note: i really can't believe i wrote this much off of a 5 minute dream i had a year ago

hope you like this, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!

The woman a few tables from yours sighs loudly. She’s been waiting at this almost empty cafe for over half an hour, but the person she’s expecting shows no signs of life. Her lipstick-stained coffee mug sits empty while she stares at the phone in her hand, annoyed more than anything else. Her curly auburn hair tied in an elegant bun is now a little disheveled compared to when she walked in. She’s dressed way too nicely for this run-down cafe, with high-heels that could trigger your fear of heights and a floor-length scarlet dress, matching her glam makeup that was definitely done by a professional makeup artist. The looks she receives from the cafe staff evidence how out of place she is. 

The waiter comes up to her table to get her the check, but she ushers him away as her ringtone echoes across the room. You barely hear the words leaving her lips, but her tired expression and desperate-like body language gives it away. 

She rolls her eyes, mad at the person on the other side of the line, and throws a couple of bills on the table, grabbing her big purse tightly as she walks away in a rush. You do the same, in a less showy way, thanking the staff as you step out the door. The sky marvels in a dark shade of azure, the sun setting behind the tall buildings. The wave of people makes it hard to focus, but you see the red hair a few meters ahead and follow it. 

People bump into you as you rush past them, and a few shouts are directed your way, but pedestrian education is not a priority right now. The woman steps into a mall without looking back, blocks away from the original meet up place. It’s a gallery-like mall, with very few shops open and even fewer people doing the shopping. Two out of three ceiling lights don’t work, and the AC hums a little too loudly in the hallway, contributing to the eerie atmosphere. 

You maintain your distance, close enough to track her movements but far enough so she won’t notice a presence shadowing her. She doesn’t look lost nor appalled, like she knows exactly where the person over the phone told her to go, like it’s not her first time going in there. 

When she finally steps into a tattoo shop, your feet direct you to the one just in front, an antique store that’s so empty, it doesn’t even have a cashier on the clock at the moment. The lights are just dim enough so that you’re well hidden from the outside, contrary to the tattoo place, with blinding white led lights that allow you to see every detail of what’s happening inside. The man that opened the glass door for her checks the hallway before closing the door and putting up the closed sign. 

From where you stand, behind some old clocks and piles of yellow-paged books, you have a perfect view of the woman’s interaction with the sketchy man. She opens her purse, which she was protecting vigorously at the café, and shows him what’s in it with a smirk. But before he has the chance to sneak his hand in, she hides the bag behind her back and tells him something you can’t quite decipher, but it definitely annoys him. 

“Found what you were looking for?” 

A voice right behind you triggers your fight response, but the sight of the man behind you causes nothing more than disgust. 

“Not with your help, that’s for sure.” 

Your eyes roll almost on instinct as you keep surveilling the interaction on the other side of the hallway, trying your best to ignore the annoying presence that’s now by your side. 

“I know you don’t need any help.” 

It’s unclear whether he means it or not. 

“It sure doesn’t look like it.” Your eyes don’t leave your target for a second more, you need more information on this man she’s meeting, but the human of the same specimen behind you is getting on your nerves simply by existing around your personal space. “What are you doing here?” 

“Doing my job, what else would I be doing?” 

That’s funny. 

“So now your job is to keep tabs on me and make sure I don’t screw up?” 

“Listen, this might not be easy for you to understand, but not everything I do revolves around you.” 

“Really? Then why is it that you followed me here? Enlighten me.” 

“Your first mistake is thinking I followed you. I’ve been here for over half an hour.” Your mouth agapes for a second before you realize that you just showed him how surprised you were. “You didn’t see me when you came in? Either I got better or you got worse, don’t know which one I prefer.” The smirk translates clearly through his words. 

“I was too focused and didn’t inspect the room, blah blah, I don’t need a lecture, especially not from you.” 

You take your second phone and start snapping pictures of the meet up after checking the flash isn’t on. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I’m doing my job, Wonwoo, Isn’t it obvious?” 

You’re usually cautious when saying someone’s name on the job, but you’re tired, enough time dealing with the bullshit he left behind to put up with him any longer. 

“No, I’m doing this job.” 

“The fuck does that mean?” 

You finally turn to him, annoyed, angry, drained. You haven’t seen him in months, and you weren’t planning on ever seeing him again. Not since the damn day he almost got you killed. And this is your very first interaction? Him taking over your assignment? Like hell you’re gonna let him. 

“I’m in charge of Elias over there.” 

His eyes point to the same tattoo shop, and you don’t even have to look back before the neurons in your brain click. You could be relaxed that he’s not after the same person as you, but that just means your jobs are, once again, intertwined. 

“I’m in charge of Cecilia over there.” He understands immediately. 

You don’t tell him the real reason you're after Cecilia, and he doesn’t tell you anything about Elias either. 

“Well, this is sure gonna be fun.” 

“This is not gonna be anything.” 

Thinking of working with him again puts a bad taste in your mouth, alerting you that it wouldn’t turn out to be a good choice. 

“I have all the info on the man you need, you have all the info on the woman I need, c'mon, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“You don’t have anything I can’t get on my own.” 

The white light suddenly turns off, leaving only the few working hallway light bulbs to see into the mall, and both of you turn your heads to the side. The man and the woman split up, heading opposite ways, walking as fast as they could, away from each other, from the mall and from you. 

In a rush of getting away from the antique shop, and a new need to do this job better, your feet set to keep following the redhead on her way back, but a hand grabs your wrist as soon as you step foot out the door. 

“C’mon baby, don’t get mad at me.” Baby? You haven’t heard that from him in a while. 

The cold wall hits your back as Wonwoo puts his hand on the side you almost use to escape. He's too close. But why? The familiar cologne he’s obsessed with is already reaching all your surroundings, and he’s all you can see. 

“I know I should’ve asked you before but,” this interaction is getting more and more confusing, and you can only stare at him, puzzled and angry, “Don’t you think that cute elephant statue would look good in our home?” 

You almost chuckle before you realize he’s doing a bit. He noticed something's off and is putting up an act to cover for the both of you. His arms hide your faces just perfectly from any prying eyes. 

“You can’t just spend ten thousand dollars without telling me!” His face doesn’t change, but a glimmer of satisfaction flashes through his eyes. “What about the money we’re saving for the baby?” 

“I already told you! My podcast is about to take off and I’ll be a millionaire in no time! You have to trust me!” A cackle fights to get out, but you quickly overcome it. 

“You’ve been saying that for over two years! You have three listeners! And one of them is your mom!” 

“She told me she’ll get her knitting friends to listen too, we’re going to be popular with the ladies!” 

Wonwoo shifts away from you slightly, that way you’re able to see into the hallway and check if it’s empty already. 

“They’re gone.” 

Your hand pushes his chest away and he stumbles back with a chuckle. You don’t want to stay and hear what he has to say, and your legs are already walking in the woman’s direction. It’s not in your plans to ever get involved again with Wonwoo, and there’s nothing he could possibly have gathered about that man that you can’t also find out. 

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” 

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.” 

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you, until you stop walking and force yourself to face him. 

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.” 

You couldn’t trust him even if you got offered a million dollars, if you were in a desert and he was the only person with a glass of water. That thrill he used to feel when you worked together, that he’s dying to get back, you’re making sure he doesn’t come close to feeling again. It’s unbelievable that he's even offering it so nonchalantly, like all of this wasn’t his fault to begin with. 

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts. 

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?” 

From all the times he tried to apologize before you cut him off completely, this must be the most outrageous one. How could you possibly understand getting betrayed by the one person you trusted the most, who you once thought was the love of your life. 

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.” 

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do is rat you out right this second.” 

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” His brow quirks, like he must think he's being funny 

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.” 

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.  

“Let’s just… see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer so quickly. 

If the years of knowing him help you for anything, it’s to realize that under the layers of teasing, he’s desperate for your help. There’s a large probability of him already encountering you over the time passed, but he chose now to get close to you again, to ask for your help, in his own way. 

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?” 

His smirk grows, knowing what your question means. “That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.” 

“Are you being serious?” 

It’s hard to trust him, no matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself again. 

“Dead serious. I promise.” 

A year before.

  The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting in that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors. 

He huffed at her, but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were less and less people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information. 

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated. 

“You shouldn’t be here, it’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible to not stand out in that crowd. 

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover. 

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here, he’s supposed to be meeting someone.” 

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips. 

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose. 

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.” 

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it. 

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”  

Hidden in the back seat of the car, guarded by the polarized windows, your breath is controlled and eyes are focused as you see into the first-floor window of the house across the street. There stands Cecilia, being very expressive while talking to a person standing just by the sheer curtain, making it impossible for you to see them. 

She’s walking back and forth around the room, switching between listening attentively to the other person and giving feedback. Behind her, there’s a large desk filled with incomplete paperwork and empty water bottles, but the particular clean envelope you’ve been observing for days catches your attention. It looks so out of place there. 

Cecilia's face lights up as she receives a call and answers it staring happily at the person in front of her. The call ends quickly after, not a lot of talking done, but she looks satisfied with what she heard. 

As she grabs the envelope to read the message inside, the other person stands close to her, his face still not visible from your point of view. Taking in account all you have gathered, his height and deep black hair with a fresh undercut, plus what Wonwoo sent you over these past few days, that man most probably is Elias. 

Adjusting your position just slightly, you try to get a better look at the envelope that’s now in the hands of your target. You take your phone out, camera settings at the highest possible quality and flash turned off, so you can later analyze every detail. Only a few pictures save on your gallery before they turn the lights off and step out that room into the inside of the house you can’t see. 

You can’t help feeling like you’re not the only one outside on the street, but after a quick look around the empty road and sidewalk, nothing seems out of place. The parked cars were all there way before you got here, and not a soul walks on either side. But that warning signal on the back of your mind doesn’t turn off. And it turns out you’re right, because a knock on the window makes you jump. 

Wonwoo stands just outside the passenger seat, hands inside his pockets and an insufferable smug expression. 

“How the fuck did you find me? This isn’t even my car.” 

“I still know all your tactics babe, now would you let me in? We need to talk.” You know it’s not safe for him to stand out there for too long, where anyone could notice him, so you open the door to the back seats of the car and reluctantly let Wonwoo in. “Wait, you didn’t see me? You really don’t know how to look out, don’t you?” You’re sure you can see the inside of your skull from how hard you roll your eyes. He’s so fucking smug about everything, you’d punch him. 

“Why did you come here? You could’ve been seen.” If Wonwoo knew where you were, you can only assume he’s been surveilling Elias all day too, and came to Cecilia’s house just after him. 

“I wanted to have a little meeting, and they aren’t watching right now.” Great. He’s not going to leave the car anytime soon. 

“Fine, what did you want to talk about?” With him, sometimes it's better to accept defeat and do whatever he wants so it ends faster. 

“What is it that she has that you’re after?” You haven’t had that conversation, and it's surprising that he’s even bringing it up. 

“We aren’t allowed to discuss that and you know it.” You aren’t looking at him, choosing to keep your eyes on the house in case anything happens. There aren’t really rules when it comes to two separate jobs getting involved with one another, but you’ve learned the hard way that it makes things messy. 

“There are a lot of things we're doing that we aren’t supposed to.” 

“It’s not relevant to the plan.” 

“C’mon, why don't you wanna tell me?” You know he’s pouting, because he’s not getting what he wants and to try to convince you, but that doesn’t work anymore. 

“Why do you wanna know so badly? Is there something in it for you?” 

“We're working together and I’m just curious.” 

“Well, like I said, it’s not relevant, and it’s nothing I haven’t done before.” 

“You’ve done a lot of things, that doesn’t narrow it down much.” 

“Just drop it will you? You don't see me asking about yours.” For the first time in your life, he actually shuts up when you ask him to. 

Finally in silence again, you can watch the house in peace as Wonwoo gets more bored by the second. Cecilia and Elias have been doing god knows what on the back of the house for a while now, but the security cameras she has set up are easily hackable, and if anything happens, you have that last resort. 

“How have you been?” Wonwoo doesn’t last and disrupts the silent atmosphere in a matter of minutes. 

His lazy try to get on your good side again doesn’t go ignored. But sometimes, you wish he’d do something different, prove that you can actually trust him, not engaging in meaningless talking to make you unconsciously open up. 

“I’m busy, Wonwoo.” 

“Nothing’s happening.” 

“Well then, I don’t want to talk to you.” Working alongside Wonwoo is barely something manageable, you’re not about to engage in whatever “friendly” conversation he wishes for. 

“Are you seeing someone? Is that why you don’t want to talk to me?” He can’t be serious. 

“Sure, that’s why. Not because you fucking ruined my life.” You try to be cold, you try to be dry and not let him get to you, but his nerve is astonishing. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? I did it becaus–” 

“And how many times do I have to say that I don’t care? You chose to set me up, you chose to betray me. You can’t expect me to be all smiley and nice and talk to you like you’re my friend.” 

“I just want to know how you’re doing, it’s good that you’re working again.” You’d kick him out of your car if it wasn’t for the unwanted attention you’d receive. 

“You don’t deserve to know anything about my life, not anymore.” 

“I know I don't.” A glimpse of something similar to regret flashes through his factions, but there’s no time to question it. 

A loud sound and two voices draw your attention back to the house, and you both instinctively crouch on your seat. Cecilia and Elias get into his car and drive away fast, not looking back. But you’re not in a rush to follow them, as the most important information at the moment is currently in your gallery. The pictures you took of the envelope aren’t the best, but if you zoom just a little, you could make out the words. 

“Should we follow them?” 

“I think I know where they’re going.” He doesn’t respond, but rather looks at you in silence expecting you to tell him everything without asking. You don’t forget to roll your eyes before answering, “Like I told you yesterday, she got this envelope in the mail a few days ago, and has been keeping it safe until your guy got here this morning.” 

You show him that you managed to take pictures of it, knowing he’s thinking to himself that they’re blurry as hell. But before he could take a real look, you snatch your phone away. 

“So? What does it say?” Wonwoo’s deep voice goes through one ear and out the other. You’re trying to enhance the picture and he only wants to bother you, making a whole show while moving around on the back seat to sit closer to you. 

“It’s an invitation to some kind of event, it might be where they’re doing the exchange. Do you think the boss can–” 

“Get us an invitation? Yeah, I'm on it.” He’s already grabbing his phone to make the call before you finish talking. 

The warning signal reappears at the back of your mind at the interaction. Is Wonwoo calmly going to let the boss know you’re working together again? Does your boss already know? But there’s no way he'd be okay with that. Suddenly, very little makes sense, and the paranoia invades your every thought. But Wonwoo gets his call picked up, and he can't notice you going crazy.  

“Invitations,” you make sure to highlight the ‘s’ at the end as you show him the finally enhanced photo, “looks like a week-long fancy thing, hope you have clothes that don’t look like they haven’t been washed in over a week.” 

“I fixed my washing machine.” He covers the phone’s microphone to whisper and then continues explaining the details to the event. Something stings deep down. A remainder of how things used to be between you. When you could trust him. When you loved him. When you thought he loved you too. 

“That’s good.” No snarky response this time. Only a bigger need for the interaction, and the job, to be over so you can go back to your Wonwoo-less life. 

The key turned with a click sound, almost impossible to hear with all the noise that was coming from inside the apartment. Thudding sounds, like a machine stumping on the ground and against the walls, and a string of curses filled your ears as you took the first steps inside. The wired hanger on your hand, heavy with fancy clothes for that night, dropped flat on the couch when you saw the door to the laundry room was open, noises and curses getting louder and louder the closer you got to it. The floor leading to the room was shiny, covered in what seemed to be soapy dirty water. 

“Fuck! This fucking machine!” 

Wonwoo was kneeling on the floor, pants completely wet and hands scooping foam out of the washing machine as the dryer shook furiously to the rhythm of his curses. A few wet clothing items were scattered around the dirty floor, while the rest hid under all the bubbles Wonwoo fought to get out, even if it seemed that every time he took a scoop out, the mountain of dirty foam only got bigger. 

He didn’t hear you come in, helplessly focused on cleaning up as best he could, and getting more and more frustrated in the process. He scrunched his nose in confusion at something, his glasses slipped further down his nose, and his instinct told him to fix them with his foam-covered hand, resulting in a cute boop of bubbles on the tip of his nose. 

Your giggle shot his head to look your way, with a pout that almost made you hate the metal artifact causing him trouble. His body relaxed immediately at the sight of you, and he sat down on the floor, completely giving up his task. 

“What happened here?” Your words came out mixed with tiny giggles, increasing his pout by 100%. Kneeling on the floor by his side, the dirty water cooled your legs uncomfortably. 

“I think I need a new washer.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, laying you down on his lap so you wouldn’t be able to escape when his hand approached your face and left a matching blob of foam on your nose. “Or maybe, you can finally let me move into your apartment and then I won't have any problems.” 

“Acting like you weren’t the one who told me ‘We can’t baby, it’s too dangerous’ when I asked!” Your impression of his low voice triggered a smile across Wonwoo’s face, and an irresistible urge to lower his head and connect his lips with yours. 

“You’re right, but I was also right.” You didn’t care that he brushed your hair back with his wet fingers, caught up in the look in his eyes as he said those words, warm yet hurt, with thoughts racing through them that couldn’t be vocalized. He was right, you both knew your relationship would never be normal, yet still chose to move forward with it, hoping that your love for each other would be enough. 

“Do you have anything clean for tonight?” Ignoring that one aspect of your relationship became the number one rule for you, not ready for what thinking too much about it could result in. 

“There’s the black shirt I wore yesterday.” His eyes didn’t leave your face, scanning it as if trying to remember every little detail. 

“Babe,” your head tilted against his thigh with judgement, “you fixed your car yesterday.” 

“So? The oil is basically the same color as the shirt, you can’t even see it.” He laughed, knowing it wasn’t true. 

“Let’s just hope it’s dark inside so no pretentious douchebag from that side of town can notice.” He chuckled at your little rant, and the sound almost made you forget what you were saying. 

“I love how mad you get at rich people.” Forgetting the time crunch and the state of the room you were in, Wonwoo flipped you onto the wet floor, his lips quickly taking over yours as he slotted between your legs. 

The easiness in which he had you melting for him, not caring about your uncomfortable wet back against the cold floor, was your one and only weakness. There were no problems when your limbs were tangled with his, when his chest flushed against yours and your breathings synchronized. 

But the outside world didn’t care about your little bubble, and when a new wave of foam rushed out of the washing machine, you were forced to stop whatever the kiss was growing into. Getting up in between laughs and unplugging the machine, the need to shower outgrew the pounding of your heart. 

“I’m going to take a shower and get dressed, you should do the same or we’ll be late.” Your wrist got taken when you started walking away, and Wonwoo twirled you back until you were in his arms again. 

“I’m happy to join you if that’s what you’re saying.” Your head fell back with a smile, but before you could reply, his hands tightened on your waist, “It’s to save time!” You both knew it wasn’t true, but you were unable to say no to him, and he was unable to keep his hands off of you for too long. 

Doesn’t matter how many you infiltrate, the events that rich people attend only to show off their money will always amaze you. 

You've studied the way these people dress, talk, walk, act, everything. And you manage to blend in seamlessly, stepping out of the limousine in your mahogany floor-length dress, the driver’s hand waiting to take yours and help you out, and one of the hotel's staff getting your bag out the trunk. Rich people don’t carry bags, don’t drive their own car, and they especially don’t waste the opportunity to wear their most expensive luxury clothing to any event they’re invited to. 

There’s little to no media coverage, not even one camera pointing at the people getting off the cars, weird judging the size of the event and the long list of attendees you were sent earlier, but at least it saves you the effort of disguising and keeping a low profile. 

The act starts as soon as both of your feet are on the ground and your rented limousine drives away. Paying no attention to your surroundings, walking as nonchalantly as you can, you follow the obnoxious red carpet laid on the way to the hotel’s entrance. These arrangements can get so corny sometimes. 

Inside the reception, at least fifty people are scattered around the entire floor, either sitting on the many expensive looking couches and matching chairs, or walking to their rooms with their personal luggage boy behind them. Not one face surprises you, no one you knew was in the invitation list, and you did background checks on anyone that sounded suspicious. Everyone’s just another millionaire stranger that doesn’t know they’re a piece in your game. 

The long reception desk has no line, and the workers behind it seem already bored of everything going on. You take the chance to go up to them and get your room key. 

“Good evening mam, how may I help you?” The blonde girl straightens her posture when she sees you walk up to her. 

“Hi!” Looking straight into her eyes, she visibly relaxes at your loosened-up demeanor, contrasting to every previous person she’s helped during the day. “Could I just get my room keys? I can’t stand this any longer, I need to go and take a nap.” 

No one here is being kind nor nice to them, and that’s the key to getting the staff's trust. Stand out, talk to them like they’re people, and most importantly, don’t portray that obnoxious rich person's personality. 

“Of course! Could I get your last name?” 

“Roberts, Marissa Roberts, with two ‘s’.” Your fake ID is in your hand, ready for the girl to take, but she ignores it, going straight to look you up in the system. 

While she goes to look for your room card through the endless pile of rooms that haven’t checked in yet, a strong presence stands beside you, speaking to the other receptionist. His voice manages to reach your ears even with all the murmur around you. 

You don’t want to look at him, turning your head and acknowledging his presence now is too risky. But when the redheaded receptionist goes back to find his room card, leaving you alone at the desk, he’s the one that faces you, giving you no choice but to follow his lead. 

“Nice day, huh?” You can’t ignore him, it’ll be weirder if you don’t reply. 

“It’s cloudy with a 90% chance of rain.” Trying your best to sound as dry and not interested as possible, you eye him for a split of a second before the receptionist brings back his key. What’s taking so long with yours? 

“You staying for the whole charity week?” You know the act he’s trying to put up. Planting the idea that he’s interested in you so it won’t be suspicious when you talk during the different events taking place over the week. 

“Yeah,” luckily, you’re interrupted by the blonde receptionist finally bringing your room key, and by an impatient man standing behind Wonwoo, huffing when he doesn’t immediately move, keeping the newly formed line from moving. 

“I’ll be seeing you then.” He’s then off with a wink and enchanted sighs from both of the girls behind the desk. 

You used to be like them, easily swooned by his natural charm. His deep, teasing voice could make even the meanest and coldest soul fall to their knees. You used to love hearing it, be it in small talk over coffee as you got to know each other, cleverly planning a robbery you were hired to do together, with his arm around your shoulders as he softly talked to drift you to sleep, or whispering dirty nothings in your ear with his body pressed against yours. Now, there was nothing. Even hatred was starting to fade away, leaving nothing but indifference. You don’t care if he’s happy or sad, alive or dead, you only care about finishing the job and moving on with your life. 

As you’re being handed your card, the nostalgia for something that can no longer exist rubs off your body, and you see the opportunity to continue the act. 

“What room is he staying in?” You try to sound as playful as possible, pretending you were just playing hard to get. Because you’re aware that, not only the receptionists, but also the boy carrying your bag just behind you and probably a few people down the line, heard the whole interaction. 

“We can’t disclose the guests’ information.” She seems more friendly now, but it’s better not to push your luck for now. 

“Right, sorry yeah, I totally get it. Guess I’ll have to find him tonight.” She chuckles as you walk away, heading for the elevator to go up to the 6th floor. 

The room was carefully chosen, on the same floor, same hallway as Cecilia's, but not the one right in front of hers, so you can keep tabs on her without being too obvious. Room 606, just above 506, where Wonwoo's staying, same floor and hallway as his target, just like you. 

There’s one hour left before the welcoming toast, the first event of many to come, and where everything begins. The countdown of days until the final night, the charity auction that could potentially change your life. 

The hotel’s dining hall is arranged with hundreds of tables, with matching scarlet chairs and big beautiful centerpieces. A theater-like stage catches your attention, with the curtains pulled down as if you were here for a show. But your amazement for the grandness of the place is cut short due to the realization that no one else coming in is giving the room a second look. They’re not surprised, they’re used to these kinds of things, and you have to become one of them. 

With short and slow steps, you analyze the room you’ll be spending plenty of time in, remembering any possible hiding spots and ways out, blind spots, and if possible, your target’s favorite tables to hang out at. 

In the look for her auburn hair, you see her figure sitting at one of the tables right on the center of the hall, talking with a short-haired woman. Her black bob so perfect that one would think she just cut it before coming down. It seems to be a fairly nice conversation, not a lot of smiling, but there’s not one second where they’re in silence. You’ll do some digging on her once you’re back in your room. 

Cecilia has her back turned on the table right by her side, where Elias is sitting, listening to a few old men in dark blue suits. They’re pretending to not know each other, but why? He looks bored, nodding when one of the men looks at him for confirmation, and checking his watch way too often. Either he’s wishing for the conversation to be over, or he’s waiting for something. 

Like clockwork, a younger guy, just as tall as Elias but with honey blond hair and thick black rim glasses, approaches his table and asks if he can talk to him privately. More relaxed, Elias apologizes profusely and walks away with the new guy. You don’t see him, but you know Wonwoo is trailing behind them. You’ll ask him about that later, but for now, it’s time for you to do your part. 

The one and only rule you’re given when doing these jobs is simple: you can’t engage with your target. You can’t talk to them, maybe a polite nod or a ‘thank you’ if absolutely necessary, according to the interaction, but in no way you can have a conversation with them. You’re given the liberty of planning, you can ask for help if needed, but you must remain a stranger to your target. It seems fairly easy, but there are cases like these, where there’s so much noise not even sitting at a table less than two feet away is close enough for you to hear the conversation. Sometimes using a little loophole is inevitable. 

A quick glance at Cecilia’s table provides you with what you need. Her slightly open purse is hanging loosely by her arm, and any time someone passes by and bumps into it, she doesn’t even feel it. As she stands up to go ask for another drink, her fourth one of the night, your opportunity arises. 

You get up, grabbing a random empty champagne glass from your table, and start walking with very little balance. Your steps almost intertwine with Cecilia’s, and when you almost trip, you pretend to grab onto her arm and slip a tiny microphone inside her purse. The device looks and works exactly like an airpod, but it’ll send hourly recordings straight to your second phone for 24 hours. 

Cecilia barely pays attention to you, and you apologize right after getting up, but she doesn’t even look at you, just continues with her walk and shares a weird look with her friend. No one around you really notices the interaction, and even if they did, they’ll forget by tomorrow. 

As you look up from the floor, the first thing you see is Wonwoo, and he raises his eyebrows teasingly when your gazes connect. Your first instinctive reaction is to roll your eyes. You hate to be observed, and even if this is a tactic you’ve done a few times with his knowledge, it feels almost taunting to see him so composed after not having to break the rules to listen to his target. 

The bar by the door calls your name, and now that you have a way of spying on Cecilia’s conversations from afar, you let yourself have one singular drink. But the time of peace you thought you could have is interrupted. 

“Can I have one of what she’s having?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds dangerously close to you, and when you look to your side, your suspicions are correct, as he’s sitting on the barstool to your right. 

You always wondered how he managed to do this job. The key thing is always to blend in, be forgettable, not draw attention, and he does none of those things. Wonwoo is tall and broad and the suits he wears always fit him just right, quickly making him receive lust-filled stares and dreamy sighs, and he walks around leaving a trail of people in awe because of his looks. Tonight is no exception. The woman sitting at the other end of the bar is eyeing him like he’s a piece of candy, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, focusing on you until you make eye contact. 

“Cheers.” He lifts the drink the bartender just gave him, not even sparing her one glance, and she walks away to serve other people, disappointed after not getting his attention. You give him a light nod and lift your drink as well in acknowledgment. “So, what brings you here?” 

“Aren’t we all here for the same reason?” You speak softly, with a light smirk meant to tease him. He knows you’re forced to follow his lead, but if this is the act he wants to put out, you’re not going to make it that easy. 

“I was hoping you’d say for me.” Wonwoo's words actually surprise you, his sultry tone making your stomach turn against your will, like it has countless times before because of him. 

“I don’t even know your name.” You chuckle lightly and sip on your drink, to check on your surroundings but also to avoid Wonwoo’s eyes. 

“Ryan, Ryan Cohen, pleasure to meet you.” Wonwoo grabs your hand and kisses the top of it. 

Surrounded by people who must believe your act, and the combination of alcohol and an empty stomach in your system blurs the lines just a tiny bit. Nothing is letting you react the way you thought it would to him pulling off something like this. The lines are there for a reason, and the act it’s still just that, an act. You won’t forget what he did to you. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan,” from the corner of your eye, you see Cecilia leaving the hall with a man you haven’t seen before, and that new problem rapidly escalates to the top of your priorities, “but unfortunately, I’m calling a night for today. I have important business to do tomorrow.” 

“Wait, I didn’t get your name!” He really nails the put together yet slightly desperate persona. 

“I’ll see you around.” You only smirk before turning around and disappearing from his sight. 

You’re finally able to breathe correctly when you leave the dinner hall. The heavy atmosphere was starting to make you hallucinate things. For a split of a second, you forgot the real reason you were there, and that can’t happen. 

To go upstairs, you wait until the elevator where Cecilia and mystery man hopped on closes its doors, and then you go and press the button to go up. It wouldn’t be weird if it was just a hookup, as it's a normal thing to happen at these kinds of cocktail events, but you still should check it out. 

The bouncer at the door crossed his arms with a deadly poker face, shaking his head after Wonwoo’s third plea to let him come in. 

You knew his obviously dirty clothes weren’t gonna do it. The people in line, all wearing luxury clothing to present themselves as something worthy, looked at him up and down multiple times, judging him and commenting about his horrendous outfit with their friends. Even a few pity looks were thrown your way. People at those types of clubs cared too much about looks, about wearing the perfect expensive outfit for their night out. You looked the part, choosing your bougiest outfit and searching for all the make-up trends at that time, almost as if expecting to be on the VIP list. 

Your view was blocked by the security’s broad tall back. Barely inside the club, the loud music was making the walls tremble and the neon lights even reached the street below Wonwoo’s feet.  

With your best glittery eyes, you placed your hand on the bouncer’s heavy shoulder, making him turn back slightly. Two whispers after, and a promise to come back with more girl friends, he let Wonwoo in with a huff and a warning. 

“What did you say to him?” 

Every step forward you took turned the volume of the music up, and Wonwoo had to crouch to whisper in your ear. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him in the crowded club. It felt too intimate for a public place, but that was usual for him. 

“Nothing you wanna know.” You giggled as you saw the man you had been following, sitting on a burgundy couch all the way on the back of the club, smoking alone, waiting for Wonwoo's guy. 

“I’ll make sure he knows you’re taken, so he doesn’t make any moves on you.” Wonwoo’s hands held the sides of your waist, turning you to the side and bringing your bodies closer. The blue, pink and green lights dancing at the rhythm of the music reflected on his beautiful face, with a serious yet teasing expression as his eyes lightly glared at the back, letting you know he also saw your guy. “Should we dance?” 

“Of course! We’re in a club!” There wasn’t much to do besides waiting. You wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying anyway. The most important task was seeing how they interacted with each other, and Wonwoo’s guy seemed to be always late. What harm could be done by having a little fun? 

Your hand took his, walking further inside the room enveloped in a newly effervescent tension, looking for the best place to dance and surveil the men on the wine-colored couches. The drunk people surrounding you moved in slow motion, different bodies pressed against one another and dancing with no rhythm, giving you much needed cover. From where you were standing, the faint smell of the cigarette of your target could reach you every few minutes, mixing with the smell of sweat and expensive drinks. 

Wonwoo found your waist again, pressing your back against his chest and swaying your bodies from left to right. His lips grazed the side of your ear, letting his breath tickle the side of your face teasingly, and his hands traveled around your body with little shame, blending into the sea of horny couples and sticky bodies making out. 

Covered by the darkness of the place, and with the excuse of fitting in, his hips were grinding against your ass, breathing heavily to the random song the dj was playing. Wonwoo’s target walked in, wide eyes as he tensely looked for anything out of place. He seemed paranoid, playing with his hands as he sat in front of the old man. You went unnoticed, as Wonwoo began leaving wet kisses on the side of your neck, and any eyes going over the crowd would just ignore you, like you were just another drunk couple. 

The bargaining appeared fairly pacific, a back and forth between the two men, so out in the open it wasn't going to turn violent. And when Wonwoo’s hands pushed your hips harder against his, you couldn’t stop your head from falling back onto his shoulders and letting him do anything he wanted. It was easy to get lost in the feeling of him, your bodies pressed together as you surveilled essentially nothing. 

A ripple burst through the packed dance floor. A man pushing groups of people away and not budging in the slightest bumped against Wonwoo, knocking one of his arms off your body. The tall man didn’t look back, and Wonwoo was fuming. 

“Just let it go, assholes like that are everywhere.” 

You knew Wonwoo didn’t take those things lightly, so as soon as you saw him even thinking of going after the guy, you grabbed his wrist and turned him back your way. 

“I wasn't gonna do anything!” Your head tilted to the side, not convinced. “Fine, I was just going to calmly teach him how to say ‘excuse me’.” 

“Sure you were.” 

His chest relaxed under your palms as you stood on your tiptoes to give him a peck. But the softness of his lips glued you to them longer than you initially expected, and his hands on your back melted into you, keeping you close to him. 

“I’m gonna head to the toilet for a sec, don’t go after that security guy.” Your eyes were still closed, chasing his lips as he talked. 

“I won’t if you don’t punch that guy.” It was hard letting his hand go as he walked into the sea of people and away from you. But in that moment, maybe it was best to separate before you got too sucked into your bubble. 

The bargaining between the two men stayed boring, endless talking about whatever the topics changed into. You sat on the bar, sipping on a cold glass of water, waiting for anything even remotely interesting to happen. From the corner of your eye, the guy that bumped into you caught your attention as he came out of the bathroom, and emergency sirens immediately started blasting at the back of your mind. There was no waiting line, so maybe he didn’t come across Wonwoo, you thought. 

But the next exchange you witnessed left you more uncertain than anything else. A bald man you had never seen before walked out of the restroom, Wonwoo following behind him with a noticeable frown. The strange man appeared to be in a rush to get away from him, but Wonwoo grabbed the man’s wrist harshly and turned him to look at him again. Wonwoo’s lips moved fast, saying too much in very little time, and the bad lighting made it harder for you to even try to understand what he was saying. The mystery man gulped hard and nodded with wide eyes, almost like he feared Wonwoo. 

Something seemed out of place, but the little voice inside your head told you not to question Wonwoo about it. You forced your eyes away from the interaction to see that both of your targets were getting ready to leave, and you waited until Wonwoo came back while your mind raced, thinking of every possibility of what that could’ve been about. Maybe he would tell you when he sat by your side, maybe it was nothing and you were being paranoid. But a sweet kiss on your cheek was all you got, and an arm naturally wrapping around your waist as you left the bar together, like nothing happened. 

A final quick glance inside the club made your stomach drop to the floor as you could’ve sworn you saw, blurred by the frenetic neon lights and the people dancing, the bald man sitting right beside your target, whispering something to him.

Spending an entire night surveilling audio footage from Cecilia’s hook-up wasn’t how you originally planned to spend your first night in the hotel. 

In the past days, you’ve learned how frequently she brought different men home, and you should’ve known that this event wasn’t gonna stop her. Good for her, sure, but there is at least 3 hours of unusable footage from your microphone that you have to delete. 

Tiredness begins to take over you, barely concentrating on skipping past the recordings to hear if anything strange happened in Cecilia's room, and your eyes beg to be closed. But you can’t rest, not until you know for sure she’s asleep. 

The first hourly footage that doesn’t contain any sex noises is delivered to your phone at 4 am, and it’s nothing but calm silence. But your sigh of relief is cut short when a call resonates through the audio, disrupting the quiet room and making you hold your breath. Panic sets in, freezing your entire body as you wait for any other sound, because if no one answers, it means either there’s no one in the room, or worse, something happened to her. 

It doesn’t stop, the ringing, as the person calling refuses to give up. The familiar ringtone echoes on your headphones, like it’s too close to the microphone, blocking any other noise from being heard, almost disabling your other senses too. But a simple look around the room lets you realize it’s your phone ringing, and above it all, it’s Wonwoo calling. 

“Why are you awake? What do you want?” He manages to find ways to annoy you even before the sun rises. 

“I need to tell you something, open the door.” 

His serious tone takes you by surprise and makes you jump off your seat. There’s silence on your side on the line while you walk as quietly as possible to your door. A hard but somehow not loud knock on your room door answers your pending question, and leaves you no choice but to let Wonwoo in. 

“What the hell?” You end the call as you reluctantly open the door. 

“I sent you a thousand messages,” Wonwoo stomps inside your room, passing you by with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“You shouldn’t be here. Did you check the hallway at least?” You peak your head out the door, the calm hallway welcoming you in complete silence, before closing it with care so it doesn’t draw any attention. 

“You have to stop ignoring me.” Wonwoo walks over to where your laptop still shows the recordings and shuts it close. 

“You’re such a baby, Oh my god. I was doing something and wasn’t checking my phone, it wasn't about you.” His whole body’s tense, his eyes ignoring you and his eyebrows frowning with what could be frustration, fear or even disappointment. “Well? Are you going to tell me whatever you wanted to tell me? Or are you just going to keep strolling around the room like a maniac?” Your arms cross as you sit back on the bed. 

Wonwoo huffs, still stomping back and forth like that would help him clear his head, anxious, thinking hard and gathering his many thoughts. 

“There’s something wrong with my guy.” He settles on those words, vague but still alarmed. 

“Why? Is it about that new guy earlier?” Wonwoo nods, confirming your assumption that he followed them earlier when he and Elias walked away from the table to talk alone. 

It’s like he can’t keep still, his hands slightly shaking covering his mouth and making his non-stop ranting come out muffled. Every second it passes, you grow more and more concerned at his state. The only one other time you saw him getting so paranoid about a mission, he turned out to be right, so you’re not about to dismiss him because of your own feelings towards him. 

“Ok, calm down, talk to me.” Your hand takes hold of his in one of his laps around the room, and you force him to sit down by your side. It’s dangerous, his body so close to yours, emanating an all too familiar heat, but if that’s what it takes to calm him down and make him concentrate, then you’re gonna take the risk. 

“I need to speak with him.” His gaze is trained on the floor, and his right leg shakes anxiously against yours. 

“Elias?” He shakes his head at your whisper, “The other guy?” And at that he nods. 

“You can’t do that, you know it. It’s too much of a risk.” For him to want to break the one rule he’s insistent about, it can’t be something simple he can’t figure out. Your worries rise with every second he spends in silence. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I… don’t know.” Wonwoo grabs his head and crouches until his forehead touches his knees. “When I heard both of them talk earlier, it sounded like they were speaking in some kind of code. I swear nothing they said made sense.” 

“Maybe they’ve known each other for a long time.” 

“That’s the thing, I have no idea who that other guy is.” He lifts his head from the top of his legs, but still refuses to look at you. “As soon as the cocktail night finished, I went up to my room to try to find anything about him, but there’s nothing. I couldn’t find anything.” 

That definitely sounds wrong. Someone that close to a target should always be easy to investigate, and knowing Wonwoo does intricate background checks on everyone, it’s not good. But you can’t let him see you panic, he needs you to be the voice of reason.  

“You can figure it out, it could mean nothing.” 

“I can do it if I speak with him.” Wonwoo’s not listening to you, too desperate to think clearly, and it just makes you more worried. 

“Think about it first, please, don’t do anything stupid.” You place your hand softly on his knee, going against every rule you’ve set for yourself, only thinking of calming Wonwoo down. 

The silence is deafening. If you listen closely, you might even be able to hear every thought racing through Wonwoo’s brain. His teeth claw on his bottom lip, tinted with blood red as he rips more skin off, and you don’t know what else to say to calm him down. False positivity would force him to push you away again, and now that you two are in this together, that can’t happen. 

“You can.” He simply says as his leg finally stops shaking. “You can talk to him.” 

To say that you’re frozen in place would be an understatement. A part of you, one hidden at the very back of your mind, naturally wants to help him, like you always did without question. But the rational part of your brain, the one that hasn’t been the same since everything happened, screams at you to leave him to figure it out on his own. 

“I– I don’t kn–” 

“Please,” His hand grabbing yours makes you unable to continue talking, “I know you don’t trust me, and I know I don’t deserve it, but, fuck, please, trust me on this.” 

“Wonwoo, I– I shouldn’t.” Words are becoming more and more difficult to think about as his worried eyes begin piercing through you. It’s hard to tell him no, even if your whole body is yelling at you to do so. 

“Look, I’m trying here, I– I’m not hiding it from you or trying to solve it on my own when you’re involved too, please.” You knew this closeness was dangerous for you, your hands between his as his face pleads for you, and your heart pounds against your chest asking you to consider it. 

“Do you even know what you need from him?” His body visibly relaxes at your question, knowing you too well. 

“Anything. Even his favorite color could help.” His gaze softens, a look in his eyes that you were never able to resist. After all that’s happened, his effect on you is still untouched, alive and well even after you tried to bury it deep inside you. 

“It’s too risky Wonwoo, I don’t know if I can.” You’ve already said yes at this point. You know it. He knows it. It’s pointless to still deny it out loud. “We’ve never done this before.” 

“I can do something for you too, anything to keep you from owing me.” His voice sounds sure. Too sure. 

“You sound like you already have a plan.” You slip your hand out of his embrace with force, crossing your arms again. “You came here for this.” 

“What?” There’s genuine confusion on his face. 

“And to think I almost believed you, fuck, I’m so stupid.” That last part was a mumble more to yourself than for him to hear. “I can’t believe I almost fell for it.” 

“Wait, no, I–” 

“I’m not gonna let you use me again.” You interrupt whatever excuse he was about to give you. “You came here, pretending to be stressed and panicking, making me worry about you, all to manipulate me into doing your dirty work! Unbelievable.” 

“Hold on, that’s not why I came.” You’ve stood up some time in between your accusation, and he follows you, grabbing you by the shoulders to force you to look at him. “I promise.” 

“Then why? Why would you offer to do something for me too?” It makes no sense in your head. “You just sound like you already had a plan thought out, like you knew what you came for.” 

“I just remembered the girl Cecilia was talking to earlier and thought maybe you needed information on her.” You frown, not convinced, and he notices, reading you perfectly. “I didn’t come here with that purpose, I swear.” 

“So, you just came here because…” 

“You’ve always helped me clear my mind.” He replies calmly, not a hint of anything close to a lie in his tone. 

You hate it. You hate him. It’s too easy for him to make you lower the walls you’ve been trying so hard to put up. He always finds the right words to say, the thing you need to hear. You should’ve known it was going to happen. One singular moment alone with him and you’re done for. Pathetic. 

“Stop lying.” Your voice comes out weak, defeated. All the emotions you spent so much time trying to bury, fighting to be the cold person you used to be before him, all of them springing out of their hiding simultaneously, weakening you in his eyes.  

“I’m not.” His voice so low makes you aware of the closeness of his body again. His rough hands haven’t let go of your arms, keeping you still in front of him. Your gaze points down at his chest, ignoring his obvious intentions to make you look him in the eyes. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.” 

“I can’t trust you.” There’s so much hurt in the way words come out of you. Hurt that both of you know has nothing to do with what he’s asking, or with this mission. Hurt that Wonwoo knows it's because of him, and he’ll spend years and years trying to mend, if you let him. 

“I don’t want to hide anything from you.” As he steps back, his arms away from your quivering body, air can finally escape from your lungs. “Ask me anything.” 

From all the questions you’ve harbored over time, the many whys that kept you up every night, the hows that made your skin crawl and never allowed you to be at peace, you’re incapable of asking him the most important one. Reliving that night is out of the question, and when the real issue lies within the current mission, your mouth takes the lead and asks without your brain’s permission. 

“Does the boss know we’re working together?” 

That day in front of Cecilia’s house has been at the back of your mind for days. The way he so casually asked for two invitations like it was of no importance reappearing every time you allowed yourself to follow his lead. 

“Yes.” Wonwoo answers quickly. But you’re not surprised at that fact. 

“And he’s okay with it? I know he doesn’t like me much.” 

It doesn’t make sense that he would allow it, let alone send you to an event where you’re gonna interact way more than on a normal mission. 

“He wasn’t, but I explained to him that it was important to me.” 

Important to him. At that, every previous question evaporates from your mind, creating more current ones. Did he know you were after Cecilia? There’s no way he could. Did he tell him after your encounter at the mall? 

“Why is it important to you?” 

“Because...” Wonwoo hesitates, thinking carefully about the wording for his confession, “I’m not doing this anymore. After this mission, I’m going away for good. I don’t want this life anymore, I’m done.” 

Speechless. That’s the only way to describe the state Wonwoo has left you in once again. But only a part of it seems to get stuck in your mind. 

“Where will you go?” 

You always knew he didn’t like that life. He got stuck in it by accident, with no way out. Sure, he took it seriously, he followed the rules and always did his job right. But he hated it. Hated to steal things for the rich, to be a pawn in someone else’s game. Hated having to always be in hiding, not being able to live a fulfilling life with you. 

A heavy weight sits on your heart, a feeling resurfacing from deep within you, but not unknown. Purposely avoiding him is different from knowing you’ll never see him again. A part of you will always miss him, miss the comfort you felt being with him. 

“I don’t know, just away from here.” He doesn’t sound hurt, but his voice is low, like his words hold another meaning. Here. Away from the city, away from the life he despised, away from the memories of you. 

“You told him you wanted to work with me?” The mental question escapes your lips without your consent, outing your inner thoughts. 

“I didn’t know we’d bump into each other, but once we found out, I called him.” 

“So, what’s the catch? There’s no way he’d take that risk without asking something from you too.” 

Wonwoo sighs, maybe sad, maybe disappointed, maybe ready to be over with the conversation. “I just need to do this right, then I’m done.” 

“That’s it?” It’s hard to believe that a man that hires people like you to do his dirty work and steal expensive stuff for his sketchy clients can let go of his best employee that easily. 

“It’s a hard job, and if I can’t do it, he’ll never allow me to leave.” At one point, Wonwoo stopped looking at you, and you’re afraid you’ve pressed too far. 

“If I know something about you, is that no job is hard for you.” You almost chuckle at the idea of him fumbling a job, even a joke about his betrayal tingles at the tip of your tongue, but the familiarity of your words hits you hard, knocking the easy atmosphere out of you.  

His hand sneaks into one of his pockets, and your fight instinct kicks in again, not ready to face whatever he could possibly show you. But all that comes out in his hand is another phone, one you’ve never seen before, different from the one he used to call you earlier. 

“Here.” Your reflexes work faster than your brain when Wonwoo throws the cellphone to you. “Every detail you want to know, with all my research about them, is in there. You can look through it, see it for yourself.” 

“You want me to go over your entire mission? Are you sure?” 

This is not like the details you’ve been sharing prior to this event, that was only what the other needed. This is different. This is the whole investigation, the entire plan to find his objective and reach his goal. This kind of information is explicitly forbidden to share with anyone, but he’s putting it at risk to gain your trust back. 

“I need your help, please. I can’t do this if you don’t trust what I’m saying.” 

It takes a minute of silence for you to consider what to do next. 

“Then,” from where you stand, your computer is right behind you, light enough for you to grab with one hand, “look through mine. It’s the only folder saved.” 

It’s a silent agreement, implicating that you do want to work with him one last time, to help him get out. You try to ignore the sting in your heart, ignore that you still care, and focus on the missions to take your mind off of it. 

“I can’t ask you that.” He takes your laptop in his hands, but doesn’t open it, even after you signal him to do so. 

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” Wonwoo sits on your bed, still reluctant to open the computer. “You were right, I barely have info on the woman she was with, only her name and a few other things. We can help each other, but only if we know exactly what we're doing.” 

Wonwoo only nods with a tight smile, understanding even what you don’t voice out.

The candle flame danced at the center of the table, illuminating Wonwoo’s face in the poorly-lighted but expensive restaurant while you waited for the food you ordered. The gold-colored light created a romantic layer that contrasted with the purpose you had set for the dinner experience. 

Wonwoo thought you were here to simply observe your targets’ last meeting before the buying, in addition to having a nice meal, but you had made your personal mission to find out what business he had done the other night at the club. That tall man with a frightened expression haunted your every dream, always turning into nightmares with different outcomes. And not even waking up helped your distress, as you’d open your eyes to find yourself tangled between the arms of the protagonist of said nightmares. 

Wonwoo wasn’t acting weird per se, but that only made your worries worse. There was a chance that you were wrong, that your mind was playing games with you. And you wanted to believe it with your whole heart, no matter how small it was. But the paranoia never seemed to end, and it got worse with each day that passed that Wonwoo acted like nothing happened, living his life normally with you, hugging and kissing you like he wasn’t hiding anything. 

As he sat in front of you, telling you about his day, his back faced where both of your targets were ordering. The waiter spoke comfortably with the old man, you knew he was a regular at that restaurant, and the younger guy trembled slightly, as if afraid of the man sitting in front of him. Wonwoo didn’t seem to care to see the interaction, and didn’t ask you questions about it either, assuming you would’ve told him if something happened. Your eyes were stationed on the two men, but your mind was elsewhere, scheming a way to get information out of your boyfriend without being suspicious. 

“Babe?” His questioning voice almost took you out of character. 

“Sorry, I thought I saw someone.” He smiled, taking no notice of the rollercoaster of thoughts that was going through your mind. “What were you saying?” 

“Who? One of his guys?” His face showed a glimpse of worry, and you debated whether he didn’t want to show emotion in the public place, or if he faked his worry so as to not let you doubt him. 

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like not trusting him. It was eating you from the inside, overthinking about his every move, his every action. You didn’t want to do it. But something at the back of your mind was non stop shouting that something was wrong, giving you no chance but to listen to it. 

“It was…” Wonwoo's eyes followed the way your lips moved with the words, innocently anticipating your answer. “I just thought I saw that guy from the other night.” 

You had him where you wanted him. Eyes wide, hands gripping the sides of the table as he contemplated the options. 

“Which one? It was a crowded night babe.” Wonwoo tried to sound nonchalant. In his eyes, you had no reason to doubt him. 

“That guy that bumped into us, remember?” You pretended to think about that night, like you didn’t go over it in your head countless times, hand on your chin and eyes up to the ceiling as a tiny smile appeared on your face, “you wanna know something funny? I saw him getting out of the bathroom just before you did! I remember fearing you’d done something to him in there.” 

Trap set, you hoped to make him react in any way, but he remained with a poker face, not daring to explain the situation, but not telling you the truth either. 

“Oh, it’s good I didn’t see him then.” Wonwoo chuckled as the waiter finally brought your food and set it on the table, digging into his full plate while your trust shattered in a million pieces. “What an asshole!” 

“Yeah.” 

What more could you have said? Wonwoo was clearly avoiding the subject, eating like a mad man and purposely not looking you in the eyes, and the mission was about to end anyway. The stolen painting your target was selling to Wonwoo’s was already on the way to the abandoned building he always used for his deals, and you intended to steal it before they even arranged their last meeting to finalize the buying and deliver it. 

Maybe that guy was a part of Wonwoo’s mission that he didn’t tell you about, and maybe after you both finished your jobs he’d go back to normal, and you could trust him again. Maybe this time your instinct was wrong. Maybe.

  After the tenth bored nod, the seventh ‘oh wow’ and the fourth ‘that’s crazy’, you’re beginning to understand why all these rich people tend to get piss drunk to get through these kinds of events. Every conversation is identical, the topics, the reactions, the answers, the counter-arguments, nothing ever changes.  

It’s been two days since that night with Wonwoo, where you agreed to get close to each other’s targets’ friends and essentially broke every implicit rule of the job. Two nights since you’ve opened up to each other for one last time. Two nights since you, once again, went against the exact thing you declared you were never going to do again. And a day before the auction where you planned to carry out the robbery. 

Being honest about your missions gave you the amount of reassurance you needed to work with Wonwoo again. What he failed to do last time, not letting you in and not letting you help him, Wonwoo was making sure he didn’t make the same mistakes. And it feels better to work this way. Trusting him, at least with a mission as important as the one he has, is easier now. 

Easier than fake laughing for the tenth time in twenty minutes for sure. 

Elias’ friend sits right across the table, equally as bored as you and showing false interest in the conversation the old men hold. But he stays around them every night regardless, listening to the white-haired men complain about their spouses and showing off their yearly earnings. 

They don’t ask him any questions, and he doesn’t offer anything to the conversation either. You’ve noticed he has some kind of nervous tick, where every two or three minutes he’ll sigh and sit back, brush his blond hair to the side with his hand, look around the room and then go back to pretending to pay attention. Weirdly, his eyes never stray your way, even if you’re directly in front of him and watching his every move. 

The opportunity to personally approach him arises when he opens his mouth for the first time in the night to excuse himself to the bar. Not a glance is spared his way as the table keeps talking, and a few seconds later you do the same. The rich men care more about you leaving than Elias’ friend, but you take three steps away from the table and they're back to their discussion about stock pricing. 

Wonwoo, a few tables back, glances your way and nods just barely, only for you to catch. Due to your previous agreement establishing that the targets remain off limits, he hasn’t approached Sophie, Cecilia’s friend, yet, since the two women are seemingly inseparable. 

The blond man chooses to sit on a barstool on the least illuminated corner of the empty bar, far away from the door. Elias should be in his mid-twenties, according to Wonwoo’s information, so you can only assume his friend is close to that age too, but he looks a lot younger in your eyes, and he orders a vodka cola with a side of fries, further fortifying that impression. 

“What do you recommend?” You ask him as you sit down on the stool next to his, taking him by surprise. 

“Me?” His tone wavers between shocked and bothered that someone’s speaking to him, but you don’t really care which one it really is. 

“Yes, you.” You giggle lightly, placing your chin on the palm of your hand to seem charmed by him. “Do you have any drink recommendations?” 

“Oh I-, I don’t drink often, I wouldn’t know.” He stutters and avoids your eyes. 

“I’ll have what he’s having.” You tell the tired bartender, even if you despise vodka with a passion. “So, what’s a handsome man like doing here all alone?” 

“Those people can get very tiring,” he answers with a serious tone, but a faint blush appears on his ears at your bluntness, “you heard how they are.” 

“Oh, so you noticed me there?” Your flirty persona disappears for a second in slight shock, as you haven’t caught his eyes on you once during the past nights. 

“Of course I did.” Even after his admission, his eyes continue staring as his already half empty glass. “You’re hard to miss.” 

“I don’t know if I want to take that as a compliment, but I will.” Quite the opposite, your intention is to be invisible. “I’m not used to receiving much attention.” You chew on the plastic straw the bartender gives you with your drink, making dreamy eyes at Elias’ friend. 

“Well, you caught mine.” As shy as he may appear, he’s being rather forward with his statements now. 

“What I haven’t caught is your name.” If he’s truly interested in you, then your plan begins, and you intend to acquire as much information as possible. “I’m Marissa.” 

“I’m Lucas.” Amused, he replies as he stretches his hand to shake yours. 

“So, Lucas, what do you do? What brings you to this boring, old rich people event.” A little of your real personality is always good to show when you’re pretending to be someone else. Even if they don’t realize, people have something close to a sixth sense when it comes to strangers, and if you seem to be even a little bit stiff and made up, they’ll unconsciously realize something’s not right with you. 

Lucas chuckles at your undisguised disgust, “I work for one of those rich old men, but he doesn’t like coming here, so it’s my job to make face and buy him whatever artifact he wants on a whim.” 

Hopefully, the microphone you previously set inside your bra hasn’t moved and is recording everything Lucas’ saying in case you forget any details. Wonwoo would never let you live if you forget even the tiniest thing. 

“That sounds awful.” You decide on a short empathetic response, hoping he’ll keep talking without you asking many questions. 

“And what brings you here? You don’t seem to like these kinds of spaces much.” He doesn’t take his eyes off yours as he understands your silence the opposite way. 

“My parents like to come here, but they’re out of town. They asked me to buy one of the paintings for their new home.” You repeat the personal story you created the previous night with Wonwoo. 

“I see. So, neither of us are particularly thrilled to be here.” 

“It’s more fun now that I finally found someone interesting to talk to.” You sip from the vile glass of distilled alcohol, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to lower his guard down. 

“You don’t know anyone here?” He questions, intrigued by you. 

“No, but maybe that’s a good thing.” You pretend to look around, eyes finding Wonwoo in a flirty exchange with Sophie. “What about you? Besides those men back at the table.” 

“Actually, my sister’s here as well, but I haven’t seen her tonight. She always scurries away when the chance comes.” He looks around the room to catch a glimpse of her, but it’s pointless. “And now that she dyed her hair, I can never find her.” 

Like a lightbulb just lit up over your head, the terrible realization of who you’re talking to hits you painfully. “I totally get her.” You snicker back and take another sip of the now more tempting drink. 

You want, no, you need to ask more about his family, find out what you don’t already know, but you throw that thought away the second it comes. It’ll be too obvious, and you can’t afford for him to ask those same questions back. 

“So, what are you taking back for the boss?” Is the question you settle for. 

“He wanted the-” Lucas begins answering, but before can tell you that key information, Elias appears by your side, grabbing him by the arm and muttering something close to ‘we have to talk’. 

Lucas sends you an apologetic smile as he leaves the bartender a tip under the drink he didn't touch. You barely hear him saying goodbye to you, as Elias forces him to follow his lead and leave you behind. 

You’re left perplexed on your seat, jaw on the floor and eyes scattering trying to find if Wonwoo had the chance to see what just happened. At least Elias didn’t even spare you a glance, and you had no time to even think of saying a word to him. 

How could you have missed it? You researched her entire life, since the day she was born up until the day you first started shadowing her. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this job makes any sense. 

Across the room, still at the same table, Cecilia’s friend has moved her chair closer to Wonwoo’s and is tracing lines down his arm as she talks to him. Of course, he can’t avoid that every woman he interacts with throws herself at him. At least it works. 

His eyes find yours just in time, and you tilt your head towards the door. You don’t expect him to follow you. That’s not why you told him you were leaving. But as the elevator doors begin to close, his right foot appears in their way and they open back up again, revealing his tall figure and worried face. 

“Did something happen?” He stands too close to your side, his hand not even bothering to click the button to his floor. 

“Got some disturbing information before He showed up and took the boy away from me.” The four walls surrounding you suffocate you. “You didn’t need to come after me.” 

“I was about to leave myself when I saw you.” Wonwoo straightens his posture, eyes on the doors opening on your floor. “I got everything I needed.”  

“Sure thing.” You sound unconvinced, and it’s no wonder he realizes it too. “Well, text me what you got later.” 

“You looked cozy with him.” His voice trails behind you. “A little young for you.” 

You scoff, back still directed at him as you try to get your damn door to open. “Good night, Wonwoo.” 

“I bet he was drinking something only teenagers like. Maybe vodka? Judging by the face you made when you took the first sip.” He doesn’t relent, and for some reason, your door opens but you stay there. 

“Were you actually doing your job? Or were you too busy inspecting my conversation?” Your body turns to face him, too easily annoyed by him even if you know that’s what he wants. 

“Just watching from afar in case you needed help.” You know he’s staying put as a silent beg for you to spill your information. 

“Well, I didn’t.” You don’t even get to step half a foot inside your room before he’s closing the door in your face, leaving you stranded on the hallway, trapped between the wall and his body. 

“C’mon, don’t make me force it out of you. Tell me what you got.” His tone is stern, clearly done with your avoiding technique.  

“Fine! Fine, but you can’t panic.” You say, but the one panicking is you as your eyes scan the hallway back and forth, again and again. 

“I can be calm, only if you tell me what the fuck happened.” He definitely saw what happened with Elias. 

“They’re siblings.” The beat of silence is louder than your thoughts. “The boy is Cecilia's brother.” Your final whisper draws the color out of Wonwoo’s face. 

“You’re kidding me. You have to be fucking kidding me.” You’re lucky most people are still at the event downstairs, because if not, Wonwoo’s shouts would’ve never gone by unnoticed. 

“You have to calm down.” You try to get closer to him, but he starts pacing around the hall, just like the other night in your room. “Let’s just get inside.” 

“What did he say?” Wonwoo’s not listening to you. “Tell me exactly what he said.” 

“He told me he was here filling in for his boss, and I asked if he knew anyone here.” He won’t calm down until the pieces start making sense in his mind, so you fill him in, in the lowest tone possible. “He said his sister always comes to these things, but that she keeps leaving before the night's over.” Every bit of information you utter just gets him madder. “And that she recently dyed her hair.” 

“How did you not know this before?” He doesn’t doubt you, but the mission. 

“I don’t know!” You’re more focused on hearing any minimal sound on your floor. If anyone finds the two of you in this state, you’re fucked. “There weren’t any papers that said she had other family. You saw everything I had.” 

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” Wonwoo wonders out loud, but the both of you know it’s too specific for it to be a coincidence. You don’t answer him, your doubtful look being enough. 

“You’re sure she has what I need.” A nod is all you give him. “And I can’t just get it from her and be done.” You know he’s thinking out loud to himself, but you still shake your head. 

The USB has to be in Elias’ hands when Wonwoo’s time to steal it comes. They can’t know something’s missing before you get what you need. 

“Fuck. Okay." With that, Wonwoo finally stops pacing around. “This is too messy, and if something’s wrong, I don’t want to be here when shit happens. Tomorrow, we do our jobs and we're out of here.” 

Wonwoo stands still before you, waiting for something more than just a securing nod from you. 

“Yeah. We’ll be extra careful.” Is all you can say. 

His last words echo in your mind. ‘And we're out of here.’ After tonight, you probably won’t see him again. Ever. You’ve been living without him for months, learning what it’s like to wake up with his side of the bed cold. Some days, you still wake up thinking you’ll find him fast asleep on the couch, his dirty clothes scattered on the floor because he came home late and didn’t want to wake you up. You’ve been trying to live with that hurt, but at least, you knew he was still out there. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The words blurt out of you without your brain’s consent, and Wonwoo stops in his tracks, barely a few steps away from you. 

He turns around, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out why you’re still there. “If by ‘okay’ you mean that I’ll go back to my room and not be able to sleep, then yes, I’m okay.” 

“I don’t want you to get unnecessarily worried.” As you keep talking, he slowly begins taking steps closer to you. “You just focus on what you have to do, I’ll deal with them.” 

Wonwoo smirks. He smirks so cockily you regret it instantly. He stands in front of you, too close, but you can’t back away, not when he traps you against the wall again. 

“Careful honey, you’re starting to sound like you’re worried about me.” You don’t know how he does it. How he turns a stressful situation into a moment to tease you in an instant. 

“I’m just trying to help you. Don’t get your hopes up, Wonwoo.” You should be trying to get out of his trap, but you don’t. 

The ping of the elevator echoes through the hall, alerting the both of you, but you stay put. His broad back covers you perfectly from every angle, and whoever will walk past you would simply mistake you for another pair of strangers in a steamy situation. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Pointy steps get closer to round the corner where you’re both obviously too close for it to be something else. Wonwoo pretends to whisper on the side of your face. Breathy nonsense as his lips graze your ear, one arm on your side caging you in even more. You don’t breathe, as if the air between your bodies just became toxic. 

You’ve been in similar situations countless times, and it always ended the same. Your brain knows this is different, that it’s just a tactic to go unnoticed. But your body doesn’t. Your stomach tingles with something you know too well, the back of your neck filled with goosebumps following your tummy’s lead. 

As the unknown person walks past you, quickening their pace as they realize what you two seem to be doing, you finally relax. 

“Fuck, Wonwoo, get away from me.” His chest doesn’t budge at your push. “You’re so fucking annoying. Fine, I’ll stop worrying about your job.” 

“Sure, you try that.” The corner of his mouth is still lifted. If only there was a way to wipe it off his face. “See you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.” He walks away with his hands inside his pockets, and your body finally responds to the signals from your brain and opens the door. 

Your fingers trace the edge of your ear where his lips touched, hearing his footsteps get further away, but not turning to look at him. That would mean he won.

You should’ve known something was wrong. The second you arrived at the location with Wonwoo, following his target into the abandoned building where yours kept the stolen art pieces, it should’ve been obvious. 

The plan was simple. Park an unmarked truck just outside, grab the pieces while your subject’s sentinel’s terrorized Wonwoo’s target –the usual technique to make the clients scared they’re not receiving what they paid for, and then drive away as fast as you could to deliver them to your boss. A plan similar to tons of previous one’s you’ve done together. 

Everything was carefully planned over the few weeks you spent surveilling the targets. Even if your trust on Wonwoo was faltering, you’d never let your worries come in the way of yours and his safety. He had to trust you’d know in which room of the thousands in the empty building they could’ve been keeping the stolen art, and you had to trust him to deal with any security you might encounter on the way. 

When there wasn’t any sign of life on the blocks around the building, you should’ve known. 

When it was too easy to get inside and climb the stairs to find the rooms, you should’ve known. 

When the way down with the heavy paintings was too clear of any people, you should’ve known. 

When Wonwoo closed the back of the truck and got in with no suspicions, you should’ve known. 

The walk from the back of the truck to the passenger seat was so close, you didn’t think to look around in case anyone was there. Why would you? You hadn’t encountered anyone up until that point, and it was nearly over, there was almost no chance. 

The metal blade pushing against your throat the second you began walking away from the truck was that 0,0001% chance. 

“Back away now.”  A low, unfamiliar voice ordered you. You couldn’t talk, couldn’t scream for help. You only had your other senses to rely on. 

You walked back slowly, forcing the man to walk back with you, pressing your back against his torso. He felt strong, taller than you, the knife against the vein on your neck was recently sharpened. But if the job had taught you something, it was to never give up, even if the chances seemed slim. Your attacker may have taken you by surprise, he may have been bigger and more muscular than you, but in that moment, to his demise, your need to punch men was skyrocketing. 

Elbowing him straight on the nose, his arms let go of you in shock, screaming in pain as he stumbled back. You didn’t have time to focus on the drops of blood you felt dripping down your neck. 

His bald head stood out over his blood covered face and the suit he was wearing for some reason. Of course you remembered him. With the way you saw him every night when you tried to sleep, he was basically burned to the back of your eyes. You could recognize him from miles away. The man Wonwoo had talked to behind your back that night in the club. 

In the second it took him to stop bitching about his nose and look up, you began stomping his way, your fist in the air ready to give him another bruise to remember you by. 

The crack sound reached your ears before you felt the pain shooting up your arm. The guy’s head flew to the side at your punch, breaking at least one of your fingers in the process. A bearable pain compared to what the situation meant. 

Your eyes fell on the knife laying on the ground just steps away from you at the same time as him. And he was faster. You felt the pain on the back of your left leg before you realized what was happening. He slashed your calf with the dirty blade, and was getting up to finish the job. But you were never a runner. 

With quick reflexes, you successfully avoided the first few punches he threw your way, managing to tire him out to get in a few punches to his ribs. Somehow, the pain coming from your every limb was overshadowed by the anger you felt. In that moment, that man could have shot you, and you would’ve still found it in you to keep fighting. Because no one was coming to rescue you. That fact became more evident after the scream of pain you let out at your broken hand. In that moment, something you should’ve stood by your whole life sank in. You only had yourself. 

A ringtone came from somewhere on the floor around where you were standing, and the bald man’s eyes widened in the search for it. He stood on guard, searching for the phone but ready if you wanted to throw another punch. But before you had time to look for it yourself and smash it on his shiny head, an engine starting caught your full attention. 

From behind you, the truck where you knew for a fact Wonwoo was sitting in rumbled as the key tried to start it. There it was, the confirmation of everything you’d been trying to convince yourself it wasn’t possible. The sound of your heart breaking might’ve been even louder than the engine as the driver changed gears. 

Your eyes connected with Wonwoo’s on the passenger seat, as your target drove them away at light speed. It was a millisecond, where his eyes took notice of your beaten-up state, the dirt building up on your face and dry drops of blood on your arms, not physically defeated, but disappointed. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw your aggressor cowardly running away, his phone in one hand and his other hand holding the side of his torso you made sure would hurt for at least weeks. But you were petrified in place, unmoving as the truck disappeared into the horizon. 

The man you always imagined fighting by your side, who you thought would have your back even on the toughest times and who allegedly saw a future with you, who now set you up for a trap, watching from the sidelines as you got injured fighting for your life, driving off with your alleged target. 

And with them, the little hope you had left.

Your hand cramps over the door handle. It’s been wrapped around it for minutes, waiting for your brain’s signal to turn it to the side and step out of your room. But the nervousness building up inside your stomach is becoming more unbearable by the second, rendering you incapable of continuing with your day. It’s a new type of feeling, one you never thought you’d feel on the job. Nervous? About stealing some random piece of jewelry from a rich woman? If Wonwoo could see you, you’re sure he’d have his fair share of laughs. 

Many things could go wrong. Details tend to scramble on the job, and getting creative with new ideas the second something happens is a key part of it. But the probability of a few mishaps happening never left you immobile like this before. The little chance, however small, that either your job or Wonwoo’s carries something deeper within rushes a cold wave through your veins. 

No job ever is truly easy, of course there are bumps on the road for everything, but when the future of someone you care for depends on it, it holds a different kind of weight. There never was this much at stake, at least to your knowledge.  

You weren’t supposed to get this involved. Even the details Wonwoo shared before you got essentially locked up in the fancy hotel seemed too much for you. And now, it’s a given that as soon as either of your targets realize their missing item, you’ll both be in trouble. The relationship between your targets made you hoard even more responsibility than before. You couldn’t make a single mistake without taking Wonwoo down with you. 

It’s a noise on the hallway that takes you out of the trance, a door slamming shut that sounds too precise to be a coincidence, but once you finally leave your room, it’s impossible for it to have been anything more than that. The empty corridor sends chills down your spine, a slight bad feeling you’ve been fighting to get rid of all morning. 

The way down the elevator becomes a movie theater to visualize the entire plan. Every room, every move, every possible alternative, every single detail runs laps around your brain as you try not to look stressed to the few people going down with you to the final event. 

The automatic doors open, and the packed bottom floor welcomes you full of murmur and the fanciest gowns and suits you’ve seen yet. Stabilizing your breath, avoiding looking around the room too much, you walk out, weary of the people around you and going straight to an empty place to sit after grabbing your sign for the auction. 

Sitting on a row at the back and right at the edge of the chair arrangement makes everything easier. You won’t bother anyone by standing up, drawing the minimum attention possible, and you can surveil from behind everyone, just in case. 

As the lights dim on the crowd, and the presenter steps on the stage to begin his speech to introduce each piece getting auctioned tonight, the time to wait has come. 

Cecilia sits close to the very first row, with her friend, whose name you learned is Sophie, sitting to her right as expected. The most difficult part will be getting close to Cecilia without her personal sidekick in the way. The only time you saw her alone all these past days, was when she flirted with different men. 

Surely, she'll go to the restroom alone right? But what's the only way she could leave her purse unattended for you to quickly snatch, grab what you need, and return without her noticing. The answer, you've thought about all week. But you can’t move forward with anything until you get Wonwoo's text saying he's finished.  

You haven’t laid eyes on him yet, which means he definitely saw you. 

Both of you agreed that telling each other your plans to get the theft done was a bad idea. You have to take every precaution possible, and the less people know your plan, no one in this case, the better. 

Piece by piece gets auctioned quickly, the staff wasting as little time as possible. Nothing really draws your attention, most of the works are contemporary art, which is not really your favorite, but Marissa on the other hand, she came here for one of the paintings. 

It’s dark so the people can concentrate on the auction properly, but there’s enough light for you to recognize Elias standing up and leaving the dance-hall turned stage. Wherever he’s going, you’re sure Wonwoo’s trailing after him. When Cecilia stands up a minute later and goes after him, you’re certain their exchange is happening. 

You wait patiently for Wonwoo’s text, seeing ugly painting after painting pass, but none of them are decent enough for you to spend money you don’t have on it. The numbers people shout for these art pieces is ridiculous, not because they aren’t pretty, art is subjective after all, but because these people are spending so much money on things that’ll just collect dust in their second mansion they only visit once a year. Rich people and their money. 

Like a sign from the universe, Cecilia materializes at the giant door once again, returning to her seat just as your second phone vibrates inside your dress’ pocket. 

Ryan: The flan has been eaten. 

A cackle almost slips out of you before you get a hold of yourself. 

You: Smooth?  Ryan: Could’ve been better, maybe with a little more caramel. 

You don’t understand what that’s code for, but at least he’s done. It’s your turn now, before any of them realize Elias doesn't have the USB in his possession anymore. 

After winning the bid for the least bad looking painting there, you take your chance to sneak off, standing up and crouching as you walk over to the bar. It's the perfect cover: going to do all the paperwork and transfers after winning a bid. Given the odd chance that someone noticed you, it won’t be weird if you disappear for long. 

“Hey! Can I ask you something?” You approach the bartender, the same one who’s been working all those previous nights. 

“What can I help you with?” If your tactics worked, this part should be easy. 

“Do you happen to know that woman’s usual drink order?” As discreetly as possible, you point to Cecilia. “I was talking with her earlier, and she said I could sit with her during the auction, but I don’t want to show up empty handed.” 

The bartender giggles lightly, nodding at your request before turning back and making the drink. With her back blocking your line of sight, it’s impossible to see exactly what the cocktail is, but hopefully it’s not the most expensive one. 

Applause erupts in the crowd behind you. Just like clockwork. 

“Here’s the drink, mam.” She sets the pinkest cocktail you’ve ever seen in front of you. “It’d be $40.” She smiles so politely you manage not to choke on your spit at the ridiculous price. At this point, she could be scamming you and you wouldn't care. 

After rummaging through your bag to find $50 and a tiny pill you threw in there, you hand the bill out to her with a smile and the empty feeling of your wallet. At least you’ll get a lot more money back after the job’s finished. 

While the bartender’s focused on fetching your change, you drop the quickly dissolving pill on Cecilia’s drink. Just something for her stomach to be a little upset and trigger a trip to the restroom. 

“You know what? Keep the change, sweetie.” The old people's nickname slips out of you, but you’re walking away before even registering her reaction. 

With the overpriced, and probably way too sweet drink, in your hand, you approach a now standing Cecilia as she talks with a group of older women. A few feet away from them, you spot the man she hooked up the first night there. 

“Sorry to interrupt ladies,” you sneak in between their bodies, getting a few weird looks, and lightly touch Cecilia’s arm to get her attention, “but that man over there told me to get you this drink.” You point to him after giggling, and leave the group right after she takes it. 

Would what you did be considered rule breaking? It was absolutely necessary! In reality, no one’s going to remember you after tonight. They never think about strangers for over a few minutes, except probably to talk shit behind their back.

It's not long before your little secret starts taking effect, so you don’t waste any more time, head to the restroom and lock yourself inside the middle stall. One would think bathrooms at these kinds of things would be fancy, spacious and luscious, but out of the five stalls, the two closer to the entrance are “on repair”, there’s no toilet paper in any of them, and it smells like those toilets behind the locked doors haven’t been cleaned in weeks. Luckily, you don’t have to submit yourself to wait there much longer. 

Minutes after you escape the crowded hall, the echo of a pair of stilettos rushing on the hallway towards the bathroom pierces through the tension you built up alone. 

The door slams open, and the known body stumbles against one of the available stalls, falling limp on the ground as her purse falls next to her. It’s open all the way, ready to be raided by you. 

As Cecilia starts puking nonstop, it’s easy to ignore the smell and sneak your hand under the tall opening under the stall wall. You’re in a time crunch, and another echo of someone, definitely Cecilia’s friend, sprinting to the bathroom pumps up the adrenaline as you look as fast as you can. 

The heavy gold chain is easy to feel with your fingertips, sitting at the bottom of Cecilia’s bag. You don’t question why she threw such a significant necklace into her purse like that, not even nicely kept in a box, as she also did that with the USB she traded with Elias. At least she made the job easier. 

As stealthily as possible, you retrieve the emerald gem along with the chain. No wonder the necklace is being so obsessively looked for. Apart from the price the clients are willing to pay for it, its beauty could create rows of people lining up just to catch a glimpse of it, the green stone matches perfectly with the gold.

You shove your hand away from inside the bag and hide as best as possible in your stall, just as Sophie runs inside the toilet to help her friend. But they can’t know someone else is there with them, because they’ll instantly know when you took the necklace once they find out.

Stepping on top of the toilet seat, trying to make no noise even if they probably won’t be able to concentrate on anything other than Cecilia, you breathe shallowly, waiting for them to leave once and for all.

If it wasn’t for the little time you gave her to put food in her stomach, you’d be standing there, over a dirty toilet, for at least an hour, but Cecilia’s a woman that doesn’t want to miss out on any party. It takes her less than two minutes to recover and clean herself up looking in the mirror over the sink, and they’re both out of the restroom in a flash, as if they were never there.

After waiting until you hear no noise in the hallway, you know you have to get away from there before anyone catches up to the plan and realizes where exactly the necklace was taken. There’s a little more time to get away from the hotel, after you and Wonwoo get your things.

Wonwoo.

Should you update him? Tell him everything went okay?

He is technically done. He got what he needed and let you know, there was nothing more he had to do. And Wonwoo never liked staying on the job more time than necessary, so he probably left already.

Since the elevator’s too risky, climbing six floors up the stairs is your best option. A little exercise never killed anyone.

It’s a hard task, but you manage and finally reach the floor in which your room’s patiently waiting to be packed away. Your lungs struggle to let air inside, and as you enter your hallway, the figure standing against your door takes the little air you managed to inhale all the way out again.

Wonwoo’s resting his back against the door to your room, with his phone in his hand, probably playing a stupid game. A storm of different thoughts rain over your head, unsure on how to feel at the sight of him. Annoyance? Relief? Sadness?

“What are you still doing here? I thought you would’ve left by now.” Your voice snaps his head your way, and he quickly slips the phone into his pocket to give you his full attention.

“I wanted to wait until you were done.” He hesitates to raise his voice, but interrupts you before you reply. “Just in case.”

You walk almost robotically as you get closer to him, not knowing what to do, how to act. Is he here to say his final goodbye? Do you even want him to?

“Well, It went well.”A sigh of relief leaves his lips, and as he looks down, ready to leave you alone like you asked so many times, it dawns on you. “You can tell your uncle that you're done. And to go fuck himself.”

Your joke relaxes the both of you, laughing lightly at your stupid, but very real, declaration full of resentment. Wonwoo knows you mean it. You never hid your dislike for his family, like they never hid their hatred towards you.

“Believe me, I have much more to say than that.”

The tension in Wonwoo’s face visibly goes away as you both laugh again, a little louder this time. Neither of you aims to get away from the other, atmosphere unexpectedly comfortable.

When he locks eyes with you, smiles still there but fading as the moment passes and a new one emerges, you don’t avert your gaze. When he takes a step in your direction, you don’t back away. And when he cups the side of your face and lowers his until your lips touch, you let him.

The familiar feeling of his lips against yours envelops you all around. For a second, blood runs warmer through your veins, the weight on your shoulders flies away, and you’re somewhere where nothing else matters other than him and you.

But before his hands creep up your body and compel you to make a bad decision, you pull back.

Your top lip’s still tingling when Wonwoo apologizes. “I shouldn't have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you?” It doesn’t come out as irritated as you thought you wanted it to. Your lowered guard must be playing games with your mind.

“I… just wanted to. For one last time.” His quiet voice and shoulders hanging low contrast with his eyes, looking at you like he doesn't regret it one bit.

“W-well, you can't do that.” No matter how nice he’s able to make you feel, what he did is unforgettable. Even if it’s your body’s instinct to react to his touch. “I didn’t forgive you.”

Wonwoo stays silent, his stare leaving your eyes and concentrating on the floor below. Your remainder drew the line between you two again, the one that shouldn’t have gotten blurred in the first place.

As your hand wraps around the door handle slowly, hesitant like so many hours before, the air behind you tenses, and Wonwoo speaks up before you even have the chance of leaving him there.

“I didn’t want to do it.”

His tone full of regret makes you stop in your tracks. He’s not talking about the kiss, but rather that damned day, But you’re tired of hearing those words.

“You told me that. Several times.” How can he think that’ll fix the damage? “But it doesn’t change anything. You still did it.” Anger bleeds through your cold tone, reliving the thousands of times you had the same conversation.

“If you knew why I had to do it, you’d get it.” He sighs with his reply, but his frustration makes no sense to you. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” In the past, the only times you were mad enough to demand an explanation, he always avoided telling you why. Why he tricked you and left you to fight alone. “Nothing’s gonna change if you leave me out of the loop.”

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to figure out what to say. Can’t he just tell you the truth? After tonight, you’ll never see him again. He’ll leave for good to find a better life. He’ll leave you behind, alone with that uncertainty forever haunting you. From your point of view, it’s the best time to enlighten you about that night.

“It was to protect you.” His hesitation makes it hard to believe him.

“I didn’t feel very protected.” You don't know why you're still hearing him out. You should be on your way home, memories of him wiped clean and money getting sent to your account.

“I can't just-”

“You can't what? You made a deal behind my back and betrayed me!” Admittedly, you're getting angrier than you should. You should've risen above it by now, but he's making it too hard.

“Can we get inside to talk?” Wonwoo's wide eyes scan the hallway carefully, like he's just becoming aware that you're still in public.

Do you need an explanation that badly that you're willing to be inside an enclosed room with him again? Your uncontrollable feelings haven't been trustworthy lately, but if you want closure, it may be the only way.

With a sigh and the wall around your heart falling apart, you walk into your room with Wonwoo following behind you.

“Talk.” The dry atmosphere is suffocating, a need for everything to be over growing with every second Wonwoo stays silent. “And fast, because I don't have much patience left with you.”

“I don’t blame you for hating me.” He starts, and any thought you had vanishes into thin air. “I even hate myself for it, but I don’t regret it.”

“How can you say that?” Hearing those words come out of his mouth shouldn’t feel like a punch in the gut, and you hate it. You shouldn’t have allowed him in. “Whoa, just, why don’t you just leave? I gotta pack and leave this godforsaken place.”

Wonwoo grabs your arm and prevents you from turning your back on him.

“They knew you were after Albert.” Albert, the stolen paintings man you were following at the time.

You freeze in place, but you’re unable to react while the words float around your head trying to make sense. 

“That’s impossible.” You don’t sound nearly as dismissive as you should.

“They knew someone was going to steal from him, it was a set up for whoever it was.” There’s nothing in Wonwoo’s revelation that points to it being a lie, and it throws off everything you believed about that day. “They were going to torture the truth out of you. Find out who you work for.”

“But how?” You’re always careful, always follow the rules, always make sure to blend in the background. Never, in all the years you’ve been doing this, were you discovered. If they knew, someone must’ve snitched on your boss’ client.

“I don’t know, but the boss forced me to make a deal with him and pretend to help him out.” By the way Wonwoo pronounces ‘boss’, you know his uncle pulled the family card.

He lets you think in silence, waiting for whatever you choose to do with the new information.

On one hand, you don’t doubt he’s telling the truth about the deal. On the other hand, you can’t think of the reasoning behind why Wonwoo refused to tell you this the thousands of times he had the chance to. Or why he didn’t talk to you at the time to plan something together.

“Did he tell you not to help me?” How could his family only come up with a plan where you were the one who ended up with the short end of the stick? They made you believe it was your fault, didn’t call you for months after your recovery. It doesn’t make any sense.

“He said it could risk our entire family.” Ouch.

It’s no surprise that his family doesn’t consider you part of them. They never did. And you didn’t expect them to. But hearing the sentiment come out of Wonwoo’s mouth stings.

“I fought them until the last day.” Wonwoo continues, sensing that you need more details about his stance. “They made sure I had no other choice.”

You know what that means. Of course they threatened him. It was always blood over anything else until he refused to fulfill their whims, then, it stopped mattering that Wonwoo was blood too. You’ve seen it happen first hand, just not with you on the receiving end.

“I hate your fucking family.” You settle on saying. Nothing he’s never heard before, but something to imply you understand him, in a way. After all, regardless of the time you spent apart, you were by his side through most of the horrible things he had to do for them.

Wonwoo exhales deeply, a barely there smile at your acknowledgement.

“I’m glad you can finally get out.” You continue, letting your care for him show through your words.

“Me too.” His body relaxes, suddenly much closer to you than before. “I’m gonna miss you.”

The warmth radiating from him envelops you, so familiar and intimate, and your body instantly lightens despite the rush you’re both supposed to be in. And as he tilts his head down to look into your eyes, gaze soft after his seemingly small but heartfelt confession, you can’t avoid the ache in your heart anymore.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” You realize out loud, the hurt in your voice opening a cascade of repressed feelings, clouding your eyes with tears.

When Wonwoo’s arms wrap around you at the sight of your crumbling form, you don’t stop him as he holds you close to his chest. Feeling his heartbeat against your ear, overpowering the sudden change of air in your room, you decide to let go. You don’t cry, but instead let yourself be comforted by him, by his steady breath and strong arms tight around you.

You’ve been surviving without him, trying to mend the hole in your heart and with no way to get closure, with your memories of him stained by the sight of his face watching you from the truck as it drove away. But surviving isn’t living.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo’s words reverberate down his chest. “For everything.”

Even if both of you know an apology won’t fix the rift he caused in your relationship, you let yourself live in that moment. Not survive, but live the moment with him in your arms.

His chest rising and falling against your ear fades everything around you, leaving only you and him alone in the world. Maybe you're waiting for him to let go, or maybe you know he's waiting for you and you refuse to say goodbye, but neither of you dare to let go of the other, enjoying the comfort you once knew so well. How many times have you woken up in a cold sweat, wishing he was laying behind you on the bed, ready to hug you back to sleep, and now you have it.

As if he could hear your doubt, Wonwoo lets go of his grip, setting you free from his tight embrace, but you stay there, standing in front of him without any other thought. The poor lighting from the bedside lamp you always forget to turn off does no justice to Wonwoo’s features as he looks at you up and down.

It's unclear who crosses the line into the other's personal space first. And this time, when his plush lips mold against yours, you don’t control yourself, you don’t put a stop to his movements.

The ghost of his touch you’ve been failing to escape from, back with more passion, glueing you together.

Naturally as ever, Wonwoo wraps his arms around you once again, now to help you on your tiptoes to be even closer. A sigh escapes you as your chests press against one another, and your hands cup his jaw to kiss him harder.

His tongue traces the outline of your lower lip, and the months you spent deprived of him open the way for you to give into him. You let his tongue roll over yours as he deepens the kiss the way it has you melting against him. A whimper draws out of you, and his hunger for you physically arises.

You don’t waste any time, sneaking your hands under the fancy clothes that fit him too well, feeling the tense of his muscles directly. With the pad of his fingers, he starts slipping down the string of your dress down your shoulders, leaving a fiery trail under his touch.

Between the mess of clothes flying away and the tangled limbs looking to feel the other’s bare skin, the world outside the four walls surrounding you stops mattering as you stumble back and fall on the bed. Wonwoo’s hips fit where your legs meet, seeking for your touch everywhere he can.

The weight of his bare chest on yours causes a chain reaction inside you. He's always had a toned body to drool for, but being under him again, feeling all the new muscle he gained while away from you, it’s not long before he has you softly moaning into his mouth, grinding his hips against yours with something more than just lust.

“Are we really doing this?” He gasps, detaching his mouth from you to look at your reaction.

You shouldn’t. It's wrong from every angle possible. Crying on your ex's shoulder and then making out with him? That was the first strike. Having sex with your ex? Wrong again. Having sex when you should be escaping after stealing two valuable and expensive pieces of jewelry and information? So, very wrong. But doing something right has rarely been a part of your life.

You could get sentimental, say that right in that moment, every molecule in your body was screaming asking for him to make you his. But what ultimately comes out of you is, “don’t talk, or I’ll regret it.”

Wonwoo doesn't seem fazed by your retaliation and just nods, making you chase his mouth as he starts leaving kisses up your jaw. His warm breath against your neck mixed with his barely clothed groin stroking your core slowly has you swallowing hard, waiting for his next move. Why hasn't he taken off his underwear yet?

“You never complained about my talking before.” His voice, ten times lower than before, takes your ear by surprise.

“We're in a rush, Wonwoo.” His name comes out half a moan as his hands travel down to where your centers meet.

Your reactions widen the smirk you're just now realizing is plastered on his face, lowering his head down while his eyes tease yours from above your stomach.

“This one's new.” He notes, hooking his fingers on the strings of your panties as he starts slipping them off you, leaving you now completely bare and at his mercy.

“Had people to impress.” You lie, hoping to rile him up enough that he stops teasing you.

Before you have the chance to react, the tear of the fabric reaches your ears. He ripped them off. “Now no one else will ever see them.”

“Fuck!” Getting more turned on by his jealousy just escalated to the top of the list of things that shouldn’t be happening.

The big bed in the center of your room has more than enough space for you both, but Wonwoo shows off his strength by dragging you to the edge, sinking to his knees on the soft carpet on the floor to face your center properly.

With his hands groping their way up your thighs, his eyes savoring the view of your wet core, and your speeding heartbeat with anticipation, you're instantly under his spell, gasping at every touch he decides to give.

Playing with you has always been a favorite of his. Quickie or not, he always found the time to have you whimpering and begging for him.

Feeling his fingers softly tracing your lower lips, spreading the arousal he caused all around your most sensitive zone, not holding back on touching you where you most need him, but not applying enough pressure. He’s driving you crazy.

“You're so wet baby.” He's so entranced you realize he's not looking for an answer. “And it's all for me.”

In one of his endless rounds on your too needy core, you stop his fingers right at the center. You claw at his hands, and his hazy stare, mesmerized by his work with your wetness, finds its way to yours, eyes dark with lust, urging him to do something once and for all.

“I’m enjoying my time down here.” His eyes get lost again, but the teasing smirk growing on his face tells you everything.

“We don’t have time,” but oh how you wish you did, “Wonwoo, don’t p–”

Your inner walls spread apart as he plunges two fingers into you, successfully shutting you up. Your insides welcome him, wrapping around his familiar digits seeking for more, sucking him further inside until his knuckles get covered in the wetness messily spread in your lips.

Wonwoo knows when to curl his fingers to make you scream. When to twist, turn and retract his hand to have you whimpering for more. And your body gives him every reaction he needs to fuel his ego.

“See how needy you are for me?” He groans as he rises from the ground, towering over you, not forgetting to thrust his hand into you so deliberately hard you can’t even mumble a response. “No one could make you feel this good.”

“N-no,” his eyes darken at your broken response, “you’re the only one.”

And it’s true. No matter how many times you tried, no one ever touched you like Wonwoo did. No one cared about finding and stroking each spot you loved and focused on your pleasure. Hell, not even you understand how Wonwoo so easily finds his way inside you.

“I can’t believe I spent so much time away from you.” You rake your nails down his back, lowering his torso down until he’s pressed against you again, his fingers hitting hard inside you as he moans in your ear, loving how your walls tighten around him. “I’m gonna make you mine again.”

“I already am.” You’re saying everything that comes to mind, your filter long gone by now. “Wonwoo, I’m cl-”

The sentence gets cut short, a desperate moan echoing across the room as Wonwoo gets his other hand to work, playing with your clit as your walls quiver against his menacing fingers.

“Relax, baby.” His length pokes against your inner thigh, rock hard and ready for you to play with, but your brain can’t take another order. “I know.”

Everything combines and combusts at the flick of his finger against your clit. And he doesn’t stop. His hands thrusts hard inside you, your trembling legs and spasming walls losing control as he extends your orgasm to his liking.

“Fuck, baby.” He stops moving his hand, letting you ride out your orgasm as he marvels at the sight. You shouldn’t blush at his words, especially when he can feel your walls clamp and know the effect he has on you. “I didn’t know you missed me that much.”

You don’t give any of you time to figure out anything, sneaking your hand between your bodies and getting hold of his hard length trying to peek out of his boxers. Wonwoo graces you with a sweet groan, hips twitching against your hand, showing you how much he needs you too.

When he slides his hands off your warmth, you don’t waste any time and rush to get his damn underwear off. After thinking you’ll never get to have him again, you can’t wait to, for one last time.

He catches on to your eagerness, taking both your thighs in his hands to drag you even closer to the edge of the bed, spreading them apart so your entrance’s finally close to his erection. The shock at the remainder of his size is almost embarrassing, proudly standing against his abs. You’re staring in awe, and Wonwoo loves it.

He stands proudly before you, letting you eye him up and down, all while allowing his eyes to wander on your body too. “Good to know you still like what you see.”

“Shut up.” You chuckle as you wiggle down the last centimeter to line up with his length, your desire for him stronger than your need to preserve your ego.

It’s dirty, the way Wonwoo drags his fingers through your lips to collect your arousal before pumping himself. You know he notices the new wave of arousal at his touch, but he doesn’t tease.

As he leans down, his tip entering you slowly, neither of you care about the long groans you let out. He looks for your eyes as he caresses the side of your face, holding his body weight with his other shoulder planted by your side.

Your walls welcome him in as he splits you in half slowly, letting you feel every vein dragging along your walls. He bottoms out almost softly, grazing your deepest parts before snapping his hips back.

But he doesn't let the feeling of emptiness take over you, starting a pace of slow grinds and quickly sliding out that has your eyes rolling back, your nails digging in the flesh of his shoulders.

You want to squeeze your eyes shut, let the feeling of him filling you up take over you, but you can’t take your eyes off him. With his face so close, soft features analysing yours contrasting with the way your hips snap together, you’re compelled to watch only him.

Every thrust pushes him deeper and deeper, as if he was trying to mark you as his forever. Your legs barely wrap around his waist, going limp as you feel your orgasm approaching fast, quivering with every snap of his hips.

“Fuck, baby, you're trapping me.” You can feel how his pounding grows stronger with every passing second, your walls clamping hard around his giving him a hard task.

Still sensitive from his fingers, your body feels on fire. Wonwoo’s hands roam freely anywhere they want, fondling your tits and pinching your nipples until you scream, or holding your hips tight when he hits that spot inside you that has you shaking. Every touch of his feels raw on your skin, as if even the barest scratch of his nails can have you seeing stars.

“You were made for me.” Somehow, you manage to register his mumble as his hands travel down your body, holding onto your thighs for dear life as he accelerates his pace.

Marking your thighs with the shape of his hands has always been a favorite of his, and you don’t care that you’ll feel his grasp on you for the next few days.

The bed squeaks under you, the force of Wonwoo’s thrusts and your body bouncing on top of it making it shift, but the downstairs guests are not a priority for either of you.

Wonwoo’s hand lets go of one of your legs, falling limp to the side, as he begins circling his digits around your swollen clit. Your throat itches as you scream at his touch, shock and pleasure merging into one and dismantling any wish you had to be quiet, if there even was one.

Without warning, electricity flows from his body to yours, your second orgasm shattering in a million moans and curses Wonwoo fucks you through. Every limb on your body trembles as his pistoning girth stutters its pace inside you at your tightening walls.

His pulsing cock alerts you of his nearing orgasm, but he regains composure after you lost control, thrusting inside you with force again and chasing his own high as you quiver around him.

You’re drunk on him. His touch, his scent, his sounds are all you care about. Everywhere, everything is him. His cock reaches so deep inside you even your breathing’s being choked up with each pound.

Wonwoo holds himself up caging you in between his arms, his body failing as ropes of white coat your walls. The sweet chant of his groans so close to your ears does nothing to calm you down, your insides squeezing every last drop of his cum.

But even if he's done himself, he's not done with you.

After he slides out of you, with so much care you wouldn't think he was just splitting you in half a minute ago, you use all your remaining strength to keep your legs open for him. You know he loves to see his seed seeping out of you, like a work of art finally finished.

You stay there, his mesmerized eyes on your dripping core while you regulate your breathing to normal.

“Wonwoo…” Your half moan manages to draw his attention, and the look you give him is enough for him to stand up and fetch something to clean you up.

He's always been so gentle with you, cleaning up his mess and wrapping his arms around you after.

“I'm never going to forget you.” He whispers to your ear, with your back pressed against his heaving chest. Your naked bodies stick to each other like magnets, incapable of coming apart.

You know you should get up and leave the hotel as soon as possible, but leaving means also letting go of him. His arms cage you in between them as if he didn't want to leave either.

“Let's stay here a minute.” You mumble, half asleep as his warmth envelops you once again.

His family didn’t approve of his relationship with you. They never did. But Wonwoo didn't care about their opinions. Hell, he didn't even care about the “family business” everyone was so passionate about.

Wonwoo fought his entire adolescence to be left out of that life, for his uncle to let him live his life away from the constant danger. A highschool kid had no business joining armed robberies or stalking people to collect data. But he had no other place to go, and they provided food and shelter but made sure to let him know it wasn’t for free, even for family.

“Blood over anything else.” They'd say when he refused to join in on a job when they were “training” him. He couldn't argue with anyone, so he started looking for their approval. Maybe that way, they'd let him have more freedom.

When he met you, the new ninja one of his aunts managed to recruit, he was instantly under your spell. You helped him find his own ways to do the jobs, allowed him to set his own rules. And that just made him grow colder and colder with his family, until all he cared about was you. You helped him find the little freedom the job allowed to exist. The one his family tried so hard to bury.

When Wonwoo saw his uncle’s name on the caller ID the night he knew you were staking out your next target, a chill ran down his spine. It couldn’t mean anything good.

“If they don’t know who it is, then I can help her! Why would I take that man’s side? Just let me tell her!” He screamed to the phone, but the man on the other side wasn’t listening.

The plan was already sealed, and they just needed a pawn to carry it out. And who was more perfect than Wonwoo? Making him pay because of his resentment to his family, making you hate him so you'd leave him alone for once. It was all they always wanted.

Excuse after excuse was thrown his way. Reason after reason why the plan was the way it was and why he had to be the one to do it. Something about the importance of family, or whatever they said.

But he didn't care that those men were trying to find out his uncle's identity, it didn't even matter if they found out about his own identity. What finally made him care was you. If he didn't obey, you'd fall into the trap, and you'd be dead. Because of his family. Because of him.

So, he agreed. Knowing he'd never be able to tell you the truth. Knowing you'd hate him for the rest of his life. But at least, he could protect you.

That's why, that first night, he showed up at the empty bar with a distraction, so no one would realize you were the one stalking the underground art dealer.

That's why he made sure you'd fit right in at the fancy bar, contrasting with his dirty out of place clothes. He had to make the deal that night, but you couldn't look like you were together. He had to make sure you looked like a girl he swooned right there, another drunk person who happened to be there on the wrong night.

On your last date night, Wonwoo knew something was off. He realized you caught on to something. Because of yourself you did. Wonwoo couldn't lie to your face even if millions of dollars were promised to him.

But what could've he done? The deal was up and running, there was no backing down. He had to go on with it with the excuse that it was to save you.

And he did save you. From death at least.

Wonwoo's heart broke that day, in the passenger seat of that filthy truck, with your target rambling on about his deals and his gratefulness to him, all while his right hand tried to kick your ass. Stupid men didn't know everything was part of a plan.

The sight of your eyes as you watched him drive away got burned in the back of his eyelids like a curse. Forever haunting him.

With his family off his back, he tried reaching out to you. He found you again and again, and begged for your forgiveness like a stray dog, but you wouldn't hear him. And after weeks of trying, he really understood.

You were done with him. The one that showed him hope left. Because of him.

Your body jolts awake, hazy mind as your surroundings harshly begin to make sense. You have no idea when you fell asleep, or how much time passed since, but you can’t concentrate on finding out with all the noise. 

So much noise. 

Your ringtone. Your second phone’s ringtone. Wonwoo’s ringtone. The hotel’s phone. Everything’s ringing at the same time. 

Wonwoo’s body shifts next to yours, stirring in the bed until his arm wraps around your bare waist, holding you closer to him like it’s his second nature. It takes a second longer for your body to react to everything going on. 

“Wonwoo, something’s happening. Answer your phone.” You grab his hands closed tight around you in an intent to shake both your bodies and wake him up. A low hum is what you get as an answer. 

It pains you to drag yourself out of the warm bed, away from Wonwoo’s firm grip you so longed for. But it’s impossible to enjoy the recent developments if the incessant buzzing next to your ear doesn’t stop. 

Not much time could’ve passed since you two fell asleep, as the dark night sky is still in its full glory. It wasn’t the best decision to let each other’s warmths drift you to sleep right after you’ve finished a job.

As soon as you locate your phone and click the screen to accept the call, one of your boss’ bodyguards yells in your ear.

“You have to get out of there! Now!” The next mumbles that come out of his mouth, you barely register as your eyes connect with Wonwoo’s, his phone in his hand, probably hearing an identical order.

Every call disconnects after both of you tell your respective caller that you’re on your way. The messy room and your naked bodies tell otherwise.

For a second, you’re both frozen in place, listening closely for any suspicious sounds alerting you of any incoming danger. The silence is relieving for a second before you’re rushing to find your not fancy clothes scattered around the room.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, takes his time putting on every single clothing item.

By the time you’ve got dressed and grabbed your essentials so you can fly out of there, he’s barely put on his fancy pants he wore for the event and is buttoning up his shirt one by one.

“What are you waiting for? You have to go!” You can't comprehend why he's wasting the little time he has to finally escape and live his life as he always wanted, to… stare at you?

“Come with me.” He finally opens his mouth, hands dropping to his sides as he rounds the bed to stand in front of you.

“What?” Your question comes out as an incredulous chuckle.

“Run away with me! I'm being serious.” He takes your hands between his, like a promise, and leaves you speechless.

“I– Wh– You're crazy, Wonwoo, I can't.” You force yourself to take a step away from him, the only way you can think clearly.

“This is our chance! Don't you see it?” He screams in your face, smiling like a mad man.

“We got caught and you think that your family, who already hates me enough, is going to let me go?” You reason, but Wonwoo's now more focused on pacing around the room to try to make sense of everything.

“Exactly.” He clearly stopped listening to you at some point. “We got caught, which means my deal’s off. And I'm not going back.”

“If you still have the USB, wouldn’t he consider it?” As soon as you end your question, you know it’s pointless. Your boss is not exactly known for having mercy.

Wonwoo simply stares at you, eyes slightly closed and head tilted, another sign that it doesn’t work like that.

“Okay, I get it, don’t look at me like that.” You avoid his teasing eyes, trying to focus on grabbing your most important things and escape for once. “You’re still crazy.”

“Come with me,” stands in front of you and holds the sides of your face between his hands, “we’ll be out of the country before they can find us.”

The warmness in his gaze melts you right along with it. But what he’s asking is a much more meaningful commitment than just leaving the hotel with him. It’s a petition about how you’ll spend the rest of your life.

Maybe a fleeting life, never settling in a place before having to escape again, wouldn’t be so bad, if it’s with him. It was his family that got in between you two, and with them out of the equation, he’s still him, and you’re still you.

“Okay.” Your faces are so close he even hears your whisper.

A big smile grows on his face, beating the confusion as it drifts away, realizing that you just agreed with him. “Really?”

“Yes! I’ll go with you.” Wonwoo takes the chance to kiss you again, but as much as you don’t want him to let go, there’s a more pressing issue. “But we need to go right now.”

In the second it takes you to open your eyes after he disconnects your lips, you find him nodding as he collects the few things he still had scattered on the floor. Taking a look around, you realize there’s not enough time to clean up and pretend you were never there. You could grab your computer and phone, leaving no trace of the investigation you did on your target, but to whoever you’re running from, anything you leave behind will serve as clues.

“Do you have a lighter?” Wonwoo asks as he walks to the door, as if he read your mind.

“Yes… are you saying what I think you are?” It’s something you’ve done before. And the best way to get rid of unwanted evidence.

“Give me a few minutes to grab my stuff from my room, then we’ll light them both on fire.” He probably thought of that plan as soon as he answered the call. “Let’s meet downstairs.”

“Be careful, please.” If you blow your room up in flames before he’s out of his, he’ll be in trouble. “And quick.”

“I love it when you worry about me." The door’s barely open behind him, but there’s a lot more noise than when you two woke up. “Whatever happens, you just escape. I’ll find you.”

With that, Wonwoo runs out of the room, heading for the stairs at light speed. Your lips dry out as the seconds pass, fearing what could happen during the next few minutes, but you can’t be dramatic, there’s no time.

Behind you, the mess of your room awaits to be turned to ash. The bottles of alcohol inside the mini fridge you never touched call your name, ready to be burst against the carpeted floor and enlightened. But before doing anything, you need to decide what you can live without.

Your bags full of clothes are meaningless. Besides a black sweatshirt you quickly throw over your shoulders to cover yourself downstairs, no piece of fabric is worth risking your life. Changing into more comfortable clothes is out of the question, as you’ll draw more attention by not looking like everyone else at the event.

Outside the door, the beginning of a commotion makes itself known. It’s not on your floor, yet, but in any second it will be. Wonwoo comes to mind, a floor below you, closer to the sound of at least 10 men ready to hunt you down. The best thing you can do for him is create a distraction.

The one thing you realistically need is your primary phone, so you secure it in a small bag along with the emerald necklace. Any other device would just slow you down.

The fridge’s full of different types of alcohol, so you pop open every bottle there is and dump the liquid on the carpet, the bed, the curtains, and especially on the computer you’re forced to leave behind. It reeks so much of booze you feel dizzy until your nostrils get used to the smell.

As you stumble back and slam your door open for the last time, the faint screams of people downstairs alerts you that your warning was much more deep than your brain decided to understand.

Are you getting out of there because you wasted time sleeping with Wonwoo instead of escaping and your targets found out they were robbed? If that was the case, then you must’ve done a terrible job at hiding yourself from them. But that’s nearly impossible. Too many coincidences you have no time to think of.

You find the small lighter in your bag and flick the switch to see the orange flame erupt before your eyes. Good, it works, you’re not dead yet.

Throwing the ignitor across the room and down to the wet floor is easy. Running away from it with the heat coming right behind you isn't. The room explodes in flames just when you reach the stairs, suspiciously empty taking in account the mess you can hear from downstairs.

Step after step down, the floor below yours is too clear of smoke for your liking. Did Wonwoo not get the chance to do it? You don’t worry about that for long, but the answer might be worse.

Whines of pain echo through the hallway as you take the last steps down to Wonwoo’s floor. At least four different voices reach your ears hiding behind the wall. It’s like a vintage radio show, punch sounds repeatedly get through over the fire alarm and the screaming on the floors below. You could merge with all the people running away, pass as another scared guest, clueless as to what was happening.

Only your heart can’t allow you to leave without seeing what was happening to Wonwoo. His groans of pain are nowhere near as many as the other guys attacking him, but it’s a matter of time before they overwhelm him.

A peek over the wall confirms all you’ve been listening to. Wonwoo’s  room door was left open, but there’s no fire coming out of it. One guy’s already on the floor, unconscious against the wall with blood coming out of his lower lip. The other two have your backs facing you, taking turns attacking Wonwoo, but miserably failing.

You can’t take your eyes off the fight, one guy trying to recover from Wonwoo’s punches while the other swings and fails to land his fist on Wonwoo’s ribs. Like a scene out of a movie, he beats the two men until they’re laying on the floor, screaming in pain, incapable of getting up. But it is never as easy as it seems.

A new wave of three men make their way from the other hallway, tasked to finish what the first guys started. Wonwoo, not taken by surprise, with his bruised knuckles and bleeding eyebrow, is already ready for another fight.

When the new men realize the lifeless state of their fellow hired butchers, they stomp towards Wonwoo, who’s throwing the lighter into his room.

While one of them runs to check on the body closer to your hide spot, the other two begin throwing punches at Wonwoo, these ones managing to hit him more times, but not without receiving more in retaliation. Thud punches and broken bones are all you can hear, but you’ve hidden again, in case the man closer to you realizes Wownwoo had company all this time.

It’s the explosion that startles you out of the staircase.

The grey smoke covers the farthest part of the hallway, covering the two hitmen he was fighting, both injured on the floor, holding onto different parts of their bodies either the explosion or Wonwoo broke.

Your eyes connect with Wonwoo’s, and he manages to tilt his chin forward, the only way he can plead for you to escape, just before the last man stands up and faces him. Everything happens too fast.

You’re about to turn around and keep going down the stairs just like Wonwoo told you to do when you hear it. A gunshot. 

Then, a second freezes in time. Your head turns just when the body falls dead on the ground, revealing Wonwoo just behind him with a splatter of blood staining his face, and the gun in his hand still pointed ahead, blowing smoke. Your eyes connect again, a realization of what he did and you witnessed.

But time's not frozen, and one of the guys that was hiding behind the grey smoke follows Wonwoo's stare and sprints your way, just at the same time as the other one appears behind Wonwoo and wraps his arm around his neck.

You’re trained for this, to be thinking on your feet in case something unforeseen happens. The red fire extinguisher stands out on the side of the stairs you just went down from. Pretending to run up to escape from the man running your way, you snatch the extinguisher out of its place and blow the white smoke right in his face, disorienting him enough to swing the heavy metal right onto his hairless skull.

Before any more men appear out of nowhere, you jump over the railing and run downstairs, hoping Wonwoo’s strong enough to pull through the deadly mix of smoke.

Pushing through the big crowd formed on the bottom floor, you feel more in danger surrounded by all the guests and their judging eyes waiting to figure out if you're the one causing the mess to rat you out. Even if everyone is panicking, talking to each other trying to find out what happened and no one’s really looking at you. In all the chaos, no one looks at other people's dirty and messy clothes to analyze if they fit in.

Almost five whole minutes pass until the entrance door appears in your sight, surrounded by news anchors and their big cameras shooting to catch everything they can. Everyone closer to the door is either more preoccupied with being on live TV, or ready to run off the event and to a safe place.

Trying your best to avoid the cameras, hiding your face behind the hood of your sweatshirt and using men’s big bodies to cover the rest of you, the hotel front door gets closer and closer with each step. From the corner of your eye, a few feet to your right, you recognize at least four men that work for Wonwoo’s family, looking around trying to recognize faces in the crowd, so you run off in the opposite direction.

A black fence you didn’t perceive that first night at the hotel obstructs your view of the street, but a glimpse of a black hoodie similar to yours catches your attention running around the corner. You can’t hesitate, with the cameras going around and the surveillance team looking for you, escaping right that second is the only option.

You follow the figure without another thought, walking as fast as you can but trying not to get noticed, and see him getting inside a car you’ve never seen before and start the engine. From where you’re hiding, you can’t be seen from inside the car. But the car never drives off, like it’s waiting for someone.

“I thought you’d never come.” Wonwoo says as you pull the handle to open the passenger door.

With the engine running, Wonwoo changes the manual gear and drives the car away from the poorly lighted alleyway. 

“They were coming after me too, I had no other choice.” Your smile reveals your little lie, and he returns it as he interlocks your fingers together. “How did you know I was going to see you?”

From a distance, you can hear the fire siren arriving at the hotel, but you’re far enough that worrying about it is useless. All the mess, the robbery, the people chasing after you, it’s all gone. Already blocks away, the city lights and clear streets are like a breath of fresh air, the first minute of your new beginning with him. You’re both free. Finally.

“I told you I’d find you.”

note: i can't believe this is finally done!! thank you so so so much for reading, and to all the people who've been waiting since i posted the teaser months aho, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

You make it over just in time to hear Wonwoo say “–don’t think it was a strategy issue so much as conditions, and other driver’s racing styles.”

“You’ve been doing a lot more media appearances than usual. Critics are saying you’re taking on too much work, and it’s distracting you from the race. What are your thoughts on that?”

Wonwoo’s eyes flit over to you, and straight back to the man holding a mic in front of his face. 

“Are you the critic in question?” asks Wonwoo, flatly. “Because I haven’t heard anyone saying that.”

The interviewer laughs in disbelief. “No– I–”

“You don’t think that’s a stupid question?” Wonwoo asks, tilting his head to the side. “Every driver has media obligations. The rain doesn’t come down that hard just because I’ve taken a few photos.”

Jeonghan places a hand on Wonwoo’s arm, smiles at the crowd of people in front of them– “Thanks for your time everyone, we need to get going now–” and as he leads Wonwoo into the garage, you follow. 

Once inside Jeonghan makes himself scarce and Wonwoo flops into a chair. “Here to scold me already?” He scowls. “You can’t give me a minute?” 

You frown. “No. I thought you handled that fairly well, considering.” 

Wonwoo laughs sharp. “You’re kidding?”

You shrug. “You could’ve laughed it off as you said it, it would sound more friendly. But I think people like it when drivers answer ridiculous questions with a little joke. Certainly works well for Max. You did good.”

If Wonwoo is grateful for the compliment, he doesn’t show it. 

“I wanted to ask you about your trip to Seoul, after the Italian Grand Prix. How long were you planning on staying there?”

He blinks. “A week or so. Why?”

“Esquire Korea asked for an interview with you. I wanted to know if I could schedule it to coincide with your trip home. I don’t want to interrupt your time off, so I could tack it on to the end of your week. What do you think?”

Wonwoo lets out a long suffering sigh, and says, “will I have a babysitter?”

Irritation flares in your chest but you push it down. “Jeonghan, probably, he has family there and I figure he wouldn’t snub a paid trip to visit them.”

He sighs again. Runs a hand through his hair, damp with sweat. It’s getting long.

“Fine,” he says flatly. 

“Good. Let Inès know what dates you’ll be free ASAP, and I’ll finalise the details by Wednesday.” There’s a pause. You’re not sure how to end this conversation. “Sorry about your race.”

He pushes his tongue into the fat of his cheek. “It’s whatever.”

You don’t know what’s compelling you to stay there, to keep talking. Maybe it’s because he sounds so– so dejected. Not that you particularly care for his feelings, given his disdain for you. But he’s still a person, and there’s no one else around. “You’ll get them next time.”

“I’m a big boy, you know?” he says, looking up at you and raising his eyebrows. “I don’t need consoling. Least of all from you.”

This, you think, is the reason people don’t warm to him. Pushes a little kindness away like it’s a knife. Fuck him. Fuck him and his attitude. 

“Of course you don’t.” You smile stiffly. “See you next week.”

“Next week?” he asks abruptly. “Not in Japan?”

“Italy, for Vanity Fair.”

Wonwoo stares at you blankly.

“Mingyu okayed it. It’s on your calendar.”

He huffs air through his nose. “Fuck– fine. Whatever.”

As you turn you have to fight the self-satisfied smile off your face.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Milan, Italy

It’s been a busy week. Too busy, really, but you like that. Sure, you’ve spent more hours than you would’ve liked trawling the internet for a trace of Wonwoo’s name tangled up in this mess with his ex, but it’s still been free of his actual presence souring your mood. Sure you’ve been emailing translators (and Mingyu or Jeonghan when the time difference doesn’t suit) at ridiculous hours, but still– a good week. 

The problem is the pictures keep cropping up in new places. Just in the last twenty-four hours, the pictures have made their way out of obscure Korean gossip circles and into K-Pop subreddits, twitter, Tiktok, and likely soon, the news. His ex’s name is everywhere, which is unfortunate, but ‘the guy’ is still nameless. Thankfully, her team agreed that the best course of action would be to claim the pictures are fake, designed to embroil her group in scandal, and ruin their image of ‘innocent charm’ in a bid to ruin their efforts in the charts. Despite your pushing, you haven’t seen them release a statement yet. It’s… frustrating, for lack of a better word. 

Gabriella has still had no luck finding the man behind it, but she persists, and in the meantime you’d tasked Jeonghan with going back to basics with media training Wonwoo before his interview this afternoon. You’ve hardly had to speak to him at all. No luck today, though. With Mingyu on leave, Jeonghan busy with Charles, and the rest of your team tied up with the regular work of the season, supervision falls to you.

You find Wonwoo in wardrobe. He’s frustrated, you can tell that much. The stylist he’s talking to looks equally as annoyed, looking exasperated between him and the Adidas shirt she holds in her hands. 

“You don’t understa–”

“Is there a problem?” you ask.

Wonwoo glances at you, shoulders sagging in what almost looks like relief. “Can you explain to her that I can’t wear this?”

“I’ve already checked–” she argues back. “You aren’t working with any competing brands, I don’t see what the problem is.”

You stretch out your hand. “May I see it?”

She huffs as she shoves it at you, and you turn it over. The back of it is completely open. “Oh… I see.”

“Right,” says Wonwoo, nodding. “So you see, I can’t–”

“No, no. You can–” you start, and Wonwoo gapes at you. “We just need– excuse me?” you ask, smiling at the young intern hovering nearby. “Would you ask the make-up artist for the concealer she used on Wonwoo, please? A brush too, and some setting powder.”

She looks over at him curiously. “Sure, no problem.”

To the stylist you say, “Would you mind giving us a moment, please. He’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Great,” she says, before making her way toward the door. “Thanks.” 

Once it clicks shut, you ask, “So how big is this tattoo?”

Wonwoo leans against the wall. “Small. It wraps around a little.”

There’s a knock at the door, and the intern enters with a bag that she hands to Wonwoo, and makes for the door again. You go to follow her, but Wonwoo clears his throat. “Uh– sorry–” You turn to find him looking blankly at the assistant, and then at the kit in his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She looks to you wide eyed, and you sigh. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out. Would you mind fetching us all some coffee please?”

The door clicks shut again, and Wonwoo swallows thick. “I thought it’d be better if she helped instead.”

“The fewer people who know about your tattoo the better.”

“Right.”

“Come on,” you say tightly. “Let's get this over with.”

Wonwoo hesitates for a beat, before shrugging his t-shirt off over his head. You don’t make a show of looking, but you find yourself curious as you spot the ink curling over his ribs. It doesn’t look at home there on his skin, a phrase in romantic script in a language you don’t understand, her initials and a date, presumably their anniversary underneath. Maybe it’s because the rest of his body is too bare. Maybe it’s because you never pegged him as a romantic person. You swallow the lump in your throat. This is supposed to be professional. Mechanical. And here you are judging. 

“Your definition of small seems pretty skewed,” you say dryly, reaching for the concealer to squeeze a little onto the back of your hand. 

He doesn’t rise to it. Instead, Wonwoo watches you with a guarded stillness, moving only to cross his arm loosely over his middle to keep it out of your way. You dip the brush into the concealer and step closer, the air between you tightening.

“Hold still.”

His gaze flickers down as you work, feathering product over the fine black lines. His skin is cool to touch, and it’s infuriating that you notice the goosebumps raising under your fingertips.

“You do this often?” he asks quietly.

You shoot him a sharp look. “Covering up mistakes? Constantly.”

“I meant other people’s make up.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “But Is that what you think this is? A mistake?”

“It isn’t?” you counter, adding a second layer of concealer, grateful for the excuse not to meet his eyes.

Silence stretches between you, save for the whisper of the brush against his skin. Then, softer: “I don’t know anymore.”

“Do you want to get back together with her?”

“No.” 

“Why not?” you murmur. 

There’s a brief pause. A stilted breath. “Why are you asking?” 

Your face reddens and you duck your head to concentrate on buffing powder into his side. You don’t know why, really. “We’d have to handle the situation differently, that’s all.” The truth, sort of. “There,” you say, stepping back once you’re sure the ink can’t be seen beneath the layers. “Crisis averted.”

Wonwoo glances down at his skin, then back up at you. “Thanks.”

The gratitude in his voice sits heavier than it should. You clear your throat, stuffing the brushes back into the bag. “No need to thank me. Just make sure you don’t sweat it off on camera or we’re all screwed.”

He gives a small begrudging laugh, and you hate how it makes your stomach dip.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The interview goes so much better than you expected. Half attributed to the journalist’s lighthearted interview style, and the other you can only thank Jeonghan for. You think you even saw Wonwoo smile once or twice, so you make a mental note to make Jeonghan’s birthday present really fucking expensive this year. 

Later, you’re waiting in the lobby for your taxi when Wonwoo exits the lift. Barefaced once again, bucket hat pulled low over his eyes. You expect him to leave without a word, so you lift your hand to offer a polite wave, keep up appearances that you’re friendly now you work together, but instead he’s making his way over. 

“I wanted to– err…” he trails off. Fiddles with the ring on his right hand. 

“To what?” you prompt, raising an eyebrow. The irritation is already bubbling in your chest. 

He swallows, draws himself taller. “I wanted to say thanks again.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “It barely took a minute of my time,” you dismiss, and then after a moments thought you tack on– “though if you ever want to go swimming again you might want to consider laser rem–”

He shakes his head. “No– I mean with the pictures and my ex. Mingyu said you’ve been emailing him in the middle of the night, so I figured it’s been taking up more of your time than I thought it would.”

“Right…” You blink. Wonwoo being concerned about your working hours enough to actually talk to you wasn’t what you would’ve ever expected. “Well it’s my job, so–”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” His lips flatten into a line. “Are you waiting for your driver?”

“I don’t have a driver.” Your laugh almost sounds genuine, takes you a little aback. “Green initiative, remember? I’m on the five-ten to Modena.”

Wonwoo opens his mouth for a second, then clamps it shut. Nods. You shift your bag higher on your shoulder, expecting that to be the end of it, but he lingers, rubbing his thumb against the silver band on his finger.

“I’m… driving that way,” he says finally, each word clipped, almost like he has to force them out. “Edoardo wants me in Imola tomorrow morning. More test runs. Modena’s on the way.” 

You look at him, caught between surprise and suspicion. “And?”

His gaze flicks past you, to the doors opening and closing with the lobby’s steady stream of people heading home after a long day at work. He exhales, sharp. “Do you want a lift?”

The way he says it, you almost expect him to retract the offer before you can answer. Gentlemanly, but reluctant. Merely obligation, no generosity in it. 

“That’s unnecessary,” you reply, slow. “I already booked my ticket, and I can work from the train.”

“I know.” His jaw tightens. “Just thought I should offer.”

It hangs there, heavy, awkward, a tie knotted too tight. You wait, but he doesn’t add anything. Doesn’t soften. Just stands there, tall and stiff, like he’s fulfilling some duty carved into his bones.

“…Sure,” you say at last, because anything else feels too unnatural. “Thanks anyway.”

Wonwoo nods once, curt. Still, he lingers.

“Yes?” you prompt again.

He sighs. “Mingyu said I should apologise.”

“Oh.” Unexpected. 

“He said I’ve been rude, and you don’t deserve it, and you’re just trying to do your job.” The words sound rehearsed, rushed. Not an apology you’ll accept. 

“So do you need me to call Mingyu, then?”

He stares at you, confused. “For what?”

You tilt your head to the side, smile big and fake. “To apologise for you.”

His sniffs, annoyed, scrunches up his nose. God, you do enjoy pissing him off.  

“M’sorry,” he says, so low you barely catch it.

“Say again? Didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck’s sa–” He clears his throat. His whole face is flushed with indignation. “I said I’m sorry.”

You have to make a real effort to stop the shit-eating grin from taking over your face, and it’s only then that Wonwoo meets your eyes. For once, for the first time nearly a decade, he holds. 

“Are you happy now?” he asks, under his breath. “Are you satisfied?”

“Never,” you mutter, under yours. And then you catch sight of the taxi pulling up outside. “That’s my ride.”

And then he surprises you again– picks up the laptop bag at your feet and heads straight through the automatic doors. It takes you a second to get your brain into gear to chase him out. By the time you reach him, he’s already pulling open the car door and stepping back to hold it for you.

You narrow your eyes at him, snatch your bag from his hands. “I can carry my own things, Wonwoo.”

“I was helping,” he retorts.

This is strange. This isn’t the Wonwoo you’ve had to spend all these weeks with. Suddenly wanting to be helpful out of the blue. 

“If I wanted your help, I’d ask for it,” you snap. “Don’t touch my stuff.” 

His eyebrows furrow, the flush of annoyance patching up his neck. “Okay. Fine, I won’t get in your way again.”

“Good!”

“Great!”

You slide into the backseat, and Wonwoo slams the car door behind you. You don’t see him storm off, but you catch the way the taxi drivers’ eyes follow him in the mirror, and after a moment he turns to you and asks excitedly, “Quell’uomo era Jeon Wonwoo?”

“Sì, signore.”

He gasps. “È il tuo ragazzo?”

“No, è il mio collega.”

He gasps again, louder, this time. “Ferrari?”

“Sì, signore.”

And so your fifteen minutes of quiet is lost to fast paced conversation about cars, and racing, and drivers you’d rather not think about.

​​· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sakhir, Bahrain

Wonwoo takes his first podium of the year. Third place, Charles in first. The cheers from the garage are deafening– the crew run out to meet them both, tear them into hugs. You hang back in favour of sending Jeonghan into the fray. With Wonwoo this happy, there’s nothing to worry about when it comes to post-race media, because the smile splits his face wide, and his laughter bubbles out of him when he speaks, and anyone can see that there’s nothing that suits him more. 

It’s a crying shame you’ll have to wipe it off him, later tonight.

There’s a video. 

One Gabriella says is unmistakably him. Still no face, but his voice, and the ring he wears on his right hand is enough of a giveaway. ‘It hardly matters about the tattoo at this point,’ she’d said. Once again, you haven’t looked. The signal notification scorches a mark into your phone, but there it’ll stay until Wonwoo can watch it for himself. 

You and Jeonghan decide to wait until after the press commitments before pulling him away from the paddock, to drag him away early after his first podium with Ferrari would only raise concerns, and the last thing you’d want on a night like this is to draw prying eyes. Keep him happy, keep him talking, for once. 

Later, you find him in the garage. He’s laughing with Charles, his girlfriend, Adrienne, and some of the engineers– his beer hardly touched. Most of the group meets you with big smiles or celebratory hugs, and Wonwoo must be beyond happy with his race because his smile doesn’t drop even a little. He even nods in greeting. Adrienne pulls you into conversation, gushes over the anniversary gift you sent them, and Charles joins in, says his mother was asking after you. 

“Oh I hope Monique’s well too!” you exclaim. “I’ve been trying that recipe she sent me and I still can’t get it right, but tell her to come for dinner during the summer break if she’s in the area, and I’ll make her something edible.”

Charles grins, says, “I’m sure she’d love to.”

One of the engineers, Paulo, offers you a beer from the coolbox but you shake your head.

“Sorry guys, I need to talk to Wonwoo for a minute.”

His face falls. “It can’t wait?”

Charles and the others look between you with curiosity. “No, we need to go over some changes for tomorrow morning.”

He frowns, puzzled. “It’s my day off.” 

You offer a terse smile, and Charles catches it. Knows something’s up that you can’t say in front of others because God, he’s been on the receiving end too, once or twice. 

“We’re heading out anyway, right, Adrienne?”

She nods, a proud, winning smile plastered on her face– links her fingers with his and offers swift goodbyes before pulling him out into the night. They’re sweet, those two. The engineers quickly say their goodbyes too, when you lead Wonwoo into a small room and shut the door behind you. 

“Are you mic’d?” you say, as you sit down.

Wonwoo swallows thick as he follows suit. “No.”

“You should’ve warned me there was a video,” you mutter. “We’re working on burying it, but we can’t guarantee it won’t be picked up or sent to anyone we’re not able to handle.” He ashens when you slide your phone across the table, with the Signal notification there waiting. “Is it you?”

His hands shake as he presses play, and you only wished you’d turned down the volume first. It’s only fourteen (awfully, agonisingly long) seconds, but it’s obscene. Panted breaths, the slap of wet skin, a whispered jagiya (hers), a desperate groan (his). You shift uncomfortably in your seat, swallow your surprise, and press your hand to your cheek in a desperate bid to cool the heat building there. 

“You want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intend. He flinches. 

“I didn’t– God–I…” he trails off, dragging a hand through his hair. “We were twenty-two, for fucks sake. It was supposed to be for us.”

“Look, nobody here gives a damn if you fuck someone, but you’re the one who got into a secret relationship,” you snap. “This could be an easy fix if you’d let us work the angle right.”

His eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“Take ownership. Say you had a girlfriend and it’s all in the past. And this is embarrassing but who doesn’t have videos of themselves with their long term partner? This isn’t career-ending for you.” 

“It would be for her.” He’s shaking his head. “I can’t do that.” 

You press on. “Her team is insisting we ignore it completely. They haven’t even put out a statement and quite frankly they’re grossly mismanaging everything. Do you have any idea how hard it is to spin that into something salvageable now there’s a video like that?”

He looks up at you, eyes wide. “Have you seen it?”

“No,” you sputter. You heard plenty. “God no. I don’t want to.”

“Why? Most people in the press would’ve.”

“I’m not in the press. Not anymore,” you retort, defensive. “Why do you care?”

“Wanted to know if I’d still be able to look you in the eye.”

The bitter laugh falls out of you before you can stop it. “You hardly look at me anyway.”

Wonwoo’s jaw ticks. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

“I need you to stop wearing that ring.” 

He levels you with a look. “Absolutely not.”

You huff air through your nose. “If you continue to wear it you’re more likely to get noticed while people try to figure this out. Don’t be stupid, Wonwoo.” 

That makes him pause. His mouth opens, then shuts again. After a beat, he says quietly, “It’s important to me. If I take it off on the road, I’ll lose it.”

You grit your jaw in annoyance. Shit, you could fucking shake him. Rub at your neck and still your hand over the chain you disturb there. And then you’re unclasping your necklace, and Wonwoo, quick on the uptake, removes his ring and hands it to you, watches as you slip the chain through the band. And when you attempt to hand it to him, he draws his hands into his lap, and says, “Oh– I thought you were gonna wear it.” 

“Just tuck it under your shirt.”

“It’s your necklace.”

“It’s your ring,” you deadpan.

He shrugs, leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in defiance. You scowl. 

“For fucks sake, Wonwoo,” you hiss, slipping the necklace back around your neck, and tucking the ring out of sight under your collar. 

​​· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sweat slick skin, the scent of something woody and atmospheric, touches that make you lightheaded. It’s not anger that simmers in your body but want. He’s between your legs, face pressed to your skin, face shrouded by dark, messy hair. He lifts his chin, meets your eyes across your body, pushes long fingers into your–

You wake with a start, alone in your hotel room. Skin sticky and cheeks flushed. It takes a second for the dream to come back to you in your foggy, sleep-addled state, but when it does your stomach twists, water-brash in your mouth. There’s no meaning in it, surely? It’ll just be because the sound from that fucking video won’t leave your brain, right? You push yourself up in bed, check the time– 2:41am. Your alarm will go off in twenty minutes anyway, might as well finish packing your suitcase and do your best to put your dream at the very back of your mind.

​​· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’ve got the aisle spot, as always. Business class this time instead of first. The flight out of Bahrain is early enough that the plane is filled with the exhausted hush the team. Wonwoo boards late, hood up, headphones looped around his neck, glasses slipping down his nose. You watch him look for his seat number, hoping to the heavens and back that it’s not the empty one right next to your seat. But fate (or rather poor Inès being lumbered with logistics for half the team) has a cruel sense of humor, because right beside you is where he comes to a halt. If he offers you a passing glance as he opens the overhead locker, you refuse to notice, because you’re boring a hole into the page of your book. 

“Excuse me,” he says, sounding as tired as you feel. You tuck your legs to the side, push back in your seat as hard as you can to allow him the biggest gap to get through. He shifts past to slump into his seat and you catch it– a waft of his cologne– smoky and sweet and woody. Catapults you right back to your hotel room, and you shift in your seat. Your skin feels all prickly and hot. 

Once he’s buckled himself in, you expect him to pull his headphones on as he usually does, but in your peripherals you catch him looking at you curiously, and after a second, he leans over the armrest. “What are you reading?”

You glare at him. Flash him the cover (The Hypocrite, by Jo Hamya) and Wonwoo laughs, at what you don’t know. Or care, even! 

“Are you annoyed with me already?” he asks quietly, brows pinching together. 

“I just want to read,” you mutter, and you don’t wait for Wonwoo’s reply before you jab at the button to raise the privacy screen between your chairs, and he has to jolt out of the way.

An hour or so later, when you’re in the air and the wifi isn’t cutting out, you get an email from Inès. 

Hope you’re travelling safe!

We received the clips and interview (see attached) from Esquire late last night and they want your approval before pushing it to print. 

Inès CarvahloExecutive Assistant to Head of Communications

You type back your thanks and make sure to include a PS that says ‘Jesus Christ, Inès, just because I work crazy hours doesn't mean you have to as well. Please get some sleep for the rest of us!!!’ before clicking on the attachments. 

The interview comes out as you expect, knowing Bridget and her work like the back of your hand. And the pictures… well– he looks incredible. Which you suppose isn’t too difficult a task. 

You knock on the privacy screen, and a moment later you hear him press the button to bring it down. He’s taken his hood down, and his hair is messy from sleep. He’s looking at you half-surprised, half expectant, and pales when you pass him your phone.

“Nothing to worry about this time. They want my approval for the Esquire interview.”

He stares at you. “Do you usually get approval?”

You laugh. “No. It’s only because Bridget loves me.” Wonwoo doesn’t reply. “Do you want to read it? Tell me what you think?”

“Does it even matter what I think?”

You shrug. “Sure, it should feel authentically you.”

“Nothing about this shit feels authentically me,” he murmurs, but he takes your phone in his hand anyway, and you absolutely do not think about the way his fingers brush yours. 

​​· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

You’ve been fighting a bug for the last two days. This morning, it got the better of you. It’s not often you’re affected by the exhaustion of travel, but there's more on your plate than usual, and so you’re watching the race while holed up in your hotel room, thanking God that Jeonhan can handle your duties while spreading out his own to the rest of the team. 

Races always have you holding your breath at parts, but the Chicane always makes your stomach twist. Lap seven, and they’re already playing a game of chicken, and your heart is in your throat. Lap forty-two, and tensions are too high. Fernando goes into the back of Charles, and both go slamming into the wall in a blur. Wonwoo is alongside them, and narrowly escapes unscathed. You can’t breathe, the anxiety not at all helping the ache in your body for what feels like an age before the safety car comes out, and the news comes through that everyone is okay. Charles is out of the race, but once the debris is cleared, Wonwoo has the advantage. With bated breath you watch, enraptured, cradling your increasingly sore stomach in your arms, but he wins, and you can release the tension in your chest. Wonwoo takes P1.

God, he looks so happy. He’s almost barreled to the ground with the weight of the team, you see Jeonghan and Mingyu clapping him on the back, and he’s scanning the crowd, looking for Edoardo, or Charles, maybe, but can’t find them. He’s whispering something in Jeonghan's ear, and Jeonghan’s shaking his head back, and then the screen clicks back to the highlight reel. You turn off the TV after a few minutes, overcome with a wave of nausea, and you send a mass congratulations text to the team while laying on the bathroom floor. 

The clock reads 11:37pm when you’re woken from a restless sleep by rapid knocking at your door. You stumble across your room and look through the peephole to see Wonwoo, slumping against the opposite wall, in a baggy black t-shirt, Ferrari-issued bomber jacket, and jeans. He’s got a bag in his hand. 

You rub your eyes as you open the door, and the smell of liquor hits you immediately. It turns your stomach. “Shit– how drunk are you?”

Wonwoo laughs lazily. “A lot. They took me out to celebrate. You didn’t come.”

You fail to get his point. Stand in the open doorway and cross your arms. “Did you lose your room or something?”

“Jeonghan said you’re sick,” he slurs. 

“I’m fine,” you lie, while it feels like your skull is being pierced. 

“Brought you soup.”

You blink. “Y– you what?”

“Soup,” he repeats, thrusting the bag he holds into your hands. 

This feels like it should be a practical joke you don’t understand. You peer down the hallway, wondering if you’ll spot some other drivers with cameras in their hands, jeering and teasing. It’s empty, save for Wonwoo and his bag. 

You take it from him cautiously, briefly wondering if he’s poisoned it.

“Are you wearing my ring?” 

You reach up, pluck out the chain from beneath the collar of your pyjamas to show him the ring dangling from it, before saying, “I’m wearing my necklace.”

“Do you even know what that ring means to me?” he murmurs. 

Wonwoo has always been hard to read, but with his eyes locking yours, a line of sweat beading on his forehead, lips parted in that pretty way he does for photographs, you find yourself even more bewildered, and completely lost for words. 

“I hardly know anything about you,” you breathe.

“Can I co–” he starts, but then he goes positively grey, and his chin drops. Fucking hell.

“Jesus, Wonwoo, are you going to be sick?”

He nods, clasping a hand over his mouth, and you’re ushering him into your bathroom just in time for him to vomit in the same toilet you had your head in not three hours ago. You pour him a glass of water and leave it on the counter while you retrieve your phone from the nightstand. 

You [11:39] Come get Wonwoo, please. Room 503. Mingyu [11:40] WHAT Mingyu [11:40] Sorry. Be there in fifteen 

Mingyu knocks gently on your door in twelve minutes, breathless and red faced. The poor guy must’ve sprinted here from the bar. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, as you let him inside and show him to the bathroom, where Wonwoo is falling asleep with his head tipped back against the wall. “He said he had to do something– we all thought he was just at his limit and wanted to go sleep it off.”

“How does he even know my room number?”

“Oh– he’s only a few doors down,” Mingyu says indifferently, bending to pull Wonwoo up. Wonwoo groans as he’s jostled about. “He probably saw you.”

“Right.”

Wonwoo’s head lolls to the side, but Mingyu’s got him. Half carries, half drags him from your room and then stops just outside your doorway. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Can you get his key from his pocket? And grab the door for me?”

“Uh–” Shit. “Yeah, sure.”

You slip your hand in his jacket pockets first, find nothing but his phone. You check to make sure he’s still got his eyes closed before you pat down his jean pockets for anything that resembles a wallet and you find it in his back pocket. You fish it out, find his card and rush to open the door Mingyu directs you to. He dumps Wonwoo on the bed without ceremony, and starts pulling off his shoes. 

“Is he okay?” you ask, hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

Mingyu laughs, tossing one shoe on the floor before untying the other. “He’s fine, he’s just not used to drinking.”

It really shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter that Wonwoo, who hates you, got drunk as shit celebrating his first win and left his team early to show up at your door with food. Nothing makes sense when your head is pounding like this. 

“I’m gonna take his jeans off now,” warns Mingyu.

“Right. Yeah,” you blurt, heat creeping up your cheeks. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

Back in the quiet relief of your room, you open the container. Chicken noodle, still hot. You skipped everything but a few plain crackers for breakfast, and now your body cries out for sustenance. You eat faster than you should, thoughts of Wonwoo only returning when your spoon scrapes the bottom of the takeout pot. Why was he even thinking of you? In the bathroom you brush your teeth, wash your face with cool water in the sink, and level yourself with a look in the mirror. It’s just food. It doesn’t mean anything. Get a grip. His ring dangles from the chain around your neck, mocking you.

In bed, you agonise over texting him. If you should ask why he came, if you should bring up what he said about his ring. Ask what it means. In the end you settle for:

You [00:23] Thanks for dropping off the soup.

You’re laying on a bed, sheets mussed with sleep. You’re resting your head in his lap, and he’s toying with the chain around your neck. Moves his hand down your body soft soft soft. Says he thinks of you. Makes you burn.

You wake to the buzz of your phone.

Wonwoo [10:12] You’re welcome. I’m really embarrassed

You stare at the message, because yeah, you’d be embarrassed too. And he should be, showing up to your hotel room like that, in the middle of the night as drunk as he was. It’s a wonder he had the nerve to text you back at all, because you certainly wouldn’t have. But he brought you soup. Because he heard you were sick. And despite rotting in bed for ages wondering why on earth why he’d do that for you, you can’t settle on anything, other than it being pretty nice. 

​​· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Maranello, Italy

You’re starting to suspect this gym-instructor ex-boyfriend of Wonwoo’s ex-girlfriend doesn’t actually exist because why the fuck can no one find a shred of information on him? You say as such to Gabriella, and she gives you a look that says she’s been wondering the same. Wonwoo is in France for a few days, working on possible brand ambassadorships, and Jeonghan is keeping you in the loop as best he can. After the incident at the hotel, you’ve decided to keep your distance where you can. The problem is any time you’re on the same flight, you’re seated together. And lately Wonwoo has been trying to talk to you. It’s a little unnerving, after years of flopping between clipped responses and radio silence. 

You’re shut away in your office most of the week, catching up with sponsors, signing off on events, attempting to keep up with the media. You’re on hold again with the ex-girlfriend’s label. They’ve been avoiding yours and Gabriella’s calls for the last two weeks, and it looks like they’re palming you off again and pretending no-one is available. You’re on minute thirteen when your personal phone starts buzzing on the desk. You press mute on your work phone before you pick up. 

“I’m calling about a video,” says Bridget. She’s whispering. “There’s a rumour going around that it’s your driver, and I must say, if so, it’s a very flattering light.”

Oh God. Your heart is in your throat. “Bridget. Bridget– listen to me. You can’t print anything about this–”

“And I won’t, came straight to you. You’re lucky it wasn’t picked up by our editor. I’m assuming you want this buried?”

You heave a long-suffering sigh. “Have I told you I love you lately?”

“Nowhere near enough, darling.” She hums, happy. “There is something you can do for me though–”

“Uh oh–”

She cackles. Your evil, delightful friend cackles while you’re pulling out your hair. “Nothing awful. Can you get us in the Paddock Club in Miami?”

“Who’s us?”

“I’ve started seeing someone,” she whispers excitedly. “And he has this huge mancrush on Carlos Sainz–”

It’s your turn to laugh then. “No problem. I’ll have two passes sent over this afternoon.”

“Oh you’re a sweetheart!”

“Don’t attempt flattery when I’ve just been bribed,” you say, smiling into the receiver. “You’ll come meet me for dinner while we’re there? Let me meet him?”

“Of course, of course!”

You’re interrupted by the sound of the hold music coming to an abrupt halt, and you say quick goodbyes to Bridget only to be told, once again, that the manager you requested is unavailable.

Later, you have a stream of emails from publications with less integrity (or more, depending on how you look at it) anyway, asking for confirmation, asking for a statement from Ferrari, and Mingyu calls you at one AM in a panic, having had the same.

​​· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next few days are occupied by fielding calls from the media, an official statement on both Wonwoo’s personal social media accounts, and Ferrari’s, and a press conference, where Wonwoo was flanked by both you and Gabriella. The agreed stance is as follows:

The photos and video were taken by Wonwoo and his now ex-partner, several years ago. 

It was a loving relationship, and the video and photos were taken consensually.

No, you will not confirm or deny if the other party is a member of a well known K-pop group.

Legal action will be taken against the person responsible for releasing them, and the police are involved.

There have been countless angry messages and emails from the ex’s management company (Inès has been keeping a tally for you) but with the Miami Grand Prix looming, there simply hasn’t been time for you to get back to them. Hahaha. Jeonghan is holding fort in Maranello with Gabriela, acting as a translator between her and South Korean police, while you catch yet another flight sitting next to Wonwoo. 

It’s past midnight, and he’s already asleep by the time you board and slip your bag into the overhead locker. The trouble with ITA airways is that there’s no privacy doors, so working on sensitive issues is pretty much impossible with all the eyes around you. And so, unable to work and unable to get into the book you brought, you settle in to sleep too. 

​​· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Whispers surround you. You’re clapped on the back by older reporters, jeering and saying ‘saw your article! aren’t you brave!’ You can smell the meanness, the condescension on them. They’re like your dad, and the last thing you ever want to be. When the drivers come out into the paddock, you’re recognised for once. You draw scowls and side eyes from the PR managers, and tight, fake smiles from the drivers. Hardly any of them give you more than five words. And then comes Wonwoo, who you wronged, and who won’t talk to you at all. The memory morphs. Instead of biting remarks in your voice recorder you’re calling out, right there in front of everyone, saying you’re sorry.

It feels surreal, to wake from yet another dream about Wonwoo only to find him right next to you, turned on his side in his chair and scrolling on his phone, the reflection of Tiktok in his glasses. You rub the sleep from your eyes, and he looks up. 

“Morning,” he whispers. The lights are still out, and you check your watch to see you’ve only been in the air for five hours. “You’ve been talking in your sleep again.”

Shit. Shit shit fuck shit. “Anything interesting?” 

His thumb pauses scrolling for the briefest of moments. “Work, I guess. Couldn’t really hear.”

God, you should catch up on what you missed while you were sleeping. You pull your laptop from the  bag under your seat and Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Do you ever stop working?”

You huff a laugh under your breath. “What would I do instead?”

He locks his phone, drops it into his lap. “Play a game, listen to music, read a book,” he offers. “You always have a book when we fly, where is it?”

You shrug. “I didn’t like this one so much.”

“I’d offer you mine but it’s something else I saw you read before.” In the semi-darkness you swear you can almost see him smiling. Your stomach twists.

“Work it is then,” you say, grinning fake, tapping your laptop awake. 

“What about a movie?” he counters. 

“And waste thirty minutes going through all the options only to find nothing I want to see?” you mutter, typing in your password. “No thank you.” Wonwoo stares at you for a moment. “What?”

He blinks, setting his jaw. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

​​· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·​​

Miami, USA

The good news– the weather is beautiful as it usually is in Miami, your schedule is clear for the rest of the afternoon, and your hotel has a rooftop pool.

The bad news– the bikini your assistant back home packed for you is hardly your swimsuit of choice for a work trip. This was one you’d bought a few years back, one your then boyfriend complained was too small. 

You pull it on anyway. At least it’s red. You throw over a loose t-shirt and a pair of shorts, debate with yourself about leaving your work phone in the room, before slotting it in your bag and making your way upstairs. 

The view is something else. The bustle of the city feels far away up here, and you order a glass of wine at the bar before settling in on a sun lounger. It’s so quiet, with hardly anyone poolside on a midweek afternoon. You slip off your t-shirt, prop yourself up on your elbows on your front, and pull out the book you’ve barely had the chance to get into. 

An hour goes by, and you’re on your second glass of wine, and waiting for your food to arrive. Another, and you’re growing tempted to ignore the occasional buzz from your phone and you’re ordering another glass. By hour three, your book is tucked away, your shorts are shed too, and you’re slipping into the pool. You dip under the surface, let the water rush over your head, let your body drift of its own accord. 

After a moment you break to tread water, find yourself a few metres away from where you entered, wipe the droplets from your face, and it’s then you hear them on the other side of the pool. A bunch of drivers with wide smiles– Charles and Carlos calling your name, Pierre, Alex, and Yuki who wave you over, and Wonwoo, who looks like all the air has been sucked out of his chest. There goes your relaxing afternoon. But to avoid him would be to draw speculation, and that won’t do in front of drivers from other teams, so you swim over. The water isn’t as deep over here, but you still have to push up from the tips of your toes in order to cross your arms over the coping and rest your chin on them. 

“Hi guys,” you say with a smile. “Enjoying your evening?”

“More so now you’re here,” says Carlos, with an exaggerated, ridiculous wink.

You laugh. “Don’t flirt with me, darling, I couldn’t take you breaking my heart again.”

Carlos clutches his chest. “I’d never, never break your heart.”

“You already did!” you gasp. 

“When?”

“Remember two years ago? The Constructors' Championship win?” Charles says, and you’re grinning, already knowing where he’s going. “You called the cake she made for the team ugly.”

“You made that atrocious thing?” Carlos’ eyes go wide. “Well now I’m embarrassed.”

You splash water on him and he yelps. The others are laughing, but Wonwoo doesn’t. His eyes flit back and forth between you, watching carefully.

“And I’ll never make a cake again!”

“If it’s any consolation it tasted great.” He laughs when you give him a look. “No, really!”

“Hmm,” you say, suppressing your laugh. “You know slandering my cake is why you lost your seat, right?” Carlos pretends to look wounded. 

The conversation moves easily, even with Wonwoo keeping quiet. Alex and Pierre seem to notice that he isn’t joining in, that his friendly demeanour has suddenly and obviously shifted into something charged, but they don’t mention it aloud, just exchange quizzical looks, as they take in the way Wonwoo diverts his attention anywhere but your face when you speak. 

“We’re gonna grab drinks,” says Charles. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks,” you say, smiling up at them. “Gonna swim.”

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” Carlos asks you. 

“Meet you downstairs at seven?” 

The rest of the guys exchange looks.

“What’s tomorrow?” Alex asks.

Carlos waggles his eyebrows. “It’s a date.”

You sigh. “We’re going to surprise my friend’s new boyfriend at dinner,” you explain. “My friend’s new boyfriend is a big fan of Carlos, for some reason.” 

With that the group say quick goodbyes. You wish them well for the media day tomorrow and they filter away, but Wonwoo hangs back, tells them he doesn’t feel like drinking tonight. He’s still avoiding your eye, so you push off from the edge and make to turn but he’s suddenly calling you back, voice sharp. You give him a bemused look, but he’s already casting his eyes downward, plucking at a hangnail on his thumb. 

“You’re wearing your necklace.”

Ah. Fuck. You hadn’t even thought about taking it off, considering you’re not likely to be caught in any photographs off the paddock, even less in the comfort of your hotel. 

“Shit. Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t think.” 

“I guess it doesn’t matter now.” He pauses. “Do you think I could take off my shirt?”

You blanche. “Why would you do that?”

“To swim,” he laughs.

“Oh. Yeah. I suppose you’re right, no need to hide anymore.”

And even though it’s perfectly normal, that no one would think anything of someone pulling their t-shirt off in order to swim, you still avert your eyes when you catch sight of his bare skin. You turn away, swimming off to put plenty of space between you. 

The water is cooler at this end of the pool, refreshing against your skin. You kick lazily, roll onto your back, watch the way the sky casts pink and orange until your chest loosens again. The murmur of voices from the bar drifts, but soon it’s only the rhythm of your own breathing.

A ripple of water breaks the quiet– Wonwoo sliding into the pool. You glance once, then deliberately away, but he doesn’t retreat to a corner. He follows. For a while, neither of you speak. You swim laps, he mirrors. A strange, wordless competition. Kick, glide, breathe, repeat– until your body begins to ache, lungs burning, both of you too stubborn to be the first to stop.

Eventually you can’t hold it anymore– you surface with a gasp, dragging in lungfuls of humid air. You rest your arms on the coping, lean your forehead against your hands. Wonwoo surfaces a beat after, hair plastered to his skin, chest heaving. Instead of giving you space he draws closer, crowding you against the tile.

His eyes search yours, fierce and unsteady. “What’s your problem with me?”

The question cuts deeper than you expect. You blink, caught off guard, words tangling in your throat. He presses on, voice rough with exertion and something sharper.

“Everyone seems to love you,” he says, voice barbed. “You buy them gifts. You tell off your staff for working a fraction as hard as you do. You have people’s families over for dinner. You make cakes for your team. You laugh so nice with everyone you meet.” He pauses to heave a sigh. And then quieter, gentler– “Not a single person has a bad word to say about you.”

You scoff. “You’re saying it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You don’t treat me like that.” 

Heat flares in your body. “I– what are you talking about?” you whisper, turning your face away. The other drivers keep glancing over. 

“You’re all smiles for everyone but me. Any time you see me your face drops. What did I do to you?” 

“Nothing. It’s just different,” you hiss. 

“How is it different?” he snaps.

You look at him, wild eyed. “Because you don’t like me!” 

There’s a long, horrible silence. Droplets of water bead down his face. “I liked you,” he says, low. “Back when we first met. I liked you a lot.”

The admission hangs heavy between you. He liked you. Liked, past tense. Your breath won’t settle, because of the swim you put it down to, not from the proximity of his chest against your side. 

“Then I hated you. And now I don’t know what to think.”

You don’t know what to say, how to untangle what he means– or what he wants from you in this moment. So you just hold yourself against the tile, staring at each other, while the setting sun bathes your faces in golden light, and the silence between you becomes charged enough to crack. 

His eyes flick over to the bar, watching the other drivers drink and talk. “Do you like Carlos?”

“No!” Your incredulous laugh is sharp. “What?”

“He has a crush on you.”

“He’s like that with everyone. Fuck, he flirts with Charles more than he does with me.” Heat creeps up your chest. Indignation or– “For God’s sake, Wonwoo, even if he does it’d be none of your fucking business anyway.”

You heave yourself out of the water, not caring even a little bit that you’re splashing him as you go. You storm over to your sun lounger and towel off as quickly as you can manage, gather up with your things and make your way to the elevator. 

You jab the down button, jaw so tight it aches, towel wrapped tight around your body. The elevator doors slide open and you step inside, relief already cooling the fire in your chest– until a wet slap of bare feet echoes behind you. Wonwoo slips in just as the doors close, dripping water across the floor, hair still soaking, sticking to his temples.

“Are you serious?” you all but shout. “You’re getting water everywhere. Do you have any consideration at all?”

He ignores the rebuke, leans past you, and presses a random button– twenty-something, you don’t even clock which. The elevator hums into motion.

“Give it back,” he says, voice low, rough. You frown. “My ring.” His gaze drops pointedly to your chest, where the thin chain glints on your damp skin. “I want it back.”

Anger sparks hot and quick. “Oh now you want it back? No ‘thanks for looking after it’? No gratitude?”

His jaw ticks, moves closer to crowd you against the wall, and you draw yourself up to your full height. “It’s mine.”

“Fine,” you hiss, dropping your things to the floor without a thought, fingers flying up to your neck only to fumble with the clasp. “Fuck you, Wonwoo. Take your fucking ri–”

You can barely get it off you before he closes the little space between your bodies. His hands frame your face, damp and desperate, and you freeze, words dying on your lips. Against your better judgment, you don’t push his hands away. Against your better judgement, you hold your breath and wait for his next move. Against your better judgement, your hands fall to his waist. And like before, goosebumps rise on his skin under your touch. 

“I–” he whispers, breath fanning across your lips. “I think I want–”

The ding of the elevator snaps the moment in half. You shove at his chest, stumbling away, mouth dry, towel half-slipping down. The doors open onto a pair of startled hotel guests who take in the scene– your flushed face, his lack of a shirt, your chests heaving in sync.

Humiliation crashes over you. You scramble to gather your things from the floor, duck your head, and push past them into the hallway without a word. You’re on the wrong fucking floor, but no matter, you just need to be alone. 

Behind you, Wonwoo doesn’t follow. Just stands there, water dripping to his feet, eyes on you like he can’t quite believe what just happened either.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you for reading, everyone! if you enjoyed it, please consider reblogging to get it seen outside of my small following. thank u ily <3

final chapter coming soon

taglist: @idkwtnmsstuff @yoshit-he-dinosaur @mingiboye @kkaetnipjeon

@lleercy @itsnotnaomi @ateez-atiny380 @mauvsworld

The meeting goes as it always does as the beginning of the season looms– articles, social media posts, press agreements. You wonder how Wonwoo will handle the spotlight Ferrari demands. His lack of drive to perform outside of his contractual obligations has been an issue before, at Williams and Alpine. You suspect the once rumoured deal with Mercedes fell flat because of it. It won’t fly here.  “Moving on to our green initiative,” you say. “We’ve made a commitment to reduce our carbon footprint, and I really hope you’ll all honour it in your downtime too– we’re avoiding flying private for the foreseeable future.”

There’s a chorus of groans from around the table.

“I knew you’d all hate it.” Your lips quirk up in a rueful smile. “Don’t worry, no one’s making you fly RyanAir. We’ll have you in first or business where we can.” 

Wonwoo is frowning. “I’ve got a personal commitment in Paris straight after–“ he starts.

“The wedding after the Italian GP,” you interrupt. “I know the timing is tight. We’re already looking into other options for you.” Wonwoo leans back in his seat but his shoulders still hold the tension. “It’s not set in stone, if we can’t make something work then private can still be a last resort, but let’s not abuse it the way we have been.” 

The meeting wraps up shortly after and everyone makes to leave, but you call Wonwoo’s name, asking him to stay for a few more minutes. Mingyu, his manager, lingers too. 

You wait until the room is cleared, until you sigh, pull out a tablet from your bag, open up an email chain and slide it across the table. Wonwoo’s eyes narrow as catches his name in the subject bar.

“A few of our sponsors have some concerns,” you say. A euphemism if there ever was one. Wonwoo’s lack of patience for the media circus is no secret. He swears in interviews, he gives short, clipped answers, he’s occasionally outright rude. The sponsors don’t like it. It doesn’t matter that he’s a clean racer, that he wins often despite shit cars and shit conditions, doesn’t matter that he plays well with his team. Nothing matters when he’s not commercial enough. 

There’s a look on his face you can’t decipher, and this is what the people who don’t like cite as the reason. Too guarded. Too quiet, even in those sudden bursts of anger after a bad race. The only times you’ve seen him smile is when he’s on the podium. It’s a wonder his old teams had anything nice to say about him, but evidently they did otherwise Edoardo would never–

“What do they want from me?” Wonwoo’s jaw ticks as he keeps his eyes trained on the tablet in front of him.

“A softer image,” you say plainly. “More time in the paddock, a friendlier face for the press, let your fans take pictures in the street, an editorial or two, be more open with Netflix, let them see who Wonwoo really is.”

“My personal life is private–” he says, voice clipped.

“Yes–” you interrupt. “We know fine well how hard you work to keep everyone out.”

“Okay–” interjects Mingyu. “I think we can make a compromise here.” Wonwoo nearly snaps his neck to stare at him, but Mingyu is looking at you. “What if we create something new for the hounds. Some false storylines, a new persona–”

You hold up a hand to stop him. “First off, the hounds? Let’s not forget my background, Mingyu–” You’re interrupted by a scoff from Wonwoo, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Second, they can smell a rat a mile off. If you come out this season with an entirely different personality and you’re suddenly an open book, not a single person on earth will buy it. Not to mention– can you tell a lie with a straight face? It’s hard enough getting anything print worthy out of you. Can you remember all the little details you’d need to falsify to fend off people who’ve learned everything they possibly can about you?”

Mingyu chews on the corner of his mouth. 

Wonwoo scowls. “This is bullsh–” 

“That’s enough,” you snap. “Quite frankly I don’t know how you’ve gotten away with doing the least you possibly can for all these years, but it’s not going to work here, and it won’t work with me. If you want this contract beyond your first year, you can suck it up.”

The look he gives you is ice cold. You heave an exasperated sigh.

“Just start small, give a little here and there.”

“How small?”

“We’ll start with a magazine. There’s a number that want you or Charles– I’ll speak to Jeonghan and go over the options to find the least offensive hound.” 

Mingyu laughs nervously, and Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Sounds good?”

“Sure. Fine,” mutters Wonwoo. 

“Good.” You don’t wait for anything else before you’re standing, collecting your things and making to leave. You’ve got a call about Charles’ next editorial in five minutes– thank God he’s easier to work with. “Mingyu, speak to Inès to schedule a meeting with PR on Friday?”

“Yep, no problem,” he says, making a note on his phone. 

You’re just about to walk out the door when Mingyu calls your name, and you turn, expectant. There’s a long pause. A heavy look between him and Wonwoo. 

“Yes?” you prompt.

“Can I speak with you ten minutes before the meeting?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’d like to touch base on a couple of things going on in Wonwoo’s–uh– personal life. We should discuss it privately.”

You cast your eyes over to Wonwoo, who is staring pointedly out the window.

“Sure, call my direct line or come to my office, whatever’s convenient.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the week flies. Countless meetings, endless calls, pouring over documents and emails and making sure the departments don’t put anything stupid into words. You’re invited to speak at a conference in a few months in Japan, you’ll be mid-season and swamped, but Inès can figure out the details. You’re just finishing a call with a sponsor when Mingyu knocks your half-ajar door. You wave him in and he closes the door behind him.

“Must run now, Stephen,” you say into the receiver, motioning for Mingyu to sit. “Give my best to your lovely wife, and the kids!”

You heave a sigh as the line clicks off, and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Watch your girlfriend around that one. The sponsorship lead from Shell. Chases any woman under the age of forty.”

“Uh– yeah, I will,” says Mingyu slowly. “You okay?” He doesn’t look any less concerned when you wave him off, but he lets it go anyway. He seems nice, this manager. Younger than expected but by all accounts he and Wonwoo are a good fit, and that matters in this game. “Actually girlfriends are what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

“I don’t give out relationship advice,” you deadpan.

“Not mine,” he says. “Not even Wonwoo’s really. His ex.”

You have little patience for drivers and their relationship woes. It seems Mingyu can see it in the way you level a look at him, because he dives right in.

“She’s famous, back home, at least. I don’t know if you know much about idol culture but they’re not supposed to date. It doesn’t look good. She and Wonwoo kept it secret for the six years they were together.”

Six years? Six? Jesus Christ, no wonder he keeps his cards close to his chest. There’s been rumours of a secret partner, of course, since he’s never been the type to get caught taking someone back to his hotel room on race weekends, but never anything more than a whisper. 

“I’m failing to see how any of this is Ferrari’s problem?”

Mingyu wrings his hands together. The pink on his cheeks deepen.

“Well, she left Wonwoo for someone else, you see. Eight months ago. And now they’ve split up too, it turns out he’s in possession of some– uh–”

“Some what?”

“He’s got some– some compromising photos. Of Wonwoo. And her.”

Fuck.

“Explicit?”

“It’s possible,” admits Mingyu. “The threats were vague, apparently.”

Great. Just great. You’re going to kiss Charles on the forehead for being heaven sent when you see him. Wonwoo has been here five fucking minutes and already there’s a mess to clean up. 

“Her name and management company?”

Mingyu slides a slip of paper over your desk. You recognise the name, but you can’t picture her face. 

“The boyfriend? He’s famous too?”

“No. He was her personal trainer. All we know is his name and his instagram, but it’s private.”

Shit. No one to reign them in. Though sometimes it does make them easier to buy off, or to scare. 

“Have you told anyone else?”

Mingyu shakes his head.

“Good. I’ll need to get legal on this too, you’ll inform Wonwoo?” 

“Yes– yes,” he sighs, sounding relieved, almost. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” you say, voice sharp. You’re already punching in your assistant’s extension. “Hi, Inès, get Gabriella for me, please. It’s urgent.”

While you wait to be patched through, you call Mingyu back as he’s walking out the door. “For the record, Mingyu– if anything like this happens again, don’t you dare wait until Friday.”

He grimaces. “Got it.”

And so because you were late while bringing Gabriella up to speed, the PR meeting ran late. There goes your afternoon attempting to catch up on your emails, so you can count your Saturday at the poolside goodbye too. Thanks very much, Jeon Wonwoo. 

He doesn’t look at you once during the meeting. Keeps his eyes trained on the powerpoint Jeonghan put together for Wonwoo and Charles. 

“We’ve scheduled a few things for both of you before the start of the season,” Jeonghan, your team manager, says. “Namely, for you, Wonwoo, since you’ll have to catch up to Charles’ level of commitments. You’ll find the first few are already on your calendar. The first of which is with Esquire. It’s in London next Thursday.”

“We have the three of you on the six-twenty AM flight from Pisa,” says Inès. “You’ll be flying out of Heathrow two days later for Melbourne.”

Wonwoo nods, but Mingyu is the one to speak. “We’ll have someone from the team with us, then? For guidance?”

Jeonghan looks to you, as do the rest of your team. This is where you do your job best, after all. Knowing the angles the drivers could be hit with is what you were scouted for in the first place. 

“That’ll be me,” you say. “Jeonghan too, he’ll be in London beforehand for another project.” 

Wonwoo’s expression hardly changes, but anyone can feel the shift in the air. Anyone can tell he’d rather the ground swallow him up. 

“I’ll fly out with you so we can prepare on the way. It’s regrettable that we can’t touch base beforehand, but my schedule’s very suddenly jam packed.” Mingyu shifts in his seat. “Jeonghan, can you make sure Wonwoo has some guidance notes by Monday?”

Jeonghan nods, jots it down in his diary. 

You clasp your hands together. “Charles, you’re in Paris next week?”

“Yeah,” he says. Offers a winning smile. “Finally got locked in with Celine.”

“Have I told you you’re a Godsend, lately?” 

You don’t miss the way Wonwoo rolls his eyes. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’ve always liked airports. The shopping, the little samples they throw in every time you buy a perfume, the people watching. You’ve specifically always liked airport lounges. You’d hoped to slip in unseen, find a corner to relax in with your double espresso, and at least get through a chapter of your book before work takes over again. But it’s unusually crowded and it’s hard to find a seat alone. It’s not to be though, because it’s five-fifteen in the morning and your name is being called by Mingyu from across the airport lounge. Let alone someone who’s hated your guts for the better part of a decade. Fuck fuck fuck. 

It’s evident that Mingyu and Wonwoo are stark opposites, where one’s sunshine smile is offered up at a mere grumbled hello, the other can’t even be bothered to open his eyes. Wonwoo has his head tipped back in the chair, the brim of his bucket hat pulled low over his eyes, arms folded. You take the only spare seat on the row, next to Wonwoo.

“You’re not a morning person, either?” asks Mingyu, from Wonwoo’s other side. “I could barely get my boy out of bed earlier.”

“I’m fine,” you say stiffly. The last thing Wonwoo would want is to have anything in common with you, never mind how true your lack of personhood before ten-AM may be. “Just had a late night.”

“Working?” Mingyu asks sympathetically. 

“No rest for the wicked,” you sigh.

And maybe your tired eyes deceive you, but you swear you see the corner of Wonwoo’s lips twitch up. 

Mingyu talks too much, as it turns out. He chats incessantly about the schedule, the notes Jeonghan drew up for Wonwoo, the plans he’s made for dinner in the city (and would you like to join them? Uhh-), and tells stories about the few times he’s been to London in the past. He’s lovely, really, but you’ve got thirty minutes before your flight and you can barely get your body into gear as it is. 

“Mingyu,” you interrupt. “I’m so sorry but I’ve got to catch up on some emails now.” 

A lie, but your brain is melting.

His sweet smile falls for a second. Bless him. “Right, of course, sorry!”

You pull out your phone and your earbuds. All you’re doing is playing a match three game, but what Mingyu doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

Later, on the plane– you find that Inès, in all her wisdom, has booked Wonwoo’s seat next to you instead of Mingyu. The look he gives you as you double check your seat number is all disdain, so as soon as the aisle quietens, you get up to see if Mingyu wants to switch, but you find him fast asleep, cap pulled low over his face. 

“Thought he was a morning person,” you murmur under your breath as you ease back into your seat, and you swear you hear Wonwoo huff a laugh, but you look over and he appears to be as fast asleep as he was before. Whatever. You’ll give him (and yourself) an hour before you have him going over notes. Sleep comes too easily. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You dream of a blur of cars, the smell of rubber on tarmac, flashing cameras, and dizzying heat. You are twenty-one and freshly broken. Wonwoo pulls off his helmet, triumphant smile splitting his face. He turns, meets your eyes across an ocean of people trying to reach him. You hardly know each other yet, but he’s looking at you. For you, maybe. 

London, UK

The first bump of tyres on tarmac jolts you awake, and the panic that sets in is like that dreadful feeling of realising you’re late for work. Brings you right back to your first year on the job, when the sleepless nights would have you zombified throughout meetings, and you’d have imposters’ syndrome for the months on end.

Your dreams are all half-formed memories lately. Strange that it was about Wonwoo’s first podium, but you draw that up to this week being taken over by his image regeneration campaign, and it probably doesn’t help that he’s right next to you, book in hand, glasses he so rarely wears these days slipping down his nose. 

“You talk in your sleep,” he mutters, turning a page. He’s reading Strange Houses, and it’s on your list. If it were anyone else you’d ask them about it. 

“Could’ve woken me,” you complain, pushing yourself up to sit properly. “We’ve lost valuable time getting you ready.”

“Mingyu and I have already gone over your orders,” he says flatly. 

You frown. “Guidance from PR is something you’re going to have to get used to at some point.”

“Guidance is a funny way of putting it when it’s dictating my life.”

“This isn’t the military,” you snap. “But it is part of the job you signed up for. You want to race? Well, you’ll need to put that pretty face to work too. This is what your sponsors want, and they are how we’re all paying our bills.” 

Wonwoo opens his mouth to retort but words seem to fail him. Your face is flushed. You’re tired, you’re embarrassed to have been caught sleeping, you’re irritated, and on top of that you realise you’ve just called him pretty. For God’s sake. 

“A friend at Esquire has already sent the questions for you over,” you say, smoothing the wrinkles out of your shirt. “Let’s go over some preferred answers in the taxi.” 

“Are we supposed to have that?”

“It pays to have connections,” you say shortly. 

Wonwoo frowns, says under his breath– “don’t I know it.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tomorrow is the photoshoot (you’d insisted Wonwoo be well rested before he’s photographed at all) but this afternoon is blocked out for the interview. Thank God they gave you Bridget at your request, one of your oldest friends from your first magazine. One of the few who didn’t give a fuck that you were only there because of your silver spoon. Didn’t care that you were barely nineteen in a senior reporter's position and on an undisclosed salary. ‘Nepotism is unavoidable,’ she used to say, cigarette in hand. ‘May as well use it.’  You haven’t seen each other in person in a few years but you always had time for each other on the phone. She has tight hugs and cheek kisses for you, and handshakes for Mingyu and Wonwoo. 

She meets the three of you in a suite at The Corinthia, the penthouse of which will be used for the shoot tomorrow. Serves high tea, with little crustless sandwiches and scones and tartlets that go untouched by everyone but Mingyu. You pour yourself and Bridget a glass of champagne. Wonwoo opts for water. This room doesn’t exactly scream Jeon Wonwoo, but who the hell knows what does? 

“We’ve met before, actually,” she says brightly to Wonwoo. “Though I’m sure you don’t remember me.”

“I do,” he says, quietly. Awkwardly. “It’s been a long time.”

You roll your eyes and pray this isn’t going to be like pulling teeth.

The questions start easy enough, but Wonwoo remains stiff and closed off. He gives little more than two sentence answers, and you can see the way Bridget is trying to dig deeper without scaring him off. These are questions about work, for fuck’s sake, you’d think it would be simple to bring out some passion in him, but he looks like he’d rather be talking about the way paint dries. Jeonghan enters the room quietly mid-interview, and you wave him over to sit next to you.

“How’s it going?”

Ha– how’s it going? It’s like pulling teeth. It’s boring, flat, comes off like he thinks he’s too good for this.

“Wonwoo is his usual self.” 

“And how are you settling in at Ferrari?” Bridget asks. “We heard from Charles that you haven’t spent much time together yet.”

This was one you went over. It’s not unlike a magazine to twist words to pit drivers against one another. Anything for a little drama. Bridget is particularly good at that, as were you.

“Charles is great,” Wonwoo says simply. “He just has his schedules and I have mine. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other properly once we’re on the road together. And everyone at Ferrari has been very welcoming. I’m really lucky to be part of the team.”

“And what about working with your old nemesis?” Bridget asks, mischievous eyes darting towards you. This is part of why you love her. She usually toes the line where you’re concerned, but occasionally has something up her sleeve.

Wonwoo stares at her. “I don’t have a nemesis.”

“Well, sure, it’s been a while. But we all know that article didn’t shine you in the best light, and those snubbed attempts at interviews in the paddock afterwards left a sour taste in everyone’s mouths. Are you telling me it’s been all sunshine and roses working under your Head of PR?” Bridget winks at you and you suppress a smile. She’s the devil. “Word on the street is she’s a tyrant.” 

“This is all starting to feel very tabloid,” whispers a concerned Jeonghan.

“Relax,” you whisper back. “She’s only saying this to wind me up. It won’t end up in print.”

Wonwoo doesn’t seem to know how to answer, eyes flicker over to Mingyu, to Jeonghan (not you), but Bridget thankfully takes pity. 

“Speaking of schedules, with Charles working with Celine, we’re all wondering what we’ll see from you. Is there anything exciting coming up for you this season?”

“Not sure I can give the game away so soon. You’ll have to ask the tyrant in PR, I’m afraid,” quips Wonwoo, and it’s the first time in years that you’ve heard a hint of humour in his voice. 

Bridget laughs gleefully, and from then on the interview goes just that little bit smoother. You’ll take whatever you can get.

Thirty minutes later, you’ve said your goodbyes to Bridget, and Jeonghan gently catches your elbow as you’re about to walk out the door. “Are you okay with this?” he asks. “Being called a tyrant? It might not land how we hope it will.”

You remember how things used to be. How drivers used to scowl as they caught sight of you in the paddock, how Wonwoo in particular avoided you ever since that one article came out. Your reputation for kindness was in the pits then, but working alongside them changed their view of you. Now your experience in journalism comes in more helpful than they’d like to admit, and despite your history, most of them have come to like you. And the worst thing your team have to say is that you make them work. So, what’s a little bad press for the public eye? 

“Sure,” you say with an unbothered shrug. “It’s better for me to be the bad guy than Wonwoo. This is good. For once it’ll come off like he has a sense of humour, and it’s about time he showed some personality instead of coming across like a stuck-up assh–”

And at that moment, Wonwoo brushes past you. “Excuse me,” he says tightly. 

Mingyu gives you a small, flat smile, and follows him out the door. Great. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the day is a simpler affair. You take five minutes to touch base with Inès on the schedule for Melbourne, and have her chase your team for the KPIs on recent campaigns, while Wonwoo and Mingyu disappear off to do whatever they have planned. Bridget calls and asks if you’d like to catch up later over a drink. (You would. She’ll meet you in Velvet, the hotel bar, for cocktails and music and conversation.) You and Jeonghan eat together in your hotel room while going over requests from brands, and finally, after what feels like an age, you take yourself down to the bar earlier than necessary with your book, in the hopes of finally getting a moment’s peace before the musicians start. 

Unfortunately, barely five minutes goes by before Mingyu finds you, sliding onto the elegant sofa opposite your armchair. ‘Unfortunately’ sounds mean. He’s one of the few managers you’ve taken a liking to, but you were really really hoping for some alone time. It’s only after he says “Do you mind if we join you?” that you notice Wonwoo hovering behind him, an expensive looking camera dangling from his neck, annoyingly polished for so little sleep, and you can’t tell if he’s waiting for an invitation or looking for an excuse to leave.

“You do photography?” you ask, a false smile plastered on your face. If he can’t fake it in public for the sake of reputation, you certainly will. It wouldn’t do to have anyone think there’s bitterness within the team, especially in such early days.

“I dabble.” Wonwoo gives nothing, but he takes a seat at Mingyu’s side. All his energy must’ve been sucked up by Bridget. 

“He’s really talented,” says Mingyu.

“That’s good,” you say, slipping your book back into your bag. “We can use that–” You’re interrupted by a huff of breath from Wonwoo. “Yes?”

“Is there ever anything you don’t use?” he asks, his sharp eyes meeting with yours for the first time you can recall in forever. You don’t appreciate his tone, or the accusation, and it’s taking everything in you not to bite back as you would have done in the past.  

You lean forward. “Everything is marketable. Aren’t you a whole decade into your career, Wonwoo? I would’ve thought you’d have learned that by now.”

There’s a tick in his tight jaw, and after a beat he looks away. It sends a bitter lick up your spine to know you can still get under his skin. The silence is brief but charged– at least Mingyu is there to put an end to it. 

“We wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, and you catch the way he presses his heel onto Wonwoo’s toe. Wonwoo’s nostrils flair. “For your efforts with his image. And the other thing.” 

This isn’t the place to discuss that. Sure, it’s discreet, and the tables are far enough apart, and the music is at just the right volume that your conversation doesn’t carry, but you never know. You take another glance at Wonwoo, who is suddenly very bothered by how his jacket zip isn’t laying right. 

“It’s all being handled by the other team. I have very little to do with it.” 

“Still,” presses Mingyu. “We appreciate your lack of judgement, and your willingness to– uh– to fix it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s not like we had much of a choice, is it?”

Mingyu opens his mouth to speak but the words are barely formed before your lap is full of a tipsy Bridget. She’s hugging you tight, squishing your cheeks in that awful way she did when you were a rookie, and she’s saying “God, sweetheart, I’ve missed you. When are you coming back to London? The other nepo-babies aren’t half as interesting as you.” 

You grin up at your old friend. “Never if I can help it. You should come to Italy.”

Bridget scoffs. “Not for all the sun lotion in the world. I need clouds, darling.” 

She clambers out of your lap with all the grace of a baby deer, and it’s only when she stands to straighten her skirt that she notices the two men sitting on the sofa facing your chairs. “Oh, hello again,” she says, shooting a pleased look out of the corner of her eye at you. “You didn’t tell me we’d have company.” 

“My fault,” says Mingyu. “We stopped by unannounced. We’ll leave you to catch up.”

“Oh, don’t leave on my account,” insists Bridget. “I’m just about to drag her outside for a cigarette anyway.”

Wonwoo’s eyes dart over to you. “You smoke?”

You quirk an eyebrow, a little taken aback. “I quit. Save for one or two at a wedding, or a funeral,” you say, voice terse. “Bridget– I tell you this every time we see each other.”

She waves you off. “Everyone’s quitting like it’s fashionable. Like smoking isn’t the hottest thing they can do. I keep hoping you’ll start again.”

This job keeps pushing you and you might, you almost say, but Wonwoo is still looking at you, in a sort of surprised way. It’s not like he knew anything noteworthy about you to begin with, it’s not like your smoking matters, what’s there to be surprised about?

Mingyu is the first of the two to stand, but Wonwoo isn’t far behind. They wish Bridget well, reaffirm they’ll meet with Jeonghan for breakfast, and they’ll see you at the shoot, and say their goodnights. And then it’s just you, your old friend, and a Marlboro Red in her hand ready to be lit. 

She pulls you out to the garden lounge, saying something about how she misses smoking indoors but this isn’t half bad. She doesn’t bother looking at the menu because it’s always the same. A gimlet for her, an espresso martini for you. The waiter lingers at your table a little too long, compliments your lipstick. 

 Bridget leans back in her chair, flicks the lighter and takes a deep drag. “He still likes you then?”

“The waiter? I’ve never seen him befo–” You’re cut off by a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Who?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink. 

“Wonwoo.”

Your splutter is anything but polite, barely caught in a napkin (and thank God it was caught, your white shirt would’ve taken some damage) drawing side eyes from the others at the surrounding tables. You stare at her confused, and she stares straight back incredulously, both palms turned upwards.

“You cannot be serious, Bridget?’

She blinks, surprised. “You can’t be serious? You’ve never noticed him looking at you like that?”

The laughter bubbles out of you. “He looks at me like he despises me. I wouldn’t blame him if he did given what I said about him.”

“That was years ago.” Her face scrunches up, confused. “You are talking about that shit your dad wrote, right?”

“Well, yeah. His edits,” you say. “It was under my name, though. I still used the things he shouldn’t have told me.”

Bridget takes a long sip of her drink. You trace your finger around the rim of your glass. “You could’ve corrected him. Told him it was your nasty fuck of a father. Anyone with eyes could see he liked you.” 

That dream from the plane comes swimming into vision. Wonwoo’s hair was longer, back then. You’d talked a little in the hotel bar, a few nights before the Italian Grand Prix. Nothing out of the ordinary between acquaintances– it was polite, friendly at best. He bought the first round, you bought the second. His knee knocked yours under the table, and you both apologised. He asked about the book you were reading (East of Eden), you asked what he thought of Italy. He said he liked it fine, you said you’d like to live there someday. At twenty-one, someday felt like it was unachievable, in the far off distance ever out of reach. Of course, with your connections, nothing is ever out of reach. When you said goodnight you wished him well for the race, told him you’d put money on him so he’d better come through. 

And then came his first podium. The next race, his second. The next, his third. Felt like a rollercoaster that wasn’t stopping. He was untouchable. Incredible. In between races you wondered if you’d cross paths again, but it didn’t pan out that way. And then came the crash. Five cars taken out with a mistake Wonwoo shouldn’t have made. Millions down the drain. No one was seriously hurt, at least, but it was enough to knock his confidence. 

A few weeks later, you found him in another hotel bar, nursing a drink alone in the corner. Didn’t object when you sat down uninvited and said thank you when you said how sorry you were to see it happen like that. Talked a little more after a few drinks. Talked a little too much, your dad would laugh later. 

And then the article. You never directly quoted him, or gave the slightest hint that he was your source, but he’d read it and he’d know. You knew that when you submitted it. It was only after it was published that you saw your dad’s edits, and there was no coming back from that. Afterwards, he’d snub you during post race interviews, have his then manager arrange it so you weren’t able to get a look in, and whenever you saw each other off the track he’d turn the other way without so much as a hello.

You shrug. “We’d only talked outside of work like, twice. We weren’t friends.” 

Bridget hums around her gimlet. “He would’ve been more if you’d let him. Those pictures after he won– the ones where he’s looking right at you?” You remember the ones because you and Bridget were standing right behind the photographers when it was taken. Wonwoo– so perfectly centre frame, helmet tucked under his arm, smile so wide it was blinding. A bright spot in the grey. But he could’ve been looking at anyone. “They’re still talked about.”

You scoff. She’s always trying to find romance in the wrong places. 

“Sure, I can’t tempt you?” she says, pulling another cigarette from the box. 

You roll your eyes, a smile teasing at the corners of your lips. “You’re terrible.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The morning comes too soon, and you’re dressed from the waist up for sponsor meetings (on camera. Why, God, why?) until eleven-twenty rolls around. Your call with Anselm has run over, and you should already be upstairs for the shoot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. You haven’t even had breakfast. Just one pitiful coffee the Italians would spit on and the chocolate left on your pillow last night. 

Jeonghan knocks on your door as you’re signing off. 

“Apparently they’re– uhh– they’ve started upstairs,” he says as you open the door, snorting when he clocks your mismatching red Snoopy pyjama bottoms and black blouse. “Are you go–”

“Do not ask me if I’m going like this, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan smirks like a schoolboy. “Are you going like that?” 

You jab a finger into his chest. “I will threaten you with physical violence if you test me today.”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond to that, just tucks his chin down and tries his very best not to laugh.

“Give me five minutes.”

You change in the bathroom, fix your makeup and apply a little perfume. When you’re ready, Jeonghan walks you upstairs and you fill him in with the sponsor's requests. It’ll be Jeonghan’s job to get the ball rolling with the rest of the team.  

In the penthouse there’s a mass of people, noise coming from every corner, Bridget is over by the window, taking her own behind the scenes videos on her phone. She waves you over. 

“Morning, darling. Are you as worse for wear as me?” 

“Hmm, no I stopped after my third and had the staff help you into a taxi,” you say with a small smile. “Did you get home okay?”

Bridget purses her lips. “Well my door was unlocked this morning, but I wasn’t robbed. So that’s something.” 

You look around the room, scan the faces. “No Wonwoo?”

Bridget nods toward the bedroom. “They’re set up in there.”

“Thanks.”

You find him on the bed. Sleeveless top and blue jeans, hair pushed back from his face. It’s a good look for a cover, it’ll draw people in. His eyes flick over to you when you walk in, and immediately back to the camera. After a minute you realise he’s natural. After another you realise you’re not needed for this at all. Mingyu and Jeonghan come to stand by your side, and together, you watch him move. Wonwoo barely needs direction from the photographer, knows all his angles, and the way to contort his body into lines that evoke something deeper, something like desire. 

“Has he always been this good?” you hiss at Mingyu in disbelief. 

“Yeah,” he whispers back. 

“Well why the fuck has no one seen it?”

Mingyu crosses his arms. “No one’s pushed as much as you.”

Jeonghan laughs. “Mingyu, you realise he’s in for it now? She’s gonna get him on every cover she can.” 

Mingyu nearly snaps his neck to look at you for confirmation, but you ignore him, because Jeonghan’s right. Your mind is already whirring and going over which would suit him best. Which writers you know would be able to pull the most from him, where you could fit more into the schedule, if you could combine race weekends with a quick shoot. 

Wonwoo must be able to tell something is afoot, because he keeps looking over to watch the three of you warily. Mingyu and Jeonghan bicker either side of you, the details of which you don’t care to know because you’re now set on showcasing the man in question under a whole different light. Unfortunately for Wonwoo, sex sells, and he’s got it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Melbourne, Australia

Wednesday starts with a team breakfast at the hotel. You’ve been here a grand total of 23 hours, most of which you’ve been awake, but it’s nothing a short nap before lunch can’t fix. Jeonghan is running on the same amount of sleep, so you’ve agreed to treat the day like a relay race. You thank God for your team, thank God they’re just as good as you expect them to be. 

Wonwoo’s Esquire cover won’t be out for another few weeks, so for the meantime you’ve pushed for more time with Netflix, another couple of sit down interviews, and a photoshoot by the cars with Charles. Tomorrow will be the regular media day, and with hardly any movement in the schedule, it makes more sense to get the extra bulk done today. Most of which will be done on site, at least. Less moving parts the better on race weeks. Not that Wonwoo appreciates it, but you can deal with his bitterness  if it means the sponsors and the fans get what they need from him. 

He sits at the other end of the table, between Mingyu and Charles. They’re talking animatedly with the engineers, and Wonwoo is making jokes, laughing so hard it scrunches up his whole face. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise from all of the people in-between you, but it’s a relief to see there’s some lightness there. It’s a shame he’s not like that naturally in the public eye, it’d make your job that much simpler. You’re watching him carefully, considering the angles you could push, when he meets your eye, and his smile fades. Shoulders sink, casts his gaze down at his plate, and his lips settle into a thin line. You’ve already heard from Mingyu how Wonwoo resents more being added to his plate. You suppress a roll of your eyes. God, if only he could make his open distaste for you a little less obvious. Not that it matters, really.

After touching base with Charles’ PR officer, Lara, watching over Wonwoo’s sit down with Netflix (terse, moody, difficult), and handing off duties with a fresher-faced-than-you Jeonghan, you retire to your room to sleep. You’re woken forty minutes later to a call from Gabriella. 

“It’s worse than we thought,” she says. “The photos are out. News is already spreading in online circles in South Korea.”

“What?” you splutter. You fly up from the bed, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder so you can pull your jeans back on. “It’s bad?”

There’s a pause. “It’s pretty dark. Her face is half visible. Her mouth on his– uh–”

“Okay, I get the picture,” you say sharply. You feel a little bit queasy thinking about his d– “Is he identifiable?”

“His face isn’t in them, and as far as we can tell, his name hasn’t been mentioned online yet. But there’s a tattoo on his ribs, do you know if it’s been seen on him before?”

You wrack your sleep deprived brain, but nothing comes up. “I don’t. I’ll get the team on it,” you say. “How’re negotiations going?”

“They’re going nowhere. We can’t get in contact with the guy. He’s like a ghost. The number the ex had for him is disconnected, and the IG profile disappeared. We’re checking the last known place of work and the address she had for him.”

Hmm. Less than ideal. 

“We’re working with the agency's legal team to fix this quietly,” Gabriella continues. “Once we’re in touch we’ll see if we can persuade him to take down the photos, but you know how fast this story can break. I’ve suggested it might be better to own it and seek justice through the system, but they’re insisting it’s not possible.”

You sigh, searching your suitcase for your Ferrari polo shirt. “We’ll ignore it for now. Worst comes to worst we could claim it’s a deepfake. I’ll contact her agency and see how they want to play it.”

“I’ll send the photos over Signal. You should know what you’re dealing with.”

Your spine stiffens. You don’t want to see those photos. That’s an invasion of privacy you can’t push past. 

“I’ll go find him now,” you say. “Call me if there’s any updates?” 

“Of course.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You find him in the paddock, talking to a fresh faced reporter, with Jeonghan standing to the side with his voice recorder, smiling fake like he’s trying to stave off a migraine. You hang back, shoot Jeonghan a text that just says wrap it up! office asap! and wait for his smile to slip into neutrality as he checks the notification. He rests a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, interjects with a politeness that even the harshest critic couldn’t find fault with, and steers him to follow you in the direction of the makeshift office. 

Once inside, Jeonghan sits, but Wonwoo doesn’t. He just has an insufferably confused look on his face, eyes slipping between you, who is wild eyed from lack of sleep, and Jeonghan, who shrugs. You close the door.

“Turn that off,” you say, gesturing to the mic the producer from Netflix attached this morning, but Wonwoo just stands there, brows pinched together in a frown. “What’s this about–” 

You move in front of him, yank the mic pack from his belt, press the mute button, pull the cable just in case, and Wonwoo just stares at you like you’re insane.

“Do you have a tattoo?” you ask, sitting down at the table and placing his mic pack in your bag for safekeeping.

He blinks, surprised. “What?”

“A tattoo,” you repeat. “On your ribs.”

“Yes.” His voice is barely a whisper. “Why?”

“Some photos have been leaked. I need you to look at them, tell me if it’s you. If it isn’t, great. If it is— well, we’ll deal with it.” 

Wonwoo pales, sinks into the nearest chair. “You’ve seen them?”

“No. And I won’t,” you reassure. It doesn’t look like he believes you but you press on. “I haven’t opened the message. You check them, delete them afterwards. Okay?” 

He swallows thick, nods. Jeonghan looks away when you slide your phone across the table, point to the Signal notification from Gabriella, and let Wonwoo take it before looking away yourself. He holds it close against his chest like there’s eyes behind him, and his breath stutters to a halt. 

“Shit,” he breathes.  “Yeah– it’s me.” 

You exhale hard through your nose. “Okay. It’s fin–”

“How could this possibly be fine?” he hisses. 

“Does anyone know about your tattoo? Aside from your ex, and the artist, I mean.”

Wonwoo tilts his head, runs a hand along his neck. “Mingyu. My brother. A few close friends– they wouldn’t say anything. Someone I met once. In Amsterdam.”

“Please say it was a one night stand and not a sex worker,” says an exasperated Jeonghan.

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow. “The former,” he snaps. “What the fuck, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Listen, man, I’m just checking. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Would they remember the tattoo?” you ask.

“I don’t know. We were both pretty out of it.”

“What about shoots?” you ask. “Paparazzi? Have you ever been photographed without your shirt on?”

“Not since before I got it,” he says.

That’s something, at least. This is fine. It’ll be fine.

“Okay– good.” You stand up. Wonwoo is wringing his hands in his lap. “We can work with this. Keep your shirt on, and stay quiet. If you need to talk to anyone about this whole thing, keep it between me, Jeonghan, and Mingyu. I’ll contact her agency now and work out a plan.”

“I should call her,” he murmurs, pulling his phone from his pocket, and your body stills.

“No you fucking shouldn’t,” you insist, a bite in your voice that drags his attention back to your face. “Not until we get to the bottom of this. Have you wondered at all how this guy got your photos in the first place?”

For the first time in years, since that night after his crash, Wonwoo looks vulnerable. 

“Don’t call her, Wonwoo. You can’t.”

He leans forward on his elbows. Fists a hand in his hair. “I hate that you’re telling me what I can’t do.”

The heat flushes in your face in an instant, and you’re biting back before you can stop yourself. “You knew where I worked, Wonwoo.” Your lip curls into a snarl. “You knew signing your contract that there would be no way to avoid me. How about a little appreciation, huh? Since I’m going out of my way to fix your mess and your shitty attitude.”

On your way out the door you run into Mingyu. “He’s in there,” you grumble. “You need to get your boy in line, help him see what we’re trying to do here.”

And though nobody else knows the reason behind your soured mood, everyone avoids you for the rest of the day.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The dueling arena of the palace was massive; bigger than the warehouse Wonwoo was accustomed to fighting in; rows and rows of seats lining the entire perimeter of the central field, stone columns draped in blue fabric with the royal seal embroidered in silver thread. The rain from the previous day baked away in the hot sun hanging heavy in the sky. Guests lined the benches, not a single seat vacant, voices loud in excitement. The council of nobles sat at attention amongst them, weighing and measuring every man as a potential ally or enemy on the throne. Even Commander Aiko attended, sitting in one of the boxes reserved for the queen's personal guests. 

This was what they had been waiting for since your intent to marry was announced. This was all that mattered. 

Sweat dripped at Wonwoo’s collar. Not from the heat of the day in his black uniform but his own nerves. After the garden, you dragged him into your room, sat on his lap and kissed him for hours like it was the last time you two ever would. Wonwoo kept his clothes on - even as you plucked at the ties and buttons of his soaked uniform - he kept your wandering hands at bay. The queen had prepared him for what the others would say when he declared himself as a competitor, and he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being right. Couldn’t live with himself.

Wonwoo thought of this morning. When you snuck into his room for one last kiss before the servants came to whisk you away, still in your nightgown, face soft with sleep and eyes half closed as you crawled into his bed and woke him with more of those maddening touches. If all he left the palace with was memories then those would be his fondest.

On the dais, you looked like the perfect image of royal propriety in pearl jewelry and a deep blue gown, back pin straight as you sat next to your grandmother. You kept your gaze forward on the field where the champions would be presented. All the traces of yesterday were gone. Now you sat as princess and soon-to-be queen; half of the woman Wonwoo loved. The other half hidden away in your sitting room, falling asleep as Wonwoo read from your book of stories to the symphony of the previous night's storm.

The Queen rose from her throne and approached the balcony to address the crowd. “Friends, esteemed guests. I am honored to host you today, as we gather for the tournament for my granddaughter, Princess YN’s, hand.”

The crowd roared in response. Wonwoo’s pulse hammered through his clenched jaw to the beat of their applause.

“Present your champions.”

Gyan, Char, Maoki, Bavruq, and others stepped forward, all with the same confident air swirling their shoulders. Wonwoo wasn’t scared. Especially not of Maoki. Even if he lost there would be satisfaction in wiping the floor with the smirky boulder bouncer. Bavruq was older, more experienced but that didn't scare Wonwoo either. He faced men twice his age, revered military men with medals of honor and walked away victorious. Char, Gyan, and the others were wildcards.

Wonwoo snuck to the edge of the balcony and descended the stairs into the arena as the last champions presented themselves. No one paid attention to him. He held the same weight as a servant, blended into the background because people purposefully ignored him. As such, no one stopped him from approaching the line where the other men waited.

He swallowed back his nerves and stepped forward as the queen motioned to speak again; just as she instructed him yesterday.

“There is one more challenger,” Wonwoo called.

The queen kept her face neutral and leveled him with a heavy look. “Who?”

“Me,” Wonwoo announced, chin tipped upwards.

The tension in the arena swelled and exploded. Wonwoo kept his eyes glued to yours, the way your jaw dropped in shock before the icy masks secured back into place. 

“What?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Outrageous!”

“Who speaks for this man?” the queen asked.

“I do.” Aiko came forward, out of the raging crowd ready to murder Wonwoo. 

So that’s why the Queen invited him. Aiko nodded at him briefly, focusing on the queen. Wonwoo noticed a subdued air to the older man. Aiko only ever stood at attention, years of muscle memory keeping him taunt. This was different. The queen seemed to battle a smile.

When I was her age, I loved a man who was considered below my station. A guard who I became friends with as a young woman in the palace…

Aiko.

Wonwoo stood where his commander once stood, caught between his duty and his heart. History repeated itself and this time Aiko wouldn’t let you and Wonwoo make the same mistakes.

“The rules of the competition state any man of good standing with the crown may compete,” the queen said. “Our brave Commander Aiko vouches for Captain Jeon. He shall compete in tomorrow's games.”

If you didn’t murder him in his bed tonight.

The queen adjourned herself and the council of nobles. Others stayed, mingling and eying him with suspicion. Wonwoo kept his chin high, shoulders back. He would not show fear even in the face of starving wolves who wanted nothing more than to rip his throat out.

Eventually, the arena cleared. Han and Sami found him, and led him away to a different maid he’d never met before. She led him to a wide set of ornate double doors revealing a small suite in the western wing of the palace, as far away from your room as possible. His belongings were laid out in the room; books on the desk, clothes tucked away in the dresser. They must have moved everything immediately after the queen granted her blessing.

It didn’t strike him until then that of course he would no longer be sleeping in your apartment after declaring his intent to win your hand. Now, whether anyone liked it or not, Wonwoo was a suitor and propriety needed to be maintained. No more late night chats in your dining room or stumbling into your bath. No more whisking you away with fake meetings. You treated Wonwoo like an equal from the first day you met, it was the kingdom that now followed suit.

“These cords will call the kitchen,” the maid, Juli, explained, pointing to the crimson ribbon hanging from the walls, “and these will call the maid's quarters should you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Wonwoo tried to relax in his new quarters but the quiet unnerved him. Only a few weeks ago he would have found this space to be a blessing but now it felt too big, too lonely. The suite had a small training area and he worked through his forms over and over again, welcoming the ache in his muscles as distraction. 

His confidence rose with each punch and kick. Those royals and nobles probably sparred with tutors too nervous to push them, who always let them away with an easy win and a pat on the back. Wonwoo grew up fighting in the streets of the Middle District, spent hours in the ring where it was win or starve. He knew what it was like to fight with something to lose. Now he stood to lose you and he refused.

He’d win. There was no other option as far as he was concerned. 

After a final set, Wonwoo retired to his bedchamber, quickly washed up in the bathroom that reminded him too much of yours and then fell into a shallow sleep.

Chaos claimed the council chamber. Nobles from each house attempted to speak their grievances over one another, echoing the same sentiment again and again. 

“He cannot compete! It is a shame to our allies!” 

“Lock him in the dungeon for insubordination!” Lord Zo hissed. 

Fists slammed against tables, chairs clattered to the ground as more incensed men rose to their feet to yell across the aisle.

“He is a commoner! He has no title!”

“If his lack of title is such a cause for concern then perhaps he can have yours, Lord Gaha,” your grandmother responded. Her voice chilled the air and immediately the ranchous nobles silenced under the threat. She looked giddy.

“Your Majesty, I only mean—”

“How dare we entertain the thought of a peasant on the throne? A peasant who doesn’t even know the first thing about ruling a kingdom!” Lord Baelor roared. “It’s dishonorable to even consider the notion—“

Dak threw his hands in the air. “You’re one to talk of honor. Your nephew has enough bastards to fill half the arena!”

Belaor’s face flushed ruby red. “He has no right to wear the crown. To consider the possibility is an insult.”

“The competition is designed to measure a person’s merit,” interrupted Senator Mo. “Not their luck to be born in the correct family.”

“The law states anyone of good standing can compete. Aiko, you vouched for the man. What do you say?” The queen asked Commander Aiko,

“Captain Jeon is one of the few, perhaps the only, man I would consider to be my successor,” Commander Aiko announced. “He is as good a man as any other presented today. I’d consider it a grave miscalculation for anyone to think differently.”

“But what message are we sending by allowing him to compete? And what if he wins? Does he bring money? Connections? Allies?”

Minister Gul had a point. Your grandmother married for wealth and allies, your parents much the same. Political marriages brought benefits to the kingdom. A marriage with Wonwoo only brought benefits for you.

“I believe you are getting ahead of yourself, Minister Gul,” you responded shakily.

“If Captain Jeon wins, then he will rally the citizens of the kingdom. To see one of their own kind ascend to power, to be respected, that is a man that can rule a country. Not a stranger from far away who will send people off to die in their own wars without understanding the sacrifices they are making in his name.” Your grandmother nodded. “But first he must win the tournament on his own and prove he is a better man.”

Grumbles of begrudged approval echoed through the chamber.

“Since it is her marriage, I believe the decision ultimately is my granddaughter’s.”

Dozens of eyes turned to you expectantly. A part of you, a spiteful sliver of your conscience, wanted to reject Wonwoo’s attempt to compete; punish him for leaving you in the dark. You seethed at your grandmother for planting ideas in his head. 

“If he wishes to compete then I say let him. If it is the lack of title you are concerned about then I will remind you all that title doesn’t prevent people from dying for the crown in our army. It should not prevent someone from sitting on the throne either.”

No one spoke then, the words hung in the air like heavy fog. You stared at Galin, pinning him in place until he cleared his throat and spoke.

He sputtered to attention. “The princess is wise. If she believes Captain Jeon should be eligible to compete then I agree with her.”

“He has proven himself to be a man of honor which is more what I can say of the others who came forward today,” Dak chimed in.

Others slowly began nodding. Several were on the list Galin delivered to your office shortly after your meeting. You eyed them pointedly until they also agreed. Loudly.

“Then it is settled,” your grandmother said firmly.

A few grumbled under their breath, but voiced no more objections despite the obvious desire on their face; flaring tempers, clenched fists, and furrowed brows. The decision had been made. Wonwoo would compete.

The meeting adjourned and on the way back to your apartment, you hatched your own plan.

It took some begging for Han to lead you through the tunnels to Wonwoo’s new accommodations. If your grandmother thought tucking him away in a secluded wing of the palace could keep you away, she was wrong.

“This is so romantic,” she sighed dreamily.

You stewed in silence a few paces behind her. It wouldn’t be romantic when you screamed at him for being an idiot. Before you burned through the last of your patience, she stopped in front of a door and took her leave.

Your annoyance waned at Wonwoo’s sleeping face, bittersweet fondness swelling in your heart. He was flopped on the mattress - too tired to pull the covers aside apparently - snoring softly. You cupped his cheek and smiled when he nuzzled into your palm gently.

Then you dumped the pitcher from his side table on his head.

“What the hell?” he coughed.

It gave you enough satisfaction to pull the water from the bed sheets into an orb over his head and drop it again.

“Stop!” Wonwoo sputtered and glared up at you.

“No!” You lifted your arms to do it again but Wonwoo caught your wrists, flipped you beneath him and pinned your arms into the pillows. “Get off me!”

“Stop trying to drown me!”

“No!”

You thrashed against him and Wonwoo flattened on top of you. “Then you’re staying put.”

“This was your plan?” you seethed. The vase on his dresser cracked from your anger, the water frozen solid. Wonwoo held fast, and you deflated in resolution.

“I knew you wouldn’t agree, which is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“Of course I wouldn’t agree!” you scoffed. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I assure you I’m very sane.”

“You can’t assure me of anything.” You thrashed again, this time flipping him over and pinning him beneath you. He could’ve gotten out of the hold if he wanted to but instead he rested his hands on your thighs and gave a reassuring squeeze. “They’re going to try to kill you and make me watch. I… how can you ask me to sit through that?”

Something wounded flashed through his gaze. “You don’t think I can win?”

You knew he could win but you didn’t want him to pay the price to. He didn’t get it. How much it would hurt you to watch him take a beating for your sake. Over and over and over again. You wanted to shake him until he understood. Outside the window, the moon sat small in the night sky, a little more than a crescent, edges blurred by thin clouds. You felt it like fingers up your spine. So small and powerless.

“They’ll stop at nothing to prove a point! If you lose you'll spend months in the infirmary and if you win then you’ve made some very powerful enemies.”

“If I lose then you marry someone else and if I win you marry me. So I just won’t lose.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Well if it’s that simple.”

It wasn’t easy to admit you were scared, like swallowing a mouth full of ash. You couldn’t see him hurt because of you, for you. Even if he won, what was the price he’d have to pay at the hands of scorned men who thought of him as nothing more than a thorn in their side. 

“Fine. Get yourself killed, see if I care.” You rolled off him with an ‘arrogant hothead’ under your breath before moving towards the door. Wonwoo rushed to catch you and pinned you against the wall. 

“When I win, will you have me?” Wonwoo dragged the tip of his nose against yours, eyes sinking shut as the tension swelled. You didn’t push him away. You didn’t want him anywhere other than where he was at that very moment even if you wanted to dump another pitcher over his head. You wanted him by your side. Always.

You kissed him once then responded with a frown. “Win and find out.”

Wonwoo kissed you again. He kissed your cheeks, chin, your nose. The wrinkles in your brow that refused to smooth. He was still so warm with sleep and it lulled your raging pulse until you surged and caught his mouth in a frenzy.

You didn’t know everything about marriage. In fact, you knew very little and realized more and more how out of your depth he was as the hours passed since that morning. But right then you couldn’t help believing that it was the first testament to what a life with him would be. One of you inevitably upsetting the other, only to forgive just as swiftly; flowing back and forth just like your elements. A flicker and an inferno, a ripple and a tsunami.

“Wait,” you blurted, pulling away from his hold. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Then let me apologize.” Wonwoo lifted you onto the dresser, parted the front of your robe and bunched the fabric of your nightgown around your thighs before claiming the space between them. He released a deep breath as he discovered how little you wore beneath. 

You hadn’t walked across the palace without underwear or bindings with any intent. Not that it mattered. You tugged at the tie on his sleep shirt until he stood in nothing but his bottoms. Soft touches have you both warm, sighs of breath ruffling your hair line. Your arms snaked around his shoulders - fingers diving into the short hairs at the base of his skull - and exhaled. “Is this how you plan to apologize every time we argue?”

“Depends…” His fingers slipped up, too high on your thigh but not high enough. Nowhere near where you wanted him to touch you; just grazing, before moving away.

If Wonwoo plans to tease then you will too. 

“On?” You sucked his ear lobe.

Wonwoo grunted at the sting, fingers rising a fraction higher. “How willing you are to forgive me afterwards.”

“Then I guess that depends…”

“On?”

“If previous experiences are anything to go by, then that leaves me in a very difficult position.” You faltered into an airy sigh as he bit your collarbone. All teeth and no mercy. Your blood turns thick as he does it again further up your neck.  “And I really want to be mad at you.”

His hands ran across your ribs, cupped your breast as he thumbed your stiffening nipples. He pulled back to look over you, cheeks pink and eyes glazed, far too cocky for your liking but you let it slide. Just once.

“Still angry?”

“Furious.”

He took a nip of your pulse and smiled when you choked on a moan. Then you kissed him, grabbed his face and pulled him close with a desperate arch in your spine. The hard tent of his pants pressed into your core. An easy target for your wandering hands. 

“I,” his voice hitched from a tight fist. “I thought I was apologizing.”

It was your turn to smile and tease. “Can’t multitask?”

“I—” he choked into a brilliant shade of red as you dipped your hand beneath the fabric and thumbed the leaking tip.

“What’s wrong?” you smirk, palming him with more vigor. “Something distracting you?” 

You pressed your tongue along his lower lip, invited it into his mouth and swallowed his moan as you worked him with quick, tight strokes. Your knees itch to sink to the ground and put your mouth on him, lick and suck his cock the way he did to you. Give him a fraction of the relief that's been so greedily reserved for only you up until now.

“You…” Wonwoo panted against your neck. ”You fight dirty.”

“Me?”

Wonwoo pulled you off the dresser, knocking your hand away as you both tripped towards the bed. He pushed you down with a light bounce before laying on top of you and biting at your chin. “Take your dress off.”

“Whatever for?” you gasped. You knew but wanted him to say it; wanted him to vocalize how badly he wanted to touch you.

You pushed him off with a jagged finger on his chest and waited.

Like always, Wonwoo met the challenge head on. 

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “I want to make you come again and again and again until you can’t remember your own name. Keep you in this bed until they drag me away.” Your hips curled into nothing. “I want you to be my wife, and let me take care of you the way a husband should.”

You sunk deeper into the mattress, the only thing preventing you from floating away was Wonwoo’s weight and his fingers wedging between your thighs to take advantage of the slippery warmth. He didn’t try bartering for access, simply flipping the fabric up until it pooled around your throat. “And how is that?”

He sucked a nipple between his teeth, rougher than before; patience worn thin from having his cock in your hand. It sat sticky and used against your thigh and the horribly tempting thought of what would happen if you touched him the way he touched you took root.

Wonwoo inside you, surging between your legs like he had in your hand; cumming inside you, marking you as his. The first. The only. Your core clenched.

You tried to sink a hand down, circle him in a tight grip with hopes he’d maybe make the tempting fantasy real. But he snatched it away and pinned it beside your head. Huffing his name, you pouted against placating kisses. 

Wonwoo dragged you closer to the edge of the bed. You're exposed perfectly to his eyes, body completely on display to be touched exactly how he wanted to. Focused on rubbing your clit until you couldn’t breathe, Wonwoo sank to his knees at the edge of the mattress and put his mouth to use pressing teasing kisses across your hips. His teeth raked over your hip bone. “Tell me what you want, Your Highness.”

You couldn’t think straight enough to chastise him for the name, angling him closer with a hand in his hair. “You.”

“More specific.” He gave a shallow thrust of a finger but that was all.

“Touch me,” you whined pathetically.

“I am.” You felt his laughter against your skin. Another press of his finger but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

“I want—I want you to…Wonwoo, please.”

He pushed your legs wider, making more room for himself as he licked a broad strip up your core. A throaty groan vibrated against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. He sucked tenderly at your clit. Your back arched, nipples aching for more attention. 

“Don’t stop,” you warned. 

You moaned at the electrifying feeling when he gently coaxed your clit to life with his tongue, tracing it with devastating precision over and over again, lapping away the arousal he’s stoked out of you in excess. He didn’t let you rut into the friction. Kept you pressed flat for whatever plans he had, biting the crease of your thigh before resuming mind numbing touches. 

You watched his lips, pink and swollen, as he lathered your core in wet kisses and then suctioned tight until you bowed off the bed. The fingers curved into your inner walls warmed, easing the stretch enough you choke on a beg for another. “Oh, spirits.”

He licked a little firmer, refusing to treat you as something fragile when you chant his name the way you learned he liked. If this was an apology you’ve forgiven him tenfold. Every swipe of his tongue dragged you deeper; forgetting anything beyond where he pulled your strings like a puppet master.

The feeling tickled up your legs. You’ve sweated out of your own skin, warm and blushing head to toe. Everything’s tighter, hotter - wetter - as Wonwoo snuck a hand up your front and flicked your nipple until it hardened. You stopped thinking. Let him give whatever he could, soaked in the attention until his name like a weak mantra until your voice broke. Your thighs squeezed numb and finally that feeling snapped into a million pieces.

When your heart calmed and feeling returned, your lover was already tracing a gentle trail up your body with his mouth. Wonwoo nestled close, cock hard against your thigh. “Forgive me?”

You cupped his wet cheeks and kissed him until the taste of your own arousal faded away. The warmth of his body on yours left you sweating. Too hot to be touching like that but tomorrow he’d be entering the lion's den, and it’d be a miracle if he came back to you completely unscathed. 

Your greed was Wonwoo’s downfall.

He fell to his back with gentle prodding, taking the initiative to pull you into his lap and pointedly ignore your nudity in such close proximity to his; cock displayed out in the open, pants halfway down his thighs. Wonwoo let you memorize all the ridges of muscle and soft plains of his chest; laid there silently through the painstaking tease of your fingers mapping his body. His only demands came in the form of weighted kisses to your lips.

You watched him fight the urge to touch you as well; fingers twitching where he gripped your sides, hands smoothing over bare hips in an attempt to distract himself, jaw clenching as your nails caught on his nipples. You were the queen of the world in his bed.

Wonwoo sucked a tight breath through his teeth when you gripped his cock once more.

He shut up when your tongue traced the curve of his thigh, down, down, down until his cock sat front and center. Steeled with false bravado, you licked the tip, savoring the taste leaking eagerly. His hips kicked, nudging the head through your lips into the wet heat of your mouth, catching you off guard. Wonwoo choked out an apology but you ignored it; seeing him lose control was more intoxicating than ten bottles of fire whiskey.

You did what he had done to you before, sucking and licking, gaining more confidence with each throaty groan you received. You felt dirty; on your knees for a man who wasn’t your husband yet, cock in your mouth, how it turned you on to have him completely exposed and at your mercy. 

You pressed a kiss to the tip and pulled back. “Does it feel good?”

Wonwoo answered with another indecipherable grunt and you took it as permission to suck his cock back between your lips. He cued you into the motions; back and forth and back and forth. The same rhythm used on his fingers and face to find your own end. Each time he moaned you took it a little deeper, preening as he choked in shock at the barrier of your throat.

“I-I’m —fuck— I’m gonna,” he grunted, fingers flexed at his sides, so dedicated to maintain some semblance of control. 

That wouldn’t do.

The competitive part of your brain, the side that was unignorable in Wonwoo’s presence, roared at the challenge. You sucked him deeper, eyes watering as instinct guided you through.

He tried not to thrust into the brutal sanction, hands flying to the sheets, grip hard enough his arms shook as he watched you with rapt attention. The beginning of a blush spread through your cheeks as he gawked boldly. 

You jumped back in shock as evidence of his spend flooded your mouth. Some dribbled down your chin, stained your lips, mixing with spit as he came on your pout. You didn’t mind the taste; you could learn to love it if the universe gave you another chance to unravel Wonwoo one thread at a time. You swallowed the mess, licked it up from what your tongue could reach, sucked his softening cock again for good measure until he tugged you up his body and rolled on top of you, hiding his face in the curve of your neck.

“You are…” he grunted, “going to cause me a lot of problems.”

You brushed back the hair sticking to his face, soaking in his glow like it's your own. “Still plan to marry me?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

He begged you to stay; not in words but touches. Pulling your clothes from your hands, lacing his arms around your waist and tugging you back to the bed each time you tried to get up.

It wouldn’t hurt to bend a little. The palace was fast asleep and no one would come looking for you for hours so you allowed him to pull you down and spoon you from behind. You sighed and moaned as he kissed your neck and wedged a hand between your legs until you came again. When you tried touching him in turn he shivered with sensitivity and pushed your hands away.

When you rose to leave the final time, Wonwoo had started to nod off and you weren't much better; eyes burning from fatigue and brain fuzzy from another orgasm under the hands of your lover.

The door to the tunnels was tucked away behind a pillar near the bathroom door. Wonwoo watched you with keen eyes as you made your way to it. “And where does this passage go? Your office? The gardens?”

“Actually,” you turned with a smile and eyed the stain on the front of his trousers, “This one leads to my bedroom.”

“Don’t tempt me with that,” he groaned, flopping back on the mattress.

“Survive tomorrow and maybe I’ll show you the way.”

You fell asleep clinging to the tiny spark of hope in your chest.

The arena boomed like an organized riot. Ranchous voices filled the space, deafening as the nobles and servants alike clamored with excitement in the stands. 

It was truly no different than the warehouse Wonwoo grew up fighting in. If Jeonghan appeared then he’d start taking bets, Dokyeom would lead the crowd in cheers and make a huge spectacle of the match. Seungcheol would watch from the highest stands with his wife. Wonwoo saw his friends easily fitting into the unfamiliar space and it gave him the confidence he needed to step into the battlefield.

Maoki stood at the opposite end of the field, bouncing from one foot to the other. He looked nervous; beet red face already covered in sweat. Maoki was a senator which meant he probably never saw a real fight, let alone participated in one. He probably did his military service the same way all noble sons did: symbolically. 

You sat high above the rest. The crown of silver and jewels glittered in the sun, face stoic. You stared at nothing while Wonwoo stared right at you as the official recited the rules, hoping to catch your gaze before he humiliated Maoki in front of everyone. When the official said his name, you finally looked, startled to find him already waiting to greet you. You rushed to look away but Wonwoo caught the twitch of your lips threatening to bloom into a smile.

He remembered last night, how you felt beneath him, on top of him. How you knelt between his legs with wide eyes, face shining with his cum. He focused on the more innocent acts like you tracing shapes between his shoulders or the snorts of over tired laughter. When he won this match he’d go back to his quarters and hear that melodic calming sound again.

Wonwoo didn’t risk finding out if Maoki was as unskilled as he seemed. After the call to start the match, he charged forward, blades of fire filling his hands. 

Maoki slammed a stone pillar into his gut and sent Wonwoo skittering back. He managed to dodge the next blow aimed straight for his head and rushed forward again. Maoki yanked the ground from beneath his feet, but Wonwoo used the momentum to leap over Maoki and slam his foot into the center earhtbender’s chest.

Fear and pain twisted Maoki’s face. He raised his hands and the earth around Wonwoo’s feet formed thick boots, locking him in place as the other man hurled huge chunks of rock at him. Wonwoo threw his arms up and defended from the worst of it, jets of fire crumbling the largest boulders into pebbles. There was no way out of the trap without breaking his ankles unless Maoki stopped his assault.

Wonwoo didn’t have to think long about escaping because the force of the next boulder launched him out of the trap and sent him sprawling across the arena. Something in his side made a sickening crunch, it hurt to breathe too deeply. He refused to stay down despite the pain. If he lost this competition, it wouldn’t be to someone like Maoki. He’d rather die.

“You think she loves you? You’re nothing, just some pathetic babysitter with a crush,” Maoki sneered.

Wonwoo stayed silent and dodged the next onslaught of dagger like earth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he rushed to where Maoki stood. Maoki sent a thick wall to prevent him from gaining ground but Wonwoo sprung over it and blasted a stream of fire from his fist. 

Maoki rolled out of the way. “Unless… you’ve already had her.”

“You piece of shit!” Wonwoo roared, fire blazing from his fists. The air reeked of ozone. Lightening jumped from his skin but Wonwoo pulled it tighter, stuffed deep down where he maintained control. He couldn’t kill Maoki no matter how much he wanted to.

The shorter man’s face lit up with petty pride. “Is that it? You damaged the princess and now you think you’re doing something honorable?”

The earth churned beneath Wonwoo’s feet but he was faster.

He saw nothing but the ruby blood gushing from Maoki’s nose.

Silence. The arena sat in complete silence as Maoki fell to his knees, clutching the burned side of his face, shrieking in pain. No one moved. No one cheered. Only Maoki’s choked gasps filled the arena.

You told Wonwoo they would make an example of him if given the chance, so he made an example of Maoki first.

He knelt beside Maoki, watched him writhe in pain. The smell of burnt flesh rolled his stomach but Wonwoo didn’t flinch away. “If you ever say anything about YN again, she’s the one you’ll answer to. And she will not be as merciful as I am.”

Wonwoo stepped back as healers rushed to the fallen man’s side. Maoki would be fine, Wonwoo put more of his fist behind the blows than his fire. The burn they would heal; but the shame Maoki felt would linger forever.

Good.

“First victory: Captain Jeon!”

Wonwoo remained on his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain radiating across his entire body demanding attention. Spots floated in his vision and his ear rang with a high pitched screech. The hand that made contact with Maoki’s face was definitely broken, hanging limply by his side. But he walked back to his room without assistance, locked himself away in his room, and promptly passed out from the pain.

Wonwoo didn’t wake until after you started healing him. You cleaned away the dirt and caked blood with a wet cloth, careful of broken bones and tender muscles. He was so tired he didn’t budge an inch, only the shallow rise and fall of his chest proving he was, in fact, still alive.

You focused on washing away some of the grime matting the hair around his temple and when you leaned away, a pair of brown eyes greeted you.

“What were you doing out there? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Getting my ass kicked wasn’t a part of the plan,” he croaked.

You poured him a glass of water and held it to his lips. “Oh, so now there’s a plan.”

He drank until the cup emptied before answering. “There’s always been a plan. First, I win. Then, I beg you to marry me. And then, you finally take pity and say yes.”

“What an incredible plan, I can’t believe I ever doubted you.” You set the glass down and conjured water to cover your hands. “Now hold still.”

“It hurts.” He groaned and attempted to wiggle away but didn’t make it very far before giving up.

“I haven’t even touched you.”

“It still hurts.”

“It’ll hurt worse if you don’t hold still and let me help.”

With most of the filth wiped away the damage became clear. You healed the smaller scrapes littering his torso and arms, then the bruises. It took several passes but they slowly cleared until nothing but unblemished skin remained with faint pink scars. His hand was nasty work, broken bones wrapped in angry swollen flesh. He stiffed as you lifted it, a choked scream stuck in his chest, then relaxed as the healing water enveloped it, soothing away the pain.

Then it was time for his ribs.

“Don’t move. The closer to your heart the more risk,” you warned, hands cloaked in freshwater. He jumped as the bones knit back together, winced in pain but sat still. “Okay, I can’t do much more now. You’ll be sore tomorrow but Raza gave Jao some nasty blows so at least you’ll be evenly matched.”

He panted. “Great.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” You crossed towards the bathroom with the pitcher in hand, dumping it in the sink and returned to find Wonwoo sitting up at the edge of the bed like he attempted to follow you but couldn’t manage it.

“I know—” he panted.

“If you talked to me about it first then—“

Wonwoo cut in. “Then what?”

There was no then. You’d been completely resigned to your fate while Wonwoo made a plan, found an ally in your grandmother. There was no use in suffering through hypotheticals. He would win with his blood and sweat and your tears shed in the solitude of your room. But you didn’t have to like it.

“I don’t like watching you get hurt,” you admitted quietly, taking the space between his spread legs and cupping his face.

Wonwoo snorted and looked up at you. “Unless you’re the one doing it.”

“You make me sound horrible.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Highness.”

You combed a hand through his hair. “I have you at my mercy and you want to insult me?”

Wonwoo wrapped his arms around your waist, still careful of his hand, and buried his face in your stomach.

“Stay,” Wonwoo sighed.

You kissed the top of his head, fingers following the muscles across his back. He’s had knicks and scraps there too. You tugged at the water in the vase on his dresser and soothed them away. “I can’t.”

“Just for a little while. Don’t think I forgot about you showing me how to get to your room.”

“I don’t think you're in much condition to make use of the information,” you smiled.

One brown eye cracked up, peeking up at you. “All I wanted was to sleep. What were you thinking?”

It took great effort to get him beneath the covers but once he was settled you claimed the space next to him. If this brought him comfort you’d oblige. Maybe it brought comfort to you too. After watching him take a beating it was nice to feel the solid weight of his body next to you, the warm smell of smoke and spice that clung to him no matter what; knowing he was okay, at least for now. Your grandmother said the first flower to bloom had the most difficulties, and bloom Wonwoo did. The palace murmured with quiet curiosity after his victory.

A few hours of sleep wouldn’t be so bad. You slept better knowing he was nearby anyway. You rained gentle kisses over the side of his face, careful to avoid the lingering bruises. Wonwoo hummed in content, trying and failing to catch your lips with his own. 

“I love—”

“Don’t.”

He leaned back and gave a puzzled look.

You brush a kiss against his frown. “I want to hear it after you win.”

Because a part of me is terrified that you won’t.

The objection sat on his face but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he burrowed down into your chest and slept.

When he woke up the first time, you’re still there, eyes dropping while staring out the window. Every time you started to nod off you jolted awake, paranoid until his chest swelled with another breath. The moon swelled in the sky, daylight still a long ways off. 

“You stayed,” he whispered, burrowing down into your chest to savor the comfort for a few more minutes.

Your hand didn’t stop tracing lazy shapes between his shoulder blades. “You asked me to.”

“You need to get back before—“

“Let me worry about that.” You smoothed the wrinkle in his brow with your thumb. “Sleep.”

Wonwoo did.

When Wonwoo woke the second time, you were gone, the bed sheets already long cooled. You could heal his injuries but the exhaustion for yesterday lingered deep in his veins, making itself at home and weighing him down. He stumbled out of his suite and towards the arena for another fight. 

Under the blazing sun, his fire burned hotter. More powerful. Easier to call upon. But whatever advantage he had in the midday sun, Jao had too. Wonwoo approached the center of the arena, the dry earth cracking beneath his boots. The nobles in the stands sat up straighter, strained their jeweled necks for the best view. His victory yesterday sent ripples through the ranks. Or at least, that's what the maids talked about as he ate breakfast. All were curious about the supposed dark horse that burnt half a senator's face off and walked away in silence.

“Prince Jao of the Earth Kingdom, and Captain Jeon of the Royal Army,” the official called. Jao tilted his chin cockily, and eyed the cheering crowd. Jao was your friend, he remembered. But Jao was also a prince and standing in Wonwoo’s way. He wouldn’t take the same vengeance like he had on Maoki but a fight was a fight.

The official signaled them to start and without preamble, Wonwoo thrusted his hands forward, unleashing a vicious wave of fire. The flames crackled, swirled violently like an inferno out of control, the air shimmered around it from the heat.

And hit nothing.

Jao dodged, sidestepped, and parried no matter how Wonwoo attacked him; used only the minimal energy necessary to deflect or avoid each blow. Wonwoo’s body ached, but his pride fueled him.

“You’re quite skilled, Captain Jeon,” Jao commented, feet slipping in the dry dirt.

Wonwoo wasted more energy chasing the prince around the ring, the high sun banishing their shadows into nothing and burning the fire from his body hotter. He pressed and pressed until Jao finally stumbled. A glimmer of hope to end the battle before Jao took advantage of his waning energy crumbled as the prince leapt back to his feet and danced around again.

“Quit playing around,” Wonwoo growled.

Jao ducked beneath the stream of fire and rose again. “Might I say, I wasn’t sure until yesterday but watching you smack Maoki around warmed my heart.”

“He’s a prick.” Wonwoo waited this time. No use fighting against someone who only evaded. They circled each other, fists raised in loose form but came to a lull in fighting.

“Unfortunately, he comes from a long line of them.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“You’re an honorable man, Captain Jeon. But being honorable doesn’t mean you’re good enough for YN.”

His hackles raised like a wolf under attack. The smell of lightning came again from Jao’s words. A part of Wonwoo agreed he would never measure up but it wouldn’t stop him from trying. “And you are?”

Jao looked over Wonwoo’s shoulder, where you sat. Your guard protecting you like he was bound to; from any ill fit suitor. “You love her?” 

“Do you think I’d sign up for this insane contest if I didn’t?”

Jao side stepped again, driving Wonwoo around to face you before speaking. The change in position wasn’t lost on him as Jao spoke again. “Men do all sorts of ridiculous things for power.”

“Her crown is the least interesting thing about her.”

Jao’s gaze flickered with approval. 

“I’m here as a favor to YN. But I believe I’m no longer needed.” Jao knocked away Wonwoo’s unthreatening volleys easily. “It would be a shame if you took advantage of my weak ankle.”

A trap. A fakeout. Wonwoo didn’t let his guard down to take the bait. “What?”

“Horrible injury when I was a child. Broke it in three places, never the same again.” Jao said beneath his breath. “My left ankle, by the way.”

Wonwoo swept the man’s feet out from under him with a flaming kick and sent him sprawling. He launched a series of fireballs as Jao rolled across the ground, careful to ensure each one fell short. Jao lifted a wall of fire to defend himself but it was weak. Wonwoo launched through it and landed squarely on top of Jao, pinning his chest down with his knee. He stopped from crushing the man’s nose when Jao eagerly shouted.

“I yield!”

Wonwoo helped Jao to his feet. They were both filthy though the amount of blood staining Wonwoo’s clothes was considerably less than yesterday. Jao limped next to him as they both returned to the center of the field. 

The official lifted Wonwoo’s hand for the cheering crowd. “Second victory: Captain Jeon!”

Jao waved away the healers buzzing like a swarm of bees around them, instead walking side by side with Wonwoo back towards the tunnels.

“I would say don’t hurt her, or else,” Jao smiled. “but we both know she is more than capable of fulfilling the ‘or else’ herself. Next time, don’t burn my shirt. This is one of my favorites.”

“Next time?”

“I intend on a rematch - friendly of course - once you’re the prince. And I won’t go easy on you. Even if your girlfriend scares me.”

“She scares me too.”

“Good luck, Wonwoo.” Jao nodded and left Wonwoo to find the way back to his own rooms by himself.

You healed Wonwoo again but thankfully his injuries from Jao were minimal; superficial burns that stung rather than hurt and singed hair. They were nothing compared to the damage from the previous day but Wonwoo let you coo and fret over him. When you were done he pulled you beneath the covers and nuzzled that space beneath your jaw. He wanted to touch you. Wanted to savor your taste and those delightful noises you made when he did something that pleased you. But he was so very tired.

As you touched him, massaged the knotted muscles of his back free and untangled the hair on his forehead, it soothed some untouchable part of him that ached. Even with the worst of the day, he found something healing in you. He knew you didn’t want to hear him say he loved you. He understood why. How painful to hear the words, knowing they were true, only for him to lose the tournament. But he also knew that even if you didn’t say it, you showed him how much you cared as you cleared away bumps and scrapes from his body, studied him for any lingering pain and healed him until your brow sweated with exhaustion.

He fell asleep as his heart thumped steadily, and in the morning you were gone again. 

You hated leaving Wonwoo. He looked so boyish in his sleep; face slack, lips pursed in a pout. But you had to be back in your room by sunrise. So you slipped from beneath him, left a final kiss on his brow, and set for the tunnel before the servants started rising.

Hours later Han and Sami arrived to dress you for the day. Neither mentioned Wonwoo. They chattered between themselves, happy to fill your place in the conversation with their own voices. They didn’t think twice of your silence or the bags under your eyes or how you kept nodding off while they combed your hair and straightened your gown.

A woman in a position such as yours, with the man she loved fighting not only for her hand but his own life, would spend most of the night restless. They were happy to believe that story and not the fact they both knew you had a direct path to Wonwoo’s room and no supervision to put a stop to it.

When the games started again at noon, you were wide awake.

Yesterday’s matches drained you. Wonwoo beat Jao easily but it was Bavruq that gave you concern. The match between him and Char lasted hours. Both men refused to concede even as the arena threatened to crumble around them. Just as one gained advantage, the other regained his footing. It was a battle of wills until the end. Bavruq nearly drowned Char but Char came back with forceful blows of his own, throwing Bavruq high into the air with a gust of wind. The prince landed with a sick thump but managed to roll to his feet and beat Char with a final icy blade into his shoulder. 

Bavruq had the best healers in the world managing his wounds each night, Wonwoo had only you and your will. Bavruq had years of training and luck on his side, but Wonwoo was in better shape after his last battle with Jao.

If he got hurt fighting Bavruq then you’d march down onto the field and kill Wonwoo yourself.

They shook hands at the center of the field and then the match was on.

Wonwoo sidestepped each blow, adapting without pause - using your own tricks against Bavruq. He maintained a healthy distance, plenty of room to escape and dodged the ice floes the older man attempted to crush him with. Wonwoo attacked faster and faster, summoning more fire, bigger flames that made the crowned tug on their robes and flee the first few rows of seating. 

Their muscles shined under the blazing sun, covered in sweat and blood from hours of fighting. Bavruq looked truly exhausted while Wonwoo collected a few scrapes and a limp from a failed evasion. 

And then something changed. The atmosphere crackled with static. The sun reached its peak and with his opponent weakened, Wonwoo struck.

A swift kick launched a huge fireball from his foot, a swell of heat surging across the field with terrifying speed. Then another and another, driving Bavruq back until a final explosion sent him rolling across the arena. 

Wonwoo’s hesitation is the only reason Bavruq rose to his feet once again. 

You couldn’t hear what they shouted to one another, the pounding blood in your ears deafening. The metal cup on your table covered in frost, contents frozen solid. Their elements clashed with enough force to rattle the arena but you stayed glued to the battle; refusing to blink. You wanted to intervene but if you did, then Bavruq won.

Wonwoo sliced his hand through the air, a razor thin whip of flame bursting forth snapped against Bavruq’s feet. He evaded once more by riding a wave around the edge of the arena. Bavruq had power but Wonwoo had stamina. Eventually, Wonwoo evaporated whatever water was left available, the wooden barrels across the arena completely empty when Bavruq attempted to pull more water from them. The prince was defenseless against the tsunami of flame that crashed down from above. 

When it dissipated, Bavruq was left cowering on the ground, hair singed and tan skin tinged pink from the heat. But he was alive when he shouldn’t be and for that he yielded.

The servants cheered first; from the high plazas behind the seats filled with nobles their voices echoed like an endless roar of thunder. Mingyu whistled from behind you, bellowing next to Han and Sami. Even the servants in the garb of other kingdoms shouted and clapped. There are more of them than there are nobles. Guards, including Aiko, punched the air with wide smiles.

You couldn’t hear any of it. You couldn’t breathe.

“I present our Champion, Captain Jeon of the Royal Guard,” your grandmother announced, beaming before she turned to you. 

You joined her at the edge of the balcony, shaking hands hidden beneath the long sleeves of your gown. Wonwoo looked up from where he stood, sweaty and bruised but smiling. 

“Will you accept this man as your husband?”

You whispered a short prayer to the spirits begging he’d forgive you some day and answered.

“No.”

His smile disappeared completely.

With square shoulders, you addressed the crowd. “I am Princess YN. First in line for the throne of the United Islands, and I will fight Captain Jeon for my own hand.”

Just like when Wonwoo announced his intent to compete, the arena settled into silence and then ruptured into chaos. Nobles, servants, and guards cried indignantly as you tilted your chin in defiance. Wonwoo stood frozen, eyes trained on you.

Your grandmother whisked you away to her private meeting chamber. No servants, no guards. No one. Only her quivering rage and your solid defiance locked away.

“What is the meaning of this?” your grandmother hissed.

“I will not be sold off like livestock to the highest bidder,” you sniffed. 

A maid came in with a tea tray but your grandmother shooed them away with a wave and they scurried back through the servant’s entrance with a squeak.

“Is that what you think this is? That man put his life on the line for you, endured the wrath of other kingdoms for the chance to marry you because he loves you. And how do you thank him? By throwing his effort back into his face?”

“Wonwoo proved himself to them, now I must as well. What do I look like if I let them force me into a marriage? I allowed the tournament but I will not allow them to think I’m weak.”

“And if Wonwoo beats you? Did you think of that?”

You scoffed at the idea. 

“Do not act so bold!” she chastised. The air in the room rustled with her anger. “He defeated some of the best fighters across the kingdoms. Well, one of them. Jao and Maoki couldn't fight their way out of a pillowcase but Bavruq is a respectable adversary.”

Anger and hurt swelled inside you. This had been your plan since after the stormy night in the garden, when Wonwoo asked you to marry him. You figured out a way to make an example of the suitors and fortify your place as heir apparent. Your grandmother had meddled, stuck her nose where it didn’t belong — albeit with good intentions. 

“You made a plan with him without me so I made a plan of my own.”

She threw her hands up and opened the window at the far side of the room. “Is that what this is about? You felt left out?” 

“If either of you just told me—”

“If you were implicated then the nobles would have been suspicious. World of good that is now. It looks like you sent Wonwoo into this competition with the intent to have him win and then forfeit.”

You joined her by the window. She had a point. But Wonwoo wouldn’t forfeit, his pride was too strong. And you would win. You’d beaten him at his best in the warehouse but anger hadn’t been on his side then; he’d also have the advantage of the daylight. But even without the boost of the moon you were confident. You had to be.

In the gardens below, families from across the kingdoms gathered, their conversations floating straight up to where you both listened in secret.

A sham! 

We’ve been made fools!

If she thinks she can beat him then she’s crazier than we all thought…

“I don’t agree with your methods,” she sighed. “But if you manage to win then it sends a very powerful message. Besides, they’ve never given your bending the respect it deserves. I just hope Wonwoo doesn’t decide to forfeit.”

“He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I won’t have a coward for a husband.”

You did not visit Wonwoo that night. Perhaps for the best. He practically vibrated with annoyance, vision narrowed into a red haze. He fought, he bled and bruised, for you. Only for you to turn around and reject him so boldly. So publicly. In front of people who already looked down on him.

He didn’t understand; couldn’t. What was the point? To punish him for competing at all? 

One of Jao’s healers came and patched him up in silence, Mingyu standing guard. Neither man spoke while Wonwoo fumed silently. The candles littered about the room burned brighter from his mood, flickered widely from an invisible breeze as he tried to reign in his temper. 

The healer knitted a final wound, a deep cut on his arm from one of Bavruq’s ice knives sealing and blending with the other pink scars littering his body. Bavruq had been far more capable than Wonwoo’s previous opponents; ran Wonwoo ragged around the arena for hours. His muscles ached. Even breathing left the healed wound in his side from Maoki sore. 

A cup full of herbal tonic was pressed into his hand. He drank as the healer explained it would help his energy for the next day. Wonwoo downed the entire thing and the healer left him and Mingyu alone.

“Is she always so…” Wonwoo trailed off. The effects of the drink were already making him feel fuzzy around the edges.

“Confusing? Irritating? Hard headed?” Mingyu responded. “Yes.”

“One minute she tells me she loves me and next she says she doesn’t want to marry me.”

You wanted to marry him. Wonwoo knew you did. Or was he another brainless fool who fell into your web like the others; a pawn in your game to make a point.

“I don’t doubt she loves you but she won’t debase herself for you, or anyone.”

“But then why put me through this entire game?”

Mingyu leaned against the doorway. “I won’t pretend I understand her reasoning. Ever since we were kids she's done things her own way. If she couldn’t win a game, she used the rules against you to make sure winning felt a lot like losing.”

Wonwoo stared at the ceiling. The night sky stared back, hand painted silver constellations covering the entire ceiling from wall to wall. You had pointed out the ones you knew the previous nights. The Dragon, the Chained Spirit, the Warrior, the Lionturtle, the Earthshaker. His head pounded.

“The council sees her as something to be controlled,” Mingyu said. “We know they’re wrong but now she has a chance to show them and the other kingdoms she’s not. It has nothing to do with you.”

Wonwoo huffed and closed his eyes. It was much colder without you beneath the covers which was odd because as a firebender, nothing short of dropping him somewhere in the poles would have affected him. “Why must everything be so difficult?”

“You wanted to marry a queen. It comes with the job.”

Mingyu left after that.

Wonwoo sat in silence and realized he’d still marry you whether you beat him tomorrow or not.

Wonwoo entered the arena feeling simultaneously better and worse than the previous days. His body was well rested, the tonic from Jao’s healer giving him a good night's sleep. Though his new energy might’ve been from falling asleep at a reasonable hour since you were not in his bed asking to be kissed.

You waltzed in, head held high and back perfectly straight; chest bound in blue wrappings, pants the same color. There was no crown on your head or jewels on your fingers. There was no need for finery when every inch of you screamed royalty now that Wonwoo knew what to look for. You looked the exact same as that night in the warehouse, that first encounter that bound his fate to yours. His heart lurched.

You both faced each other in the center of the field, a foot of space between. Fire burned in your gaze. Wonwoo knew beating the others proved his worth to the nobles but this was more than that. This was you proving your ability to lead, proving no one could control you.

This time, you extended your hand first, and Wonwoo shook it.

“Good luck.”

“I won’t go easy on you just because I love you,” he said loud enough for the entire arena to hear. Your jaw dropped in shock. Even though his face heated at the declaration, your reaction made him want to say it again.

“Likewise.”

The official signaled the beginning of the match.

Wonwoo launched a stream of fire where you stood. You dived low, easily avoided it and returned the attack with more force, several massive jagged ice floes aimed straight for his head.

Fire. Water. Fire. Water. Red. Blue. Back and forth across the arena. The ground became a messy pattern of mud and scorch marks. Spectators watched the dance in awe, marveling at the ways your respective elements met and clashed with enough force to deafen them.

“That's all you got?” you goaded. Your clothes smoldered where one of his fire whips made contact, blue stained with ash, your hair singed at the ends.

Wonwoo looked like a drowned ice rat.

He chased you to the far end of the field, sending comet after comet after you but you evaded, skating away on a wave. Reaching a safe distance, you turned the wave against him. Wonwoo failed to clear it in time. Feet frozen in place, you released a torrent down onto him.

Wonwoo laid still on the ground when you finally stopped.

“Wonwoo?” you gasped and ran to him.

When you stood over him, he knocked your feet out from under you and rolled away.

Mud caked your arms and back. “Seriously?”

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” he called. 

The fighting picked back up again. 

He promised not to go easy on you and he’d keep the promise. Wonwoo knew you wouldn’t forgive him if he broke it. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t help you make a spectacle. 

Wonwoo cut your attack off your next attack with a swift lash of fire, a razor thin whip cleaving the wall of ice clean in half. 

The smell of ozone clouded the arena electricity jumping from his skin as he pulled it closer and closer. Your face hardened, preparing for the strike as Wonwoo thrusted his hand forward.

In the same confident show as before, you redirected the hit as if it was nothing.

The arena was silent. You and Wonwoo continued like no one was watching.

You pulled all the water in the arena into a massive fifty foot wave. It blocked out the sun and most spectators' view of the field. When you released it Wonwoo opened his mouth and breathed fire. The two unstoppable forces clashed and steam erupted, cloaking the entire battlefield.

You couldn’t master him any more than he could beat you. Even in the thick fog, he wasn’t scared. He heard your wet footsteps run around him somewhere behind and prepared for a snowball to his temple.

When you couldn’t beat them, you apparently fought dirt.

The air rushed from his lungs as you tackled Wonwoo around the waist and into the slick mud. 

“Oof,” he grunted.

You were laughing. “Did I hurt you again?”

“No, I’m used to it.”

“Good. I’d hate to injure my fiance before our wedding.”

He froze. And then the same laughter infecting you shook his body. He grabbed a fist full of mud and smashed it into your hair. “You had this planned from the beginning!” 

You gave an indignant shriek and pushed your mud hands against his face. “Maybe this will teach you not to make plans with my grandmother without consulting me!”

Wonwoo rolled, you beneath him, thrashing for release but he held fast; pinned your arms down and used all his weight to keep you where he wanted. “Yield.”

Apparently he didn’t have the grip he thought he had because the sweat covering his body froze, stinging against bare skin. You took the moment of distraction to roll back on top, pin his hands and freeze them in the mud.

“Really?” he grunted. He summoned heat into his hands and melted the icy cuffs but waited to make use of his freedom. He forgot all about it when he felt your laughter puff against his mouth.

Wonwoo’s world narrowed down to just you, like every time you pulled him into your tide.

“Yield,” you commanded. Wonwoo heard the smug satisfaction in your tone but also the giddiness.

“Never.”

You swooped down, kissed him once more. “Good.”

A harsh breeze cleared the cover of steam. Alerted by the noise, you sat up straight and Wonwoo tipped his head back, both of your eyes landing on the Queen watching from the overhang.

Wonwoo wanted to bring the steam back and hide away with you. The dumb smile wouldn’t leave his face, even under the weight of an audience.

“Since you both refuse to yield,” she announced dryly. “This match is a draw.”

You knelt across from Wonwoo as the sages recited the martial rights in monotone. The only thing that kept him from nodding off was your fingers tangling and untangling with his, the silver and gold fabric of your wedding robes obscuring the way your nails scratched over his palms. Your hands were cool and dry, his clammy with nerves. Not nerves to marry but nerves to be paraded around the palace for the rest of his life, having to smile at the nobles that insulted him and his wife under their breath. 

He’d marry you in every lifetime if he could.

Eventually, the sages finished their speech, snapping Wonwoo back to reality. You eyed him expectantly and leaned closer. Wonwoo knew he must’ve looked like an idiot, staring starry eyed as you kissed him gently and then pulled away to face the sages once more. You held his hand a little tighter.

The sage, clad in his own robes of navy and burgundy, read from a scroll. “Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of the United Islands, according to our laws and customs? Will you, in your power, cause law and justice and mercy to be executed in all judgments?”

“I will.”

The sage faced Wonwoo. “And do you swear to uphold and protect Her Most Regal Majesty? To never waiver in support of the crown and people of the United Islands?”

Wonwoo was thankful his lines were short in the ceremony. Between planning the wedding in only a few short days and being all but banned from seeing you between the end of the match in the arena and this morning, he wasn’t left with much mental space to memorize anything grand or impressive.

“I do,” Wonwoo said.

Smoothly, you rose to your feet and Wonwoo rushed to follow, hand clenched so tightly in yours he was afraid it hurt. 

“Presenting Her Majesty, YN, Queen of the United Islands. And His Royal Highness, Prince Wonwoo. Long may they reign.”

The marriage hall broke into cheers, his friends’ voices the loudest among them. Hoshi, Dokyeom, Seungcheol and his wife, Jeognhan and many others crowded amongst the pews, brushing elbows with royalty like they belonged.

Once again, he found courage in reminding himself just because he was in the palace didn’t mean he had to completely act like nobility.

Wonwoo grabbed you around the waist, ears deaf to the shocked gasp of onlookers as he pulled you into his chest and kissed you. Not a chaste peck or something gentle and fleeting. He channeled the passion and happiness flooding his heart into it. Wonwoo kissed you like a man kissed his new wife, not like a prince kissed his queen. 

You adapted quickly, tongue shy against his lower lip, far too suggestive but Wonwoo bit at the bait. He should've known that if he started the flame you’d fan it into an inferno. Hands surging into action, he pulled you tighter into his chest and slid his tongue against the sensitive side of yours to hear one of your precious moans.

Someone wolf whistled loud enough to remind Wonwoo he was, in fact, on the verge of groping his wife in public. He pulled back but it was you who refused to let go, only conceding when the hand in his hair met the metal of his new crown. 

You didn’t even have the shame to blush as you pulled away and faced your subjects, smiling proudly while Wonwoo tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

The reception occurred in the same ballroom as the night of the Spirits Festival but decorated with cascading white ice lilies and fire poppies, the chandeliers dripping with pearls and diamonds, and long banquet tables draped in embroidered tablecloths crowded with food and wine. Wonwoo didn’t like crowds but he loved you and if people were watching him dance with you through every song then let them. He spent too many dances at the edge of the floor tortured by the sight of you in another man’s arms to sit through another one.

“If you step on my foot one more time,” you warned but the threat was empty. You smiled too much.

Wonwoo pulled you even closer if it was possible, no space between your bodies as his hand curled tightly around the curve of your waist. “You’ll do what, Your Majesty?”

“I’ll…” you huffed. 

“Terrifying,” Wonwoo chuckled, sweeping you around the room.

“Where did you learn to dance like this anyway?”

Wonwoo recalled the incredibly awkward moments in his temporary accommodations with Mingyu and Sami teaching him the court dances. Han wasn’t invited for obvious reasons, like using the way Wonwoo led the taller man around the room while Sami provided instruction as black mail. 

“I’m a man of many talents.”

You didn’t buy it. “Last time we danced together I thought you’d drop me.”

“You don’t trust me?”

You nuzzled his jaw softly, lips leaving a trail until you reached his ear, damp breath sending goosebumps racing down his back. “I trust you with my life.”

It wasn’t a truth he took lightly. 

Before Wonwoo could respond, someone crashed into him from behind. 

Hoshi and Dokyeom were dancing with each other, nothing but uncoordinated limbs flailing in place as everyone chuckled. Most people laughed, a few stuck up nobles seemed to hate fun. The sidestepped the other couples following the unspoken choreography to stay close to you and Wonwoo.

“Great party,” Dokyeom grinned.

“If I knew you were the queen I would've given you a way nicer bottle of whiskey.”

“I wasn’t the queen when we met,” you laughed.

Wonwoo shook his head at his friends and led you away; he’d see them later. At that moment, he wanted you to himself. 

But the spirits had other plans. Every time he thought he had you both alone for a few moments, someone else popped up. They acted like koala sheep flocking to the trough. Attempted to surround you two at every chance. Luckily, you were apt at leading the dance and tugged him away from the most overzealous nobles already attempting to petition for funding and favors. When Wonwoo’s friends approached he didn’t feel guilty cutting the conversation short.

You only successfully spun you away from Belaor’s grumpy face to find Jao waiting for his own turn. His partner was old enough to be the old queen’s grandmother.

“I have a wager there will be an heir within the year,” Jao winked. “Don’t let me down.”

Wonwoo blinked and looked down to find you hiding in his lapel. 

“Jao is a very odd man.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “But a wonderful friend.”

Wonwoo managed one song completely uninterrupted, not that he enjoyed it much. He was too focused on eying anyone that came close, nearly snarling when looks didn’t warn them off fast enough.

“This party is dreadfully boring,” you whispered.

“You mean our wedding?”

“Our wedding was hours ago. I mean this party where the same men who beat up my husband a few days ago are drinking my wine and eating my food.”

You gazed pointedly at him and then the door. Oh.

“Are you planning to take revenge?” Wonwoo smirked.

“Maybe.”

“Less than a day as queen and you’re already trying to start a war.”

“Then I guess it’s time to take our leaves for the evening. I wouldn’t want to have an outburst.”

It felt like eternity before you finally untangled from the party and returned to your new apartment. It was bigger than your old rooms, big enough for more than two people with a vacant nursery and Wonwoo’s own private bedroom connected to yours through a door. You doubted he would appreciate the space. He seemed fond of keeping you close.

Han and Sami beamed from ear to ear as they readied you for bed, untied the silk ties of your wedding gown and plucked the heavy jewels out of your hair. 

“You might as well speak freely, you both think so loudly.”

Han burst. “Can Wonwoo introduce me to his friend?”

“Which one?”

“The one with nice lips, and muscular thighs. He was dancing with the other loud one.”

Dokyeom. From what Wonwoo told you, Han would eat him alive.

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“Everyone knows the way to a man is through his wife.”

You wondered just how your newly minted husband was fairing with his own servants at this moment. Someone undressing and dressing him, catering to his every fleeting desire. He probably was as red as the fire poppies down in the ballroom. 

“Wonwoo likes you two,” you said. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.”

“He has so many handsome friends,” Sami sighed.

“You got over your crush on Bavruq quickly.”

She thought for a moment before responding, “There’s something unattractive about a man cowering for his life.”

You didn’t tell her about the match you witnessed between Seungkwan and Hoshi the night you first spoke to Wonwoo when Hoshi got on his knees and begged.

“Are you nervous?” Han asked.

You met her gaze in the mirror. None of today felt real. 

“Honestly? It feels like we still have to sneak around the castle.”

“I knew there wasn’t a bird that morning!” Sami gasped, jaw dropping. 

Han rolled her eyes. “I already told you there wasn’t a bird in her room.”

“Whatever. Now you’re the queen and can do whatever you want.”

They tidied your dressing room and left you alone. When you re-entered your room you found it empty, the door connecting yours to Wonwoo’s firmly shut. Once you opened it then you two would be alone to do whatever you please. No one waiting around the corner to catch you, no more rumors of impropriety, no more sneaking around in the dark.

Just you and your husband.

You nearly sprinted.

His room resembled yours: massive bed, dark wood furniture, velvet curtains half obscuring the massive window on the opposite wall.

Wonwoo sat on the edge of the bed in sleeping clothes. The candle light jumped over his skin and made something in your chest squeeze. He held something in his lap, you couldn’t see from the angle as his hands fiddled with it.

You rested against the door jam and cleared your throat. 

He looked up, black hair flopping into his face. “What’s wrong?” 

“You are so far away.”

“I thought I was supposed to stay in here or something.”

“The rooms are more a formality than anything. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to.”

“Thank spirits.” Wonwoo heaved a sigh of relief and came to stand in front of you. “I meant to give this to you earlier.”

He passed whatever he held to you. It took a second to figure out what it was but when you did your chest ached again. A glass ice lily shoot with white bell shaped petals so thin you could see through them, frozen in perfect bloom. The verdant green glass stem sat dainty between your fingertips. It was small and delicate, so realistic you could smell the sweet aroma tickling your senses.

“Where did you get this?”

He blushed, eyes on the figure resting in your hands. “I made it.”

“You made this?”

“Mingyu helped a little but… you said it was your favorite.”

It wasn’t much. Nothing like the grand metal works or massive jewels displayed around the palace. The piece of glass work wouldn’t stand out amongst the hundreds of expensive gifts you’d received for birthdays over the years. But Wonwoo made it for you. He took the time to listen and remember even if you didn’t recall ever telling him the information. There wasn’t a value to be assigned because that tiny glass flower was priceless.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Do you want to take a bath with me?”

He nodded mutely, allowing himself to be pulled through your bedroom and into your bathroom where a pool-like tub waited. You turned on the water and poured in soaps and oils until satisfied and then turned back to your waiting husband.

“Will you warm it for me?” you whispered.

He stepped around you, hands ghosting along your sides as he passed. One disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

“Not like that.”

Wonwoo stared at you quizzically. “This is how I heated it last time.”

“Last time.” You approached him slowly as if he was a frightened animal. When he didn’t move away, you untied the sash holding his shirt closed, pushing it from his shoulders. You kissed over his heart and plucked at the tie of his pants. And then Wonwoo was naked; naked and hard and looking like something out of a painting. “Last time you weren’t my husband and I couldn’t pull you into the water to join me like I wanted to.”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint the queen,” he chuckled and sunk into the water. 

The sleeves of your nightgown floated down your shoulders, leaving you completely bare as it pooled around your feet. Wonwoo wanted to look, you saw it on his face; the strain in his eyes to stay at an appropriate level. But he was your husband now. And if he couldn’t look at you naked, who could?

You remained standing until his eyes fell from your face, filtered down to your chest, across your stomach, your core and legs. He drank you with heated looks that made you preen with pleasure. You wanted him to look at you like that forever.

He spread his legs in invitation and you took the space between them. You leaned back into him, thrilled by the press of his bare chest against your back. Like that morning you woke up in your bed with him. Now, you get to wake up to him every day.

An hour passed in cozy silence, only the crack of candle wicks and content sighs mingling together; occasionally a splash as you stretched for more comfort. Wonwoo couldn't stop pressing his mouth to your shoulder, rubbing his hands over your sides, tracing odd shapes in your stomach as the water soothed your tense muscles. It was perfect. He was perfect. Like the warm flicker of the candle light in the night, the toasty comfort of a fire during a cold day. He was perfect and he was yours. Forever.

With Wonwoo in the water, it never got cold. He pushed heat through his body and kept it perfectly warm. 

You showed off by making tiny figurines skitter along the surface: horses, dragons. You froze some in mid air and Wonwoo raised a hand to melt them with a lick of flame, placating your petulant frown with a kiss to your ear.

Sneakily, you placed your hand on his knee beneath the surface. It was innocent enough, you were already touching everywhere else. His knee was nothing compared to the soft pressure of his cock against your lower back but you were done waiting. You slowly dragged your nails over his leg, a fraction higher each time before descending again. If he caught on to your game he hadn’t shown it. Instead, Wonwoo leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, sighing in your ear. 

He didn’t initiate anything beyond gentle touches. Smoothed his hands down your arms, laced and unlaced his fingers between his, swiped your hair to the side and gently pecked the back of your neck.

You left his lap, swimming into the deeper end of the tub and submerging yourself beneath the surface. When you came back up for air, Wonwoo sat sprawled against the side of the tub, arms out at either side, washcloth clutched tightly in one hand.

Straddling his thighs, you dipped down for a kiss. “Wash me.”

He took his task seriously, scrubbing away all the powdery makeup and oil perfume until your skin felt fresh and clean. The rough washcloth stung your breasts but Wonwoo soothed the ache with his tongue, lapping away the bath water as your chin tipped back.

“You looked beautiful.”

Your shoulders itched closer to your ears as he sucked your nipple stiff. “I know. You told me.”

“Never hurts to tell you again.”

You opened your mouth to goad him again but he beat you to the punch with a kiss on your sternum. 

His cock grazed over your clit with each grind. You wanted it, wanted him; all of him. You didn’t care you were in a bathtub or that you didn’t really know much more beyond wanting inside you. You rose higher on your knees, titled your hips and… 

“Slow down,” Wonwoo warned, teeth firmly around your breast. He held himself in a tight grip, just below the tip and prevented you from taking any of him inside you.

“But—“

“Let me take care of you first.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” you whined. “I need you inside me.”

Hands squeezed your hips, halting any attempt to take him further. He flipped your positions, him standing in the deeper end of the bath, you pressed into the wall completely at his mercy.

“Wonwoo!” you protested, water splashing as you thrashed against him in a tantrum.

“Be patient.”

You snaked a hand around his cock beneath the water and gave a quick stroke. You remembered the noises he made last time, how he liked to be touched. If you pulled the right strings then maybe he’d let you feel all of him. If you got your mouth on him he’d crumble to whatever you wanted.

But he snatched your hand away and tangled your fingers through his. When you looked at his face he was already watching you with a half formed smile. The sight alone was enough to make your stomach flip.

You pulled a ball of water and dropped it over his head. 

“You’re gonna pay for that!”

“Oh, I’m soooo scared,” you cackled. 

He chased you around the tub, just a little too late to catch you. Screams and giggles and splashes echoed off the walls. When he finally managed to pin you to his chest, an ember in your own flared.

“Take me to bed.”

It was tricky moving from the bath to the bedroom. You were so consumed with groping him - his ass, his chest, his cock - that preventing an accidental tumble fell entirely on Wonwoo. Unfortunately, he needed to touch you as well. He cupped your face in his hands, kissing you and guiding you towards the door without looking.

He sandwiched you between his body and the door jam, the bed only feet away but too far. Fingertips glided over your damp skin as Wonwoo smoothed his hands down your sides and caressed your hips, his thigh wedging between your own for you to clench and grind against. His hands traced up and down your sides, driving you more mad with every pass. Wonwoo squeezed your breast, thumbs rolling your nipples until they were stiff enough to bend and latch his mouth on. 

You’d never tire of the contrast of his fingers against your skin, the sight of how your own breasts perfectly fit his hands, the feel of him touching you like he was made to.

You melted beneath his tongue, hands sinking in his wet hard and tugging with each gentle suckle. Arousal smeared between your thighs and you want him to touch you there too. His fingers or his mouth, you were wound so tight you didn’t care, anything to relieve the stifling heat in your blood. You’re wetter, han you could possibly need to be and yet he still wouldn’t take advantage of it just yet.

“Take me to bed,” you panted again, failing to instill the authoritative tone that came as second nature.

Apparently, it was enough for Wonwoo. He finally pulled you from the wall with that, tripping over his own with eager clumsiness. You followed in his wake, knees meeting the edge of the bed and pulling him down on top of you.

This much you’ve grown accustomed to; touching, caressing, stroking. A week ago you would’ve begged for the chance to have Wonwoo naked and so close. Insides coiled with a spark desperate to smolder into something greater but now, the more he touched you the less confident you felt. He knew what to do and you didn’t and it shouldn’t have ground against your already thin nerves but it did; for a split second you resented him.

Wonwoo picked up on your mood immediately. He raised up, hair tangled, cheeks stained and lips bruised from kissing. He looked like a dream. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, trying to pull him into another kiss to distract from the moment but he avoided it.

“Not nothing. Tell me.”

“I said I’m fine,” you bit.

You weren’t. And it wasn’t because Wonwoo had been with others that predated your knowledge of his existence. 

He moved further away, sat upright next to you on the bed with his hands firmly in his lap despite how much you did not like it. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“If you want me to go into my room and stay there the rest of the night I will. I’ll be pretty upset not spending the night with my wife but I’ll do it.”

Your head shook. “No, I don’t want that.”

“Then tell me what happened between now and the bath.”

“I…I just…” you made a frustrated noise. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Me either.”

You looked at the ceiling before grumbling, “Yes, you have.”

He had. You weren’t naive to what others experienced while you sat guarded away in the palace. The maids had sex, the other guards, the men you met from other kingdoms. It was you who was the odd one out. Thrusted into the deep in, swearing you could swim and now that you were here you floundered.

Wonwoo kept you afloat. 

He grabbed your hand, traced circles on your palm with his thumb as he spoke. “I’ve never had a wedding night, I’ve never been married, I’ve never been with someone I feel the way I do about you. I know it’s your first time but it’s my first time with you.”

“But you at least know what you’re doing. I have no idea.”

“‘Wow, Wonwoo. That’s so romantic, Wonwoo,’” he cooed in a poor imitation of your voice.

You huff an amused breath, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

“I– I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

The admission lifted a weight from your chest. You burrowed closer to your husband, suddenly aware of how naked you were.

“Do what feels good.”

“It all feels good.”

You didn’t have to look to know he’s pleased with that comment. 

“Lay back and let me make you feel good. Then you can boss me around.”

You pull back from hiding, scoffing in protest. “I don’t boss you around!”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Wonwoo didn’t answer, too busy smiling into a kiss at your childish pout. His laughter sparked some of your own as you realized how ridiculous the entire thing was.

True to his word, he took the time to sink to his knees beside the bed, shoulders cloaked in your legs, face level with your center. He indulged you with sweet flutters of his mouth across your thighs then lower, over your entrance with teasing gentleness. Only when you’re close to pulling your hair out did his tongue part your folds to collect the wetness he coxed so easily without even really touching you.

You shivered from the combination of his tongue snaking across your clit and the first shallow thrust of a finger between your walls. 

“M-more,” you rasped.

One arm slung across your stomach, preventing you from bucking him off. He turned his head and sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh until a bruise formed.

Even if you felt out of your mind you were in good hands. Wonwoo would take care of it. He'd show you what to do, take your first time and make it something at the very least good. Even if it’s just you two putting your mouths on each other's sex until the sun rose.

The idea of having him back in your mouth sent a zing through your gut.

“Wonwoo?” you sighed.

He hummed into your clit, simple acknowledgment clenching your muscles tight from the vibration.

“I want…” you started but faltered under the stretch of another finger and a sloppy glide of his tongue.

He circled the swollen nub, groaning the way you squeezed his fingers so tight. He doesn’t stop. Not until your thighs snapped shut around his head, hips buck into his waiting mouth. You coiled around the sparks in your veins and let it rush up to greet you. He licks every single nerve to life until you nearly rip your own hair out. 

The candle flames jumped a little higher with every pitiful noise, the vulgar sound of his mouth worshipping your core. Wonwoo knew what he was doing when he gave you a third finger. More sloppy kisses to match. “Spirits—” you choke on a whimper. 

You clawed at whatever came in reach: his shoulders, his arms flex over your hips, the back of his head. He kept going; heavy licks of his tongue dragging you over the coals until a tidal wave washed that final break through your blood.

Wonwoo crawled over you, planted himself between your spread legs and waited. “Good?”

“Great,” you croaked, delirious.

When you finally opened your eyes, you nearly seized again.  His face was wet; chin, cheeks, lips covered in your arousal he rightfully earned. You fumbled for his face, bringing him back into a kiss. His cock laid flush against your center with a little more movement; a sensation you’ve rapidly grown accustomed to except now there’s nothing to stop you from having all of him. 

The itch to parade him around the palace like that, completely debauched and on display, tickled the back of your skull. Wonwoo would never agree but the idea of rubbing all those nobles’ noses in proof that you don’t care what they have to say about your husband sparked something in your gut; tightened the nerves in your neck like a hand would and maybe that’s something else Wonwoo can show you later.

Right now you wanted him in your mouth.

Wonwoo went where you directed, leaned back on his elbows in the pillows, body splayed across the sheets like a meal. His nudity only made you more aware of your own. The blushing tip of his cock shining in the light. It was a little different now than when you believed you’d only get one chance to touch him as bold and free as you wanted. But you took the challenge head on like everything else. 

If you messed up, Wonwoo was there to show you the way.

“Show me,” you commanded, cheeks flaming from nerves. “Show me how you like to…”

Wonwoo sat up and grabbed you, arms tangled between your bodies with your head on his shoulder.

“Hey!”

This time, he commanded you. “Watch.”

You do, eyes glued to the hand skimming down his belly, fingers traveling across the flat plane of his stomach, over his thighs. He teased himself as you gawked tongue tied. You stayed quiet as he gripped his cock and gave it a squeeze.

“Can I…”

His hand shone in the dim light, wet, and not from the sticky mess leaking from his cock. It’s the same hand he used to make you come, your arousal easing the friction of his thrusts. Your hand sunk down, fingers woven between his.

“You wanted to watch. Now, watch,” he hissed but made no move to swat you away.

He shaped nicely in your hand, really his hand but you focused on the contrast of your fingers between his. Wonwoo told you to watch but didn’t make any mention of refusing any of your own demands.  You swallowed, thighs rubbing together for some relief. 

The sensitive side of his neck became your newest victim, teeth scraping against the raised vein; a pretty bite mark evidence of your presence.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

Even with only one experience, you’re confident as you shimmied down his body and kneeled at his side. His stomach caved with a few tentative licks, as you stroked him. Eventually his hand fell away and found new interest in tracing your spine. His fingers itched down your back, over the curve of your ass. You spread your legs a little wider, give him more room to touch you the way you both want.

You moaned around his cock as he fingered you again, a little firm, not as hesitant. You tasted and teased and catalogued every tiny grunt and curse to memory. When your jaw started to hurt your hand took over with a slick glide.

“Fuck, okay.” Wonwoo pulled you back up, rolled until you splayed beneath him.

You frowned. “I wasn’t done.”

“I almost was,” he sighed. 

His fingers were still buried inside you, a fact he reminded you of with a quick rush. You tingled from head to toe.

“Move your hand.”

The idea thrilled the life out of you; finally having him inside you where you knew he’d fit perfectly.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You’re not gonna break me.”

“There’s a chance you’ll…” he trailed off. “If I finish inside you.”

“Wonwoo. I know how babies are made,” you snorted. “I took care of it.”

“Oh.”

You didn’t not want children with him. But at that very moment, the idea of learning to be a queen and a wife and a mother felt overwhelming. You wanted to enjoy your husband; and spirits knew there wouldn’t be much time for that with the full demands of running a kingdom on the horizon. After your honeymoon, you’d be lucky to have the energy to maintain a conversation with Wonwoo before bed.

You deflated, eyes closing. “I just… There are already hundreds of people sticking their noses into our marriage. I wanted to have you to myself. At least for a little while. But I want that. Eventually.”

“Me too.”

You melted right there, laid back down on the sheets and dragged him over you. Wonwoo molded to your shape, kissed you gently and pressed his crotch to yours, let you both soak in the heady contact for a moment before the head of his cock nestled at your entrance, and then he was inside you. 

It didn't hurt. But it certainly didn't feel good.

“Ah–” you squeaked, thighs protesting in discomfort.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Wonwoo repeated it like a mantra, slowly retreating before pressing forward again. You’re stiff and awkward in the worst ways. It’ll pass. The unfamiliar stretch and stunted motions couldn’t last forever.

The worst of the discomfort faded, your hesitation leaving with it as your insides adjusted to his presence. You spread a little more, lifted your legs around his waist, and gave him leverage against your clit. Better. 

“Slower.”

Maybe you did enjoy bossing him around but Wonwoo listened. 

Another slower thrust knocked the stretch from better to great. Something about Wonwoo on top of you, inside you, suddenly the hottest thing in the universe. 

It felt new. More. Better. It was for the best that you never felt something as satisfying as him inside because if Wonwoo had you that morning in your room then the way things had to be done - him earning his place next to you and you earning yours on the throne - would’ve become completely ignorable; a blip on your consciousness. You’d lock him in away forever just to keep him in your bed, shun the world outside for a better one between the silken sheets with him.

“Wow.”

“Good?”

“So full,” you whispered in a daze. Your eyes rolled as he pulled your legs up a little higher, changing the angle and eliciting a real moan. “Wonwoo, please. Move.”

It’s a sad cadence at first. Your body protested the sudden intrusion again and again, but it felt good as the initial discomfort faded. Patience was never a strong suit but there was no other option. Each rut forward brought you closer to that heady glow you’ve associated with Wonwoo’s touch. Your nails left pink lines in their wake across his skin.

Your breath ripped raw in your throat with a new kind of contact, deeper. Harder. Wonwoo sucked the moan straight from the source, honing in on the enticing friction again and again.

“Touch yourself. Like this.” Wonwoo clumsily shoved your hand between your thighs, rubbed quick tight circles that made you tingly.

“Oh Wonwoo – yes, yes!” you keened. You thrashed against the bed as he latched on to your breast. Too much. Everything was too much and not enough and you couldn’t vocalize what you needed.

He spread your legs, tilted his hips to fuck you deeper; cock heavy in your walls. Wonwoo rolled his hips in smooth thrusts. A hand looped beneath the arch of your back, his other arm protecting your head from the head board. 

“Please,” you pleaded. Wonwoo heard but there’s nothing for him to do except emphasize his presence in between your walls and give you that final nudge over the cliff edge.

Wonwoo gasped, hips stammering into clumsier rhythm as you came around him with a kicking of your legs. Your vision went white for a second as your throat burned from the rough sound of his name. 

“I think ‘m…I’m—” he came in a choked breath. You took all of it greedily, ground down on him for more of the indescribable warmth flooding your insides until your hips protested. “Shit. O–oh fuck.”

You felt his lips move against your temple, curving around the syllables of your name as he rocked into you a few more times. You felt raw and sensitive but you took it; not ready for him to pull away just yet.

Cum leaked out of you, slipped down your ass and pooled in the bed sheets. Wonwoo rocked into you few more times without the same strain as before. Each subtle press spread more of his mess. You didn’t mind.

“Was that,” he panted, “up to your standard, Your Majesty?”

“When I can think again, I’m going to freeze you to the headboard.”

He lit up with pride, rubbed his cheek against yours while you both calmed down.

When he finally pulled away you whined. Empty. Horribly empty where he fit so perfectly. You don’t have the energy to demand he fix it, you don’t have the energy to do much at all.

Soreness already filtered into your lower body; back, hips, thighs all ached from being twisted in half beneath your husband for however long. Wonwoo rolled you onto your front, pushed your arms and legs from beneath you until your chest lay flat against the bed. The soft sheets soothed your sensitive nipples while Wonwoo’s hands warmed your back.

Your body responded to his proximity, aroused even through the heavy swirl of exhaustion. Wonwoo ignored the squeeze of your thighs. His hands firm, he moved from your shoulders to your lower back precise fingers untangling deep knots as your thoughts drifted into perfect nothing.

“Good?”

You nodded dumbly.

He reached your ass, large hands palming the soft flesh. You tried not to give it; to let him touch you with innocent curiosity. Wonwoo was anything but as he dragged his teeth over the curve of your ass and made you shiver.

His thumb brushed your entrance, barely dipped inside. “Sensitive?”

You shuddered and nodded again, more aware. There’s a weird satisfaction to the used and stretched feeling, the fact Wonwoo did it to you. That he might do it again.

“Want me to stop?” He asked. This time he dipped two fingers inside and crooked them softly.

“No.” Never.

“Good girl.”

Your lungs seized at the praise, wavering slightly. He pulled away, dragged his fingers through the mess on your inner thigh and sheather them back inside you. On reflex, your legs spread wider to accommodate.

A million thoughts floated through Wonwoo’s brain, none seemed to stick for very long as he focused on you. 

How many nights had you healed him in the dark? Erased every injury you could find and soothe away the ache of his muscles? But no one stopped to take care of you. He would now though. 

More heat flooded into his hands as he continued to knead your inner thighs, focusing on the sore muscles. You melted like wax beneath a flame. All he meant was an innocent massage but the smear of his cum and your arousal mesmerized him as he rubbed it into your skin. It felt right; the mess covering your most sensitive areas looked like it belonged there. He tried not to overwhelm you with all the horribly inappropriate things he wanted, mainly to feel you come for him again while he forced his cum deeper into you.

Wonwoo watched as more of it leaked out of your used hole. He collected it on the pads of his fingers and pressed it back where it belonged but each time he did, your inner muscles clenched and pushed it right back out. He knew you wouldn’t get pregnant. He knew that no matter how much of himself he gave you, it wouldn’t take. Not tonight. Not for a long time while you both enjoyed just each other for the first time. But he’d never had sex with the intention of getting his partner pregnant and now that he technically was supposed to, he couldn’t think of anything else.

You with a swollen belly, still bossing the entire kingdom around. Pregnant and radiant as you knocked someone councilman into place. An instinctual part of him roared to life at the fantasy. The nobles would know. Everyone would know the child you carried was his; that Wonwoo was yours and you were his.

But that was for later. At that moment, you rocked back into his hand like you’d die if he didn’t feel you. He rose on his knees behind you, pulled you up on your own but kept your front tight against the sheets as he bent at the waist and nipped your shoulder.

“Want you,” you whimpered.

His cock was still sticky with combined arousal and cum but hard as he ran the tip through your folds.“Like this?”

With your face buried in your arms you nodded, pressed back into his cock and took the first inch with a sigh of relief.

“Gonna be deep.”

“I want it deep.”

Like anything you want, he gave it to you. 

You pulsed around him. His eyes threatened to roll back but he kept them open, watching you take every inch with rapt attention before pulling back and starting again. The room swelled with heat, the scent of sex heavy in the air. dirty. The queen on her knees for her husband, begging him in choked breathes to fuck her hard and deep. 

“F-fuck.”

Even if he couldn’t see the way you stretched around his cock to accommodate, he could hear the wet slaps of his thighs against your ass, feel the contact of your body against his, the perfect curve of your hips in his hands.

“Okay?”

“So…full…” you heaved. “More.”

He needed you closer; needed to feel you on every part of him. He hinged at the hips, chest hot against your back, teeth at your neck. You’ll come again, Wonwoo made sure of it. He doesn’t have enough energy to fuck with the vigor the sight of you on your hands and knees incites. 

“So fucking good,” he moaned in your ear, fingers maneuvering to pet your clit with enough pressure to make you keen. Another night, when he isn’t fighting just to stay awake long enough to satisfy you both, he’ll dig into your praise kink. 

You’re both exhausted, clinging on to wakefulness with white knuckled grips because it’s your wedding night and the first time Wonwoo didn’t have to think about all the things he wanted to do to you. He could just do them.

“Harder,” you whispered greedily.

There was a moment's hesitation but he trusted you to tell him exactly what you needed. Wonwoo anchored himself with a grip on the headboard, fucking your next command into a shrill moan; so much force you both scrambled for some leverage but refused to stop. A few rough swipes of his hand and you come with breathy gasps like you’re drowning.

Wonwoo chased his own orgasm, spurred by the image of your pussy flooded with even more of his cum. It’s the most painful orgasm of his life, pulses hot and tight in the pit of his stomach like a gut punch. He faltered into a stunted rhythm while you clawed at the sheets.

You took it perfectly. 

You collapsed against the bed, Wonwoo following to hold you tight to his side. This time the dead weight consumed him completely, trapping you in a tangle of his arms. There is much he could do but rest his lips against your damp hair and enjoy the silence.

“I love you.” The admission was more breath than words but his heart clenched all the same.

“Love you too.”

“How does it feel to defile the queen?” You laughed without real bite. 

“Gimme a few hours. I’ll do it again.”

Your only response was a hum and a kiss on his chest.

In the early hours of the morning, when the sky shifted from black to pale grey to orange, you woke Wonwoo with wandering hands followed by drowsy kisses. He didn’t stop you as you mounted his thighs and slipped his half hard length inside you.

“Good morning.” Your rough voice was hushed.

Most of his brain remained dedicated to sleep as you rocked over his lap but that didn’t mean he couldn’t savor the silky wet heat around him so early, the gentle squeeze of your cunt as you ground lazily against him, cooing sleepy noises in his ear. 

“Seems like it.”

After you both finished, he dragged you from the bed into the bath, heated the water with his own body. You washed him, and he watched through wet eyelashes as you healed the red streaks of your nails from the night before. At some point he fell asleep. When he wakes, you’re tracing shapes against his chest.

It still didn’t feel real. Everytime he woke it felt like you’d dissolve, this entire ordeal some wild dream only possible in his head when he slept. But no. You were real. You were real and there with a sleepy smile and half closed eyes as he nuzzled your cheek. His wife. His queen. His love.

“What are your plans today?” He asked, kissing your cheek while waiting for a response.

“I’m supposed to attend a council meeting this afternoon.”

Barely a full day after your wedding and there was work to do. Wonwoo dreaded when his duties as prince started.

“Is it important?” 

Your fingers, pruned from so long in the water, stroked his neck. “Depends what you’re offering.”

“There’s a shop in the Middle District with really good waffles…”

“I like waffles.” You yawned against his throat, nuzzling further into the warmth there. “If we go now we can make it through the Noble’s Quarter before everyone wakes up.”

“How do you plan to get back?”

“It’s our honeymoon. We can worry about that later.”

You never made it to the Middle District. You and Wonwoo barely made it to the bed before your limbs tangled together and you both fell asleep.

The next time Wonwoo woke you up it was to eat the waffles he asked Han to bring from the kitchen. 

Four and a half years later…

The afternoon sun warmed your face, the breeze pleasant and floral. A cold winter finally broke into a pleasant spring, the gardens full of sounds; birds, cicada frogs, palace guests.

You soaked it all in with your eyes closed.

Wonwoo continued to read, hand resting on your stomach, thumb rubbing soothing circles. “The rabbit hopped further into the forest until he came to an open space. There was a woman busy picking lettuce. She put everything she picked into her apron. She looked up and saw the rabbit with his basket.”

“I don’t think it can hear you,” you smile.

He took one of your hands and nipped at your fingers. “Nesa’s favorite story is the frog one I read all the time when you were pregnant with her.”

“I think that has more to do with the fact you and Mingyu taught her how to catch frogs the second she could leave the nursery.”

“Because she loves frogs.”

“Whatever you say dear.”

Wonwoo opened the book back to his page and started reading again. He didn’t get far before Sami chased your daughter through the gardens as she raced to you and Wonwoo.

“Papa! Papa!”

Even though she called for her father, Nesa buried her face in the skirt of your dress. You bent to kiss her hair; overly difficult given the baby growing inside you and its habit of crushing your bladder and lungs simultaneously. Nesa jumped into Wonwoo’s lap once you let her go.

“Why do you smell like smoke?” he asked.

Sami swallowed. “The princess set the bushes on fire.”

You and Wonwoo froze. “She did what?”

“She was playing with the gardener's son and…set it on fire.”

“She set it on fire?”

“Yes.”

Nesa tugged at your sleeve. “Can I go play with Jun now?”

Wonwoo looked positively thrilled. Spirits help you.

“Yes, but no more fires.”

“But—“ she argued. She looked so much like her father.

“No buts,” Wonwoo warned. She listened to him better than you anyway. “Not until Papa teaches you how to control it.”

“Fine,” Nesa huffed, squirming out of his hold and took off towards the archway, Sami on her trail.

“We’ve raised an arsonist.”

“She got your temper,” Wonwoo jabbed, dropping a kiss to your cheekbone.

“I’ll show you a temper!”

He snickered into your hair, turning you to face him for a quick peck. “You’re six months pregnant.”

“And I can still freeze you to a wall,” you sniffed. It was difficult to be mad with how doting he was, fatherhood fitting him perfectly. 

“She’s gonna set her nursery on fire the next time we try to feed her peas.”

“She’ll probably set it on fire for fun just like her father.”

The turtle ducks splashed in the pond a few feet away.

“Your grandmother told me about how you threw Mingyu in the pond when you were little.”

“First of all, Mingyu deserved it.” You snagged a cookie from the tray. “Someone else might end up in the pond if he keeps bothering me.”

You’d take revenge later, in the privacy of your shared room. He looked better in icy cuffs than he did completely naked.

“I wonder where Nesa got her temper from,” Wonwoo pretended to ponder. His hand still hadn’t left your swollen belly.

“Shut up, hothead. Finish the story.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Iya’s favorite animal turned out to be rabbits. Wonwoo took his win without an ounce of humbleness.

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If you hadn’t respected your grandmother so much you would’ve killed her for throwing you to the wolves. It was the inevitable end to the week's festivities, finding a husband. But so far, none the men brought forth sparked any reaction other than disdain and disgust. 

You hated it. You hated them. You hated the entire ordeal of selling yourself off like a prized calf at auction, batting your eyelashes and giggling at unfunny jokes.

But it was your duty. Whether you liked it or not, it had to be done.

That fact repeated in your mind like a mantra as another suitor fumbled through a story about his opinions on nothing.

However, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the men in front of you, all you could think about was the one standing off to the side behind you.

Wonwoo hadn’t mentioned the books you gifted him the previous night; one as an apology for Maoki’s childish behavior, the other as a thank you for taking you to the Lower Block. There wasn’t much time for conversation between the fiasco of the talent show and the early morning appointment with your seamstress he was forced to wait outside of. Maybe after lunch you would have the opportunity. Your copy of The Pearls of Drak was better off with someone who could appreciate it, but the Poems of Stars was a spontaneous choice to throw in. 

That particular copy stayed by your side since childhood, filled with smudged annotations, tear stains and bleeding ink from spilled drinks. You knew the verses by heart yet returned back to it again and again. For some reason, you wanted Wonwoo to read it. More than just the poems, you wanted him to read your copy; see if he found the same meanings you did. If he shed tears at “The Moon’s Widow”, or laughed at the old man in “The Constable”, or if he found “The Belle Dame” as beautiful as you did.

“And Capital City is fine, but the country is where children should be raised. Where they can run and play and learn in the great outdoors. I love the outdoors. Earth beneath your feet…”

Your grandmother meant for it to be an informal tea party. Chatting with multiple men at a time; a convenient way to ease into the courting process considering there were so many suitors to consider, to call upon them individually would take weeks. But the men talked over one another or attempted to subtly block each other from your view so you were forced to receive them one at a time at a table in the corner, a long queue spiraling through the chamber.

You assured it moved rather swiftly.

Duke Zul continued to droll on about his disdain for the city and how the countryside was far superior in all merits. He was old. Too old. As if he was around to witness the mountains form and the oceans rise.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” You smiled; the perfect picture of a demure princess. “But we seem to be out of time.”

The duke blinked, shocked by the interruption. He probably forgot you were there considering you hadn’t spoken since he sat down. It was a nice break from repeating the same set of sentences over and over again like a parrot but it didn’t help the throbbing vein in your temple.

Unfortunately, the moment Zul abandoned his seat, someone else stepped forward to take it.

“Your Highness.” Jao bowed so deeply the hem of his coat swept against the marble floor. A ridiculous shade of green that would only look fashionable on him.

“My Lord,” you greeted in return. “Please sit.”

Flopping into the chair, Jao nibbled on the almond cookies spread on the table before scanning your figure boldly. “Forgive me for being so bold but, you look ravishing this morning.”

“How presumptuous,” you snickered. Jao sang like a dying bird but he always managed to make you laugh.

He picked a piece of lint off his shoulder. “I must say, I’m unimpressed by my competition. They all seem so…plain.”

Jao’s attendance was more for appearances than anything else. He was the spare and could do as he pleased, who he pleased; those who pleased him were decidedly male. Everyone knew it. But his family was powerful and no one made a peep when he demanded time with an old friend.

“Yes, it takes a man of character to wear orange trousers and a green shirt.” You hid your smile in a teacup. 

“I’ll have you know this is the style in the Earth Kingdom.”

“I was unaware the Earth Kingdom was so fond of circus clowns.”

Jao’s brow furrowed. “My brother has been on the throne for ten years and you didn’t know?”

“My deepest apologies.” You dunked one of the cookies in your own tea and bit off the corner.

“I’ll forgive you,” Jao said. “Now, how about we go down to the sages and get this entire ordeal over with? This hard to get game is starting to lose its charm.”

“I—“ you started.

“Your Highness,” Wonwoo interrupted, eyes trained suspiciously on Jao. “You have a meeting.”

“I do?” you asked, eyes wide. There were plenty of meetings happening but none required your presence. Your grandmother made sure of it.

Wonwoo nodded slowly, dragging his eyes away from Jao and setting them on you. “Yes. Now. With Minister Vasa.”

There was no Minister Vasa at the palace this week. There was no Minister Vasa in the history of the kingdom. What was Wonwoo doing?

“Right…Minister Vasa. Sorry, Jao, I must go.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Jao nodded before leaning close, “When you're done with your guard, send him my way.”

“You are horrible,” you whispered.

“Horribly in love,” Jao sighed, snagging another cookie before skittering off.

The line of men groaned in objection as you passed but you ignored every single one of them, cooing empty pleasing words to soothe them. There were more important things to take care of. Like whatever game Wonwoo was playing at.

Out in the hallway, you rounded on him. “Is there a reason I have a meeting with Minister Vasa all of a sudden?”

He had the sense to look embarrassed and a little guilty; ears red, throating bobbing as he swallowed. You tried to object when he grabbed your elbow and steered you further down the hallway away from the room filled with eavesdropping lordlings.

Around the next corner, he finally released you and spoke. “You looked uncomfortable. I was trying to help.”

You blinked in shock. You hadn’t thought about Wonwoo paying attention during your meetings even with him a few feet away. The thoughts you had about his opinions were limited to his amusement at seeing you paraded around, the comments from royals with barely enough brain cells to function. You hadn’t considered he was watching you during the entire ordeal. 

You took a step closer, backing him towards the wall. “You think Jao made me uncomfortable?”

“He asked you to elope with him!” Wonwoo argued.

“Jao is a harmless flirt.” Another step forward, and Wonwoo’s back hit the wall. He didn’t seem to notice.

Wonwoo grumbled. “He didn’t seem harmless.”

You stepped closer, leaving barely an inch of space between you. “You don’t think I could handle Jao myself?”

Wonwoo seemed to finally realize the position he was in, eyes widening when your hands rested on his chest. “You’re right, he probably needed someone to protect him from you.”

“Oh, I’m just sooo terrifying, aren’t I?” Your eyes locked on his mouth. 

He dipped his head, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “I heard you have a nasty habit of freezing men to walls.”

“Baseless rumors,” you said breathlessly, barely an inch away from kissing him.

Down the corridor, shoes shuffled along the floor, knocking you from whatever trace possessed you to kiss Wonwoo in the hallway where anyone could see. 

They were distant but gaining swiftly. Afraid it was someone coming to speak with you about how rude it was to leave your own party early, you searched for somewhere – anywhere – to hide. Luckily, you recognized the woodland tapestry on the far wall and pulled it aside, shoving Wonwoo behind it before joining him. He tried to speak but you silenced him with a finger against his mouth.

“Why are we in the dark?” Wonwoo whispered, lips dragging against your finger. The words tickled across your skin where you pressed together.

You shushed him, ears perked as the footsteps drew closer.

There wasn’t much space in the cubby to begin with and paired with his broad frame, you were close enough his chest brushed against yours with each inhale. Wonwoo eyes widening when you leaned a little closer; pressed a little firmer, crowded him against the wall with nowhere to retreat once more. He was so warm and solid, completely unlike your element. Intoxicating. Even with someone right outside, you couldn’t resist the urge to touch him. Your hand slid down to his chest and rested on the waistband of his pants.

No one expected you anywhere; you could easily raise on your toes to kiss him and nobody would have a clue; just like you wanted to before being interrupted by reality. You could drown in him, completely swept away while people shuffled right past the tapestry none the wiser. Only swollen lips and ruffled clothing to give you away.

He must have thought the same, eyes darting towards your mouth before he leaned closer…

Only to tuck his face in the crook of your neck and trace the curve with the tip of his nose.

Your fingers curled in his shirt as his breath puffed against your skin, a flare of goosebumps raising with a shiver. The click of footsteps passed and disappeared, but you remained tangled together in the dark.

“Thank you for the books, by the way,” Wonwoo whispered. 

“Did you have a chance to read some of it?”

“A few pages,” he sighed, hands flexed on the dip of your waist.

“Sorry Maoki ruined your copy.” Your own arms snaked around his shoulders, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck until Wonwoo shuddered. This close, you could feel the blood rushing in his veins, the throb of his pulse beating heavily. Like that night in the forest. “What did you think?”

“The Belle Dame seemed familiar…”

“How so?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, a new pair of footsteps echoed down the corridor. 

“I swear, I thought she went this way,” a squeaky male voice said.

You jolted back, the space between you and Wonwoo growing as you listened intently to the conversation clearly not meant for your ears. His leg still pressed between your legs and your hands bunched in his shirt but whatever haze filled the space evaporated.

Another deeper voice responded, “And what are you planning to do when you find her? Demand a private audience? I doubt she even knows your name.”

“I’ll have you know we spent yesterday afternoon in the gardens together. We would have had a lovely time if it wasn’t for her guard dog getting in the way.”

Maoki.

“She’s absolutely vile,” a new voice chimed. They all stopped right in front of the curtain where you were tangled with your guard dog in an incredibly compromising position. “If she wasn’t in line for the crown then no one would put up with it!”

“Even with the crown, she’s not worth the trouble,” said the deeper voice.

“I don’t know…” said Maoki. “There’s some satisfaction in taming a woman as head strong as her.”

“If she doesn’t bite your head off first.”

“Women like her just need the right man.”

You didn’t need to be tamed by anyone, let alone someone like Maoki. You moved to reveal yourself and remind him of that fact but Wonwoo stopped you with his hand on your elbow, the heat of his palm warming through the delicate fabric of your dress, his thumb rubbing small circles.

“I’ve never met such a beautiful woman with such an ugly disposition.”

When they moved on, you stayed rooted in place, flushed with embarrassment. It would have been one thing to hear their opinions of you alone but in the company of someone else the insults made you flush. Did Wonwoo agree? Were you the vile woman people only put up with because of the glittering crown atop your head? Because it was his job? Was his only motivation the fact you held his life in your hand?

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked.

The security of the dark, a safe place where dangerous thoughts existed in excess, vanished. He was too close. To you, to the truth, to melting the careful mask of regal indifference crafted from years in the court. You weren’t able to keep it in place as firmly with Wonwoo around and it was terrifying being so close without the armor of a crown. You were practically naked in front of him, only able to hide because he couldn’t see the pinch of your mouth.

You swallowed the embarrassment like thick medicine, healing the parts of you softened and hardening them back as they were. “I’m fine. I’ve heard worse.” 

Not wanting to look at him, you left the alcove and strode down the corridor back towards your apartment. You’d make up some excuse about needing your seamstress before the ball tonight or taking a nap to fill the afternoon, find something to read. Or maybe hide away in the bath until your fingers pruned. Whatever it took to avoid the pity in his eyes.

You didn’t need any excuse. The dress you originally planned to wear needed finishing alterations. Your seamstress Maya pinned and unpinned the hem of your gown dozens of times, hiding her exhaustion with your indecision under her breath. It was beautiful. The red fabric poured down your figure, clinging to every curve and the open back revealed just enough skin. No jewels or embroidery, just simple silk. Something felt missing but after the fifteenth attempt, you and Maya called a truce.

“A little bird told me you left your party early this afternoon,” Han said as she pinned a comb in your hair. 

Sami dabbed perfume around your neck. “With Won—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You watched in the mirror as they exchanged a look over your head, thankful the other servants had dismissed themselves for the night already.

Han grabbed a delicate gold necklace from the stand on the counter and clasped it around your neck. “You like him.”

“Of course I do.”

It felt horrible and freeing to admit it. You spent the entire tea party imagining if it was him sitting across from you and not the others. Just you two. Alone. Talking about books, and his friends in the city. Exchanging stories from childhood. You wanted to know exactly how he got the silver scar at his brow. Share the time you and Mingyu tried to scale the garden walls and ended up with matching scars of your own on the center of your palm.

You liked Wonwoo so much, maybe even felt even more than that; but your feelings didn’t matter. He was who he was and you were what you were. 

Han plucked another pin from the velvet tray and pressed it into your hair. “Then what’s stopping you? You’re the princess. If you can’t be with whoever you love, then what hope is there for the rest of us.”

“I—“ you began to argue, eyes closing. The vein in your temple throbbed. 

“If you really wanted to be with him, you’d go to your grandmother and tell her,” Sami said.

“What if he doesn’t want me?”

Han looked to Sami with disbelief. “She’s joking.”

“The tournament is the day after tomorrow.”

“I know,” you said, focusing on your hands in your lap.

“Are you sure you don’t—”

“I want to get this over with. In silence. If you don’t mind.”

They wrapped up their work as you asked and left with a gentle squeeze on your shoulders. With no more reasonable delays, you exited your room and found Wonwoo sitting on one of the couches reading a book in a crisp black uniform.

He looked up as you approached, wide eyes skirting over your body. The book tumbled out of his hand and onto the cushion as he rose to his feet.

“You look—” he started softly.

Not wanting to hear whatever he had to say, you cut him off. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

The ballroom was packed. You smiled at the crowd even though your heart squeezed, mind replaying over what Wonwoo was going to say over and over again but the crowd inside the ballroom swallowed you whole; an easy distraction. Men and women introduced and reintroduced themselves; like packs of wolves in glittering gowns and fine suits, teeth gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. In the chaos, you forced yourself to concentrate on the years of court manners ingrained in your bones. You were an untouchable island and you would survive tonight and the day after. And when the week was done, you’d be married and whatever Wonwoo planned to say would be forgotten.

Music and laughter bounced off the walls, the dance floor a sea of jewels and colorful silks as couples twirled around. From the ceiling acrobats tangled themselves in silk ropes, flipping and twisting, unraveling just to climb back up and start again. Actors stood on pedestals, skin painted and wearing masks to resemble different spirits; they froze in place as partiers circled them. Through the massive windows of the far wall, you watched hundreds of lanterns float into the sky from the gardens.

One of your favorite festivals and the usual cheer felt impenetrable. If you couldn’t enjoy it, then you’d distract yourself from feeling anything at all.

You danced with every man who asked, successfully avoiding the edge of the dance floor where he waited next to your grandmother. The music swelled and faded over and over until their faces blurred together as you were led straight into the next song. You knew Wonwoo was watching. He was always watching, but you avoided his gaze even though it prickled across your skin. 

When the current dance ended, you curtsied to Kabaar who walked away with a disillusioned frown; most of the men you danced with did. What they anticipated, you didn’t know. You tried to smile and nod and flatter but insincerity rang clear.

The orchestra took a break, leaving you to hover awkwardly on the floor without a partner. Your feet were sore and your head hurt but there were few options to hide without the cover of music and dancing. A walk in the garden? Perfect place to be alone in the dark with Wonwoo. Sneak out the servant's entrance? Your grandmother would kill you. You could douse yourself in wine again but that left you back in your room with Wonwoo. The only option was to take your place on the dias next and rest your feet until another song started.

“How many more are left?” 

“Just two,” Lin said. “Gyan and Char.”

A servant walked passed with a tray of wine and your fingers itched to tip the entire thing over, give yourself a reason to leave early. You snagged a glass and downed it quickly before grabbing another. Your eyes rolled. “Wonderful.”

Lin opened her mouth, no doubt to chastise you for the vulgar display but Gyan materialized as if summoned, offering his hand. 

You turned, a smile plastered back in place. The wine already flushed through your veins. You finished your second cup before taking his hand and spinning back out to the floor.

The rosy glow from alcohol served little relief. Gyan jerked you around the floor, narrowly missing your feet with each step. “You are a lovely dancer, Your Highness. Like a deer.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, teeth clashing together as he pulled you roughly; completely ridiculous. In your tipsy haze, your self control slipped from its tight leash; on instinct, you looked at Wonwoo for the first time tonight. His eyes widened in shock before he schooled his features back to neutral. Then, when you didn’t rush to look away, he offered an awkward smile.

The first time you looked directly at him all night and it was just as dangerous as you knew it would be. 

Luckily, the music changed for the last dance and someone else appeared out of the crowd to distract you.

“Your Highness,” Char announced with a deep bow. “Please honor me with a dance.”

“Of course.” 

Char danced far better than Gyan. He whirled you around the dance floor with graceful expertise, none of the stomping of Gyan or loud chatter the other suitors maintained. The orchestra swelled to fill the silence lingering between you and Char as your mind wandered thousands of miles away.

You stumbled when Char broke the delicate silence. “Have you ever been in love, Your Highness?”

Over Char’s shoulder, you looked straight into a pair of brown eyes again. He seemed prepared this time. The room faded under Wonwoo’s gaze full of unspoken things, full of all the moments someone or something interrupted. A jolt rocketed down your spine. Did he like to dance? Did he know any of the court dances? His bending was graceful enough, he’d probably pick them up quick enough if you showed him. Would he hold you like Char now? Hands proper, high on your bare back just below your shoulder blades. Or would he keep you closer than necessary? Hold you close while spinning across the dance floor. And if he did, when you looked up and met his eyes, would he kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world?

Char spun you away, breaking your staring contest. With your back to Wonwoo, you looked up at the man guiding you across the floor as he spoke again. They weren’t the rich brown you’d grown fond of. They were green and full of pity.

“With your blessing, I intend to compete in the tournament tomorrow and if I win I hope we could grow fond of each other. I think we both understand what it's like to be torn between our duty and our desires.”

“I—” you stuttered. “I would be honored, my lord.”

“I believe we must do the best for our nation, even if our hearts lie elsewhere.” he said, his voice soft, as though the words were almost for himself as much as for you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, voice quivering. Was it that obvious? 

Char looked unconvinced. “Then I apologize for misreading the situation.”

The waltz continued.

Wonwoo stood at attention next to the raised dais where your grandmother sat, her ladies floating around with their maddening laughter as you spun across the dance floor gracefully. Maoki had squeezed himself into the first dance, stumbling about the dance floor, struggling to keep up with your strides. It would have been comical if Wonwoo wasn’t focused on finding a way to kill him.

If she wasn’t in line for the crown then no one would put up with it!

The crown on your head was the least alluring thing about you. If anything, it was the most frustrating part and the entire reason Wonwoo warred inside his mind at all times about his feelings. 

There was so much more, so much you didn’t show the others but Wonwoo witnessed behind closed doors. You were funny, charming, stubborn, infuriating…

He couldn’t figure it out. One moment you were dragging him into dark corners, pressing yourself against him, trying to kiss him. And he wanted to do it. He would have if Maoki didn’t interrupt, spewing nonsense. But then the next you scurried away and ignored his existence. 

It was exasperating. The worst part is he didn’t know if he wanted you to stop. He wanted you. He wanted you in the garden when your lips curled into a frown as you read. He wanted you in the training pavilion when you launched a torrent of water at his head and laughed. He wanted you when you threatened a noble with a smile on your face. He wanted all of it; you in all your forms. He wanted you all the time. But he couldn’t have any of it. 

By the end of the week you’d have a husband and Wonwoo would be back in the barracks with nothing but memories to haunt him.

As every man but him took a turn guiding you across the floor, Wonwoo grew more restless. There were no knowing looks or silent jokes. There was nothing. You were completely absorbed in whatever they said, smiling and nodding along. But he saw the strain at the corner of your eyes, the muscles in your neck taunt and not from perfect posture.

And then, during Gyan’s turn, when he marched you around like the man had frogs in his pants, you looked at him and Wonwoo barely managed to catch himself from racing across the room and whisking you away to demand an explanation. He stayed rooted in place, watching as the music dissolved and the Queen announced her departure. You didn’t wait before leaving as well, striding out the open doors with Wonwoo struggling to follow. 

Servants trailed with him but Wonwoo ignored them. He spent enough nights listening to the prolonged routine of their fussing, this was no different. He fell into line next to them, eyes glued to the dip of your spine visible from the open back of your dress. His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to reach out and feel the heat of your skin against his palms.

Through the door from the sitting room to your bedchamber, he watched from the corner of his eye as they removed your outer robes and jewels before ushering you into the bathroom out of sight. The few servants left prepared your bed before funneling out until Wonwoo was left in stifling solitude with the weight of his feelings. 

He had no business being jealous and yet it squeezed his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. Seeing you bite your tongue pained him. Wonwoo wanted to hear whatever scathing comment bubbled on your tongue, sharing it like a secret only between the two of you. To see that careful wrangled control slip, unravel a shred of your facade to confirm you were still beneath it all. 

Most all, he wanted to wash away that lingering sadness clouding your eyes.

He couldn’t bear the thought of you upset, willing to do anything to fix it. 

He knew one way; a completely selfish, ludacris way to make you feel better. He paced his room like a caged lion as he turned the idea over and over; weighing the benefits and drawbacks. No matter how foolish it would be, the same point reared its head: you’d like it. It was stupid but before he could think more about it he was standing outside your door, hand raised to knock. Just as his knuckles met the hard wood, it shot open. 

“Oh!” you gasped, jumping back in surprise. “I was gonna call a servant for tea. Did you need something?”

Water from your bath clung to your hair, dampening the fabric of your nightgown and making the white fabric sheer around your collarbone. 

“No, I—” His tongue felt too big for his mouth. Like a little boy again gathering the courage to speak to his schoolyard crush, Wonwoo shuffled on his feet as you stared at him confused.

“You what?”

“Do you still have those servant clothes?”

There was a long pause before you nodded.

“Have you ever been to the festival in the city?”

You shook your head no. More beads dropped from your hair with the motion, sparking in the low candlelight as they fell before blotting your top. Wonwoo did not look. 

You weren’t wearing bindings beneath your nightgown. It made perfect sense but Wonwoo never thought about it before. He tried hard not to now.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

Whatever consequences conjured in his mind about sneaking you out of the palace dissolved as a beaming smile took over your face. He couldn’t help but smile too.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but we have to hurry or we’ll miss it.”

You whipped around, beeling for the gigantic bed in the center of your room. Wonwoo instinctively followed. You pulled a pile from beneath the mattress before looking back at him.

“Turn around,” you commanded.

Wonwoo did as asked but even though he couldn’t see you undress, he heard everything. The woosh of your nightgown hitting the floor, the sound of you shimmying the pants up your legs. Two times you’d been completely naked only a few feet from him and it drove him mad. He forced his body to remember why he was doing this; even if he wanted to crowd you down into the mattress and show you all the ways he was better. More giving, more devoted. Wonwoo was going to give you something those lordlings and princes never could: a real taste of the city.

It was easier to navigate the tunnels now that Wonwoo knew where they led. Emerald Park laid deserted and with the celebration at the palace still raging on, the Noble District was still. Wonwoo thanked the spirits for his months of mundane patrols, easily avoiding the footpath of guards as you followed close behind. This late at night most windows were dark and the ones that weren’t, framed people still partying and drinking, completely unaware of anyone sneaking past their door. 

It didn’t take long to reach Merchant’s Row where the streets were packed with more people than usual, most wearing colorful spirit masks and costumes for the occasion; giant paper puppets of spirits floated through the air, lanterns of all colors burning brightly as fireworks exploded overhead, the moon a bright backdrop to dazzling displays.

You fell into step next to Wonwoo, fingers tangled together to keep close. He tried not to think too much about it. 

“Why are they wearing masks?” you asked.

“Tradition.”

Wonwoo snagged two half masks from a merchant stall, a dragon for himself and a parrot for you. Your eyes crinkled as he pulled it over your head. This close he could count every single eyelash. He had the sudden urge to kiss you. Not the wanting kisses he’d come to expect with you. He wanted to kiss you, hold your hand, and just… be. Was he imagining you leaning closer or was he? Your eyes dropped to his mouth and then—

Someone barreled into him before he figured it out.

“Spirits, I’m so sorry!” the man slurred. “Wait, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo turned to find Soonyoung staring at him with glazed eyes and ruddy cheeks stark against a green unagi mask pushed up on his head. Clearly, the man had started partying early like every year. Wonwoo smelled the reek of fire whisky and there was smudged lipstick hugging his collar. 

“I thought you were working at the palace?”

“Yeah, they, uhhh” Wonwoo panicked. “They gave me the night off.”

But Soonyoung didn’t care for his explanation, he was staring past Wonwoo and staring directly at you with wide eyes.

“Wait, you’re that girl from the warehouse,” he shook a hand in your direction, the bottle of firewhisky clutched in it spilling over. “I’m a huge fan.”

You looked unsure, passing a weary glance to Wonwoo and stepping closer. “Um, thank you?” 

“No, thank you. I haven’t seen Wonwoo get his ass handed to him like that since we were kids.”

“Well,” you smirked. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Do you work at the palace too?”

Wonwoo felt you go rigid. “Something like that.”

Soonyoung leaned conspiratorially towards Wonwoo, whispering loud enough even people across the street could hear through the clamor,“I like her. Here, have this.” 

He forced the half-drank bottle into your hand. Wonwoo watched as you took a confident swing and immediately regretted it.

“This is disgusting!” you sputtered. 

“The more you drink the better it tastes! Nice to meet you!” Soonyoung called before the crowd swept him away.

With his friend gone, you turned back to Wonwoo, face twisted in disgust. “People drink this?” 

Wonwoo snatched the bottle and took a long swing, eyes set on yours. Your face glowed, sweat from every pore thanks to the heat of packed bodies; your lips still wet from the whiskey as your eyes trained on his tongue licking away a rogue drop at the corner of his mouth. 

It was you who broke first this time.

Wading further down the street, you staunchly ignored Wonwoo and combed through the wares of vendors. Talismans and scrolls of all kinds promising a safe winter crowded most tables, others presented jewelry and pottery, spices and cakes. The buzz of whiskey numbs his brain but not his skin. Your hand is still tangled with his as you tug him along. Wonwoo realized he doesn’t really mind shopping, at least with you. You don’t buy anything but you ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over everything like you couldn’t have it all if you really wanted it.

The apothecary’s stall proved to be trouble.

Colorful vials and jars lined the table like neat rows of soldiers in different colors, all with various contents; some ingredients and some finished products. Most were unrecognizable to Wonwoo but he knew the one in your hand well enough.

“That’s not for you,” Wonwoo said as he plucked the vial from your hand and placed it back down, ears burning.

You immediately picked it back up and cradled it to your chest with a furious scowl. “How do you know?”

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” he said harshly. “Planning on seducing someone?”

You don’t need to, he thought. The bottle of fire whiskey in his hand became a dead weight instantly. He took about swig to distract himself as you scrambled to put the vial back.

“For a couple such as yourselves, I’d recommend this one.” The merchant, an old woman with deep wrinkles and silver eyes, lifted a similar vial filled with an inky blue liquid. “Just the thing to help the seed take.”

“The seed?”

Wonwoo pulled you away before she answered. He couldn’t do anything about the images in his head, they were there whether he liked it or not. You, him, back in your bed; so much naked skin; planted between your legs for hours until you both gasped for air. Where he could learn what every hitch of breath or tiny whimper meant, play with you until you're nothing but a soaked mess for him to clean up with his tongue. And only when you begged him for it would Wonwoo give you his cock. Again and again until the inferno inside him ceased.

You wouldn’t beg, though. He knows you wouldn’t because he wouldn’t be able to drag it out long enough that you’d have to. He’d give you everything, cave before you even thought to ask. 

“You don’t need to be such a brute,” you huffed and shrugged his hold off your arm. 

“She’s trying to sell you fertility potions!”

“So! It’s not like I was planning to buy it!” 

In Wonwoo’s head, he imagined the night much differently. Loose flashes of you laughing, gleefully enjoying the chaos of the holiday while he stood back and soaked the sound in. This was anything but that. He didn’t want to argue with you. He especially didn’t want to endure a hard on because of an argument with you; a fact he would never admit even under torture but there was something about the way the air crackled around you when you got fired up. But that hadn’t been the point of sneaking you out of the ivory palace walls.

He wanted a night where you weren’t a princess, and he wasn’t your guard; a night where you were just you, and the insurmountable mountain of reasons his fondness was dangerous didn’t threaten to drown him like a tsunami. Apparently the spirits didn’t agree.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you,” you sniffed. “If you show me where to get one of those things.”

Wonwoo followed your gaze to a group of kids stuffing their face with fried dough covered in powdered sugar. Luckily, he knew exactly where to get one but the velvet purple tent of a fortune teller lured you in.

You tugged at his sleeve, dragging him closer. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“She’s a hack,” Wonwoo snorted.

“What’d you say?” an older voice called through the opening. A woman came out of the darkness, hunched over with knobby fingers and thick dark hair with bolts of gray.

Wonwoo began to corral you away. “Nothing, ma’am. Have a good night.”

“Wait!” she croaked. Her face might have been aged but her silver eyes crackled with energy. “Madam Via sees the unseen, hears the unheard. Step inside and I can find the answers you seek. Or, perhaps, a glimpse of the future?”

Wonwoo shot a glance at your hopeful face before scrubbing a hand down his own and asking, “How much?”

“Three gold coins for her, five for you. I don’t like smart mouths.”

He kept his next remarks under his breath while handing over the coins.

“Come this way dear, I can tell you’re the more pleasant one.” Madam Via returned back inside the tent, leaving you and Wonwoo alone.

“Well, at least she has one thing right,” you snarked.

“I doubt she knows what happened in that greenhouse.”

You stuck your tongue out at him before disappearing behind the curtain.

Wonwoo didn’t like the idea of you going in alone. What if the fortune teller recognized you? As unlikely as it was, the idea made him uncomfortable. But he remembered that you were you and if anyone could handle themselves it was you. Your bite was far worse than your bark and Wonwoo trusted you to handle yourself should need arise. 

It hadn’t stopped him from trying to eavesdrop. 

But the thick purple walls of the tent trapped any noise from the inside. He rocked back and forth on his toes, the chatter of passersby filling the silence alongside the chimes of glass beads strung up around the tent. Having grown comfortable standing at your side at all times, to have you suddenly disappear felt like half of him was absent.

He counted the number of beads in the curtain covering the entrance, traced the golden embroidery of the tent walls until his eyes returned to their starting point. He finished off the bottle of fire whiskey and the weight on his shoulders lightened as his thoughts turned hazy. 

You barrelled out of the tent with an impatient tuff before masking your features. Whatever Madam Via told you, you hadn’t liked it. Your mask was gone and Wonwoo pulled his off too, suddenly feeling silly.

“What did she tell you?”

“Don’t make unnecessary journeys. Oh, and to avoid Komodo Shrimp for the next few days.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose. “Why?”

“Probably because they aren’t in season. I don’t know!” Your eyes rolled. “She said to send you in.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “I’m not going in there.”

“Awww, big scary Wonwoo afraid of a little old lady,” you teased.

He sighed, knowing there was no way to get out of it. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay right here.” He ducked inside.

“Welcome,” Madam Via greeted from her seat at a round table covered with a dark cloth, its surface cluttered with cards and brilliantly colored crystals he’d never seen before; a clear crystal ball sat in the center.

The smell of incense strangled the air, smoke curling towards the ceiling. Inside the tent, low candles illuminated the space in a warm glow, the walls covered in tapestries of different colors and images. It made him feel claustrophobic.

“Sit down, you’re letting all the cold air in.”

Wonwoo mumbled an apology and sat on a cushion across from her.

Madam Via produced a ceramic teapot and pushed it into his hands. “Warm this.”

He didn’t think to ask how she knew he was a firebender. The teapot was cool in his hands but Wonwoo slowly pushed heat into it until steam started curling from the spout. The old woman used the time to spoon dried leaves out of different containers into matching cups and set them in front of him.

“Now, pour the tea.”

“I thought I was here to get my fortune read, not for a tea ceremony,” he quipped.

“I like your girlfriend so I’ll let that one slide but next stupid question and I’ll put a curse on you.” She shook a knobby finger at him. “Now drink your tea.”

Wonwoo wanted to argue but thought better of it. The tea tasted earthy, notes of jasmine and rose bloomed on his taste buds. He finished it quickly, barely allowing it to linger on his tongue before swallowing the last mouthful.

Madam Via snatched the cup from his hands and examined the contents. “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

“What?” Wonwoo tried looking into the cup.

“Reading the leaves is an art. Look at the sides of the cup, what do you see?”

The leaves stuck in odd patterns around the rim and walls of the porcelain. The top formed a clear ring but the sides seemed like nothing more than tangled threads. At the bottom the sediment from the leaves resembled a deformed blob. None of it meant much to him.

“I see…a dirty tea cup.”

“What that girl sees in you,” the fortune teller mumbled under her breath. “Look, there. The leaves form a heart at the bottom.”

“That's a blob,” he said.

This time she swatted him with a fan.

“Fine! It’s a heart. What's the big deal?”

Madan Via swatted him again before explaining. “Hearts mean love and relationships. With the knots on the sides it could be conflict. A crossroads…maybe. A path split in two, but you are caught at the intersection, unable to move in either direction. Any recent trouble with your girlfriend?”

Wonwoo’s ears burned red and he mumbled, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You love her, she clearly loves you. I’m not sure it’s as complicated as you think.”

“I didn’t say anything about lov—“

“It radiates off you both like the stench of the western harbor. A blind man could see it.” Madam Via rolled her eyes like the idea exhausted her. “I won’t pretend to understand whatever reasons you have for not being with her but what I do understand is you don’t meet a woman like her every century.”

Wonwoo knew she was right but he didn't feel like giving her the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Now, see how some of the leaves form a circle at the rim? It indicates a happy union is on the horizon. So maybe if you had any sense you’d find a way to make things work.”

Yeah, right. Anger burned in his chest. This lady clearly prayed on the hopeless, selling promises of futures with no possibility of coming true. A happy union? In what world would he be allowed to marry you? He’d have better luck airbending than changing the way the world worked. Maybe if you both ran away and started over, became the couple that existed here in the Middle District away from expectations. But how long would that last? You’d never agree anyway; and he didn’t want you to. If he had you, it’d be nothing less than all of you. Crown included.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, the future’s a mess. You’ll figure it out, or you won’t. Kiss the pretty girl you love or don’t.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Wonwoo shook his head, shifting on the cushion. “Are we done here?”

Madam Via’s eyes rolled for the umpteenth time and took a sip of her own suddenly steaming tea. “She asked about you.”

That kept Wonwoo in place. “She did?”

“Of course she did.”

“Whatd she ask?”

“I’m not a charity,” she sniffed. “For two more gold I’ll tell you.”

Crazy old snit. Wonwoo rolled to his feet and ducked out of the tent without looking back. 

Of course, you were gone. It really shouldn’t surprise him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he seethed. He shouldn’t have been that angry; not after spotting you barely a few steps away watching the other festival goers dance but Madam Via’s words wove a cord of frustration deep inside him and it boiled into hot vexation. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he clenched it shut.

You took one look at his face and laughed. “Who ruffled your feathers?”

“You were supposed to wait outside the tent.”

“I’m maybe ten feet away. Is it that big of a deal?”

“What if you got lost? Do you know how to get home?”

“I’d figure it out.”

“Before or after getting in trouble with the guards? Again.” Wonwoo burst out, unable to contain himself.

To your credit, you didn’t stomp your foot like he knew you’d like to. Instead, you iced him out completely and focused back on the people skipping around the plaza to the rapid drumbeat.

Happy union my ass.

He hadn’t enjoyed watching from the sidelines as other men led you around the room earlier. He hated it. Especially when Gyan stomped you around the room like an idiot. He hated that he took so much notice of the fact you pointedly refused to look at him until that point, and then again when Char spun you around the dance floor. As much as he didn’t want to dance now, Wonwoo knew this might be the only chance he’d get.

“Do you… do you want to dance?”

“Are you going to yell at me again?”

Wonwoo shook his head and proceeded to forget everything but relief as you took his hand. The bad mood woven into his veins by the fortune teller fell away, flooded with content to replace it. He spun you around and around to the beat of the drums, time fading until it was just you two and the world outside blurred. This was what he wanted; to be the only two people in the world. Together. 

The next dance involved lots of spins and lifts. As with most peasant dances, partners passed around before coming back and each time you turned away from him, Wonwoo’s heart zapped with something as you came back, beaming from ear to ear. 

He decided he’d dance until his legs stopped working if that smile was a reward.

The music swelled, drums and claps increasing in tempo. On the next pass, Wonwoo snagged you around the waist and pulled you into his chest. Whether it was the fire whiskey or all the spinning that made him dizzy, Wonwoo didn’t know; but it didn’t matter when he bent down and kissed your cheek – a fleeting touch of lips against your skin. It wasn’t anything grand, but as soon as he pulled back, you both froze and his face flushed.

“I—” he faltered. There was no explanation strong enough for why he did it. 

Then you rolled up on your toes and kissed him with unmistakable certainty, right there on the outskirts of the makeshift dance floor, not a care who saw. Your mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, your hands wrapped around his neck keeping him close like he’d consider pushing you away. Wonwoo pulled you closer to banish the thought. He didn’t want the heat of pressing you into a wall where no one could see. He wanted the comfort of kissing you out in the open, like any other man in love was allowed to.

Love.

A deafen clap of thunder roared from the sky forced you two apart. Wonwoo jerked back and blinked wildly, pulling you closer in confusion. Something wet hit his face and then again and again as the clouds opened and released thick curtains of rain that soaked you both to the bone in seconds.

Wonwoo grabbed your hand and pulled you through the streets, back towards the palace. The roads cleared thanks to the storm sending everyone inside for cover. He dodged around corners but no one paid attention to a pair of young people running home from a typhoon.

The Noble’s Quarter was dark and Wonwoo knew the guards on patrol would be waiting out the storm at the watch station, waiting for the change in shifts given the late hour. He barreled through the streets with you in tow. Lightning illuminated the streets through the thick sheets of rain but it was muscle memory that guided him back to the statue in the park. He pried open the inconspicuous opening and descended inside, waiting at the bottom for you to join.

One second he was watching you descend the ladder, next he was on his back, cushioning your fall.

“Wonwoo! Are you okay?”

He coughed from your elbow plowed into his stomach.. “What the hell—“

You scrambled up right, sitting on his stomach as your hands caressed his skin, looking for damage. “I’m so sorry! I saw a guard and—“

The rain had matted your hair down to your skull, clung to your lips. He swallowed. Rain rushed outside, a dull hum to match the ring in his ears. You drew water from his hair and he felt the sore spot at the back of his head warmed as you healed the worst of the damage. Wonwoo tried very hard to keep his hands on your waist and not slide them up, pull you down, and kiss you breathless. Your hands traveled down his neck, ghosted over his jaw and made him shiver.

There was a shout from above and you sat up straight, eyes wide.

“We need to get back.”

You both took off down the tunnels, feet pounding against the ground and breath panting loudly. Finally, the familiar passage outside your office rushed up. But you took a last minute turn to a new door Wonwoo had never seen before.

It led to your bedroom.

You waltzed ahead, shrugging off your tunic and stripping to your bindings without a care. Wonwoo had seen you in far less but it didn’t make the roar in his ears any less demanding despite the pain in his back demanding attention. You tossed your clothes back under your bed and turned to him, guiding him to sit while he tried to stare at anything other than the press of your breasts against the silk.

“Does this hurt?” you asked, fingers prodding the tender flesh of his back.

He’d certainly bruise come morning, some lingering soreness if he was lucky. Wonwoo couldn’t find much reason to care about it. Fatigue already blurred the corners of his vision. It’d been such a long night already. If his options were staying awake to find a healer down in the infirmary or going to bed and dealing with the consequences later, he’d trudge down to his room and see to it first thing in the morning. He’d tally it along with all the other wounds he found himself collecting in your presence. “I’m fine.”

“Let me help.”

In the end it was the softness in your eyes that made him acquiesce. In the dark, with the candles and lamps extinguished, the worries that kept him grounded floated away. The rain pounding against the windows lulled his heart. He always slept best when it rained. You disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a pitcher of water.

“Take your shirt off.”

Wonwoo spurted, suddenly completely awake. That was out of the question.

“I can’t heal you through your clothes,” you huffed. 

He swallowed again, remembering the last time you healed him in the field. But this time would be different. He’d let you heal him, maybe kiss you again, and then he’d go to his room down the hall – alone – and pretend it was your hands touching him until he came and fell asleep.

He tugged the soaked shirt over head and closed his eyes.

If he was of sound mind, then the severity of the situation would have him rushing to flee. Alone with the princess, in her bed, with his shirt off and your own clothes crumbled on the floor painted a damning picture. But only the cool relief of the healing water dragged across his spine registered; knotted muscles relaxed, the sting of raw skin dulled and then disappeared under the gentle passes. His eyes closed before leaning forward to give you as much room as possible to continue the hypnotizing pattern.

“Better?” 

You snickered at Wonwoo’s grunt of approval before continuing.

“You’re so tense.” Your palms dug into his shoulders with more force. No longer were they hovering over the skin, now the water provided a wet glide as you massaged the knotted muscles into submission.  

A groan of relief clawed its way out before Wonwoo could swallow it back down. “I’m in charge of a princess that refuses to stay out of trouble.”

“She sounds awful.”

Wonwoo peered over his shoulder to find you focused on healing a cut on his upper arm, a pleased smile spread across your face as the skin knit together in a faint pink line. “She’s not so bad.”

His early arousal stirred just out of reach, stoked into an ember from the fan of your breath against the short hairs at the base of his skull. If he leaned back he would feel your breasts pressed against him, your lips in reach. He wanted to, he really really wanted to. He almost did when you pressed your mouth to his shoulder.

But you pulled away and the cold that rushed into the empty space brought the tiredness he’d ignored all night forward. He could feel the sun just below the horizon; dawn wouldn’t be far off, promising another full day as minder to your meetings and tea parties, listening to entitled nobles fawn over themselves.

Exhausted, Wonwoo slumped forward.

He’d move to the sitting room. All he needed was a minute to find the energy…

You woke shivering. Stripped down to nothing but your under bindings, you tugged the covers tighter, soaking in the pleasant warmth radiating across your back; pushing back into it for more. The sun barely peeked over the horizon, the corners of your room stained dark.

A warm breeze tickled across your shoulder. Odd. Perhaps you forgot to shut the window last night before bed.

It's then you registered a weight across your waist and a rhythmic press against your back in time with that comforting gust of hot, humid air. Consciousness flooded in with each grating moment; until you were awake enough to slap behind you, making contact with something fuzzy and hard. 

A masculine grunt responded, accompanied by a tight squeeze of the arm across your waist, dragging you closer.

Wonwoo.

He nuzzled further into your neck with a sleepy sigh, shifting his leg until his knee pressed between your own.

You considered slapping him again; however, the weariness of last night is too much to overcome for another swing. The consequences of him spending a night in your bed seemed so small next to the relief of his body heat against the cold. Wasn’t his job to protect you? Your greatest threat since he came to the palace was only the lingering cold you felt when he wasn’t around.

You remembered what the fortune teller said last night. 

“Oh dear, Temperance in reverse,” the woman tsk’ed. Her tent was thick with smoky incense, candles burning low to cast the room in shadow.

You eyed the upside down illustration. “What does it mean?”

“Imbalance, struggle, strife. Being pulled in a hundred different directions. There’s conflict between what you want and what you think you can have.”

You can say that again, you thought.

“Maybe something to do with the young man outside?” she continued with an inquisitive brow.

You refused to respond and pulled another card from the spread, laying it next to the first one. A couple wrapped in a warm embrace stared back at you.

“Well, there you have it.”

“Have what exactly?”

“The Lovers. You might be used to making decisions from the head, but you must embrace what your heart wants. A powerful relationship can make the conflict Temperance warns of clearer. Or maybe the relationship itself is causing you confusion.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“And why not? He’s easy enough on the eyes despite the attitude.”

“It's not…there’s nothing going on between us. He wouldn’t—and I can’t—“ you stammered.

“What does your heart want? Think about that and pick the next card.”

Your fingers brushed over the deck, itching to pinch one of the gilded edges and pull it out. You picked the bottom card and laid it down on the table.

“Oh, this is just too easy. The Two of Cups. Embrace your heart. Even if it seems impossible, maybe you’re making things overly complicated.”

It is impossible! you wanted to scream.

As if Madam Via heard your thoughts, her face softened a fraction. “Listen, life is too short not to take advantage of good things. You say it’s complicated? Maybe it is.”

“So what do I do?”

“You do what every person who has ever been in love does: enjoy it while you have it and worry about the future later.”

Worry about the future later…

Maybe the crazy old woman was right. For once in your life, you wanted to enjoy things for what they were in the moment. Like in the warehouse, or against the wall at the market, in the field, in the bath, in the alcove yesterday. Like last night when you danced with Wonwoo and no one cared, not a single soul paid you two attention and he kissed you so infuriatingly close to your mouth before acting like he hadn’t. And when you kissed him after because if he was going to kiss you he needed to do it right. You wanted simple and what you had right now was as simple as it got. Wonwoo asleep in your bed. Wonwoo’s arm tight around your waist. Wonwoo’s cock heavy against the curve of your ass.

There wasn’t anything more simple than stretching against the length of his body, pleased that the tantalizing firmness greeted you with a stretch of his own. Your thighs squeezed on instinct.

You’d seen plenty of men shirtless, through training or tutoring sessions with healers. But seeing men half dressed and feeling the defined muscles so intimately against your back were very different. 

You rolled over to face him, buried your nose against the soft divot of his collarbone and breathed. Sleep tried to claim you again with the gentle rise and fall of his chest but Wonwoo didn’t let you. He was too tempting. Smooth warm skin, soft stomach your nails trace over mindlessly, his own slow breath ghosting against your forehead. You wanted to wrap yourself in him like a blanket and spend the day tucked away. Simple.

The hand around your waist tightened again as you brushed a kiss against his throat. You wanted to kiss him again like last night, when no one was around to offer reminders of how bad an idea it was. Somehow, you knew if you spoke the entire illusion would shatter. All those expectations would rush in; the reasons you shouldn’t want Wonwoo the infuriating way you did – can’t want him. So you didn’t speak. Instead, you feathered more teasing kisses across his shoulder, up his neck, and then a final one on his lips.

Take advantage of the good things. Like how Wonwoo’s hand skated up your back, the pleased groan in response to your nails digging into the crease of his hip bone.

He kissed back, slowly at first, dry chaste passes of his mouth across yours. The kind of kisses you could wake up to every morning without complaint; the inferno of previous encounters completely dormant. You didn’t think about anything else, only the easy way he rolled on top of you for the sake of kissing; tangled your fingers between his own and pressed you further into the mattress. The morning stubble on his chin scratched teasingly along your skin. Your hands acted on their own, cascading down his sides and across his back. The band of his pants brushed the tips of your fingers and you pushed beneath to find more intoxicating heat his body provides.

It was like that for a long time, returning the lazy kisses on your cheeks and chin, nose following the curve of your jaw. But then your legs spread to better accommodate his weight and he was there. The contact stoked you out of sleepy bliss, igniting desperate want. Your hips couldn’t help but curl up slowly, rocking against the length of him pressed right against your bindings.

A million reasons not to do it clouded the air but there was one good reason: you wanted to. And Wonwoo obviously wanted to. What you two did away from prying eyes was a secret you could live with if it meant you got to have at least some part of him.

Wonwoo rolled agonizingly slow between your legs. Each thrust of his sheathed cock pushed tiny mewls from your lips as his trailed further down your neck. He kissed everything he could; the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, the hollow of your throat, down to the seam of your bindings. All while his hands warmed your skin.

He tugged at the knot of your bindings until the silk strips slackened; tracing every newly bare strip of skin with his tongue as you arched and pushed more of your chest into his mouth. 

“Please,” you sighed. You free hand knotted in his hair to give a deliberate tug. “Please.”

Each kiss across your chest and stomach only pushed you closer to the edge of insanity. You coaxed a hand between your legs for the smallest bit of relief, but Wonwoo was already there. He tugged at the small knot keeping the fabric secure until they loosened and then there was nothing between your bodies; you sprawled beneath him completely naked and exposed in the cold sunlight. He mouthed across your thighs, stubble leaving you raw for his tongue to sooth away.

This must be exactly what the maids giggled about over your head. It didn’t seem so funny now that you had it for yourself; the need for him urging you to claw out of your own skin. 

You whined and squirmed under the first tender push of his fingers, parting you for his tongue that followed soon after. The sensation was wholly new and unlike anything you’d felt before. Nothing, not the things you’ve done to yourself or the memorable way Wonwoo fingered you the first time compared to the sweltering glide of his tongue.

“Wonu,” you gasped.

It must be the validation he needed because timid licks became heavy laps across your clit and sucked with enough force you jolted from the bed. Your hips rolled into the intoxicating friction. If you were frustrated before by the incomparable satisfaction of his fingers then this is a whole new level you’d never find again; completely addicting.

He flicked his tongue, fingers curved deep along your inner walls. You were so wet. So embarrassingly wet you’d blush about it if you had the brain power to even consider caring. Wonwoo made sure you didn’t, heady grunts of his own muffled in your core as his hips flexed down into the mattress.

You writhed for it, sweat beading along your skin as instinct took over and every twist of his tongue was met with a grind of your hips along it. Another drag of his mouth and your jaw clenched, legs kicking in an attempt to scramble away but Wonwoo pulled you to him — further down the sheets  — and smothered himself between your legs; rewarding your dry moan with the stretch of another finger. Your eyes went fuzzy but you keep them open because he’s not wearing a shirt and the muscles roping along his spine are too mouth watering to look away.

Fingers itching for something to ground onto, your nails raked through his hair, over his bare shoulders until faint pink lines criss-crossed over pale skin. He moaned again, humped the bed in search for his own pleasure and you sat up on your elbows to watch. 

It's all too much. The first wave drowned you. A squeeze along his fingers, and your hips rocketed off the bed; chasing the rough suck of his lips on your clit. You chanted his name, or something like it, until branded your tongue.

And then it was over. The comedown fizzled through your veins, muscles pliant as they twitched with aftershocks. You didn't — couldn’t — think of anything other than the dull throb and the terrible emptiness inside you as he removed his hand.

Wonwoo peppered more kisses along your stomach and thighs, slow and lingering as you caught your breath.

You pulled at his hair until his face was level enough to kiss, your tongue snaking along his lower lip until he opened his mouth, the taste of yourself evident but not undeterred. He kissed back eagerly as if suddenly you both were more awake. 

Your hand curled into his pants and swallowed a hiss of pleasure as you stroked his cock. You wondered how he would taste, if there was enough time before your maids arrived to kneel between his legs and make him shake and beg like you had; if he’d take the time to teach you exactly how to make him come and let you practice again and again until you were both satisfied.

A prod at his chest with your free hand had him rolling over, lap the perfect seat for you to command him however you saw fit. You kept him locked in a kiss, panting and whining into it as two sets of hands forced his pants down his thighs. He sucked a nipple between his teeth, rougher than before, like he couldn’t get enough of anything. You weren’t any better; jerking him off, grinding against the flexed muscles of his thigh. Wonwoo’s hand cupped yours around his cock, squeezing your grip until it tightened like a vice and fucked himself through it; his stomach collapsed from a sharp gasp.

He was so close, a vision of messy black hair and flushed cheeks beneath you, chest glowing with sweat. An arch of your hips was all it’d take for him to be inside you, filling you, driving away that aching need he’d left since that first night you kissed him. You dove down and lapped at the tender dip of his neck to distract from the foolish idea. 

Your name cracked from his lips, voice low and almost pleading. You were back beneath him in a flash; hands fisted in the sheets as he parted your legs and hooked them around his waist. His cock dug into the softness of your stomach before he moved lower, until the tip nudged your entrance, just breaching as you shifted up to search for more and then…

A sharp rapt at the door shattered the silence, followed by Han’s voice. “Your Highness!”

Wonwoo popped up over you, eyes wide in shock like he hadn’t realized exactly what you both were doing. You shoved him off and rolled from the bed.

“Put your clothes on!” you whispered, words like acid on your tongue. Truly, the last thing you wanted him to do was redress and face the day. You’d much prefer stripping the rest of him and spending the entire day in bed with Wonwoo between your thighs.

However, want as you might, having him in your room was threat enough to both of your reputations, nevermind that you spent the night with him; let him touch without a single protest in ways no one ever had. Almost let him have everything.

Lunging for your robe, you managed to cover enough to avoid suspicion of having Wonwoo in your room. Alone.

You answered the door with too much enthusiasm.

“Your Highness! Wonwoo is—in here?” Han peered over your shoulder to where Wonwoo stood by the window – thankfully – fully dressed. Only the mess of his hair gave inkling to what happened only moments prior, your core still tingled with after effects.

“Yes! Yes, he was helping me with a, um…”

“A bird,” Wonwoo nodded.

“Yes, I slept with the windows open last night to watch the fireworks and woke up to a bird…”

“A big bird!”

“Huge!” you exclaim. “And Wonwoo helped me…get the bird out.”

“Hopefully the poor thing is alright,” Han tutted, approaching the window to look for the imaginary bird she’d never find. 

“It flew right out, perfectly fine,” he rushed to explain.

Han’s shoulders sagged an inch in relief. Apparently, that was enough for her to drop the entire issue of Wonwoo being in your room. “Would Your Majesty like for me to draw a bath? Such stress so early will not serve you well for your meetings.”

“That would be wonderful, Han.”

Wonwoo stood cemented in place as Han disappeared into the bathroom. 

“Shouldn’t you…”

“Right, yeah,” he nodded before striding out the door.

The door to your suite clicked shut with Wonwoo’s departure. Immediately you collapsed into the bed once again, batting away the comforting warmth still lingering from entangled bodies. The pillow you landed face first in still smells like Wonwoo. Like the rain from last night, the powdery smoke that always lingered around him, and the cling of soap. Without thought, you inhaled until your lungs stretched uncomfortably.

So preoccupied, you didn’t hear the pitter patter of Han’s slippers until she stopped at the foot of the bed with a wicked gleam in her eye..

“It was huge, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Out in the seating room, Wonwoo forces his thoughts to the most unpleasant ones he can think of. Hoshi’s sweaty socks, the burn of a thousand fire push ups, freezing showers in the barracks…

He knew it was a bad idea. You had to know it was a bad idea too.

Mingyu lent against the fair wall outside Wonwoo’s room, shaking his head.

“A bird? Really?”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo growled.

“I don’t even need earthbending to tell you're a shit liar. You’re lucky I sent Han in there and not the more chatty servants.”

Wonwoo’s face burned. “I’m not lying.”

“Your shirt is on backwards.”

Wonwoo whipped his head down. His shirt was buttoned and proper but the fact he looked is incriminating enough.

“Whatever you two are not doing, I recommend really not doing it because she’s going to marry one of those princes and next time it might not be someone as gullible as Han who catches you.”

“We weren—”

“Those councilmen are looking for any reason to challenge the line of succession. If it looks like YN can’t control herself – like she let a man below her station compromise her – then her marriage prospects go down. Way down. As in not getting married.”

Mingyu was right. Sneaking you out last night was a risk. A risk he’d been willing to take at the time but a risk nonetheless. But what happened this morning was dangerous, to you, to him. If Han hadn’t interrupted, what would be happening right now? Would you be welcoming Wonwoo between your legs? He’d gotten carried away, forgotten the expectations you carried and why feeling you around him was a horrible idea. And if Han hadn’t knocked? If she stumbled in like a servant was meant to, then what? 

Would she simply have turned a blind eye to her sovereign welcoming her guard between her legs like an eager lover? 

“The Queen invited you for an audience this morning. Wash up and get dressed. You stink.”

“Did she say why?”

“Yeah, I ask her to explain every decision she makes.” Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Be ready in an hour. One of the maids will get you.”

“What about—”

“I’m on babysitting duty today.”

Mingyu left his room and Wonwoo contemplated drowning himself in the bath. 

If the Queen knew what he’d been up to then she had endless ways to ruin his life. His mind wandered wild through the possibilities as he washed up. It seemed no matter how hard he scrubbed his face, your scent and taste clung to his senses; the sweet sound of your voice gasping his name, the wet heat of you on his cock. 

Even the degenerate acts of the morning hadn’t outweighed the comfort of waking up with you in his arms, the gentle kisses across his chest that nearly convinced him he was still dreaming. Anything after that was beyond the realm of reality as far as he was concerned. 

Whatever the Queen knew, or suspected, Wonwoo decided what he had with you was worth the risk. He enjoyed the time he was privileged enough to be granted, the short opportunity to love you and be your friend. Now he’d have to pay up. And if the cost was his life, so be it.

Wonwoo liked rules. The palace was full of them, some more exasperating than others but they kept him from losing his mind trying to figure out how to act. 

Rule one: under no circumstances was it okay to touch the princess.

Rule two: do not speak unless spoken to.

Wonwoo at least had a chance to abide by the second one. Maybe it would earn him clemency for breaking the first one so recklessly.

“Captain Jeon, sit please.”

The Queen perched on a cushion in the center of the Azure Chamber. Candles and lanterns kept the space warm from the storm raging against the windows, fighting to break in. Even the deafening thunder is nothing compared to the crash of his pulse flooding his ears. There were no servants along the walls or bustling back from the table to serve the queen. She was utterly alone and Wonwoo remembered how you cornered Galin the same way.

Spirits help him.

Wonwoo sunk to the cushion across from her, stomach sinking deeper into the floor. He folded his hands in his lap, head bowed. It was easier to maintain bravado in the privacy of his room. In front of her, he felt like a scolded child waiting for judgment. 

“Tea?”

He nodded mutely. 

She gave a dry laugh. Through his eyelashes, Wonwoo saw her knobby hands spoon tea leaves into the porcelain cups as she talked. “You can speak, I won’t take your head for it.”

Not detecting a trap yet, Wonwoo answered. “Yes, Your Majesty. Tea would be great.”

Steam curled above the cups, a thin curtain between the two sides of the table. The queen seemed to appraise him and without realizing, Wonwoo unfurled his hunched shoulders and sat up straighter. 

“What do you think of my granddaughter?”

This is it. A clear trap so she could banish him. 

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the tea cup in his hands. “She will be a great queen, Your Majesty.”

“I have no doubt about that but what do you think about her? Not as queen but as a person.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’ve had dozens of men sit in front of me and wax poetically about my granddaughter and her virtues. She’s beautiful, she’s intelligent, she’s patient—” 

Wonwoo snorted and immediately flushed with panic.

“You disagree?”

“I think…” He risked looking up at her and found her lips quirked in amusement. It gave him the confidence to speak freely. “If that’s all they can compliment then they haven’t been paying good enough attention.”

“Now why do you say that?”

“She's beautiful but she’s as stubborn as a camel elephant. She is intelligent but she’s aggravating.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t listen. Her patience only lasts until the tip of her nose.”

The queen stared at him, surprised by his honesty.

“What else do you notice about my granddaughter?” 

“She’s smart, caring. People respect her. Maybe not the nobles but the staff do. Even in the,” he trailed off. The queen already knew about the nights out of the palace but he felt like those moments - when his friends sung your praises after the fight in the warehouse, when the fortune teller grew fond of you immediately - those were private. 

“Even where, Captain Jeon?” She leveled him with an expectant look. “When you snuck her out of the palace and into the city?”

He could have denied it; spun some story about how he had no idea the princess snuck out right under his nose, no knowledge of the maze of secret passageways beneath the palace. Wonwoo sat up straighter and decided if he was going to go down, he’d do it with dignity. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She returned the porcelain tea cup in her hand to the lacquered tray, peering at Wonwoo with a smirk. “At least you have honor. Tell me, how did the citizens react to their princess in disguise.” 

“The people in the Middle Districts didn’t know her but they liked her. She earned their respect without them knowing who she was.” He didn’t admit he liked you the moment he laid eyes on you, before he knew your name, or how fierce of a competitor you were; he liked you more after. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“I heard she did quite the number on you in the warehouse as well.”

“I—” Wonwoo silenced himself by taking a too large gulp of very hot tea.

“Captain Jeon, do you think anything happens in the palace that I don’t know about? I believe you witnessed her meeting with Galin.”

“You knew he was stealing and did nothing?”

“Who do you suppose whispered in his ear to approach my granddaughter about a new investment? You’ve met the man. He’s not bright enough to tie his own pants let alone run a scheme. It is better to keep the arrogant ones on a shorter leash than the rest.”

“So you set her up?”

“My granddaughter is stubborn and refuses to take the easiest path. Some lessons must be learned the hard way. She needed to learn not to take their word at face value.”

“But why?”

“The royal court is like a poisonous garden, some of the most unassuming plants are the deadliest. She needed to be tested and I believe she would have failed if not for you.” 

He sat speechless.

“Finicky thing, water. It isn’t unyielding like earth, but it’s stubborn in its own way. You can’t keep it where it doesn’t want to be. No matter how you try to contain it, it will find a way around any obstacle. Water can be patient, slowly cutting the path it wants over years and years. But it can also be unwilling and destructive.” She looked to the dark windows, lightning reflecting off the panes. “My granddaughter needed to learn when to act and when to lay in wait for the right moment. At this very moment the nobles are in a frenzy because Galin’s meeting with her. They don’t know what was discussed but they know his grandson no longer resides in the temples his family has learned firebending at for generations. They know his daughters have returned to his estate in the countryside. Her actions have rippled across the court.”

“You don’t approve?”

“Oh, quite the contrary. I think she did a wonderful job taking advantage of that old idiot. There are a few nobles that respect her already. The ones that don’t are close friends of Galin’s and are afraid of her.” 

“Good.”

“And you love her.”

“Yes, but—“ Wonwoo choked. There was honesty and there was stupidity and he feared he crossed the narrow line. “I didn’t mean…”

“When I was her age, I loved a man who was considered below my station. A guard who I became friends with as a young woman in the palace. There were hundreds of reasons not to pursue him and I was too afraid to pursue what I really wanted. I was afraid the nobles would not respect or fear me if I chose love over my duty. It’s one of the greatest regrets of my life.”

“But the king?” Wonwoo trailed off. The queens face grew fond, as if remembering the late king.

“I learned to love my husband and we grew very fond of each other,” she admitted. “But I don’t want my granddaughter to grow fond of a man when she has the opportunity to avoid the mistakes I made and marry a man she loves.”

She was talking about him. You loved him. Or, at least, the Queen thought so. And she was on his side. The queen, the one person with the power to make things work, wanted him to be with you. It didn’t feel real.

For a moment Wonwoo thought you wouldn’t appreciate being left out of such an important conversation. If he wanted to be with you, marry you, then the first person he should’ve spoken with about it was you. He imagined the anger, the hopefully empty threats to refuse given he didn’t ask you if you even wanted to marry him. But he also realized it was a good thing he didn’t because if he knew you wanted him completely – entirely – and there wasn’t a way to give you that, he’d never live with the disappointment.

“Tell me what to do.”

The queen pressed her hands to the table. There was a loose family resemblance but it was obvious in the raise of her chin and the stubborn tilt of her brow  “The tournament for her hand starts tomorrow. In all honesty, I find it barbaric but the nobles respect tradition even if it’s a formality.”

Wonwoo knew about the tournament vaguely. Eligible royalty would declare themselves interested by competing, the winner married you. But Wonwoo wasn’t royal.  “I can’t compete. I don’t have a title. I don’t have anything.”

“Nowhere in the rules does it require competitors to be titled. I believe, in my most recent reading this morning, it said competitors only need to be in good standing with the crown. Since I am the crown and I like you, I’d say that’ll do the trick. Besides, you don’t need to prove you are as good as those brats. You need to be better and based on Aiko’s appraisal of you, I’m confident you’ll succeed.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you love my granddaughter?”

Wonwoo answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Enough to marry her? To commit your life not just to her but to the kingdom?”

Then, Wonwoo hesitated. He knew he loved you, that he wanted to be with you. But did he want to rule a country? Live his life on display for the world to see? With a silver crown balanced precariously on his head?

“It’s a lot to ask. And it won’t be easy. Many of the nobles will object, even ones who I’d consider friends. But I’m quite fond of change. And you might be what this kingdom needs.”

Was he ready to help rule a country? He didn’t have the education or the money the others had; didn’t possess the connections from generations of high society. What could Wonwoo offer you that no other man could? What could he give you beyond himself?

But he remembered those times you sought him out in a crowd. When you drowned in the weight of responsibilities, he managed to pull you back above the surface. When you rushed ahead, he pulled you back. And when you didn't let anyone see the true you - you trusted Wonwoo to see and understand.

The only thing Wonwoo could give you was a sanctuary to ease your burdens.

Maybe that was enough.

“I’ll do it.”

You hid in the farthest edges of the garden, where the bristle grew in thick unkempt patches and the hedges nearly reached the sky. The worst of the rain had given way to a steady hammering, clouds thick enough the moon couldn’t shine through. Your shoes were ruined; caked with mud. The saturated ground refused to swallow more water, puddles the size of swimming pools spanning from one side of your escape to the other. Wind whipped cheeks burned from each stinging drop of rain and the warm tears you couldn’t stop. It was dull knowledge at the back of your consciousness. 

Your heart laid heaving at your feet, half of it left in your room with Wonwoo. The other half still sitting in your chest ached for him too. Neither part belonged to you and you don’t know when it happened; when Wonwoo stole your heart and left you missing him even when he was within arms reach.

Or maybe you gave it to him that first night you snuck down to the warehouses and watched match after match for hours, only paying attention when Wonwoo was at the center of it. Or in the market when he saved you and didn’t have to. In the forest when he treated you like an equal. Maybe you chipped a small part away for him each time and now there was nothing left; nothing except for the lonely void for him to fill in ways he never could. 

But it didn’t matter. What you felt wasn’t important, whatever it was couldn’t come true. There wasn’t a magic wand to wave and fix everything that was broken. What could you do? What could you do when there was no way to be with the only person you ever wanted?

You wanted to find Wonwoo and demand an answer; shake him until all the pieces fell into place. 

However, your grandmother swept him into a meeting and kept him all day. None of the servants would tell you where they were and even when you discovered their location the guards wouldn’t budge. You found yourself pacing like a caged tiger, back and forth in front of the doors; hours dragged on and no one emerged so the gardens offered a respite from the anxiety. 

Dread filled its place.

You felt the rain all around. Everything it touched dully tickled at your senses. That’s why you weren’t surprised when Wonwoo finally approached after spending fifteen minutes watching you from the archway. 

“You’ll catch your death out here.”

“How horrible,” you said. You kept your eyes glued to the pond at your feet, how the surface rippled wildly from the rain. “What do you want?”

Wonwoo appeared in front of you, kneeling in the mud at your feet, only an arms reach away and yet so much further. “I’m seeking an audience with Your Highness.”

“Didn’t you spend all day with my grandmother?” You didn’t even attempt to hide the hurt in your tone. The last day of your freedom and he spent it locked away from you. 

“Unfortunately, she couldn’t answer my question.” He’s soaked to the bone, the crisp lines of his uniforms limp from the weight of water. You’re at home in a storm like these. Wonwoo looked woefully out of place.

You swallowed thickly. “And what is your dilemma?”

“I'm in love with the queen-to-be. And I'm inquiring if she loves me too.”

The tears came hot and fast; you tried to blink them back but it was useless. Your head tilted back slightly, inviting more rain to sting on your face;  they mixed with the tears washing down your face.

“I…” Your voice cracked. Wonwoo leveled his gaze with your own, searching for something. The mist of the rain blurred the space between you. “Of course I do and try as I might, I can’t figure a way out of it.”

An eternity passed in silence. Wonwoo watched you, the pathetic sight of red rimmed eyes and soaked clothes. He didn’t shy away from the ugliness you felt. He leaned closer, his hand trembling slightly as he grabbed yours, as if testing the waters. You let him.

“What if I had a way?”

“Wonwoo…” you sighed and looked away. You couldn’t bear to look at the desperate longing in his eyes; or how it mirrored your own heart.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He moved closer,  hands resting on your thighs. You felt everything through your dress. His hands are almost unbearably hot even in the cold rain.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re saying goodbye.”

The rain fell harder. Deafening. You exploded with it, solemn tears turning into angry ones. “Isn’t that what we’re doing? After tomorrow this ends.” You motioned towards your hands. “I won’t have you standing next to me if I can’t have all of you. I won’t. I won’t do it.”

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security the past week. Dealing with reality in the daylight and having him in the shadows and the quiet dark of the night. You fooled yourself to believe it was enough, at least for the time. But you had to marry and your husband – no matter how forgiving – would never tolerate your closeness with Wonwoo; you wouldn’t be in their shoes. 

Wonwoo didn’t let you hide from him. He cupped your face, forced you to look at him but you shut your eyes and refused; pressed his forehead to yours so his breath ghosted over your lips with his next words. “If you could marry me, would you?” 

You wanted to scream It doesn’t matter! It didn’t matter that you loved him. It didn’t matter if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You couldn’t have him. The world worked in absolutes and this was one of them.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s impossible. Why even—”

“I didn’t ask what was impossible. I asked if you’d marry me.”

You didn’t hesitate to finally open your eyes and meet his brown ones. “Yes.”

“Then trust me,” he asked softly. Begging.

“What exactly did my grandmother say to you?”

Wonwoo blanched, blinking as if he hadn’t expected you to ask. 

“I—We have a plan. You’re not going to like it…”

“But?”

“She told me not to tell you.”

You exploded from the bench, crowding down on Wonwoo.  “Are you serious? You expect me to blindly follow whatever plan you made with her and I don’t even get to know what it is”

“It has to be done a certain way.” Wonwoo stood and swept you into his arms. There was no one out here to see, no one stupid enough to catch an early death. Besides you two. “Just trust me. Please?”

You sank into him, savoring the comforting warmth he brought with him everywhere. You traced the hem of his collar with soft fingers. You did trust him. It wasn’t natural for you to put your faith in many people but time and time again Wonwoo showed you he was a good man. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work I’m going to drown you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he whispered into your hair. “Now will you come inside? It’s disgusting out here.”

Back in the seclusion of your apartment, you pinned Wonwoo to the couch, commanded his lap and sucked the rain from his lips. You lingered, sunk into the warmth of his hands tenderly tracing your back; the same comfort of a warm summer breeze softly brushing your skin even in the chill of damp clothes. You both lingered there. Tucked away from the rest of the palace, an unspoken promise lingering in the air. You kissed him until the aching in your chest dulled.

You didn’t know what the morning would bring but you trusted Wonwoo. 

And that was enough.

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If you hadn’t respected your grandmother so much you would’ve killed her for throwing you to the wolves. It was the inevitable end to the week's festivities, finding a husband. But so far, none the men brought forth sparked any reaction other than disdain and disgust. 

You hated it. You hated them. You hated the entire ordeal of selling yourself off like a prized calf at auction, batting your eyelashes and giggling at unfunny jokes.

But it was your duty. Whether you liked it or not, it had to be done.

That fact repeated in your mind like a mantra as another suitor fumbled through a story about his opinions on nothing.

However, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the men in front of you, all you could think about was the one standing off to the side behind you.

Wonwoo hadn’t mentioned the books you gifted him the previous night; one as an apology for Maoki’s childish behavior, the other as a thank you for taking you to the Lower Block. There wasn’t much time for conversation between the fiasco of the talent show and the early morning appointment with your seamstress he was forced to wait outside of. Maybe after lunch you would have the opportunity. Your copy of The Pearls of Drak was better off with someone who could appreciate it, but the Poems of Stars was a spontaneous choice to throw in. 

That particular copy stayed by your side since childhood, filled with smudged annotations, tear stains and bleeding ink from spilled drinks. You knew the verses by heart yet returned back to it again and again. For some reason, you wanted Wonwoo to read it. More than just the poems, you wanted him to read your copy; see if he found the same meanings you did. If he shed tears at “The Moon’s Widow”, or laughed at the old man in “The Constable”, or if he found “The Belle Dame” as beautiful as you did.

“And Capital City is fine, but the country is where children should be raised. Where they can run and play and learn in the great outdoors. I love the outdoors. Earth beneath your feet…”

Your grandmother meant for it to be an informal tea party. Chatting with multiple men at a time; a convenient way to ease into the courting process considering there were so many suitors to consider, to call upon them individually would take weeks. But the men talked over one another or attempted to subtly block each other from your view so you were forced to receive them one at a time at a table in the corner, a long queue spiraling through the chamber.

You assured it moved rather swiftly.

Duke Zul continued to droll on about his disdain for the city and how the countryside was far superior in all merits. He was old. Too old. As if he was around to witness the mountains form and the oceans rise.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” You smiled; the perfect picture of a demure princess. “But we seem to be out of time.”

The duke blinked, shocked by the interruption. He probably forgot you were there considering you hadn’t spoken since he sat down. It was a nice break from repeating the same set of sentences over and over again like a parrot but it didn’t help the throbbing vein in your temple.

Unfortunately, the moment Zul abandoned his seat, someone else stepped forward to take it.

“Your Highness.” Jao bowed so deeply the hem of his coat swept against the marble floor. A ridiculous shade of green that would only look fashionable on him.

“My Lord,” you greeted in return. “Please sit.”

Flopping into the chair, Jao nibbled on the almond cookies spread on the table before scanning your figure boldly. “Forgive me for being so bold but, you look ravishing this morning.”

“How presumptuous,” you snickered. Jao sang like a dying bird but he always managed to make you laugh.

He picked a piece of lint off his shoulder. “I must say, I’m unimpressed by my competition. They all seem so…plain.”

Jao’s attendance was more for appearances than anything else. He was the spare and could do as he pleased, who he pleased; those who pleased him were decidedly male. Everyone knew it. But his family was powerful and no one made a peep when he demanded time with an old friend.

“Yes, it takes a man of character to wear orange trousers and a green shirt.” You hid your smile in a teacup. 

“I’ll have you know this is the style in the Earth Kingdom.”

“I was unaware the Earth Kingdom was so fond of circus clowns.”

Jao’s brow furrowed. “My brother has been on the throne for ten years and you didn’t know?”

“My deepest apologies.” You dunked one of the cookies in your own tea and bit off the corner.

“I’ll forgive you,” Jao said. “Now, how about we go down to the sages and get this entire ordeal over with? This hard to get game is starting to lose its charm.”

“I—“ you started.

“Your Highness,” Wonwoo interrupted, eyes trained suspiciously on Jao. “You have a meeting.”

“I do?” you asked, eyes wide. There were plenty of meetings happening but none required your presence. Your grandmother made sure of it.

Wonwoo nodded slowly, dragging his eyes away from Jao and setting them on you. “Yes. Now. With Minister Vasa.”

There was no Minister Vasa at the palace this week. There was no Minister Vasa in the history of the kingdom. What was Wonwoo doing?

“Right…Minister Vasa. Sorry, Jao, I must go.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Jao nodded before leaning close, “When you're done with your guard, send him my way.”

“You are horrible,” you whispered.

“Horribly in love,” Jao sighed, snagging another cookie before skittering off.

The line of men groaned in objection as you passed but you ignored every single one of them, cooing empty pleasing words to soothe them. There were more important things to take care of. Like whatever game Wonwoo was playing at.

Out in the hallway, you rounded on him. “Is there a reason I have a meeting with Minister Vasa all of a sudden?”

He had the sense to look embarrassed and a little guilty; ears red, throating bobbing as he swallowed. You tried to object when he grabbed your elbow and steered you further down the hallway away from the room filled with eavesdropping lordlings.

Around the next corner, he finally released you and spoke. “You looked uncomfortable. I was trying to help.”

You blinked in shock. You hadn’t thought about Wonwoo paying attention during your meetings even with him a few feet away. The thoughts you had about his opinions were limited to his amusement at seeing you paraded around, the comments from royals with barely enough brain cells to function. You hadn’t considered he was watching you during the entire ordeal. 

You took a step closer, backing him towards the wall. “You think Jao made me uncomfortable?”

“He asked you to elope with him!” Wonwoo argued.

“Jao is a harmless flirt.” Another step forward, and Wonwoo’s back hit the wall. He didn’t seem to notice.

Wonwoo grumbled. “He didn’t seem harmless.”

You stepped closer, leaving barely an inch of space between you. “You don’t think I could handle Jao myself?”

Wonwoo seemed to finally realize the position he was in, eyes widening when your hands rested on his chest. “You’re right, he probably needed someone to protect him from you.”

“Oh, I’m just sooo terrifying, aren’t I?” Your eyes locked on his mouth. 

He dipped his head, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “I heard you have a nasty habit of freezing men to walls.”

“Baseless rumors,” you said breathlessly, barely an inch away from kissing him.

Down the corridor, shoes shuffled along the floor, knocking you from whatever trace possessed you to kiss Wonwoo in the hallway where anyone could see. 

They were distant but gaining swiftly. Afraid it was someone coming to speak with you about how rude it was to leave your own party early, you searched for somewhere – anywhere – to hide. Luckily, you recognized the woodland tapestry on the far wall and pulled it aside, shoving Wonwoo behind it before joining him. He tried to speak but you silenced him with a finger against his mouth.

“Why are we in the dark?” Wonwoo whispered, lips dragging against your finger. The words tickled across your skin where you pressed together.

You shushed him, ears perked as the footsteps drew closer.

There wasn’t much space in the cubby to begin with and paired with his broad frame, you were close enough his chest brushed against yours with each inhale. Wonwoo eyes widening when you leaned a little closer; pressed a little firmer, crowded him against the wall with nowhere to retreat once more. He was so warm and solid, completely unlike your element. Intoxicating. Even with someone right outside, you couldn’t resist the urge to touch him. Your hand slid down to his chest and rested on the waistband of his pants.

No one expected you anywhere; you could easily raise on your toes to kiss him and nobody would have a clue; just like you wanted to before being interrupted by reality. You could drown in him, completely swept away while people shuffled right past the tapestry none the wiser. Only swollen lips and ruffled clothing to give you away.

He must have thought the same, eyes darting towards your mouth before he leaned closer…

Only to tuck his face in the crook of your neck and trace the curve with the tip of his nose.

Your fingers curled in his shirt as his breath puffed against your skin, a flare of goosebumps raising with a shiver. The click of footsteps passed and disappeared, but you remained tangled together in the dark.

“Thank you for the books, by the way,” Wonwoo whispered. 

“Did you have a chance to read some of it?”

“A few pages,” he sighed, hands flexed on the dip of your waist.

“Sorry Maoki ruined your copy.” Your own arms snaked around his shoulders, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck until Wonwoo shuddered. This close, you could feel the blood rushing in his veins, the throb of his pulse beating heavily. Like that night in the forest. “What did you think?”

“The Belle Dame seemed familiar…”

“How so?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, a new pair of footsteps echoed down the corridor. 

“I swear, I thought she went this way,” a squeaky male voice said.

You jolted back, the space between you and Wonwoo growing as you listened intently to the conversation clearly not meant for your ears. His leg still pressed between your legs and your hands bunched in his shirt but whatever haze filled the space evaporated.

Another deeper voice responded, “And what are you planning to do when you find her? Demand a private audience? I doubt she even knows your name.”

“I’ll have you know we spent yesterday afternoon in the gardens together. We would have had a lovely time if it wasn’t for her guard dog getting in the way.”

Maoki.

“She’s absolutely vile,” a new voice chimed. They all stopped right in front of the curtain where you were tangled with your guard dog in an incredibly compromising position. “If she wasn’t in line for the crown then no one would put up with it!”

“Even with the crown, she’s not worth the trouble,” said the deeper voice.

“I don’t know…” said Maoki. “There’s some satisfaction in taming a woman as head strong as her.”

“If she doesn’t bite your head off first.”

“Women like her just need the right man.”

You didn’t need to be tamed by anyone, let alone someone like Maoki. You moved to reveal yourself and remind him of that fact but Wonwoo stopped you with his hand on your elbow, the heat of his palm warming through the delicate fabric of your dress, his thumb rubbing small circles.

“I’ve never met such a beautiful woman with such an ugly disposition.”

When they moved on, you stayed rooted in place, flushed with embarrassment. It would have been one thing to hear their opinions of you alone but in the company of someone else the insults made you flush. Did Wonwoo agree? Were you the vile woman people only put up with because of the glittering crown atop your head? Because it was his job? Was his only motivation the fact you held his life in your hand?

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked.

The security of the dark, a safe place where dangerous thoughts existed in excess, vanished. He was too close. To you, to the truth, to melting the careful mask of regal indifference crafted from years in the court. You weren’t able to keep it in place as firmly with Wonwoo around and it was terrifying being so close without the armor of a crown. You were practically naked in front of him, only able to hide because he couldn’t see the pinch of your mouth.

You swallowed the embarrassment like thick medicine, healing the parts of you softened and hardening them back as they were. “I’m fine. I’ve heard worse.” 

Not wanting to look at him, you left the alcove and strode down the corridor back towards your apartment. You’d make up some excuse about needing your seamstress before the ball tonight or taking a nap to fill the afternoon, find something to read. Or maybe hide away in the bath until your fingers pruned. Whatever it took to avoid the pity in his eyes.

You didn’t need any excuse. The dress you originally planned to wear needed finishing alterations. Your seamstress Maya pinned and unpinned the hem of your gown dozens of times, hiding her exhaustion with your indecision under her breath. It was beautiful. The red fabric poured down your figure, clinging to every curve and the open back revealed just enough skin. No jewels or embroidery, just simple silk. Something felt missing but after the fifteenth attempt, you and Maya called a truce.

“A little bird told me you left your party early this afternoon,” Han said as she pinned a comb in your hair. 

Sami dabbed perfume around your neck. “With Won—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You watched in the mirror as they exchanged a look over your head, thankful the other servants had dismissed themselves for the night already.

Han grabbed a delicate gold necklace from the stand on the counter and clasped it around your neck. “You like him.”

“Of course I do.”

It felt horrible and freeing to admit it. You spent the entire tea party imagining if it was him sitting across from you and not the others. Just you two. Alone. Talking about books, and his friends in the city. Exchanging stories from childhood. You wanted to know exactly how he got the silver scar at his brow. Share the time you and Mingyu tried to scale the garden walls and ended up with matching scars of your own on the center of your palm.

You liked Wonwoo so much, maybe even felt even more than that; but your feelings didn’t matter. He was who he was and you were what you were. 

Han plucked another pin from the velvet tray and pressed it into your hair. “Then what’s stopping you? You’re the princess. If you can’t be with whoever you love, then what hope is there for the rest of us.”

“I—“ you began to argue, eyes closing. The vein in your temple throbbed. 

“If you really wanted to be with him, you’d go to your grandmother and tell her,” Sami said.

“What if he doesn’t want me?”

Han looked to Sami with disbelief. “She’s joking.”

“The tournament is the day after tomorrow.”

“I know,” you said, focusing on your hands in your lap.

“Are you sure you don’t—”

“I want to get this over with. In silence. If you don’t mind.”

They wrapped up their work as you asked and left with a gentle squeeze on your shoulders. With no more reasonable delays, you exited your room and found Wonwoo sitting on one of the couches reading a book in a crisp black uniform.

He looked up as you approached, wide eyes skirting over your body. The book tumbled out of his hand and onto the cushion as he rose to his feet.

“You look—” he started softly.

Not wanting to hear whatever he had to say, you cut him off. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

The ballroom was packed. You smiled at the crowd even though your heart squeezed, mind replaying over what Wonwoo was going to say over and over again but the crowd inside the ballroom swallowed you whole; an easy distraction. Men and women introduced and reintroduced themselves; like packs of wolves in glittering gowns and fine suits, teeth gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. In the chaos, you forced yourself to concentrate on the years of court manners ingrained in your bones. You were an untouchable island and you would survive tonight and the day after. And when the week was done, you’d be married and whatever Wonwoo planned to say would be forgotten.

Music and laughter bounced off the walls, the dance floor a sea of jewels and colorful silks as couples twirled around. From the ceiling acrobats tangled themselves in silk ropes, flipping and twisting, unraveling just to climb back up and start again. Actors stood on pedestals, skin painted and wearing masks to resemble different spirits; they froze in place as partiers circled them. Through the massive windows of the far wall, you watched hundreds of lanterns float into the sky from the gardens.

One of your favorite festivals and the usual cheer felt impenetrable. If you couldn’t enjoy it, then you’d distract yourself from feeling anything at all.

You danced with every man who asked, successfully avoiding the edge of the dance floor where he waited next to your grandmother. The music swelled and faded over and over until their faces blurred together as you were led straight into the next song. You knew Wonwoo was watching. He was always watching, but you avoided his gaze even though it prickled across your skin. 

When the current dance ended, you curtsied to Kabaar who walked away with a disillusioned frown; most of the men you danced with did. What they anticipated, you didn’t know. You tried to smile and nod and flatter but insincerity rang clear.

The orchestra took a break, leaving you to hover awkwardly on the floor without a partner. Your feet were sore and your head hurt but there were few options to hide without the cover of music and dancing. A walk in the garden? Perfect place to be alone in the dark with Wonwoo. Sneak out the servant's entrance? Your grandmother would kill you. You could douse yourself in wine again but that left you back in your room with Wonwoo. The only option was to take your place on the dias next and rest your feet until another song started.

“How many more are left?” 

“Just two,” Lin said. “Gyan and Char.”

A servant walked passed with a tray of wine and your fingers itched to tip the entire thing over, give yourself a reason to leave early. You snagged a glass and downed it quickly before grabbing another. Your eyes rolled. “Wonderful.”

Lin opened her mouth, no doubt to chastise you for the vulgar display but Gyan materialized as if summoned, offering his hand. 

You turned, a smile plastered back in place. The wine already flushed through your veins. You finished your second cup before taking his hand and spinning back out to the floor.

The rosy glow from alcohol served little relief. Gyan jerked you around the floor, narrowly missing your feet with each step. “You are a lovely dancer, Your Highness. Like a deer.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, teeth clashing together as he pulled you roughly; completely ridiculous. In your tipsy haze, your self control slipped from its tight leash; on instinct, you looked at Wonwoo for the first time tonight. His eyes widened in shock before he schooled his features back to neutral. Then, when you didn’t rush to look away, he offered an awkward smile.

The first time you looked directly at him all night and it was just as dangerous as you knew it would be. 

Luckily, the music changed for the last dance and someone else appeared out of the crowd to distract you.

“Your Highness,” Char announced with a deep bow. “Please honor me with a dance.”

“Of course.” 

Char danced far better than Gyan. He whirled you around the dance floor with graceful expertise, none of the stomping of Gyan or loud chatter the other suitors maintained. The orchestra swelled to fill the silence lingering between you and Char as your mind wandered thousands of miles away.

You stumbled when Char broke the delicate silence. “Have you ever been in love, Your Highness?”

Over Char’s shoulder, you looked straight into a pair of brown eyes again. He seemed prepared this time. The room faded under Wonwoo’s gaze full of unspoken things, full of all the moments someone or something interrupted. A jolt rocketed down your spine. Did he like to dance? Did he know any of the court dances? His bending was graceful enough, he’d probably pick them up quick enough if you showed him. Would he hold you like Char now? Hands proper, high on your bare back just below your shoulder blades. Or would he keep you closer than necessary? Hold you close while spinning across the dance floor. And if he did, when you looked up and met his eyes, would he kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world?

Char spun you away, breaking your staring contest. With your back to Wonwoo, you looked up at the man guiding you across the floor as he spoke again. They weren’t the rich brown you’d grown fond of. They were green and full of pity.

“With your blessing, I intend to compete in the tournament tomorrow and if I win I hope we could grow fond of each other. I think we both understand what it's like to be torn between our duty and our desires.”

“I—” you stuttered. “I would be honored, my lord.”

“I believe we must do the best for our nation, even if our hearts lie elsewhere.” he said, his voice soft, as though the words were almost for himself as much as for you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, voice quivering. Was it that obvious? 

Char looked unconvinced. “Then I apologize for misreading the situation.”

The waltz continued.

Wonwoo stood at attention next to the raised dais where your grandmother sat, her ladies floating around with their maddening laughter as you spun across the dance floor gracefully. Maoki had squeezed himself into the first dance, stumbling about the dance floor, struggling to keep up with your strides. It would have been comical if Wonwoo wasn’t focused on finding a way to kill him.

If she wasn’t in line for the crown then no one would put up with it!

The crown on your head was the least alluring thing about you. If anything, it was the most frustrating part and the entire reason Wonwoo warred inside his mind at all times about his feelings. 

There was so much more, so much you didn’t show the others but Wonwoo witnessed behind closed doors. You were funny, charming, stubborn, infuriating…

He couldn’t figure it out. One moment you were dragging him into dark corners, pressing yourself against him, trying to kiss him. And he wanted to do it. He would have if Maoki didn’t interrupt, spewing nonsense. But then the next you scurried away and ignored his existence. 

It was exasperating. The worst part is he didn’t know if he wanted you to stop. He wanted you. He wanted you in the garden when your lips curled into a frown as you read. He wanted you in the training pavilion when you launched a torrent of water at his head and laughed. He wanted you when you threatened a noble with a smile on your face. He wanted all of it; you in all your forms. He wanted you all the time. But he couldn’t have any of it. 

By the end of the week you’d have a husband and Wonwoo would be back in the barracks with nothing but memories to haunt him.

As every man but him took a turn guiding you across the floor, Wonwoo grew more restless. There were no knowing looks or silent jokes. There was nothing. You were completely absorbed in whatever they said, smiling and nodding along. But he saw the strain at the corner of your eyes, the muscles in your neck taunt and not from perfect posture.

And then, during Gyan’s turn, when he marched you around like the man had frogs in his pants, you looked at him and Wonwoo barely managed to catch himself from racing across the room and whisking you away to demand an explanation. He stayed rooted in place, watching as the music dissolved and the Queen announced her departure. You didn’t wait before leaving as well, striding out the open doors with Wonwoo struggling to follow. 

Servants trailed with him but Wonwoo ignored them. He spent enough nights listening to the prolonged routine of their fussing, this was no different. He fell into line next to them, eyes glued to the dip of your spine visible from the open back of your dress. His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to reach out and feel the heat of your skin against his palms.

Through the door from the sitting room to your bedchamber, he watched from the corner of his eye as they removed your outer robes and jewels before ushering you into the bathroom out of sight. The few servants left prepared your bed before funneling out until Wonwoo was left in stifling solitude with the weight of his feelings. 

He had no business being jealous and yet it squeezed his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. Seeing you bite your tongue pained him. Wonwoo wanted to hear whatever scathing comment bubbled on your tongue, sharing it like a secret only between the two of you. To see that careful wrangled control slip, unravel a shred of your facade to confirm you were still beneath it all. 

Most all, he wanted to wash away that lingering sadness clouding your eyes.

He couldn’t bear the thought of you upset, willing to do anything to fix it. 

He knew one way; a completely selfish, ludacris way to make you feel better. He paced his room like a caged lion as he turned the idea over and over; weighing the benefits and drawbacks. No matter how foolish it would be, the same point reared its head: you’d like it. It was stupid but before he could think more about it he was standing outside your door, hand raised to knock. Just as his knuckles met the hard wood, it shot open. 

“Oh!” you gasped, jumping back in surprise. “I was gonna call a servant for tea. Did you need something?”

Water from your bath clung to your hair, dampening the fabric of your nightgown and making the white fabric sheer around your collarbone. 

“No, I—” His tongue felt too big for his mouth. Like a little boy again gathering the courage to speak to his schoolyard crush, Wonwoo shuffled on his feet as you stared at him confused.

“You what?”

“Do you still have those servant clothes?”

There was a long pause before you nodded.

“Have you ever been to the festival in the city?”

You shook your head no. More beads dropped from your hair with the motion, sparking in the low candlelight as they fell before blotting your top. Wonwoo did not look. 

You weren’t wearing bindings beneath your nightgown. It made perfect sense but Wonwoo never thought about it before. He tried hard not to now.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

Whatever consequences conjured in his mind about sneaking you out of the palace dissolved as a beaming smile took over your face. He couldn’t help but smile too.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but we have to hurry or we’ll miss it.”

You whipped around, beeling for the gigantic bed in the center of your room. Wonwoo instinctively followed. You pulled a pile from beneath the mattress before looking back at him.

“Turn around,” you commanded.

Wonwoo did as asked but even though he couldn’t see you undress, he heard everything. The woosh of your nightgown hitting the floor, the sound of you shimmying the pants up your legs. Two times you’d been completely naked only a few feet from him and it drove him mad. He forced his body to remember why he was doing this; even if he wanted to crowd you down into the mattress and show you all the ways he was better. More giving, more devoted. Wonwoo was going to give you something those lordlings and princes never could: a real taste of the city.

It was easier to navigate the tunnels now that Wonwoo knew where they led. Emerald Park laid deserted and with the celebration at the palace still raging on, the Noble District was still. Wonwoo thanked the spirits for his months of mundane patrols, easily avoiding the footpath of guards as you followed close behind. This late at night most windows were dark and the ones that weren’t, framed people still partying and drinking, completely unaware of anyone sneaking past their door. 

It didn’t take long to reach Merchant’s Row where the streets were packed with more people than usual, most wearing colorful spirit masks and costumes for the occasion; giant paper puppets of spirits floated through the air, lanterns of all colors burning brightly as fireworks exploded overhead, the moon a bright backdrop to dazzling displays.

You fell into step next to Wonwoo, fingers tangled together to keep close. He tried not to think too much about it. 

“Why are they wearing masks?” you asked.

“Tradition.”

Wonwoo snagged two half masks from a merchant stall, a dragon for himself and a parrot for you. Your eyes crinkled as he pulled it over your head. This close he could count every single eyelash. He had the sudden urge to kiss you. Not the wanting kisses he’d come to expect with you. He wanted to kiss you, hold your hand, and just… be. Was he imagining you leaning closer or was he? Your eyes dropped to his mouth and then—

Someone barreled into him before he figured it out.

“Spirits, I’m so sorry!” the man slurred. “Wait, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo turned to find Soonyoung staring at him with glazed eyes and ruddy cheeks stark against a green unagi mask pushed up on his head. Clearly, the man had started partying early like every year. Wonwoo smelled the reek of fire whisky and there was smudged lipstick hugging his collar. 

“I thought you were working at the palace?”

“Yeah, they, uhhh” Wonwoo panicked. “They gave me the night off.”

But Soonyoung didn’t care for his explanation, he was staring past Wonwoo and staring directly at you with wide eyes.

“Wait, you’re that girl from the warehouse,” he shook a hand in your direction, the bottle of firewhisky clutched in it spilling over. “I’m a huge fan.”

You looked unsure, passing a weary glance to Wonwoo and stepping closer. “Um, thank you?” 

“No, thank you. I haven’t seen Wonwoo get his ass handed to him like that since we were kids.”

“Well,” you smirked. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Do you work at the palace too?”

Wonwoo felt you go rigid. “Something like that.”

Soonyoung leaned conspiratorially towards Wonwoo, whispering loud enough even people across the street could hear through the clamor,“I like her. Here, have this.” 

He forced the half-drank bottle into your hand. Wonwoo watched as you took a confident swing and immediately regretted it.

“This is disgusting!” you sputtered. 

“The more you drink the better it tastes! Nice to meet you!” Soonyoung called before the crowd swept him away.

With his friend gone, you turned back to Wonwoo, face twisted in disgust. “People drink this?” 

Wonwoo snatched the bottle and took a long swing, eyes set on yours. Your face glowed, sweat from every pore thanks to the heat of packed bodies; your lips still wet from the whiskey as your eyes trained on his tongue licking away a rogue drop at the corner of his mouth. 

It was you who broke first this time.

Wading further down the street, you staunchly ignored Wonwoo and combed through the wares of vendors. Talismans and scrolls of all kinds promising a safe winter crowded most tables, others presented jewelry and pottery, spices and cakes. The buzz of whiskey numbs his brain but not his skin. Your hand is still tangled with his as you tug him along. Wonwoo realized he doesn’t really mind shopping, at least with you. You don’t buy anything but you ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over everything like you couldn’t have it all if you really wanted it.

The apothecary’s stall proved to be trouble.

Colorful vials and jars lined the table like neat rows of soldiers in different colors, all with various contents; some ingredients and some finished products. Most were unrecognizable to Wonwoo but he knew the one in your hand well enough.

“That’s not for you,” Wonwoo said as he plucked the vial from your hand and placed it back down, ears burning.

You immediately picked it back up and cradled it to your chest with a furious scowl. “How do you know?”

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” he said harshly. “Planning on seducing someone?”

You don’t need to, he thought. The bottle of fire whiskey in his hand became a dead weight instantly. He took about swig to distract himself as you scrambled to put the vial back.

“For a couple such as yourselves, I’d recommend this one.” The merchant, an old woman with deep wrinkles and silver eyes, lifted a similar vial filled with an inky blue liquid. “Just the thing to help the seed take.”

“The seed?”

Wonwoo pulled you away before she answered. He couldn’t do anything about the images in his head, they were there whether he liked it or not. You, him, back in your bed; so much naked skin; planted between your legs for hours until you both gasped for air. Where he could learn what every hitch of breath or tiny whimper meant, play with you until you're nothing but a soaked mess for him to clean up with his tongue. And only when you begged him for it would Wonwoo give you his cock. Again and again until the inferno inside him ceased.

You wouldn’t beg, though. He knows you wouldn’t because he wouldn’t be able to drag it out long enough that you’d have to. He’d give you everything, cave before you even thought to ask. 

“You don’t need to be such a brute,” you huffed and shrugged his hold off your arm. 

“She’s trying to sell you fertility potions!”

“So! It’s not like I was planning to buy it!” 

In Wonwoo’s head, he imagined the night much differently. Loose flashes of you laughing, gleefully enjoying the chaos of the holiday while he stood back and soaked the sound in. This was anything but that. He didn’t want to argue with you. He especially didn’t want to endure a hard on because of an argument with you; a fact he would never admit even under torture but there was something about the way the air crackled around you when you got fired up. But that hadn’t been the point of sneaking you out of the ivory palace walls.

He wanted a night where you weren’t a princess, and he wasn’t your guard; a night where you were just you, and the insurmountable mountain of reasons his fondness was dangerous didn’t threaten to drown him like a tsunami. Apparently the spirits didn’t agree.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you,” you sniffed. “If you show me where to get one of those things.”

Wonwoo followed your gaze to a group of kids stuffing their face with fried dough covered in powdered sugar. Luckily, he knew exactly where to get one but the velvet purple tent of a fortune teller lured you in.

You tugged at his sleeve, dragging him closer. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“She’s a hack,” Wonwoo snorted.

“What’d you say?” an older voice called through the opening. A woman came out of the darkness, hunched over with knobby fingers and thick dark hair with bolts of gray.

Wonwoo began to corral you away. “Nothing, ma’am. Have a good night.”

“Wait!” she croaked. Her face might have been aged but her silver eyes crackled with energy. “Madam Via sees the unseen, hears the unheard. Step inside and I can find the answers you seek. Or, perhaps, a glimpse of the future?”

Wonwoo shot a glance at your hopeful face before scrubbing a hand down his own and asking, “How much?”

“Three gold coins for her, five for you. I don’t like smart mouths.”

He kept his next remarks under his breath while handing over the coins.

“Come this way dear, I can tell you’re the more pleasant one.” Madam Via returned back inside the tent, leaving you and Wonwoo alone.

“Well, at least she has one thing right,” you snarked.

“I doubt she knows what happened in that greenhouse.”

You stuck your tongue out at him before disappearing behind the curtain.

Wonwoo didn’t like the idea of you going in alone. What if the fortune teller recognized you? As unlikely as it was, the idea made him uncomfortable. But he remembered that you were you and if anyone could handle themselves it was you. Your bite was far worse than your bark and Wonwoo trusted you to handle yourself should need arise. 

It hadn’t stopped him from trying to eavesdrop. 

But the thick purple walls of the tent trapped any noise from the inside. He rocked back and forth on his toes, the chatter of passersby filling the silence alongside the chimes of glass beads strung up around the tent. Having grown comfortable standing at your side at all times, to have you suddenly disappear felt like half of him was absent.

He counted the number of beads in the curtain covering the entrance, traced the golden embroidery of the tent walls until his eyes returned to their starting point. He finished off the bottle of fire whiskey and the weight on his shoulders lightened as his thoughts turned hazy. 

You barrelled out of the tent with an impatient tuff before masking your features. Whatever Madam Via told you, you hadn’t liked it. Your mask was gone and Wonwoo pulled his off too, suddenly feeling silly.

“What did she tell you?”

“Don’t make unnecessary journeys. Oh, and to avoid Komodo Shrimp for the next few days.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose. “Why?”

“Probably because they aren’t in season. I don’t know!” Your eyes rolled. “She said to send you in.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “I’m not going in there.”

“Awww, big scary Wonwoo afraid of a little old lady,” you teased.

He sighed, knowing there was no way to get out of it. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay right here.” He ducked inside.

“Welcome,” Madam Via greeted from her seat at a round table covered with a dark cloth, its surface cluttered with cards and brilliantly colored crystals he’d never seen before; a clear crystal ball sat in the center.

The smell of incense strangled the air, smoke curling towards the ceiling. Inside the tent, low candles illuminated the space in a warm glow, the walls covered in tapestries of different colors and images. It made him feel claustrophobic.

“Sit down, you’re letting all the cold air in.”

Wonwoo mumbled an apology and sat on a cushion across from her.

Madam Via produced a ceramic teapot and pushed it into his hands. “Warm this.”

He didn’t think to ask how she knew he was a firebender. The teapot was cool in his hands but Wonwoo slowly pushed heat into it until steam started curling from the spout. The old woman used the time to spoon dried leaves out of different containers into matching cups and set them in front of him.

“Now, pour the tea.”

“I thought I was here to get my fortune read, not for a tea ceremony,” he quipped.

“I like your girlfriend so I’ll let that one slide but next stupid question and I’ll put a curse on you.” She shook a knobby finger at him. “Now drink your tea.”

Wonwoo wanted to argue but thought better of it. The tea tasted earthy, notes of jasmine and rose bloomed on his taste buds. He finished it quickly, barely allowing it to linger on his tongue before swallowing the last mouthful.

Madam Via snatched the cup from his hands and examined the contents. “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

“What?” Wonwoo tried looking into the cup.

“Reading the leaves is an art. Look at the sides of the cup, what do you see?”

The leaves stuck in odd patterns around the rim and walls of the porcelain. The top formed a clear ring but the sides seemed like nothing more than tangled threads. At the bottom the sediment from the leaves resembled a deformed blob. None of it meant much to him.

“I see…a dirty tea cup.”

“What that girl sees in you,” the fortune teller mumbled under her breath. “Look, there. The leaves form a heart at the bottom.”

“That's a blob,” he said.

This time she swatted him with a fan.

“Fine! It’s a heart. What's the big deal?”

Madan Via swatted him again before explaining. “Hearts mean love and relationships. With the knots on the sides it could be conflict. A crossroads…maybe. A path split in two, but you are caught at the intersection, unable to move in either direction. Any recent trouble with your girlfriend?”

Wonwoo’s ears burned red and he mumbled, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You love her, she clearly loves you. I’m not sure it’s as complicated as you think.”

“I didn’t say anything about lov—“

“It radiates off you both like the stench of the western harbor. A blind man could see it.” Madam Via rolled her eyes like the idea exhausted her. “I won’t pretend to understand whatever reasons you have for not being with her but what I do understand is you don’t meet a woman like her every century.”

Wonwoo knew she was right but he didn't feel like giving her the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Now, see how some of the leaves form a circle at the rim? It indicates a happy union is on the horizon. So maybe if you had any sense you’d find a way to make things work.”

Yeah, right. Anger burned in his chest. This lady clearly prayed on the hopeless, selling promises of futures with no possibility of coming true. A happy union? In what world would he be allowed to marry you? He’d have better luck airbending than changing the way the world worked. Maybe if you both ran away and started over, became the couple that existed here in the Middle District away from expectations. But how long would that last? You’d never agree anyway; and he didn’t want you to. If he had you, it’d be nothing less than all of you. Crown included.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, the future’s a mess. You’ll figure it out, or you won’t. Kiss the pretty girl you love or don’t.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Wonwoo shook his head, shifting on the cushion. “Are we done here?”

Madam Via’s eyes rolled for the umpteenth time and took a sip of her own suddenly steaming tea. “She asked about you.”

That kept Wonwoo in place. “She did?”

“Of course she did.”

“Whatd she ask?”

“I’m not a charity,” she sniffed. “For two more gold I’ll tell you.”

Crazy old snit. Wonwoo rolled to his feet and ducked out of the tent without looking back. 

Of course, you were gone. It really shouldn’t surprise him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he seethed. He shouldn’t have been that angry; not after spotting you barely a few steps away watching the other festival goers dance but Madam Via’s words wove a cord of frustration deep inside him and it boiled into hot vexation. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he clenched it shut.

You took one look at his face and laughed. “Who ruffled your feathers?”

“You were supposed to wait outside the tent.”

“I’m maybe ten feet away. Is it that big of a deal?”

“What if you got lost? Do you know how to get home?”

“I’d figure it out.”

“Before or after getting in trouble with the guards? Again.” Wonwoo burst out, unable to contain himself.

To your credit, you didn’t stomp your foot like he knew you’d like to. Instead, you iced him out completely and focused back on the people skipping around the plaza to the rapid drumbeat.

Happy union my ass.

He hadn’t enjoyed watching from the sidelines as other men led you around the room earlier. He hated it. Especially when Gyan stomped you around the room like an idiot. He hated that he took so much notice of the fact you pointedly refused to look at him until that point, and then again when Char spun you around the dance floor. As much as he didn’t want to dance now, Wonwoo knew this might be the only chance he’d get.

“Do you… do you want to dance?”

“Are you going to yell at me again?”

Wonwoo shook his head and proceeded to forget everything but relief as you took his hand. The bad mood woven into his veins by the fortune teller fell away, flooded with content to replace it. He spun you around and around to the beat of the drums, time fading until it was just you two and the world outside blurred. This was what he wanted; to be the only two people in the world. Together. 

The next dance involved lots of spins and lifts. As with most peasant dances, partners passed around before coming back and each time you turned away from him, Wonwoo’s heart zapped with something as you came back, beaming from ear to ear. 

He decided he’d dance until his legs stopped working if that smile was a reward.

The music swelled, drums and claps increasing in tempo. On the next pass, Wonwoo snagged you around the waist and pulled you into his chest. Whether it was the fire whiskey or all the spinning that made him dizzy, Wonwoo didn’t know; but it didn’t matter when he bent down and kissed your cheek – a fleeting touch of lips against your skin. It wasn’t anything grand, but as soon as he pulled back, you both froze and his face flushed.

“I—” he faltered. There was no explanation strong enough for why he did it. 

Then you rolled up on your toes and kissed him with unmistakable certainty, right there on the outskirts of the makeshift dance floor, not a care who saw. Your mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, your hands wrapped around his neck keeping him close like he’d consider pushing you away. Wonwoo pulled you closer to banish the thought. He didn’t want the heat of pressing you into a wall where no one could see. He wanted the comfort of kissing you out in the open, like any other man in love was allowed to.

Love.

A deafen clap of thunder roared from the sky forced you two apart. Wonwoo jerked back and blinked wildly, pulling you closer in confusion. Something wet hit his face and then again and again as the clouds opened and released thick curtains of rain that soaked you both to the bone in seconds.

Wonwoo grabbed your hand and pulled you through the streets, back towards the palace. The roads cleared thanks to the storm sending everyone inside for cover. He dodged around corners but no one paid attention to a pair of young people running home from a typhoon.

The Noble’s Quarter was dark and Wonwoo knew the guards on patrol would be waiting out the storm at the watch station, waiting for the change in shifts given the late hour. He barreled through the streets with you in tow. Lightning illuminated the streets through the thick sheets of rain but it was muscle memory that guided him back to the statue in the park. He pried open the inconspicuous opening and descended inside, waiting at the bottom for you to join.

One second he was watching you descend the ladder, next he was on his back, cushioning your fall.

“Wonwoo! Are you okay?”

He coughed from your elbow plowed into his stomach.. “What the hell—“

You scrambled up right, sitting on his stomach as your hands caressed his skin, looking for damage. “I’m so sorry! I saw a guard and—“

The rain had matted your hair down to your skull, clung to your lips. He swallowed. Rain rushed outside, a dull hum to match the ring in his ears. You drew water from his hair and he felt the sore spot at the back of his head warmed as you healed the worst of the damage. Wonwoo tried very hard to keep his hands on your waist and not slide them up, pull you down, and kiss you breathless. Your hands traveled down his neck, ghosted over his jaw and made him shiver.

There was a shout from above and you sat up straight, eyes wide.

“We need to get back.”

You both took off down the tunnels, feet pounding against the ground and breath panting loudly. Finally, the familiar passage outside your office rushed up. But you took a last minute turn to a new door Wonwoo had never seen before.

It led to your bedroom.

You waltzed ahead, shrugging off your tunic and stripping to your bindings without a care. Wonwoo had seen you in far less but it didn’t make the roar in his ears any less demanding despite the pain in his back demanding attention. You tossed your clothes back under your bed and turned to him, guiding him to sit while he tried to stare at anything other than the press of your breasts against the silk.

“Does this hurt?” you asked, fingers prodding the tender flesh of his back.

He’d certainly bruise come morning, some lingering soreness if he was lucky. Wonwoo couldn’t find much reason to care about it. Fatigue already blurred the corners of his vision. It’d been such a long night already. If his options were staying awake to find a healer down in the infirmary or going to bed and dealing with the consequences later, he’d trudge down to his room and see to it first thing in the morning. He’d tally it along with all the other wounds he found himself collecting in your presence. “I’m fine.”

“Let me help.”

In the end it was the softness in your eyes that made him acquiesce. In the dark, with the candles and lamps extinguished, the worries that kept him grounded floated away. The rain pounding against the windows lulled his heart. He always slept best when it rained. You disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a pitcher of water.

“Take your shirt off.”

Wonwoo spurted, suddenly completely awake. That was out of the question.

“I can’t heal you through your clothes,” you huffed. 

He swallowed again, remembering the last time you healed him in the field. But this time would be different. He’d let you heal him, maybe kiss you again, and then he’d go to his room down the hall – alone – and pretend it was your hands touching him until he came and fell asleep.

He tugged the soaked shirt over head and closed his eyes.

If he was of sound mind, then the severity of the situation would have him rushing to flee. Alone with the princess, in her bed, with his shirt off and your own clothes crumbled on the floor painted a damning picture. But only the cool relief of the healing water dragged across his spine registered; knotted muscles relaxed, the sting of raw skin dulled and then disappeared under the gentle passes. His eyes closed before leaning forward to give you as much room as possible to continue the hypnotizing pattern.

“Better?” 

You snickered at Wonwoo’s grunt of approval before continuing.

“You’re so tense.” Your palms dug into his shoulders with more force. No longer were they hovering over the skin, now the water provided a wet glide as you massaged the knotted muscles into submission.  

A groan of relief clawed its way out before Wonwoo could swallow it back down. “I’m in charge of a princess that refuses to stay out of trouble.”

“She sounds awful.”

Wonwoo peered over his shoulder to find you focused on healing a cut on his upper arm, a pleased smile spread across your face as the skin knit together in a faint pink line. “She’s not so bad.”

His early arousal stirred just out of reach, stoked into an ember from the fan of your breath against the short hairs at the base of his skull. If he leaned back he would feel your breasts pressed against him, your lips in reach. He wanted to, he really really wanted to. He almost did when you pressed your mouth to his shoulder.

But you pulled away and the cold that rushed into the empty space brought the tiredness he’d ignored all night forward. He could feel the sun just below the horizon; dawn wouldn’t be far off, promising another full day as minder to your meetings and tea parties, listening to entitled nobles fawn over themselves.

Exhausted, Wonwoo slumped forward.

He’d move to the sitting room. All he needed was a minute to find the energy…

You woke shivering. Stripped down to nothing but your under bindings, you tugged the covers tighter, soaking in the pleasant warmth radiating across your back; pushing back into it for more. The sun barely peeked over the horizon, the corners of your room stained dark.

A warm breeze tickled across your shoulder. Odd. Perhaps you forgot to shut the window last night before bed.

It's then you registered a weight across your waist and a rhythmic press against your back in time with that comforting gust of hot, humid air. Consciousness flooded in with each grating moment; until you were awake enough to slap behind you, making contact with something fuzzy and hard. 

A masculine grunt responded, accompanied by a tight squeeze of the arm across your waist, dragging you closer.

Wonwoo.

He nuzzled further into your neck with a sleepy sigh, shifting his leg until his knee pressed between your own.

You considered slapping him again; however, the weariness of last night is too much to overcome for another swing. The consequences of him spending a night in your bed seemed so small next to the relief of his body heat against the cold. Wasn’t his job to protect you? Your greatest threat since he came to the palace was only the lingering cold you felt when he wasn’t around.

You remembered what the fortune teller said last night. 

“Oh dear, Temperance in reverse,” the woman tsk’ed. Her tent was thick with smoky incense, candles burning low to cast the room in shadow.

You eyed the upside down illustration. “What does it mean?”

“Imbalance, struggle, strife. Being pulled in a hundred different directions. There’s conflict between what you want and what you think you can have.”

You can say that again, you thought.

“Maybe something to do with the young man outside?” she continued with an inquisitive brow.

You refused to respond and pulled another card from the spread, laying it next to the first one. A couple wrapped in a warm embrace stared back at you.

“Well, there you have it.”

“Have what exactly?”

“The Lovers. You might be used to making decisions from the head, but you must embrace what your heart wants. A powerful relationship can make the conflict Temperance warns of clearer. Or maybe the relationship itself is causing you confusion.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“And why not? He’s easy enough on the eyes despite the attitude.”

“It's not…there’s nothing going on between us. He wouldn’t—and I can’t—“ you stammered.

“What does your heart want? Think about that and pick the next card.”

Your fingers brushed over the deck, itching to pinch one of the gilded edges and pull it out. You picked the bottom card and laid it down on the table.

“Oh, this is just too easy. The Two of Cups. Embrace your heart. Even if it seems impossible, maybe you’re making things overly complicated.”

It is impossible! you wanted to scream.

As if Madam Via heard your thoughts, her face softened a fraction. “Listen, life is too short not to take advantage of good things. You say it’s complicated? Maybe it is.”

“So what do I do?”

“You do what every person who has ever been in love does: enjoy it while you have it and worry about the future later.”

Worry about the future later…

Maybe the crazy old woman was right. For once in your life, you wanted to enjoy things for what they were in the moment. Like in the warehouse, or against the wall at the market, in the field, in the bath, in the alcove yesterday. Like last night when you danced with Wonwoo and no one cared, not a single soul paid you two attention and he kissed you so infuriatingly close to your mouth before acting like he hadn’t. And when you kissed him after because if he was going to kiss you he needed to do it right. You wanted simple and what you had right now was as simple as it got. Wonwoo asleep in your bed. Wonwoo’s arm tight around your waist. Wonwoo’s cock heavy against the curve of your ass.

There wasn’t anything more simple than stretching against the length of his body, pleased that the tantalizing firmness greeted you with a stretch of his own. Your thighs squeezed on instinct.

You’d seen plenty of men shirtless, through training or tutoring sessions with healers. But seeing men half dressed and feeling the defined muscles so intimately against your back were very different. 

You rolled over to face him, buried your nose against the soft divot of his collarbone and breathed. Sleep tried to claim you again with the gentle rise and fall of his chest but Wonwoo didn’t let you. He was too tempting. Smooth warm skin, soft stomach your nails trace over mindlessly, his own slow breath ghosting against your forehead. You wanted to wrap yourself in him like a blanket and spend the day tucked away. Simple.

The hand around your waist tightened again as you brushed a kiss against his throat. You wanted to kiss him again like last night, when no one was around to offer reminders of how bad an idea it was. Somehow, you knew if you spoke the entire illusion would shatter. All those expectations would rush in; the reasons you shouldn’t want Wonwoo the infuriating way you did – can’t want him. So you didn’t speak. Instead, you feathered more teasing kisses across his shoulder, up his neck, and then a final one on his lips.

Take advantage of the good things. Like how Wonwoo’s hand skated up your back, the pleased groan in response to your nails digging into the crease of his hip bone.

He kissed back, slowly at first, dry chaste passes of his mouth across yours. The kind of kisses you could wake up to every morning without complaint; the inferno of previous encounters completely dormant. You didn’t think about anything else, only the easy way he rolled on top of you for the sake of kissing; tangled your fingers between his own and pressed you further into the mattress. The morning stubble on his chin scratched teasingly along your skin. Your hands acted on their own, cascading down his sides and across his back. The band of his pants brushed the tips of your fingers and you pushed beneath to find more intoxicating heat his body provides.

It was like that for a long time, returning the lazy kisses on your cheeks and chin, nose following the curve of your jaw. But then your legs spread to better accommodate his weight and he was there. The contact stoked you out of sleepy bliss, igniting desperate want. Your hips couldn’t help but curl up slowly, rocking against the length of him pressed right against your bindings.

A million reasons not to do it clouded the air but there was one good reason: you wanted to. And Wonwoo obviously wanted to. What you two did away from prying eyes was a secret you could live with if it meant you got to have at least some part of him.

Wonwoo rolled agonizingly slow between your legs. Each thrust of his sheathed cock pushed tiny mewls from your lips as his trailed further down your neck. He kissed everything he could; the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, the hollow of your throat, down to the seam of your bindings. All while his hands warmed your skin.

He tugged at the knot of your bindings until the silk strips slackened; tracing every newly bare strip of skin with his tongue as you arched and pushed more of your chest into his mouth. 

“Please,” you sighed. You free hand knotted in his hair to give a deliberate tug. “Please.”

Each kiss across your chest and stomach only pushed you closer to the edge of insanity. You coaxed a hand between your legs for the smallest bit of relief, but Wonwoo was already there. He tugged at the small knot keeping the fabric secure until they loosened and then there was nothing between your bodies; you sprawled beneath him completely naked and exposed in the cold sunlight. He mouthed across your thighs, stubble leaving you raw for his tongue to sooth away.

This must be exactly what the maids giggled about over your head. It didn’t seem so funny now that you had it for yourself; the need for him urging you to claw out of your own skin. 

You whined and squirmed under the first tender push of his fingers, parting you for his tongue that followed soon after. The sensation was wholly new and unlike anything you’d felt before. Nothing, not the things you’ve done to yourself or the memorable way Wonwoo fingered you the first time compared to the sweltering glide of his tongue.

“Wonu,” you gasped.

It must be the validation he needed because timid licks became heavy laps across your clit and sucked with enough force you jolted from the bed. Your hips rolled into the intoxicating friction. If you were frustrated before by the incomparable satisfaction of his fingers then this is a whole new level you’d never find again; completely addicting.

He flicked his tongue, fingers curved deep along your inner walls. You were so wet. So embarrassingly wet you’d blush about it if you had the brain power to even consider caring. Wonwoo made sure you didn’t, heady grunts of his own muffled in your core as his hips flexed down into the mattress.

You writhed for it, sweat beading along your skin as instinct took over and every twist of his tongue was met with a grind of your hips along it. Another drag of his mouth and your jaw clenched, legs kicking in an attempt to scramble away but Wonwoo pulled you to him — further down the sheets  — and smothered himself between your legs; rewarding your dry moan with the stretch of another finger. Your eyes went fuzzy but you keep them open because he’s not wearing a shirt and the muscles roping along his spine are too mouth watering to look away.

Fingers itching for something to ground onto, your nails raked through his hair, over his bare shoulders until faint pink lines criss-crossed over pale skin. He moaned again, humped the bed in search for his own pleasure and you sat up on your elbows to watch. 

It's all too much. The first wave drowned you. A squeeze along his fingers, and your hips rocketed off the bed; chasing the rough suck of his lips on your clit. You chanted his name, or something like it, until branded your tongue.

And then it was over. The comedown fizzled through your veins, muscles pliant as they twitched with aftershocks. You didn't — couldn’t — think of anything other than the dull throb and the terrible emptiness inside you as he removed his hand.

Wonwoo peppered more kisses along your stomach and thighs, slow and lingering as you caught your breath.

You pulled at his hair until his face was level enough to kiss, your tongue snaking along his lower lip until he opened his mouth, the taste of yourself evident but not undeterred. He kissed back eagerly as if suddenly you both were more awake. 

Your hand curled into his pants and swallowed a hiss of pleasure as you stroked his cock. You wondered how he would taste, if there was enough time before your maids arrived to kneel between his legs and make him shake and beg like you had; if he’d take the time to teach you exactly how to make him come and let you practice again and again until you were both satisfied.

A prod at his chest with your free hand had him rolling over, lap the perfect seat for you to command him however you saw fit. You kept him locked in a kiss, panting and whining into it as two sets of hands forced his pants down his thighs. He sucked a nipple between his teeth, rougher than before, like he couldn’t get enough of anything. You weren’t any better; jerking him off, grinding against the flexed muscles of his thigh. Wonwoo’s hand cupped yours around his cock, squeezing your grip until it tightened like a vice and fucked himself through it; his stomach collapsed from a sharp gasp.

He was so close, a vision of messy black hair and flushed cheeks beneath you, chest glowing with sweat. An arch of your hips was all it’d take for him to be inside you, filling you, driving away that aching need he’d left since that first night you kissed him. You dove down and lapped at the tender dip of his neck to distract from the foolish idea. 

Your name cracked from his lips, voice low and almost pleading. You were back beneath him in a flash; hands fisted in the sheets as he parted your legs and hooked them around his waist. His cock dug into the softness of your stomach before he moved lower, until the tip nudged your entrance, just breaching as you shifted up to search for more and then…

A sharp rapt at the door shattered the silence, followed by Han’s voice. “Your Highness!”

Wonwoo popped up over you, eyes wide in shock like he hadn’t realized exactly what you both were doing. You shoved him off and rolled from the bed.

“Put your clothes on!” you whispered, words like acid on your tongue. Truly, the last thing you wanted him to do was redress and face the day. You’d much prefer stripping the rest of him and spending the entire day in bed with Wonwoo between your thighs.

However, want as you might, having him in your room was threat enough to both of your reputations, nevermind that you spent the night with him; let him touch without a single protest in ways no one ever had. Almost let him have everything.

Lunging for your robe, you managed to cover enough to avoid suspicion of having Wonwoo in your room. Alone.

You answered the door with too much enthusiasm.

“Your Highness! Wonwoo is—in here?” Han peered over your shoulder to where Wonwoo stood by the window – thankfully – fully dressed. Only the mess of his hair gave inkling to what happened only moments prior, your core still tingled with after effects.

“Yes! Yes, he was helping me with a, um…”

“A bird,” Wonwoo nodded.

“Yes, I slept with the windows open last night to watch the fireworks and woke up to a bird…”

“A big bird!”

“Huge!” you exclaim. “And Wonwoo helped me…get the bird out.”

“Hopefully the poor thing is alright,” Han tutted, approaching the window to look for the imaginary bird she’d never find. 

“It flew right out, perfectly fine,” he rushed to explain.

Han’s shoulders sagged an inch in relief. Apparently, that was enough for her to drop the entire issue of Wonwoo being in your room. “Would Your Majesty like for me to draw a bath? Such stress so early will not serve you well for your meetings.”

“That would be wonderful, Han.”

Wonwoo stood cemented in place as Han disappeared into the bathroom. 

“Shouldn’t you…”

“Right, yeah,” he nodded before striding out the door.

The door to your suite clicked shut with Wonwoo’s departure. Immediately you collapsed into the bed once again, batting away the comforting warmth still lingering from entangled bodies. The pillow you landed face first in still smells like Wonwoo. Like the rain from last night, the powdery smoke that always lingered around him, and the cling of soap. Without thought, you inhaled until your lungs stretched uncomfortably.

So preoccupied, you didn’t hear the pitter patter of Han’s slippers until she stopped at the foot of the bed with a wicked gleam in her eye..

“It was huge, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Out in the seating room, Wonwoo forces his thoughts to the most unpleasant ones he can think of. Hoshi’s sweaty socks, the burn of a thousand fire push ups, freezing showers in the barracks…

He knew it was a bad idea. You had to know it was a bad idea too.

Mingyu lent against the fair wall outside Wonwoo’s room, shaking his head.

“A bird? Really?”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo growled.

“I don’t even need earthbending to tell you're a shit liar. You’re lucky I sent Han in there and not the more chatty servants.”

Wonwoo’s face burned. “I’m not lying.”

“Your shirt is on backwards.”

Wonwoo whipped his head down. His shirt was buttoned and proper but the fact he looked is incriminating enough.

“Whatever you two are not doing, I recommend really not doing it because she’s going to marry one of those princes and next time it might not be someone as gullible as Han who catches you.”

“We weren—”

“Those councilmen are looking for any reason to challenge the line of succession. If it looks like YN can’t control herself – like she let a man below her station compromise her – then her marriage prospects go down. Way down. As in not getting married.”

Mingyu was right. Sneaking you out last night was a risk. A risk he’d been willing to take at the time but a risk nonetheless. But what happened this morning was dangerous, to you, to him. If Han hadn’t interrupted, what would be happening right now? Would you be welcoming Wonwoo between your legs? He’d gotten carried away, forgotten the expectations you carried and why feeling you around him was a horrible idea. And if Han hadn’t knocked? If she stumbled in like a servant was meant to, then what? 

Would she simply have turned a blind eye to her sovereign welcoming her guard between her legs like an eager lover? 

“The Queen invited you for an audience this morning. Wash up and get dressed. You stink.”

“Did she say why?”

“Yeah, I ask her to explain every decision she makes.” Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Be ready in an hour. One of the maids will get you.”

“What about—”

“I’m on babysitting duty today.”

Mingyu left his room and Wonwoo contemplated drowning himself in the bath. 

If the Queen knew what he’d been up to then she had endless ways to ruin his life. His mind wandered wild through the possibilities as he washed up. It seemed no matter how hard he scrubbed his face, your scent and taste clung to his senses; the sweet sound of your voice gasping his name, the wet heat of you on his cock. 

Even the degenerate acts of the morning hadn’t outweighed the comfort of waking up with you in his arms, the gentle kisses across his chest that nearly convinced him he was still dreaming. Anything after that was beyond the realm of reality as far as he was concerned. 

Whatever the Queen knew, or suspected, Wonwoo decided what he had with you was worth the risk. He enjoyed the time he was privileged enough to be granted, the short opportunity to love you and be your friend. Now he’d have to pay up. And if the cost was his life, so be it.

Wonwoo liked rules. The palace was full of them, some more exasperating than others but they kept him from losing his mind trying to figure out how to act. 

Rule one: under no circumstances was it okay to touch the princess.

Rule two: do not speak unless spoken to.

Wonwoo at least had a chance to abide by the second one. Maybe it would earn him clemency for breaking the first one so recklessly.

“Captain Jeon, sit please.”

The Queen perched on a cushion in the center of the Azure Chamber. Candles and lanterns kept the space warm from the storm raging against the windows, fighting to break in. Even the deafening thunder is nothing compared to the crash of his pulse flooding his ears. There were no servants along the walls or bustling back from the table to serve the queen. She was utterly alone and Wonwoo remembered how you cornered Galin the same way.

Spirits help him.

Wonwoo sunk to the cushion across from her, stomach sinking deeper into the floor. He folded his hands in his lap, head bowed. It was easier to maintain bravado in the privacy of his room. In front of her, he felt like a scolded child waiting for judgment. 

“Tea?”

He nodded mutely. 

She gave a dry laugh. Through his eyelashes, Wonwoo saw her knobby hands spoon tea leaves into the porcelain cups as she talked. “You can speak, I won’t take your head for it.”

Not detecting a trap yet, Wonwoo answered. “Yes, Your Majesty. Tea would be great.”

Steam curled above the cups, a thin curtain between the two sides of the table. The queen seemed to appraise him and without realizing, Wonwoo unfurled his hunched shoulders and sat up straighter. 

“What do you think of my granddaughter?”

This is it. A clear trap so she could banish him. 

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the tea cup in his hands. “She will be a great queen, Your Majesty.”

“I have no doubt about that but what do you think about her? Not as queen but as a person.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’ve had dozens of men sit in front of me and wax poetically about my granddaughter and her virtues. She’s beautiful, she’s intelligent, she’s patient—” 

Wonwoo snorted and immediately flushed with panic.

“You disagree?”

“I think…” He risked looking up at her and found her lips quirked in amusement. It gave him the confidence to speak freely. “If that’s all they can compliment then they haven’t been paying good enough attention.”

“Now why do you say that?”

“She's beautiful but she’s as stubborn as a camel elephant. She is intelligent but she’s aggravating.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t listen. Her patience only lasts until the tip of her nose.”

The queen stared at him, surprised by his honesty.

“What else do you notice about my granddaughter?” 

“She’s smart, caring. People respect her. Maybe not the nobles but the staff do. Even in the,” he trailed off. The queen already knew about the nights out of the palace but he felt like those moments - when his friends sung your praises after the fight in the warehouse, when the fortune teller grew fond of you immediately - those were private. 

“Even where, Captain Jeon?” She leveled him with an expectant look. “When you snuck her out of the palace and into the city?”

He could have denied it; spun some story about how he had no idea the princess snuck out right under his nose, no knowledge of the maze of secret passageways beneath the palace. Wonwoo sat up straighter and decided if he was going to go down, he’d do it with dignity. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She returned the porcelain tea cup in her hand to the lacquered tray, peering at Wonwoo with a smirk. “At least you have honor. Tell me, how did the citizens react to their princess in disguise.” 

“The people in the Middle Districts didn’t know her but they liked her. She earned their respect without them knowing who she was.” He didn’t admit he liked you the moment he laid eyes on you, before he knew your name, or how fierce of a competitor you were; he liked you more after. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“I heard she did quite the number on you in the warehouse as well.”

“I—” Wonwoo silenced himself by taking a too large gulp of very hot tea.

“Captain Jeon, do you think anything happens in the palace that I don’t know about? I believe you witnessed her meeting with Galin.”

“You knew he was stealing and did nothing?”

“Who do you suppose whispered in his ear to approach my granddaughter about a new investment? You’ve met the man. He’s not bright enough to tie his own pants let alone run a scheme. It is better to keep the arrogant ones on a shorter leash than the rest.”

“So you set her up?”

“My granddaughter is stubborn and refuses to take the easiest path. Some lessons must be learned the hard way. She needed to learn not to take their word at face value.”

“But why?”

“The royal court is like a poisonous garden, some of the most unassuming plants are the deadliest. She needed to be tested and I believe she would have failed if not for you.” 

He sat speechless.

“Finicky thing, water. It isn’t unyielding like earth, but it’s stubborn in its own way. You can’t keep it where it doesn’t want to be. No matter how you try to contain it, it will find a way around any obstacle. Water can be patient, slowly cutting the path it wants over years and years. But it can also be unwilling and destructive.” She looked to the dark windows, lightning reflecting off the panes. “My granddaughter needed to learn when to act and when to lay in wait for the right moment. At this very moment the nobles are in a frenzy because Galin’s meeting with her. They don’t know what was discussed but they know his grandson no longer resides in the temples his family has learned firebending at for generations. They know his daughters have returned to his estate in the countryside. Her actions have rippled across the court.”

“You don’t approve?”

“Oh, quite the contrary. I think she did a wonderful job taking advantage of that old idiot. There are a few nobles that respect her already. The ones that don’t are close friends of Galin’s and are afraid of her.” 

“Good.”

“And you love her.”

“Yes, but—“ Wonwoo choked. There was honesty and there was stupidity and he feared he crossed the narrow line. “I didn’t mean…”

“When I was her age, I loved a man who was considered below my station. A guard who I became friends with as a young woman in the palace. There were hundreds of reasons not to pursue him and I was too afraid to pursue what I really wanted. I was afraid the nobles would not respect or fear me if I chose love over my duty. It’s one of the greatest regrets of my life.”

“But the king?” Wonwoo trailed off. The queens face grew fond, as if remembering the late king.

“I learned to love my husband and we grew very fond of each other,” she admitted. “But I don’t want my granddaughter to grow fond of a man when she has the opportunity to avoid the mistakes I made and marry a man she loves.”

She was talking about him. You loved him. Or, at least, the Queen thought so. And she was on his side. The queen, the one person with the power to make things work, wanted him to be with you. It didn’t feel real.

For a moment Wonwoo thought you wouldn’t appreciate being left out of such an important conversation. If he wanted to be with you, marry you, then the first person he should’ve spoken with about it was you. He imagined the anger, the hopefully empty threats to refuse given he didn’t ask you if you even wanted to marry him. But he also realized it was a good thing he didn’t because if he knew you wanted him completely – entirely – and there wasn’t a way to give you that, he’d never live with the disappointment.

“Tell me what to do.”

The queen pressed her hands to the table. There was a loose family resemblance but it was obvious in the raise of her chin and the stubborn tilt of her brow  “The tournament for her hand starts tomorrow. In all honesty, I find it barbaric but the nobles respect tradition even if it’s a formality.”

Wonwoo knew about the tournament vaguely. Eligible royalty would declare themselves interested by competing, the winner married you. But Wonwoo wasn’t royal.  “I can’t compete. I don’t have a title. I don’t have anything.”

“Nowhere in the rules does it require competitors to be titled. I believe, in my most recent reading this morning, it said competitors only need to be in good standing with the crown. Since I am the crown and I like you, I’d say that’ll do the trick. Besides, you don’t need to prove you are as good as those brats. You need to be better and based on Aiko’s appraisal of you, I’m confident you’ll succeed.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you love my granddaughter?”

Wonwoo answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Enough to marry her? To commit your life not just to her but to the kingdom?”

Then, Wonwoo hesitated. He knew he loved you, that he wanted to be with you. But did he want to rule a country? Live his life on display for the world to see? With a silver crown balanced precariously on his head?

“It’s a lot to ask. And it won’t be easy. Many of the nobles will object, even ones who I’d consider friends. But I’m quite fond of change. And you might be what this kingdom needs.”

Was he ready to help rule a country? He didn’t have the education or the money the others had; didn’t possess the connections from generations of high society. What could Wonwoo offer you that no other man could? What could he give you beyond himself?

But he remembered those times you sought him out in a crowd. When you drowned in the weight of responsibilities, he managed to pull you back above the surface. When you rushed ahead, he pulled you back. And when you didn't let anyone see the true you - you trusted Wonwoo to see and understand.

The only thing Wonwoo could give you was a sanctuary to ease your burdens.

Maybe that was enough.

“I’ll do it.”

You hid in the farthest edges of the garden, where the bristle grew in thick unkempt patches and the hedges nearly reached the sky. The worst of the rain had given way to a steady hammering, clouds thick enough the moon couldn’t shine through. Your shoes were ruined; caked with mud. The saturated ground refused to swallow more water, puddles the size of swimming pools spanning from one side of your escape to the other. Wind whipped cheeks burned from each stinging drop of rain and the warm tears you couldn’t stop. It was dull knowledge at the back of your consciousness. 

Your heart laid heaving at your feet, half of it left in your room with Wonwoo. The other half still sitting in your chest ached for him too. Neither part belonged to you and you don’t know when it happened; when Wonwoo stole your heart and left you missing him even when he was within arms reach.

Or maybe you gave it to him that first night you snuck down to the warehouses and watched match after match for hours, only paying attention when Wonwoo was at the center of it. Or in the market when he saved you and didn’t have to. In the forest when he treated you like an equal. Maybe you chipped a small part away for him each time and now there was nothing left; nothing except for the lonely void for him to fill in ways he never could. 

But it didn’t matter. What you felt wasn’t important, whatever it was couldn’t come true. There wasn’t a magic wand to wave and fix everything that was broken. What could you do? What could you do when there was no way to be with the only person you ever wanted?

You wanted to find Wonwoo and demand an answer; shake him until all the pieces fell into place. 

However, your grandmother swept him into a meeting and kept him all day. None of the servants would tell you where they were and even when you discovered their location the guards wouldn’t budge. You found yourself pacing like a caged tiger, back and forth in front of the doors; hours dragged on and no one emerged so the gardens offered a respite from the anxiety. 

Dread filled its place.

You felt the rain all around. Everything it touched dully tickled at your senses. That’s why you weren’t surprised when Wonwoo finally approached after spending fifteen minutes watching you from the archway. 

“You’ll catch your death out here.”

“How horrible,” you said. You kept your eyes glued to the pond at your feet, how the surface rippled wildly from the rain. “What do you want?”

Wonwoo appeared in front of you, kneeling in the mud at your feet, only an arms reach away and yet so much further. “I’m seeking an audience with Your Highness.”

“Didn’t you spend all day with my grandmother?” You didn’t even attempt to hide the hurt in your tone. The last day of your freedom and he spent it locked away from you. 

“Unfortunately, she couldn’t answer my question.” He’s soaked to the bone, the crisp lines of his uniforms limp from the weight of water. You’re at home in a storm like these. Wonwoo looked woefully out of place.

You swallowed thickly. “And what is your dilemma?”

“I'm in love with the queen-to-be. And I'm inquiring if she loves me too.”

The tears came hot and fast; you tried to blink them back but it was useless. Your head tilted back slightly, inviting more rain to sting on your face;  they mixed with the tears washing down your face.

“I…” Your voice cracked. Wonwoo leveled his gaze with your own, searching for something. The mist of the rain blurred the space between you. “Of course I do and try as I might, I can’t figure a way out of it.”

An eternity passed in silence. Wonwoo watched you, the pathetic sight of red rimmed eyes and soaked clothes. He didn’t shy away from the ugliness you felt. He leaned closer, his hand trembling slightly as he grabbed yours, as if testing the waters. You let him.

“What if I had a way?”

“Wonwoo…” you sighed and looked away. You couldn’t bear to look at the desperate longing in his eyes; or how it mirrored your own heart.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He moved closer,  hands resting on your thighs. You felt everything through your dress. His hands are almost unbearably hot even in the cold rain.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re saying goodbye.”

The rain fell harder. Deafening. You exploded with it, solemn tears turning into angry ones. “Isn’t that what we’re doing? After tomorrow this ends.” You motioned towards your hands. “I won’t have you standing next to me if I can’t have all of you. I won’t. I won’t do it.”

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security the past week. Dealing with reality in the daylight and having him in the shadows and the quiet dark of the night. You fooled yourself to believe it was enough, at least for the time. But you had to marry and your husband – no matter how forgiving – would never tolerate your closeness with Wonwoo; you wouldn’t be in their shoes. 

Wonwoo didn’t let you hide from him. He cupped your face, forced you to look at him but you shut your eyes and refused; pressed his forehead to yours so his breath ghosted over your lips with his next words. “If you could marry me, would you?” 

You wanted to scream It doesn’t matter! It didn’t matter that you loved him. It didn’t matter if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You couldn’t have him. The world worked in absolutes and this was one of them.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s impossible. Why even—”

“I didn’t ask what was impossible. I asked if you’d marry me.”

You didn’t hesitate to finally open your eyes and meet his brown ones. “Yes.”

“Then trust me,” he asked softly. Begging.

“What exactly did my grandmother say to you?”

Wonwoo blanched, blinking as if he hadn’t expected you to ask. 

“I—We have a plan. You’re not going to like it…”

“But?”

“She told me not to tell you.”

You exploded from the bench, crowding down on Wonwoo.  “Are you serious? You expect me to blindly follow whatever plan you made with her and I don’t even get to know what it is”

“It has to be done a certain way.” Wonwoo stood and swept you into his arms. There was no one out here to see, no one stupid enough to catch an early death. Besides you two. “Just trust me. Please?”

You sank into him, savoring the comforting warmth he brought with him everywhere. You traced the hem of his collar with soft fingers. You did trust him. It wasn’t natural for you to put your faith in many people but time and time again Wonwoo showed you he was a good man. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work I’m going to drown you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he whispered into your hair. “Now will you come inside? It’s disgusting out here.”

Back in the seclusion of your apartment, you pinned Wonwoo to the couch, commanded his lap and sucked the rain from his lips. You lingered, sunk into the warmth of his hands tenderly tracing your back; the same comfort of a warm summer breeze softly brushing your skin even in the chill of damp clothes. You both lingered there. Tucked away from the rest of the palace, an unspoken promise lingering in the air. You kissed him until the aching in your chest dulled.

You didn’t know what the morning would bring but you trusted Wonwoo. 

And that was enough.

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