shoulders back again, breathing in as deep as your damaged lung allows you to without starting a coughing fit. 

Your lips part. 

All five people wait with barely contained suspense. 

The name fights against your tongue, but you push it out anyway. 

“Jeong Yunho…”  

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One week later… 

Your last full week at the hospital feels surreal. 

Less people come and go, only your nurses and your parents. Ms. Choi came back three additional times the past few days, but you mostly just let your parents talk to her with you present in the room. 

It’s still undecided whether or not you will actually speak at the trial.

The trial itself will be held a few months from now, but there’s no set date yet. Ms. Choi informs your parents that she will be keeping you all updated as soon as she knows anything new about it. Right now, you decided that you will not attend, and Ms. Choi supports this decision. Seeing Yunho again is most likely a very bad idea, especially while testifying against him. 

Your parents bought you a new phone, but the most you’ve done with it is peel the protective sheet off of it and set it up. The wallpaper on the lock and homescreens are the default options. You don’t have any photos anymore. You definitely remember taking many when you first arrived here, though. Now, your old phone could be anywhere in the entire world. More than likely, it’s already been drowned in the Han River. You almost envy it some days when the pain medications wear off. It’s a gradual fight towards recovery, but you’re happy that you can at least take deeper breaths. 

It’s admittedly been rather awkward between you and your parents, especially after the interview with the agents. Both of them had to leave the room, and you weren’t even exactly giving explicit details of what you went through. Regardless, it was more than they could bear to hear. You can tell every time they see you, they’re replaying what they heard. 

It’s been interesting getting to know them again. Every now and then you remember small details and inside jokes, shared memories together, those sorts of things. You’re speaking to them as much as you would if Seonghwa were here. 

But you haven’t seen Seonghwa all week. 

The story is probably everywhere by now. Globally, more than likely, but you haven’t seen or read a single article about it. There are several reasons why, but mainly because you just don’t want to relive everything through a stranger’s words. Your television is firmly set on the documentary channel and or the drama channel. This is mostly enforced by Ms. Choi and your parents. Anyway, you imagine Seonghwa has his hands rather full, dealing with all of this public outrage and shame brought upon the group’s name. You know it’s almost impossible for him to come see you at all, and yet you find yourself waiting for him to show up every afternoon and evening. Just in case. You really don’t want your last conversation with him to end in a panic, or a heated exchange. Since it’s your last day, your hopes are really being tested as each minute and each hour passes without him coming through the door. 

Your parents had left maybe ten minutes ago to go back to their hotel for the night, leaving you to the rare silence of your room, save for the background noise of a history documentary that’s playing on the TV. Something about spies in World War Two. You’re not really paying attention to it, but the snippets of what you do hear sound interesting. 

The phone your parents got you is by your side, nestled on top of the blanket. Your curiosity of the severity of the story and how bad it is for the group nags at you to check. You unlock it, but tap on the TikTok icon instead, scratching the itch to be on your phone but not to search the case. The app successfully numbs that nagging feeling to check for about ten minutes, until you stumble across someone talking about your case. No search required. 

The person talking in the video refers to your case as ‘unfortunate’, but ‘hot’ at the same time. A lump forms in your throat rather quickly the more she talks about how jealous she is of you. 

The video ends with her asking Yunho if she can be next.

By this point, you’re shaking badly, and the comment section is no better. You had hoped there would be a majority of people defending you, calling her out on such a strange and controversial opinion, but what you see shocks you to the very core. 

[user1603275809]: my dream ughhhh 

[b<3]: ungrateful bitch lmao

[SAW ATEEZ 07/31]: girl move over i’ll be your next victim yunho🤪

You shut your phone off. 

Definitely a mistake. You doubt that you’ll reach for your phone again until you get on the plane back home, and even then, you’ll only use it for music. It’s not even the comments and the whole general message you’re getting from the video that hit you the hardest, it’s the fact that they don’t know about the others. The dead girls in the forest. You wonder if they’d laugh online so freely if they knew about them. 

There’s an abrupt gunfire sound effect that explodes from the TV, even on low volume and it startles you that much more. You’re quick to change it back to the drama channel, hands shaking as you sit up and swing your feet onto the floor, intent on getting up and walking this off. The nurses have been encouraging you to go on walks, longer and longer distances each time. You’re almost up to a mile without needing a break. Now’s as good a time as any. 

Walks help not just your body, but your mentality too. And you need a bit of both right now. 

You’d been adamant the past two days that you want to walk alone, without a nurse present and hovering, waiting for you to fail. They’d respected your wishes, but you noticed how they watched you until you’re out of sight or if you caught them looking. Hopefully, because the evening is already giving way to the night, there won’t be as many eyes on you this time. 

When you step out of your room, you’re proven right save for the officer that guards your room. The officer outside your door gives you a look but you draw a circle with your finger, indicating that you’re going to be walking around. He makes an ‘ok’ sign with his hand and waits for you to set off. He gives you as much privacy as he can on these walks, remaining quiet and keeping his distance, staying about ten feet or so behind you.  The hallways for now are clear in both directions, and the nurse’s station is only occupied by two nurses, facing the opposite way. Jiyeon is one of them. She looks up from the computer, a brief look of concern flashing across her face before she lifts her hand, her pointer and middle fingers alternating to mimic leg movements. 

‘Walk?’ She mouths the word. You nod. She nods as well, and just goes back to whatever she’s doing. You’ll miss her. 

As you finish up your second lap, you’re already starting to feel a bit better. That video you watched only had a couple of hundred likes anyway. Surely, not everybody thought the same as she apparently does. It’s just hard to forget about it completely… or forgive. 

A male nurse opens a door to a room you’re just about to walk by, and he wheels out what looks like a medication cart. You stop to let him go with a small bow, and glance at the name written on the wall to indicate who is occupying this room. 

Someone named ‘Song, M’. 

Nosy by nature, you can’t help but peer into the room before the door closes. You can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart monitor, and all the lights appear to be off, just like how you like your room to be. The soft glow of light from the hallway is always enough to keep the rooms dark enough to fall asleep comfortably, but lit well enough to be able to see where everything is. There’s a man propped up in the bed, his face mostly covered by the water cup he’s using to knock back the pills the nurse no doubt just gave him. 

You pass by the room and continue your walk. 

You don’t think much about it, refocusing on thinking about the flight home tomorrow. Home. You can barely remember what your house looks like. Your parents, upon hearing this from you, have started showing you pictures that were taken in the house, and it’s all slowly coming back to you. There’s pieces being filled in the puzzle again. You imagine it’ll be different actually being there again rather than just seeing pictures of it. They showed you pictures of your room as well, and some different memories from varying ages came back rather easily. Sleepovers and sleepless school nights doing homework at your desk, childhood stuffed animals, shelves full of photos and trinkets collected over the years. 

When it comes to your clothes and other belongings here in your old apartment, apparently your parents had received everything a few months ago when it was released from the police. Your old roommates had sent you several of the presents still sitting in your hospital room. The balloons wilted a couple of days ago. 

Rounding the corner, from down the hall you can see another police officer standing guard and you look behind you to see if yours is still following you. He is. He looks up at you when he sees you turn around. 

“You okay?” He asks, also looking behind him to see if you saw something. 

“Yeah, I just…” you trail off, watching the other officer again. He doesn’t look like he’s standing outside your room, he’s too far away. He’s further down the hall, near to where you had stopped to let the nurse go in front of you. 

A slow realization dawns on you then. Who else could it be? 

Continuing on, albeit at a much slower pace, you stop once again at your room. Wordlessly, the officer assigned to you retakes his post, but you don’t push open the door to go back inside. You hesitate, staring down the hallway. 

“Jiyeon?” You quietly call her, moving closer to the nurse’s station. 

Her head pops up from her computer again, at the ready. The light from the screen reflects in her eyes, making them partially glow white and blue. 

“Who’s in that room?” You ask, already knowing the answer. You just want it confirmed. 

Jiyeon follows where you’re pointing with her eyes and leans forward slightly to speak quieter. “I can’t tell you who, hon. Patient confidentiality.” 

You bite your lip. 

“If I know who it is…” you begin, “are you able to tell me if I’m allowed to see him?” 

Jiyeon looks back over towards the room and the cop that guards it. You can almost see her thinking, recalling protocol and hospital rules. 

“It’s Mingi, right?” Your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Honey, I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for you to see him,” she says gently. “Actually, I really doubt that they’ll let you in.” 

You rest your arms on the desk, picking at your nails again. “I know it’s not a good idea,” you agree. You understand completely. Honestly you’re rather bewildered that you’re even asking to see him. “I just… I don’t know.” 

Jiyeon sighs, looking up at you apologetically. It’s not her fault. Again, you understand. And maybe it’s for the best that you can’t see him. Maybe he doesn’t want to see you, and then what? More chaos, more heartache, more trouble than you need right now. Even so, that nagging tugs at you. 

“Is it possible for me to maybe write him something?” 

At that, Jiyeon looks down at her computer again, like the answers are on the screen. She hums as she thinks. 

“Possibly. Whatever you write will have to be approved by these guys,” she says, gesturing to the officer outside your door and the one outside his, “so keep that in mind. Some things may be redacted.”

You nod, looking back at the officer outside Mingi’s door one more time. 

“Alright,” you say, turning on your heel and disappearing back into your room for the night. 

You set about writing your message to him right away, using the new journal and pen that Seonghwa had given to you from the boys. Although, you do spend a majority of the evening staring at a blank sheet of paper. Luckily, the nurse that brings in your dinner doesn’t ask what you’re doing or who you’re writing to. She minds her business, setting your food down with a small smile and a quiet ‘of course’ when you thank her. 

The words don’t come easily, and you don’t expect them to. Dozens and dozens of potential things you want to say to him come to mind, but none of them sound or do any good. It has to be short and simple if you want to avoid any potential redactions, but also carry meaning. You dig deep, searching for what you truly want to say. If you were allowed to go into his room and see him, and say anything to his face, what would it be? 

Your pen moves not too long after you ask yourself that. 

You deliver the note to Jiyeon, on the off-chance she is allowed to bring it to Mingi’s room and she sets it down by her keyboard with a promise that she will have the officers look it over. With a small nod of acknowledgement, you wish her a goodnight and settle down in your room for the last time. 

A part of you wishes you had time to look around Yunho’s bedroom the same way you’re taking in the hospital suite you’ve been in for the past week and a half. Just to say goodbye to it, but how were you supposed to know you’d never return there? You sigh as you tuck yourself in one more time even though it’s still pretty early – not yet eight-thirty – and you admire the patterns of light on the floor coming from the hallway and the television. The volume is low in case you wake up in the middle of the night, you don’t want to wake up to dead silence. That’s almost as bad as not being able to see. 

But you sleep soundly, letting the occasional quiet beeps from the machines lull you. 

And with perfect timing, with twenty minutes left to spend in visiting hours, Seonghwa knocks on your door. 

He ignores the side-eye from the cop by your door as much as he can, adjusting his face mask even higher up on his nose so the top of it grazes his bottom lashes. Those dark circles under his eyes from his injury never quite went away on account of the lack of sleep lately. When he pushes open the door, he freezes in place. You’re turned on your side, facing the door, and he can tell that you’re asleep. He hesitates, not sure if he should come in anyway or just turn around and leave. He knows you have an early flight tomorrow. 

Just five minutes, he tells himself. 

Leaving the door open as instructed, he quietly makes his way over to the chair by your bed. You don’t stir. You look peaceful… healed, at least physically. The lines on the heart monitor jump in a standard, healthy rhythm, and there’s some plumpness to your skin now. It no longer clings to your bones. It’s nice to see you like this.  

He definitely stays longer than five minutes, just watching you sleep. He feels like a creep for doing so, but he can’t help but hope that you’ll just wake up on your own and know that he came back to say goodbye. In his head he replays all of your shared time together, internally apologizing to you for all the chances he had of getting you out sooner rather than later, and wishing that he could’ve done more to help. He stares at the fading, leftover patches of bruises around your neck that he put there until his eyes unfocus and his vision blurs. He lifts the heel of his hand to his temple, pressing it there for a second to combat any oncoming dizziness. It’s an internal battle to not cry. He doesn’t feel like he really deserves to. 

There’s some murmuring outside your door, and he looks up at the clock to check the time. Five minutes after nine. Time to go. Jiyeon knocks as she comes in. 

“Visiting hours are over,” she politely informs him. 

Seonghwa fixes his jacket for no reason. “Right. I’m sorry,” he says as he stands, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything and leaves without another word. 

Jiyeon catches him in the hallway before he gets to the elevators. “Mr. Park,” she calls softly, jogging after him to close the distance. 

He looks over his shoulder, then turns around to face her, awaiting some sort of scolding for staying later than allowed. He’ll take it. 

“I’m sorry–” he starts to say, but Jiyeon cuts him off. 

“I wanted to thank you. I think you played a big part in her recovery,” she says sincerely. Her words startle him, catching him off guard. It’s definitely not what he was expecting to hear. Seonghwa doesn’t meet her eyes anymore, choosing to inspect the tiled floor instead. 

Of course, he denies this. “I didn’t do that much… all I did was upset her each time I came.” 

“You remind her of a very difficult part of her life,” Jiyeon says bluntly, not one to sugarcoat, “one that will stay with her forever. But, you’re also part of the reason that she’s safe. You helped to get her out.” 

Seonghwa shakes his head, refusing to accept any responsibility of aiding in your rescue. He’s part of the problem that you escaped. Jiyeon steps closer, trying to make him look at her. 

“Whether you realize it or not, you’re probably one of the only truly safe people she has right now,” She says. “You’re very important to her.” 

He keeps his head down, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders. 

“ I–I didn't do enough,” he says, his voice betraying him by breaking right at the beginning of his sentence. 

Every pent up emotion hits him then. Right there in the middle of the hospital hallway, under bright, accusatory fluorescent lights, outside of your room where he believes he put you, even if he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. By not informing the police beforehand, he believes that he is part of the reason you were hurt, indirectly or directly. He promised you that night that you’d be okay. He told you to trust him. Every bottled up feeling suddenly demands to be felt. His stress threatens to make him explode like a pressure cooker. 

Jiyeon cautiously places her hand on his back, guiding him into an empty office area and sitting him down. She fills a paper cup with water and hands it to him, advising him to breathe. 

“I’ll never be able to m-make it up to her,” he says, close to crumpling the cup in his grip. “I told her she w-wouldn’t get hurt and–”

He stops in the middle, too ashamed of himself to continue. Glancing at the clock, he winces, knowing his manager is probably wondering where the hell he is. He won’t come looking for him though… the whole KQ staff have kind of stopped talking to them unless absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, he feels bad for making him wait. 

“From what she’s told me, you did your absolute best to protect her. You kept showing up for her, even now, and that will help her heal in the long term. It’ll remind her that she had someone good by her side at the end of all this.” 

Seonghwa sniffles quietly, running a hand through his hair and pausing halfway through. 

“She still got hurt though,” he says dejectedly. “She got hurt by saving me. I didn’t deserve such kindness from her… I didn’t deserve to be saved. It should’ve been me instead.” 

“She’s alive,” Jiyeon reminds him, “and she’s going home tomorrow because of you. Because of all of you. She didn’t even have to think before she chose to save you. Doesn’t that tell you all you need to know about how much she cares about you? Don’t make her decision meaningless by saying that you didn’t deserve it.” 

A beat passes. 

Seonghwa nods once, slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s agreeing to just yet, but maybe one day he will. Her words imbed themselves within his mind, branding into his brain and sticking with him for the foreseeable future. 

You’re alive. You’re going home tomorrow. 

Except for two snags, not including his own injury, the plan was successful. They achieved what they set out to do: free you from Yunho. They got you out. The risks involved in said plan were well-known, and they knew the level of danger they’d be exposed to if things went south. Despite it all, you and Mingi are both alive and recovering, and Yunho is where he should be: in jail awaiting trial. 

Jiyeon hands him a tissue box from one of the desks, and he plucks one from it to blow his nose. He calms down gradually, and she lets him take his time. Glancing up at the clock again, he stands abruptly. He’s way over time now. He wouldn’t be surprised if his manager left him there. 

“Oh– I should go,” he says, but doesn’t break for the door just yet. Again, he pats his pockets to make sure he has everything, and pauses when he dips a hand into the one in his jacket. He pulls out a small, torn piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. He’d forgotten to leave this in your room. Dammit. 

“I’m sorry, could you please give this to her?” He asks, “It’s… it’s just in case she wants to keep in contact. If you don’t think it’s a good idea though, it may not help her recovery–” he rambles, overthinking. 

Jiyeon interrupts him, “Y’know what? Why don’t you stay with her tonight. I think she’d like that. You can give it to her yourself.” 

Seonghwa blinks before bowing to her, thanking her sheepishly. 

She waves him off, guiding him out of the room and back down the hall to your room. She exchanges a few quiet words with your room guardian, letting him know what’s going on. He side-eyes Seonghwa again, but luckily, says nothing.    

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says to her again when she turns back to him, “really. For everything.” 

“Of course. Have a good night, Mr. Park.” Jiyeon says with a small wave, already starting to head back to the nurse’s station. 

Seonghwa sends a quick text to his manager and takes off his face mask, taking a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorhandle. 

This time, your back is facing him as he walks in and you stir when the door is opened again. You sleepily rub your eyes and make a small noise upon hearing someone come in. A nurse, you assume. You lazily drape your arm out to the side to make it easier for her to check your vitals or something. They always need your arm out for some reason or another. 

Instead, someone sits in the chair. Someone takes off their jacket. A familiar scent of cologne hits your nose and your eyes snap open. 

“Hello?” You ask, confused. 

“Hi, angel,” he says quietly, taking your hand that you reach for him with. 

“What time is it?” You mumble, looking around the bed for your phone. 

“Late,” Seonghwa says with the slightest twinge of a laugh, “they’re gonna let me stay the night with you. Is that alright?” 

You nod immediately, worried he’ll change his mind within the millisecond of time between him ending his sentence and you responding. A small grin plays on his lips. 

“I’ll stay up–” You start to push yourself upright, but he stops you.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll just…” He scoots the chair closer and leans forward, resting his head on his arms. You worry about his back, though. This position can’t be good for his neck either. 

You pull his arm towards you until he sits on the bed. Closer, but not what you’re trying to get him to do. Sure, you could outright say what you want, but you’re tired and admittedly still shy around him. So you scoot over, to the very edge of your bed to make room for him. He sighs as he hesitates, and eventually gives in. You unsuccessfully hide your victorious – and honestly, shocked – smile as he gets in next to you in the cramped space. You throw your blanket over him and both of you turn on your sides to face each other. Draping your arm over his shoulder, you play with his hair on the nape of his neck. His eyes flutter closed, allowing himself to relax. He keeps his hands to himself, not assuming that you want to be touched in any way until you tell him. 

You breathe him in, snuggling closer to his chest, silently giving him his answer. Your free hand finds one of his, guiding it over your body. The comforting weight of it calms you just as well as any sedative. He presses you close, dropping his arm down towards your lower back, and sneaking his right arm under your neck to embrace you properly like this. You sleepily smile into his chest. His hair is soft between your fingers. The added heat from his body makes the cold hospital room perfectly warm. 

You fall back asleep in no time at all.   

And so does he. 

In the meantime, your little note does make its way to Mingi’s room. The only thing the officers decide to redact is your name at the end. He’ll know it’s from you, but he will be denied that small verification at the bottom of the page. He won’t get to see you or say a proper goodbye. He knows, though, that he doesn’t deserve to. This little note is the best he’s going to get, and he’s grateful nonetheless.  

Mingi, 

Though I may not feel this way 100% right now, I know in time I will mean what I write wholeheartedly:

I forgive you. 

Thank you for helping me.

– ◼/◼  

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The morning is rather busy. 

Busier like it had been when you first woke up here. Your parents arrive first thing, bags packed and passports already at the ready. You can tell they can’t wait to leave. To bring you home. The butterflies in your stomach are rather agitated at the thought. ‘Pre-flight nerves’, you refer to them as when your mom asks why you’re so antsy. 

Seonghwa had left an hour before they got there, around five in the morning. You had set your alarm at that time to give yourself some time alone, to mentally prepare for the day ahead. Instead, that time was spent exchanging Kakao IDs and resuming playing with his hair. Time seemed against you, moving faster than it ever had here before. Each minute seemed to last ten seconds. 

He squeezed your hand tight before he left. You can still feel it now. 

Much to your surprise, Agent Jang comes into your room ten minutes before you’re due to leave, carrying a lumpy bag. You hadn’t expected to see her again. Your parents greet her warmly, eyeing what she has in her hand. 

“Your clothes,” she explains to you, “from when you were first admitted here.” 

All you can think to say in response is “Ah.” 

She sets it down on one of the chairs and asks how you’re doing. The two of you actually have a nice little conversation for a couple of minutes before she has to go back to the station. You wish her luck as she walks out. For what exactly, you’re not sure, but you think the sentiment of what you said makes itself known. She wishes you all the best and steps out, nodding to the morning shift officer guarding your door. His shift will be short today, although he is going to be accompanying you to the airport. Then, airport security will take you and your parents through.   

“I’ll go through them on the plane,” you decide, gesturing to the bag and the presents that all three of you managed to somehow stuff into an extra suitcase and your carry-on. You read some of the tags. None of them are from Yunho.  

Your mom crosses her arms, looking at it like it’s a bug. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“I’ll be fine.”

“I just… I don’t want you to be triggered and then we don’t know how to help you.” 

You sigh, but not in annoyance. This could very well happen, and happen while you’re 30,000 feet in the air with no escape. But you’re stronger now. “That’ll happen anyway. Doesn’t matter when, really. I’ll tell you how to help me.” 

Unconvinced and wary, your mom lets it go. She trusts you on this. You’re the expert on you. 

Jiyeon isn’t working this morning, but she did leave you a little card for Mijoo to give to you. You’ll read it later, right now your parents are checking their phones and watches over and over, silently telling you it’s almost time to leave.  

You thank the staff as you pass them in the hallways, stealing a glance down towards Mingi’s room again before stepping into the elevator and descending down, back into the world. You don a face mask and sunglasses, feeling a bit like Seonghwa, and tie your hair up. The last thing you want is for people to easily see what you look like now. 

As expected and dreaded, the airport is swarming with reporters and devastated fans who all want a glimpse of the girl who survived the idol. Luckily, you’re well hidden by your parents and the officers protecting you. You’re on autopilot until you actually board the plane, ascending and accelerating towards the clouds. 

The mini screen helps the ride go by a lot faster. You alternate between movies, listening to the music and closing your eyes, and just resting your head against the window, watching the clouds drift below. You sleep for about an hour, and when you wake up, the plane has already begun its initial descent. Home. Your skin starts to itch again. 

To distract yourself, you reach into your carry on for that bag Agent Jang gave you and the note from Jiyeon. Your mother next to you takes her AirPods out, but says nothing to deter you from looking through it. She’ll just keep a close eye on you, watching for any signs of incoming distress while your dad is passed out, still asleep next to her. 

The note from Jiyeon is short and sweet, wishing you all the best, and signing her name with a little drawing of a bunny on the side of it. You pass it to your mom so she can read it, and then you start in on the bag. 

The clothes themselves are wrinkled from being in the snow for so long and not being dried properly. You don’t unfold your sweater, not particularly keen on seeing the hole where the bullet ripped through the fabric. The pants are bloodstained on the waistband. Your socks are crumpled like your sweater, soaked through and sad looking. You shove the socks and sweater back into the bag, curiosity over. But you feel something in the pants front pocket. Your eyebrows furrow together, not knowing what this could be. 

But the second your fingers touch it, you know exactly what it is. And who it belonged to. 

You pull the rosary out slowly, almost bead by bead until you’re holding it up in front of your face. The cross at the bottom points directly down towards the bloodstains.    

“Who’s is that?” You hear your mom ask through the roar of the engines and your screaming thoughts. 

Quickly, you lie. “Seonghwa’s.” 

Though visibly tense, she doesn’t say anything further. You’ve told them a little about him. They’re not particularly crazy about him, as they have a harder time seeing him for anything other than being part of the group that took and had access to you. She looks at it like she wants to chuck it out of the plane window. If only she knew who it really belongs to.

You put the pants back in the bag, holding onto the rosary for the remainder of the flight. 

The cold metal burns your skin the whole way down.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Eight months later…

The sun warms your skin as it blinds you. 

You cover it with your hand as much as you can, squinting and blinking away the eye floaters that creep into your field of vision. Cars rush past, threatening to splash you from the puddles left overnight. It had been an impressive storm, but you slept through most of it. 

The sunlight that reflects off the building makes it look like it’s sparkling all over. You remember this place well; at least, the interior of it. You lower your hand and look across the street, heading the opposite direction. The walking signal shines for the pedestrians and you join the crossing groups of people seamlessly. 

Seoul in September is always pretty. 

That certain floor and apartment right at the very top look down upon you. They didn’t think they’d ever see you again. Last they saw of you, you were being driven out to the woods again. They should’ve known. You’re the only one who survived the woods… twice. 

Sadly, there’s no time to gloat or reminisce, as you’re currently running to find your Uber before they drive off. 

Once located, you confirm your names with each other and situate yourself in the backseat of the car. It’s rather nice, and you double check that you didn’t accidentally pay for the Uber Black or something. You’re thankful for the strong air conditioning. Tucked under your thigh, your phone vibrates a few times but you ignore it – you already know it’s your mother texting you for the hundredth time today. She has your location on like she did last year, but now she wants live updates in real time of how you’re doing and where you’re going and who with, every possible detail. 

You had to really plead your case to her and your father to let you come back. 

Before the entire question was even finished, they flat out forbade you from coming back, especially by yourself. It took a lot of persuasion, a couple big fights, multiple reminders that you’re an adult, and a promise to be monitored at all times while there, but eventually they allowed you to fly back. You’re staying at a nice hotel in the heart of the city, somewhere you’re rather familiar with. Yet another topic of discussion you had to fight over. They wanted you to stay with your old roommates, but you vehemently opposed this – you didn’t want to infringe on their lives by staying with them and make them have to babysit you all hours of the day. That’s not fair to them. You did agree to spend the first two nights back in Seoul at their apartment, though. 

You’re 99% sure your mom is also keeping in touch with them as well. 

Holding in an exasperated sigh at the fourth and fifth buzz of your phone, you shoot a quick text to your mom as proof of life and safety, screenshotting the route you’re taking to your hotel to check into your room. She reads the text immediately and answers with a thumbs up emoji. It’s both comforting and suffocating that you know she’s watching your location at this very moment. It reminds you of where you were last year at this time. 

Driver tipped, bags collected, and key handed over, you finally flop down on the plush hotel bed, sighing into the memory foam. You’re looking forward to these next two hours spent alone before you go back out again. You definitely need them. 

You unpack, taking your time to set everything where you want it around the room, quietly enjoying how therapeutic small stuff like this feels. Habitually though, you do check in the upper corners of the walls, in the lamps, and in the bathroom for hidden cameras. Every search conducted ends in the same result: finding none. It’s one habit you’ve yet to fully shake off. Another one is how you tend to freeze when you hear people outside of your room, even muting the TV so no one can hear you inside. Once the sound of their voices fade away, you’re okay again. 

You try to tighten up. You have to, especially today. 

After sending your mom a picture of you, safe in the hotel room, she finally relents and leaves you alone. It’s annoying, but it’s what you agreed on in order to be here, so you force yourself to not roll your eyes every time your phone goes off. 

You spend the next hour sitting on the floor in front of your suitcase, looking down at it like the right outfit will just jump out at you. It’s not that you’re trying to look good, just… confident. Confident and put together without overstating it. You rummage through the shirts, pants, socks, and one dress you brought with you, but none of them feel right. Now only thirty minutes before you have to leave, you give up on it for the time being and just focus on your hair and makeup. 

Even though you want to, you can’t bring yourself to wash your face. There are good days and bad days when it comes to water, and today is one of those bad days. Instead, you run one of the hand towels under the sink and lightly dab your face with it to feel more refreshed. You forego winged eyeliner simply because your hands are shaking too much and you don’t have time to make them match, and then find yourself brushing your hair right back where you started, standing in front of the open suitcase without a clue of what to wear. In the end, you just decide on some baggy jeans and a hoodie. 

You text your mom that you’re gonna nap and stay in the hotel the rest of your night, and switch your phone completely off. 

Sunglasses on and purse in hand, you’re out the door.  

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re very hyper-aware of your skin. 

Specifically how your clothes feel on your skin, brushing up against it. Your chest hurts. Stress causes some pain flares from time to time, so you’re used to the feeling, but it doesn’t make it any less comfortable. You lightly trace your collarbone through your hoodie with your knuckles, just to ground yourself more. It tells you that nothing is touching your chest or your neck. 

You’re glad you chose the hoodie because it is freezing in here. The cold metal of the chair seeps through the fabric of your jeans and takes a while to warm up as you wait. Your nails tap against the metal table in front of you. It’s a rather small room, only two other ‘booths’ like the one you’re sitting at now, and dim. You run your hands up and down your arms to self-soothe and to warm yourself up. Your anxiety grows more and more the longer they make you wait. 

Maybe you shouldn’t’ve come here. This was a mistake of gigantic proportions, and you know it. Your hands start to itch instead of soothe. Your bottom lip is already bitten to hell, and you stand up, ready to leave and forget you ever even tried to do this.

But the door opens. 

And there he is. 

You freeze in place, no longer as put together as you tried to appear. Instead, you’re right back into who you were last year. Your heart hammers against your ribs, trying to escape through them to get as far away from him as it can. You wish your feet would follow. 

The rattling and jingling of his handcuffs hitting the small table as he sits opposite you make your ears ring and static erupts in your brain. All systems sound the alarm: danger, danger, danger, get out. But you block it out. There’s glass in between you, he can’t hurt you. 

You take a small step forward, back towards the chair you were just in. He watches you like a snake would a mouse.  

A heavy sound behind him informs you both that the guard has left, the door shutting behind him. The air around you feels thick, like you have to double your efforts just to breathe normally. 

He still looks just as handsome as he did when you last saw him. Dammit. 

The metal of the chair scrapes unpleasantly against the floor as you sit back down, ignoring the giant lump forming in your throat. For a moment, you still can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel the weight of his stare. You’re glad you chose this baggy, loose-fitting outfit. Subconsciously chosen so that he couldn’t see your body. Yunho makes a face as he looks at your outfit as he sits there, waiting for you to say something. You can tell that he disapproves. 

Your entire body starts to feel feverish the longer you prolong this. 

“Hi…” you mumble, clearing your throat right after. 

Yunho tsk’s, waiting for a certain word to accompany that greeting. You know which one. You look down at your lap, picking at the skin around your nails. If you thought you felt hot before, it’s nothing compared to now as a fierce blush blooms across your cheeks, warming your whole face. 

“I’m not supposed to call you that anymore,” you inform him, still not quite meeting his eyes. He seems to tower over you even while sitting. Was that always the case or did he get taller? 

Yunho places his elbows down on the little table and rests his chin on the heels of his hands. The little chain linking the cuffs pulls taut. “Mhm. And who told you that?” 

“T-the… my…” you trail off, unable to speak. The words ‘the officers’ and ‘my psychologist’ just die on your tongue. 

Yunho smirks, knowing the effect he’s having on you. 

“Why are you here, baby?” He purrs, tilting his head to one side. 

The pet name makes your skin crawl and a dark part of your mind sing. Your hands begin to shake again, but you just sit on them, trying to remain calm and strong. At least externally. You can do this. 

You’re in control. 

He’s the one behind bars – well, glass at the moment. He can’t get to you physically, and if he tries, the two guards keeping watch of your visit will tear you away from him before you could even blink. It’s like seeing a shark at the aquarium. Protected and kept apart by the glass, you know you’re safe, but there’s always the same thought that looms in the back of your mind: if the glass suddenly disappears, you’re in his element. At his mercy. Would you scream and kick for the surface, or would you just succumb to him like you used to? An hour ago you were sure of which one you’d pick. Now, you’re not so sure. Not while face to face with the threat itself. 

Despite this, there’s a reason you came to see him. You have something for him. 

Instead of verbally responding to his question, you simply reach into your pocket and pull out his rosary. His eyes widen at the sight of it. So that’s where it’s been this whole time. 

“This belongs to you,” you murmur, stating the obvious. “I w-wanted to return it.” 

You can tell you’ve gotten under his skin this time. You don’t feel smug or proud about it. No matter how thick the glass is, you’re still afraid of him. Of all people, you know exactly what he’s capable of. He doesn’t need to touch you to hurt you. 

He lowers his hands back down, drumming his fingers on the table. The sound makes your skin crawl. You gently place it down in front of you. He almost reaches for it, like he forgot the glass is there for a second before retracting his hand, cracking his knuckles in quiet and controlled frustration. 

“How thoughtful,” he hums, his voice tight. 

Involuntarily, you blush again, your lips parting to thank him for such small praise. You nervously run a hand through your hair, trying to pass it off as nothing. The air shifts. The power dynamic between the two of you skews even further towards him.  

The smirk that slowly grows on his face is pure evil. Sickly sweet, manipulative. Your skin crawls, waves of adrenaline zip down your spine and into your legs, every instinct telling you to get out there now. 

“You missed me, didn’t you?” He sneers, leaning forward to get even more into your space. He lazily gestures to the rosary, “Just wanted to see me again?” 

Unwilling to back down from him, you ignore those instincts. You stay put, right where you are. You pull the collar of the hoodie away from your neck, suddenly feeling rather suffocated.

“No.” You say as firmly as you can, not offering him anything more to work with. A simple ‘no’ is good enough. 

He laughs, his amusement evident. “You’re not being very nice to me, are you?” 

“I j-just… I n-needed to see you in h-here,” your voice wobbles a little as you stammer. You’re unable to think or speak clearly. It’s like your mind’s been suddenly placed on pause, slamming on the brakes while going one hundred miles an hour. You try to remember if you had been like this when he first took you. This pathetic. “I don’t have t-to be nice to you.”  

“Look at you,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair, without a single care in the world. Superior to you even now. “Acting so high and mighty all of a sudden. Already forgotten who’s in charge, huh?” His voice lowers in volume on the last sentence spoken, leveling you with just a sharp glare. 

You shake your head, refusing to let him get in your head like this. Not without a fight.  “You’re not in ch-charge of me anymore.” 

Yunho doubles down, his voice a soft purr. The same timbre he used to make you forgive him for almost drowning you in the bath. Sympathetic, warm, caring, safe. 

“Aww, poor baby. Is it hard to have nobody telling you what to do anymore? Bet you miss that structure, don’t you?” 

“Stop it,” you snap at him, though there’s not a lot of edge to your voice. “I’m not yours.” 

“Yes you are. You keep waiting for me to praise you… is that what you want? Need my validation? Need to know I don’t hate you for ratting me out to the police?”  

“I only came back for Seonghwa.” You say before you can stop yourself. One of your hands flies up to your mouth before hesitating, twitching in the space between your mouth and your lap. Using every single ounce of courage, your eyes flick up to garner his reaction. 

You’ve seen that look before. 

Through fire, water, earth, and air, you’ve seen it. You’ve never been so grateful to have a thick pane of glass separating you from him. 

From the cold metal of the room, you can smell the forest again. The water burns your throat and nose. The snow freezes your skin. The flames lick at your legs. 

His jaw twitches and he laughs once, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no readable expression on his face, not that he lets you see. His hands curl into fists and he hides them in his lap. His bangs cover his eyes as he looks down, jaw clenching and unclenching. 

“Park fucking Seonghwa…” he says under his breath, shaking his head in amused disbelief.  

Your hand massages your throat, trying to ease the lump in there. He can’t hurt you. You can leave any time. 

So why aren’t you? 

You came all the way here to give his rosary back to him, to see him in jail with your own eyes in an attempt to stop your nightmares and paranoia. You’ve done what you set out to do. Leave. 

However, you’re glued to your seat, and you start to wonder if he’s right in some of the things he’s saying. Are you still seeking his validation? Even though you wanted to come across as confident and better off without him, that charade quickly vanished upon seeing him again. You instantly retreated back into your timid, obedient self that took months to shed off of your normal behavior. Back at square one, you can’t stop the brutal self-deprecating thoughts that berate and jeer at your failure. How easily you crumble in front of him. How small you feel when his eyes are on you. The past months of work you’ve put in with your therapist and the fruition of progress you’ve been so proud of disappear altogether as if they never happened. As if you never left. 

You steal another glance at him, and fight against the intensely strong urge to comfort him, clarify what you meant. You hate seeing him upset, especially when you’re to blame for it. He looks so dejected… you’ve never seen him like this. There’s no fire within him anymore, not like before. You have to really force yourself to not say anything to him. It’s none of his business what your relationship with Seonghwa is or is not, especially when you aren’t even sure. 

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve, smudging the mascara and eyeliner. 

Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry, not in front of him. 

You inhale sharply, trying to collect yourself and keep the tears at bay as long as you can. In all honesty, you just want to put your head down on the little table and scream. You don’t have to explain yourself to him. You don’t owe him anything, right? 

It’s a question that’s still hard to answer. Obviously you don’t owe him anything, not a damn thing. But you can’t block out the quiet moments you two shared as easily. The good times you had were so good, even if they will never come close to cancelling out the bad. You think, at least for a period of time, you may have actually loved him. Or, felt something quite close to it. Maybe that’s why you want to explain yourself to him, because you still can’t fully deny that you don’t feel anything towards him anymore. You doubt you’ll ever really know. It’s not that simple. Trying to move on from a man who would burn the entire world for you is not something easily done. 

The most terrifying realization you’ve had to face at home was feeling that you may never feel as strongly for someone other than Yunho ever again. 

Your shoulders hunch and you shrink in the chair, chin to chest.   

What you don’t see as you bow your head, is the drastic and visible change in Yunho. No longer smug or condescending, he becomes distant as he holds back his true emotions. Head down as well, his eyes search the floor, his lap, his hands. For what exactly, he himself isn’t even sure. For once, he doesn’t have a quick, lashing reply to give back to you. He bites the inside of his cheek. He slouches in the chair. 

Another fantasy dragged back into harsh reality. Disintegrating right in front of him. Again. 

Because as much as he denied it, and despite what he has told you… Yunho really does love you. 

You were never nothing to him, you were everything. Telling you that he only loved broken things turned out to not be true. Not exactly. At one time, he thought it was true, but he realized he was only talking through his anger and frustration. Not from any substantial meaning. No, he only let you in as deep as he let anyone else get, just surface level. Treading the water there so he can keep an eye on everyone he allows in. You were dangerously close to venturing further, getting to the very heart of him. 

He denied himself of you. From seeing you that night in the convenience store, he denied himself of you. 

Call it an act of self-sabotage, or that he didn’t know what he was in for, but he saw something in you that none of the others had. A certain spark, a glow, not just potential for his own sick view of what he could shape you into, but also a strength that told him you can persevere. Kindness, humility, beauty, and a natural magnetic attraction that damn near pulled all the members towards you. Of course Mingi fell for you. And now Seonghwa… 

Surprisingly, he’s not mad. Not at all. Actually, for the first time, he feels quite defeated. Seeing you past the glass only confirmed that he’ll never have you the way his soul wants. A rather delusional part of him thinks you still want him. That you’ll always want him. That you love him. 

He needs to hear you say it so bad. So bad. 

But he won’t ask you. He won’t even entertain the thought. Not when there’s a chance you’ll refuse to say it – he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle that. 

So what can he do? He can either push you away and come to his own conclusions based on how easy it is for you to leave, or he can push you harder, see if you’ll break for him again. Neither one reaps many benefits for either of you. It’s just another assessment of loyalty. Another test. 

“Why are you here?” Yunho asks you again. 

The rosary starts to turn cold on the table. You don’t have an answer for him. The words just won’t come together in the right order, nor do they hold the depth of what you want to attempt to convey to him. Nothing fits or sounds good enough. Each choice is just as cold and lifeless as this room you’re in, void of any real meaning. None of them hold any weight. 

Is there anything worth saying at all? 

“I’m not…” you swallow hard, knowing that he’s staring at you without needing to look up and verify, “I’m not afraid of you anymore.” 

This silence is different. Instead of coming back immediately with a quip or smug response, he simply lets what you said fully process. He really does seem different. It’s the same kind of mental distance you experienced with him when you and Mingi were still close. Jealousy? Maybe, but you don’t want to assume. For all you know, he could just be pissed off that you’re presumably giving your free attention to Seonghwa instead of him now. He must think you’ve completely abandoned him – which, you know you should do, and yet here you are. But again, Yunho doesn’t know how that specific relationship with you and Seonghwa works. 

What you say is true, for the most part. There’s a large part of you that still hungers for his approval, yearns for his touch, misses the idea of him. And there’s another part of you that is comforted knowing that he cannot dictate your life anymore, nor touch you like that ever again. The idea of him you hold onto is your own fantasy, conjured up by the fleeting and counterfeit imitations of care and love that he showed you. Seeing him in here does calm your nervous system though, it tells your paranoid mind that he really is locked in here. He can’t get to you. There are dozens of people, several laws, and physical distance between you that will not allow him to touch you again. The thick glass and the handcuffs aid this thinking as well. 

For Yunho, all he can hear is white noise and a sentence he’s haunted himself with for almost a year. His lips press together. He can’t be too surprised that you really were afraid of him the whole time, but again that delusional side of him has been very convincing. It was so easy to believe in his own lie until Mingi derailed it with one fatal blow. Just six words. Now here you are in front of him, speaking freely as yourself for the first time since last February, telling him that you’re not afraid of him. 

He’s almost split in half. One side glowing, singing that now you can love him, there’s nothing holding you back from it now, and the other realistic side of him shooting all of that nonsense down. He can’t ignore reality forever. 

One of your hands rests on the table, drumming your fingers close to the rosary. He subconsciously mirrors you. Tap, tap, tap. 

When he doesn’t say anything for another few silent minutes, you pick your purse up from the floor, placing it in your lap. “I should go…” 

Yunho wants nothing more than to jump up and beg you to stay with him. So, he doesn’t. He keeps control, clenching his fists tight, knowing he’s solely to blame for how he ended up. If he was just a little more careful… 

He watches you stand, the scraping sound of the chair against the floor digging into his ears. Once again, he holds back what he really wants to say. 

“I’ll um–” you pick up the rosary, gesturing over to the guard. Why won’t he speak to you? You shift your weight, not wanting to leave like this. You’ve always been the type to not rest so easy knowing that you’ve said something that hurts someone. Even someone like him. 

Ready to go, you don’t move. You don’t knock on the door to let the guard know that you want to leave. You have an idea of why he’s gone so quiet. 

“We’re not– Seonghwa and I… it isn’t like that.” You tell him, not as eloquently as you wanted to be. 

But it does invoke a response of some nature. A single nod, indicating that he understands as simply as possible. 

You continue, “I’m not ready for that kind of thing yet.”

“‘Yet’,” Yunho echoes, surprising you by replying quickly this time. “But you will. One day.” 

He sniffs, leaning back in the chair. The rest of his sentence goes unsaid, insinuated and understood by you. ‘And it won’t be with me’. 

You bite your lip, hand absentmindedly tugging at your sweatshirt, pulling it away from the healed scars on your chest. Your heart is threatening to leak through them.  

“I don’t know,” you admit honestly. Right now, you don’t see yourself getting into any kind of relationship in the near future. You don’t want to. You’re afraid everything will remind you of him. You’re afraid you’ll compare – that fear of never feeling the same level of devotion to someone ever again keeps you alone. 

“You will. And he’ll be there, I’m sure.” Yunho fails to hold back a scoff. His nails dig into his palms, close to breaking skin. “But all he’ll do is remind you of me.”

Your muscles tense. 

There’s a hurt tone to his voice that he tries in vain to hide. Not enough to be obvious unless you knew him quite well… which you do. 

It dawns on you then that the two of you trigger each other so much. He triggers your fears, your perfectionism, your traumas, and you trigger his abandonment issues, his overprotectiveness, and his desperate desire for love. Fake or real. He was so close with you. This time, he felt it. The others told him they loved him like they were reading a line from a book. Too rehearsed, without any feeling. You were the only one who almost convinced him. 

You know he thinks it’s easier to just push you away if he can’t have you the way he wants. 

And suddenly, you think of something worth asking him. 

“Were you going to kill me that night?”

He pauses to keep his true emotions in check. He’s not about to let you read him so easily when it comes to this topic. 

“Which one?” He asks, lazily, trying to come across as unbothered, nonchalant, but his eyes betray him. 

You can see a slight twinge of wariness, like you’re getting too close to the truth of him. Something he’s hidden from everyone else so seamlessly. That’s how you know you’re on the right track, asked the right question. Also, you’d genuinely like to know. Having the answer, fake or real, may help some of the nightmares you keep having ever since that night. 

“The last one,” you clarify quietly. 

He clears his throat, procrastinating by readjusting how he’s sitting in the chair, straightening up and crossing his legs. He feels caught. The handcuffs dig into his wrists. The only way he can keep control is to not give you what you want – a straightforward answer, but instead, he speaks truthfully.

“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes landing on the silver bracelet fastened on your wrist. 

He wonders who gave that to you… it matches his rosary. 

You nod once, knowing that’s the best you’ll get out of him. It does kind of tell you everything you needed to know, though. It pairs well with what you remember from that night, the shock and horror on his face when he realized he shot you instead of his intended target, and his many attempts to try and break out of Jongho’s hold on him to rush to your side. You have your answer. 

And now you’re not sure what to do with it. You’re still standing in front of him like an idiot, leaving and not leaving at the same time.       

His eyes flicker over towards the door on your side of the room. “You should go.”    

That startles you almost, and your feet move immediately, like they were waiting for his permission. You don’t miss how the corner of his mouth twitches, and you’re thankful that this time, he doesn’t point it out. He doesn’t have to. Such a small thing like that all but confirms his delusional side’s way of thinking. He latches onto it quickly as he watches you try to slip through his fingers again. 

Even if you choose Seonghwa down the line, you’ll still be his. When you’re just a step away from the door, he lets you know that. 

“No one will ever love you as much as I do.” 

That nearly kills you. It strikes you harder than a fist or a bullet ever did. Hearing the admission you’d been waiting for for all of last year… it almost makes you crumble completely. You knew it, you knew you were right. 

He loved you, and still does. 

You feel your breath leave your lungs like you’ve been hit there again. Shakily, you turn to look over your shoulder, expecting to see him basking in his small victory, taunting you that his claws are deep in you even after all of this time apart, and that they will continue to be for the foreseeable future. 

Except you don’t see that at all. What you thought was a jeering, condescending comment, doesn’t quite match the look on his face. A mix of a small, knowing smile which you expected, and utter desperation, selfishly hoping you’ll never be able to move on from him, that you’ll always come back to him. As hard as it is to admit it to himself, he needs you. So, he’ll revert back to methods that he knows worked on you once. Manipulation, for one.   

The desperation that he fails to conceal is what gives him away. You stand your ground, refusing to fall for him again. 

“And no one will ever hurt me as much as you have.” You mean to stay strong, but your voice cracks and wobbles halfway through. 

You watch his lips part, his eyes widening ever so slightly. 

He's always had a talent for hand-picking words and placing them in the exact order that will make you remember them for months to come. Maybe even years. You really have learned from the best. 

You tear your eyes away, and it turns out to be the hardest thing to do. Your fist knocks on the door too hard, too urgently. The guard lets you out quickly and asks if you’re okay. You just nod, breathing erratically. He doesn’t believe you, but you’re already walking away, eager to get the hell out of here. Even well past his line of sight, you can somehow still feel Yunho’s eyes on you. Your teeth start to chatter as you collect your phone from one of the guards, barely audibly thanking them as you hitch your purse higher up on your shoulder. You force yourself to walk slower. High stress, high emotions, and high pace can’t be a good combination for your lungs.   

When the sun hits you again, you gasp for the fresh air. The very thing you used to hide from, in this moment, you can’t get enough of it. You sit on a bench outside, hands shakily ordering an Uber that cannot come fast enough. Pressing a hand to your head, you will your body to calm down before you act crazy in front of this poor stranger coming to pick you up. You can imagine the headlines if the driver recognizes you, first of all, and tells the press that you were shaken up after visiting the very same prison Yunho is being kept in. 

Your parents would never let you leave the house ever again, much less the fucking country. 

For a moment you panic, and then remember the time difference. Both of them are surely asleep now, and you relax at the lack of frantic text messages from either of them. Thank god– 

The fresh air helps, a gentle breeze occasionally caressing your hair off of your shoulders. You busy your hands by sending Seonghwa a text. 

Luckily, he responds right away. Unluckily, he asks how your visit went. 

Obviously, he’d been rather opposed to the very idea of you going to see Yunho by yourself. It led to a fight between you, though both of you saw where the other was coming from. He knows you’re an adult and can make your own decisions, and you know that he didn’t want you to give Yunho another chance to hurt you again. When the anger had subsided, he let you know he’d support you no matter what you decide to do. As always. 

By the time the Uber gets there, you still haven’t answered Seonghwa’s question. All you send back is a simple, ‘omw’. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Seonghwa opens the door before you can even knock. 

You duck inside, knowing how bad it’d be if anyone saw you going into his apartment. It’s smaller than the one you were kept in, but a lot more lived in. Signs of life decorated every inch of it. He’d told you it’s taken a while for him to adjust to living alone. Whenever he gets out of the shower, he still sometimes expects to see San curled up in his bed instead of his own down the hall. 

It’s a temporary place. For now, it works. 

You think it’s lovely.  

“Hongjoong came by earlier,” Seonghwa says. “He um… yeah, he just told me to say that he hopes you’re doing okay.” 

You nod, sitting down on his couch. Something tells you there’s more to that, but you don’t press him for details. All you can think to say in response is, “Oh. Well… tell him I said ‘thank you’ and ‘same for you’.” 

“Are you?” 

“Am I?” You ask, tilting your head. 

Seonghwa sits next to you, one cushion over. “Are you okay?” 

You know he wants to know about your visit with Yunho, and you’ll tell him eventually. Right now though, it is the last thing you want to do. You haven’t seen Seonghwa in person since your last day in the hospital, eight months ago. Sitting here, on his couch, not two feet away from each other, all you want is to just… sleep, actually. You want to be held, even though you know it’s selfish to want to ask of him, and fall asleep together like you did last December. Before either of you were hurt. 

You push that need down. 

“I’ll be alright,” you say behind a weak smile. 

He looks like he wants to say something, but ultimately decides against it, keeping his mouth shut. Instead, he places his hand on the cushion between you. He lets you decide whether or not to hold it. 

Of course, you do. 

The reconnection feels like coming home. So many things are conveyed through just a simple touch. Commiserations, apologies, trust, and admissions that you’re both glad to see each other again. It’s a special, impenetrable bond, and for the time being, that’s good enough for both of you. It has to be. There’s still too many things to work out and work through to be anything other than just… two people there for each other. It’s an unspoken arrangement. Neither of you are willing to admit why it’s needed. 

“How are the others?” You ask, genuinely curious. 

Seonghwa leans back, resting against one of the pillows on the couch. “They’re alright. We’re still constantly in touch with each other, so… that’s nice.” 

Well, the six of them are. 

Mingi’s being held in a separate prison on the opposite side of Seoul, on the outskirts of the city. He’ll get out before Yunho does, having taken a plea bargain and willingly cooperated with law enforcement. 

You ask about each of them, where they are and what they’re doing. You’re not surprised to know that they all live quite close to each other. Yeosang and San even live in the same apartment complex. It’s nice to know that they’re all still somewhat together despite everything. You’ve been told about the fight Jongho, Wooyoung and San are leading to keep Yunho in prison for longer than he was sentenced. Without the USB or the files from his laptop, they’re trying to find other forms of evidence to get him charged with homicide, and get justice for the girls and the manager. You’ve seen the mixed social media reactions. Some view it as admirable, others call it performative. 

Hongjoong and Yeosang are both relatively off the radar, intent on maintaining a low profile. This, apparently, is almost normal for both of them. ‘Chronic homebodies’, Seonghwa calls them. Still, you naturally worry about them. 

The three of them are planning to move abroad early next year. Since the three of them were most implicated in the case, the public outrage towards them despite their contributions towards your rescue, and despite your written testimony that they were not privy to the truth of who you were when Yunho introduced them, has proven to be impossible to simply ignore. Not even the ‘chronic homebodies’ want to be sheltered inside forever, anxious about going outside. 

Hopefully western Europe will be more peaceful for them. 

An hour into talking, you’re now curled up on the couch while he plays with your fingers, making small noises of disapproval wherever he sees that you still pick at your nails and the skin around them. He just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself like that. On more than one occasion, he’s threatened to buy you a fidget toy or something to help you stop the habit. 

He closes your hand, setting it down again and rubs his thumb against the back of it. Another hour later, there’s a natural lull in the conversation as the apartment starts to darken. The sun is peeking out from behind some of the taller buildings in Seoul, beginning its early descent. 

The two of you stand in his kitchen as he cooks dinner. He swears he’s gotten better now that he has to fend for himself. The money he’s made from being an idol won’t hold out forever, so he’s trying to be smart about it now and not order takeout so much anymore. He offhandedly says that you should have something that Wooyoung cooks sometime, as he’s the best chef in the group, but he gets quiet afterwards. You don’t push it. 

You eat in the living room, feet tucked under you as Seonghwa flicks through all the options on Netflix. You eat slowly, but you’re almost halfway done before he picks something from the ‘Oscar Winning’ category. It’ll do for now. Good background noise while you eat. He checks in on you twice, asking if the food is actually good or if you’re being nice to him, and offering to get you more. You wave him off playfully both times, likening him to a mother hen. It’s a nice little dynamic. 

Halfway through the movie, the sun has disappeared altogether. You haven’t planned on staying the night with him or anything like that, but he’s not kicking you out either. You look down at your purse on the floor, resting against the couch, making a mental inventory of what you have in there. Wallet, perfume, headphones, fan, gum, pill pouch stocked with Tylenol in case of flare ups, and a portable charger. You sneak a glance at Seonghwa, who’s busy finishing his second serving of food, eyes flicking up from the bowl to watch the movie. It doesn’t feel like you’re intruding, but you hate to overstay your welcome. The unofficial plan you made for this visit was only a couple hours at most. Already, you’re dangerously close to several hours.    

A couple minutes later, Seonghwa collects the empty bowls and dishes that have accumulated on his coffee table, and places them in the sink to wash later. He wants to now, but instead he just lets them soak until the movie is over. You watch him as he walks back to you, sitting himself down a little closer to you than before. 

You don’t allow yourself to think anything of it. Not even when you adjust the way you’re sitting, leaning towards him. If you think about it too much, you know who you’ll hear. You know what you’ll remember. You’d rather keep the world and everyone in it out for as long as you can. Since arriving here, you’ve been doing a pretty good job so far, despite the state you were in when you left the prison earlier. 

It’s comforting knowing that any silence between you isn’t awkward or tense, it’s just natural. Even more comforting to know that you can’t say or do anything that will ever make him lash out or physically hurt you. The bare minimum, you know, but you’re working on it. You just… feel safe with him in the little things. 

That’s the tricky part – the little things, they all pile up, don’t they? 

You know you may have waded too deep when you rest your head on his shoulder and he sighs, letting his body relax more into the couch. You lift up, thinking he may be opposed to you doing that, but he guides you back down, not making a big deal of it. The rest of the movie goes by with the two of you staying just like that. Nothing more, nothing less. 

When the movie ends, you know you should leave. 

You engage in polite small-talk about your assessments of the film, coming to a similar conclusion about it: ‘pretty good’. His eyes glance up towards the kitchen sink, and he bites his lip. 

“Would you mind if I washed the dishes really fast?” He asks. 

“Oh, no, go ahead,” you say, sitting up straight to let him go. “I can um… I should probably go back to my hotel.” 

Seonghwa stops mid-stride to turn around and look at you. 

“Oh–” he starts to say but pauses for a moment, wrestling with his inner monologue on what to say next. He looks at the digital clock on the oven. “It’s um…”

“Yeah… I don’t want to intrude.” You smile weakly, gathering your purse. It’s not that late yet, but you’re not terribly keen on going back by yourself in the dark if you can avoid it. 

Seonghwa fidgets with the hem of his shirt, alternating between looking at you, the kitchen, and the television. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. He hops from one foot to another as you stand from the couch. 

“Hwa?” You check on him, noticing his anxious behavior. It’s rare that you call him by that nickname, but you’re trying to do it more often. 

He scratches the back of his neck, stuck in his own thoughts. 

“I uh… if you want– I mean, you can stay here, if you want.” 

You’d tease him for his eloquence if you weren’t busy processing what he’s saying. Now you’re stuck. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say quietly, looking down at your purse. If you stay, you’d need to ask for so many things from him for the night. Clothes to sleep in for one, a toothbrush, a blanket and pillow for the couch, makeup remover, and… no, not that. You put the end of that thought out of your mind. There’s no need for it, you tell yourself. 

Seonghwa steps closer to you, “No, not intruding at all. I’d like it if you stayed, but… if you’d rather leave then that’s fine too.” 

In danger of sounding too enthusiastic, you make sure he’s being serious about his offer. “Are you sure?”

This time, he just nods. He lets you think it over. 

He watches you place your purse down on the couch. You shyly look back up to him, hoping he’s being serious about his offer. He seems to relax again. A hand reaches out for you to take, which you do, and he leads you into the kitchen. You hop up on the kitchen counter, letting your heels gently hit the cabinets as he washes and dries the dishes. You try to convince him to let you help, at least drying them, but he refuses. 

“A guest shouldn’t have to do any work,” he states. 

When the dishes are done, he brings you into his room so he can get some clothes for you. His room is very… him. That’s the best way you can describe it. You emerge from his closet, in his T-shirt and sweatpants that you roll up so you don’t step on them. He lets you use his bathroom to take your makeup off and tells you there’s a new toothbrush in its packaging in one of the drawers there. That, there is. 

You look away quickly when you place the toothbrush next to his in the little holder. 

Y/N, it’ll never work, you tell yourself. 

He’s back in the living room when you come out of the bathroom, tying your hair up. He looks up at you from the couch and offers a small smile, and your pick for a ‘double feature’ night. You grin as you take the remote from him, sitting next to him and beginning your search. You’ll show him one of your favorites. 

As the movie starts, the two of you resume your earlier positions – you leaning against his shoulder, and him settling back against the couch. This time, he has his arm over the back of the couch, and almost halfway through the movie, he lets it drift closer, but ultimately doesn’t touch you. He’s still so overly cautious. You kind of want him to snap out of it, but at the same time, you feel that much more safe with him. He’ll keep himself close enough to make you feel protected, and not like he’s expecting anything from you. By doing this, he gives you the option to either lean into it or ignore it and keep to yourself. It’s there if you want it, and it’s immediately taken away if you don’t. 

You wouldn’t have such a choice with Yunho… 

By the time the double feature comes to an end, and the credits start to roll up the screen, you’re sleepily smushed into Seonghwa’s side. He gently shakes you and you mumble incoherently that you’re awake while your eyelids lose the fight to stay open. Very convincing. He turns the TV off and takes your hand to help you off the couch. You wake up just enough to stand and rub your eyes.  

“Do you have an extra blanket?” You ask, gesturing to the couch. It’s definitely comfortable enough to sleep on. 

Seonghwa blinks before understanding. “Oh, yeah, I do.” 

He disappears into his room to retrieve it and hands it to you. You wrap it around your shoulders. He shoves his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to say or do in this standstill. He won’t outwardly say what he wants for fear of sounding like Yunho, and you won’t say what you want for fear of making him uncomfortable. The kitchen light casts shadows against both of your faces. You hug the blanket tighter around you. 

It’ll never work. 

The polite exchanges of ‘goodnight’ send you both off to sleep. 

In theory. 

You spend an hour on the couch trying to reclaim the heaviness in your eyelids and the deep relaxation needed in order to sleep, but neither will return. 

Two hours later, still with no success, you give up for the time being and scroll on your phone. However, you exhaust all of your social media apps rather quickly – you don’t follow many people anyway. Phone set back down, you get up and shuffle to the kitchen to get some water. You feel like you’re snooping through his stuff as you try to find a glass to put said water in, and eventually pull open the right cabinet. As you set it down carefully on the counter, you note the time on the oven clock. Almost two-thirty. You groan inwardly, knowing you’re probably in for a sleepless night. 

Oh, well. It’s better than potentially having a nightmare on his couch, you suppose. 

You wince as the cabinet closes a little too loudly, hopefully not disturbing Seonghwa while he sleeps. Trying to be even more quiet, you fill your glass with water and lean against the kitchen counter, just taking in the view of his apartment from there. You like the huge windows in the living room the most. It takes up most of the wall space and boasts a rather pretty view of the city. You take a small sip, the water feeling nice so late at night. Definitely needed. 

There’s some small rustling noise from Seonghwa’s bedroom and you freeze, hoping you didn’t wake him up with that cabinet. 

But he pads out to the kitchen, rubbing one of his eyes and stopping in his tracks once he sees you. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, looking over at the discarded blanket on the couch. “You okay?” 

You set your glass back down, “Yeah, I’m okay. Can’t sleep.” 

He hums, nodding. “I can’t either.” 

Instead of awkwardly standing still in front of each other, he moves to your side to get himself a drink as well. Instead of water, he substitutes it for soju. He reasons it might help him sleep. From the same cabinet, he grabs a smaller glass and fills it up about halfway with soju. He drinks it all in one go, wincing slightly as it burns down. You laugh lightly at his expression, and his ears turn pink. You wonder what type of drunk he is. Maybe one day you’ll find out, you doubt he’s about to get hammered tonight. He takes another shot, and then puts the bottle away. 

Something tells you he drinks in order to sleep quite a lot. 

You cradle your little glass of water self-consciously. Being here may be nice for you, but it could be triggering him, and he’s just too nice to you to say anything. You look down at his clothes hanging off your body and bite your lip. 

“Hey,” he gets your attention, “enough of that.” 

“What?” You ask, even though you know he caught you overthinking. 

“I want you here. And this,” he gestures to the bottle, “is getting better.”

You lower your head again, feeling caught. He also all but confirmed that what you were thinking is true, or was up until recently. 

“I don’t dream if I drink,” he says in a quieter voice. “So…” 

Maybe it’s late-night courage, or what have you, but you set your water down and wrap your arms around him in a hug. You’ve wanted to do this since you walked in. Luckily, he doesn’t tense or back away from you like you’re afraid he will. No, he pulls you tighter against him, sighing against your hair as one of his hands rests on the back of your head. 

Two broken people in the kitchen, holding the pieces of each other together. 

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but when you two eventually pull away, he takes your hand. He avoids eye contact again, trying to build enough confidence to say something.        

“I don’t like sleeping alone,” he admits. 

Your cheeks warm. He knows you don’t either. That’s one of the things Yunho told him the night he left. “Me neither.” 

Seonghwa nods once. You look back over at the couch. Surely the two of you can be comfortable there for the night? You don’t want to intrude on his private space. You feel like a vampire, you can’t go into a room without being invited first. 

This invitation isn’t verbal. 

Seonghwa gently leads you into his room before hurrying back to the couch to grab the blanket again. When he reenters, you’re still standing in the middle of his room. God, both of you are so awkward and so overly cautious with each other. You think it’ll just be like this until you both get better mentally. You already plan to talk with him in the morning. For now, you let him know that you don’t feel pressured, and that you want to be here. 

He physically relaxes, obviously worried about that until you said something. He gets into bed first, sighing once he settles down. You get in after him slowly, still checking him to see if it’s okay, if he’s not regretting his offer. It doesn’t look like it. 

You lay apart, with a few inches of distance between you two, for a couple of minutes, both trying to sleep. It is quickly apparent that this won’t help. You risk moving closer to him, laying your hand next to his. Still awake as well, he plays with your bracelet for a while before he moves to hold your hand properly. 

It’s a gradual shift, testing the waters to see what the other is okay with. Eventually, there are no more inches of distance between you, and you’re curling up by his side, your arm laid over his torso, and his arm wrapped around you.    

“Does this feel… is this okay?” He checks one more time as the soju starts to kick in, dragging him towards sleep. He fights against it for a little longer, needing to hear your verdict. 

You look around the room. 

Trinkets overflow off of shelves, a huge monitor on his LED illuminated desk, an equally large Lego collection showcased behind glass, a bladeless fan perched on his nightstand, also equipped with soft LED lights, and small, miscellaneous plants anywhere else there’s room. 

You look up at him. 

His eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks as he waits for your reply. He holds a slight tension in his hand, ready to either let go of you entirely, or pull you in closer. 

And suddenly, there’s no more forest. No more cameras or fire. No more water or knives or guns, or belts. There’s no more betrayal, tests, or fear. There’s only him. And for tonight, that’s enough. That will make all the difference in the world. Everything else you’ll figure out in the morning, already visualizing the many texts you’ll wake up to from your mother, asking where the hell you are. You’re content to stay right here until your flight home, honestly.    

You nuzzle your cheek against the space between his shoulder and his chest. His cheek rests against the top of your head and he gently presses you closer. Both of you breathe in the other.  

“It’s perfect.”  

Yunho adjusted his grip on the gun, turned the safety off and pressed it against her head. 

Another disappointment, another waste of his time. She trembled beneath him on the forest floor, begging him to not end her life, to let her go, blah blah blah… It bored him. Agitated him, too. By now, he was so sick of hearing the same things over and over again. As if they could change his mind so easily. She dug her own grave, as far as he was concerned, attempting to commit the biggest sin of all: trying to run from him. 

She’d gotten rather far – farther than the others ever hoped to get – making it all the way out to the elevator before he caught her around the middle, kicking and screaming as he dragged her all the way back.  

“Let me go,” she warbled, struggling against the ropes that bound her ankles and wrists. All that Yunho heard from that plea was, ‘I never wanted to stay. I lied to you’ and quite frankly, it only pissed him off even more. His disappointment in her manifested into his infamous anger. She had been a good girl, until she tried to get away.  

He rolled his eyes when she started crying. Not only was it annoying, but it was useless as well. 

“Shut up.” He hissed, pressing the barrel of the gun harder against her head. 

When she didn’t stop after he hit her over the head with the gun the first time, he shoved her to the ground, pressing a muddy boot up against her throat. The next hit to the head did shut her up, knocking her unconscious without any further problems. 

The cut-off scream echoing into the air was the last piece of evidence that she’d ever been alive in this place. She simply wouldn’t exist anymore in a few short minutes. She didn’t deserve to, anyway. Not anymore.  

Normally, if she had stayed quiet and he’d just shot her instead, next would be the most laborious part: removing the identifiable features. He had to remove their hands and feet due to the ligature marks, which also gets rid of finger prints. Those have to be buried deeper into the forest, far away from the body. Tedious, but necessary. Sometimes, he’d pull their teeth and or cut off their heads. Just depended on if he felt like doing it, or had the time to. But he’d rather forgo all that trouble. She'd pissed him off too much, and he didn’t want to be near her anymore, not even in death. If she had just accepted her fate quietly, he would’ve been nicer to her. 

Quiet girls get the gun. Noisy ones choke on the dirt.  

It’s all too easy for him to nudge her body into the freshly dug, shallow grave with his boot. Custom made, just for her. She hits the ground with a dull thud, some loose soil shaking loose above and landing on her neck. And when he stared down at her, body laid in a crumpled heap only four feet below the earth’s surface, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest, he felt… nothing. Just like he did when he had to do this to the others. At least that was a good sign – he wasn’t becoming weak. 

Yunho’s hand flexed on the handle of the shovel.

All the months he wasted on her, all the trouble and the headaches she caused him pile up as the sight of her body burned into his brain. He rolled his shoulders back. 

Next time would be different, he was sure. Trial and error is all this is, after all. 

The morning sun started to filter through the tree branches, warning him that it was time to wrap it up. Get her under. 

“Min,” he called lazily, holding the shovel out towards his best friend, who took it without a word. As expected in this routine of theirs. He stood back, busying himself by warming up his hands, his breath visible in the wintry air.  

Mingi tried not to look at her as he shoveled the dirt back into the grave. Occasionally he’d catch a few glimpses of her body and have to turn away or lower his gaze even more. He’d warned her in the backseat on the way here. He’d warned her to not scream or cry and she’d get the preferred way out. She was hyperventilating the whole drive there, leaning into him for comfort. He was glad she was blindfolded – he didn’t have to see the raw terror in her eyes. 

His own eyes were shut tight when he heard her start to wake up again, choking and weakly trying to claw the dirt away from her mouth and nose to no avail. Already more than halfway, he couldn’t hear her for much longer. 

For his sanity, he has to believe it’s better. For the best. She was suffering in that apartment, as they all did. But when they don’t die right away, those times are always the worst. He hated that he had hoped Yunho would just shoot her, get it over with. He can’t imagine anything worse than a slow death, one you can see coming before it fully envelops you. The sounds of dirt being coughed up, breathless, piercing screams managing to slip through the earth, and the slow, gradual silence that follows. 

‘Air is a luxury’, as Yunho would say. 

Mingi thought of the girl before. Kara. Her life ended with the sound of birds flying out of the trees, scrambling away from the man with the gun. She’d stayed quiet. However, not exactly because she was being ‘good’. In all ways except physically, she was already dead. It’s why Yunho got so bored with her. She only lasted three months.   

He finished his grievous task quickly, unfortunately used to it, and quickly walked back towards the car to throw the shovel into the trunk. He never lingered after the last shovel of dirt was placed, only smoothing over the surface to better blend the unnatural mound into the forest landscape. Nothing out of place, hidden by plantlife and the shadows of the trees overhead.

He took off a glove and ran a hand down his face, bracing himself against the boot of the car for a minute. Just a minute. Nauseous guilt, that had once been strong enough to make him physically sick after each time, was slowly becoming manageable. He just needed some time to push it down. 

Come tomorrow, he’d reset. He’d be alright… somewhat. Ready to move on, already patching up the memory of this in his mind with large, black spots until it fully covered the entire picture. Time would heal everything, as it always had.  

Yunho came back to the car, staying in that clearing for a while longer, making sure she wasn’t able to claw her way out. Once he broke through the trees, Mingi noted how carefree he was, inspecting his nails for any dirt or visible blood stains. The simpler it is for him to shake off this loss, the more it proved to him that she wasn’t the one. Not meant to be. That was always easier to digest. 

“Ugh,” Yunho yawned, stretching his arms, “let’s go. It’s fuckin’ cold.”    

There was a lingering emptiness in the car that only Mingi felt. Three arrived here, and only two left. His hand stays in his pocket, one of her bracelets still safe in there, unbeknownst to Yunho. It had fallen off of her wrist in the struggle to get her tied. Once they got back to the apartment, it’d be a couple hours of deep cleaning, removing any sign that she had been there whatsoever. Only the ghost of her would loiter there now. 

“Are you still going out tonight?” Mingi asked, making casual conversation in order to focus on anything other than the image that he cannot unsee. Sounds he cannot unhear. A girl he couldn’t save… but probably could have if he had done more.  

Yunho nodded as he drank his coffee, placing the cup back into the holder next to him. 

“Yeah… should be fun.” He said as his hand flexed on the wheel. He smirked as he looked over at his friend, knowing Mingi had picked up on the insinuation.

Mingi only nods, tight-lipped and mentally far away from the claustrophobic confines of the car. One of the first emotions that bubbled up for him then was irritation – the knowledge that he’ll have to go through all of this again, only to inevitably aid in the next one’s demise. The clean-up, the memory gap, the renewal, over and over. A drawn-out routine as predictable as the sun rising and setting every day and night. 

His phone dug uncomfortably into his thigh, as if urging him to use it. Call the police now. Stop the cycle now. But all he does is readjust how it was laying in his pants pocket. Complicit and loyal as ever. As silent as the grave they just filled. 

The forest eventually gave way to highways and city streets, shifting from green to grey in less than an hour. In the heart of the city again, Mingi looked away from the windows, avoiding looking at the people on the streets. He told himself if he did, everyone would be looking back at him. They’d know what he just did. They’d know what was in the trunk of the car, they’d see the guilt on his face, as well as the unwillingness to end it. Maybe she could have been saved that morning, if he had just tried to talk Yunho out of it. But he knew all too well, once Yunho decided to do something, there was no talking him out of it. There was no stopping his plans once in motion. 

Mingi rested his head against the window, eyes shut tight to avoid his reflection in the side-view mirror and the people in the streets. He didn’t need to see in them what he already saw in himself. 

When the car finally crawled to a stop, he took a deep breath before glancing over to Yunho, who was already moving to get out of the car.  

“Let’s get this over with.” Yunho grumbles, not particularly looking forward to the clean-up process. He was used to it, though, having done it five times before. Again: tedious, but necessary. The price he paid, risk and reward. However, he was getting rather impatient, what with all the risks without rewards, the gambles without the payoffs, and all of this effort with no results. A thankless job, if you asked him. 

The thought never failed to amuse him, as he scrubbed every single appliance, washed every pillowcase and blanket, separated the trash to later burn what she had touched, and moved the stuffed animals back into the apartment next door; the thought that Jeong Yunho, global boyfriend, member of ATEEZ, was spending his rare days off cleaning up a crime scene. He couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from pulling up, smug as ever as he ripped up her journal, collected the torn pages into a fireproof bowl, and grabbed his lighter. Her deepest fears (which were primarily him), her thoughts, her very memory all burned before him. The light of the flame danced in his dull, wicked eyes.

As soon as she was reduced to ash, she was tipped over the balcony railing, catching on the wind and disappearing, seamlessly blending into the dust and concrete on the city streets. 

Mingi ignored the smell of smoke, electing to breathe through his mouth until it became dry just to avoid it. He had volunteered to deep-clean the living room, away from the burning and bleaching tasks. His eyes watered and stung from the harsh chemicals of the bleach. At least the loud humming of the vacuum kept his thoughts at bay for now. However, he wasn’t sure how long he could stay here. The walls were closing in on him by the minute.   

Hours later, somehow he found himself on the floor in the hallway, sitting next to Yunho, waiting for the bedding to come out of the dryer. The very last thing. The two of them sat in silence, listening to the constant whir of the machine. Yunho leaned his head against the wall, Mingi silently picked at the skin around his nails. Both of them, exhausted. There wasn’t much to be said, at least not out loud. 

Yunho scrolled through Instagram and TikTok on his phone during the wait, occasionally nudging Mingi with his elbow to show him something funny. Mingi would laugh via a sharp exhale through his nose, as a courtesy.

Too normal. Way too fucking normal. 

“I gotta start getting ready soon,” Yunho sighed, glancing up at the time on his phone before switching it off. “You got this, Min?” 

Mingi nodded, muttering a small ‘yep’ in reply. He’s used to this, too. Yunho would create a mess, or start something, and he’d be left to finish it. That was just how their dynamic was, and Mingi was all too willing to play the part Yunho wanted him to play. Anything to make sure he stayed. Even if it meant hating himself after.  

Yunho pushed himself up, disappearing into his room and starting up the shower to get the smell of earth and bleach off of him. Mingi looked down at his own body to find dirt streaking up his forearms and staining the lower legs of his jeans. His fingernails were black. From the hallway, he looked over at the entranceway of the apartment where they had kicked off their shoes upon arrival. He’d have to get the dirt off of those too. 

The dryer sang, announcing that the cycle had ended and fell silent. With a huff, Mingi also pushed himself up off of the floor, ignoring the ache in his lower back as he straightened, and set about collecting the freshly dried sheets and making up the bed. 

The sun was beginning to take more and more time to set, a hopeful sign that spring would come sooner rather than later, even if the biting winds and freezing temperatures said otherwise.

When golden light filtered in through the blinds, Yunho reemerged, pulling on a glove with his teeth, texting with his other hand. Mingi looked away, bringing the shoes back in from the balcony after banging each pair against the railing to shake the remaining dirt loose. Even though he came back inside, he swore he could still see his breath inside the apartment. 

Yunho paused, watching his best friend place the shoes back down next to the front door. He was less shaky than last time they did this. Yunho grinned to himself as he sent off the text, everything falling into place for him. As usual. As expected.   

“I think we’re good,” Yunho said, giving the apartment a once-over. He nodded once, his final seal of approval. “I’m off. Are you staying?”

Mingi cleared his throat. “No, I’ll um… I’ll go home.” 

“Mm.” 

After waiting for a minute, to see if Yunho would say anything else, Mingi finally allowed himself to put his newly cleaned shoes back on, as well as his coat. When Yunho still didn't say anything, his shoulders dropped in relief. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mingi said, hand on the doorknob, ready to go. 

“See you tomorrow,” Yunho echoed, waving him off. 

Once the door closed behind Mingi, leaving Yunho in the rare, empty silence of the apartment, he looked around him one more time. His eyes scanned for anything they might’ve missed, and found nothing. With a sigh, he checked his phone for the time again before pulling on his other glove.

Thankfully, he expected the rest of the night to go smoothly for him. He’d been so stressed recently, having just gotten back from Europe, wrapping up the tour and an appearance at Fashion Week, preparing for their comeback, working on choreography and his solo, variety appearances, everything just piled up. And she didn’t make it any easier on an already troubled mind. She didn’t ease his stress whatsoever – so what really was her purpose in being there any longer? 

Which is why he’s so glad that you fell into his lap when you did. 

Hidden well behind the likable, meet-your-parents type of golden boy charade he put on so masterfully, a predator hunted the streets, scanning and cataloguing everything. Everybody. The widely accepted misconception that he would never hurt a fly only played right into his hands. Effortless charm that never failed to completely dismiss any suspicion from him, and you were no exception. You fell for him hard. A cute, innocent thing, relatively new to the city, with no knowledge of ATEEZ whatsoever, and far from home. Just what he was after. 

Too trusting, too good to be left out wandering the city streets for just anybody to look at or come across. All too easy for someone like him to happen upon you – with thanks to Mingi. 

He had ordered the same drink as you on purpose. Of course he did. 

He had followed you to that cafe, already knowing the ins and outs of your schedule, the names of your friends and your parents, and where you lived – both at home, and here in Seoul. To attract you towards him even more, trust him even more, he tailored himself to be your dream, though he didn’t have to do too much. He was blessed with an enviable card in life; rich, tall, naturally charming, and handsome all on his own. 

What he needed now was to genuinely feel in control and loved. That was the hard part. 

Whatever else there was to know about you, he would figure it out by taking you out on these dates, like the one he had planned that night. Only the second official date, and he already knew you were next. You were ticking off all of his boxes: submissive, good listener, kind, beautiful, and just naive enough to let your guard down around him already.

If you managed to survive and behave, he knew he would owe Mingi big time for finding you for him. Matchmaker, indeed.  

The drive there was smooth if not just a little too long for how impatient he felt. A restaurant hidden deep in the city, with a booth that boasted luxury and privacy awaited his arrival. He’d turn the charm all the way up, just the right amount to be the perfect man, the envy of all of your friends, the angel you always dreamed of. He’d also try small, easy commands to see how you would react to receiving orders; whether you’d fight him on it, or obey without any pushback. He hoped for the latter. 

Arriving twenty minutes early, he parked his car nearby and kept his face hidden well as he walked inside the restaurant, quickly being ushered to his reserved booth in a private dining room upon giving a fake name. You knew to ask for ‘Jeong’ whenever you arrived. You assumed he was just rich and important in some way, a private guy. Nothing wrong with that. He had given you no red flags, and hey, you could get used to luxury like this even if you had to arrive separately.

When you entered the private room, he stood immediately, wrapping you in a welcoming hug, muttering something about how you need a thicker coat to protect yourself against the frigid weather. 

The date was perfect, and so were you. 

He complimented you on how beautiful you looked, and when you shyly looked down, avoiding the praise, he just tilted your chin back up, a silent command to keep your head up and your eyes on him. And you did. Behind the undeniable but unspoken sexual tension between you two, you failed to recognize how you were playing right into his fantasy. With a disarming smile that showed he meant you no harm or underlying remarks about your weight in any way, he whined that you should eat more to keep up your strength, in your best interest in the long run. You giggled and agreed with him. It wasn’t hard to finish everything, it was delicious and you paced yourself well. He watched you eat the last bite with a glint of something unreadable in his eyes, and then it was gone again. 

What you missed in the smile that he gave you was the predatory fire in his eyes. You were the lamb that willingly walked into the wolf’s den, believing that he would show you kindness and love instead of hunger and bloodshed. But just like in the folktales and warnings, the wolf didn’t reveal himself right away. All the while proclaiming how the world sent you to him, and only the big bad wolf could ever protect you from the dangers within it. 

First, he earned your trust, and then he went in for the kill.    

It took everything in him to not take you back to the apartment then and there. Against every fiber in his body telling him to take you now, he only allowed himself to hug you goodbye, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead that made your cheeks burn and your heart flutter in the night air. He told you to get home safe, to text him when you got there as he looked around the darkened city, and you nodded. You would. 

And you did. 

The drive home is spent white-knuckling the steering wheel. He stared at the pitch black road ahead of him without paying much attention to it, fighting against himself to whip the car around and steal you from your apartment now. He hadn’t felt this strongly about someone in such a long time, and although he couldn’t place his finger on precisely why, something in him just told him that you would be worth the effort this time. 

You wouldn’t leave him. You wouldn’t be able to, nor hope to. He had practice and experience with this now. He knew what worked and what didn’t, and he corrected his foolish past mistakes. He knew to lock the windows so you couldn’t jump like Yuri, never let you bathe without supervision like Hyerim, and to not let you starve yourself like Sofia did. Every girl before you had failed him before because they had something you wouldn’t be able to have: a chance to leave of their own accord. A choice.  

No. You would be his greatest achievement yet. Kept safe and beautiful just for him. And the guys would thank him for it. 

As he parked the car in the dorm building’s garage, his phone lit up. 

[pretty girl🖤]: home safe! :) 

[pretty girl🖤]: thank you so much for dinner, i had such a good time !! 

Good girl, he smirked, biting his bottom lip. You remembered one of his orders. He replayed the date in his head, already planning the next one – the most important one. The next one was when he would finally take you here. Tonight solidified that plan. 

Accordingly, and to his own sick amusement, he changed your contact name in his phone before he responded. 

[Yunho]: good im glad :) 

[Yunho]: get some sleep baby. i’ll text u tomorrow <3

You emphasized that text, a thrill running through your entire body at the pet name. 

[7🖤]: yessir🫡😴

[7🖤]: goodnight :) 

He didn’t respond, simply hearting your last message and finding his and Mingi’s conversation. His message to his best friend was short and to the point, saying everything that could be conveyed in the simplest way possible. 

[Yunho]: ;) 

Back in his own dorm, Mingi threw his phone against the wall. It cracked immediately on impact. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa whisper-shouts towards the dark hallway. 

You tense, choking the life out of Puppy, veins popping out of your hand as you listen to the footsteps drawing nearer and nearer. One set of them, not two. 

You know that sound all too well. 

There is a brief, terrible pause before the owner of the footsteps steps into the candlelight. 

Met with the last person he expected – or wanted – to see, Seonghwa nearly hits his head on the wall behind him, his body jolting backwards, away from the danger. At the same time, your body locks up, even though all your training tells you to get on the ground as fast as you can. A part of you sighs in relief, glad that he’s back. Another part wants to jump out of the window as soon as possible. 

In the dim, golden light, he looks more devilish than ever you’ve seen him. His anger is palpable, radiating off of his body. Your hand starts to cramp painfully as you nearly squeeze off Puppy’s head. You notice his hands are filthy, dirt staining his pants up to the knee, and tracking off of his shoes with every step. 

He’s the first to speak. “Expecting someone else?” 

Seonghwa exhales shakily, too frightened at the moment to say anything in response. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, having never seen him this scared of Yunho before, and you don’t know why. But you don’t have much time to ponder that as Yunho’s attention turns to you next. His jaw sets, eyes flickering between you and the space on the floor in front of him – where you should be.  

“How. Fucking. Rude.” Yunho snarls, punctuating each word by removing his belt, pulling the leather out more and more until it finally unfurls from his hips like a whip about to be cracked. 

You scramble off the bed, landing hard onto the floor, but you know you’re already too late. He watches you tremble beneath him, looking down at you past his nose like you were pathetic to him. Disappointing too. 

“W-welcome h-h–” 

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He growls, looping the belt once. Every vein in his hand pops.  

The apartment holds its breath, sucking all the air out of the room. Each one of you, a livewire, ready to spark, snap, and burn. 

“Y-Yunho,” Seonghwa stammers around his fear, “h-how are you he–”  

“Early flight. Got in this afternoon.” Yunho bites the words as he speaks them. He doesn’t look towards Seonghwa while he talks, keeping his gaze fixed solely on you. You try to focus on your breathing, anything to try and calm yourself down. You don’t know why he’s this angry, though you’re sure that your attempt to open the window must be part of it. A cold shiver runs through your body. You can suddenly feel each individual scar on your legs from the fire. What will it be this time? 

Yunho stalks towards you, pointing the belt at your face, accusingly. “You knew, didn’t you?” 

Utterly confused, you can only gape at him, eyes wide in fear, looking to Seonghwa for clarification. 

Wrong move.

The belt strikes you across the cheek, the metal buckle snagging on your cheek and ripping the skin. A startled, pained yelp tears from your throat before you can get a hold of yourself. You force your hands to stay by your side. Your knees already ache. Stay still, be good. 

“Answer me,” Yunho hisses, grabbing you by the hair and yanking it painfully. Up close like this, you can smell the scent of earth that clings to his skin and clothes. 

“No, Daddy, please, I swear! I don’t know what you’re talking about, please–” 

Tired of your babbling already, he shoves you to the floor. In a foolish attempt to straighten yourself up, back on your knees, he flattens you down again with his boot, stepping right between your shoulder blades. Your jaw hits the floor hard, and you narrowly avoid biting your tongue on impact. 

“Yunho, she didn’t know–”

“Stop talking.” 

You whimper at the loud and harsh tone coming from him, and he rolls his eyes at you. He applies more pressure on your back, your ribs pressing uncomfortably into the carpet. Some of your hair is trapped underneath his boot and it rips out of your scalp when he sharply pulls off. 

Off to the side, you hear Seonghwa push himself off of the wall, lunging for his backpack. He barely gets his hand inside of it before Yunho grabs you from the floor again, bringing you up on your knees, causing your head to spin, and he presses the knife up to your throat.  

“Don’t even think about it,” he warns. The very tip of the knife digs into your skin, stinging underneath your jaw painfully. You can feel your heartbeat pulsing in your throat, against the sharp edge of the blade. Seonghwa freezes immediately, dropping the bag back down to the floor with a dull thud. He swallows hard, seeing you so close to getting your throat cut right in front of him. It definitely is more than a threat – it is a very real possibility. 

“Bring it to me.” Yunho says lowly. When Seonghwa hesitates, clearly not wanting Yunho to have the gun, the knife is only pressed against your throat harder, cutting you deeper. Your hands reflexively fly up to his forearm and you whimper, begging Seonghwa with your eyes to just do what he says. 

So he does. Reluctantly, he wraps his hand around the handle of the backpack, fighting against every instinct in his body to get away from Yunho rather than walk right towards him. They watch each other the whole time. You can feel the air from the bag as it drops in front of you. Yunho nudges it with his foot to bring it closer to his side. His breath is hot against your ear. 

“Don’t move,” he hisses before shoving you back down to the floor. Only a small noise escapes you as you hit the ground, your upper back sore from his earlier reminder to stay down.  

He lazily points the knife in Seonghwa’s direction. “I believe I told you to do something,”

Seonghwa stiffens but somehow remains defiant even in the very face of danger. “Yunho give it up, they’re on their way. You don’t have–” 

He’s cut off by Yunho laughing. Actually laughing at him. “Is that supposed to scare me? Stop me? No, no, no, I gave you a very simple task and I want to see it carried out.” 

All laughter gone in an instant, Yunho throws his belt at Seonghwa’s feet, who takes a step back from it. “I’m not–”  

“This is the last time I’ll be nice about this,” Yunho warns bluntly, stepping forward to crowd Seonghwa’s personal space, towering over him. When neither man moves after a few seconds, Yunho sighs, tapping the flat edge of the knife against Seonghwa’s shoulder. “You wanna keep her alive? Then do it.” 

Seonghwa swallows hard. Your heart sinks. You watch his eyes flicker from the knife, to you, to the belt. 

The weight of uncertainty lingers, a crack forming in your conditioning that makes you feel like you’re rising towards the surface after spending so much time underwater. Yunho’s presence is like an itch underneath your skin that you can’t scratch. Something you always longed for, worked yourself to the bone for. It feels like a steel rod has been shoved down your throat and you’re being forced to look and act like nothing is wrong. Stay quiet, stay down. Don’t move. 

Your body obeys, used to listening to that voice in your head, but now your mind is fractured. Pulled in two different directions: what it knows, and what it’s been told. Similar, but opposite. At least, that’s how you’re categorizing them. Suddenly the air feels vile, the floor supporting you now trying to swallow you whole. Trap you. Again. You push yourself up onto your palms, wanting to get your face off of and away from the floor. Your legs itch to run. Get to the door. Get out. 

But the fear of him catching you is more than enough to keep you down. You’ve tried this before. Look where it got you last time… look where it has you now. 

He steps back from Seonghwa, giving him room to get closer to you. The belt lays below him like a snake, curling by his feet. Left without many options, hoping that the rest of the guys will get here sooner rather than later, he slowly picks up the belt. Slower still, he steps towards you, Yunho close behind. Seonghwa’s hands shake. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, voice hollow and void of any emotion.  

Yunho looks down at you as if he’s thinking about it, even though you and Seonghwa both know he made up his mind hours ago. He sighs, like he hates having to make him do this. Unexpectedly, he crouches down next to you. 

“Well, that depends on if she wants to be conscious or unconscious for what I do to her.” 

You exhale shakily, body trembling underneath the weight of his gaze. Surely what you did wasn’t so bad it would earn you such a harsh correction. And the fact that he is making you choose… oh, that frightens you to no end. He tilts his head to one side, waiting for you to make your choice. Unconsciousness seems like a blessing. A rare show of mercy from him. Whatever happens to you, at least you won’t be awake for it.

“U-un-unconscious,” You manage to stammer out, unable to look him in the eyes for longer than a second at a time. It dawns on you then that you’ll have to deal with however he chooses to get you unconscious… and the fear takes hold of you again. But he grabs Seonghwa by the shirt and pulls him forward, impatient. 

“Go on,” he says, glancing at the belt, and then back to you. You can almost see flames in his eyes. Meanwhile, you can clearly see the tears in Seonghwa’s. 

“I’m not–” Seonghwa chokes on his own voice, “just kill me, Yunho. Go ahead, just leave her alone.” 

Yunho’s anger flares again. When will they fucking learn to not try and dictate how to treat you or what to do with you? As if they know you better than he does. His hand grips the knife tighter, resisting the urge to grant Seonghwa’s wishes and sink it deep into his chest. Mingi’s arm be damned, that will truly send a big fucking message to the rest of the group. But he keeps control of himself, as much as he can. 

“Seonghwa, it’s okay,” you hear yourself murmur when he’s close enough to hear. You fully expect a hit for speaking without permission, but surprisingly, Yunho doesn’t do anything like that yet. Instead, he gathers familiar black rope from the nightstand and moves behind you to tie your wrists behind your back. He’s not gentle about it. 

Seonghwa’s hands shake uncontrollably as he kneels down in front of you, staring down at the belt in his hands. You make brief eye contact with him, just for a fleeting moment. 

You lower your voice, even quieter than before, “I’d rather it be you.”

He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, nodding once. His words from just minutes ago run through your already racing mind: ‘You’re gonna be okay, I promise.’ You wonder if this time, a promise made to you will be kept. It’s highly unlikely. 

Seonghwa fights to keep himself together, unable to look at you as he wraps the belt around your neck. Not moving as fast as Yunho would like, he feels the knife press up against the side of his throat as ‘motivation’. It only takes one more bark from Yunho to get him to actually do anything, hatred burning in his heart all the while. 

The buckle especially digs in the hardest, cold and unforgiving against your heated skin. Seonghwa’s breath hits your stinging cheek, and you wince, and again when the belt finally tightens, constricting your air from each side of your neck. Instinctually, your hands try to fly up to the leather, wanting to pry it off of you, but the ropes are unrelenting, restricting you completely. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, desperate for a full breath that you know you will not be getting any time soon. Yunho watches you both like a hawk the whole time, tapping the knife against the back of his hand as he waits.  

Eyes watering, you blink hard to try and restore your vision as it blurs and darkens. It’s not long before you slump back down to the floor, coughing and thrashing for air. Your legs kick, your back arches, your body tries its best to find air for you, an angle that can allow for breath, but finds none. A strangled cry escapes you, from the very depths of your chest. You can’t see Seonghwa above you anymore. The pressure in your face and head threatens to explode, temples feeling like they’re just about to burst from the tension. One more pathetic wheeze from you, and you fall limp. You stop struggling. 

Air is a luxury. 

Immediately, Seonghwa yanks the belt away, quickly checking for a pulse. When he finds one still hammering away, he sighs in something like relief. Your chest rises and falls slowly. An angry, deep red ring marrs your neck, cutting into the flushed skin. Internally, he sends you every apology he can, distraught that the others didn’t come before he had to do this to you. Where are they?  

Yunho hums as he gets up, nudging your cheek with his shoe to test for any reaction. Your mouth opens slightly. He pauses. Then he stomps on your chest, hard, to check if you’re faking it. You’re not. You don’t respond, but your breathing becomes shorter, more labored. He looks away quickly, blinding himself from how he hurt you, and instead focusing all of his attention back on Seonghwa. He rolls his eyes at his obviously distressed expression, how he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes from you now, in case you stop breathing for good. 

“How do you feel, Hwa?” Yunho asks, tilting his head to the side. “Feel like you’re one step ahead of me, still?” 

Seonghwa seethes at the question, hands still shaking. The belt, now laying lifeless on the floor next to you, taunts him relentlessly alongside its owner. 

Yunho smirks when he doesn’t get a reply, knowing the answer already, and sets about getting everything ready to leave and leave fast. Luckily, he’s practiced this. In case he ever needed to take you out of here at a moment’s notice, he had a system and plan in place. Of course he does. But first, he has to make sure the… anomaly in the room is taken care of. 

After more black rope is collected from the nightstand drawer, Yunho turns back to Seonghwa, who isn’t paying much attention to the fact that he is now Yunho’s main focus. No, he’s trapped in himself at the moment, the visual of your eyes looking up at him as the air was choked out of you is branding itself into his memory. Guilt and trauma swarm him, battering his mind from all sides until he almost cannot think of anything else. But what he does catch onto is the fact that… Yunho, though efficient and quick, isn’t acting like he’s about to get caught any second. He acts like he has time. And the more time that passes, the more Seonghwa fears what he could have done to ensure this amount of leisure. 

That familiar fear flashes through his mind, the image he’s created in horrific detail of the six others laying dead somewhere. Logically, because of the timing of Hongjoong’s text and when Yunho actually arrived at the apartment, he knows it can’t be true. The thought haunts him anyway. Yunho knows about their plan. He could’ve done anything to prevent them from carrying it out, or at least something to buy himself more time – and he probably doesn’t even have to be there to execute it. Still, he hopes that they’ll show up any second now. 

Especially when he sweeps Yunho’s legs out of nowhere, causing him to crash down a little too close to where you lay. 

Seonghwa scrambles to his feet, intent on getting the gun again, but as quickly as he was brought down, Yunho is up and grabbing Seonghwa by the shirt. Seonghwa still tries to fight him off, not making it too easy for him anymore. It’s a match he knows he will not win by himself, but at least he’ll be able to say he did something. He made a promise to you. To himself. 

Yunho is quick to react, as expected. Before he can blink, he pulls Seonghwa far back from the bag by the back of his shirt, the fabric digging into his throat. Seonghwa shouts once, twisting awkwardly to escape as well as stop the uncomfortable pressure just under his jaw, and stumbles backwards. 

Yunho then grabs him by the throat and slams him up against the wall. Twice. 

The back of his head hits hard each time, creating a good sized dent in the drywall. The sound echoes throughout the room, vibrating up through the very foundations of the apartment. A crack in the wall explodes upwards and outwards like a bolt of lightning splitting a tree. Seonghwa’s hands go slack on Yunho’s wrists after the first hit. The second hit, they jump off to protect the back of his head from a potential third. Once was enough. Twice is more than necessary. 

Though to Yunho, it is entirely justifiable. One for his behavior that night in the living room, and another for trying to take you away from him. Oh yes, he keeps track of every grudge, and he’s patient when it comes to carrying out his revenge. He’s been waiting for a chance to get Seonghwa in here, to reciprocate. To get the last word in an old argument.   

Ears ringing and head pounding, Seonghwa’s vision blurs instantly. His body is light and heavy at the same time, and he knows his eyes have gone half-lidded. Second by second, it’s harder for him to stand or even think. His very skull seems to vibrate. There’s a metallic taste in his mouth and a sharp pain to accompany it somewhere on his lip. He must’ve nicked it. His ear feels warm, like when you finally get water out of it. The scariest thing is that his whole body suddenly goes quite cold. Perhaps from shock. 

“Move one fucking inch, and I’ll cut your throat.” Yunho snarls, mere inches from his face. The threat is all too real. 

Grappling with the hand around his throat, the dizziness intensifies the more he tries to fight Yunho off. But Yunho just waits for the fight to die out on its own… if he can even call it that. Seonghwa merely paws at his hand, a featherlight touch. Yunho knows how hard he hit his head. He knows he doesn’t have to do much to get him to back down again. Nevertheless, he glances at his watch as he holds him up. He’s bought himself time, but not that much. The others will surely be on their way here now. 

The buzzing in his ears grows, and Seonghwa slumps to the floor once Yunho releases him, desperate to make the room stop spinning. His arms cover his head to prevent anything else from coming close to it, as well as to try and stabilize himself. He can barely hear himself making pained noises as the throbbing grows. Every vibration from his vocal chords just travels up to his temples, pummeling through his skull. He has a concussion for sure. Slowly, he lowers himself further, laying on his side to try and stop the fogginess he’s experiencing, easing the pressure of keeping his head upright. It’s hard to tell if he’s blacking out or if Yunho is turning off the tealights one by one. Maybe both.  

The suitcase is then pulled out from underneath his bed, and he retrieves a rag from one of the zippered compartments, as well as an amber colored bottle, sealed tight. You won’t stay unconscious for long, so it’s necessary. He douses the rag and unceremoniously presses it against your face for a little more than ten seconds. Now you really won’t wake up. Seonghwa can only watch, just barely making out his shadow in the dark. From the bed, he can hear his phone blowing up. It vibrates every two seconds, no doubt from frantic texts and calls from the others. He closes his eyes. Even the dark spins around him. The dizziness ramps up again as he’s moved to lay on his stomach, and he groans into the carpet. He registers how his wrists are tied behind his back, similar to yours, and then he’s pulled up again. A strong wave of nausea rolls through him and it takes everything in him to keep everything in. His body protests loudly at being upright, and the ringing in his ears comes back even louder than before. There’s a loud ripping sound followed by a soft snip, and then pressure against his mouth. It sticks to his skin, and he understands what it is. What remains unclear to him is how much time has passed, he doesn’t even remember Yunho going to get duct tape at all. 

When did he get that? He wonders. Did he have it on him? Oh… probably.  

Something else is placed over his nose and mouth, looping around his ears. It’s softer, breathable. It rubs up against his cheekbones and the thin skin right under his eyes. He manages to open his eyes just enough to look down to see what it is. 

A mask. A clandestine muzzle hiding the real horror beneath. Silenced.  

Before he can begin to wonder why he needs one, he is pulled up to his feet. Once more, the room spins, even faster this time and his head feels like it weighs one hundred pounds. As Seonghwa tries to pull himself together, supporting himself by pressing his back against the wall, the next time he looks over towards where you are laying, he only finds carpet. The suitcase is closed. Only an inch or two between zippers to allow some air to circulate into the luggage. Yunho flits about the room in a practiced way. He knows what to do next, the levels of importance of each action, and he carries everything out with precision. Seonghwa opens his eyes again when he hears a sickening crack, catching Yunho breaking his laptop in half over his knee and shoving each piece into Seonghwa’s backpack. The knife he keeps close at hand at all times. Finally, the next instructions from Yunho. Seonghwa feels him place something in one of his tied up hands. A handle of some sort. He hears Yunho talking to him, but everything is muffled, like he’s underwater. There’s a light shove to his shoulder and he takes a step forward. Every step makes him want to collapse and black out, but Yunho has a tight grip on his shirt, pulling him along. When he hears the click of the front door, he understands. 

He’s taking us out. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hongjoong had barely finished his sentence before Mingi was out the door, so close to forgetting to grab his keys on the way out. He could hear them scrambling behind him, shouting at him to wait for them, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t, more so. 

“Mingi!” San shouts after him, five pairs of footsteps pounding through the dorm and into the hallway after him, “Wait!” 

He doesn’t bother waiting around for the elevator, shoving the heavy door at the end of the hall open and flying down the stairs. He knows how much danger you and Seonghwa are in. He knows all too well. He has to get to you two now. That’s all he’s thinking of, even when just mere minutes ago he was taking himself off of the rescue crew entirely. Now, he’s voluntarily on the front lines. 

When he finally gets to the bottom level, throwing open the door that leads into the parking garage, he beelines right to their shared car – only to find the tires slashed. Hongjoong’s car is no different. The rest of the boys nearly run over each other, standing behind Mingi as he tries to process what he’s seeing. It all but confirms their worst fear.

Yunho was here. 

Like taking a picture and only seeing the unsettling figure behind you when you look at it later, they somehow missed his wrath here. But only by so much. The distance between them is no longer somewhat comforting, it is now too close to home. Abruptly so as well. 

And not a moment later, red and blue lights flash in alternative succession, rounding the corner and pulling up right in front of them. The loud whooping sound of the siren deafens them, echoing around the garage. 

If they were pale before, they’re practically the same shade as the snow outside now. They turn into the complete opposite of how they were acting before: stunned into stillness, silent and mortified. 

Is it really going to end like this? 

The sedan crawls to a stop, lights still on. All six of them wait for more to show up. They can’t possibly be taking them all inside one police car. Mingi takes one step back, agitated and cornered. Yeosang grabs the back of Jongho’s sweatshirt. Wooyoung is convinced a puff of wind could easily cause him to collapse, so he stands closer to San. Hongjoong steels himself as the car engine is cut and the silence and the smell of tires and gasoline wafts through the air. 

Two officers step out of the vehicle, closing their doors and walking at a normal if not slow pace towards the group. One of their radios chirps, and a muffled, loud voice within it relays a code that he doesn’t respond to. 

“Hello,” one greets them with a slight bow, surprising the group even more. The officer hesitates before continuing, noting their noticeably shocked expressions as odd. “I’m Officer Shin, this is Officer Nam. We got a call that someone slashed your tires. Are these the vehicles?” 

Hongjoong doesn’t understand a word that the officer says at first. It doesn’t process. None of it is what he was expecting to hear. He follows the direction of where the officer is pointing, expecting it to be on one of the members. But it’s not. He’s clearly gesturing towards the two cars. It still doesn’t make sense. 

Evidently, everyone seems to be in the same boat in terms of confusion. 

“What?” Wooyoung asks, his disbelief making itself known. 

“I– we–” San tries to speak, but gives up halfway, looking to Hongjoong. They don’t even need to make eye contact with each other to know which question they all want to ask. 

Do we tell them now? 

Mingi seems to answer before the rest of them can. 

“Yeah, but it’s okay. We don’t want to file charges, it’s okay.” He does a bad job of hiding how urgently he wants to get out of here. 

Officer Nam raises an eyebrow at his tone, but says nothing yet. Instead, he moves closer to the cars to inspect the damage done. One stab to all four tires on both vehicles, with a large, sharp weapon of some kind. Each cut is almost surgical in their precision, in the same exact place on all eight. Like they had to be.  

Officer Shin is understandably perplexed. “You–? These tires have been obviously slashed, are you sure you don’t–” 

“We’re sure,” Jongho cuts in, glancing at Mingi and Hongjoong from the corner of his eye. “It’s fine.” 

“Do you know who did this?” Officer Nam puts the pieces together, turning towards the group. 

Now here’s a test for honesty. 

Yes, they do fucking know. In fact, they don’t even need to see video evidence to know with one-hundred percent certainty who did this, and who called the police to ensure that they would be delayed and not be able to get to the apartment in time. It’s rather debilitating. Actually, incredibly debilitating. Gutting that they continue to be three steps behind him always. 

But if they say yes, they’ll have to explain. And they just do not have the time to. Informing the police was always the plan, and Yunho has thrown that right in their faces. I got them for you, go ahead. He’s giving them an ultimatum. Tell them now, watch them go by the book and take their time step by step while you and Seonghwa are in immediate danger. The type that will not wait for them.  

They want the police involved? Well, here they are.  

There’s a painful stab in Mingi’s chest that won’t go away the longer they idle around. And it’s about ready to burst if he doesn’t get out of here in the next two seconds. He inches further away. 

“Can we just come by the station later?” Jongho says with a little too much force behind it, his exasperation managing to break through. 

The two policemen look at each other. 

“Are you guys too busy or something?” Officer Nam questions, specifically looking towards Mingi now. 

Both Jongho and Mingi open their mouths to say something, but Hongjoong beats them to it. 

“I’ll stay,” he says. The accompanying look he gives the rest of the group tells them outright that they better not waste time arguing with him on this. It’ll only waste time they can’t afford to lose.  “I’ll handle it. You guys go.” 

Mingi meets Hongjoong’s gaze, an unspoken thankfulness for his volunteering in his eyes that he hopes comes across clearly. 

Then San speaks up, tearing his gaze from the slashed tires. He feels rather uneasy about anybody being left by themselves when they don’t know where exactly Yunho is, or what his plans are. They all have to stay together. Someone has to stay with Hongjoong. 

“I’ll stay too.” He says, avoiding looking at Wooyoung. Between Yeosang, Mingi, and Jongho, San knows he’ll be safe. “We’ll be there soon.”  

Hongjoong doesn’t question his decision, but can’t hide the initial combination of surprise and confusion on his face. 

When no one moves yet, Hongjoong raises his voice louder than they’ve heard him in the past few months. “Go!” 

No sooner had the word left Hongjoong’s lips than the four of them finally took off in a sprint. The echo chases them out onto the streets, disappearing into the wind. 

If they can’t drive, they’ll run.

Thankfully, no one is out at this hour, so they don’t have to weave through any crowds of people. What they do have to worry about is the ice and snow on the ground. Even then, they run like it's spring. Their feet pound over the covered pavement, only slowing slightly to turn corners. The wind at their backs only carries them further. Faster. The only obstacle is distance. 

They can only hope that Yunho has become too confident, too sure in himself that he chooses to take his time going to the apartment. But Mingi knows him best. You are Yunho’s first priority, his main responsibility and prize. He will do anything to prevent you from being taken from him. Even if it means ultimately killing you.

Wooyoung and Jongho follow the others deep into the city, not as familiar with the route as the rest of them. But they’ve been down these streets before, they recognize the stores and street names that lead the way towards this apartment they have only ever heard about before. Jongho stops caring if his sweatshirt hood stays on his head as they fly over a crosswalk, it’s a losing battle, one he doesn’t care enough to keep up with. Wooyoung nearly knocks into him as he slips on ice, momentarily losing his footing and side-stepping into the snow.    

“Come on!” Yeosang shouts over the wind, grabbing Wooyoung’s hand to help him keep up. 

Mingi only runs faster once the tall, familiar building comes into view, just down the street. One more block. The others pick up speed as well. Their feet barely touch the ground. One more crosswalk. 

He hears Jongho yelling his name just in time to become more aware of his surroundings, a hand yanking him back from the road as a large black car speeds past, only two feet from Mingi. A few of them grumble at the reckless driver, muttering under their uneven breaths as they resume their race down the street – this time, checking for potential cars.   

Soon enough, they file into the lobby. The warm air of the building’s interior stings their skin as their bodies adjust to the sudden change in temperature. They make wary glances over towards the receptionist, but she pays them no mind, only glancing up once in well-suppressed confusion at their presence here at such an hour before letting it go, and going back to whatever she is watching on her tablet. Probably just a late-night party or something, she figures. Not exactly accurate.  

Once they reach the elevator, Mingi hesitates. Only now does he stop to think, to consider everything that may happen. How you may react to seeing him again since that day. Facing Yunho again. 

Yeosang surges forward and presses the button to call the elevator down, giving him a weird look. Why, of all times and places, would he hesitate here? 

The elevator takes about four hundred years to lower down to the lobby level, but boasts its emptiness upon arrival. Once all four pile into the elevator car and the doors close, now the dread kicks in. The claustrophobia, as well as rising towards something they may not be ready for all hit at once in the silence. In here, they can do nothing but wait after almost ten minutes of steady adrenaline. Yeosang’s eyes never leave the little screen that shows which floors they are passing, the numbers increasing rapidly. The higher they rise up, the lower their hearts sink. 

An automated voice announcing ‘Floor 20’ nearly makes them all jump out of their skin. 

Last to go in, Wooyoung and Jongho step out first, but hang back, not knowing which way to go. The group follows Mingi, no longer at a run now that the door is in view. He can’t tell if it is a good sign or a bad sign that he can’t hear anything coming from the apartment. He’s learned his lesson about cautious optimism before. There is scarcely any room for it here. 

Now, not four feet from the door, he stops again, looking the Ring camera dead in the eye. It has probably already alerted Yunho of their movement. Evidently thinking the same thing, Yeosang turns around for a couple seconds, literally watching their backs for an attack from behind. 

“Min?” Wooyoung asks, anxious to continue. He and Jongho exchange a look. 

Mingi shifts his weight, the very door mocking him, daring him to open it and see what fate lies beyond it. However, contrary to what the rest of the boys think, he’s not afraid to go in. He’s afraid of what may happen to them, if Yunho is in there. Suddenly, he feels how Hongjoong must have felt about sending them on without him. He’s probably worrying himself out of his mind right now. 

Mingi turns to face them. 

“I think only me and Yeosang should go in.” 

Immediately, the quiet uproar. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Quips Jongho, hands balling into fists. “This shit again?” 

“But Hongjoong said–” Wooyoung protests. 

Frustrated that he can’t quickly or articulately put into words why he’s telling them to do this, Mingi snaps, “I know what Hongjoong said! But now I’m telling you: stay out here for now.”   

“No, he’s right,” Yeosang says. “Just for this part. If she’s still in there, it’s better if she recognizes the people taking her out. If everything is clear, we’ll call you in. It has to be this way.”  

The two of them simmer. It’s so hard to argue with Yeosang because they know he only says what is worth saying in serious situations. Additionally, they have to remember it’s not just Yunho and Seonghwa, but also you they have to take into consideration. They don’t know you at all apart from what they’ve heard from the others, and what they’ve unknowingly seen in the group chat. If Yeosang agrees that this is the best way to handle it by just the two of them entering first, then so be it. 

“Fine. But you tell us the second you think something is off.” Jongho relents, his tone quiet but firm.  

Mingi and Yeosang nod before turning back to the door. 

“Still have the key?” Mingi whispers, prompting Yeosang to dig in his pocket. 

“Right here,” Yeosang whispers back, showing him before taking a step closer to the door. He too looks right into the Ring camera for a split second before averting his gaze. If Yunho wasn’t alerted now, he definitely is about to be once the door opens. 

He knocks in four – the same rhythmic pattern they agreed upon a week earlier. 

Only their breaths fill the hallway, still cooling down from their sprint. Besides that, the entire building seems to go silent. Yeosang’s hand shakes as the key slots into place easily, and he holds his breath when it turns, the lock clicking quietly. Mingi catches the door as he initially opens it, going in first, Yeosang following close behind. Wooyoung cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of a place he and Jongho have only heard of, only seeing it in their nightmares. Jongho keeps his eye on the hallway behind them, waiting. 

The eerie pitch dark of the apartment swallows both men whole as they step into it, prompting Yeosang to take his phone out to switch on the flashlight feature. The interior becomes even more creepy and ghostlike like this. Shadows play tricks on them as they move further inside. 

Even now, there’s nothing. No clear sign of life whatsoever, but they check anyway. Mingi switches on the hallway light – there’s no harm in doing so. If Yunho is in fact in here, he knows they’re inside already anyway. Yeosang relaxes a little bit with the aid of the overhead light, pocketing his phone alongside the key. 

The door to the bedroom is closed. 

Mingi’s throat tightens. 

“Seonghwa?” Yeosang whispers, daring to softly knock on the door as he opens it as slow as possible so he doesn’t potentially frighten you if you’re in there. “It’s us.” 

The light from the hallway floods the room, casting a spotlight on a chaotic scene. Rumpled bedsheets, faint dirty shoeprints, discoloration on the carpet near the bed, nightstand drawer pulled open, closet door left open as well, Yunho’s belt discarded on the floor. And above all else, more importantly, no sign of you or Seonghwa. 

Mingi’s mouth dries instantly, desperately looking around on the extremely low chance he just missed both of you somehow. He pushes the bathroom door open only to find the same result. Nobody there. Just the map of shoeprints, walking in and out of each room. 

“Bring them in,” he instructs Yeosang, who quickly jogs back to the front door. 

Standing in the middle of the chaos, he reaches over to turn the lamp on. When he hears the group enter through the front door, he turns to call out to them, but something catches his eye before it can be said. For a moment, he wonders if it’s just his eyes adapting. Another shadowy trick of the light, perhaps. But he moves closer, and it doesn’t fade away or turn into anything else other than what it is. 

A large dent in the wall. Almost eye level to him. Small, dark red traces paint the very center of the cracked drywall. His eyes trail downward to the floor, a few drops of blood spotting the carpet, mainly staying in this one area. If he didn’t feel sick before, he definitely does now. That small crater is about Seonghwa’s height. 

“God dammit…” he mutters under his breath, his body beginning to shake. 

Yeosang hurries back into the bedroom, hesitating in the doorway once he sees Mingi. He calls his name, but gets no response. 

They can both hear Wooyoung talking to Jongho in the living room. “I don’t–” he breathes, “I don’t get it, his location says he’s here.” 

Below them, a police car howls into the night, speeding away from their location, a firetruck following suit. Yeosang must have seen the indentation in the wall as well because Mingi hears him gasp and swear loudly upon first glance. Yeosang backs up once he sees the blood and his hands fly up to either side of his head, careful not to touch anything. He shouts for the others to do the same, to just stay where they are and to not move, use, or touch anything. In fact, it’s best if they don’t even breathe in here. The whole place is a crime scene. 

A low buzzing sound draws both of their attention towards the bed. 

Wooyoung enters the bedroom, inching past Yeosang in the doorway, staring quizzically at his phone before showing it to him. He’s calling Seonghwa. 

Mingi reaches over, moving the bed sheets around until the vibrations become clearer, revealing Seonghwa’s phone hidden under a pillow. This, and the blood, confirms it. Yunho took both of them. 

Mingi snaps all at once. 

“God dammit!” He yells, throwing the phone back onto the pillow with such force that it just bounces right off, onto the floor below. “Fuck!” 

Yeosang tries to calm him down, but he knows it's like being assigned the task of trying to calm a grizzly bear. Jongho hurries down the hallway to see what happened to warrant such a reaction. Once he steps foot into the room, his eyes take in everything. This is the room he’s heard about the most – and has actually seen, as well, although he wasn't aware at the time. 

It’s rare for any of them to see Mingi break down, especially at this level. He sits on the edge of the bed, trying to breathe normally, head in his hands with Yeosang right by his side, trying his best to be his usual helpful and caring self when he too is terrified at what this could mean. 

They’re too late. Despite their best efforts, they continue to fail. And they fail not just themselves, but you and Seonghwa as well. If they had left just a minute earlier, maybe they could’ve intercepted Yunho. It’s a long shot, but all Mingi can think about are the dozens of scenarios that could have played out had one thing been done differently. If he was smarter, he would’ve thought to check for a fucking bug on his phone. Or San’s. He should’ve known to look, to be overly cautious. But he can’t change the past. What’s done is done. 

Wooyoung and Jongho all react similarly to Yeosang once they see the large depression in the wall. The blood, particularly. Jongho tightens his jaw, determined to not let his emotions get in the way of what needs to be done next, whatever that may be. Wooyoung holds himself in a self-hug. 

“Th– the blood is still fresh,” he says to no one in particular, just stating a fact in hopes that someone will listen to him. “This must’ve only happened recently. Wherever they’re going, we won’t be too far behind.” 

Yeosang looks over at him, and then the darkening red dots that stain the carpet before turning back to Mingi, placing his hand on his back and leaning down to speak to him quietly. 

“Min,” he says, “you know Yunho better than any of us. Where would he take them?” 

It’s not like he has to think about it too hard. He knows exactly where Yunho would take the two of you. That’s the problem. He knows this routine, he’s ran it before. Once they get there, everything happens quickly. Mere minutes could be the difference between saving you and Seonghwa, and… 

Mingi clears his throat, interrupting the thought before it can finish. He straightens, lowering his hands to his lap.   

“I know where they’re going,” he says, keeping his eyes down. The boys all exchange glances, waiting for more. “But we need a car to get there.” 

“Shit…” Wooyoung hisses, scrambling to pull his phone out of his pocket to call Hongjoong. With all eyes on him, he feels the pressure rising. With a tap, he puts the call on speaker so they can all hear.  

The call rings just once before Hongjoong picks up. Wooyoung doesn’t even let him say ‘hello’ before speaking. 

“Hyung? Can you ask San to go to the company and take one of the vans here? Do you need the address again?” Wooyoung looks up at Mingi to confirm that he’ll text Hongjoong the address before refocusing back on the call. 

On the other line, Hongjoong has already taken off running before he finishes the last question. 

“Yeah, send it,” he pants, the cold wind making it harder to breathe, going against it. “We’ll be there soon.” 

The word choice is not lost on Wooyoung. 

“‘We’?” He clarifies, hoping he heard him correctly. Yeosang perks up. 

“Yeah, we got out of it, like, two minutes ago. Don’t worry about it. Is everyone okay?” 

Wooyoung looks around at the others, mouth open to reply but stops short when his eye catches on the dent in the wall again. He swallows hard. He hasn’t thought about how Hongjoong will react to the fact that Seonghwa is both injured and gone. 

He stammers a little before clearing his throat.   

“Hyung…” Wooyoung trails off. 

Yeosang stands up, taking the phone from him. They can all hear Hongjoong trying to get an answer from them, evidently slowing down. In the background, they hear San’s voice, distant and muffled, calling for him to keep running. 

“Hyung, they're both gone.” 

Wooyoung winces at the blunt delivery of the news. Even Jongho inhales sharply through his teeth, whispering frantically to him to say it another way. Mingi stiffens, awaiting the response.  

“W-who– what do you mean?” Hongjoong’s voice crackles through the speaker.

“There’s… there’s no one in the apartment. He took Seonghwa too.” 

There’s a longer pause this time, San’s voice intermittently interrupting the silence as Hongjoong processes what he’s just been told. He sniffs and clears his throat. 

“We’ll be there in ten.” 

The call ends there, Hongjoong hanging up first. Cautious relief eases the tension in Wooyoung’s shoulders, knowing that at least they’re safe and on their way. However, now the four of them just have to… wait here. 

Jongho stays near the door, not exactly keen on venturing any further into this room. Every so often he looks down the hallway, towards the front door, just to make sure that it’s still closed and locked, as they had left it after entering. 

Yeosang hands Mingi the phone to text the address after he checks it for the time. Almost five minutes after three. Wired, he gets up with no specific directive in mind. He just needs to pace, do something to put all this pent up energy. He goes into the bathroom, checking to see if they missed anything important in there, but finds nothing. Only a strong chemical scent near the sink where a rag has been unceremoniously tossed into. He leans forward to see if that’s where the smell is coming from before recoiling immediately upon verification. Yep. That’s it. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” he mutters, rubbing his nose like that will help get the scent out of it quicker. Definitely something chemical, which would explain the odd discoloration in the carpet if some of it had gotten onto the floor. But what it is exactly, he isn’t sure. 

Keeping that in the back of his mind, he reenters the bedroom again, just in time to see Wooyoung about to pick something up off of the floor. 

“Hey, don’t touch anything,” Jongho warns. 

Wooyoung’s hand snaps back to his side. “Min,” he calls, “do you know what this is?” 

Mingi stands, walking around the bed over to where Wooyoung is.   

Ah. 

Yes, he does. 

“Oh,” he falters slightly, “that’s uh– her journal.” 

“Definitely don’t touch it.” Jongho says, watching the front door again. 

Yeosang rubs the back of his neck, nose still burning slightly. He checks the time again. Time seems to be going at supersonic speed, while simultaneously dragging out every single second as much as it can. Only two – now, three – minutes have passed since he last checked. He wonders how long it will take Hongjoong and San to get here. Mingi is probably wondering the same thing. 

Wooyoung straightens up, his eyes stay locked on the journal. It’s splayed face down on the floor, partially hidden by the duvet. The damn thing seems to have some sort of magnetic pull surrounding it. Or maybe it’s just curiosity, the chance to know more about this girl he knows barely anything about, to be on the same page as everyone else. He’s tired of not knowing.   

But Mingi picks it up, the pages fluttering in the air. 

“Min–” Jongho starts, about to go off on him for touching it when he just said they shouldn’t. 

Mingi just waves him off, “My fingerprints are already all over the apartment.” 

The three other men look at each other, but choose to say nothing about it. It’s not like they didn’t know, but hearing it said so bluntly is rather disquieting. It shocks them back into reality. The reality that tomorrow morning, all of them will be answering dozens, hundreds of questions in separate rooms with their lawyers, and they’ll never be able to be a group again. Yeosang touches where his ring used to be. It’s strange to feel nothing there.  

Mingi places the journal down on the bed, his hand lingering a little too long. 

He wonders if you found the note. 

He hid it again after he found it underneath the couch. Yunho would’ve definitely found it there had he searched the living room a little too closely. That’s why Mingi volunteered to do the living room. Knowing you were next, he hid it in hopes that you would find it, and try to get out. He would’ve helped you. That was honest. 

Or maybe just wishful thinking. Maybe he would’ve only thought of helping you, but ultimately decided to stay by Yunho. Continue to be his little aid. It’s hard to tell what he would’ve done if it had come down to it… but he likes to think he would’ve been stronger than he has been in the past. There’s really no telling. Maybe, if you’re saved tonight, that will prove something. 

Maybe.    

The minutes drag and carry new scenarios with them, all insinuating what will happen if they’re too late. Even without a car, Mingi feels like he can sprint all the way out there no problem. There’s certainly enough adrenaline in his system to do so. He knows the fastest way to get to you and Seonghwa, though, is to wait for the van, but it’s like a new form of torture to hurry up and wait. All of them are getting close to bouncing off the walls, besides Yeosang, who somehow manages to consistently keep his cool. Mingi often wonders how the hell he’s able to do that, and especially now. 

But if he really lets himself think about it, he’ll know the answer: because he has to. 

In a room full of chaos, there has to be someone who can regulate everyone else and be thinking clearly. If it has to be Yeosang, he’ll take up the responsibility quietly and efficiently. That’s just how he is. It’s why most of the members have always gone to him or Seonghwa when stressed, they know they’ll leave their company feeling better than they did initially, set on the right path, whatever it may look like. 

Even if Mingi can see the stress weaving itself through Yeosang’s features, he’ll never truly let it show. It’ll never be obvious. 

A shrill ring startles all four men before they each realize what it is – Wooyoung’s phone ringing again. He holds it up to his ear and mutters a greeting, pausing as whoever is on the other line speaks to him. Mingi steps closer to him, something rising up his spine, ready to act within a moment’s notice. 

Quickest phone call ever, Wooyoung hangs up hastily before looking up at the others. 

“They’re here!” He announces, already starting to book it out of the room, bumping into Jongho on his way out. 

The energy bursts once again, all four of them scrambling towards the front door. Mingi and Wooyoung run straight to the elevator, calling it back up to this floor, while Jongho hangs back with Yeosang, waiting for him to lock the door again. Just as they rejoin the other two, the elevator arrives with a cheerful ding! They pile in, and down they go again. 

The farther down the elevator takes them, the more Jongho realizes how less tense he’s becoming. He didn’t think being in the apartment would affect him this much, but here’s the proof. He doesn’t even realize that his hands had been balled into fists the entire time they were in there. His joints ache something terrible as he opens them back up again. In front of him, Wooyoung exhales a big puff of air, shaking a similar feeling off as well.    

Another ding! and they’re at ground level once more. They can’t get away fast enough, running back out onto the streets like they’re being chased. This time, the front desk attendant does watch them for longer. Her eyes trace their hurried path from the moment the elevator doors opened, all the way to the lobby door. She sees the frightened looks as they pass by, and how quickly they look away when they notice she’s watching them. She jots down the time, making a note of the suspicious behavior and debates checking the CCTV cameras around the building. This could all just be paranoia; working the overnight shift anywhere as a woman, you’re bound to run into odd situations such as this, but there’s something about it that doesn’t sit right. 

A group of guys sprinting like their lives depend on it in and out of the lobby at three in the morning is hardly ever for a good reason. 

She shakes her head, going back to watching the drama on her tablet. If working the night shift has taught her anything, it’s to not get involved. 

Outside, the group rushes to the familiar black van parked right in front of the building, engine humming, ready to race to wherever you and Seonghwa are. Mingi knocks on the driver window, and steps back when the door opens. 

“Hyung, let me drive,” he says, not even hiding his impatience. 

Hongjoong nods, unbuckling quickly and hopping out, moving to stand next to Yeosang, who awaits his turn to pile into the car. He almost jumps a mile when he feels Yeosang touch his shoulder. 

“You okay?” 

He shakes his head, honest. “It doesn’t matter if I am.” 

And with that, he climbs into the van, Yeosang following right after. The door barely closes before they’re speeding off, most likely breaking several traffic laws to get out of the city. Multiple times, San almost yells at him to ‘slow down’, but he keeps his mouth shut. They can’t afford to lose any more time than they already have, and San doesn’t think that saying that to Mingi will do any good anyways. 

Darkened buildings turn into highways and then into trees. Seoul falls away behind them, the lights of an alive city diminishing in the rearview mirror, plunging the interior of the car into the thick, black night. The only light comes from occasional oncoming cars in the lane next to them, and the center display of the car. If they all weren’t so wired, they could probably fall asleep right now. Only Mingi knows how far of a drive it is, not really needing the GPS until they get off the highway. 

No one speaks. 

What can they say to ignore the violent imagery that haunts them all, fearing what they’ll roll up to upon arrival. Again, only Mingi knows the extent, the details, of what it will look like for sure if they’re too late. Seonghwa is a wild card, though. This hasn’t happened before, and Mingi has no idea what Yunho will do with him. But the fact that he is not one hundred percent sure that Yunho won’t kill him, doesn’t make him rest easy whatsoever.  

Nearing almost ninety miles per hour, flying down the empty highway, he tries to prepare himself for any outcome, any end. Only one side will survive the night. It is all or nothing. And he has to come to terms that no matter who succeeds, he is losing Yunho one way or another. 

And you, well… he never had you to lose in the first place, did he? 

But his mind keeps conjuring images of what may happen to you tonight. He absolutely hates to hope for this, but if Yunho does decide to kill you, he hopes he shoots you. He hopes you go quickly, if you have to. The alternative, he cannot bear to picture for too long. The memory of Haneul torments him, breathing in and choking on dirt as he shoveled more on top of her, still alive. 

He pushes the gas pedal down, accelerating a bit more. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You can’t breathe. 

Everything feels heavy, and the freezing air weighs you down as well. Your hands try to press against whatever you’re laying on, but only strain against the rope that binds them together. Your face burns again, and your eyes somehow feel sore. Every muscle in your face and neck is tender, aching with every miniscule movement. There’s a sharp, bruising pain in the center of your chest as well as your back, and a headache that makes you wish you were dead. Something snaps underneath you and for a minute you wonder if you just broke a bone somehow, but feel no additional pain. Fighting through the ache to open your eyes, you can’t see too much anyway – only shadows and blurry shapes. Nothing definite. 

But you can hear. 

Something repeatedly strikes the ground close enough to you that you can feel the vibrations of it. A groan only gets halfway out, the pain in your throat too much to bear. Muffled, distant voices like two people talking in another room confuse you on where the sound is coming from. 

You just want to go back to sleep, blissfully ignorant to what is happening around you, and numb to the pain. 

That’s when the wind hits you. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as a chill shudders through your body, freezing you to the very core. Once you begin to shake, you can’t stop. The cold gnaws at every inch of your body, unavoidable and impossible to ignore. Your hands are almost numb, a sharp pain in each of your fingertips that makes you ball them up into fists to restore some warmth in them. It doesn’t help much. Every joint feels rusted, unable to move without difficulty. You try to open your eyes again, feeling the wind slice across your cheek. 

Overhead, the clouded night sky loosens its grip, allowing the black to shift into a deep indigo. The trees reach high above, quietly waiting for the sunlight to return. Billions of tiny crystal flakes float down around you, dotting your frozen hair, covering your body like a secret. A secret the forest knows to keep. It knows Yunho well by now, the routine is always the same. The frozen ground gives the shovel no hindrance, ready to conceal another one of you. 

Against the all-encompassing pain, you manage to lift your head up, blinking away the snow and the blurriness. 

And you know exactly where you are. 

Even though the ground is covered, the clearing in the forest is all too familiar. The reality drowns you in waves, one harrowing memory after another, unrelenting. The scent of sap and bark wafts on the wind, invading your nose and mouth. Suddenly you feel held down, even though no one is near you. You can’t move, paralyzed by fear, trapped by the trauma of last time. One part of Mingi’s overheard admission crosses your mind: “I can’t believe you took her there… bringing her to the same place you put the others in.”  

Black, lumbering trees shield you from the moon’s watchful eye. Away from sight, far from any help. 

Help… Seonghwa. Where is Seonghwa? 

You turn slowly to the left, wincing from how much everything hurts. Your shoulder digs into the snow, rapidly soaking through the fabric of your thin sweater. That dull thudding sound next to you stops momentarily. A hissing voice is quick to reprimand, to make whatever it is continue. Snow crunches underfoot somewhere behind you, near your head. 

Through the dark and what little moonlight is allowed to filter down through the trees, you catch a glimpse of Seonghwa. You can’t really tell what he’s doing, nor can you see his face. What you think is just shadow is really the mask, working together with the duct tape hidden underneath to keep him quiet. From what you can see, only his shoulders and up, he’s shivering as well, breathing heavily but staying quiet. Occasionally, he sniffles, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the cold, or if it’s because he’s crying. 

Your head lolls to the side, the left side of your face stinging in the snow, but you ignore it as best as you can, only one goal in mind: get water. You mouth at the snow, shoulders tensing at the freezing temperature on your tongue and against your teeth, throat shrieking in protest at first before finally relaxing again, soothed by the melted snow. 

The moon shifts, its light breaking through the thicket, making it easier to see Seonghwa. You thought he was kneeling down or something, explaining why he was so low to the ground, but you realize that he’s in some sort of pit. A metallic sound strikes the earth and dirt lifts up and is tossed over his shoulder, trying his best to aim away from you. But the wind is less forgiving, blowing some of it into your face. You fight the urge to jerk away from the discomfort. 

He’s digging… why is he digging? Where is Yunho? 

You don’t stay curious for long. 

You sharply inhale when he makes eye contact, and he immediately tenses at the sight of you awake again. It’s clear he wants to say something, but he looks off to his right, somewhere behind you, and thinks twice about it. He glances at you one more time. 

“That’s enough,” Yunho says, too close for comfort. 

Seonghwa places the shovel down before wearily pushing himself up, which takes some effort. Yunho does nothing to help. He merely watches as Seonghwa struggles to get himself out of what he’s just dug. 

A hole in the earth that was waist-deep on him. The way he looked at you… you know what it is. 

Yunho’s promise to you in the forest races through your mind: ‘Next time, I’ll do it for real.’ Well, ‘next time’ has officially come. You’re here again… and you know you’re not leaving this forest alive.   

A useless scream builds and gets stuck in your throat. You know damn well that it won’t help you, it won’t change anything. It’s natural though, when you don’t feel ready to go just yet. Justified. But you allow tears to flow, keeping quiet, trying to come to terms with your fate. You don’t want to die. You can’t bear the weight of the gun pressed against the back of your head again – you’re sure that you will scream if you feel that again. Yunho’s done with you. He’s abandoning you. 

And he made Seonghwa dig your grave. 

If your eyesight wasn’t obstructed before, the tears make everything even more blurry. But you’re able to see Yunho pick up the shovel, tossing it far away so Seonghwa doesn’t get a stupid idea to try and fight him with it – even though Seonghwa is in no condition to try and fight anybody right now. He was barely able to dig. Now out of the grave, he sits in the snow across from you, the earth, from his viewpoint, spinning wildly. He grits his teeth and furrows his eyebrows as he raises a hand to his head, trying to ease the dizziness. He’s exhausted and frozen, not to mention utterly terrified. 

As far as he knows, this is a grave meant for two. 

Yunho stalks around the grave, assessing it. You and Seonghwa both watch him, waiting for his next move. 

The world holds its breath when he finally sighs. The kind that triggers a reaction, something to delay whatever it is he’s about to make Seonghwa do next. 

Muzzled still, his words are garbled and unintelligible under the tape and mask. Yunho rolls his eyes, clearly fed up, and you wonder if Seonghwa had tried to speak to him on the drive over here. You both tense as he walks over to Seonghwa, ripping the mask and tape off in one go. Seonghwa bites back a pained noise, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. 

“What do y–” Yunho begins to say.   

“Yun, don’t do this.” Seonghwa speaks before he can finish, his voice soft. It takes a lot of energy and effort to talk at all, add in the freezing temperatures and he’s already winded. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Yunho fires back, a hardened edge to his tone. His biggest pet peeve struck – someone telling him what to do, how to do something, or how to handle you. His fist clenches around the mask, crumpling it. “You’re done. Just sit there and look pretty. Isn’t that what you’re good at?” 

Seonghwa’s lips part, genuinely hurt by his words. 

“Don’t give me that fuckin’ look,” Yunho rolls his eyes again. “You think I want to be the bad guy?” 

“No, but I think you enjoy it.” Seonghwa hisses. 

Now it’s Yunho’s turn to be taken aback. He pauses, digesting Seonghwa’s retort. You whimper as another forceful wind cuts across your face, unable to breathe until it dies down. Both men hear you. 

Seonghwa continues while he has the opportunity to, making Yunho focus on him instead of you. He plays to his ego, his complex.  

“Yunho, you’ve already won. You knew what we were planning, you proved your superiority. You don’t have to kill her.” 

“No?” Yunho asks incredulously. 

You look up from the ground at the mention of you. The first thing you see is the gun in Yunho’s hand, glinting in what limited moonlight it catches on, and black rope on the ground by his feet. The knife is probably somewhere on his person. The gun taunts you like an old enemy. One you thought you had escaped before, only to be right back where it nearly destroyed you in the first place. A villain in and of itself, harboring unfinished business with you. Your skin crawls, a thousand knives pricking you all over your body.  

Now every slight lift or twitch of his hands could be your end. You watch him closer than ever before, eyes wide so as to not miss a single thing like a viper has been placed in front of you, and you’re waiting for it to strike.

Yunho doesn’t look at you at all. In fact he turns away from you completely so as not to be tempted to even glance in your direction, focusing solely on Seonghwa instead. Truthfully, you’re relieved… and devastated. 

But it’s like he can’t bear to see you like this. Hurting and cold in a heap behind him. Unwilling to accept his own rules and self-tailored morals just yet. If he doesn’t kill you, what does that say about him? About everything? It means he’s gone soft, easy on you. It’ll show you that you can bend his rules, know about a plan where the only goal is to take you away from him and not tell him about it for a whole month, misbehave, and there’ll be no consequences. 

He’s killed others for less. 

He looks deep into the grave that already has a thin blanket of snow beginning to cover the bottom of it. Deeper than the others. He’d made it this way, fresh off of the plane, making this the first place he came to after retrieving his car from the lot. A headstart, if you will, knowing that he’d be racing against the rest of the guys later. Two steps ahead. 

Arriving here later tonight, he decided that it wasn’t deep enough to hide you. Possessive even in death, he wants no one to be able to find you, even if he’ll never admit that that is why he had Seonghwa dig deeper than Mingi was ever made to. Two feet deeper. 

Still, he has to look away from it, knowing that’s where he has to put you soon. 

At least you’re making it easy for him – staying quiet, not begging him for your life. You hadn’t done that last time he brought you here either. You were good. 

Almost perfect. 

Yunho’s throat constricts, and he has to tilt his head back slightly to try and ease it. What the hell is wrong with him? 

Seonghwa sniffles again, trying to come up with anything to make him stay this execution. He doubles down on what he knows he wants: the fantasy. “Please, Yun,” he begs, “we’ll back down. We’ll do whatever you want.”

“Oh, now you want to listen to me,” Yunho sighs, cocking the gun. A zap of lightning shoots up your spine at the horribly familiar sound. “If you guys had just accepted it on day one, I wouldn’t have had to do all of this bullshit!” 

“Yun–” 

Click. “Shut the fuck up.” 

Seonghwa looks directly into the barrel of the gun, pointing right at his forehead. He lowers his head, sobs wracking through him. The mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion all catching up to him at once. The pressure in his head feels like it’s on the verge of imploding, and he has to catch himself on the ground as the world begins to spin again. 

Then, a voice. Meek and raspy, coming from behind Yunho. 

“Daddy…” 

He lowers the gun. Seonghwa fights to look up at you, squinting through the dark. 

Yunho slowly turns to you. He’s not entirely sure if he actually heard you or not. You’re still curled up, shivering only a few feet from the grave. Although he doesn’t pay much attention to this thought, he does hope you don’t say anything stupid. Anything that won’t make him have to bury you before you’re dead.  

Really, you have no big speech or any kind of plan in mind, you just wanted him to stop pointing the gun at Seonghwa. You don’t know what’s wrong with him, but it’s clear that he’s been injured in some way. Now, with both of their attentions on you, you realize you have to keep going. The trees listen in, and even the wind dies down. 

The floor is yours. 

You look up at him, using your legs and core to push yourself up out of the snow with much difficulty and pain. Even in the darkness you can see his lips part, and he takes a half-step towards you like he wants to help. But he holds himself back. 

“Daddy, you’re…” you cough even though it feels like lighting a fire in your throat and chest, “You’re right. M-Mingi told me about their plan to get me out, b-but I promise I didn’t know it w-was st-still happening. I’m-m sorry, Daddy.” 

Once you’re done talking, another violent shudder runs through you like the cold had waited until you were finished. This one lasts longer, pulling quiet whimpers from you again. You tuck your knees closer into your chest, but it doesn’t help too much. All you want to do is go to sleep. Temporarily or forever, you don’t care which one anymore. 

Yunho shifts his weight from one foot to another. He makes you wait. He makes Seonghwa wait, who appears to be getting worse and worse. But at least there’s no gun pointing at him now. 

The snow crunches underneath each step towards you. If you had any strength or smarts or will left in you, you’d probably try to move away, maintaining distance between you two at all costs. But you don’t. You stay still. Quiet. You keep yourself upright even though it’s killing you to do so. 

He crouches down next to you, at an angle so his back isn’t facing Seonghwa. He keeps you both in his sights at all times. However, there’s no real threat. Neither of you have the strength – nor the luck – to successfully overpower him whatsoever. You feel his hand on your cheek before you see it. It’s always been a calming weight, and this time is no different. You lean into his touch, for warmth if nothing else, and a new wave of frozen tears begin to fall. 

“You didn’t tell me,” he says, his voice tight from betrayal. “I had to find all of this out myself. Why should I ever trust you again?” 

“I j– I just didn’t w-want anyone t-to get hurt,” you mumble, shaking your head, daring to glance up towards Seonghwa. You see him swaying slightly, eyes not really focused anywhere in particular. You bite your lip. He needs a doctor sooner rather than later.  

Yunho chuckles, removing his hand from your cheek to run it down his face. 

“‘Didn’t want anyone to get hurt’,” he echoes your words, peering over his shoulder, glancing at Seonghwa before turning back to you as if to say, ‘it happened anyway’. 

Your bottom lip quivers, and you lower your head in shame.   

“Why do you always make me do this?” Yunho sighs, his hand coming back up to play with your hair. “One minute you’re so close to perfect, and then you force me to make you remember your place. You’re so fucking exhausting.” 

“Is that why you killed the others?” You hear yourself ask, eyes going wide with shock at your boldness in such a situation. If your hands were free, you would have clapped them over your mouth, stuffing the words back in. But he heard them. 

It makes Yunho’s eyebrows raise. He hasn't heard such an attitude or tone from you since February. Of all times to act out… this was the worst possible timing. His hand flexes around the grip of the gun.  

“They were all disappointments,” he grits, “much like how you’ve turned out to be.” 

Oh. 

A sharp pang of hurt strikes your heart. He ignores your rounded, teary eyes, keeping an air of disdain and nonchalance about him. Actually, he looks away entirely so that you are barely in his peripheral vision. Like he can’t stand the sight of you anymore. But you’re just his weakness, and he can’t afford to be weak right now. He can’t help but think that this would be so much easier if you tried to run, screamed at him, pissed him off. Something. Then, he could hate you with all of his heart. 

However… even then, he’s not entirely convinced that he would. So what can he do? He can make you hate him. 

“You’re nothing to me now.” He lies.  

The world inhales sharply. Every star, tree, leaf, snowflake, and twig waits for your reaction. 

The heartbreak on your face is unmistakable.

In a word, you shatter. Devastation pummels you from all sides, suffocates you as you sob. It pulls you back down to the ground, the snow burning your exposed skin once more. Luckily, this new wave of tears is hot and endless, and keeps your face somewhat warm. He stands up again, walking away from you. He doesn’t want to hear you cry. He doesn’t want you to give him a reason to not end your life quickly. But your broken voice follows after him, a raspy wailing that cuts through the wind. 

“All I ever tried to do was love you,” you sob, inhaling snow. 

That makes him stop. His grip around the gun falters slightly, and he almost looks back. He remembers your would-be last words the last time he took you here. You proved yourself to him that night. You proved that you really are different from the others… better. 

But you speak again. 

“Daddy, please,” you warble, unable to keep as quiet as he’d like you to be. 

He grits his teeth. Don’t beg, he pleads with you internally, please, don’t fucking beg me. 

The ruptured earth at his feet yawns, waiting to be refilled. 

“Please…” 

His hand tightens around the gun, finger moving to the trigger. Seonghwa coughs and wheezes, unaware of the rising danger you’re putting yourself in. He’s just hoping Yunho will listen to your pleas. He has no idea. Underneath the snow, he doesn’t see the manmade, uneven hills that depict where the others are.   

In your dismay, and in the darkness, you can’t see how Yunho is starting to shake. Literally vibrating with frustration. Maybe he should just shoot you anyway, get it over with. Fuck the routine, go off script just this once, make an exception. 

“Daddy,” you cry one more time, “I love you, please–” 

That sets him off. 

She’ll never love someone she fears.  

“No you don’t!” He yells, pointing the gun right at you, absolutely irate. “You fucking don’t! You never did!” 

Smartly, you shut up right away. Your despair is palpable, sobbing yourself into hysterics. The wind punishes you, blowing ice directly against you, keeping you pinned down. 

He’s hurt… you hurt him. He doesn’t know how much you think you truly loved him – so, you failed him. 

Your heart wrenches and twists violently as your mind calls you a barrage of horrible names, demolishing all of your efforts, telling you that you were never good enough for him. You were never enough at all. Every piece of you that he broke off and remoulded in his favored image, every declaration of unwavering love, everything you did right, everything you did wrong… it’s all been for nothing.  

Nothing. 

You’re nothing to me now. 

You shut your eyes tight, unable to look at the gun. It’s better this way, you think. You don’t want to know when he’ll pull the trigger. Any second could be your last, and you’re okay with that. 

A switch flips and you silence yourself. Like there was never an outburst in the first place; the only evidence of one being red, puffy eyes and occasional sniffles and sobs. Yet Yunho still aims the gun right at you, finger on the trigger, experience egging him on. 

She’s nothing special, he tries to tell himself. You’ll forget her just as easily as the others.  

“I’m done…” he mutters like he needs to convince himself that he is. “I’m fucking done.” 

He shakes off any trace of empathy, any remnants of his true feelings towards you. None of it matters now. He rolls his shoulders back, regaining his self-control, and forces himself to reset. Detaching himself from any emotion, purely focusing on getting this all over with before he changes his mind. 

A deep breath, the air filling his lungs, and he is mostly switched off. 

Voluntarily depraved, depriving himself of you. 

This side of him grabs you by the ankle, dragging you the short distance towards the grave. The closer you get to it, the more the earth seems to open up, ready to swallow you whole. Another sob tears from your throat, no longer pleading, but still upset at the prospect of dying so soon. He lets you cry. It’s all for nothing, anyway. 

Then, you feel an odd vibration. It reverberates through the earth. Quiet thunder moves through the thicket, muffled noises increasing in volume, heading right towards you three. Blearily, you turn to the side, towards the sound. Yunho drops your ankle, turning towards it as well, gun at the ready. 

He has a good idea of who this may be. 

Six figures burst through the trees like a pack of wolves, stronger together. The moon acts as a searchlight, catching Yunho redhanded in its glow. Without thinking, Mingi and San continue sprinting once they enter the clearing, yelling at Yunho to stop, ready to brawl. You gasp upon hearing their voices loud and clear, especially Mingi’s. You haven’t heard him in so long. 

But the gun pointed right at their faces stops them dead in their tracks. Their calves burn from running in the snow for so long, and their breaths fog the air around them in quick succession. 

“Stop moving now!” Yunho yells, seemingly towards the others behind Mingi and San who instinctively move forward to protect the two of them. 

“You won’t shoot us, Yunho!” San yells back, rather bravely. Mingi braces himself, knowing that was the wrong thing to say. 

Not a second later, Yunho fires the gun off to the side. The bullet comes so close to grazing Yeosang’s arm that he can feel the breeze of it whizzing past him before it collides into one of the trees. The bark splinters. His body locks up as it does an internal check, making sure he’s still alive and unharmed. It is rather effective in making all six not want to move a single muscle. 

Lesson learned. 

Both you and Seonghwa cower from the gunshot, ears ringing. Seonghwa feels like he’s going to black out again. He covers his head with his arms and stays as still as possible, only focusing on breathing deeply as he fights through the worst pain of his life.  

“Yunho, we called the police. It’s over!” Hongjoong shouts, “Let them go!” 

Yunho steps in front of you, blocking you from view. He’s at his most dangerous, entirely unpredictable. Not even Mingi knows what to expect from him. He’s frazzled, cornered, willing to do whatever it takes for his desired ending. Whatever that may look like to him. Yunho’s never been in this type of situation before, and even if Mingi knows him best, there is just no telling how tonight will end. 

In the tense, silent standoff, Hongjoong’s eyes search frantically for Seonghwa, looking over him several times in the dark, mistaking his curled up shape for a rock or bush. 

Then, out of nowhere, Yunho laughs. Cold and amused. He ignores Hongjoong entirely, opting to stare right through Mingi instead. 

“Min,” he hums, his tone saturated with patronizing warmth, “I thought I told you what would happen if you showed up.”

San dares to look away from Yunho and the gun, towards Mingi instead, wondering what the hell he’s talking about. Had they… spoken to each other before this? Because that’s exactly what it’s sounding like. 

All eyes turn to Mingi, waiting for an explanation, wanting to know. 

Meanwhile, your attention is on Seonghwa, about a yard away from you and looking worse and worse by the minute. As the sky overhead lightens, you can see grey-black rings forming around his eyes, how pale his skin has become, and most concerningly: how he hasn’t moved much in the past few minutes, slumped in the snow. Both of you aren’t dressed appropriately to be in this kind of weather for this long, and you’re terrified he’ll catch hypothermia. You’re not so worried about yourself… you know your time is about to be up anyway. 

You can’t feel much of your body anymore. The burn of ice is unrelenting, the kind of stinging pain that never goes away. It sticks to your skin, burrowing underneath it to cool the blood. 

Yunho sighs in mock disappointment. “You didn’t tell them? Again? How much are you gonna keep from them, Min?” 

“Tell us what?” Hongjoong asks, “Mingi, what?”

Yeosang also speaks up, his voice soft, “What is he talking about?” 

But Mingi ignores them, never looking away from Yunho. Standing his ground. “I remember. You said that you’d kill me.” 

This snatches your attention back, eliciting a small noise from you. You can’t see all of the boys from behind Yunho’s legs, but you can just make out Yeosang, someone standing next to him that you haven’t seen before, and San a little farther ahead of them. It hurts too much to try and crane your neck to see where Mingi is, but you wish you could see him. Despite all that he’s done, you don’t want him to die. You certainly don’t want to watch Yunho kill him, either. Everyone else probably shares that same sentiment as well.  

But Jongho and Wooyoung both dash to Mingi’s side at once, shielding him. San side-steps closer, joining the protective huddle, as well as Yeosang and Hongjoong. A team protecting their own. The four of them are closer to Yunho, you, and Seonghwa now, having stepped in front of Mingi and San. Yeosang can just barely see you behind Yunho, and Hongjoong takes another closer look at what he thought was part of the scenery. 

A third of Seonghwa is buried underneath the snowfall, a near-perfect camouflage in the dark with his black hair and sweater. It’s clear at first glance that he is unconscious, unmoving, and severely injured. It takes everything once he finally sees him to not rush to his side, to help in any way he can, to tell him that he’s going to be alright. Anything. Hongjoong’s blood boils. It only ramps up the tension, the need to end this now. 

Jongho shouts, “You’re not killing anybody! Put the fucking gun down!”

Yunho smirks, ignoring Jongho for now to look directly towards Hongjoong. 

“So, you finally brought them too, huh?” He says, carelessly pointing the gun at Wooyoung and Jongho. “Kept them from ‘danger’ only to bring them now?” 

Hongjoong bristles but stands firm, refusing to show any sort of emotion on his face. He can’t let Yunho see that his words are getting to him. Not this time. Yeosang slowly reaches back, grabs Wooyoung’s coat and pulls him behind him, out of Yunho’s line of sight and fire. Jongho’s hands clench into fists, beyond annoyed that Yunho is continuing to act so high and mighty when he is clearly outnumbered. However… he is the one holding the gun. The rest of them are critically unarmed. 

“Don’t try and change the subject,” Hongjoong growls, risking another step forward. Closer. “Let them go.” 

A corner of Yunho’s mouth twitches, a short exhale of a laugh evaporating into the air. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s being so openly challenged like this. He looks over his shoulder, down at you, glad to see that you haven’t moved at all. You’ve stayed right by his side, close by and safe. 

At least someone is behaving. 

He’ll never admit it, not even to himself, but seeing you quiet and half-frozen below him, still so submissive for him… there is a pang of regret. It’s small, not quite noticeable or easily labelled as such, but there nevertheless. Not necessarily for what he’s done to you, but for not just punishing you for not telling him about the plan. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to kill you. He either didn’t care or actually wanted to with the others in the past, but with you… he really doesn’t.  

For the first time, he questions his ability to carry it out. 

The others… they preach loyalty until kingdom come, but they don’t know what true loyalty looks like. It looks like you. Curled up at his feet like a scared kitten, not making a sound in front of the others. A naive little lamb, who has evaded death so many times, just to obediently stay by her master, right up to the slaughter. You still know your place and your rules. 

And yet you didn’t hesitate to break those rules and forget your place. 

Yunho grits his teeth. He’ll deal with you soon. He can do it. 

He turns back to the group, all casual. 

“Oh, fine. But I’ve been promised something.” He says, his index finger tapping lightly on the gun, gaze locked onto Mingi again. “And you can either give me what I’m owed, or say ‘goodbye’ to them.” At the last word, he gestures behind him towards you and Seonghwa. 

The slow realization dawns on them, one by one. The impossible ultimatum takes them all aback. 

He’s making them choose who to save, and who to kill. 

Two for one, or one for two. Either way, someone will be put into that yawning grave. 

The group erupts in protest, shouting at him to just give it up and that he doesn’t have to do this. Yunho, however, doesn’t budge whatsoever. Not even a flinch. He’s dead serious and immovable. The group moves tighter together, really shielding Mingi from Yunho, only a sliver of his hair visible to him now. His hand tightens around the gun, the only physical display of his frustration. 

At the sound of raised voices, and a new wave of nausea rushing through him, Seonghwa begins to stir, slowly coming back into consciousness again. He makes a small noise as his eyelids flutter open, undetectable under the din of wind and livid men. His head continues to pound, especially as he pushes himself up out of the snow. Most of it falls off of him as easily as powder, but some still clings to his damp hair, clothes, and skin. He doesn’t exactly remember where he is, nor what’s happening. He wants to yell at everyone to be quiet, even if the act of yelling might cause his head to explode from the added pressure and volume. It hurts to blink, but he fights against how heavy his eyelids are to try and figure out what is happening in front of him. 

Someone calls his name. The voice is familiar, but sounds like it’s coming from miles and miles away. So far, it’s the only thing he can attach to in order to keep himself awake. He hopes he’ll hear it again. 

Upright now, the pressure in his head increases tenfold, magnifying with each and every movement, no matter how small. He doesn’t quite remember why he wants to sit up, but he goes with it. It must’ve been for a reason. Perhaps to try and hear his name again, but the voice doesn’t call for him a second time. A wave of pain slams into him upside the head and he keeps his mouth pressed into a thin line to avoid being the center of Yunho’s attention once more. He gingerly lifts his hand to touch the back of his head, trying his best to assess the damage done there. A memory flashes by him, fleeting in its detail, but he briefly remembers seeing his own blood on the carpet in the apartment. The ache in his teeth as he clenched them, his body bracing for the second blow. Then the memory disappears. The dull and constant hurt of the here and now is more than enough for him to concentrate on. 

Plus, everyone around him won’t stop yelling, which is making the throbbing in his head that much worse.     

“Or you can stop being a fucking psycho and let them all go!” Wooyoung shouts, disgusted at this version of Yunho in front of him. He understands the stories now. 

Pushed to the back of the group, Mingi starts to move away. Slowly, to not draw attention to the fact that he’s abandoning his defenses. They’re all so preoccupied with guarding him from Yunho, they don’t even notice that he’s drifting from them. 

The wheels in his head that have been spinning out this whole night finally slow. An odd clarity settles over him. He doesn’t feel the wind. He doesn’t hear the uproar in front of him nor the trees overhead swaying and rustling, adding to the swell of noise. He looks at his hands, past the sleeves of his coat. They’re a pinkish-red color from the cold. Numb. Then he turns his head to the forest that surrounds them on all sides. How easy it would be for him to just slip away, to back up only a few feet and let the night swallow him whole, hiding him from imminent danger. No one would forgive him if he did that, least of all himself. The thought is just… there. The opportunity presents itself. 

Instead, he turns back towards Yunho. 

His next decision is not clarity borne from some sort of act of noble redemption. To him, it’s simply repayment. He indirectly made you pay by not standing up to Yunho that night outside the convenience store, telling him to fuck off and find someone else. To be in debt this long, knowing the game, it’s better if it’s him. He’ll gladly choose your life and Seonghwa’s over his own.  

He moves out to the side, no longer hidden behind his friends, and no longer hiding behind his past excuses. Whatever he used to tell himself to smooth over everything he’s done, downplay his own actions, he throws all of it away. This, he admits, should have been done years ago. The first instance in which he knew what Yunho was really doing with these girls, and why they would suddenly ‘disappear’ without any reason or warning.  

Now, standing over them, he can finally make the right decision.  

“Kill me if you want,” Mingi declares, his deep, husky voice distinct over the top of everyone else’s voices. “Just let them go.” 

All eyes snap to him. Including yours. 

You can see him clearer now, off to the side. You’re glad you’re still hidden behind Yunho, even now, still not ready to see him. His deception rocked you to the core. It’s something you cannot and will not forgive or forget so easily. Yet, you can’t deny the wave of calm that washes over you once the initial shock wears off. 

He looks hollow. Bent out of shape and just… overall different. Less of a spark to him. His eyes are tired, but hold determination within them regardless – the same look he had months ago in late summer, standing up to Yunho in the living room. If you had any sort of ego left, you would assume it has something to do with what he did to you. 

What he says doesn’t quite hit you yet. Or maybe, you just genuinely don’t see yourself getting out of this, so everyone’s attempts to persuade Yunho to change the ending, just go in one ear and out the other. Though it still hurts to do so, you look up at Yunho, curious as to what his next step will be. It’s not every day someone offers him their life on a silver platter, especially when that someone is his old best friend. 

You can hear the others, shocked and defiant. San grips the sleeve of Mingi’s coat, trying to pull him back towards the group, but Mingi shakes him off. Hongjoong rushes over to him, speaking quickly and hushed, trying to talk him out of it, insisting they can all go home unharmed. Nobody has to die. 

Debatable. 

Mingi brushes him off too, nudging him back towards the others. They stare at him wide-eyed, in disbelief that he’s doing this. That he’s choosing to do this. They don’t know the full story, they don’t know why he feels like this is all for the best. 

Jongho tries one more time, with a slightly less gentle approach. 

“Don’t give him what he wants,” he urges, trying to get him to look him in the eyes. Mingi stays fixated on the ground, though. He doesn’t want them to try and fight for him to keep his life, knowing that they probably wouldn’t be doing so if they knew the truth. 

“Hyung,” Jongho grabs his coat with a grip that will not be as easy to pry off. “Think about it. He won’t give her up that easily just because you let him kill you.” 

Mingi hesitates, but only for a few seconds at most. In those few seconds, he asks himself if their optimism about saving everyone is grounded in reality. Jongho’s words hit him hard. The unpredictability of what Yunho will do once he’s dead stops him from continuing. But he feels that gun pointing at him, and he has to finally acknowledge something about himself. 

Is he stepping in front of the bullet to save you, or because he wants to die? 

He accepted his fate without a second thought when he decided to lead the boys here. No hesitation, just silent acceptance. No tears, no wallowing. His only thoughts were of you and Seonghwa. How you both deserve better, how neither of you should die at the hands of Yunho, not if he can potentially change that. He doesn’t want to be the hero, he knows he will never be. It’s the cost of his actions – or, his lack of actions – simply coming back to him. A debt that must be paid in full. 

He looks up at Yunho. His closest friend, someone he would’ve gone to war for in the past, a real brother to him. Standing a few yards away from him now, he’s a stranger. Externally appearing to be the Yunho he knows and loves, but internally possessed by something much darker. An entity feeding off of every last bit of good nature and empathy. He has to remind himself that the man standing in front of him is not Yunho. At least, not the one he’s been hoping will return. 

The future just isn’t something he wants to see. He can’t see it, can’t possibly imagine what tomorrow will look like, and can’t place himself anywhere near a somewhat normal life. How can he live one when he knows what he’s done? How can he live with himself? 

His eyes find you next, already looking straight at him. You don’t shy away. 

Yunho taps the side of the gun again, impatient. He keeps quiet for now, choosing to watch instead of speak. Analyze, calculate, observe any trickery that may occur with this voluntary display by Mingi. He thinks he’d know about it because of the bugs he hid in their phones, but he hasn’t exactly had time to listen to what they’ve been saying tonight. This could all be a trap they had set in the car on the way here. His heel moves back, gently hitting your shoulder, just to make sure you’re still behind him.  

He doesn’t bother to look over at Seonghwa. To be honest, he doesn’t care if Seonghwa escapes back to the group. He’s not the target that he’s after. Not really. Plus, Seonghwa is in no position to try and fight Yunho successfully. 

But Seonghwa is sitting up now. Trying to get himself to stand, movement by movement. It takes all the energy within him just to bring his foot out from underneath him. The world spins when he tries to stabilize himself with his hands. You watch him from the corner of your eye, saying nothing, barely breathing. 

Go! Go, go, go, you silently encourage him on. He’s right on the tree line. He could disappear easily while Yunho has bigger problems at the moment. 

You don’t want him to watch you die. 

Inspired, you begin to take measures to start to sit up as well, always watching Yunho. You aren’t planning any sort of escape or attack – how could you, in this state? – you’re simply curious to see if you’ll feel better if you are upright.   

Yeosang pries Jongho off of Mingi’s coat, expression unreadable. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly, looking at Mingi like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Which, in a way, is true. He’s sure Mingi is so willing to trade his life for yours and Seonghwa’s for a reason, he just can’t place what that reason could be. Whatever it is, Seonghwa apparently knows about it. 

The purpling sky dyes the forest and its guests a deep shade of indigo.  

“I’m tired of waiting,” Yunho huffs, looking up to address the entire group, “make your decision.” 

All everyone else can do is watch in horror as Mingi obeys, stepping even closer to Yunho, farther from the group. You can see him even better now, though your eyelids are starting to grow heavy again. You look down at the ground, shifting uncomfortably at him being so close to you again. It’s been so long and then not long at all. Lifetimes since you trusted him, in just over thirty days. 

Face to face again, the world halts. The branches above try to crane past the others, each wanting a better view of the standoff below. Occasionally, a thick clump of snow will fall from one of them, misting the air as it descends. Everything diminishes to just the two men and their sordid history. 

The air is thick between them. The stillness that awaits a detonation. The woods after the shot that never fired. No one risks even a poorly timed breath. 

The air whirls and howls around Yunho, begging for bloodshed. The bare branches on the trees above whisper and creak, placing bets, enjoying the show. Birds who are just waking up only sing once or twice before falling silent or flying away. Even they know not to interrupt. The moonlight tilts, shadowing Yunho once again, making him appear even more dangerous and frightening than he already is. 

“Let them go first,” Hongjoong appeals, trying anything to buy time. “Then–”

Yunho interrupts him with another chuckle, a short and sharp exhale through his nose, quite amused at his sudden demand. They must think he’s stupid. That’s fine, they can continue to underestimate him. That only serves him better, keeps his position at the very top of superiority. They need a show of honesty? Something that tells them he might keep his end of the deal? Fine. 

“No,” he says flatly, “I really don’t think any of you are in any position to be telling me what to do.” 

San grabs the back of Jongho’s collar before he can try to beat him into the ground. 

There’s a small pause before he speaks again, pretending to mull something over. “But, just to show how merciful I can be…” 

As soon as he finishes the last syllable, while still pointing the gun in Mingi’s direction, he walks over to Seonghwa. He’s rather surprised that he’s awake and trying to get himself up. 

He can help with that. 

Yunho grabs Seonghwa by the arm, hoisting him up roughly, ignoring the shouts from the group, everyone growing more and more agitated. He shoves Seonghwa towards them, now in the dead center of the two opposing teams, right by Mingi’s feet. Because of his condition and the snow, he does fall right down, landing with a soft thud, hands first so as to not hit his head again. The next wave of nausea is the most powerful, and he has to really fight to keep himself from getting sick. His vision is darkening again. As his shivering gradually stops, his body begins to show signs of shutting down. It is more than sufficient to say that he’s afraid he’ll die here. 

You’re halfway between laying down and sitting up, frozen in place as you watch him, lifeless in the snow. Before anyone can use this opportunity to go retrieve him, Hongjoong shoots an arm out, a silent signal to wait, even though all he wants to do is run forward and drag Seonghwa back to safety. Yunho won’t be handing him over that easily. There’s got to be more. 

You hold your breath, eyes still locked onto Seonghwa. You don’t realize that Mingi is staring right at you, eyes darting back and forth between you and Seonghwa since Yunho moved away. You don’t hear his sharp intake of breath, lost to the night air. The sight of you like this, or any of the others before you in a similar state of distress and injury, on the very precipice of dying, has never been easy on him. 

He takes a small step back, giving Seonghwa room, taking care to not potentially kick any snow into his face by accident. 

Seonghwa, Mingi realizes, is being dangled in front of them. Yunho’s making them look directly at what is at stake. The longer they argue, fumbling over their morality and mortality, the less chance of survival Seonghwa has. And you’re not far behind, equally dressed and equally as frozen. Time is against them just as much as time is against him. Yunho needs to show them that. 

Mingi watches as Yunho steps right back into place, directly in front of you. The others are simply not allowed to look at you. Not even now. If he really is honest in that he’ll let you go if he kills him, would he still be this worried about keeping you hidden? He could have just as easily thrown you down next to Seonghwa, visually rub it right in their faces that they can trade one life for two, so why doesn’t he?

The thing is, Yunho isn’t a liar. But he bends the truth, finds the loophole. When he asked them to choose who to save, he never specifically mentioned that he’d let both you and Seonghwa go in exchange for Mingi’s life. They just automatically assumed via false, optimistic hope. It was never going to be two for one – always an eye for an eye, an even exchange. 

“You won’t give her up,” Mingi states bluntly, his words becoming fog as he speaks them. “Will you?” 

Yunho doesn’t react, his expression unchanging and stoic. His trigger finger itches. 

Mingi risks a step forward, careful to go around Seonghwa. 

“You can’t even bring yourself to kill her, can you? Either of them. Because you can’t. You killed the girls before because you didn’t care about them. It’s different now, isn’t it? You care this time. You could’ve killed them long before we got here. I bet you won’t even kill me, you fucking coward.” 

Oh god– Hongjoong thinks as he watches in horror, internally yelling at Mingi to stop provoking him. 

If only he said it out loud. 

Yunho’s hand tightens around the gun, and he smiles. Unnerving and cold, full of promise. He’s never been one to step down from a challenge. And if Mingi, of all people, wants to test him like this in front of everybody, then he’ll rise to the occasion.  

“Oh, Mingi,” Yunho laughs, as if he’s just heard a mildly funny joke. “You really gotta stop underestimating me.” 

The gun goes off. 

The birds that fell silent scream as they flee from the trees. Seonghwa flinches, but lacks the energy to cover his ears. He feels a light misting of snow land on his cheek from something falling near him. 

Barely missing a beat, Yunho has the gun pointed at someone else now, swallowing down the lump in his throat that grows larger and larger as his psyche attacks him for what he’s just done. Psychologically, he snaps. None of this is real anymore, and he dissociates. If he’s going to be disrespected, he’ll just take them all. It’s justifiable. He focuses on the new target, next on the list. 

All hell breaks loose around him. Everything happens in both slow-motion and hyper-speed, all at once. Now all bets are off. 

The rest of the group, having just registered what he’s done, no longer sits still on the sidelines. They run right towards the gun that’s pointing directly at Seonghwa. 

You don’t hear yourself screaming, but you feel the strain in your throat. Somehow, you manage to gather enough energy to kick at Yunho, trying to stop him from shooting Seonghwa next. He is distracted by you for only a single second, debating on who to shoot next. He cannot let them get to you. 

You don’t want to watch him die. Neither of them. 

The single second, miraculously, is enough. 

Jongho and Hongjoong both slam into Yunho at the same time, causing all three of them to trip over you in the struggle. One of their feet kicks your jaw, and you shriek again, lifting your head up to try and see what’s going on. You feel someone behind you, and you hear them say something, but you just look around frantically, trying to get your bearings again. That someone lifts you up to your feet, and the forest spins. Your knees buckle and you sink back into the snow again. Whoever is behind you lets you drop, intent on dragging you away instead. Their hands go to untie the rope around your wrists. A punch lands somewhere, and numerous shouts fill the air, getting lost within the howling wind. 

San rushes forward, but not to maim Yunho in any way he possibly can. He drops next to Seonghwa’s limp body, checking him for his injuries. It’s obvious he’s fading and fast, his lips are starting to turn blue, and he’s mumbling incoherently. Without further delay, he peels off his coat to wrap it around him, looking back at what’s happening with the others. 

Wooyoung is kneeling by Mingi’s side, applying pressure to the wound in his chest. His once cold hands are warm now, covered in his friend’s blood. To keep himself from freaking out, he has to remind himself the police are already well on their way. He reminds Mingi of that as well, trying to keep him awake by talking to him. 

The brawling trio only a foot or two away from you continue their death match, fighting for the gun. It’s all too easy for Yunho to overpower both of them, one of his hardest punches hitting Hongjoong right in the jaw, and managing to shove Jongho into the grave, taking him out of the fight at least for a few moments. You see Yunho clearly thanks to the lightening sky, teeth bared, and supremely pissed off. His eyes are dead. Unhinged. Unpredictable, and still armed. 

The rope around your wrists breaks apart, and you see him look at whoever helped you with pure fire in his eyes. He stands back up without any trouble. Jongho pushes himself up from within the open ground, intent on jumping right back into the fray. 

“Motherfucker–” He spits out, swinging his knee up to the edge of the grave to get out. 

Hongjoong staggers to his feet from behind him, one hand holding his jaw. 

The gun is pointed again. 

But not at you, nor the person behind you. 

At Seonghwa. 

Something in you makes you act before your brain can catch up. You don’t even realize what you’re doing as you’re doing it. You’re just pulled to move, to protect him. It’s been traumatizing enough watching Mingi get shot, but you don’t think you can bear any more harm to be inflicted upon Seonghwa. Yeosang reaches to pull you back, but you slip just out of reach. 

Hongjoong grabs Yunho by the arm. 

Another shot rings out, deafening all those near it. 

Nobody moves at first. 

The pure white snow is stained with blood. A body hits the ground as the bullet within them nestles violently into its new host before exiting. It lands several feet behind them, burying into the snow, never to be seen again until the spring. 

San freezes, looking up towards the five of you as he processes that he hasn’t been hit, even though he lunged to cover Seonghwa’s body with his own once he saw where the gun was pointing. 

Yunho’s arm lowers, but not solely due to Hongjoong’s grip. Due to shock. His once lifeless eyes are now round with disbelief. 

You don’t scream this time, not even when you hit the ground. 

All the air is sucker-punched from you, stolen right out of your lungs. Your body feels cold in a completely different way, and your breath quickens. You watch a couple of birds dart overhead, escaping to safer skies. The world is minimized to what you can see above you and what you can hear. Yeosang’s blurry face appears in your field of vision, but you can’t talk to him. You’re stuck. He takes your hand, squeezing it tight before looking up, towards the others. You feel uneasy, now that he’s not looking at you. 

Yeosang watches as Jongho wraps his arm around Yunho’s throat, forcing him to kneel. He lets himself be taken down easily. Hongjoong stands close, gun in hand, finger on the trigger. Ready. His hands shake. 

“Don’t fucking move.” He orders, his voice firm and controlled despite everything. In fact, this is the most held together the group has seen him in months. Even if they all know he’s absolutely going through it internally, this is the leadership display that they’re used to. Under different circumstances, they would celebrate this more. 

“Y/N? Can you hear me?” Yeosang prompts, trying to get any kind of response as he applies pressure to your wound. All he receives is a strangled gasp as your body finally realizes what has happened to it. The adrenaline gradually begins to wear off. He says something low and calm to you as you shut your eyes. You can’t discern any of his words. 

In immeasurable pain, frightened, and confused, all you want is one person. 

Seonghwa can feel someone touching him. Maybe two people? He’s not sure. But whoever it is, and however many are around him, take this opportunity to drag him back towards the treeline, far from the barrel of the gun. He’s not sure where he is, what he’s doing here, or how he got here in the first place. He’s hot. Burning up rapidly, he paws at whoever’s touching him, they’re only adding to the fire that he is now desperate to put out. He hears his name again, less distant than before, but just as muffled. 

“Hwa? Hwa, stay with me, okay?” Someone says from above him. 

His unfocused eyes flutter open for just a moment before closing again. Other than that, he doesn’t respond. Nor does he move. Everything is so heavy… so heavy and confusing. He just wants to sleep, but everything’s too loud. 

“Fuck… what the fuck…” Wooyoung mutters under his breath, hugging himself tight. 

The carnage around him was exactly what they all feared. He just felt better that the gun is in Hongjoong’s hands now. He’s sure everyone shares that feeling. The scent of blood catches on the wind, accompanied by gunpowder, and he tries to bury his nose in his coat as best he can while still applying pressure to Mingi’s wound. It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he’s successfully diminishing how much he bleeds from it. But he needs to get to a hospital now. 

Mingi’s still breathing, but not responsive. Wooyoung wishes he could spare just a couple of seconds to check his pulse, but keeps his bloodied hands right where they are. He won’t let him bleed out in the snow. He won’t let him die here. Not like this. 

You’re not faring any better yourself. 

The wind rakes through the leaves, making them laugh above you. You turn your head to one side, nose almost touching Yeosang’s knee. Nothing helps. Nothing can distract you. Your entire chest is on fire. Everything is simultaneously too loud and too quiet, both making you anxious. Your body convulses, desperate for air, and you cough up blood. Above you, Yeosang shouts for help, even though no one can leave who they’re with. No one wants to leave the wounded alone. 

You hear your name called, the familiar voice cutting through all the noise. Already in the process of protecting itself, your mind clings to that voice, knowing that in the past the owner of it has given you so much comfort when you are hurting. 

To the best of your ability, you lift your head up, though it emphasizes the sharp pressure you feel in your chest tenfold, forcing you back down with a yelp. 

“Daddy…?” You croak, wondering if you even said it loud enough to be heard by him. 

Yeosang keeps pressure, unaware of the exit wound pouring blood beneath you. His voice is calming, a soft low timbre that comforts you somewhat, telling you that they’re going to help you, and that you’re going to be okay. “It’ll all be over soon,” he says. He hopes he’s telling the truth. Yunho is still uninjured, but unarmed. However, that doesn’t mean he’s not just as dangerous. 

Where are the goddamn police?  

“Where… hm– Daddy?” You slur your words, blinking lethargically. 

There’s some rustling, thrashing noises on your right, until Hongjoong shouts something and it stops abruptly. 

“Shhh,” Yeosang hushes you, looking over to your right to make sure everyone is exactly where they should be. “He’s right here, don’t worry. Hongjoong and Jongho got him.” 

He can’t look down anymore, the sight and scent of the blood all too much. You could have sworn it was almost morning, so you’re confused why everything is going dark again. 

“He’ll kill them…” you mumble, turning your head back to the right to try and see where they are. 

“Jongho’s holding him down. He’s not going anywhere.” Yeosang murmurs, applying more pressure to your chest. The words don’t make sense to you. Not really. You pick out that Yunho isn’t going anywhere, and that comforts you. 

You cough again, tears rolling down your cheeks from the pain and cry out for Yunho one more time.

Yunho digs his nails into Jongho’s forearm, but fails to actually cause him any pain due to his padded coat. Jongho holds him tighter, threatening to break his neck right then and there. Surprisingly, Yunho doesn’t say anything. No snarky remarks, no other threats, nothing. He just keeps staring at you, still in shock. If he could shake free of Jongho, he’d run right to you. 

It’s when Hongjoong steps right in front of his line of sight, blocking you from view that he starts fighting back again. Luckily, Jongho is up to the challenge. Yunho jerks one way, clawing at Jongho’s hand since the skin there is exposed, but Jongho retaliates quickly and efficiently by decking Yunho in the nose with his free hand. Hongjoong presses the gun into his forehead, shaking with anger. 

“You don’t get to see her,” he says bitterly, “not anymore.” 

If looks could kill, Hongjoong would be six feet under right now. Yet, the grave remains empty. 

Delirious, your mumbling fades out the sleepier you get, rapidly becoming lightheaded and faint. Time expands and shortens. Yeosang tells you to open your eyes, and you swear you’re following directions, being good and obeying, but he keeps repeating himself. He sounds worried. It’s your fault. 

Daddy’s gonna be so mad… 

Sirens wail and screech in the distance. Someone shouts and someone replies from afar, but you’re too tired and out of it to discern what is being said and by whom. It hurts too much to even try. Everything is so much easier down here, drifting languidly in this state, somewhere in the middle of consciousness as the pain begins to roll back. Yunho uses this brief distraction to try to get out one more time, only for Hongjoong to press the gun harder against his forehead. He’s not going anywhere. 

San whispers a promise of returning to Seonghwa before sprinting through the woods, back in the direction they came from. Your eyelids flutter open, but you don’t actually see much of anything. Everything’s blurry and dark. 

“Hurts…” you whimper, trying to find Yunho with a lazy, short-lived search with your hand. 

Yeosang replies, though he’s not who you intended to answer back, “I know, just a little longer, don’t worry. The police are here.” 

The police? 

You remember something being said about the police earlier, but none of the context. Yunho drilled into your head that the police were bad people who would take you away from him immediately if ever given the chance. Why would they be here in the forest? Nothing is making sense, and a fresh wave of tears cascades down your cheeks. You don’t want them here. All you want is Yunho, why won’t they bring him to you?  

It’s unclear how long it takes for the police to descend upon the scene, lead straight to it with San’s help, but unfamiliar voices begin to fill the air soon enough. Mostly male voices, if you’re not mistaken. 

Still confused, your skin crawls. You can’t possibly be expected to take anybody in this state. 

Little spots of light blind you, peppering your already cloudy vision and your hands grip the fabric of Yeosang’s pant leg, only for him to be ripped away from you. With a distressed wail, you blindly search for him again, but someone is hovering above you, shining a bright flashlight in your eyes. Someone else holds your wrists down, which only makes you panic more. These people… you don’t know who they are. They’re touching you without Daddy’s permission. They’re signing off on their own death sentence and they don’t even realize it. You desperately kick your legs, trying to get everyone around you away, but to no avail. You have no energy. No say. 

Daddy didn’t do this to you… 

They did. 

This is all part of their plan; they called the police, and you’ll suffer for it. Their presence here only means that they’re going to separate you and Yunho. Now, they’re going to take advantage of you. You’re not strong enough to stomach any of this.

A new rush of adrenaline bolts through you, and despite the pain in your chest, you’re able to kick one of the men away from you. Though your vision is blurry, you can just barely see Yeosang and Hongjoong be forced to the ground and handcuffed, and Jongho being pried off of Yunho. Your heart races. You want to scream at them to not touch him, but before you can attempt, you are laid back down, nearly blacking out again. A stretcher is carried over and they maneuver you onto it.

When you still don’t stop fighting them, the paramedics have to restrain you on the ambulance bed, and you scream in terror, not knowing what is happening or where they’re taking you, or where Yunho is. This isn’t how the night was supposed to go at all. You’re supposed to be dead. Forever bound to Yunho. Not whatever this is, with an unknown future laying ahead of you.

One of the paramedics slaps the window to signal the driver to go, and with a lurch, the vehicle takes off, lights and sirens blaring. Every mile takes you farther and farther away from Yunho. The paramedics don’t care about that. You do.

You can’t breathe. Not without him telling you how to.

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Female patient, early to mid twenties with a GSW to the upper right chest. Injury sustained about twenty minutes ago. No ID. Lost consciousness during transport.” 

Everything is so bright. Sterile. Loud. Something covers your face, but when you move to rip it off, you realize that your hands are still tied down. Air breezes through your hair, and you get the feeling of motion, even though you’re laying down. It’s all so dizzying. You feel sick. People around you talk loudly and over each other, turning it into an endless cacophony of urgent chatter. 

“Patient is hypotensive and tachycardic–”

“Single gunshot wound, visible entry and exit–” 

Someone with a face mask on leans over you, getting way too close to you. “Hi, honey,” he says, “need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

The pet name makes your skin crawl in the worst way. You turn your face away, wanting nothing more than to escape this torment. This is all a horrible nightmare. You hope you’ll wake up in Yunho’s bed soon.  

“Starting the IV–” 

“What’re her vitals looking like?”

“Pulse ox is eighty-seven on fifteen litres–”

 “Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?” 

You’re not telling anyone anything. But you do open your eyes at the sound of female voices. You haven’t been around another woman in a year. 

“Honey? Can you hear me? Need you to keep your eyes open. Can you do that?” One of them asks. Her voice is nice. Calming.

“There’s blood coming up. It may have hit the lung.”

“I need a chest tube tray, get a thirty-two French–”

“Trauma two is ready, let’s go, now!”

A mixture of rough and soft hands paw at your clothes, taking them off and you instantly resist. You put up a hell of a fight even though you’re restrained, not making it easy for these people whatsoever. You’re not ready. Yunho hasn’t given them permission. He hasn’t given you permission. You’re disappointing him again.

You shriek once you feel a small but strong pinch in your side, unfocused eyes glaring towards that direction, staring daggers into the male nurse that stabbed you. In only a few seconds, you’re calm again, even more floaty you were in the woods. Your body, however, still subconsciously flinches away whenever a man gets too close to you.

Daddy… wouldn’t... like… it… even your thoughts are slow.

The brightness above you dims. 

Everything goes dark again.     

DAY TWO

You and Seonghwa coexist, as you’re meant to, but not without strain. 

There’s not a word spoken between you all morning; not when he finds you curled up on the couch, having fallen asleep despite your original plan, and not when you serve breakfast. You both eat in silence. He lets you cook and wash up without argument, and he watches you behind your back the whole time. You can feel it both times. 

Even more incentive to not turn around. 

The guilt crawls up your throat in doses. It sits in your chest like a stuck cough. You’d been quite nasty to Seonghwa last night. In your limited, foggy memory, you’ve never snapped at anyone like that before. Nor have you threatened retribution in such a heartless way, just because he said something you disagreed with. You may be a different version of yourself than you were a few months ago, but at your very center you know that that’s not who you are. 

As soon as breakfast is done and the kitchen is cleaned, you reclaim the bedroom, hiding away behind an open door and a thick blanket on the bed. Seonghwa stays out in the living room, watching something on TV that you can’t bring yourself to be curious about enough to go in and ask what it is. You’re determined to just sleep the day away, as much as you can. Wake up for meals and for your last bath before Daddy comes home. The thought makes you smile. This time tomorrow, you’ll be busy preparing for him to return, to walk in the door and be reunited with him. Seonghwa will leave soon after, and everything will be back to normal. 

Just get through today. 

At around one o’clock, you preoccupy yourself with your journal. There’s only about three empty pages remaining, and you make a mental note to ask Daddy if you can have a new one soon. Perhaps he’ll get you one for Christmas. Once it’s fully used, you plan to go back and flip through the whole thing. A little walk down memory lane from the past few months since it was given to you. Something to look forward to as well as a practice of patience. 

On a fresh, new page, for the first time in your entries, you put the date in the top left corner. 

December 22nd. 

You stare at it for longer than you care to admit. Yesterday was the twenty-first and today is the twenty-second. Tomorrow will be the twenty-third. Something as small as knowing the date excites you, makes you feel smart, and you’re grateful that Seonghwa told you. But you’re not about to parade this knowledge in front of Daddy… you’re not sure that he wants you to keep up with things like that. He never mentioned Christmas to you, even though it’s only days away. 

It doesn’t matter. If he didn’t tell you, it’s for a reason. You blink rapidly, clearing your head and putting pen to paper. It flows easily. Journal open, you always seem able to untangle your messy thoughts, transcribing them onto each lined page. When the right words don’t come, you draw along the margins. Easy to draw animals mostly, like an owl, a bear, a cat. Or, sometimes if your creativity is really at an all time low, you’ll just thumb the pages, watching the golden-trimmed edges of the pages glimmer in the low light as you flick rapidly through them. 

You’re in the middle of drawing a puppy when you hear Seonghwa’s phone ring.  

A cute, easy-on-the-ears melody that he doesn’t let ring for long. Automatically, you assume it’s Hongjoong calling him and just resume your drawing, but you pause again when you hear Seonghwa’s footsteps coming closer towards your room rather than disappearing into the guestroom like last night. You look up right as Seonghwa enters the room. 

“Mhm, she’s right here.” He says into the receiver, and you perk up instantly. 

‘Yunho’, he mouths as he hands you the phone. Like anyone else would be calling for you. Your heart leaps. 

“Hi, Daddy!” You say brightly, smiling as you speak. It only grows as you listen to whatever he says on the other line, giggling like a child. 

“I’m being good… mhm. Yes, he is.” As you talk, you get off the bed and pace around the room – an old habit you didn’t know you haven’t shaken yet. Seonghwa leans against the wall, absentmindedly picking at his nails – a new habit. He waits patiently, knowing that you must be thrilled that Yunho wanted to talk to you. A couple of minutes go by and his mouth feels rather dry, so he excuses himself by going back out to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“You looked so pretty last night,” Yunho purrs, the small vibrations of his voice tickling your ear. 

You blush, quickly glancing at one of the cameras, just in case he’s watching. Wanting to feel closer to him. Hoping he’ll say you look pretty now, too… if he’s watching. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” You giggle again, self-consciously fixing your hair. 

Yunho hums. “Was that all for me, baby?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” You breathe, lowering your voice as if Seonghwa can hear what you’re talking about. 

“Good girl.” 

You try your best to hold back a smile, but it’s impossible. It’s one of pride but sadness quickly tampers with it. Hearing his voice only makes you wish he was here even more. Soon… one more night. There’s a high chance you’ll be like a kid on Christmas Eve, too excited to sleep, waiting impatiently to receive their present. 

“So why do you think you can disrespect my rules while I’m gone?” 

The tone shift is a whiplash in and of itself. A strike across the face you aren’t expecting, not so soon after praise. It catches you off guard, so much so that you find yourself trying to appear smaller so that his words don’t hit all over your body. It is of no use. Though he makes it clear you haven’t done anything necessarily wrong, he chastises the few moments of attitude you’ve given Seonghwa, as well as not doing your chores. You could’ve fought harder to do them. So fucking rude of you to take advantage of him like that. When did my doll become so lazy?   

When Seonghwa comes back to where you are, he sees that you’ve stopped in the middle of the room, your back facing him. Your shoulders are slightly hunched, making the bones stick out through your sweater like small, clipped wings. You’re stiffer than before and your voice is lower. 

A petty, childish part of him wants to smirk that you’re seemingly getting in trouble after how you basically threatened him last night. The dominantly kind side of him shrouds him in guilt, knowing he should’ve kept his mouth shut in the first place. Not goaded you, tried to change the way you think so suddenly. If anything, he was only confusing you more, as well as driving you deeper into Yunho’s arms by doing so. He leans against the doorframe, the wood digging into his temple uncomfortably.  

“No, Daddy… I– okay… okay, I won’t. Yes, Daddy.” You look over your shoulder, startling when you see Seonghwa looking straight at you. A small gasp obviously prompts Yunho to ask what’s wrong, because you respond while stepping further away and making your voice even quieter, “nothing, sorry. Y-yes… yes, I can. I’m sorry, Daddy… I love you.” You pause, waiting to hear it back, before reluctantly handing the phone back to Seonghwa. 

What did Yunho say to you? 

You cross your arms over your chest, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth. You’ll have to apply some balm later, Daddy hates when your lips are chapped, but you can’t help it. Completely lost in thought, thinking over what he said to you, you simply walk past Seonghwa, out to the kitchen and begin gathering pots, pans, ingredients, without even knowing what you’re about to make for lunch. It’s just something to do. Something to figure out as you go.  

Seonghwa’s gaze lingers on the doorway you just walked through as he holds his phone back up to his ear, listening to the clanging of metal and quiet sniffles coming from the other room. 

“Hey,” he says quietly.  

Yunho’s response is delayed, taking a sip of something and placing it back down on a hard surface, from what Seonghwa can hear. “She always gets so unsettled when I’m gone.” 

Unsure of what to say, Seonghwa just stays quiet. Letting him just talk is safer than potentially saying the wrong thing, anyway. 

“Hwa,” Yunho sighs, the slightly disappointed tone instantly making Seonghwa’s blood run cold. He swallows his nervousness down as best he can, steeling himself for whatever Yunho’s about to say. “If she misbehaves again, you have to correct her.” 

Seonghwa’s mouth dries. Right away, he tries to defend you, passing it off as nothing – which, to him, it really is – but Yunho isn’t having any of it. 

“No. Don’t let her think she can get away with shit like that while I’m gone.”

“Yunho, I promise, I–” 

“Seonghwa,” Yunho bites. He takes a breath, letting the tension build and crackle over the phone speakers. “I’ve worked too fucking hard to get her where she is. If you don’t correct misbehavior while I’m gone, then I’ll make sure you do when I get back. Understood?”   

The realization dawns on him slowly. He’s not here as a caretaker or guardian, not really. No, he’s here as a placeholder. Meant as an extension of Yunho, with all of the ‘responsibilities’ that come with playing that role. A role that Yunho intends to share with the others as well. One day. 

Seonghwa fears that day may come sooner than expected… or wanted. 

“I-I u-um–” He stammers as he tries to get his thoughts in order before replying. Each string of possible sentences run by him, tripping over themselves to get out of the line of fire. None of them feel safe to utter out loud. His true thoughts have dire consequences attached to them, and will never be said. 

Not right now. 

Another loud metallic clang from the kitchen gives his overworking brain a break, focusing on something else for a second. 

“Of course, Yunho. No problem.” 

“Good.” Yunho says, taking another sip of whatever he’s drinking. “Oh– and Seonghwa?” 

Not off the hook just yet, Seonghwa swallows hard. “Yes?” 

He can practically hear that infamous smirk. The slight rustling of fabric, the clinking of ice against a cold glass may as well have been magnified one thousand times as he waits, hanging in the silence. Yunho waits a beat too long, really forcing Seonghwa to sit in his own worry. 

“Everything better be right where I left it when I get back.” 

Click. 

All the air in his lungs is punched out of him in one blow. 

It is a long moment before he drops his hand that holds his phone from his ear. It is longer still that he remembers to breathe. An uneven, uneasy intake of air, too short to satisfy his lungs in any way. It leaves an ache in his throat, a pull in his chest. Every panicked thought rushes back to him at once. 

‘Everything better be right where I left it when I get back’ can only logically mean three things. 

His stuff in general, the least likely of the three. 

The gun. 

And you. 

He looks towards the door at another attention-grabbing sound coming from the kitchen. On edge, you must have burned or hit your hand against something, inciting a sharp hiss of pain and a muffled whimper to emit from you. The tightness in his chest shortens his already staggered breath. Fear disguises itself as anger, which then focuses on the only other person in the apartment with him. Someone in close proximity to pin it on. 

If you were smarter, more cautious back then, you wouldn’t even be here. None of this would have happened. If you were gone…

A loud clatter erupts from the kitchen, evident that you dropped something, and a small sob escapes your throat in frustration. It snaps Seonghwa back into his right mind, as if he’d come back from watching himself from a third-party perspective. He runs a hand through his hair, stopping at the back of his neck, shocked at his own thoughts. Did he really believe that? Surely not. 

If it wasn’t you specifically, it would’ve just been someone else. 

He forces himself to take deeper breaths, to remember that he doesn’t know anything for certain and to keep calm in the meantime. His hand migrates down to his chest, easing the tension there and calming his pounding heart. 

The real and only enemy is Yunho – although he is not solely to blame. 

Speaking of Yunho, his insinuation rings in the recipient’s ears. Does he know Seonghwa is trying to get you out, or was it just a blanket threat to cover all his bases? A casual yet effectively chilling reminder to stay within bounds. Seonghwa admits his own faults, knowing the microphones picked up some things that Yunho will disapprove of, how he could have been more discrete in his attempts to chip away at the walls Yunho built around you, but is that enough to fully unearth the plan itself?  

But the more he thinks about it… maybe that’s how he could potentially know about it. The timing is way too perfect. The situation itself is all-too predictable: Yunho gone, hundreds of miles away, you in the apartment with one of them, sympathetic to your situation. Yunho knows quite well that if ever there was a good chance to try and betray him, it would be the two days that he’s not in the country. At least, not physically. 

The cameras seem to all zoom in on Seonghwa at once, the walls close in. What the fuck happens with the plan if Yunho knows about it? Trying to bite back now would only guarantee their teeth being pulled. 

Then again, there remains the ultimate unanswerable question… does Yunho actually know that they’re planning on getting you out? And if so, what will he do? 

Seonghwa sits down on the edge of the bed, his stare long and faraway, past the bedroom walls. Like he’s trying to foresee a future that’s too uncertain to identify. Just within reach… within hours, and yet there is no guiding light leading him towards any concrete conclusions. 

He leans back on his hands, one of them hitting something harder than the plush mattress he was expecting. His hand jolts up, not knowing what he just touched and he looks over his shoulder to see–

Your journal. 

And he knows he shouldn’t. 

In fact, every fiber of his being tells him not to, warns him against it. Still, that profound morbid curiosity, the devil on his shoulder, whatever it is, pulls him towards it. It doesn’t make him put it down, not when it is so enticingly left open for anyone to read. He quickly glances back towards the door, and upon seeing no one there, and hearing more small noises coming from the kitchen, he allows himself a limited time frame in which to read. To better understand where you’re at mentally, he reasons. 

His phone at the ready, he dives in. 

In the upper left corner of the page you were working on, is today’s date, circled maybe three times. An unfinished drawing of a dog off to the side, tiny flowers, hearts and stars decorate the margins. Your handwriting is clear, easy to read. He wonders if Yunho ‘suggested’ that you write carefully, so that he can read it without trouble. More than likely. 

Knowing you could come back in at any moment, he doesn’t read so much as skims, looking for key words that jump out at him. 

He flips to the first page, finding different handwriting, equally clear, in a different color pen. A paragraph from Yunho, reminding you that this journal is a reward for your ‘good behavior’, and how proud he is of your progress. Seonghwa fights back a scowl. Around the short and sweet note, you had gone in and drawn hearts all around it, creating a border. 

The following pages are heavily redacted – by Yunho, he’s assuming – but the amount of black lines crossing out what he deems ‘unacceptable’ quickly diminish the farther in he goes. You learn. The recaps of your days get shorter and shorter, less room for error. Through your words your voice changes, clipped, blunt, and vague. Not an ounce of emotion when talking about yourself in any way.  

The next few are just multiple entries of you rambling about ‘Daddy’, how bored you are when you’re left here alone, chore checklists, etc. There are no dates – only ‘Today’ or ‘Yesterday’. He quickly reads through your recap of how Yunho took care of you when you were sick, adding multiple exclamation points to the ends of your devoted sentences. Concerning, yes, but nothing damning yet. Seonghwa peeks behind him again, making sure you aren’t about to come in any time soon, and then he continues, shifting to sit more comfortably on the bed so he’s not as twisted up. Plus, this way, if you do come in, his body will block what he’s looking at. 

There is one entry with only one sentence written, the rest of the page left blank. You obviously have avoided this page.    

‘If I’m good enough, maybe I’ll be’– 

Crossed out and never finished. All hope abandoned. He takes another picture, and then moves on. It’s getting harder to keep going, or to even want to in the first place. He forces himself to detach as much as possible, storing away everything for later. 

On the back of one of the chore checklists you wrote out, almost missing it if he didn’t look twice, is your name and Yunho’s last name. It fills the entire page. Every line, every inch of space the paper provides. His lips press together in a thin line, knowing he can’t idle here, not allowing himself to fully digest anything yet. He has to continue. However, the next one is not much better. 

‘Daddy was upset because I and I deserved it

I have to be better’

Seonghwa takes a picture of this. The sound of the camera shutter is muffled by the hum of the microwave being used, or so he hopes. Agitated, he quickly switches the ringer off. 

‘I’m grateful he cares enough to correct me. He’s making me better.’ 

This, he documents as well. Yunho twisted your world so badly that you started teaching yourself to be grateful for his violence. Everything is for a greater good that you may never reach. His stomach churns, becoming almost as upset as he is. 

Four entries later, there’s a page that’s earmarked. 

All too familiar names jump out at him. Theirs, all seven, and everything you know about each of them so far. 

‘Hongjoong: intimidating, was really nice to me, leader – i like him

*Seonghwa: beautiful, protective, kinda scary when mad – like him too

Yeosang: shy? maybe just quiet. insanely pretty – wow. kind – i like him

San: i scared him :/ really handsome, seems nice otherwise – unsure

Mingi: ◼◼◼◼ 

Another redaction. Whatever it was had been a short word, but that’s all Seonghwa can glean from it. He squints, trying to see the forbidden word, the unacceptable descriptor you assigned to Mingi, but the ink is too thick. Not to be discouraged, and working against the clock, he separates the paper between his forefingers, holding the journal up to the light. It’s slightly clearer this way. He can see that the word has an ‘a’ in there, but that’s all he can tell for now in his hurry.  

Wooyoung: ‘Woo<3’ in San’s phone – best friends, Daddy says he laughs a lot. Good at cooking – bond with that?   

Jongho: youngest, Daddy says he’s a really good singer – want to hear :) and strong (ask about ‘apple trick’?)’

At the bottom of the page there’s an asterisk. Before he reads it, his eyes scan the page for an accompanying one, and find it right by his name. In his rush to read, he missed it the first time around. 

‘*I don’t think Seonghwa likes me :(’ 

Reading this does strike a pang of guilt through him. He’s not the type of person to go out of his way to hate someone. He’s always been able to keep a lid on his emotions, never letting them show unless he wanted them to. It’s possible that his time here, along with what he knows, has weakened that specific skill of his. The truth of the matter is that he doesn’t dislike you. What he despises is your situation, what Yunho has done to you, and what he has turned you into. 

He can’t speak for the other members, not when this topic has rarely – if ever – been discussed. Jongho doesn’t particularly favor you after what happened with San, but he’s just protective of his friends. Anyone who threatens them or deceives them in any way automatically goes on his blacklist. However, he does understand you were made to do it in the first place. The exact same with Wooyoung, who has barely left San’s side since that incident – the fans think it’s so cute that he’s being so ‘possessive’ of San lately. If only they knew. 

This page is also quickly photographed. He’ll think about all of this later. Keep going. 

Another drawing takes up an entire page, corner to corner. Seonghwa has to flip the journal to the side to see it properly. A landscape. Woods of some kind from what he can discern, a clearing taking front and center of the illustration. A ragged rectangle shape is carved into the forest floor. The most concerning part of it is how you almost decimated this specific page. The eraser forgotten, you had used the graphite in your pencil to scratch out everything. Though this feat was unsuccessful, he can tell it was done out of something deeper than you not liking your art skills, crossing out mistakes. In some places, the pencil had gone through the page itself from how hard you had pressed it into the paper, causing a nasty rip right through the center. 

The day you found out about what Mingi has done is documented here as well. Dated only as ‘yesterday’, you had erased your starting line several times. The paper itself almost wore through with how many times you started over, until you eventually decided on what to keep. 

‘I shouldn’t have trusted him. I’m sorry.’

Seonghwa isn’t exactly sure who you’re apologizing to… Yunho, or yourself. For a moment, he debates snapping a picture of this too, but ultimately decides not to. Still, after everything, protecting Mingi. He knows he shouldn’t, he has no obligation to either, really, but… 

He rereads your handwriting again. He hears himself in your words, but directs them towards someone else. 

Moving on, there are several pages scattered throughout the journal that are just drawings, some unfinished or abandoned, mostly of miscellaneous animals and random objects. More chore lists, a list of all the presents Yunho has given you, a list of everything you can name off the top of your head that is in the apartment. A rough sketch of the apartment layout takes up most of the next page, with great detail, and the series of drawings begin again. One drawing in particular catches his eye. It’s rather crude, without much detail, but it makes him stop cold.   

A lone stick figure laying down against the lines of the page, surrounded by eight other stick figures, two with question marks on their faces. 

Seonghwa’s entire body goes rigid. He can’t make himself look away, nor can he stand to see it for much longer. It’s like a car crash you can’t help but just ogle at, hoping everyone involved is alright while simultaneously admiring the destruction. The lump in his throat chokes him. 

Is this how you see yourself? Is this really the life you’ve accepted? A broken gasp catches itself in his throat, one he can’t let out yet.  

“Sir, if you’re ready to eat, everything’s…” You trail off, clocking his nervous and distant expression as soon as you step foot into the bedroom. He turns to face you a little too quickly. Your reddened, slightly puffy eyes search him, trying to find an explanation for his reaction towards you just now. But Seonghwa is a quick thinker, and smiles warmly at you, only confusing you more. 

“Sorry, lost in thought,” he explains, voice unsteady. Not a complete lie. “I’ll join you in just a minute.” 

You nod once, slowly turning on your heel and walking back into the kitchen. Seonghwa’s shoulders drop in relief. 

Fucking hell… 

His hands shake, having almost been caught rifling through your private property, as well as that image branded in his mind’s eye. The weapon below, the illustration by his side, and himself caught in the middle. After taking a photo of it, he flips back to the page you left off on, leaving it open, exactly as you left it, and finally tears himself away. In the bathroom, he splashes cold water on his face and the back of his neck, taking deep breaths as his hands cover his face. His palms press against his cheeks, grounding himself as much as possible. 

“Fuck…” he swears under his breath.  

He wants to call Hongjoong so badly, tell him everything, release all the emotions he’s keeping down. But he can’t. Instead, he plans to forward everything to him after lunch – though if he’s honest, he’s completely lost his appetite.   

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He can’t bring himself to look at you the entire time. Both in shame of what he’s done, and from the guilt of what he saw. You don’t try to make conversation with him, and just quietly eat across from him. He picks at his food, eating slowly. When he had finally shuffled out of the bedroom, you’d hurried to explain your choice to cook hamburgers. 

“Daddy m-mentioned you like them.” 

Seonghwa nodded, offering you a short-lived, tight-lipped grin. It disappeared as soon as he had sat down. You, on the other hand, can’t stop sneaking glances at him. Curiosity and self-doubt control your eyes, constantly checking to see if he’s mad at you. When you woke up this morning, you had decided to apologize to Seonghwa at some point in the day for what you said last night. There is still some leftover pettiness within you, but those thoughts are getting easier to ignore. 

You also glance because you can’t help but admire him. Despite your wariness about him, it’s rather hard to ignore how attractive he is. Topping it all off with his gentle demeanor and compassion, you’ve had to bite your tongue until it bleeds to stop yourself from saying anything Daddy would not approve of. 

Seonghwa’s fluffy black hair falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t move it away. You sigh inaudibly, through your nose. The only thing you didn’t like about him is how he’s trying to undo everything Daddy did for you. They don’t get it yet. You have to be patient, you realize that now. However, it’s been a couple of months… but you have to remind yourself that you’ve taken nearly a year to get to where you are now. Perhaps they deserve some grace in getting used to the concept of this arrangement as well.  

During your next glance, you see his leg bouncing, hands constantly readjusting themselves, not knowing where he wants to place them in between bites. You see your old self in him. The version of you who didn’t know how to behave right here, who should have just stayed quiet and paid attention more often. One time, you waited here at the table for hours before Daddy eventually let you eat. The food that had sat in front of you had long since gone cold, but you ate it gratefully anyway. One of your first successful lessons – wait for Daddy’s permission no matter what. 

You bite your lip. Seonghwa worries his. 

Power is a dangerous thing. You’d only said what you said last night for the shock value. To feel like you had some control of the narrative, perhaps. Some leverage in this tug-of-war game they’re all playing around you. You know he’s afraid, especially of Daddy, and you had played into that fear. It’s not in your nature to torment people like this. You were never the type of person to threaten or scare someone just to get a reaction out of them. Revenge never sat well with you, only creating more problems for both parties in the end. However, though you hate to admit it, when you settled back into the couch, you did feel smug. In charge. Powerful with the information you held, taunting him with it. 

And that had felt really good for a short amount of time. Then stale and grimy. Very unlike you. But do you even know who you are anymore? Not this, you hope. You rub your eye, still itchy from crying earlier. 

Seonghwa takes another small bite of his food, swallowing it like it physically hurts him. Self-consciousness hits you like a truck. Does it taste bad? Is that why he’s not eating? More than halfway through yours, you think you would have noticed by now if something was wrong with it. Vegetarian? Your heart almost sinks with guilt until you remember seeing him eating barbecue that night with no problem. Then it must be the quality. How did you manage to fuck up a hamburger of all things? So stupid. Meekly, you finish your own food, clearing your plate as expected. All the while, Daddy’s voice loops in your ears.

‘You better be extra good for him today. Impress me.’  

Seonghwa can feel you looking at him. Without even meeting your gaze, he can tell you’re about to cry again. It’s in the way you hug yourself, your breaths become shorter as you try to control them, fighting back the tears as they pool in your eyes. When he does look up, you’re glancing between his plate and yours. 

“Sorry,” he says out of the blue, “I’m not very hungry right now.” His fingers play with the napkin. 

“Is it– is it alright?” You ask, worried he’ll say ‘no’, but needing to know anyway.  

He nods. 

You wring your hands, ankles crossing to close yourself off even more. “I can, um, wrap it and save it if you’re hungry later?” 

He nods again. You leave your own plate behind, scooping up his and bringing it back into the kitchen. It nearly drops due to how badly your hands are shaking. 

Why are you so nervous? Seonghwa wonders, watching you freely now that your back is turned.

Is it even nerves or is there something else? What did Yunho say to you… he wants to ask so badly, but he’s invaded your privacy enough for one day. Two days, actually. 

Once his food is wrapped up and set in the fridge, he stands up, eager to be alone for a while and to call Hongjoong for a debrief. 

“Thank you,” he says, keeping his eyes down. 

“Seong– um… Sir– I…” 

Eloquent and graceful as always, you hit your hip against the counter as you move forward without thinking. You wince and brace yourself against the counter as the pain gradually fades away. Seonghwa stops, looking at you like he wants to help, to check that you’re alright, but something holds him back. 

Scrambling for words that will keep him here a little longer, you blurt out, “Thank you for the um– the tea yesterday. And the snow.” You shift your weight when he doesn’t reply. “I realized I never thanked you so…” 

It’s not what you really wanted to say to him, but it’s a start. 

Seonghwa pauses before nodding again. “No problem.”  

You step closer, brave on your part. 

“I’m… really sorry. For what I said last night.” 

His eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting to hear that. 

“Oh,” he says, “it’s okay. No harm done.” A white lie… okay, a big lie, but he wants to spare your feelings.  

You push yourself to move forward again, close enough that you can reach out and touch him. Which you do. 

Cautiously, expecting him to flinch away, you take his hand, bringing it up to your mouth. Seonghwa stiffens but doesn’t jerk back, simply watching you as you press your lips against the back of his hand, just above his knuckles. As you pull away, your top lip drags across his skin ever so slightly. 

When you speak again, your voice breaks as it dampens. “You’re always so nice to me. No matter what. What I said was inexcusable and mean. Please forgive me.” 

He sighs, rubbing his thumb against your hand. “I do forgive you. It’s alright.” 

You nod once, indicating that you heard him and understand. When he starts to pull away again, you speak again without thinking.  

“I…like you,” you confess, finally meeting his eyes after so long. “I really want you to like me, too.”  

Seonghwa blinks. His hand twitches in yours. Though he thinks he knows the answer already, yet he can’t stop himself from asking, “Did Yu– did Daddy ask you to say this?” 

You shake your head, face burning in embarrassment. “No…” 

Damn, with Mingi this was so easy. 

You almost chase that thought away with a scowl, angry at yourself for thinking it in the first place. Shifting uncomfortably again, you try to make yourself be more direct. 

Be extra nice.

“May I please make it up to you?” 

Seonghwa’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before regaining control of his reactions. Due to experience, he knows not to say ‘yes’ to that question. But you’re not pawing at him, and if you’re telling the truth that Yunho didn’t tell you to… 

Fuck. He hates that his gut instinct is telling him to trust it. That it’ll be okay. 

Proceed with caution. You have the option to say ‘no’. Remember that.  

Seonghwa steps back. You don’t follow. 

Testing the waters, seeing if you mirror him, waiting for that flicker in your expression that conceals deception, he makes sure to look you dead in the eyes, even though all it does is bring back the image of what you drew in your journal. Something he wasn’t meant to see, and now cannot unsee. It’s the same as the gun. Both of those things haunt him now, sure to torment him for a long time after all of this is over.  

This time, he steps closer to you. Your breath hitches, not expecting him to do that, not knowing what to do now that he’s so close. But you don’t move from your spot. You stay put. Ready to receive anything from him. As subservient and docile as Daddy wants you to be for him. For them.   

“You wanna make it up to me?” He asks, echoing your words. 

You nod slowly, watching him carefully. “Yes, sir.”  

Daddy said to impress him, be extra good for Seonghwa. So you cautiously reach out, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. He only watches, making no moves to push you away yet. Not even when you graze his skin, fingertips just barely touching the waistband of his boxers that peek out from underneath his pants. However, unbeknownst to you, his hands twitch by his side. At the ready, on full alert. Just like you.

To you, though, this validates what you’re thinking. Daddy’s right, as always. All they want from you is one thing, and all you’re good for is that one thing. Everything you’ve been taught tells you that the only way to earn somebody’s forgiveness is by letting them use you. You need to be a charming, submissive, kind, quiet little doll. And after all, Daddy’s made it clear that your one job when it comes to the others is to make them like you, pull them in. A honey trap. That’s all you are. Then you’ll be whatever they want or need you to be. Accept, adapt and submit, wherever, whenever. Dolls don’t get a say. 

You switch your brain off, as taught. Accepting. You push your disappointment down as far as you can. All he wants is one thing from you, too. He’s no different.  

But Seonghwa keeps you up as you start to drop to your knees, holding you by the arms. “No, no, don’t.” He says under his breath. You stare up at him again, confusion and embarrassment hitting you square in the chest. 

“But I need to–” 

He shakes his head, wordlessly cutting you off. 

“Make it up to me by telling me one thing you’d like to do. If you had no rules, no punishments, what would you do right now?” 

You plant your feet firmer onto the ground again, but you don’t move away from him. He doesn’t either. 

It takes a minute for you to rewire, get on the right path of thinking again, and get over the embarrassment that you feel by misreading him. 

What do you want to do? Every bit of you just assumed that he’d come up with something for you and you’d execute it. Simple. Done. But all you do is stare up at him, dumbly. You’re not used to choice, let alone being asked what you’d like to do. Nothing comes to mind. At least, not quickly. But Seonghwa is patient, giving you time to answer him. There’s no rush, no impatience, only space for you to think. 

You think small. 

“I…” you whisper, the beginning of a confession so close to being spoken. He holds his breath as he waits, as if breathing too loud will spook you, convince you not to say anything after all. 

“I’d open the curtains.” You decide, thinking about that one morning you awoke to find the apartment full of light. It was the closest thing to a miracle since your arrival here. You’d love to have it happen again, and not have to wait until Daddy deems you good enough to have them open. Besides, from what you can tell, everyone outside has given up on you anyway. There’d be no harm in it. You just want the light again. You want to watch it snow.  

Seonghwa inhales deeply, holding his rampant disdain for Yunho in before finally exhaling it back out.

“Okay,” he says, “thank you for telling me. All is forgiven, angel, don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything else.” 

You crack a rare, genuine smile. You’ll have to cross out that asterisk in your journal later. 

“Okay.” You echo, just as quietly. 

He lets go of you then. He forces himself to not touch his phone or look back at the guestroom door. It’s only midday, there’s more than enough time to send everything to Hongjoong, he’s just impatient and overwhelmed. Telling him can wait… but not very long. His phone feels heavy in his pocket, weighed down with the information it holds within it. 

Instead, he makes sure you’re alright first. That’s his job, albeit a temporary one. 

“Finish your chores and maybe we can watch a movie later. Does that sound good?” 

Your face lights up, the happiest he’s seen you so far. The prospect of Seonghwa not hating you makes you feel about one hundred pounds lighter. Without jinxing it in any way, you feel proud that you’ve succeeded in making him like you. If you’re counting Mingi, then that’s two of them that you’ve won over. Six more to go. 

“Yes, sir!” You nod, wasting not a second more to clear and clean the table behind you. 

Seonghwa, however, seizes this opportunity to be alone again. 

Walking at a semi-normal, barely hurried pace, he locks himself into the guestroom bathroom, not taking his phone out fast enough for his racing mind. He scrambles for Hongjoong’s number, cursing under his breath when he hits the wrong button. 

The call rings. And rings. And rings. Then fails. 

He stares at the screen, almost in disbelief. Does Hongjoong have a schedule today? Is he asleep? Either way, Seonghwa has to tell someone. He has to get everything he’s keeping inside out as soon as possible, by any means necessary – call or text. Switching back to their texts, he types a long message, detailing everything, how he needs to talk to him immediately, and sending the photos in quick succession. He waits with his back against the door, staring down at his phone as if he can will Hongjoong to look at the text quicker. 

But nothing. No response comes; not even a read receipt. In fact, the damn thing doesn’t even send correctly. A warning symbol pops up next to it, mocking him. The text lost in purgatory, unable to be sent. 

He files, sorts, and rifles through five remaining names. Potential receivers of this information have to be chosen carefully. He’d rather not burden any of the others with this, take everything on by himself and suffer in relative silence behind the scenes, but he’s panicking. Impatient and in need of comforting words from those he still trusts. 

The call to Yeosang falls through. San goes unanswered as well. 

“Come on…” he whispers, still holding out hope that Hongjoong will read it. And soon. Even after giving it five minutes, still, nothing. Trying again and again to get the message to go through, it fails every time. He tilts his head back, a breath escaping him as it hits the door behind him. 

Impatience soon begins to combine with worry. Then fear.     

Horrible, horrific ‘what-if’s’ flood his mind all at once, jumping headfirst into the worst conclusions. Hongjoong’s hurt, Yunho came back early and got to him… they could all be hurt. 

Or worse. 

And if they are, he has to sit and live with the fact that he is next, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s not there to protect them. 

His grip around his phone nearly breaks it. The worst possible scenarios, in vivid detail, are all Seonghwa can think about. They’re already gone, and he’s alone. The walls close in on him. Suddenly the bathroom is barely the size of a closet, his pulse quickens and his eyes blur with tears. Deep down, he knows he is – more likely than not – thinking irrationally. Everyone is safe. He has to believe that. But the minutes tick by and no one answers him. 

The pressure of everything piles onto him all at once. Flashes of that first meeting, your journal, Mingi’s arm, Hongjoong’s breakdown, your conditioning, the plan, the murder, all of it. Everything rests on him to fix. The snow, the gun, the cameras, the blackmail. The fracturing of the one thing he holds most dear: his group. His dream. He looks down at his team ring, glinting underneath the overhead lights. The intricately cut silver eights mock him. No matter what the outcome, he’ll be tied to this for life. He’ll remember what he’s done, what he didn’t do, how he failed you over and over again. They waited while you suffered, selfish and afraid. 

He sinks down to the floor, hugging his knees like a little kid. 

Seonghwa wipes his eyes with his sleeve, trying to muffle himself as best he can, pressing it against his mouth. As he waits for a reply from him, Hongjoong’s question from a while ago resurfaces in his mind: ‘Are we good people just because we know what we did was wrong?’ 

No, he decides. We’re not. 

Acknowledging your faults doesn’t absolve you from the sin itself. They had looked the other way, on the slim chance this would resolve itself, and found themselves deeper in it than they could ever have imagined. You needed them months ago. It doesn’t make them saints now that they’ve decided to act. 

And as much as that darker, vengeful side of his mind tells him to, he doesn’t place any blame onto you at all. You feel that same fear of Yunho even now, and even if you vehemently deny it, Seonghwa can see it. Glimpses of fear hidden in your journal, behind words that Yunho allowed to stay visible on its pages. He just heard it minutes ago, when he asked you one thing you’d like to do. You didn’t say escape, go outside, have no rules. No, you simply want to open the curtains. Watch the world go by without you. The worst thing is, he thinks you’re okay with that. That’s the extent of freedom that you’ll allow for yourself. And maybe it’s not his place to say what you should want, but he knows that the fear of Yunho hung over your head like an anvil, waiting to be dropped if you dreamed too big. 

For maybe the millionth time, Seonghwa wonders who you were before Yunho. The thought that he may never know brings forth a fresh, new wave of tears. 

Though it may not solely be his fault, he dealt a hand by not doing enough. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

Seonghwa inhales sharply, holding his breath and turning his head slightly to the side, wondering if he heard that or if it was imagined. 

Knock, knock. 

“Sir?” 

Ah. 

He hugs his legs even tighter, burying his mouth against his thigh, his nose resting on his knee so he can breathe but also muffle himself. Your voice, though quiet, may as well have been yelling at him. Deep down, maybe he wants you to. Maybe that will help. It’s the least of what he deserves. 

But he doesn’t respond. Not a sound. 

On the other side of the door, you worry. You wonder if you did something to make him upset, if something happened with the others, if it is something personal, like his family. What happened in just the span of a few minutes of you cleaning the kitchen? You were about to start on straightening up and vacuuming the living room, passing by the open guestroom door when you heard him. 

Just like Seonghwa, your kind nature took over, wanting to comfort someone in pain of any kind. 

“Sir? Are you okay?” You try again, pressing your ear to the door. 

Looking down, you see a shadow just underneath the door. You lower yourself down to crouch, hand on the doorknob to stay balanced. When he doesn’t answer again, you turn your head, looking out into the living room. You could just get up, ignore him and continue on with your chores. You don’t owe him anything, and yet you can’t bring yourself to be heartless. 

So you try one more time. Your voice quiets, barely audible. 

“Seonghwa?” 

A beat. Then, he sniffles, exhaling shakily, loud enough to hear through the door. A response? Not officially, but you’ll take it as one. You reposition yourself, opting to sit down on the floor instead. And you wait. You let him cry it out, whatever it may be. You lean forward and press your forehead against the door, closing your eyes. The living room can wait as well. 

You’re not able to tell how much time has passed, but the sun is lower in the sky than it had been during lunch. Your back and neck begin to ache from staying in this hunched position for so long, so you straighten up, stretching your arms above your head. The sobs and shaky breaths on the other side of the door have gradually diminished, just a small sniffle or stray cry here and there. 

“What can I do?” You ask, hands nervously fidgeting in your lap. 

Seonghwa shakes his head even though you can’t see him, bottom lip threatening to quiver again. “You don’t have to do anything,” he manages, swallowing hard. “I’ll be alright.” 

A white lie, and you both know it. However, hearing his voice is a good sign, you think. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll, um…” you stand slowly. “I’ll be in the living room if you– um…yeah, just whenever you’re ready.”     

Feeling more than a little ridiculous, you hurry out of the room. It takes a lot of self-control to not throw yourself down on the couch and scream into a pillow. Why are you so awkward around him? Around any of them, really. But also, you’re frustrated. Daddy gave you explicit instructions to be extra nice to Seonghwa and to impress him – what will he think if he sees Seonghwa locked in the bathroom utterly distressed? You’ll be in such big trouble. You don’t blame Seonghwa, but you just wish everything could go more smoothly. It would really help. 

No. Instead, you refocus on getting the vacuum from the hallway closet. Unwrapping the cord, plugging it in and going about moving the coffee table out of the way. The constant hum and whir of the vacuum drowns out your thoughts, your frustrations turning to the legs of the couch and chair that keep getting in your way. You decide to really deep clean, since that will also give Seonghwa room to really cry, loudly if he needs to – you won’t be able to hear it over the vacuum – and it’s a good idea anyway to get back onto Daddy’s good side. Effort will always be rewarded. 

You switch your mind off underneath the noise. You flip the cushions, fluff the pillows, fold the blankets. As you move the coffee table back to its original place, you notice your fingers come away rather dusty. After washing your hands in the kitchen sink, you grab the duster from the hallway closet as well. 

Kneeling down, you balance yourself on your hands, neck craning to see just how bad the dust had accumulated under the table before getting to work. Not bad, but definitely in need of dusting. Two swipes do the trick. You make your way around the table, admiring how clean it’s becoming.

Until you get to the last side of the table. 

Something is stuck to the underside of it. It looks papery. Annoyed that you just washed your hands and now have to touch something dusty again, you quickly pluck it off, ripping it a little in your hurry. You pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, craning your neck again to see what it was stuck to. It looks like… gum. Your eyebrows furrow and your face twists in disgust. 

“Ew…” you hiss under your breath, but it doesn’t come away with the note. Maybe not gum. Not important.    

The small piece of paper is folded so many times, it’s a wonder you even felt it in the first place. You’re careful not to rip it any more, no matter how curious you are at seeing what this is, finding out who left it. Once you start to see ink, it only encourages you further. 

Now fully open, you stare at it in confusion and disbelief.

You found me, the opening line says. 

I knew you would. I’ll be long dead by the time you read this, but I wish you a better fate than I. I wish you strength, courage, and all the luck in the world. 

Don’t trust him. Please. 

Please save yourself. Get out.  

Love, Haneul. 

You stare at the words like they don’t make sense. Written in a dead language you used to be fluent in, but now no longer remember. Your thumb traces the ink as if it’ll smudge, erasing what it says and changing it to something else. Maybe you misread it, misinterpreted the message. But it’s there. Her words attack you slowly, line by line. 

‘You found me’, not ‘this note’ or ‘this message’, but ‘me’. A person. Another you. 

‘I’ll be long dead by the time you read this…’ 

Your breath stutters, sharp and involuntary, like your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Dead. The word hits you square in the chest, heavy and final. Your hands begin to shake.

She knew someone would come after her. She hoped against all hope that someday somebody like her, caught here, would find it. Not a rescue, but a replacement. She wrote it for you. A stranger who she knew would find themselves in the same position as she was in. Someone she had no obligation towards, just a strong and deep connection that only you and the others before you can completely understand. You remember that day you found out about Mingi’s true role in all of this, how you brushed off the mention of others before you. They didn’t matter to you, as you knew nothing about them. You only lived in the present, day to day life of survival. It didn’t matter then. They failed him beyond reconciliation. Simple explanation. Simply gone. 

Buried and forgotten, like you almost were. 

Your head spins and the paper blurs as tears start to fall, silent and hot, dotting the page. You swipe at them frantically, guilt spiking like you’re ruining something precious. Something entrusted to you to keep safe. 

I wish you a better fate than I.

Better than death feels like an impossibly low bar, and yet, you don’t know if you qualify. You doubt you deserve any better, regardless of what she tells you. Shame locks you in a chokehold. You may as well have stepped over the memory of her last month, uncaring. Unknowing. 

Don’t trust him. Please. 

It’s so blunt it hits you like a slap across the face. An order so opposite of what you have been taught. 

But once upon a time, you had trusted Mingi with your whole heart. Believed in his good nature and motivation to get you out, to help you. Your mouth dries. Your eyes reread the plea over and over again. She begs you over and over again, each time.  

Please save yourself. Get out.  

You struggle to breathe. No, this can’t be a real note. Daddy must have planted it here to test you. Yeah, surely that’s all this is. Just a test. It has to be the only possible explanation. He put it there for you to eventually find one day, and your reaction will tell him everything about whether or not you trust him or some random piece of paper. You trust him. Him. Time and time again, it has been made clear to you that the only person you can trust in your life is him. Plus, you haven’t been tested in a long time, and since you technically had to restart, it would make sense. 

But you can’t convince yourself of that. Not like before. Not anymore. 

The amount of times you read and reread those five lines is lost to you. Enough times that you’re pretty sure you have it memorized by now. You test the words out in your mouth, repeating them under your breath as though they were your own. The last line you recite silently, mouthing the words. ‘Get out.’ You look over your shoulder at the blackout curtain covering the window and the door out to the balcony. Out. There, where you barely lasted three minutes without needing to run back inside, pretend it never happened. 

A sound coming from the guestroom bathroom startles you back into the present. Your hands shake so bad that it takes forever to refold the note as it was. Every time your fingers brush over the ink, it’s almost like you can feel each letter being carved into your skin. You never were one to believe in ghosts, and yet you feel the weight of about a hundred gazes on you right now. The unknown number of your predecessors, Daddy, the seven others in his group, the manager, the eyes of the cameras. 

Your eyes refocus as you accidentally slice your finger along the edge of the paper. It stings terribly, and you look at the edge of the paper that did this to you. Golden-trimmed. Just like your journal… 

He must’ve given her a journal, too. Similar to the one he gave to you. 

A strangled gasp is punched out of you, eyes searching the floor for nonexistent answers. Not a sob, but rather resembling a cold laugh, bitter and disbelieving. Shock, most likely. Your eyes catch one of the cameras before quickly looking away. On unstable legs you stand, though you don’t know why. Perhaps to feel a bit more ‘on top’ of this realization than you actually feel right now. You’re hyper aware of the folded paper touching your skin like it’s giving you dozens of tiny lacerations. You shove it in your pocket. Even then, you can feel its teeth. 

Seonghwa wanders back into the living room, rubbing one of his eyes and looking rather dejected. Like he’s succumbed to every negative thought he’s ever had. You’re getting into the same boat. The ends of his hair that frame his face are damp, evidence that he splashed cold water on his face to try and regulate his flushed red skin. At first he appears sheepish, embarrassed that you caught him crying like that, but it quickly melts into concern and worry for you. 

Shit, he thinks, that familiar panic he only just managed to wrangle into something close enough to calm now slowly building itself back up again. What’s happened now? 

“Hey…” he steps towards you cautiously, like he’s approaching an agitated, wild animal. You don’t look at him. You don’t move, nor do you acknowledge his presence or that he even spoke at all. Frozen. 

“Y/N, talk to me. What’s wrong?” 

No answer. All he gets in return is a miniscule shake of your head, your eyes flickering over to him, delayed like you only just now realized he’s in the room. 

Another step closer, and you don’t flinch away. Good sign. 

He knows he’s not supposed to – or allowed – to touch you without permission from either you or Yunho, but he thinks this rule can be amended for this specific situation. Just once. An innocent touch on your shoulder to start, testing the waters. Against his expectations, instead of trying to get away, you relax maybe a fraction of tension. Another good sign. He tilts his head, attempting to meet your faraway gaze, but your focus is long gone, captured by something he wouldn’t be able to guess. 

The most he can do for you in this state is gently lead you back to bed, though every fibre of your being screams to be taken back out into the living room, where it’s not so… Yunho. Seonghwa sits you down on the edge of the bed, checking your forehead for a fever, an explanation to your strange switch in behavior. When he finds none, he sits next to you and places his hand back into his lap, staring down at the floor. Willing to wait. Impatient for his phone to ring in the meantime. Any signs of life will be appreciated. 

The sun begins to dip below the other high-rise buildings, turning the white light that sneaks past the curtains a warmer golden color. He feels you move. Your hand twitches like it’s coming back to life, testing each muscle and bone before turning your head to the side, looking directly at the nightstand. 

Seonghwa anticipates what you want before you even ask or make a move. 

“Need something from here?” He asks, already reaching for the drawer. You nod once. 

The drawer slides open, revealing Yunho’s laptop, some of the tealight candles, and his rosary. You don’t know why you half-expect to see that knife in there. It’s in the kitchen, in its spot within the knifeblock, you know this. You watched him put it back one night as you made dinner. Nevertheless, your eyes scan the drawer for it. One cut on your hand today is enough. 

You reach for the rosary yourself, knowing Daddy may object to anyone else touching it. It’s not something you use very often, in fact it’s rare that you do. This is one of those rare cases. The last time you held it between your fingers was the morning after the fire. When he left you alone that morning, with nothing else to bring you comfort, you sought it out. It hadn’t done much to keep you company, nor give you any of the desired comfort you were after, but you had fallen asleep, curled up with it clutched tight to your chest. Now you lace it between your fingers, the cold metal soothing your hands, but your gaze keeps wandering, forcing your head to turn more and more. 

Don’t. No good can come of it. 

And yet… 

Seonghwa, oblivious to your fight against yourself, notices how you’re looking over your shoulder at the window. He remembers your wish from earlier, the longing in your voice as you admitted it to him. 

The lines from the note replay in your mind, increasing in volume each time. Get out. Get out. Get out. 

There’d been a time in your life where being shut up all day, every day, felt like torture. A waste of a perfectly good day. Your old philosophy was that you’re young, you deserve to live. Not survive, live. Now look at you. The world entire, just a pane of glass away. You remember wondering how thick that glass was during the first month here, and that thought all but consumed you after the fire. Once you could walk again, you had decided you would try to break it. Fear quickly stamped that idea out, as it had done with all of your other previous and foolish ideas of escape. Of freedom… of life.  

Being allowed out there that morning, feeling everything all at once, maybe was just because it was the first time in months. Maybe… the next time will be better. Easier, more digestible.  

Seonghwa watches you intently as you shakily stand up from the bed, swallowing hard as you walk towards the window. 

Hating to be the one to remind you, he warns you anyway, “Angel, Yun– Daddy said you’re not allowed to open the curtains, remember?” He uses that word, knowing it’ll affect you more than using his actual name. 

When you continue, he stands too, calling your name in a hushed voice. 

You ignore him. Strike one. 

Quicker, pulled by a deep tug in your chest, your hand wraps around the heavy blackout curtain, taking a second to breathe in. Strike two. 

Seonghwa’s breath hitches when you open the curtain halfway, rounding the bed to stop you as you reach for the window sash. The window lifts only about a centimeter before he pulls you away just in time, effectively snapping you out of whatever stupor or moment of possession you were in. 

Strike three.

He pulls the curtain back into place right away before turning around to face you again. His hand gingerly rests on your cheek, encouraging you to look up at him. “Y/N, what’re you doing?”

You exhale shakily, looking up at him like you just came back into your body, having no simple answer as to why you just did that. “I– I just–”

Before he can respond, Seonghwa’s phone does go off. But it’s not who he wants to hear from. 

“Fuck–” Seonghwa says under his breath, knowing who it is without having to check. His hand drops from your cheek immediately. Your heart sinks. 

So, so incredibly stupid. Every door, every window is monitored so that if opened, it would alert him. You’ve known this since your first escape attempt. As if you aren’t already in enough trouble. Seonghwa slowly walks back to the other side of the bed to retrieve his phone.

He runs his hand through his hair, nearly pulling some out at the roots as he reads the texts. You also return to that side of the bed, sitting back down. Your hands find the rosary again, holding tight onto it. 

[Yunho]: she knows better 

[Yunho]: handle it or i will. 

And then, before Seonghwa can even think of how to reply, another message appears on the screen. 

[Yunho]: don’t respond.

Now Seonghwa is just as frozen as you were before. You lift the rosary to your mouth, the beads just barely touching your lips. Your hands shake again, rattling the metal. Seonghwa considers responding anyway, telling him you didn’t actually open the window, there was no harm and no foul, but already knows it will fall on deaf ears – or, in this case, blind eyes. It’s because you tried in the first place, that’s the problem. 

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. Even your vocal chords stay silent in the shame of your own stupidity, your moment of weakness. Next to you, Seonghwa looks down at you with what you think is fire in his eyes. And just when you thought that he may not hate you. Genuinely, you don’t know how or why you forgot – or didn’t care – that that certain kind of security system was in place. He’s meticulous, three steps ahead at all times. Always has been, and always will be. 

That’s why he wins. 

Contrary to what you think, Seonghwa is not mad at you. The flames you believe to see are just wheels turning. Processing. If Hongjoong would just respond to him, he can get you out of here sooner. He can get out of here sooner, too. The cameras leer at him, laying in wait. He checks his phone again, only to find an empty screen. Good and bad; no more texts from Yunho, but at the same time, no texts from any of the others. His heart pounds painfully in his chest, threatening to race again. 

But Yunho never said when to ‘handle it’, and until he does, Seonghwa decides he won’t do anything just yet. He will do everything in his power to delay whatever Yunho wants him to do to you. 

Sitting down next to you again, he turns his body towards you, faking a small smile. 

“It’s okay,” he lies, “let’s just calm ourselves down for now. Alright?” 

Weakly, you nod, which is more than what Seonghwa expected from you. Your head spins as he helps you lay down. Even though it’s rather cold, you don’t reach for nor ask for the blanket. All you can think of is how much trouble you’re in, how much of a fuck-up you constantly prove to be, always so close to perfection, to his high standards, and, of course, the note burning a hole in your pocket. 

The small paper cut you sustained from it stings and throbs as you think of it. Over and over, you recite the note in your head, absentmindedly pressing the rosary harder against your skin. Get out, it pleaded with you. But you’re safe here. Right? Daddy’s never lied to you, always kept you safe, stuck up for you, treated you as you deserve. Your nose scrunches. 

But you can’t shake this growing feeling inside of you. If what he’s doing is so good – in your eyes at least – then… wouldn’t everyone think the same way? You’ve told yourself that it’s just how things go here, argued and debated this topic hundreds of times, and believed that everyone will come around to the idea. But time has long since passed from the day they all found out about you, and you’ve stood on this precipice before. Fighting internally, not knowing which side is right anymore, you find that you can’t even trust yourself… and that’s why you’ve depended on him for so long.  

It’s some time before you process how the back of his hand is touching yours, serving as a gentle reminder that he’s there. You could cry all over again, but you find you don’t have the energy to. Today has been nothing but emotionally draining. Despite everything, especially how much this is obviously affecting him, he lets you know that you’re not alone.   

“I really am sorry,” you whisper, so low he almost can’t hear it. “For everything.” 

Seonghwa looks down, subconsciously chewing his bottom lip. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, having made no move to lay down next to you. A safe distance away. You tuck your knees into your chest, curling into a ball. 

After some time, he pats your knee. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

And he’s right, but you have a hard time accepting that, or believing that he too truly thinks that. You wouldn’t blame him if that’s the case. 

A shiver runs its course through you, the colder air settling into the room as the sun descends. There’s a faint click somewhere within the walls, signalling the heat kicking into action, ready to combat the frigidity of winter that always painstakingly tries to creep inside. 

As it fights its way in, Seonghwa is trying to keep all of his thoughts from coming out. He waits minute by minute, just waiting for his phone to ring again, to be asked why he hasn’t done anything yet, the terrible instructions given, relaying whatever horrible dealing Yunho wishes for him to give to you in his stead. 

Without thinking much of it, he turns his phone over in his hand, screen facing upwards. It lights up, and he enables the Do Not Disturb feature. Even if Yunho texts or calls him, he won’t see or hear it. It’s a small semblance of peace, one he hopes will not result in disastrous consequences should everything fall apart. He shuts his eyes, unwilling to open them for any reason or anyone at the moment. Not even when you speak again. 

“I, um…” The paper in your pocket burns. You find yourself wanting to tell him, and tell him as quickly as possible to make room in your crowded mind. And you will… just maybe not right now when all you want to do is forget it. Or talk yourself out of it, more like. Seonghwa ever so slightly turns his head to the side, waiting for the rest of your sentence, but the words die on your tongue, dissolving like sugar. Instead, you cautiously seek out any ounce of comfort you can as the two of you wait in this limbo-like state. 

Lightly treading on relatively unknown ground, your fingers find his, intertwining and lacing them together, finding easement that you have someone with you. He lets you hold his hand. Despite everything, he also finds it grounding. It’s nice… if he forgets where he is, and who you are. In spite of that, though, the reassurance via skin-to-skin contact definitely helps to calm his haywire nervous system. Enough to persuade him to tell you – warn you – about the gun only a mattress-width away. One thing out of dozens to finally get off of his chest.   

“Look, Y/N, I have to tell you something,” he says, keeping his voice low. 

You squeeze his hand when you hear him hesitate. He’d do the same for you. 

“Okay…” you whisper, encouraging him. His other hand twitches by his side, 

“Under the bed… I found a–”

Before he can finish his sentence, you do it for him, “Gun?” His eyes open finally, a tentative, curious fearfulness swimming within them. So you already know? He guesses that makes sense. He can imagine how motivating it would be to keep quiet and do whatever Yunho says if he let you know the gun he used to nearly end your life is kept right underneath you every single night. Thinking back to last night, how you escaped to the living room to sleep there instead, he can’t say he blames you.    

Effective, to say the least. 

Seonghwa turns to look at you properly. You keep your eyes down and off to the left, avoiding him for now, or so it seems. Really, you’re looking down in the direction of the pocket the note currently resides, laying in wait. Ready to be shared. 

A long pause says everything needed to be said between the two of you, in regards to the firearm. 

Voice shaky, he swallows hard before he says, “Mingi told me what happened that night. Does it… I mean… I imagine that has stuck with you.” 

“Every night.” You mumble, eyes flickering over to meet his for only a couple of seconds before lowering again. “He… he keeps it close in case I forget my place. One day he’ll do it for real.” 

Dread floods through him. “Don’t say that,” Seonghwa squeezes your hand. “We won’t let that happen.” 

No? 

Oh, Seonghwa, you lament, what an optimist you are. 

You don’t say anything in response to that. The words simply hang in the air, settling atop the stormcloud you keep over yourself in regards to any self-worth or positivity. You can almost laugh at the very idea of self-worth. You have one worth here, and it has to do with the very same people Seonghwa swears will help you. Do you even deserve their help now? Do you want to be helped? Yesterday you would have a very clear, definite answer. Today, you’re not so sure. All because of a piece of paper you still don’t know if you can trust. 

“H-has he told you what to do?” You ask, nodding in the direction of his phone. 

Seonghwa steels himself before checking. But the phone lights up, and he doesn’t see anything from his messaging app. Some from Instagram, his email, TokToq, some of his retail apps, but nothing. No calls, either. Strange. 

He looks up at one of the cameras. “No, he hasn’t.” 

“Oh…” you reply, trying to hide your surprise. It’s unusual for him to delay a correction. Could it be because Seonghwa is here and he doesn’t trust him to carry it out? You follow his gaze, but look away from the camera long before he does. Each one knows what you found. Each one fixates on how you’ll deal with it. What you’ll do with the information. When he doesn’t move, you look up at him again, wondering how he can look so undisturbed despite everything. 

Only the thought of all of this ending soon calms Seonghwa’s heart, his very soul as well. 

The threat of Yunho hangs over his head like a guillotine. He almost wants to turn Do Not Disturb off, so he’ll know and be ready if the threat is closer than he thinks. But for now, he decides against it. He knows Yunho’s schedule doesn’t end until later tonight. To keep appearances, an air of normalcy, he wouldn’t try to leave early. At least, he hopes not. 

Seonghwa taps the phone screen again. Still nothing. The time stares back at him, warning him of the oncoming evening. The panic threatens to rise again, but he has to trust he would’ve heard something by now if… the worst thing he’s thinking of has truly happened. Before he can stop it, that evil voice creeps back into his thoughts: and it would be all because of one person.  

You. 

He squeezes your hand again, releasing the tension of that misplaced anger. It’s not really anger, it’s fear, but his body doesn’t know the difference just yet. It’s a hard thing to overcome. 

You rub your thumb against the back of his hand, and he immediately softens again. The shared fear of the unknown, of the deadly silence, ties you two together. You try to apologize to him again, but once again, he stops you. 

The rosary in your other hand lays like a dead weight. The paper screams its impatience. 

Now. 

You take a deep breath, knowing that you’ll be burdening him with something else, but you finally let yourself be selfish for once. 

“Seonghwa?” You say his name like you’re afraid he won’t answer to the sound of it. 

He hums in response, his own thumb beginning to soothe the skin up and down your hand. Your free hand finally reaches into your pocket. The paper cut stings as you make contact with the frayed, ragged edges of the paper. A voice of the dead muffled underneath the fabric. His eyes follow the folded note as you reveal it to him. 

“I found this today,” you begin, “and I… I don’t know what to do.” You say it honestly. You don’t know how to feel. 

Not without Yunho here. 

If he was here, you’re sure he would clear it up for you within the same minute you found the note. 

“She wasn’t as good as you, baby,” he’d say, “she didn’t follow the rules. She did this to herself.” 

The thought stings as much as the small cut on your hand: She did this to herself. 

Do you really believe that? 

Would you believe it if he said that? 

Your eyes blank as Seonghwa carefully takes the note from you, and opens it. The silence stretches on, growing thicker and thicker as the sun vanishes behind the city skyline, teasing the horizon now. 

He must be reading and rereading it, because he stares at the words for quite some time. In reality, he’s thinking about what Mingi had told him. Crumbs of the truth, only what he could force himself to admit, but some small clues about the past. The others. The ones they’d all completely missed. Unaware of, totally clueless. Yunho had hid them well, kept his cheery, normal facade up without ever missing a beat. All the while, he had them locked away, suffering, starving, hurting, scared to death until death finally relieved them of their pitiful existences. He stares at the name like he could’ve done something to help her if he knew it earlier. Improbable as it seems. The inner savior, the caretaker within him cries to act.  

The same one who failed countless times. Failed the girls he completely missed, the group, the fans, the company, his friends and family, himself. 

In a way, he even failed Yunho.  

His hands fall back into his lap, the note still pinched between his fingers. The strength he’s been using to keep everyone’s heads above the water wanes and cracks at the seams. His head hangs low. The floor beneath him weaves countless stories, silenced footsteps and blood spills, of which he had no prior knowledge of until semi-recently. The floor, the walls, the bed, the cameras, everything. The weight of the very world presses harder against his shoulders. 

Even then, he does not let it show. 

Behind him, you remain somewhat catatonic. Eventually, you unclench your hand when you no longer feel any blood flow moving through it. The skin is red and purple when you look down. The rosary had dug deep red indents into your skin, burning hot as blood returns. 

“Would you like to keep it or forget about it?” Seonghwa asks, already folding the paper back into its original shape. 

A great question. Either way, you doubt you will ever forget what it says. You’re split. Throwing it away feels too heavy, like you’re ignoring her again. Stepping over her again. Keeping it feels painful. Like you're punishing yourself for not finding it sooner. 

For now, you think you’re okay with letting Seonghwa keep it. Maybe even asking him to put it somewhere else. 

“You keep it.” You murmur, shocking him back into the present. 

He turns it over in his hands a couple of times. Obviously, he’d rather not. But it’s what he needs most: physical evidence. Ammo added to their arsenal, beyond a reasonable doubt. Concealed in his own pocket now, he runs a hand through his hair before checking his phone again. 

An involuntary gasp escapes him once he sees a notification – from Hongjoong. 

You watch him scramble to unlock his phone, unable to see the exact contents of their text conversation. What you do see is the immediacy in which Seonghwa’s shoulders relax. He must’ve been waiting to hear from him for some reason. 

You stay quiet, even though you want to ask what made him react like that. Did Yunho text him again? You feel like that would’ve earned a bigger reaction, a noticeable shift in the air. Until he’s ready to share, you don’t ask. Curiosity pounds against your skull, even causing you to open your mouth, ready to ask, but you keep quiet, forcing it down again. 

Don’t pry. 

Seonghwa has to double, triple check that he’s not just imagining seeing Hongjoong’s name attached to the new text notification. A logical explanation, the Wi-Fi had been out for the majority of the day in his dorm, and San and Yeosang had slept in late and been at the gym since early afternoon. They arrived back about twenty minutes ago. Safe. Everyone accounted for. 

A sigh of relief, and he’s replying, typing faster than he ever has before. 

[Hwa⭐]: so are we still on

[Hwa⭐]: ? 

[Joong]: everyone’s coming over later tonight. still on  

[Joong]: are you doing okay? how is she? 

Seonghwa hesitates, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. He scrolls up a little more, seeing his long text still hasn't been sent out. However, he’s sure if he tried again it would go through no problem. The truth, he decides, can wait to be delivered. Everything will be discovered in due time. Everyone has to be focused now. So for now, a white lie will have to suffice. 

[Hwa⭐]: we’re okay 

[Hwa⭐]: be careful, the roads are supposed to be bad 

You rest your cheek against the mattress, hugging your knees tighter into your chest. If you weren’t so on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop – a.k.a, Daddy telling Seonghwa how to correct you – you’d try to fall asleep. However, there’s still dinner to be made, a bath to be taken, and a night time routine to stick to, especially now in preparation of Yunho’s return. 

Seonghwa sighs, tilting his head all the way back with his eyes closed, breathing in deeply for a few moments to recenter himself. A thin calm veils him. Not so much because of what Hongjoong said, but more so because regardless, he is alive. Everyone is. 

Placing his phone down again, he refocuses on you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, gesturing to the discarded device, “what can I do to help?”

In response, you just shake your head ‘no’, guilt already threatening to settle in. But, he insists. 

“Angel, please let me help you.” 

Finally, you meet his eyes for the first time. Neither of you look away. 

Despite how confused and unfamiliar you feel at this moment, that strong foundation of conditioning urges you to find physical comfort with him. You’re not used to someone just… lending you their presence in exchange for nothing. Just to ensure you’re not alone. His ingrained teachings tell you to thank him in a certain way. 

You wet your bottom lip before speaking again. 

“I-I should be the one helping you, sir. You’re…” you struggle to find the word, “upset as well.” 

Seonghwa’s skin crawls at the recurring title, but works to push past it. “You don’t need to do anything.” 

A tentative hand rests on your calf, near your ankle. Once again, just letting you know he’s there. However, your body tenses as a reflex. At the ready, anticipating a move about to be made. He notices right away and lifts his hand off of you. 

“Sorry, I should’ve asked–” 

His eyes widen as you hurriedly reach out and grab his hand again, this time, bringing it to your chest, hugging it like a lifeline. You only keep him like that for a minute or two as the familiar thoughts of mistrust circle back to you. When that happens, you let go like you never reached for it in the first place. Seonghwa knows it is going to be a long and painful journey for you to be able to put your abused trust into anyone or anything ever again. He hopes you’ll start with him. 

“Do you…” he trails off, trying to find a better way of phrasing his question. “Is physical touch something that helps you?” 

After a few seconds, you nod sheepishly. 

Your face burns in embarrassment because of your rollercoaster-like behavior. All you want is a distraction. It’s how you’ve gotten over things in the past; just ignore it, fill your head with something else for a while until the memories become less prominent, less details. Even if it just starts with you making dinner.  

But when you push yourself up to go do just that, Seonghwa scoots a little closer to you. 

Cautious and on guard for any sign of discomfort, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pressing very lightly towards him. Now your eyes widen, especially when you don’t feel anything else – physically, you mean. There’s no free hand coasting up your thigh, wrapping around your throat, pulling your hair, touching your chest. Nothing but this half embrace. The stiffness that once bound you melts away, thawing out the wall you had built around you. 

A word pops up in the forefront of your mind. 

Friends. 

He had said that that’s what you are yesterday. Something Yunho does eventually want for you to be alongside the ‘benefits’. It never occurred to you that those benefits would not be their primary objective. That’s just what Yunho told you. It’s what he expects. 

The two of you breathe together, almost in sync. A quieter intimacy, with no complicated or forbidden feelings attached. You lower your head down, forehead resting on his shoulder, and wait for him to flinch back. 

He doesn’t. 

In fact, he moves closer, adjusting his body so you’re not at an awkward angle anymore, rubbing his hand up and down your back like it’ll erase everything that has been done to you. 

It’s worth a try. 

You’re not crying per se. Tears drip from your lashes, but there’s no heaving breaths, no shudders coming from your chest, no pressure in your face. Just raw, released emotion finally being allowed to be felt. Carefully unraveling, rather than exploding. Your nose warms up against his sweater, but you can’t bring yourself to move away yet. 

Not yet. 

Seonghwa may be the first person here to ever see you. As someone more than just a thing for them to obtain. He notices things that go unspoken. He stopped you from bottling everything again, given you time, space, and encouragement to sit with everything you’re feeling right now. You had felt something akin to that with Mingi, but Seonghwa never touched you unless either Yunho told him to, or if he himself felt it necessary. Never assumes consent, always asking permission, never insinuating he wants anything more, only reiterating to you that he wants to help. Even if he made things difficult for you, you know it was not out of a place of malice or disdain. You don’t fear him.

Part of you wishes you did; wishing that he was just like Mingi. Just like Yunho.   

It would be so much easier if he was. 

The thought of the impending correction gradually diminishes. It lingers in the back of your mind now. There’s no stopping it from happening, but at least you have time to prepare. 

Though you know anything violent done to you may hurt him to watch, you hope that Seonghwa will stay with you when it does happen. 

It’s nice to be held like this. You find yourself wanting to be closer and closer to him, seeking comfort. Daddy’s right, you do get unsettled whenever he’s gone. The attachment between you is so strong, whenever you’re without him, your body goes into fight or flight mode. More likely than not, yesterday you would’ve hated to admit it, but today you’re just glad that Seonghwa’s presence does a lot to help ease and regulate that anxiousness, even if you can’t pinpoint exactly why. You melt beside him, one of your hands holding onto his sweater like you’re afraid he’ll leave. 

You can hear his heartbeat as you rest your head on his chest. It feels rather safe, you haven’t been cuddled in a long time. 

Your arms find themselves wrapping around Seonghwa as well, breathing in the faint scent of laundry detergent that still lingers on his sweater. He sighs deeply, but not from annoyance or boredom. Simply releasing. You echo him, quieter. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, quiet and sincere. Genuinely wanting to know. 

You don’t hesitate this time. “Different.” 

“Is ‘different’ okay?” 

You nod against his shoulder. “I think so.” 

It’s the best word you could use to describe how you feel. Definitely not ‘great’ or anything positive, but nothing majorly negative either. Neutral. The pendulum could swing either direction. 

You don’t even realize until you slowly pull away from him that you’ve stopped shaking. Shy again, you avoid looking up at him until you’re sure his attention is elsewhere, and not on your face. 

“Do you know about the others?” You ask. “Did Mingi tell you?” 

Seonghwa nods, running a hand through his hair again. Every strand falls perfectly back into place. “He did.” 

You nibble on your bottom lip in the silence that follows. It’s been a long time since you’ve let yourself remember Mingi in such vivid detail. That same lump in your throat from the day you found out returns, back with new information left behind by someone you hadn’t even known existed. You guess she could say the same about you. 

“Do you think… she died because she wrote that?” 

Seonghwa looks down towards his pocket that holds the note. 

“No,” he answers. “Yunho would’ve gotten rid of it immediately if that was the case.” 

He’s right. Unless, again, he wanted to test you. But would he really think that far ahead? You’re unable to say for sure. Neither of you would put it past him, though. 

There’s something he wants to ask you so badly… but what happened the night before the last time he had brought this sore topic up, it had ended with you snapping at him. 

The final line of the note. Does it change anything?  

With all of his heart and soul he wants to know if that has moved you in any way. Pushed you further towards the idea of freedom. Of escape. Your old self. The version of you that Yunho ripped apart. Although his own hand had played a part in the dismemberment, he’ll do anything to see you rebuilt. Safe. He knows of six others that share that sentiment too.  

You look over your shoulder, towards the windows. Only a faint, dark blue light peeks around the curtain edges now. With your sleeve, you wipe the remaining fallen tears from your cheeks and blow out a puff of air. 

“I should start making dinner.” You say, gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen. 

Seonghwa stands up from the bed. “Do you want me to help?”  

“I’m already in enough trouble,” you remind him, managing a genuine smile anyway. 

He raises his hands up like he’s surrendering, and lets you lead the way out of the room.      

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

From there, the evening trails on. Seonghwa lingers but doesn’t hover near you as you cook. He hands you certain things you need – ingredients, utensils – and checks in on you when you go quiet for a little too long, making sure you’re still somewhat okay despite everything. Had he done this yesterday, it would’ve gotten on your nerves. Today, you don’t mind so much. 

You eat together relatively quietly, just enjoying the food and the company. As he goes back for thirds of what you’ve cooked, you realize that the apartment seems lighter with him here. Or maybe you just feel lighter yourself. 

He checks his phone once. Nothing. The eyes of the cameras burn into the back of his neck. Every second spent not adhering to Yunho’s orders brings him closer and closer to the potential chopping block. At this point, he may as well just grab the knife and hand it to Yunho whenever he gets back. 

As he watches you clear the table, his hand wanders into the pocket where the note is kept, brushing against it with his fingertips, just making sure it’s still there. He offers you a small grin as you take his plate, and retracts his hand from his pocket after a couple more seconds. You move less stiffly, but your eyes remain glossy, deep in negative thought as you wash and dry all the plates and utensils. When you turn around to him again, your months – almost a full year’s worth – of training comes back, albeit slower than previously, and you force a small grin, pretending everything’s okay. Still acting. He manages a reciprocation, just as stiff. You’re in there somewhere. Whether you’re on the verge of being pulled back up to the surface remains unknown.  

The expected night routine goes just as smoothly. 

Almost. 

He keeps his eyes down or solely on your hair as he helps you wash it. As he rinses it, he moves his hand away a bit too early, causing a small amount of water to spill over your face. There’s a hand towel close by and he gently dabs your skin dry, careful to not cover a large part of your face with it. You fight against the trauma that surrounds your body. Your lungs burn as they remember. They force a cough, and you shiver in the warm water, still trying to appear calm. You can’t help but chastise yourself. Yesterday you were fine with little trouble in the bath, but today you’re such a mess. 

I wonder why, the logical side of you sarcastically says, a whole day’s and year’s worth of evidence to back up its statement. 

On the inside, you’re beginning to spiral. Once again, he notices. Instead of speeding up the routine, he stops, letting the conditioner he had been lathering onto the ends of your hair soak in, and takes his hands away. 

He calls your name softly, verbally trying to pull you back to the present first. You answer with a small noise, signalling that you registered that he said something, but not in any shape to respond more than that. He pulls the plug, and the water begins to drain. Even then, you don’t feel safe. You gasp involuntarily, a sharp intake of breath as you begin to shake. Your eyes shut tight so as to block out the view in front of you, trying to focus on anything else, but your nose starts to warm up like it did when it had started to bleed underneath the water. When you start to breathe through your mouth, it only dries your throat, recreating that scratchy ache. There’s no escaping it. 

You don't realize that Seonghwa has lifted you out, wrapped you in a warm towel and carefully placed you down on the plush bathmat on the bathroom floor. He kneels next to you, an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side again.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, and guides your head to rest against his shoulder once you nod ‘yes’. Even in this state, you swipe at his shirt, worried about getting it wet, but he just brings your hand back down, lingering for just a moment. 

He emphasizes his breathing, silently telling you to follow along with his timing, which you do. Little by little, your breaths even out, become less staggered and shaky. The memories retract their claws from your body, relieving pressure. You’re not sure how long you stay like this, on the bathroom floor. Maybe a minute, maybe an hour. But once you’ve calmed down enough, Seonghwa whispers to you again. 

“I have to get the conditioner out of your hair. Can you sit on the edge of the tub for me?” 

You swallow thickly, not feeling entirely ready or brave enough yet. 

“I’m not going to let any water touch your face, I promise.”

And you believe him. You really do. 

He promises to be quick as well. True to his word, once he turns the faucet back on, he has you tilt your head back so your hair dangles away from you, and he rinses the product out as quick as he can without being rough on your hair. You don’t feel a thing except for small, harmless tugs on the ends of your hair. Quickly grabbing a separate towel for your hair, he wraps it up and helps you straighten again. 

“All done, angel. It’s over.” 

You exhale, not realizing that you weren’t breathing that whole time. For the hundredth time today, you want to burst into tears from embarrassment. It’s humiliating to appear weak to someone who you know already thinks that of you. Then again, you may just be projecting how you feel about yourself onto him. That thought gives you pause. 

You stay quiet as he helps you with your skincare, and turns around to give you privacy to redress. You pull your freshly blow-dried hair out of one of Daddy’s hoodies that he lets you wear, and clear your throat to let Seonghwa know that you’re done. Eyes down, you miss how he looks at you. Swallowed almost whole by the oversized hoodie, shifting your weight insecurely. It’s not fondness or attraction in his eyes – at least not solely – but a recognition of resilience. Admiration, if not bordering on sadness. You wouldn’t have to be this resilient if you hadn’t had to go through what these past months have thrown at you. He sees how strong you’ve had to become, to push everything you ever felt down in order to appease and please Yunho. Even after the day you’ve had today, you pull a veil of complacency over yourself, walls and guards up and armed. The tireless and endless charade. 

He clears his throat as well to get rid of the growing lump in there. At least that’s the last bath he’ll have to help you with.  

When you find yourselves in the living room, scrolling through the movie options, you’re too shy to ask him to hold you again. You feel exposed, like a livewire even underneath the blanket he placed over you. It’s colder than it was yesterday and last night, and you hug Puppy a little tighter to your side. Seonghwa had brought him out to you without needing to be asked. He just… knew. 

Settling on a holiday classic from the 1990s that Seonghwa hasn’t seen before, the nostalgic soundtrack fills the room in a cinematic swell. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him stop himself from reaching for his phone, the urge to check it distracting him every so often. To your knowledge, it’s still on mute. No orders, no instructions, no corrections. A small tingle in the back of your neck makes you roll your head back, trying to get rid of that nagging feeling. You’re so gonna get it when he gets home… only a few hours away now. Seonghwa seems to be thinking the same, as you see him check his watch occasionally. 

He’s rigid again. You can feel it even on the opposite side of the couch. 

Your hand holds Puppy tight around his middle, eyes flickering from the movie, to Seonghwa, back down to the plushie. The plot continues, illuminating the otherwise dim room. The characters talk amongst themselves, spurring the story on, and the scenery changes alongside it. About halfway through the film, he still has not relaxed. Not even an ounce. Stress locks him up, keeps him from focusing on anything else. The most he had moved was about twenty minutes ago, when he had tossed his phone onto the coffee table, intent on keeping it out of reach so he would stop trying to check it. 

When you look back up at the screen, you’re met with a familiar image: snow. Fitting for a Christmas movie, it’s not really a surprise to see, nevertheless it makes your chest tighten, makes your eyes widen without you realizing it. In a triangular path, you steal glances at his phone, the windows, and back to the TV before you stop yourself. 

“I, um… do you know if it’s snowing again?” You hear yourself ask underneath the soundtrack. 

Seonghwa jolts at the sound of your voice, clearly snapping back from wherever he was just now. His lips press into a thin line as he leans forward, grabbing his phone. The screen casts a whitish-blue light against his perfect features as he hesitates. He can just as easily check his weather app, which he’s sure is what Yunho probably prefers him to do, but he knows it’ll be more authentic to actually look and know for certain. See it with his own eyes, so you don’t have to wonder if the app is wrong. 

He moves his hair out of his eyes as he turns towards the shielded windows. His hand curls around the curtain, ready to move it just enough for him to look out, when he pauses again for a moment. 

When he doesn’t report back as quickly as you’d expect him to, you shift a little more towards him, wondering what’s wrong. Closer now, you can almost see his thought process happen in real time within him, because in the very next second, he makes his decision.

The curtain opens. You get your answer. 

Sure enough, even in the dark you can see the snow. Falling just as gently, in its millions from the sky. A sharp gasp is pulled from your throat before you can stop it, and you only indulge yourself for half a second before forcing yourself to turn away. 

“Sir, don’t,” you warn. That same frustration floods your chest again, wanting to be good despite everything. Despite you doing the same exact thing earlier this evening. It’s just second nature now. “We’re already in enough trouble. I… I don’t want you to get hurt because of me… again.” 

You whisper the last word under your breath. Sure, no physical harm has come to Seonghwa in particular, but you aren’t blind to how this has all affected him mentally and emotionally. If he hears you, he lets it roll right off of his shoulders as he stands. 

The balcony door opens and he steps out. An instant chill whips through the room, chilling you to the bone. But you straighten up, almost leaning over the back of the couch and craning your neck to try and see him, curious to see what he’s doing. 

From what you can see, he’s just standing there. He lets the small crystals dot his hair, bright white against the black. He runs a hand along the railing, the snow that has piled up there gently falling off, some of it cascading in a thin veil down to the streets below, and the rest falling onto the balcony floor. Another wind chill rushes into the apartment, but Seonghwa doesn’t flinch away from it. You can see his breath in the air, mingling with the snow. 

Nervousness overwhelms him out there. The dawning realization that everything will be different one way or another after tonight, and that there is no possible way to guess the outcome. The only way to find out is to go through it, and it’s almost unbearable. He didn’t plan on going outside, but once he made that decision, feeling the cold air on his face, breathing in the city rather than the apartment, it helps. A lot. On autopilot, his body knew what he needed: fresh air, even if it fills his lungs with a chill, like drinking water directly after having a mint. The world will turn no matter what happens tonight. The river will freeze, the shops below will open and close on their usual schedule, and billions of lives he does not know will go on. But in this moment, here and now, he’s somewhat free. Content to taste the silence before the detonation. 

You look over at his phone when it buzzes and lights up on the table. Then, back to him. As soon as each flake melts into his hair, his skin, his sweater, another is quick to replace it. He looks… serene. Peaceful, even if you can’t see his face at all. His body is more relaxed, shoulders looser. You can’t help the quiet jealousy that starts to brim around the edges of your thoughts. Not necessarily negative, more so frustration that you yourself cannot find comfort in fresh air anymore. It bites and chills you, makes your skin crawl in more ways than one. Evidence to support your teachings, signifying the bad. 

However, you suddenly find yourself standing, looking out into the world over Seonghwa’s shoulder. You take a step forward. Then another. 

When he hears you behind him, he turns his head to look at you and you cower back automatically. One step forward, two steps back. 

“It’s okay,” he says lowly, extending his hand out, on the off-chance that you’ll actually take it. As expected, you hesitate in the doorway like a scared kitten, trying to ascertain if the person coaxing you out of the door can be trusted. Every step towards Seonghwa is another knife in Yunho’s back. You stare down at the thin divide between the living room floor and the balcony. The movie continues on in the background, white noise at this point. Another gust of wind pushes your hair back. You toe the line. 

You can hear his voice in your head the longer you consider actually stepping outside. Harsh and angry, mixing with carefully crafted, honey-dipped words, cherry-picked to bring you back from the edge. But underneath the wind, and the pull of the snow you thought you’d never see again, it diminishes into white noise. 

You’re in trouble anyway. One more step forward. From Seonghwa’s pocket, the words etched into the notebook paper still manage to scream at you: get out. 

Even within reach, Seonghwa doesn’t grab your hand and pull you out. He waits. He turns his head to the side, looking over the skyline again so as to not pressure you, but able to see you out of the corner of his eye. 

Why make it even worse for yourself? Another hesitation. You grip the doorway, unsure of what to do. Frustration gnaws at you. 

You remember the biting cold, how your fists had hit the door repeatedly, to no avail. Another hard lesson learned in your first week here. Very effective. Lasting. Two steps back. 

Seonghwa lowers his hand, but doesn’t express any disappointment. It was a long shot, a shot in the dark that may have shown him that you’re starting to break out of Yunho’s grip. Realistically, he knows he can’t undo months of torment and brainwashing in just forty-eight hours. He must stick with baby-steps towards unraveling. It’ll take time. 

But time is not exactly on his side. 

Deeper into the living room, you hide your face behind your hands. The world, like the snow, is starting to pile up on top of you at a rapid pace. One you can’t keep up with. All the information you’ve had to process in just two days presses you down, pulls you up, yanks you this way and that. You don’t know what to think or feel or do. Caught in the middle without any guidance, two opposing sides telling you to listen to them and not the other. You shiver again, stepping further away from the door. Already you imagine what Yunho will do to you when he gets back the next morning. Knowing he has ample time to plan makes it all the worse. Your imagination runs with the most severe scenarios. To prepare, or just to scare you, you’re not sure. It could be both. You crack your knuckles against the heel of your opposite palm, another habit you picked up from Daddy.    

The chill vanishes as the door swings shut once again, clicking into place. 

Seonghwa doesn’t make a big deal out of what happened, he wears a silent look on his face that shows he may be thinking the same as you. 

“He’s gonna be so mad at us.” You mumble, dreading the dwindling hours that you once prayed for. Just a few more hours, and he’ll be back. 

Seonghwa doesn’t say anything in return, just sitting down next to you again, closer than before. You can feel the lasting chill of the winter air still clinging to his clothes, snowflakes taking their time to melt on his hair. You swallow hard. 

“He’s not going to do a damn thing to me or you.” He says, in a voice so final that you almost believe him. 

The last half of that sentence that he doesn’t say aloud is: I won’t let him. 

Be it wishful thinking, or premonition, whatever it is, he’s certain he can avoid that outcome. No matter what happens. Win or lose. He’ll deal a hand and play it out, even if it ends one way or another. 

His eyes dart down to the couch when he feels your hands clasping his, warming them up. The silence that follows isn’t tense or uncomfortable, but needed. The weight of Seonghwa’s words, the confidence laced between each syllable idles in your head. 

The scars on your legs tingle, your throat begins to burn, and you lean your head against the back of the couch to escape the reminiscent feeling of cold metal behind you. Everything within you warns against his promise, to not believe in a positive outcome whatsoever. However, an inextinguishable hope flickers deep in your chest, buried under the negative. Quiet, not ready to ignite just yet, but undeniably there. 

You exhale slowly, through your mouth. Seonghwa squeezes your hand.

“We should get some sleep.” He suggests quietly, and after a moment, you nod in agreement. You should. 

As the two of you slowly get up from the couch and shuffle back into the bedroom, your heart tugs hard in your chest. 

Something tells you that you’re gonna need rest for whatever will happen tomorrow. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hongjoong paces around the living room dorm like stopping would kill him. Every minute that ticks by, every hour that passes, is one more closer to launching. He shakes his hands into the air, trying to get rid of his nerves. This will be the second meeting about getting you out, a quick rundown of the plan to make sure everyone knows their role and how to perform it. The first meeting was a dress rehearsal. It’s the real thing now. 

The plan itself is quite simple on paper: get you out right before Yunho is expected to be back. Keep him thinking you’re still there until the very last minute. They know he’ll check. Hongjoong will call Yunho after his scheduled landing time, to keep him from checking the cameras, having preemptively made up a complicated issue regarding developing the comeback choreography, and asking if he has time tomorrow to help with that. Hopefully, he can keep him on the phone and away from checking the cameras, seeing that you’re gone, and buying themselves more time to go to the police. Yeosang will have Mingi’s key to get inside the apartment. From there, they have to move fast. Jongho will act as look-out downstairs in the lobby, delaying Yunho by force if need be. Wooyoung and Mingi will be waiting outside in one of the company’s large black vans, well-suited to fit seven people. Drive you straight to the police station. Deal with the aftermath of a nuclear, betrayed Yunho later. Together. 

Done. 

Hopefully.  

The boys filter in slowly, Jongho and Wooyoung already present and sitting stoically on the couch. San and Yeosang arrive first. Then Mingi. Every one of them, dressed in black. A real heist. Stealing something in the night that doesn’t even belong to any of them. Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair, taking a big breath before beginning. 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says, getting it out of the way first. “I want to change some things about what we’re doing tonight.” 

The room bristles slightly, stealing glances at one another, wondering whose positions have been rearranged mere hours beforehand.  

“We’re telling the police. Tonight. No matter what.” Hongjoong says with an air of finality. “Are we all still in agreement about that?” 

The boys around him all nod, just like they did last week at the first meeting. Everyone is still on the same page, as Hongjoong expected them to be. Regardless, he wants to reiterate that that is the plan for tonight. That everything will go up in smoke, win or lose. 

“Wooyoung, I’m putting you in charge of that instead. I want you to wait here until one of them calls you with the go-ahead.” He says, gesturing towards San and Yeosang. 

Wooyoung blinks as he processes that. 

Hongjoong continues, “Mingi will be our look-out in the lobby. Jongho, I want you to stay here with us too. The less people there, the better. And, I’d rather her at least recognize the faces of the people who take her out. She’ll probably get overwhelmed if there’s so many of us.” 

Jongho tenses, visibly pissed off at this change. 

“So… what, you just want us to stay here and do nothing?” Wooyoung asks, trying to keep himself from growing agitated, and trying his best to see it from Hongjoong’s side. 

“I’m just… I want to keep you two out of this as much as possible.” Hongjoong replies.  

Immediately, as expected, Jongho protests this idea.

“Hyung, we’re already in it,” Jongho argues, reminding him of the group chat they all unknowingly participated in without directly saying it. “No matter what, we’re involved.” 

“Yunho probably has his sights on the rest of you more than us two.” Wooyoung adds, “We’ve been kept out of this the whole time. Let us help you. We’re a team.” 

The word drops into the room like a brick through a window. 

A team. That used to mean something so much more than it does now. They always said they’re not complete if they’re not all together. Eight, or nothing. It has always been this way. They thought for so long that it always would be this way. Nothing could ever come between them. Who could have ever predicted something like this to happen, though? The word itself is strained, pulled and picked apart. Is that what they are now? Fractured, rundown, betrayed, blackmailed, caught up in a felony, and remaining an unbreakable brotherhood? Doubtful. 

But without Yunho… can they still call themselves a team? 

Hongjoong knows what Seonghwa would say if he was here: they have to. They have to stick together. There’s no room for argument there. At the very least, hold this unit together for tonight, for your sake and nobody else’s. 

Solemn and reluctant, Hongjoong knows he has to let them in. They’ll be fine. They’re mostly out of harm’s way in the first place, and just want to help end this. He takes a shaky breath before conceding. 

“You’re right. Both of you are, I’m sorry. We’ll go as planned.” 

Jongho physically relaxes, a quiet ‘thank you’ under his breath. Mingi picks at a loose thread on one of the pillows on the couch, zoning out completely. Lost in his own thoughts. Debating whether or not to speak them aloud.  

“When we do call them, what will we say exactly?” Wooyoung asks, trying to get everyone on the same page. 

“Realistically, we can’t place all the blame on Yunho–” Yeosang says. 

“And why the hell not?” Wooyoung interrupts. 

“Because, for starters, he’s got us on fucking candid camera,” San answers him before Yeosang can, “and that USB drive. We can’t place all the blame on him. Doing so is stupid, especially when we all know we’re just as deep in this shit as he is. We need to take a plea and go for immunity. That’s our best and only option.” 

Hongjoong crosses his arms and leans against the wall, knowing that San is right. 

“We have all this money between us, why not use it on the best lawyers?” Jongho suggests, looking around at the others to gauge their reaction. 

Yeosang bristles, not in disagreement, but because it’s all becoming so real so fast. He knew eventually they’d have to deal with the legal aspects of all of this one day, but it still snuck up on him. It’s not a future problem anymore. It’s here, and it’s right now. 

“God…” He looks down, not really talking to anybody in particular, just speaking to get his thoughts out. “I don’t want to go to prison…” He mumbles quietly, head in his hands. 

“No one does,” Hongjoong says, patting the younger man’s shoulder. “But we have to be realistic and prepared if that is the outcome. We have to accept it.” 

The five other men in the room nod in solemn agreement. 

Within this pause, Mingi finally speaks up. 

“I don’t think I should go.” He states bluntly, not making eye contact with anyone as they all turn their heads towards him in surprise. 

Hongjoong blinks, not understanding at first. “What? What do you mean?”  

“You don’t really need two people for a getaway car anyway.” He shrugs, playing with one of his rings. “Plus… she’ll never come with us willingly if I’m there, anyway.” 

“But why?” Hongjoong presses, but Mingi refuses to elaborate. 

In fact, the only two words he offers in response to that are, “Ask Seonghwa.” 

Leaving it at that, he gets up from the chair, decision made. Hongjoong watches him slowly walk right up to Yeosang, digging in his pocket for something. 

“You’re gonna need this to get in.” Mingi murmurs, handing him his extra key to the apartment. 

Yeosang doesn’t respond, eyes flicking from Hongjoong, to Mingi, to the key now in his hands. He closes his fist and brings it down to his lap, as if protecting the key. He pulls his sleeves down, to hide that his hands are starting to shake. Mingi returns to where he was sitting, ignoring how Jongho tries to make eye contact with him.   

Hongjoong checks his watch, knowing that the time is drawing near. 

For now though, he takes a minute. He takes it to look at the boys. 

A feeling no words could ever hope to describe washes over him. A deep sadness, a potential that they will never reach after tonight. His team, his responsibility. Five young boys, strangers, thrown into a small practice room, that somehow made it to Coachella. Fashion Weeks. Sold out global tours. Countless awards, incredible opportunities and connections. A friendship that rapidly turned into a familial bond that seemingly nothing could break or come between. And a  strong and loyal fanbase, who are about to be completely devastated and betrayed when they wake up tomorrow morning. Horrified and ashamed, as well. Almost as much as they should be of themselves. 

He looks down at his ring. 

And without making a show of it, he just… takes it off. 

Hongjoong forces himself to not cry. It’s not the time or place to. Once everything is over and done with, hopefully with the ending they are all hoping for, then he’ll allow himself to cry. Instead, he just keeps his gaze focused on the ground, knowing that the guys are watching him. 

One by one, they follow their leader. Each ring placed on the arms of the couch, onto the coffee table, or simply held between their fingers, not willing to place it down anywhere just yet.

None of them say anything about it. What’s done is done, and similarly, cannot talk about it or bring up what this means without becoming choked up. They share the silent sentiment: now is not the time.  

Hongjoong clears his throat. 

“Right, so… Seonghwa is gonna text me when he’s ready. Should be soon.” He says, checking his phone to see if he’d texted him yet. 

Nothing yet. He knows when that text does eventually come through, he’s going to have to take several deep breaths to steel himself. 

Only San gives a verbal answer, a quiet “Okay…” before pressing his lips together into a thin line, staring at his ring, lifeless on the coffee table. 

In the quiet, Hongjoong’s phone rings. His heart somehow simultaneously leaps into his throat and drops to his stomach. 

It stops completely once he reads the caller ID. 

Fully expecting Seonghwa to be the caller, he’s not prepared to speak to Yunho. 

Speak of the devil… he thinks as his heart starts to hammer painfully against his ribs. As much as he doesn’t want to answer it, he knows he has to. 

And the look on his face tells the others all they need to know. 

Jongho stands, quickly making his way over to Hongjoong’s side. 

“Everyone be quiet, no matter what. Put him on speaker.” He says, pointing towards the phone. 

Hongjoong swallows hard before pressing the green answer button. One more deep breath, and then– 

He hears himself. 

He hears Wooyoung and Jongho. Mingi, Yeosang, San, all of them. Their words from only a couple minutes ago being played back to him over the speakers in his phone. He stops breathing. Jongho goes rigid. Wooyoung stands shakily, mouthing, ‘what the fuck?’ 

The call hangs up right after the recording of Mingi talks to Yeosang about the key. Hongjoong almost drops his phone, back pressed against the wall, staring at it like it just came alive. Yunho didn’t even need to speak after the recording stopped, his message rang through the room loud and clear: I know. It’s a direct threat, as well as a dare. Daring them to go through with it anyway, daring them to try anything. 

Try me. 

Stunned doesn’t even begin to describe what they feel. An amalgamation of bewilderment, paranoia, fear, and disbelief shrouds the room. They look at each other for answers, even though they know no one here has any. 

Except Mingi, who goes as white as a sheet as he puts the pieces together.

“San,” he says, gaze drifting towards him. San turns to him, terrified to be singled out at a time like this. 

“When you and I were there… he took our phones.” 

San’s eyes go wide, mouth drying up in an instant. 

“Oh my god–” He breathes as he takes his own phone out, giving it a once-over, as if whatever type of recording device Yunho had placed within it would suddenly make itself obviously known. 

The group watches as he rips his phone case off, not caring that it clatters to the floor. Once he turns the phone itself over, he sees something small attached to the back of it. 

A micro bug. 

He drops his phone like it suddenly burned him. Mingi follows suit, quickly tearing off his own phone case to check.

And sure enough, there’s one on his as well. 

“He–” Yeosang stammers. “So, he’s heard everything…” 

San makes a strangled noise, unsure of what to say or do, completely caught off-guard. Violated. 

Without wasting any more time, Hongjoong grabs both of their contaminated phones and beelines into his bedroom, tossing them both onto his bed. He’ll pry the bugs off later, for now those two will just have to be phoneless for a night. Two less lines of communication in case things go south. 

Well… more south than things are going currently. 

When he gets back out into the common area, everyone is pale and looking to him for what to do next. 

He inhales shakily. If Yunho has heard everything, he knows they’re going to get you tonight. If he’s taunting them with recordings now, that must mean he is confident that they won’t go through with the plan anymore. Nothing about this plan is safe, even less so than originally. And if he’s able to call in the first place… 

He must be closer than they thought. 

A terrifying thought flashes into the forefront of Hongjoong's mind: Was he ever really in Japan? 

“We can’t wait for Seonghwa.” He says, voice strained as he wonders if Seonghwa is even safe. If he’s even alive. His pulse quickens. “We’re getting both of them out right now.”  

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

In the quiet dark of the apartment, everything is still. Even the world outside holds its breath in preparation of what’s to come. 

Nearing three in the morning, that’s when Seonghwa makes his move. He didn’t sleep at all, way too nervous to even attempt. He had stared at the walls of the dim tealight-lit room as he held your sleeping form, going over what he has to do in his mind again and again. In order to fall asleep, you had asked him rather sheepishly if he would hold you. Without him doing so, you’d be just as awake and alert as he is now, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before Yunho returns… and then you’ll really be in trouble. When his phone vibrates, signalling his alarm that he had set for 2:30, he is quick to turn it off, in case it wakes you up. You barely stir, just making a small adjustment of your head against the pillow. After he’s sure that you’re not about to wake up, he eases his hold on you, peeling back the covers at a snail-like pace and getting out of bed just as slow. You still don’t move or make a sound. All clear so far, he makes his way into the bathroom. 

Closing the door behind him, he checks his phone once more to be wary of the time. 2:36. Underneath the displayed time, he notices a text from Hongjoong from three minutes ago. Rubbing his eyes as they burn from the bright glow of the screen in the pitch black of the bathroom, what he reads doesn’t register at first glance. 

[Joong]: he knows. coming now. 

Seonghwa blinks, the wheels in his head spinning, working through each word.  

He shakes uncontrollably from an abrupt wave of anxiety, unable to stop, and almost drops his phone into the sink. Abandoning his plans to splash some water on his face before everything happens, he grabs a hand towel as he exits the bathroom and beelines towards the bed, dropping to his knees and ducking down. Careful to not touch it, he grabs the gun with the towel, wrapping it up once it detaches from the underside of the bedframe. Time really is against him, so he can’t be so mindful of how loud he’s being as he races to his overnight bag, stuffing the gun inside. 

Now on the side of the bed you’re facing, he places a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N,” he whispers, kneeling down as he attempts to shake you awake. “Y/N, wake up, please.” 

You groan in your sleep, covering your face with your arm. Almost there.  

Gentleness makes room for urgency, raising his voice so you’re sure to hear him through your sleepy fog. 

“Y/N, please you need to wake up now. Come on, angel.” 

You stir again, and this time, your eyes flutter open. Once your eyes adjust and see the nearly-concealed panic on Seonghwa’s face, you gasp and push yourself to sit up in bed. 

“What’s going on?” You ask him, looking over your shoulder at the door, listening intently to see and or hear the sound of Yunho arriving. But there’s nothing. 

Seonghwa takes your hand, urging you to get out of bed. “Please, angel, please trust me. Okay?” 

You know you’re supposed to just kind of… allow them to ask whatever they want of you – within Yunho’s limits, of course – and you have to obey, but you dig your heels in, wanting an answer before agreeing to do anything. 

“Seonghwa, what–” 

Knock knock knock, knock. 

You shut up instantly, freezing in place, staring up at Seonghwa with wide, frightened eyes. He swallows hard, looking over his shoulder, waiting for another round of knocking. With bated breath, both of you wait to hear it again. To confirm. 

Four knocks on the door. Three fast, one slow as planned. 

Immediately, you throw the covers off of yourself, about to run into the closet and hide like you’ve been taught, but Seonghwa grabs your wrist, keeping you from going anywhere. They simply do not have time to try and coax you out of a closet right now. With his other free hand, he somehow is able to find Puppy amidst the chaos of the sheets. You clutch the plushie to your chest.

“Seonghwa, who is it?” You whisper, voice and body trembling. 

The lock on the front door clicks. All he can do is hope that everything goes well from here. 

He rests his forehead against yours, “It’s just Yeosang and San… you remember them?” 

“Mhm…” your hands grip Puppy tighter around the neck, unsure of where he’s going with this, or why those two would be here right now, in the middle of the night. For a second, you think maybe Yunho asked them to come, to kickstart your ‘training’ again. But something seems off. 

“Trust me just this once, angel. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.” 

You don’t respond, eyes watching the dark, open doorway as the two of you hear the front door slowly open, shut, and lock again. Whoever it is, they’re inside the apartment now. 

At that exact moment, Yunho receives a notification on his phone. 

There is motion outside of your Front Door. 

He tosses his phone onto the couch. 

The knife in his hand catches the dim, golden light from the bedroom. 

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa whisper-shouts towards the dark hallway. 

You tense, choking the life out of Puppy, veins popping out of your hand as you listen to the footsteps drawing nearer and nearer. One set of them, not two. 

You know that sound all too well.  

DAY ONE.

You and Seonghwa coexist, as you’re meant to. As you were told to. 

Luckily, he makes it easy. He keeps quiet, makes sure you’re eating properly as Yunho will want you to, and stays a respectable distance away. You can tell he’s overthinking. You don’t blame him. 

The awkwardness between you is unmatched, each of you unsure of what to say to the other. Especially during meals, when you have to be sort of close to each other. Seonghwa noted how confused and worried you had looked this morning when he slid a plate stacked with pancakes in front of you. He had gotten up early, unable to sleep after last night’s activities, and decided to cook to try and get his mind somewhat off of what he had to do – has to do. It worked… kind of. 

You’d hesitated, nervously glancing between him and the food. 

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa eventually said, nudging the plate towards you even more. “It’s for you. All of it, if you want.” 

A large part of you doesn’t trust him. After all, one of his good friends has been lying to you for almost half a year now. You don’t trust anybody but Yunho. So for breakfast, you only eat one pancake – although, you do pick the biggest one in the pile. Seonghwa doesn’t say anything, he simply takes three and sets them down onto his own plate, happy to stuff his mouth and eat in silence. 

You beelined back to your room once the table was clear and the dishes were washed and drying on the rack. All that Seonghwa asked was that you keep the door open, thinking Yunho would appreciate that. Otherwise, the two of you remained separate. 

Until lunch. 

Once again, Seonghwa took it upon himself to cook for you, ignoring your protests that this was something you ought to do for him instead. And, once again, he gives you a much bigger portion than what you are used to being given. For the second time today, you wait for the trick. The reveal of the test that Yunho asked him to conduct. And for the second time today, nothing comes. Nothing is revealed. The metaphorical rug is yet to be pulled out from under you. 

Seonghwa waves off your quiet ‘thank you’, and slurps the soup he prepared, filling the otherwise silent room. You poke at your bigger bowl of rice as your stomach growls at the sight of it. It’s rather hard to finish the bigger portion sizes, but you know that Yunho will be watching whenever he gets a chance, making sure you eat everything that is given to you. So you eat as slowly as you can, hoping that helps your stomach digest everything easier. But the nausea creeps up on you as you place the dishes and bowls in the sink. 

Seonghwa watches you hesitate, bent over slightly with your hand placed on your forehead. 

“Y/N?” He calls, crumpling up his napkin in one hand. 

You manage a small noise, high-pitched towards the end to indicate a question. He stands, approaching like he would a scared kitten. 

“You okay?” 

The first instinct that you have is to just pretend. Play it off, hide it from view, but you know that he’ll see through the charade. You don’t realize how close he got to you until you turn with the intention of going to the fridge, almost bumping right into him nose-first into his chest. This is the closest he’s ever been to you, voluntarily. Without anyone telling him to. Wordlessly, he replaces your hand with his, feeling your forehead for any indication of an abnormal, higher temperature. 

“I’m fine,” you say quietly. A small tingle of nervous energy zips up your spine, not used to the sensation of his touch. You blink rapidly, face heating up and you try to scoot past him. 

He drops his hand, relieved that you don’t have a fever or anything, but still wondering why you’re suddenly acting differently. Moving seems like a monumental, dangerous effort for you, as if you’re not sure what will happen as you take another step or open the fridge for water. He moved like that after he saw a certain graphic picture in the group chat. 

You steal a glance at him, catching his watchful, seemingly all-knowing eye and quickly looking away. You know he knows. Why you’re trying to be so strong about it, both of you aren’t quite sure. Maybe it’s because you know what he thinks of your… ‘relationship’ with Yunho and the dynamics of it, and you want to appear stronger than you really feel. Like everything’s okay. 

His presence near you is almost impossible to ignore. You don’t think he means to be, but he is rather intimidating when he’s quiet. 

Another pang rolls through your stomach and you grimace, twisting off the cap of the water bottle and taking a small sip. “I just…” you swallow thickly, “I don’t think my body is, um, used to eating so much at once.”  

He thought as much. It makes sense that that would be the case, especially with the timing of it. Still, he felt a bit guilty for not realizing that sooner, choosing to not think too deeply about the unusual slowness of your eating, or how you had looked at your plate like you were an exhausted climber who was still five hundred feet from the summit. 

Despite your quiet, initial protests, still claiming that you’re alright, he gently guides you to sit down in the living room and hands you the blanket that is draped over the top of the couch. Once you’re settled, comfortable in the way you want to be, he goes back into the kitchen and starts rummaging around. Your mouth itches to speak, to tell him that you’ll do whatever he’s trying to do, but you wince as you try to sit up. 

He only turns back to you about ten minutes later, balancing a small teacup on a saucer and bringing it over. 

“It’s peppermint,” he says, gesturing to the tea after he sets it down on the table. “It should help.” 

You thank him quietly, unmoving for a moment. The steam from the cup curls upwards towards the ceiling, beckoning you to taste it while it’s still hot. Already, the minty scent it emanates eases the uncomfortable waves of nausea. The heat of the cup warms your hands, tilting it to your lips and taking a small sip. You can feel the warmth cascade down until it lands in your stomach, relaxing it soon after it arrives there.    

Seonghwa fidgets, playing with a ring on his finger. You think Yunho and Mingi have a similar one, but you can’t quite see the details of it from here to be sure. 

“Do you need anything else? Anything that might help you feel better?” He asks, looking anywhere but directly at you. 

You hesitate. You’re not supposed to ask him for anything, really. But… 

“My, um… my puppy plushie?” You ask, blushing at the childish request. It’s been a while since you needed it. Yunho had brought that home for you a long time ago. Early. Your first reward for good behavior that had exceeded his standards. You remember how thrilled you were; your first possession in the apartment. One thing to call your own. Now, Puppy – as you so brilliantly and cleverly named it – served as a reminder of how far you’ve come. 

Daddy had given him back to you only a couple of days ago.  

If Seonghwa notices how embarrassed and small you feel, he doesn’t say anything. Thankfully. He only nods once, and exits the living room, disappearing into the bedroom. You relax a little more against the couch, the tea working its magic the more you sip it. It tastes like Christmas. From what you could see from the thick, blackout curtain, the minimal light that crept in around the edges was white, rather than gold. You wonder if it's snowing. Maybe when Daddy gets back, he’ll let you see it. Cautious excitement blooms in your chest. 

Maybe. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Seonghwa, meanwhile, is frozen. 

In the disarray of last night, Puppy had fallen to the floor with the sharp movement of the sheets, its little head peeking out just barely from underneath the bed. It had taken Seonghwa longer than expected to find the plushie, even searching the closet and bathroom before he eventually found it. He bent down to pull it out, but it was stuck on something. A small ripping sound cuts through the quiet room. On his hands and knees, he ducks down, looking under the bed for what could be holding onto the toy, only to find something he did not expect… but had heard about. 

A gun. 

Hidden away, taped up on the frame of the bed, a stray piece of tape catching onto Puppy’s fur. Startled, he jerks back, hitting his hand on the metal bedframe. 

“Shit…” he hisses under his breath. The pain in his hand is the least of his worries right now, and to be honest he doesn’t even really register it at all. It will bruise, but he can’t bring himself to care. This is the first gun he’s seen in real life. He’s held fake ones before, but this one is the real deal. This one has killed before. Lives are tied to the trigger, every bullet expelled from it. This gun… can link Yunho to several crimes. 

However, to his knowledge, and from what Mingi has been able to tell him, none of the other missing girls have been found yet. Without bodies, it’s unlikely the courts can successfully link him to their cases. 

Quickly, he straightens himself, checking to make sure your stuffed animal didn’t sustain any damage from the tape and rises to his feet again. Out of the corner of his eye, he looks directly at one of the cameras. Yunho can’t know he found this. He needs to make it look like a close call. He saw nothing. 

His breath is erratic, but he keeps it hidden well. Quiet and undetectable from here. Turning on his heel, he slowly makes his way back into the living room, the image of the gun branding itself in the forefront of his mind’s eye.  

It goes off every time he blinks. And once you come into his field of vision again, he averts his eyes like you’re a brutal crime scene. 

In a way, maybe you are.  

You instantly pick up on the fact that something’s different with him when he comes back in. His eyes stay glued to the floor as he hands Puppy to you. 

An odd feeling spreads through you, one you’ve felt before but couldn’t precisely label just with a single word. If Yunho trusts Seonghwa, then you should trust him as well… but you can’t. And though you feel a bit silly to not trust him over something so simple as him not looking at you all of a sudden, a delayed warning finally rings out in the back of your mind. A ‘what if’. The kind your imagination picks up and runs with regularly. You’ve instinctively picked up on something, even though you don’t know what it is. 

That voice gets louder when you realize he’s made his way back to the kitchen, running the sink and starting to wash the dishes. Your responsibility. Only yours. 

You throw the blanket off of you in a panic, scrambling to your feet. “No, no, Sir, let me do it–” 

Seonghwa stops moving, only to make sure you hear him clearly, “You don’t have to call me that,” he says, knowing that it’s not true. “We’re friends, right?” 

Friends? 

The word itself almost makes you step back in surprise. Is that what you two are? Friends… the word sits heavy in your mind. You think you had friends before you came here, but you can’t remember too clearly. Names and faces blur, memories tangle together. Nothing discernable. Nothing important anymore. 

Is that what Yunho wants you two to be? 

Seonghwa looks at you over his shoulder, forcing a small grin before turning back to the sink.     

You glance at the closest hidden camera to you, the one on the coffee table. It’s practically invisible unless you’re looking for it, but you find it easily. You glance between it and Seonghwa. The question of whether Yunho will be mad if you allow him to do your chores for you rings in your head. 

The answer is probably. 

You’re stuck. Left to hope against hope Yunho doesn’t get mad about this if he finds out, and pray that if he does, Seonghwa will defend you. 

Eventually, you decide there will be less of a chance of getting in trouble if you put more of an effort in. And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the counter, next to the sink, handing Seonghwa the second of four dishes. The two of you are quiet, thankful for the loud rush of the sink that aptly fills the otherwise awkward silence. His jaw is clenched. Almost like he’s trying to keep his thoughts in his mouth. 

“How is everyone?” You ask, out of nowhere. 

Seonghwa pauses, registering what you meant by ‘everyone’, and slowly sets the plate down. 

“Everyone’s… okay.” He says, finding a proper word to cover all his bases. A white lie. One you’ll have to forgive him for. 

You hum in response, idly swinging your feet in thought. 

“Daddy said I still haven’t met all of you yet,” you mention as you hand Seonghwa another plate to wash. 

Seonghwa swallows hard. “No,” he agrees. “You haven’t yet.” 

Again, you fall silent. Your heels hit the cabinet in a steady rhythm. The plates and silverware clink together, a sharp glassy sound. 

“Are you two gonna do anything for Christmas?” Seonghwa asks, steering the subject away from the others. Even verbally, he’s protecting them as much as he can, keeping their names safe from the sinister walls of the apartment.   

You pause. “Oh… I don’t know. Is it December?”  

Seonghwa nearly drops the final plate, adjusting his grip at the very last second. 

“Yes,” he says tightly, “It’s December twenty-first.” 

The two of you look at each other for a moment. A brief, unspoken acknowledgement. Your eyes wander the apartment. You wish you could decorate, hang up stockings and ornaments, and worry about getting good presents for Yunho. Will he even let you have a Christmas?

Shifting a little uncomfortably up on the counter, you bite your bottom lip. It’s been so long since you knew the exact date. The only way you knew time was passing and the seasons were changing was the fact that it’s colder inside the apartment, and that the sun had started to set earlier and earlier. 

Ten months here. Ten days until the new year. Two months until your one year anniversary. 

You absentmindedly pick at your nails, wondering how that day will be spent. If you get that far. 

Seonghwa finishes washing up quickly, needing to sit down soon to clear his head. He offers his hand to help you hop off the counter, your feet landing on the wood floor with a soft thud. You beat him back to the living room, taking another sip of the tea he had made for you as you nestle back onto the couch. 

The tea definitely helps calm your stomach as well as warm your body from the frigid December air. Now that you’ve traded the air conditioning for the heat, you pile another blanket on top of you, trying to warm your feet up. Seonghwa sits hesitantly, on the opposite end of the couch, occasionally glancing towards Yunho’s room. 

Every blink is another image of the gun branded against his eyelids. Bang, bang, bang. 

“Have you heard from Daddy today?” You ask him, hugging Puppy close to your chest.  

He turns to look at you. 

Bang. 

“Oh, um…” he wastes time by pulling out his phone, knowing that he hasn’t heard from him since last night. “No, not yet.” 

He watches you deflate, self-consciously pulling the blankets just a little farther up to cover your shoulders now. You pull Puppy out from under the blankets. He hates the dark too. 

It’s definitely not the first time you’ve felt self-conscious with Seonghwa around. Literally, he is that beautiful. You’re sure you look a mess, frail, dull compared to him. It makes you want to hide from him. 

There’s a silence long enough for you to build up the courage to speak to him again. 

“You’re really pretty.” You mumble shyly. You can feel your face heating up, and not from the tea or the blankets. 

Seonghwa clears his throat, not expecting to hear that. “Oh, thank you. So are you.” He hopes that compliment isn’t crossing any boundaries, though he’s sure it isn’t. It’s so easy to overthink the simplest things here. He’s certainly done and said worse. 

But, despite the awkward energy between you, he has to initiate what he came here to do. What he volunteered to do. 

“So, uh, has Yunho told you anything about Ateez?” 

You glance at him, evident confusion written clear across your face. “Ateez?” You ask, “What’s that?” 

Seonghwa draws a breath in. Mingi told him that a while ago, that you still don’t know about what they do for work. He wonders how Yunho kept it from you for so long. 

“We’re an idol group,” he explains, “that’s why Yunho has such weird hours and why he has to go away for long periods of time.” 

You don’t reply. Not verbally at least. You just kind of sit with the information as it all makes sense to you now. Maybe he wasn’t neglecting you on purpose, all those days when he’d leave you here by yourself. Maybe it was because he didn’t have a choice. It was probably how he could afford this apartment as well as all the expensive clothes he’s bought you.  

“Do you want to see?” Seonghwa asks. 

You shrug, not really knowing if you should agree to this or not. You’re sure Daddy kept this from you for a reason, and it seems wrong for Seonghwa to bring this up behind his back. Mingi must have told them that you don’t know. You start to feel dumb again, small and pathetic for not knowing. They must think you’re stupid or something for not knowing sooner.  

Once Seonghwa pulls up YouTube on the smart TV, he flicks through thumbnails of multiple music videos, recognizable faces on most of them. Half-heartedly, you play with a loose thread in one of the blankets, your eyes flicking up when you hear music coming from the speakers.

It’s hard to register that you’re watching Yunho on screen, singing about… rebellion of all things. Seonghwa watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye, noting how conflicted and affected you seem to be. He notices that you’re gripping one of the blankets a little tighter than normal, a grimace twisting your face. 

You try to keep everything you’re feeling hidden, but your brain feels like it’s static. The faces go by one by one quite rapidly, and there’s two that you don’t recognize whatsoever. You haven’t seen them here yet. At the moment, you can’t remember their names. Seonghwa appears on screen for the chorus, his hair styled up in a strange way, making him look like a bird of prey. Mingi appears on screen and you have to look away completely, but his voice fills the room. You hug Puppy tighter. The music seems to get louder and louder, burrowing painfully into your ears, though Seonghwa isn’t touching the remote. Panic rises in your chest for no reason. The sound itself causes your pulse to quicken, your very bones vibrating. You only realize what you’re feeling when you find that you can barely speak. It’s hard to think, and yet your mind feels overcrowded, each thought trampled under the next. Your hands cover your ears, though it does nothing to stifle the noise.    

Luckily, Seonghwa can plainly see your distress and quickly pauses the video. “What is it? What happened?” 

“I-I haven’t–” you pat your ears, trying to explain but the words keep getting stuck. That same pitiful feeling creeps up on you again. Couldn’t even get through a song without panicking. Inwardly, you try to be nice to yourself, reasoning that maybe it was also because of the discovery that Yunho is an idol, as well as your stress with being alone with Seonghwa. Everything is piling on top of one another. 

But that negative voice is always louder: Daddy’s right, it tells you. 

Can’t handle the world, not without him. You imagine yourself on the unforgiving and dangerous streets below, completely alone and exposed to life itself all at once. No one down there would care about you. No one would comfort you or help if you started to panic. They’d hurry past you, not realizing who you are. Not caring who you are. No matter what happens to you here, it’s better to stay with someone who cares about you. That’s what Yunho belted into your brain the last few weeks. 

God, the belt. 

You squirm as you remember him threatening, striking, and taunting you with it. Every day. Beaten back down to where you belong: dumb and obedient. Afraid and small. It hadn’t taken long at all – you already knew this was true beforehand. 

The proof of it is still just a little hard to swallow. 

Seonghwa moves closer to you, wanting to help. Also, he feels a bit guilty he didn’t take your situation into account. But ultimately, it’s worth it if he can begin to break you out of this headspace Yunho has placed you in. 

“He hasn’t let you listen to music this whole time?” He asks, already knowing the answer. 

“It’s not important.” You recite obediently.  

Music is a distraction. Music isn’t going to help you or guide you on the path to perfection. Only perfect dolls can have that sort of privilege, and you still aren’t there yet. The only songs you’re allowed to hear are the soft melodies Daddy will sometimes sing to you late at night – they knock you out so quickly. His voice is so sweet and calming. Nothing like you just heard in the video. He only sang loud enough so that you could hear him. After all, he said that you are the only one he truly wants to sing for. 

“Not important?” Seonghwa echoes. He can practically hear Hongjoong ranting from here. “Why would you think that?” 

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t know, or because you’re trying to be rude, but simply because he won’t understand. None of them do. None of them want to.  

All they try to do when they come here is split you two apart. Drive a wedge between you, piss him off on purpose, only to end up getting themselves in trouble and putting you in danger. They don’t care to ask you if you want to be here. They assume. They don’t know. They refuse to know how good it can be here, with Yunho. Unconventional, sure. Dangerous, absolutely. But everything primarily bad that has happened has been due to an outside source. 

Logically though, you know you can’t pin the blame on them for everything. You’re not even mad at them, surprisingly. Moreso frustrated. 

“Did you like music?” Seonghwa asks quietly, staring at his hands in his lap. “Before?” 

You inhale deeply, buying yourself time before speaking. “I don’t remember.” 

Not exactly true, you can still run some known melodies and lyrics off the top of your head, especially the ones from childhood, but to say otherwise wouldn’t serve you well with Yunho. Saying a flat out ‘yes’ would give Seonghwa ammo against him, saying ‘no’ would be an obvious lie. You’re a quick thinker. Clever. 

You know the game. You’re the last-standing player. A lucky pawn. 

Seonghwa’s hands ball up into fists in his lap. 

“You shouldn’t have to give up things you like in order to please him,” he says. “That isn’t how it’s supposed to work.” 

How what is supposed to work, you want to ask. Your jaw clenches, a habit you subconsciously picked up from Yunho. You push the blanket off of your shoulders, straightening yourself to sit taller against the couch. 

If he wants to argue about this, then fine. 

After some deep breaths, you respond, “Daddy takes care of me.” 

It’s final, and your voice is firmer than Seonghwa has ever heard it. A sentence you believe in wholeheartedly, despite everything. That’s what scares him the most. He finally looks over at you, catching the stony gaze you’re throwing at him.  

“I know he does,” he manages to say around the lump in his throat, “which is why I’m here, right?” 

Again, you don’t answer. Your arms cross over your chest, a clear sign that you’re trying to close yourself off from this conversation, from him.  

“But you don’t have to rely on him for everything,” Seonghwa says, keeping his voice soft. Innocent. Like he’s not trying to turn you against the one person that you trust the most. “There are other people who want to help you. Protect you.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “If by ‘people’ you mean Mingi, I don’t need him to help or protect me. He’s done enough.” Your tone is a little snappy, which you think Yunho will forgive you for if he watches this exchange back on the cameras. 

Seonghwa locks up. The abrupt terseness doesn’t offend him at all, but what unnerves him is how rehearsed it sounds. Not defensive. Corrective. Like you’re repeating a conclusion that’s already been reached for you – one that’s been drilled into your head a thousand times over. The words don’t sound like your own, nor does the near-monotone voice you use to articulate them. Each one is obviously and heavily under the influence of Yunho. Possessed. Seonghwa knows he has to play defense now. Not just against you, but your conditioning as well. It’ll be a two against one fight.  

“I didn’t–” He pauses, swallowing hard before trying again. Slower, this time. “I didn’t mean just him.”

You sigh, closing your eyes and resting your head on the back of the couch. “I know who you meant.” 

”Y/N… we’re just worried for you. We want you to know that you can trust us.”

You know, but you don’t believe it. How can you? After finding out what Mingi did? There is no possible way you can trust any of them just because he says you can. And if Seonghwa asks you if you trust him right now, you’ll tell him the truth. 

No. 

Same goes for the rest of them. Trust is too precious a thing, and you’d rather give it to the one who has never lied to you, the one who has taken care of you and made sure you’re safe these past ten months. You can’t give your trust away so easily anymore. If they think you can, then they’re deluding themselves. 

They’re the threat. 

It’s not me you should be worried about, you think bitterly. 

“Why should I trust you?” You counter, focusing on that same loose thread in one of the blankets. “Do any of you trust me?” 

The hesitation that follows is a good enough answer for you: Not at all. You suppose they have good reason not to trust you, but on the same coin, so do you when it comes to them. 

“I know what you all think about me. About him.” Your voice is sharp, meant to cut apart his claims. 

Seonghwa takes a deep breath in, shifting uncomfortably. “We think what’s happening is a very… unique situation. We just want to offer you more support, as friends.” 

An uneasiness draws your arms tighter around yourself. 

“Trust takes time,” Seonghwa continues, still treading lightly. “I’m not expecting you to just… flip a switch and feel safe with the rest of us but… I hope you believe me when I say we all want the best for you.” 

‘The best for you’. Something tells you that that looks different to them than it does to you and Yunho. Their version implies you being torn away from him. Forced to act like he never happened. Like he never cared, nor put forth so much effort and kindness into you. Your mind is so black and white, divided entirely. Daddy protects you. They lie to you. 

Seonghwa’s lying to you right now. 

His eyes avoid yours when he says ‘we all’. Clearly, there are some members who don’t particularly wish you anything but to disappear from their lives as abruptly as you entered. All things considered, you can’t necessarily blame them. Still, deep inside you, though you’ll never admit it to yourself or to anyone else, that dormant and conscious part of you is rather pissed that they haven’t done anything to help you earlier. Because of what? Their careers. It makes you want to double down. Be even better for Yunho, shove it in their faces. Make them see what they’ve allowed to continue for almost a year now, make them aware that they hold some of the blame. And if they see through it, know that you’re doing it on purpose, they need only trace the root of your behavior back to one of their own. 

You may have one foot in the grave, but Mingi had handed Yunho the shovel to dig it in the first place. Without a second thought, either. 

“Have any of you considered that I want to be here?”

Seonghwa’s neck almost snaps from how sharply he turns to you again. You can’t be serious. But you don’t move. You look as if you said nothing, peacefully resting against the couch, inspecting your nails. 

Maybe deep down he knew this could be the case. Especially after what he saw last night in the bathroom between you and Yunho. All the same, he feels like he’s just gotten a bucket of ice water dumped all over him. His skin crawls. There’s a deafening rush in his ears, and a guilt – the likes of which he’s never felt so profoundly – that chokes him. It’s something none of them ever thought of. Never even imagined, actually. 

You don’t want to be rescued. 

His hands interlock, trying to comfort himself as he comes to terms with this. They let it get this far. So far, in fact, that you believe that you are choosing to stay. You don’t understand that you’re only still here because Yunho hasn’t killed you yet. You’re alive because Yunho has allowed you to live. That not beating you isn’t the reward you think it is. That you deserve to be able to listen to music. To go outside, wear whatever you want, see your family, have a normal and loving relationship. To live. The lives he’s snuffed out in the past seemingly mean… nothing to you. They don’t matter. If these haunted walls could talk, the cries and voices of the girls in the past would be screaming at you in rage. In fear. Panic. Get out.  

They’re trapped here forever, but you don’t have to be. 

In the tense silence, the TV automatically switches back to the homepage of YouTube after being left idle for too long. More ATEEZ music video recommendations fill the screen. One of the videos is titled ‘log_logbook’ with a number next to it. The urge to go onto the channel and flick through the videos almost has you reaching for the remote. You want to see more, know more. Maybe a couple of months ago you would have. Today, you stay right where you are. Your hands stay in bounds, your curiosity remains unsatiated. But that’s life.  

Clear that the conversation has been brought to a screeching halt, you watch the screen, waiting for Seonghwa to pick something else, or to turn it off entirely. Instead, he stands. Though he looks like he’d like to say more, he decides against it for the time being, and excuses himself into the guestroom. The door shuts behind him, but not completely. If you needed him, you could simply push it open with ease and without needing to turn the knob. 

A few minutes later, you give up and move too. A blanket and Puppy in hand, you trudge back into the bedroom, also leaving the door open. You sink into the bed, groaning into one of the pillows. From exhaustion? Maybe. From what you said? Debatable. Seeking some form of comfort, as well as wanting to focus on something – anything – else, you turn onto your side and wrap a hand around Puppy’s limp body and start to look him over. There’s still a tiny black spot on his ear from where his tag used to be on his otherwise completely golden faux coat. 

An imperfection. 

The corner of your lip twitches. Your fingers start to pick at it, like you’re trying to remove a tick from skin. Every pinch of your nails pulls at the fabric, intent on ripping out that one discoloration. With it, comes golden ‘fur’ as well. In fact, in order to get the damn thing at the root, you have to pull some of the gold out, just to get it out of the way. Your focus locks in on completing this task for yourself, stubborn to continue until the intended result is gained. 

The more you pick at it, the more lost in thought you become. Your mind takes you back down a familiar path: thinking about the uncertainty of the future. The scenery is always a bit different each time you trail through it, branching off into various directions and scenarios. You replay the conversation you just had with Seonghwa. You remember a time you so desperately wanted them all to like you. To want to be around you. The months you trusted Mingi, the shameful hope you had once of leaving with him, that false love and care you once held just for him, all of it falls to the wayside now. You step over it. You successfully rip out another tiny piece of fur.   

Finally, you pull the last little tuft of black with a sharp inhale, looking between it and the now ragged, misshapen circle where it once was. You blink in stunned silence, needing a moment to fully understand how this happened before you realize. In your mission to extract the flaw, you ended up damaging the surrounding area. 

You wonder if this will get you in trouble. 

Puppy simply stares back at you. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the afternoon crawls by. 

You don’t bother to turn the bedroom light on as the sun sets, the light coming from the kitchen is enough to keep the growing darkness in the bedroom at bay. You’ve been replaying the conversation you had with Seonghwa for the past two hours. Sure, you could go to the guestroom and talk to him about how you feel, but you’d rather torture yourself with the classic conflicting thoughts. The same ones that bring out that amplified voice. The one that is just trying to help keep you alive, make sure you’re being good for Daddy. 

Et cetera, et cetera.  

You flip onto your stomach, groaning at the thought of needing to get up and be useful soon. After killing a couple more minutes just by staring blankly at the opened door, you push yourself up, not noticing a shadow drifting down the hallway towards the room. 

Towards you. 

When you lift your head and see Seonghwa there, you yelp in shock, clutching your chest.  

“You scared me.” You state the obvious, laughing nervously. 

The expression on his face is unreadable. Doomed, almost. 

Before you can ask the question, he answers it, “He texted me. Um… I have to help you…” he trails off, looking towards the bathroom. 

Ah.

Right. 

You want to say no, that he doesn’t have to, but what good would it do? Then both of you would get in trouble. You knew he’d have to one of these nights, but you just didn’t expect it to be on the first. As the two of you start to walk, Seonghwa mentions that Yunho will have him help you again tomorrow night as well, before he comes back so that you’re ready for him. Sounds like Daddy just wants to torture him. 

If only you knew. 

Still somewhat untrusting of him, you let him go into the bathroom first, following behind and shutting the door. As if someone would interrupt. He stands awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure of what to do next. You take it upon yourself to start the bath, avoiding eye contact with him as you undress. He doesn’t make a sound. He barely moves. You fold everything neatly, placing the little pile on your side of the counter, next to your skincare products. Then, you step in, wincing at the temperature. A bit too hot, but eventually it’ll cool down. Daddy always knows exactly how far to turn the valve, not too hot but not too cold. Yet another reason to miss him right now. 

Another reason you need him to help you. 

You tap the bottom of your body wash, squeezing some of the content into the water to create bubbles – something to hide yourself behind. Hopefully Daddy doesn’t mind that. Besides, intimate stuff like this should be for his eyes only. It’s almost like a different kind of nudity. Too personal. Exposing. You hug your knees, breathing in the slight steam coming from the water and closing your eyes. It helps prevent panic attacks if you keep your eyes closed during your baths now. Recently though, Daddy has started letting you take showers. Supervised of course, and he joins you more-often-than-not, but you take it as another small reward. You were so pathetically giddy the first time he suggested it. It’s a good memory for you from these last few weeks. A sliver of autonomy, without completely erasing the need for him. 

Your eyes flick over to Seonghwa, who hasn’t moved yet. Did Daddy not explain it to him? Surely, he must have. You pick up the cup from the corner of the tub, wondering if you should just do it yourself. You don’t want to prolong this. 

Finally, he moves. But it’s like his legs are suddenly made out of concrete, each step weighing one hundred pounds. You move your hair behind your shoulders so he doesn’t have to do it himself and tilt your head back. Eyes closed. Your hands ball up into fists under the water. Waiting for it is the worst part. You know it’s coming. The possibility of a few stray droplets running down your face scares you to no end. And after all of this, you know Daddy’s going to want you to wash your face. 

The first time you did so – after he nearly drowned you – he held your hand the whole time. Instead of having you lean over the sink, splashing water on your face, he’d put his hand under the running water and dampened your face that way. He ran a small, clean towel under the faucet when it was time to wash the product off. You only relaxed when he kissed your forehead, breathing that you were all done. ‘Scary part over.’

‘Did so well for me.’

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling like an idiot at the memory. And you snap out of that lighthearted feeling when Seonghwa finally takes the cup from you, holding it under the faucet, and placing his other hand directly on your hairline, making sure nothing will drip onto your face. It warms your heart. 

Daddy told him, you think with a small grin. Of course he did. 

The rest of the bath goes by quite smoothly and quickly. Seonghwa is nothing but gentle with you the whole time. His ears are bright red by the end of it. But he helps you step out, and wraps you in a towel. Skincare goes just as well. He’s meticulous, examining each product that Daddy has bought for you, even quietly complimenting your routine. Once it’s done, you admire how glowy you look in the mirror, not noticing how quiet Seonghwa has become. Rather, quieter than he has been. 

Feeling more refreshed than you have all day, you thank him quietly for his help and start to walk past him, ready to go to the closet to get dressed and then to the kitchen and begin working on dinner. 

Only, he grabs your wrist before you can leave. 

You only have enough time to look down, confirming that that’s what he was doing before he presses your back to him. His lips are right next to your ear. 

“Go wait for me on the bed.” 

Confusion twists your features. It was way too early for you to go to sleep. And how he said it… the phrasing he used is almost identical to how Daddy would say it. 

Seonghwa’s thumb sweeps across your wrist, looking for any reply or movement from you. You don’t mean to disobey an order, but you’re having trouble wrapping your mind around what is actually going on. Your foolish hopes start to rise, thinking that maybe Daddy came back early and is about to surprise you. If so, you need to make sure you were greeting him properly, if only Seonghwa would let go of your wrist. 

“Is Daddy home?” You try to move forward again, but Seonghwa’s grip tightens, pulling you back.  

“Angel,” his tone is firm, but his eyes are pleading, “do as you’re told.”  

He lets go of you then, just as quickly dropping his gaze as well. You move somewhat quickly, still hoping against hope that Daddy came home early and that’s the reason why Seonghwa is acting so tense and weird right now. The colder air of the bedroom hits your face as soon as you open the door, blowing into your eyes for a second. Immediately, you search the space for him. 

No one’s waiting for you. 

Now your heart drops. Your hope slowly turns into something more akin to dread. You think back to what Seonghwa had said not even two minutes ago. Three words, carefully chosen. Said for a reason. 

‘Wait for me’. 

What he’s implying… he can’t do that. Daddy made it clear to him from the very beginning that he can’t do that. Not without him present. Dread crawls up your spine. No amount of disbelief can alter this reality you’ve found yourself in. You can’t convince yourself that everything will be okay. And not just for you, but for Seonghwa as well. If what you think is about to happen does in fact happen, he’ll be a dead man for sure. San pushing you is one thing, Mingi lying is another, but this… 

Have you pissed him off this much…? 

The cameras watch, as they’re meant to. Zooming in close on your fear, the way you’re wringing your hands, nervous and frightened. The small red light remains unblinking. Live. Recording. 

On autopilot, your body moves itself into the center of the bed, kneeling and waiting as you’ve been told to do. Even in the face of impending ruination, you remain obedient. You do exactly as you’re told. Your knees sink into the mattress, and you find yourself wishing you could just fall through and disappear entirely. The bedroom door, still open, beckons you through it with the palpable temptation of escaping this. But you stay completely still. 

Even now, you look for him. You wait for him to casually walk into the bedroom, easing your worries in an instant, to tell Seonghwa he did well and he can go home. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead, Seonghwa emerges from the bathroom, switching off the light and plunging the bedroom deeper into the growing dark. Your heart jumps up your throat while your eyes adjust. The gold light coming down the hallway from the kitchen is your greatest ally right now. He moves in silence, stiffly, like his body is fighting him with every step it takes. You watch his shadow, his figure moving in the dark towards you. 

Once standing at the side of the bed, forefinger and thumb anxiously messing with the hem of his shirt, he speaks again. 

“I’m supposed to, um… ‘check’ you for him,” he says quietly, digging his phone out of his pocket and weakly holding it up as evidence. “He wants me to record it.” 

Oh…oh! 

Unexpected, but definitely better than what you thought was happening. You are, however, surprised. Confused, as well. Why would Daddy ask Seonghwa to check you? Usually that task is for Daddy and Daddy only – at least, so far. Does he even know what to ‘check’ for? Nevertheless, you adjust how you’re sitting and part your legs immediately. Less so because of obedience, and more so because you want to get this over with. Checking is so normal to you, you don’t understand why Seonghwa is so tense about it. He’s done worse with you, after all. 

Unless there’s more to his text exchange with Daddy that he’s not telling you. 

The thought almost makes you close your legs, but Seonghwa wraps his hands around your ankles and starts dragging you down closer to him until your hips are almost hanging off the edge. This action is familiar, especially with him, and you hate to admit that you feel heat blooming in your lower stomach. 

You keep still, lying back and staring up at the ceiling. Honestly the two main things on your mind are your disappointment that Daddy isn’t home early, and your options for what to make for dinner. 

On instinct, your legs threaten to close again when you hear a soft little ding noise coming from Seonghwa’s phone – wordlessly signalling to you that he was now recording. He turns slightly to prop his phone up against the lamp on top of the nightstand, sideways in order to capture everything well. Selfconsciously, he fluffs his hair, hiding his face from his own camera – from himself – and kneels down between your legs. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm as it traverses across your inner thighs. It’s difficult to relax. Everytime you’ve seen him in this position in front of you, he’s driven you up the wall with pleasure. Your hips grind upwards once against nothing, betraying you and revealing your thoughts to him, but he doesn’t draw attention to it like Daddy would. 

His hands smooth up your thighs, fingertips dipping under the towel. Goosebumps rise across your skin, a physical map showcasing exactly how you’re feeling, despite your distrust of him.    

The only thing you do trust when it comes to Seonghwa is that he has nearly equal ability to take you apart just as efficiently as Daddy. 

You bite your bottom lip, your arms instinctually cross over your chest, covering as much as possible. Covering your inappropriate thoughts. But Seonghwa pushes the towel further up, exposing everything to his eyes. For the first time in a long time, you wish it was darker in here. But you hold still. You don’t shy away, and you lay your arms down back by your side. A good little doll for him to move and touch without any resistance. You do, however, tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, making direct eye contact with his phone camera. You haven’t seen yourself like this before, and you absorb as much of the image as possible before you feel a small pressure on the inside of one of your thighs. Without tearing your gaze away momentarily, you obediently part your legs further, allowing him to slot himself in between. You’re dangerously close to draping your calves over his shoulders. You wonder how Daddy would react to that. The thought makes you giggle quietly to yourself – what a troublemaker you are in your imagination. 

It’s not long after that you finally feel another pressure, this one right at your entrance. He doesn’t push in immediately, that’s not what this is. ‘Checking’ usually consists of Daddy making sure you haven’t been touching yourself without permission, and or to check if you’re ready for him at any time. These checks usually come at night, after dinner. Every time you anticipate that Daddy will do more to you, he never does. Something about just knowing you’re always ready to receive him at any time gives him more satisfaction than anything. Knowing that if he wants to, you’ll be prepared at a moment’s notice. All he has to do is what Seonghwa is doing now: lightly trailing his hand up your thigh, while the other traces along your lower lips. Since it’s him though, you take just a little longer than usual to get wet – something that you’re sure Daddy won’t fault you for if Seonghwa reports that back to him. 

Seonghwa can almost hear Yunho’s voice in his head, telling him to take the towel off of you completely, but since he didn’t say to do so in his text, he’s not doing it. Doing this ‘by the book’ makes this a fraction easier. If he asks, he’ll simply say that he didn’t know if he had permission in this case. That seems to be as good an answer as any around here. The rules for them seem to unpredictably evolve with each unnerving visit. More ‘privileges’, as well as the surprising faith he’s placed in Seonghwa. No one really expected that. 

One thing at a time. That’s all he can do. 

His mouth presses into a thin line, looking but not focusing on what his hands are doing in the dim light. His thumb swipes upwards, brushing against your clit and you whimper, though you try to hold any noises back. Your hands hold onto the top of the towel, still wrapped securely around your chest, and you focus on breathing normally. Without any other sounds except for slow exhalations between the two of you, it’s easy for your mind to wander. Ambling towards those memories you keep having with Seonghwa around. You can almost feel Hongjoong holding your hand. You can almost hear Yeosang’s soft praises. All while pressed up against Daddy, knowing that no matter what, he’ll keep you safe through the whole thing. You clench around nothing, wincing at the feeling. 

Your train of thought is momentarily derailed when you feel one of Seonghwa’s fingers prod at your entrance. Naturally, your body tenses for a second at the initial breach, but relaxes soon after. Seonghwa takes it slow, not wanting to hurt you. After all, it’s just a check. There’s no need to rush or go faster for any reason. One more small noise escapes you as he coaxes his finger deeper, curling upwards, and he pauses, eyes flicking up to check that you’re okay. Your body trembles, properly dripping down Seonghwa’s hand as you close your eyes. 

Embarrassingly enough, you’re close. Worst of all, you think he can tell. You’ve worked yourself up so much with the memories, the phantom feeling of what you know he can do to you, how good he made you feel last time, that you’re nearly about to cum. A low, needy moan from you makes him falter momentarily. Your hips buck upwards, wanting to feel his finger reach deeper inside of you, dreaming of his mouth as a mind-numbing addition. 

But he doesn’t linger there, nor take up more time than he believes is needed. He’s done what Yunho has asked him to do, and now to end it. With his other hand, he reaches for his phone, adjusting his grip on it, trying to get the camera to focus on you and aims it towards your core. He slowly drags his finger out, and brings it up in front of his phone, your slick glistening in the dim light. You lie still, trying to stop your bottom lip from pouting so much.  You don’t look at what he’s doing, only focusing on your breathing – which has gotten much heavier than normal. 

The small, dinging sound signals that the recording has stopped, and that the check is over and completed. Seonghwa sends the video off quickly, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. He lightly presses on the outside of your knee, letting you know that you can close your legs again. You do so and sit up slowly, still holding onto the towel around you. 

“Go get dressed, angel.” Seonghwa instructs, moving out of the way and sitting on the edge of the bed, double, triple checking to make sure he’s sending this to Yunho and Yunho only. He doesn’t need any of the other members – or his manager, god forbid – seeing this by accident. 

You walk briskly into the closet, shutting the door behind you and backing up against it. The flush of your cheeks makes your face hot. The empty feeling in your core is almost impossible to ignore, but you just squeeze your thighs together and force yourself to move on. 

Ugh. How are you going to get through another day and a half like this? The awkwardness alone is enough to make you want to steal his phone and beg Daddy to come home as soon as possible. You dress quickly, glad to now only have to focus on arranging dinner. You’re thinking maybe you’ll make homemade pizza – you haven’t done that in a while. As you pull on one of Daddy’s old hoodies, his familiar scent surrounds you once again. You instantly feel like you can breathe easier now, lungs filling to capacity without difficulty. Nearly similar to when you were first let out onto the balcony. Fresh air. Not all it’s chalked up to be, in the end. 

It’s when you’re pulling on some fuzzy socks that your gaze is drawn to the corner of the closet you had tried to hide from him in. The ghost of your past self, drugged, beaten, afraid lingers amongst the hanging clothes and shoes. Your nose wrinkles at the memory. 

You turn your back on her.  

Comfy and warm in Daddy’s oversized clothes, sweatpant drawstrings drawn as tight as they can be to keep from falling straight off your hips, you open the closet door again and beeline it towards the kitchen. You pass Seonghwa, still staring down at his phone.  

He stares at the contact name as the video takes its time sending, like it’ll change at the last second to somebody else. But, it doesn’t. A small weight lifts off his shoulders. Yunho reads the message within seconds. Shameless. Seonghwa holds himself back from rolling his eyes, but waits anxiously for Yunho to tell him whether or not he did well. His throat closes as that thought crosses his mind: he sounds like you. 

Yunho simply responds by liking the message. Even just that small amount of effort, that miniscule showcasing that he’s passed yet another test, is enough to make Seonghwa’s shoulders relax, not noticing how tense and high they’ve been while waiting.  

He guesses this is how it starts.  

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the evening is spent in stagnant company. Both of you barely move or speak to each other. You, because you’re slightly embarrassed and generally uncomfortable being alone with him, plan in mind. Seonghwa because of what he just had to do. It’s not so much you he has trouble facing – it’s himself. He lets you wash the dishes, noticing the way your shoulders drop in relief, happy to not have to fight him for your chore, happy to not worry about any – potentially further – retribution from Daddy. You retreat back into your room, needing the safety of your bed, the sheets that smell like him. Something like peace. 

Seonghwa, meanwhile,  lingers in the kitchen like a ghost who doesn’t know where to haunt. 

His phone occasionally pings and vibrates with notifications from the group chat, his manager, Instagram, etc. Always active, always busy. Everyone trying to reach him all at once. His tailbone aches from sitting on the hard kitchen chair for so long, but still, he doesn’t move. Not yet. He’s not exactly eager to go back into that room, to sleep next to you and directly above a loaded firearm. No, he’d rather stay out here a little longer, glancing at the front door every so often whenever a fleeting thought of bolting out of here crosses his mind. He chastises himself for not trying harder, not doing enough to help you; but also for pushing too hard, fumbling his responsibility. 

In a word, he’s exhausted. And it’s only day one. 

He rests his elbows on the table, his face in his hands. An exasperated exhale fights through the gaps between his fingers, heating up his palms and nose.  

Just like he’d do for him if the roles were reversed, Hongjoong interrupts his self-deprecating spiral, albeit unknowingly, with a sudden phone call. Just divine timing. Seonghwa picks up on the second ring, leaning back on the chair. 

“Hey,” he greets, keeping his voice low so you, and or Yunho, don’t try to eavesdrop. “What’s up?” 

“I’m just checking in. Haven’t really heard from you all day, wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Though Hongjoong sounds stable and casual in tone, his relieved sigh gives his inward panic away. 

Seonghwa clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yeah. ‘M good..” 

There’s a pause. Such liars they are. But neither of them will call it out, both holding on for the sake of the other. Anyway, there’s nothing to be said about it when it’s so obvious: they’re both terrified. Nothing new. Business as usual. 

Seonghwa clears his throat again. “I, um…” he hesitates, about to confide in his best friend what Yunho had made him do, but shuts himself up. Thinking, rethinking, looking up at the cameras. Hongjoong waits patiently, only the faint rustling of sheets audible on his side of the call. 

“Nothing,” he shakes it off. He’ll tell him later. “Nevermind.” 

“Hwa–” Hongjoong murmurs, not trying to push him for answers, but wanting to help. 

An internal fight begins in Seonghwa’s head. The two sides battle to be spoken, each consonant a sword, every vowel a shield. A path suddenly split in two, one safer than the other but lacking in honesty. Tell the truth, confide in his best friend, or double down for his distant, multi-eyed audience. Play the role, protect the image. But he can’t bring himself to fully commit to one over the other. So, he forges a new path to bring the conversation through, cherry-picking elements from both conflicting sides. 

“She’s different than last time we saw her.” He says, standing up to move to the guestroom. No doubt your eagle ears will have heard him say ‘she’, a siren call for you to tiptoe to the doorway and try to listen in. Seonghwa closes the door behind him with a soft click, but doesn’t stop there. No, he shuts himself in the connected bathroom, ensuring you don’t hear a thing as he keeps his voice the same volume it had been in the kitchen. He words it carefully, not wanting to invoke Yunho whatsoever. 

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong asks. 

“Like… even more obedient. It’s–” he swallows hard, knowing Yunho may be listening, “–intriguing.” 

Hongjoong bristles, knowing it’s all for show, but nevertheless still jarred at the certain word choice Seonghwa used. At least he can speak candidly in the safety of the dorms. 

“Hm. Well, we can talk more about that later,” he hints subtly, alluding that this conversation will continue in more depth over text after they finish up the call. “Do you need anything?” 

Seonghwa hesitates once again, thinking it over. He needs to go home, more than anything material. 

“No, I think we’re okay. Got enough food and everything.” 

Hongjoong can tell there’s more he wants to say, both of them itching to switch to text. 

“Okay, well just let me know if that changes. I’ll tell the boys you’re alright. I’ll text you.” 

“Okay. Goodnight, Joong.” 

“Goodnight.” 

The bathroom light switches off, and he sits on the edge of the bed, not even waiting another moment to tell him everything. He wanted to the second that your ‘check’ was over, his hand reaching for his phone every five minutes while you prepared dinner. He relays as much detail as he can, replaying the last twenty-four hours to the best of his ability. 

Hongjoong responds accordingly. 

[Joong]: ????????? 

[Joong]: what the fuck

[Joong]: what the fuck?? 

[Joong]: he hasn’t let her listen to MUSIC? 

[Hwa⭐]: knew you’d comment on that

[Joong]: had to. it’s fucked up. all of it 

[Joong]: you have to take a picture of that gun if you can. we need as much evidence against him as possible

[Hwa⭐]: i’ll try… i’ll pretend to drop my phone or something

He imagines the legitimacy of how that could look. He’d need to be quick, sneakily readying the camera before he even drops it, and need to be sure the phone somehow falls under the bed, to make it look convincing. Real. Not suspicious whatsoever. 

[Joong]: but… what is this now? what are they? dating? is that what she thinks is happening?  

[Hwa⭐]: definitely looks like they’re dating if you didn’t know the whole story

[Hwa⭐]: it was eerie

[Joong]: i bet 

[Joong:] so what do we do? still go through with it or…?

At that, Seonghwa considers his options again. The plan is on until he or Hongjoong say otherwise – that’s what they all agreed to. But every time he even briefly thinks of the plan, his throat constricts, forcing him to breathe manually. He tries to chalk it up to nerves, but in his gut he feels like something will go wrong. Anxiety or intuition, he’s not sure. There’s no proof to support either. And anxiety will always be louder than logic…

But how can logic even attempt to save him in a place like this? There’s no stable ground, no flaw in the system, only unpredictability and chaos. Mingi had said you wanted to leave, so what is this? He’s sure you would’ve acted a bit more like yourself with Yunho gone, but you only double down into the role he’s forcing you to play. 

The legality of it all is something else entirely – a monster of its own category. 

If someone kidnaps someone and they want to stay… surely even then, it still must be illegal. Coercive consent, months of traumatic abuse – both psychologically and physically – mount up to create this behavior. This delusion that this is the best place for you. Captivity feels like safety now. Pain feels like love, and suffering means effort. The intense dependence on him needs to be and can be worked on if you’re freed. You’ll come back to yourself over time, recollect your autonomy and independence. Listen to music. Laugh. Be a human again. 

Seonghwa’s thumb hovers over the keyboard on the screen. 

[Hwa⭐]: still a go. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Seonghwa doesn't even try to sleep. How can he? Under the sheets, beneath the mattress, past the bedframe, a deadly weapon is stored directly below him. A weapon that has killed and will kill again if necessary. Who will be on the receiving end of it next time, he hopes he can control. 

The hours tick by, dragging their feet. You stir occasionally next to him, pulling the blankets up higher, nearly covering half of your face. The darkness closes in around each corner of the bed, reminding him of his sins and failings with every shadow and figure his mind conjures up out of the corner of his eye. 

He doesn’t know you’re awake too. 

You woke up whenever he eventually came in, feeling the bed dip and your sleepy brain automatically thinking that it’s Daddy. But, no. Not until tomorrow morning. Approximately just below thirty hours from now. There wasn’t much light to make you feel safe at the moment, which is partly why you’re awake. Seonghwa, mind elsewhere and tired, forgot to leave a light on for you. Now you’re waiting for something to scare you, to remind you why you shouldn’t sleep without a light source. And sure, you can easily get up and turn one on, but the softer part of you doesn’t want to wake him. Maybe he needs the dark. You’ve been working on this with Daddy – your adaptability. There are too many limits with you, modifications that will be a burden down the road, if the original plan and fantasy work. 

But every distant sound of life within the apartment building is still an intruder, someone nefarious who wants to take you from Daddy. Shapes and shadows create monsters, demons two feet away from you, at the foot of the bed, in the doorway. You stop yourself from reaching out in the dark for Seonghwa, wanting reassurance from anyone that you’re not here alone, even if you’re still miffed with him.  

Instead, to occupy your thoughts, you wonder about the other tenants in the building. You’ve never heard any movement or proof of neighbors from this floor; the sounds are always far away, maybe an indiscernible amount of floors down. The lack of footsteps above also indicated that either you’re on the top floor or there isn’t anyone living above you either. No one above, no one below, and no one to either side. Strange. Odd luck, you suppose. Or, maybe the walls are just supremely thick. This is a luxury building, after all, and those who can afford these types of apartments desire privacy and a good structure to hide behind at night. But the loud laughter and doors opening and closing, conversations drifting further into the building make you think twice. 

You wonder what they’re doing. It must be a Friday or Saturday night, prime time for a night out with friends. Maybe their noise level makes it way up to where you are because they’ve realized no one is above them either. Something deep, hidden away in the back of your mind sighs. You think you’d like friends. You thought you had one in Mingi, only to be proven wrong. Even sometimes naively thinking that the rest of the guys maybe could one day be your friends. But they're not. They hate this. Hate you too, probably. Maybe especially. Your eyes flicker over to Seonghwa before you can stop them – or, more so the back of him. You pull the covers up high to keep warm, he pulls them up to disappear. Neither of you are doing a very good job. 

If he could be completely honest with you, you wonder what he’d say.   

You huff, quiet so as not to disturb him. A small puff of air, escaping into the dark. You’re not going to fall asleep anytime soon, that much is clear. And you’re not against keeping yourself awake if that means you can spend some time tomorrow napping, which will make the day go by a whole lot faster if you’re unconscious for a large part of it. That little lesson was learned all those times you’ve been left here by yourself. You want to just go into the living room and write or draw in your journal – in which, you are very quickly running out of room – or watch a pre-approved movie with the volume on low. Something. Anything to stave off the boredom of waiting. Yunho has taught you a lot, conditioned you quite well, but patience is not something he has been successful in teaching you. 

So, as slowly and quietly as you can, watching Seonghwa for any movements the whole time, you peel the blanket and covers off and swing your feet down to the floor. Tiptoeing to the door, you look back just to see if he’s woken up, blithely unaware that he’s just as awake as you and listening intently, waiting for you to leave. Just as impatient as you. 

He waits until he’s sure you’re not coming back soon. When he hears the television switch on, that’s his cue. Over the span of about ten minutes, he waits still. It’ll look suspicious if he moves right after you leave. Slowly, he covers his phone with the blanket like the tide covering a shell, turning it on underneath and switching quickly to the camera setting. After another couple of minutes, he then stretches his arms, innocently pushing his phone off the bed in his ‘sleep’. The way it falls hits the nightstand on its way down. Perfect. He pretends to wake up, slowly enough to be believable. There’s no telling how good the cameras are in the dark, but he acts as though it is broad daylight. He cannot afford to let his guard down no matter what. Not for a second. Maybe that’s another reason why he can’t sleep – too wired. On high alert. 

He lets his hand search the sheets for his phone, lifting his head up once he’s ‘realized’ his phone isn’t where he thought it was. It’s a subtle but moving performance. Two can play the acting game. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, feeling around in the dark before he leans down over the side of the bed to check the floor. He feels his phone immediately, but moves his hand away in an instant, pretending he hasn’t found it yet. As he moves off the bed, crouching down in front of the nightstand again, he nearly steps on it, narrowly missing it by an inch or less. Finally, in a large sweeping motion, he moves his hands across the floor in a broad ‘search’, successfully nudging his phone further away from him in the process. He pauses before patting the floor and swearing under his breath, really trying to sell it. Even a genuine yawn assists his efforts. But he stops. 

How’s he going to take a picture of the gun in the dark without the flash on his camera? 

Fuck. Should he have waited until the morning? Dropping your phone under the bed twice in one day isn’t that uncommon, is it? In the same place though… 

He’s overthinking, panicking, trying to think quickly. 

Okay, breathe, first of all. What would he actually do if he couldn’t find his phone? 

Turn on a light. 

He huffs, in mock annoyance that he can’t find his phone and straightens himself, now searching blindly for the lamp. Fumbling only momentarily, suddenly this side of the room bursts with soft, golden light. He leans closer to the bed, so his shoulders block what his hands are doing underneath. It’s so quick he prays he got a picture accurately. They’d have to forgive him if it turned out slightly blurry. He yanks the phone out from under the bed and throws it on top of his pillow, turning the light off again. He hopes the cameras can’t pick up how badly he’s shaking from nerves and adrenaline as he climbs back under the covers. With the brightness setting on the lowest it can possibly be, and bated breath, he looks at the picture. 

It’s good. More importantly, it’s admissible. 

Without further delay, he sends it straight off to Hongjoong, once again triple checking that he’s sending it to the right person. Once done, he buries his face in the pillow to muffle the sound of a relieved sigh. The TV is paused in the other room. Maybe you saw the light turn on, indicating that Seonghwa is awake as well. Unbeknownst to each other, both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. Neither wants to check on the other, but Seonghwa knows he has to. Yunho will want him to go check on you, make sure you’re okay out there ‘by yourself’, as if Seonghwa isn’t one room over. He gives himself another minute – two, if he’s being honest – before dragging himself out of bed again, slipping his phone into his pocket.

He runs a hand through his hair in a lazy effort to fix it as he walks down the short hallway, finding you wrapped up on the couch, your eyes following him as soon as he comes into view. You’ve turned on the guestroom light, closing the door about halfway so the glare wouldn’t affect the television screen as much.  

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, shoving his hands in his pant pockets. 

You know you’re supposed to verbally answer him, but you just shake your head in response. A bit childish of you, but you’ve been enjoying the movie and the alone time. 

Seonghwa clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back, looking towards the TV to see what you’ve been watching. He recognizes the animation style instantly, a memory of having seen this exact shot before as a child. 

“‘Beauty and the Beast’?” 

You shift uncomfortably. “Mhm.” 

Even though you know you’re probably going to be in trouble for not speaking to him properly, you just can’t bring yourself to do it. You want to be alone. You want Daddy home. Every passing hour is both torture and solace, knowing that it’s one hour closer to him coming back. 

Likewise, that same countdown has been ever present in Seonghwa’s mind as well. 

It’s a cruel irony that you’re watching this movie specifically. 

Belle trading her freedom without hesitation, the Beast raging, then softening. The slow, insidious narrative that kindness after cruelty is proof of love. That possession and captivity have no consequences. Belle comes back to save him, choosing to stay with him at the end. Why? Because she loves him. The perfect fairytale love story to validate everything you’ve been taught. The perfect ending.  

To you, he’s sure you see him as Gaston. Perhaps not in personality, but rather in mentality. How he views you and Yunho together as something to be ended, something appalling and horrible. An outsider, bent on splitting you two apart, mind filled with falsehoods that Yunho is hurting you, that you’re here against your will. Maybe that was right before, but not anymore. You’re Belle, and you want to stay with the Beast. 

Seonghwa wonders when his attempt to end this will be the cause of his death too.  

His stomach turns. 

“Sir?” You call to him, softly. 

He blinks away his thoughts as best he can. “Yes?” 

“Do you wanna watch with me, or…?” You glance up at him, inwardly hoping he says ‘no’. Luckily for you, he doesn’t wish to stay much longer. 

“Oh, no, I– I just wanted to check on you, and um…” he looks over towards the door that leads out to the balcony. “Apparently it’s supposed to be snowing right now.” 

At this, you perk up. 

“Really?” 

Seonghwa nods, walking over to the blackout curtain covering the large windows. You make a small noise from behind him. 

“Daddy said not to open the curtains.” You remind him in a hushed tone. 

“I won’t,” he reassures, “I’ll just peek from the side, don’t worry.” 

You don’t know if that’ll slide, but you watch his slender fingers move the curtain just slightly. He presses his cheek against the wall, sighing. His eyes wander upwards, towards the sky, following random flakes float down to the city below until they’re out of view, some of them coating the railing of the balcony outside. It’s a peaceful sight. Almost enough to calm him. 

“Is it?” You quietly ask. 

He doesn’t answer you verbally either. He just takes his phone out of his pocket and begins to record the snowfall. A full minute. Then he stops it, and walks over to you, handing you his phone. 

“See for yourself.” He says.

You can’t help but smile at what you see in the video. It’s been so long since you’ve seen snow, especially thick flakes such as these. They fall in their thousands – millions, more likely, raining down atop the city. Just the right consistency for building snowmen, snowball fights and forts, sledding, angels. Your toes curl in your socks underneath the blanket, knowing how cold it must be outside, and how warm you are in here. The video restarts automatically and you reluctantly lift the phone, intent on giving it right back to him, but he stops you. 

“It’s okay. You can keep watching it.” 

He sits on the coffee table in front of you, careful not to block the TV from your view. A temporary seat as he lets you see the world outside again, with no time limit. This is better, less overstimulating than actually being outside. You’ll have to tell Daddy that this is a good first step towards that. 

Seonghwa watches the childlike wonder and distant longing evident in your expression, which he knows you’ll never admit to. 

“We have this thing that shapes snow into little ducks,” he says, seeing the reflection of the snow in your eyes. “It’s really cute.” 

You look up at him, almost excitedly. “Really?” 

He nods. “Maybe I can show you sometime.” 

You don’t reply right away, watching the last few seconds of the video one more time. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, “maybe.” 

It takes a lot of discipline to give his phone back. He sets it down next to him on the table, but keeps his hand covering it as if it’ll escape. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You glance between him, his phone, and the TV until settling your gaze on your lap. It hits you late that you may have been behaving badly just now. You’re not supposed to get this excited about anything outside of these walls. Not yet. And definitely not without Daddy’s permission. A switch flips in you, and the polished, quiet, obedient version of yourself takes over.  

You smooth the blanket over your knee, like it’ll smooth over everything.  

“What time is it?” You ask out of the blue. 

Seonghwa blinks, his brain rebooting for a second before he taps his phone. “Three… I should probably go back to bed.” 

“Yeah,” you repeat. Your chin drops and you hug your arms around yourself. The blanket slips off your shoulder, but you don’t make any move towards fixing it. 

“Gonna finish your movie?” He asks, rising to his feet. 

You nod twice, eyes following his phone as he lifts it from the table and pockets it again. You look away too quickly. He notices. All he wants to do is throw open the stupid blackout curtains, let you watch the snow for as long as it lasts, until the very last flake falls to the ground. But he can’t. And he knows he can’t. More importantly, he knows what will happen if he does act on this impulse, this outburst of humanity.  

“I’ll–” He clears his throat. “I’ll be in the room if you need anything.”

You don’t look up, hugging your knees. “Okay.”

Seonghwa struggles to take a deep breath in. The apartment feels different at night… smaller, heavier, like the walls are listening harder than usual. The witching hours in which Yunho is most likely to be watching. Listening. Waiting. 

“It’s supposed to keep snowing until tomorrow evening,” he says, voice low. 

You stiffen.

“Oh,” you murmur. After a second, you add, “That’s nice.”

Seonghwa’s chest tightens painfully. 

“Maybe I can ask Yunho if you can–” he starts, but you swiftly cut him off. 

“No, sir. I’m not ready to go outside yet.” You recite. 

Something inside Seonghwa snaps before he can control it. The mask of his compliant, fake persona slips. “You only think that you’re not because he told you that.” He whispers.

You jump, startled at his outburst, but pissed off more than anything else. How the hell does he know how you think? Or how you feel? He doesn’t know anything about what you’ve been through, not the slightest clue on how Daddy really treats you. Nothing. He’s putting inedible words in your mouth. They taste vile, impossible to digest. You don’t want to go outside, what is so hard to understand about that? You should have known he’d place the blame on Daddy. Again. They always do. They always will. 

Your eyes narrow, looking up at him defiantly. 

“You should be more careful with what you say,” you whisper back, never breaking eye contact with him. “He’s pretty good at silencing people.” 

Seonghwa nearly collapses under the weight of your words. His heart slams against his ribs once before stilling, utterly rattled. You turn away from him, picking at your nails as if you hadn’t said anything at all. Never has Seonghwa ever thought something like that would be said by you. Perhaps that’s why it cuts him so deep, so sharply.  

He nods once, even though you’re not looking anymore, and quickly disappears into the room again.

The click of the door shutting behind him sounds louder than it should. Rules be damned. 

You sit there for a long moment after he’s gone. Long enough for your arms to loosen around your knees, just slightly, like they’re getting tired of holding you together. Weaker over time instead of stronger with practice. 

And in your weakness, your traitorous eyes drift to the edge of the curtain.

Though you don’t move nor touch it, you imagine the cold anyway. The way it would sting your lungs, freeze your feet, redden your cheeks. Your fingers curl into the fabric beneath you as somewhere deep in your chest, buried under months of obedience and fear and routine, something restless shifts. Uncomfortable, unwanted, and awake yet again.

And just when you thought you’d successfully beaten her down. 

You swallow hard, breathing borderline erratically as you feign calmness. Something like normalcy and innocence. One of your joints cracks as you shift, physically trying to dispel this dangerous feeling. 

Dammit, Seonghwa, you think. In your frustration, you want to follow him into the bedroom, demand that he stop trying to get inside your head, stop being nice to you, stop showing you the snow. 

You’d tell him you know all about their deceitful charade to regain Daddy’s fragile trust, watch his pretty eyes go round in shock, sit in your smug knowledge that Mingi fucked up by telling you such sensitive information.  

But you don’t move. You blindly find the remote again, and soon the background music of the movie quietly swells through the room. Belle’s beautiful voice settles your heartbeat and after a while, you let yourself lean back against the couch. 

The story continues, and you know the end. 

You disregard the snow. 

The woods are much harder to forget.  

It’s exhausting to pretend. 

To appear solemn, disheartened, anguished, whatever appropriate reaction he should be giving right now. Anything to seem normal. It’s almost impossible to pretend like he really cares, even if it has only been three days of needing to keep up this charade. 

But Yunho’s a good actor. 

He can’t stand that Mr. Kim is looking at him from across the table like he’s going to shatter at any moment. Like he’s Hongjoong. Yunho holds back a scoff, biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes to prevent them from rolling. To anyone else, the action would look like he’s trying not to cry. He’s so strong. 

The only thing he didn’t quite mind was the attention and sympathy from the fans. Everyone handled him differently, like he was fragile, giving him space. He can make this work for him no problem. He can spin this to his advantage. 

Mr. Kim clasps his hands in front of him on his desk. 

“Yunho, I just want to check in with you about what happened to Hyunwoo,” He says, searching the idol’s face for any signs of distress before continuing, “make sure you’re okay and handling the news in a healthy way.” 

Yunho caters his charm seamlessly to the situation, dampening his voice with past tears that were never shed, speaking with the heaviness of a loss that he did not feel whatsoever, clearing his throat like he’s keeping his emotions at bay. A perfect concoction of practiced deception. His hands mirror the CEO’s, but he keeps his in his lap, making himself appear smaller, vulnerable. 

“I’m doing okay. I just don’t understand why he would… do something like that.” He looks up at Mr. Kim as if to search him for answers, knowing he has none. “I just hope his family is okay.” At that, he has to look down and conceal a small smirk that threatens to grow, recalling the worried tone of his manager’s wife on the phone.  

Killing him had been easy; it even gave him a sick kind of validation – like the satisfaction one might get when they succeed in killing a fly. A nuisance dealt with, a loose thread cut off. A problem never to bother him again. Simply: gone. He just hated all the meetings he’s been pulled into lately by the company, wanting to talk about his feelings. Well, he feels just fine, if not annoyed by all the time they’re taking up every other day giving him updates and funeral plans. 

Oh, that too. He’s planning on going to the funeral this weekend. 

He’d have to try not to yawn or check his watch while he was there. His mask would have to be indestructible whilst in attendance in order to play the kicked puppy and grieving idol properly. It’ll be hard to contain the thrill of getting away with it. All he can think about is how cinematic it would be: the killer at the victim’s funeral. His finest performance yet. 

Mr. Kim nods along to the sentiment Yunho shares, solemnly thinking of the manager’s wife. “Yes,” he says, “we all are wondering the same.”

There’s a beat or two of silence before Mr. Kim speaks again. “Yunho, it’s important to us that you know that you can talk to any of the staff about this if you need to. I don’t want you carrying around any guilt about–” 

“Guilt?” Yunho asks, his facade faltering just a fraction. His mouth dries instantly and he swallows hard as the two of them make eye contact again. Immediately, he’s ready to play defense. Deflect, deny, charm. He forces himself to relax his face, unclench his jaw, act the part. 

There is no evidence linking him to it, therefore absolutely no way Mr. Kim admits that he knows what he’s done to the manager. Breathe, dammit. 

“Well he was your manager for so many years,” Mr. Kim explains carefully, “I don’t want you to feel guilty that you never saw any… warning signs from him that he would do this. We never know what’s going on in someone’s life.” 

Ah. 

Guilty conscience. Yunho was only vaguely familiar, and only when it came to you. 

Yunho leans back in his chair again, nodding in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kim,” he says calmly, “I’ll try my best to not feel guilty.” 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The time allowed with Mingi is waning, you know that. It didn’t make the last morning any less hard. You refuse to open your eyes, not wanting to accept the fact that Yunho will be waiting for you in his room once he gets here. It had been four days since you last saw him, since he put an empty gun to your head and pulled the trigger. Your heart felt… weird. That’s the only way you could describe being away from him for this long. The strangeness in the disruption of the routine. You can’t quite understand it though – he left you alone all the time. He’d be gone for days on end. Maybe it’s because you knew he was around. He was in the apartment some of the time during those four days, you just never saw him. You couldn’t convince yourself if you wanted to see him or not. 

Every minute is spent dreading the next. And yet… that same odd nagging tug in your heart persists. It aches to see Yunho again, to earn back his trust, hear his sweet whispered praises against your ear. To make dinner with him like you planned. To be good, if not just for an ulterior motive. But the memories are sharp and cold: you feel the biting wind against your face, the earthy scent of the woods reaches deep into your lungs, the shot that never fired rings in your ears. You turn over onto your stomach, pressing your face into the pillow to try and drown the scent out. Inhaling linen, the smell of fabric softener, of Mingi.  

You can’t tell if Mingi is faking slumber too or if he’s awake, you simply let the morning progress. There’s something honest in the air between you since the first night, and the need to tell him what Yunho did paws at you like a hungry cat. Revisiting that whole night was a daunting task. He hasn’t pushed you to tell him anything, which you appreciated, but you could tell the curiosity and worry were killing him. He needs to know what he’s up against. All of them do. 

The shared plan feels a bit hollow, probably because you haven’t had the chance to put it into motion yet. Plus, it’s not like you and Mingi could exactly talk openly about it, not with the cameras all around. You’re anxious. In all ways a person can be anxious, worrying about approximately one thousand things at once, focusing moreso on what could go wrong. It would be your life that you forfeit. And maybe Mingi’s. Maybe the rest of the boys, too. The gun would be loaded, he wouldn’t put out the fire, he’d hold that pillow over your face until you stop struggling. He’ll never come back to this apartment. 

You turn your cheek, the pillow pressing against your face only reminding you of one of your nightmares, and open your eyes to see Mingi. He’s propped up, upper back against two pillows, eyes closed. His hand is between your bodies, turned up, palm facing the ceiling. An open invitation, should you want to hold his hand whenever you wake up. You scoot closer to him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. His eyes open immediately, looking down at you, seeing that you’re awake. 

“Hi,” he greets you softly, pressing an equally soft kiss to the top of your head. One of your legs drapes over his, just to be closer to him. 

“Hi Min,” you mumble back. “What time is it?” 

He grabs his phone from his side and blinks into the light of it, blearily. A small grunt escapes him as he sees the time. Just one more hour before he will be asked to leave. Before he has to hand you back over to Yunho. He doesn’t tell you, just pulls you in closer so that your head rests on his chest, his hand on your lower back, pushing you towards him. 

The two of you stay like that for a couple of minutes, breaths mingling in the air. Every second of those minutes, you’re trying to figure out how to tell him. Hating yourself that you’re about to dump this all on him right before he has to leave, scared that the memories will pull you down deep into a state of panic, and he won’t be able to hold you through it. You’ll be deposited right back into the arms of the man who gave you those memories. The woods, the fire. 

“Y/N?” Mingi lightly shakes your shoulder, successfully jostling you out of your spiral before it could even begin. Or so you thought. 

“Hm?” 

“You started breathing really hard. Are you okay?” He places the back of his hand across your forehead, feeling for a fever. 

“Oh,” you blink, not realizing that you did that, “I’m fine, I’m sorry.” 

Mingi shushes you quietly, kissing your forehead. “No need to be sorry. What were you thinking about?” 

Oh, here we go. 

But as soon as you open your mouth to respond, you decide to leave it up to him at the last second, “Do you… wanna know what happened?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds. His chest rises and falls in time with your slowing breaths. Without you noticing, he slowly flips his phone over in his hand, pressing a shortcut button on his lockscreen to start recording. 

You’re almost unsure whether or not you even said anything until he finally answers, “If you feel ready to tell me, I’ll listen.” 

You’d have to start with the manager. You know already that Mingi had his suspicions about the whole thing, his face twisting into something like skepticism whenever he was scrolling through news articles on his phone when he thought you were asleep. It’s just difficult to discern how he will actually take hearing that his suspicions are not groundless, and are in fact true. Hearing that his best friend is capable of such a thing. How would he ever face him like everything is normal? 

His voice snaps you back again. “Does it have anything to do with his manager?” 

You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze. Your hand fiddles with the hem of his shirt. Do you tell him? Surely you can find a way to omit the details of it for now. Bring it up only if he asks you anything further about it. That’s not lying. 

“I thought he was Yunho coming home so he saw me. I broke all five rules…” you whisper, pausing a moment before continuing, “so that pissed him off. A lot.” 

Mingi tenses for a second before forcing himself to breathe again, already imagining what Yunho could have put you through for that. And yet he still knows he isn’t going to be prepared for what you’re going to tell him. 

You continue timidly, “He took me to the woods and… it was just like that dream I had a while ago.” You sniffle, the memory already creeping back in. “I was kneeling. He had a gun to my head and fired it, but it wasn’t loaded. He… he told me that next time he’ll actually kill me.” 

Neither of you speak for a couple minutes after that. You don’t look up at him to see what his reaction is. He doesn’t move. Just the slight rise and fall of his chest underneath your cheek, his heart thumping softly below. 

After a long while, the silence between you is unbearable. 

“What’re you thinking?” You ask quietly, feeling almost ashamed of yourself for some reason. You hate to have him pity you, and this may just be your biggest reason for deserving pity ever. 

You shift your position slightly, making it a bit easier for you to crane your neck and look up at him. He’s stone still and silent. His jaw is tense, eyes focused on something farther away than the walls of this room. You can almost see his mind working from here. 

“Min?” You try again, but still, moments go by unanswered. You slowly resume your previous position, cheek on his chest and decide to just wait when he’s ready to reply. 

Mingi just holds you tighter, pressing his nose into the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. Again, in typical fashion, he neither agrees nor disagrees with you. There’s just simply no telling. There’s no promise about this in particular that he can keep. 

At least, not yet. 

All he can do right now is stay with you until the timer on his phone goes off, signalling a ten-minute warning to place you back into Yunho’s room. The very last place on Earth he wants you to be. 

Mingi clears his throat before he asks, “He killed his manager, didn’t he?”

Your mouth dries. 

Instead of answering out loud, you let a simple nod answer his question. 

For maybe ten minutes or so, there’s nothing from him but steady breath. It wavers here and there, but he presses his lips into a thin line to try and tame it. Until…

“We have to get you out of here.” He says, barely audible. 

Now it’s your turn to be quiet. Thinking, overthinking, keeping yourself away from a spiral again. It’s impossible. Right? Everything you’ve experienced thus far has pointed you to that conclusion, proved itself over and over again with drastic and violent evidence to back it up. But it’s clear: nothing good can stay here. No good can come from staying here. You have to leave. You know this. 

So why does it pain you so much to come to terms with it?

“He won’t let me.” You state the obvious, just as barely audible as Mingi had been. Deep down, you know how this will end. Even with the knowledge of the plan in place for your potential future escape, you can’t force yourself to feel even the slightest bit of hope. Hope is too dangerous in this place. It gives you nothing, brings you nowhere. Fleeting and unreliable as a lit match in the rain, waiting to be snuffed out at any moment. It doesn’t stand a chance.  

Mingi pauses a moment before holding you tighter, his larger hand playing with your hand that rests on his chest. There has to be a way, he and the others just haven’t found one yet. At least so far, they haven’t come up with any ways that will logically or realistically work. 

Mingi’s phone suddenly dings, signalling a notification. The ringtone is specific, set to alert him as to just who exactly is texting. 

Speak of the devil, and Yunho is sure to appear. 

[Yun]: Min, have her wait for me in my bathroom. 

Mingi’s throat tightens when he reads the location Yunho wants you placed in. It says everything that it needs to, insinuating what lies in store for you once he gets home. His eyes flicker up to the top left corner of the screen, looking at the time. Just ten minutes remain until the ten minute warning. 

Those ten minutes are spent in relative silence, besides your breaths and occasional sighs. His heart beats softly underneath your cheek, and you pull up his shirt a little just to touch his skin, tracing light shapes across his ribs. About six minutes in, you move up so your head is resting against his shoulder. He gently tilts your face towards his with his index finger under your chin. For a long, quiet moment, he just looks at you. He doesn’t lean in to kiss you, his touch disappears. Getting shy, you feel compelled to look away but are unable to for more than a couple of seconds. There is nothing said. For the last minute or so, you bury your face into his neck, breathing in as deep as you could, memorizing it now. You have a deep, sick feeling you won’t see him again for a while. 

A somewhat cheerful, melodic tune marks the end of your time together. For how long? You aren’t sure. You have no idea what awaits you once you’re back under Yunho’s watchful eye, his rules – no doubt stricter this time around – and his control. There is simply no way to predict what Yunho will do. 

And that scares the hell out of both of you. 

In an almost rehearsed fashion, your body forces itself up, knowing if you stay with him even a minute longer, you’ll try to stay forever. Mingi holds your hand once he gets out of bed, pressing the back of it to his soft lips. 

“Ready?” He asks, eyes flickering over to the camera in the corner. 

“Yeah…” 

You have to manually breathe from the instant the door opens, to the moment his bedroom door comes into view. You can still smell the lingering bleach even now, the kitchen behind you sparkling like it had never been used before. The rug in the living room is gone. The walls of the apartment have seen too much – they’re hostages as well. Forced to watch every detail, cursed to say nothing of any of it. You understand what they’re going through all too well. 

Even though you know Yunho isn’t home yet, it doesn’t make seeing his room again any less overwhelming. You felt like a prisoner being led back to her cell after four days of freedom. There is still a life sentence to carry out, debts to be paid, behaviors to be righted. The four days had been a mercy granted upon you, of which you were grateful for, but it makes coming back that much harder. The whiplash of softness to violence. 

You don’t question it when Mingi leads you into the bathroom, but you do swallow hard upon entering. He squeezes your hand in comfort. With a quick glance at his phone to check the time, he sighs and helps you down to your knees, onto the plush bath mat. 

“I’d better go,” he says, looking over his shoulder. You just stare intently at the floor, afraid to move even now. Your heart beats wildly, afraid of what’s to come – or, more like who. He fixes your hair, straightens your shirt a bit, obviously delaying for as long as possible while also trying to not look suspicious. You look up at him through your lashes as he procrastinates, admiring him fondly. Allowing himself only one more second to look at you, he backs away about two feet until turning and disappearing past the door. 

And you’re alone. Though you don’t hear the front door open and shut, signalling Mingi’s absence from the apartment entirely, still you feel as if you’ve become the only person left in the world. About to face a monster all on your own. But you know this monster well. 

Time ticks by as your knees dig into the mat, starting to feel the hard tile beneath it more than the plush material. You wonder what time it is. You wonder if Mingi is still around… 

And then the air shifts.

Not a sound. Not a footstep. Just that sudden, invisible change in pressure – like the room itself inhales sharply, holding its breath so as not to be noticed and targeted next.

There’s no door slam, no heavy footsteps. Only the soft click of the lock on the front door, a creaking of hinges, a faint whisper of fabric as he moves closer and closer, and the unmistakable glide of someone who knows he doesn’t have to make much noise to be feared. 

You feel him in the doorway before you dare to lift your head. 

His presence wraps around you like a hand around your throat, even from across the room.

Your forced smile is tight, stretching across your face almost painfully. There is nothing to smile about, but you pretend anyway. A small part of you is relieved to see him again, a larger part wants to jump out the small bathroom window. Immediately. 

“W-welc-come h-home, Daddy.” 

Nice. Very smooth. You clear your throat, smile wavering once he takes a step towards you. 

“Did you miss me, baby?” he coos, head tilting to one side like he’s greeting a pet. Or a possession.

Swallowing hard, you reply with the only correct answer, “Yes, Daddy.” 

You know you’re doing a shit job trying to perform for him, attempting to act like you’re not terrified out of your wits to be near him again, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Mercifully, you think. 

You watch him step closer and closer to you until he is standing only mere inches away. He looks down at you expectantly, but you’re not sure exactly what he’s waiting for. After a couple tense seconds, he huffs in annoyance, eyes scanning you up and down, scrutinizing… everything, it seems. 

“Undress for me, and get into the bath.” He says bluntly, leaning over you slightly to start running the bath, the sudden rushing sound of water filling the silence between you. Yunho steps back to give you space – albeit minimal – so you can start undressing. You try to be quick about it, though for some reason, you feel intensely shy about revealing your body to him again. As if he hasn’t seen it a thousand times before already. 

Perhaps it’s because you know that he won’t treat it with the same respect and care that Mingi does. 

Your shirt – aka, one of Mingi’s – is shortly joined by your sweatpants and socks on the floor, all of which you fold neatly into a little pile. With nothing else to take off, you focus on one thing at a time. Just get up. You will your knees to not buckle under the weight of his gaze, so heavy you can feel it even though you’re not facing him. He watches every single move you make. A deep, dark corner of your mind awakens after being dormant for so long. A stale, old memory you buried months and months ago: your first bath here in this apartment. This felt eerily similar. 

Again, you try to focus solely on moving your body forward. Up, then down again, sitting in the soapy, rising water. The warmth is somewhat comforting, easing your tense muscles you didn’t even realize you were tensing until now. The water just barely covers your chest when Yunho shuts the water off, plunging the bathroom back into silence, save for the quiet sloshing of water accompanying every small move you make. He kneels down next to the bath, still towering over you, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. You can’t help but watch him, admiring his arms as they come into view, only to quickly look away again, sinking a little lower into the water. 

As usual, he starts with your hair. As you were undressing, he set up all the things he needed in order to bathe you; brush, shampoo, body wash, loofah, conditioner, razor, body scrub, etc. He sits you up, tilts your head back, and holds an empty cup under the water spout, gathering water to wet your hair with. He’s quiet, watching the water soak into your hair, straightening and flattening it out. He is meticulous with the routine, not neglecting a single step, glad to focus on the familiarity of it. By the time he’s wrapping your hair up in a soft towel, every inch of you is scrubbed clean again. 

He rests his elbows on the edge of the tub, eyes trailing down your body. The bubbles that made up the bubble bath were almost completely gone now, exposing yourself to his analytical gaze. You swallow hard. You keep your eyes down, watching a small island of bubbles drift away towards your feet. 

Not expecting it, you jolt like you’ve been struck by lightning when Yunho touches your shin. He gives you a look, one you’re all too familiar with, and you settle down immediately. You force your body to relax back into the water, and watch his hand resume its slow drag up your leg. His touch is light, but his eyes are obviously searching. Looking for any physical sign of ‘misbehavior’. You know he’ll find none, but just like going through TSA at the airport, you’re suddenly quite nervous, wondering if you did have something on you that you shouldn’t. Once up to your neck, he tilts your head to the side, gaze searing into your skin. 

You wonder if a stray mark was left there from last night. You had asked Mingi to kiss you again, and it got a little heated when he pressed his lips to your throat. But you trust that he would’ve been careful not to leave behind any evidence like that. His thumb brushes over a spot right next to the column of your throat, underneath your jaw, and then pulls away. Your shoulders instinctually rise up a little, to hide your neck from view, but you force them down again, knowing he’d notice. 

“Was it nice being with Mingi?” He asks. 

Trap. A huge trap question if ever you’ve heard one. One you had to tiptoe around as carefully as possible, every word you use dancing treacherously along the edge. But you’re prepared. All that ‘training’ hadn’t completely disappeared after a mere four days apart. You were still under the same roof, after all. And the heavy cold feeling of the gun on the back of your head never fully went away. You know exactly what to say.

“It’s nicer to be b-back with you, Daddy.” Damn, can you get through at least one sentence without stuttering? 

Yunho laughs once, humorlessly. “Oh, I’m sure it is.” 

You don’t reply, not sure what he means by his heavy sarcasm. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he simply lets his eyes continue to trail over every visible inch of your body. You feel like you’re being examined under a microscope. Every detail, every flaw is exposed and as clear as day to him. Available for unwanted scrutiny and investigation. It hits you then that you’re back in your little box, your little cell, your little world. Talking with Mingi was the closest you’d ever get to freedom. To the rest of the world that has long since forgotten about you. Subconsciously, you tuck your chin in a little, feeling a bit small and pathetic. 

He doesn’t really have to say much to break you down again… and that is what he’s counting on. It is simply all too easy. 

“Where is this shirt from?” 

You blink, not expecting such a question. You follow his gaze, now turned down and to the right, the shirt in question amongst your clothes that you had folded neatly on the floor. He knows every article of clothing you have – that he lets or allows you to have and wear – and he’s staring at the shirt like an unwelcome guest. 

As always, he knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it. Call him masochistic, but he simply cannot help it sometimes. You’re his outlet. His validation incarnate. 

Out of practice, your first thought slips through your teeth, “I– I got too hot when I was sleeping with Mingi, so he–” 

Wrong choice of words. 

Yunho’s head snaps up, body tensing all at once, the look on his face downright scary. You stare back at him, wide-eyed, tensing in fear.  

Damage control again. Fucking up already. Again. You can’t help but feel useless, pathetic, dumb. Can’t do anything right, not with your brain so scrambled and fogged, not with your conditioning fighting and raging against your rekindled awareness. 

“I– I– Daddy, I didn’t mean–” But it’s clear he doesn’t want to hear it. You know it’s best to just shut up. 

To add to your anxieties, he doesn’t say anything right away. He makes you sit in the uncertainty.