small peek into my mind

“You should come closer,” he tempts you, as all the boys in this reef have. “The ocean’s warmer in the deep.”

You run your fingers through his wet dark hair. “You know I cant do that, Im not a strong swimmer.”

“And I cant walk,” he reminds you, fingertips grasping at whatever be can. Humans fascinate him. You especially so.

You don’t want to say yes, but you don’t really want to say nothing either. Admiring him, you’re distracted, not noticing he’s leading you to step deeper into the tide.

“Where’s the rest of your choir?”

He splashes with his tail, sending seafoam flying everywhere. “Underwater. They don’t like coming this close to the surface.”

“Scared of being stuck on the beach?” You assume.

“Scared of being seen.“ he answers; when did you get chest deep in the ocean? You look back over your shoulder to the shore far behind you. He’s supporting your weight with his hands.

Turning back to Jimin, you catch a glimpse of another siren tail. A pink one; it’s Jin. You feel fingertips brush against your legs. They’re all circling. Youve never let Jimin pull you this far.

“Don’t you want to be with me?” He coaxes; its not a suggestion.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice from shaking. Your grasp his shoulders tigtly. “Jimin I can’t stand in this—“

“Swim,” he commands you. The word association makes the other siren sing the word all around you. You dig your heels in but the sand is scarily loose.

“Swim,” “swim,”

All of their voices echo on the shore. Icy saltwater splashes against your neck and underside of your chin- you’re nearly in over your head.

“Im okay, actually- please, Jimin- let me go-!” you gasp, trying to warn him but he doesn’t care. Closing your eyes and bracing for impact, you cling to him for safety. A flash of anxiety tells you he’s about to betray your trust.

Submerged in the sea, you try to push away blindly. You’re desperately holding your breath- it’s hard to do in a panicked state.

“You’re safe.” He promises- his voice oddly clear underwater. You turn your head away as you feel the cold press of his nose and lips against your cheek. Fear overtakes your reason.

“You need to breathe,” he tries again, moving with you as you panic and swim. Eventually he takes control by grabbing your face and guiding your mouth to his. He tastes like sea salt and something akin to aloe. It’s a strange sensation- breathing out and then being able to inhale without trouble. Your body still thinks you’re drowning when you open your eyes.

Hesitantly, you speak. “How did you do that- how am I…” you gaze down at the seemingly endless ocean beneath your feet.

“Its temporary.” He reveals, going in again for more. You protest a little less this time. “I just.. wanted you here.” He’s able to see you clearer now in his habitat. “You’re so beautiful.”

“— Im sorry, arent I supposed to be the one captivated by you?” You express your confusion. Jimin is too busy admiring your legs and hips- your face- he reaches out to touch the slope of your nose and arch of your brow.

“You dont have gills… or fins, or scales…”

“I know. Its boring isnt it?”

“It’s perfect.” He confesses. “It’s human.”

How ironic. A siren in love with the person he was supposed to lure. You take in your surroundings as he silently swims around you, carefully observing his new catch. You should be scared, angry even, that he went against your wishes but… he’s gentle- and that.. whatever it was. Was it a kiss if he was helping you breathe? The line in your relationship blurs. Just as he wanted it to.

“Where did the others go?” You ask, pulling your leg back as he curiously brushes against your thigh.

“Baby it’s just me,” you repeat, trying to soothe him as you take careful steps down the foyer deeper into his house. It was eerily empty, the purple LEDs painting long shadows on the wall.

The silence that followed felt heavy, thick enough to swallow. Every floorboard creak felt too loud. The violet glow from the LED strips caught the edge of a discarded hoodie near the stairs; a piece of him that looked lonely in the dim light.

You hear him at the top of the landing. As you reached the base of the staircase, you saw him. A sliver of shadow moved behind the banister, a pair of dark, wide eyes peering through the gap before darting away again. His knuckles were white where they gripped the railing,

Bam stands up, stretching and padding over to sniff you. He shakes out as soon as you pass over his ears with your hand.

“Hi bammy.” You rub him right above his nose. “Where’s dad, huh?”

“Go away.” You hear him, somewhere. “Go away please, I’ll press charges. You’ll be arrested.”

The command came from the darkness upstairs, sharp and brittle.

As Bam nudged your palm, seeking another scratch, Jungkook emerged, though he didn't fully commit. He lingered halfway, leaning heavily against the bedroom doorframe. His oversized shirt hung loosely off one shoulder, revealing the tense line of his collarbone.

His gaze snapped to yours, scanning the space behind you as if checking for intruders lurking.

"I meant it," he added. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, huddling into himself as if trying to occupy as little space as possible. "Just go back to wherever you came from.”

Your shoulders drop. He was definitely freaking out. Bam trots upstairs into the bedroom. He peeks back out of the doorway, wondering why you’re hesitating to follow.

“Jungkook, honey it’s alright. You’re safe.” Your mind races. He wasn’t thinking clearly, so approaching him may make things worse.

The door shuts with a slam. the faint *click* of a lock turning suggested he had retreated all the way.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. To stay would make his anxiety worse; to leave might feel like abandoning him when he needs you. Just as you considered turning toward the front door, a dull, heavy thud drifted down from the floor above. It sounded like a body collapsing onto the mattress, followed by the frantic, uneven rhythm of someone struggling to catch their breath.

“Jungkook!” You try one last time.

No response on his end. You hear bam whine loudly in the bedroom and decide to face the consequences of finding him.

When you grab the handle it sounds like he’s moving again.

“Please go away.. please, please,” he feels helpless, cornered.

You dig for your keys. It feels wrong to encroach on his space, but he needed you. The latch clicked.

In the dim light, the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders betrayed how hard he was working to breathe. you caught a glimpse of him huddled on the floor beside the bed rather than in it. He was curled tight, knees pulled to his chest, his forehead pressed against the duvet. One hand was buried deep in his hair, gripping the strands so hard his knuckles appeared translucent.

You get down on his level. Bam lays flat on the floor at his feet. Jungkook just barely peeks at you, his eyes shot.

Its safe to assume he’s figured out there’s no real threat.

“I had a feeling you weren’t feeling well by the amount of security outside.” You start, keeping a safe distance from him. “Was there another attempt while I was gone?”

At the mention of the security guards he let out a ragged exhale that sounded… somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

He shifted, his thigh brushing against Bam’s flank as the dog leaned his heavy head against Jungkook’s knee.

“No.” He answers, taking another rapid breath, struggling to do anything other than cry. He hated crying. “They didnt make it to the gate, but…”

“Breathe, baby. You’ve gotta breathe. there was an attempt again.” You conclude; thats why he’s on edge. “I should’ve told you I was coming home so I didn’t catch you off guard. Im sorry.”

“Its not your fault, its… this… stupid problem,” he sounds utterly defeated. “I hear the door or the.. gravel crunching outside when nobody’s supposed to be here and my head starts spinning.”

“What do you need right now?”

He shakes, putting his arms out so you can fit between them. It’s grounding to have someone to hold. Someone who understands. Someone who isn’t parasocial. You sigh, leaning your weight on him since he likes the pressure. He subconsciously rocks, trying to calm his nervous system.

“Im sorry.”

You wipe his tears. “For what? We’re gonna get through this.” You promise. “Nobody’s gonna reach you. You’ve got lots of security, and me- and bam,”

“Bam isn’t going to stop an intruder,” jungkook looks down at his pet, who stands and gets in his face. “He’s too nice- agh-“ he tilts his head away as bam tries to lick him. “Bammy no,”

You smile halfway. It may be annoying but it’s distracting him from feeling bad.

“You should never feel sorry for being scared. This is a scary situation.” You continue, trying to ground him as his breath evens out. “Im always gonna be here for you, okay? Tell me when you feel anxious so I can accommodate you. I don’t want to scare you.” You remind him.

“Sorry, but you seem to be fully recovered, I can’t give you another day” the doctor said while checking with a lamp over  your eyes, moving around the flashlight from one extreme to the other making your sight follow it. 

“I still feel dizzy, though” you lied, trying to play dumb so you could get one more day at least. 

“That might be because you’re not eating well, you look pale and tired” the doctor turned off the lamp and put  it inside his coat pocket, at the mention of food your stomach twisted needy “If the blow on your head isn’t because you fell off, and it was something else you should tell me, is somebody bothering you __?”

You stared at him, his silver hair and greyish skin making him look like someone you could trust, but at the same time remembering you were not one of them, you were just another foreigner in that hell’s school, and everybody was up to his service. 

You moved here six months ago, when you won a scholarship to a franchise of your own high school in another country, same classes, same uniform, same installations, different language, and people. It was very exciting and new, it was all fun and games until he saw his next victim  in you  to unleash his devilish games. 

Park Jimin. The top-notch student. 

Handsome and rich, great manners and great body paired with a beautiful smile, but his eyes were from another world. Cold, lifeless, evil. Every single time he glanced at you, you could feel the contempt he had for you, the hateful and vicious disgust he felt for you. And he was never alone, he surrounded himself with a litter of creeps, bootlickers that did whatever he told them to do. 

His aggressions started by being harmless, they were playful even. He would drink a sip from your strawberry milk and return it almost empty. It didn’t bother you, you had a fridge in your room full of those. He would steal your pencils or change your backpack and books to the last chair of the room when you went to the restroom in the middle of the class. Yes, they were annoying, but initially you thought he was just a joker and that he liked to prank you because you were the new girl. 

It all became insufferable when you made the mistake of taking a second bottle of strawberry milk with you one day, and just when he had arrived next to you to steal yours, you took out the second milk and hand it to him. 

“What’s this?” he asked annoyed.

“Strawberry milk” you answered, your thick  Brazilian accent floating in the air. 

“I know it’s strawberry milk, what do you want me to do with it?”

“It’s for you” you said, your smile shining under the sunlight “You always take my milk, I guess you like it, so I brought one for you” He stayed in silence for two minutes, just looking at you confused, why would you bring something to him when he has being awful with you?

“I’m ____, by the way, I’m new” you extended your hand to greet him formally, but he interrupted you again. 

“I know your name, I know you’re new” he said, not even bothering to hold your hand “Do you know who I am?” 

“No” and just when you were about to ask him his name, he opened the pink bottle and pour it above your head, your neat and clean uniform getting all spilled with pink milk and your hair wet and sticky. “Park Jimin, my father is the principal so don’t you forget that honey” and he left, the student’s eyes following you after you ran to the toilet to clean  yourself.

His attacks continued getting meaner and meaner each day, but ultimately he would always ask his gang to do something wrong to you while he would just watch. For an unknow reason, when he was with his gang his attacks were lighter, just him mocking you or insulting you, making you the laughingstock of the class, always pointing at how out of shape you were.

When his group of friends were alone, not a sight of Jimin around, that’s when they would get violent, throwing your body between them in a circle, pushing you, pulling your hair. Four days ago, one of his friends hit your head with a locker door and left you unconscious in the hallway, that’s why you were so insistent with the doctor to give you another day of inability due to your injury. 

You were getting tired and regretful of coming here in the first place. In your hometown, your country, you were the most popular girl of the school, everybody loved you and no one ever laughed at your body shape. Having curves was normal for them, but here… they seemed to hate it. You stopped eating because of that. 

“I can’t give you another day, you told me that you tripped over the stairs” that’s what you said, because if you tell the principal or any other teacher that his son and his friends were making your life a living hell they  wouldn’t do anything about it, you’ve tried, many times. You went with a teacher, and they seemed interested at first, but as soon as you dropped his name they froze and told you to go with the prefect. You went with the prefect, and when you told him it was Jimin the one bothering you he told you go with the school coordinator, and the list kept going.

No one ever did anything. 

“No one is helping! I’ve been with the discipline coordinator so many times and he keeps telling me to come back to you and make you pass the memo to the principal” you said  to the principal’s secretary. At this point, you knew they would never let him know what his son was up to, but you still held  hope that someone will pity you and stop this madness.

“Listen, I won’t be the one telling the principal that his son is committing harassment to another student, if he was a nice and fair man I would but if you think Jimin is despicable, his father is ten times worst” the secretary, who was clearly tired of you and her job in general, spitted in between her teeth “I suggest you to go yourself if you are brave enough, but one thing is sure, he won’t care, he never cares when it comes to his son” 

You swallowed nervously, trying to hide your fear and helplessness. 

On your way out of the office,  they found you. 

“Look who is here!” one of the boys said, his name was Chanwook and he was Jimin’s second hand. He was taller and skinnier, but that didn’t prevent him from throwing you to the walls and floor as strongly as he could. He was the one who hated you the most, just after Jimin himself, of course “Oh, no guys, she’s coming out of the principal’s office, she’s a sneak!” he faked preoccupation with a pout.

“Sneaky little bitch!” that was Meeyon, the alleged girlfriend of Jimin. And only alleged because Jimin himself never held  her hand, kissed her or acted sweetly towards her in public, actually he would ignore her whenever she started to act mellow with him with people around. But everybody knew he fucks her on a regular basis “You weren’t satisfied with being ugly but you’re also a snitch fat bitch” 

She grabbed you by the chin and held  your face close to hers “Jimin will know about this” 

“Jimin would throw her from the stairs” the sadistic voice of Chanwook sounded overly excited with the perspective of pushing you off the stairs and see how much it would take you to faint. You gasped because that sounded more like a Chanwook’s wish, Jimin never got physical with you, he just fucks with your mind and emotions. It wasn’t better, but still.

“I think Jimin would actually make her run in the court” Junghae suggested and made the other two laugh, “We should make her run until she can’t breathe” he said eating his sandwich carelessly. Junghae was the stupidest guy you’ve ever met, saying his dumbest thoughts out loud and pretending they weren’t mean at all. 

You felt the panic paralyzing your body, the fear and angst running and making you want to cry but holding it. You tried to walk past them, walking by the side to the main door, but Junghae grabbed you by the hand and pulled your arm back with them again, his hand hurting your wrist, making you  feel the blood accumulating where he was touching you. 

“Where do you think you’re going? It’s already 4 o’clock and we are not done with you…” the way his voice was always threatening made you shiver, his eyes always burnt with the deepest and purest type of hate; as if he for real wanted to see you lying on the floor lifeless. 

You tried to run away, but they chased you and Chanwook hit your head with the door locker and left you there when your body laid for five minutes unconscious. A person from the cleaning department found you and called the ambulance. 

They gave you a five-day inability, taking classes over the webcam and sending the home works via the email, it was paradise. You didn’t want it to end. 

“I need you to tell me if someone is bothering you, __” the doctor said again, but you shook your head nervously. 

“No, I’m fine. I-I just tripped” you didn’t sound convince and judging by the fear in your eyes he knew you weren’t.

“You know I work to a medical agency and not the school, right?” he mentioned, like wanting to clarify his job position to you “I go wherever my agency tells me to go, my superior is my hospital manager not the principal, I can report any harassment and bring the Ministry of Education if necessary.” 

“No, it’s okay, I-“

“__, is it Mr. Park’s son?”

Your silence was his answer, he was familiarized with his manias.

“I can call my supervisor but he’s on vacation, he will be back in two weeks, until then you can always come to the nursery room, I’ll hide you here” and finally let you go, feeling protected at last.

You went to the grocery store that afternoon, resign that you would come back to the school routine of wake up, sleep in class and get hurt, so you decided to treat yourself and eat some candies while watching a tv show on your laptop. There was a grocery store half a street near where your student’s residency building was, so you always went there to shop. 

You picked a regular black skirt, a white tank top and red converse. Your loved gummies, they were your favorite snack, so you picked three different flavors, cherry soda, pop corns, ice cream and chocolate bars. You let your full basket fell with the cashier but there was a little card that said: I went to the restroom; I’ll be back soon. 

You waited patiently there, taking your phone out to scroll a little when the bell on the front door rang and you didn’t turn around to see, your attention fixated on a video of a kitten playing with a rubber duck.

Jimin got into the store without any hopes of you being there, but in the months you’ve been in school with him he discovered where you lived and he figured you would usually buy your stuff here, since it was the closest grocery shop to your building. It was very far away from his house, he lived in a very nice area where all the houses where big, majestic, and empty. This neighborhood was economically different from his, but there he was. 

All the times he came here you were never present. Once or twice, he saw you coming out, making him regret not hurrying up enough to catch you inside for a minute or two. So when he enters the store this time, his hope is all gone, not really believing you would be there but holding to the routine; until he sees you. 

You were turning your back to him, your exquisite voluptuous figure bending over the checker waiting for the cashier to come back, your ass perked out and bouncing to the rhythm of the music coming out of your phone and your hair pulled on a messy hair bun. You had a red ribbon adorning your hair bun. He froze when he caught the nudity of your legs in that short skirt and images of your red converse stepping on him pleased him. 

He coughed his throat softly, trying to swallow and picked random shit from the store. He hurried because even when he wanted to make it seem casual, he wanted to talk to you. He opened the fridge and grabbed a can soda, chips and condoms. He drank your silhouette from behind before talking and ruining your day. Your legs were thick and soft, just the way legs should be. 

He remembered the day he saw them for the first time, it was on your first week after moving, you were using the EP uniform, but it was slightly different from the rest of the girl’s uniform. It was a short, and that was the regular uniform on your country, sports skirt or shorts. You were the only student showing off your legs and you seemed like it didn’t matter, running and jumping like nothing, and he wanted you for that. 

You had something he didn’t: confidence.

Actual confidence and not like his fake performance of being powerful and feared because of his position. Here you were nothing, nobody knew you or your family, and yet you were so free and powerful. Maybe that was why he felt the need to tear you down. 

“You’re not eating all that, are you?” he teased, and he felt proud when he saw your back arch in defense recognizing his voice without looking at him, your body language responding to the sound of his voice so quick. He reached the checker as well, and placed his stuff right next to you, watching the basket and the products “You eat for two, uh?” 

“And what if I do? that’s none of your business” you responded infuriated and he loved the way you would never back off, you would always put him in his place and were never afraid of talking back. He was the powerful  here, but you never let him walk over you, that was why he became addicted to bullying you so fast. 

“Actually, it is my business because as you know I'm president of the ecology club and this month's homework is to raise awareness about whales” and looked down your body, scanning you from your sun kissed skin to your boobs that were displaying over the tank top’s low neck. You thought he was judging you but the reality was that Jimin was memorizing, so he could use his imagination later. 

“And when are you going to raise awareness about the scarcity of your brain?” 

“When you tell for who all that food is” he spoke trying to control his laugh, he really loved your quick and smart answers, they made his day better. 

You doubt to say it, because he would mock in your face and call you a liar, but he already did that every day, so you happily responded him: “Believe it or not, I have a date.” 

His heart got numb. You couldn’t be having a date, why would anyone pick you for a date? Ever since the day you arrived, he marked you; bullying and harassing you was his way to let everybody know you were damaged merchandise. He isolated you through pranks and insults so everybody would know that if they made friends with you, they would face the same destiny. 

So, why would you be having a date now? 

“Who’s the loser?” he carelessly asked. 

“Why? You’re jealous?” you answered, praying for the cashier to hurry and charge you so you could leave. 

“You wish, I just pity them, sent him my condolences.” He sounded significantly mad, but you didn’t notice since he was always mad when you were around.  

“I will when you rest in peace.”

“Bitch.” He spitted. 

“Asshole.”

The cashier appeared, confused and astonished because on his way to his place he caught pieces of your conversation but he stayed quiet, not wanting to know what was going on between the two of you. 

“Little mouse!” he shouted before you leave the shop, and you hated how your body stopped on his way out as if it was your natural name “Will you go to school tomorrow? The day is boring when you’re not there.”

You rolled your eyes, not answering to his ridiculous question because he knew you were going to be there tomorrow. You hurried to your apartment, and when you prepared all the snacks in front of the couch’s table you noticed your red hair ribbon was missing. It probably fell inside the grocery store, you were about to go back  and ask if they had it but the sound of  a ring on the door pulled your attention and you forgot about it. 

“Taehyung!” you greeted happily, letting  him in. 

“I got you this…” he said shyly  after taking out a small gift package. It was a heart shaped hair pin and it was red, your favorite color. You wore it proudly and turned on the tv, ready to enjoy the comfort of his company. 

Taehyung was a good boy, very nice and kind. He was also a scholarship student, but he was from around, so he didn’t really have a problem blending in and being invisible. You met on your weekly sessions with the school psychologist to check on your process of adapt to the school. You would sit  next to each other, waiting for the psychologist to say your name or his and have your fifteen-minute chat. 

The first weeks he was very quiet, wearing his headphone and watching you from  the corner of his eyes but not talking. You started to feel he was into you when he smiled for a fraction of second when you appeared. One day you became bold and asked him what was he listening, he took his headphones off and put them on you. He was listening to jazz, fancy and old. 

Taehyung knew a little bit of what Jimin and his friends were doing to you because he has seen the bruises on your skin, but you didn’t want him to get involve since him and Jimin had the same age they shared most of the classes. 

“You can’t keep living like this, __” Tae said, seeing the new bruise Chanwook left on your left arm. 

“It’s nothing”

“If you want me I can make a police file, start an investigation” his dad was a police officer, so it made sense his savior complex was a heritage.

“Let’s not talk about that, let’s watch a movie” and both of you started to eat and relax, you even let him kiss you when the movie was over. Sweet and gentle, his hands were on  your cheeks and your cheeks only, like the gentleman he was. 

You forgot about the ribbon, but on the other side of the city Jimin tied it up to his wrist and hid it underneath his shirt sleeve, kissing it and touching it because he had something that belonged to you. It angered him how this was the closest he would ever get to you, if he wasn’t such an asshole and could be more like you, kind and trustworthy. 

The thing with Jimin was that he knew what was going on between you and him, and he wasn’t stupid. He knew that he wanted you, he craved you badly and everyday being far from you was harder and harder. But Jimin had issues, he never learnt how to be friendly, everything was handed to him easily and even his friendships were attached to him under a specific desire they wanted from him. His money, his connections, his power, sex. 

No one had ever been real to him, not even his own father, who ignored him and despised him ever since he could remember. Ever since his mother left the two and broke their family; the hate was mutual though. Jimin hated his father as much as his father hated him, it was fine, he had an entire school ready to lick his shoes. 

Until you came. So bright and sweet. 

You, with your generous curves and your red lipstick, red nails, and red converse. It was the perfect color for you because every time he pictured you, he saw you in red satin sheets. Red, the color of sex and violence. The color for passion and blood. He watched you from afar the first week after you arrived, and he noticed you were kind and open, gifting your smiles and your laughs to everyone who would look in your direction, but not him. You weren’t interested in him, mainly because no one had told you who he was or maybe you did knew and simply didn’t care. 

He found your presence insulting and likable. And if it wasn’t confusing enough already, you gifted him a strawberry milk bottle after he started to bother you, that got him off the waterline, destabilized him and made him sink. The reality of his horrible persona hit him like a truck, and to this new sensation of warmness and affability he responded with the only way he knew: hurting  you. 

Every day he saw your kind eyes lose their shine and become angrier, bitter. They would light up just when he showed up in front of you, with hate and resentment and for the first time in his life someone was looking at him with realness. He was the cause of a real emotion behind someone’s gaze, and he found that amazing. 

Why couldn’t he just say hello like a normal nineteen-year-old? No, the only way he could show you how much he wanted you was hurting you and haunting you, making sure you would never try to cross that line of goodness ever again with him, but also having you close enough he could consume your mind and your days, making him the only thing you could think of. Because the most similar thing to love was hate, and he wanted you to hate him with all your heart. 

You walked down the aisle, your eyes following the book’s spine, looking for the one you were needing for your essay. You previously had asked the librarian to add you to the waitlist for that specific book, since your school only had one copy of it and it was highly requested. According to the date, the book should be free for you now.

You knelt down to keep looking at the title when a noise pulls you out of your thoughts, the sound of two mouths crashing together and the clicks of tongues came to you from your left and before you could stop yourself you looked in that direction. There he was, the person you hated the most on this planet earth, kissing a blonde girl.

His hands were all over her body, he was facing the hallway and her back was all you could see of her. She had her hands on his black hair and his were moving up and down her thighs, and you recognized him just with one look at his hands. The same hands that would throw your books to the floor, the same hands that had push you and the same hands that pointed at you mockingly.

You didn’t want to see Park Jimin making out with someone, even when you found unbelievable he had the ability to feel something pleasing, you would have swear that man could only feel anger and bitterness inside him, but something about the way he was kissing her kept you interested. He opened his eyes, and without breaking the kiss, he smiled when he recognized you, eyeing you during the kiss.

You could tell his eyes shone with that devilish light of his, and his performance during the hook up got heavier. You collected yourself, remembering your task of finding the book and leave the hell out of there, but the book wasn’t there. There was an empty spot where it was supposed to be, and just when you were about to stand go with the librarian the monster spoke.

“Enjoying the show, little mouse?” his out of breath voice was raspy and profound, he was turn on.

“No, I came here looking for a book as the rest of the people here, this is a library not a motel” you pretend to keep searching even when you knew the book wasn’t there, just to not look at him.

“Oh, wouldn’t it be this book the one you want?” the irony leaking on his voice made you turn around and watch his hand wave a small book, it was indeed The Art of Loving by Erich Fromm.

“Give it to me!” you shouted almost forgetting you were in  a library and someone staring at you with disgust.

“Oh, you want this?” and he shove the book underneath his white buttoned shirt “Sorry, you will have to look for it” the blonde girl laughed at you and Jimin remembered she was there; it always pissed him off how he forgets about other women easily when you are near, it makes his blood burn. You shouldn’t have that much power and being unconscious about it. 

“Get out.” he said to the blonde one, and she widened  her eyes in  surprise “I said get out.” and he pushed her away, he didn’t even let her utter a word while  he was picking  her backpack from the floor and throwing  it to her. 

She ran out of the library and you followed her with your eyes until she disappeared because you were as confused as her; maybe Jimin was indeed a mentally unstable person, you had no other explanation for his abrupt mood swings. 

He stared at you in silence, fascinated with your legs showing off down the uniform skirt in your kneeled position. He walked towards you, grabbing your chin roughly with his fingers. 

"Didn't you wish it was you in  her place?" He speaks, his breathy voice crashing with your face and he smelled like cigarettes and coca-cola "Didn't you want to be praised by me instead of bullied?" 

"I'd rather be your victim than your friend, you're disgusting Jimin, I would do whatever it takes to free myself from you" you spat and before you could add how much you hated him because he grabs you by the neck and forces his mouth on  yours. You protest, your hands on his chest trying to push him away but he's bigger. 

"Whatever it takes, uh?" He repeated, his lips moving above yours, the tip of his nose touching your cupid's arch and his eyes fixated in yours, "so will you be my slave?" 

"You're sick" you responded, trying to push him away, but the harder you tried the strongest his hold was. "I can't believe there's people who genuinely like you"

"You make me sick, one glance at you and I want to throw up"

“Why did you kiss me then? Why don’t you leave me alone?”

“Because I love charity” he smiled, actually finding his own joke funny  "I'm making you a favor just by looking you right in the eye." 

"You are the one who's salivating every time you look at me, Jimin, I'm starting to feel you're in love with me" the voice of the two was starting to get loud, and neither of you noticed when the librarian appears in the hallway. 

"The two of you, I must pleat you to keep the sound low if necessary for you to keep talking, this is a library not the school yard, you can't be shouting in here" the librarian looked at the two of you with stress, and when she notices that it was Jimin himself, her face features softens. 

"Mrs. Chester, he has the book that I reserved for this week, and I need it to finish my essay, I reserved it last week" you defend yourself. 

"Mrs. Chester, I believe we can make an exception per se, and share the book since I need it as well, I'm pretty sure you will understand and any complain about this incident can be notified with my father" he spoke to her with that petulant tone he loved to use, and the old woman opened her eyes impressed at his subtle warning. 

"Miss ___ and I got the book issue covered" he continued. 

"Okay, I'll leave it to you then, keep the tone low" and she walked faster to her place again. 

"Give me the book" you said once again in between your teeth.

"You said 'whatever it takes' and we are about to see how far you're willing to go to set yourself free from me, meet me at the lab at four" and he picked his backpack from the floor and leave you in the library's hallway, scared and hesitant. 

Jimin’s pulse was out of control, on the outside he might seemed relax and nonchalant, as he usually was, but if you paid attention to him you could notice his right hand shaking with need. The same hand that grabbed your chin and pulled your neck closer to him. He was shaking nervously like a virgin, his body excited and hard with the pure action of connecting his lips together. 

The whole morning he kept looking at the clock, wishing the hands would point at four magically. When his last class was over, he picked his stuff ignoring his group of friends speak to him and rushed to the lab. 

You weren’t there, but he would give you time, a couple of minutes, a couple of hours, all the time you needed. He knew you wanted the book and that you also wouldn’t turn down a good fight with him. Hopefully he didn’t wait too long before you and your red aura appeared in front of him, stealing a smirk from his face. 

You hated when Jimin smiled, if God was on your side he would have made him ugly, but the heavens saw in you a victim as well and made him awfully pretty. 

“You came” he spitted trying to hide how happy he was. 

“You have the book, what else could I do?” and you dropped your backpack to the floor, sitting on the first seat of the lab. He was leaning on the teacher’s desk, standing. He stared at you for a while, that day you were wearing a red beret and cherry earrings; sometimes he hated himself for harming such a cute thing like you. 

“What do you want?” you asked exhausted under his scrutiny. 

“How was your date?” he asked, and you frowned confused, why would he be asking that? “You know, the date you told me you had yeste…”

“Yes, I know what date you’re talking about, but why would you ask about that?” 

“Because I want to know.” 

“Why?”

“I want to know who’s my little mouse’s new friend” there it was, the evil glint in  his eyes made its entrance and somehow you felt scared that he found out it was Taehyung. Jimin was volatile and extreme, and you regretted the idea of ever coming, he can keep  the book you could try to replace it with another one. 

“You know what? this is bullshit, you can keep the book” you bended to pick your backpack from the floor but he was faster and he took it away from you, you jump to him trying to reach his extended arm where he had your bag “Give me that! Give me my stuff!”

“Give me a kiss” his voice was raspy, and with every little jump you did his nose was flooded with your smell. Cherry blossom and lemon. 

“You’re sick, Jimin, I won’t give you shit”

“First of all, you already told me that and second, you already gave me that. I’m just asking for another” he laughed at your piss expression, so out of your boxes, so his. You tried to jump over him once more, but you tripped over the desk, falling above him. He catches you by grabbing you by the hips and when you hurried to get off him, he captures you left arm. 

You moaned in pain, the bruise in your forearm still new palpitated when Jimin hold you there and he notice something was wrong underneath the uniform’s shirt. He rolled up your shirt’s sleeve and saw the yellow and purple spot on your skin. It could have been that you fall off or tripped, but it had the shape of a hand. 

“What happened to you?” he asked, his amusement was gone and it was replaced with… Concern? Anger? Great, you must be experiencing head trauma because you were starting to get delusional.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m starting to get tired of people asking me what happened when it’s obvious” you pulled your arm away from his hand, rolling your sleeve back. 

“You’re lying, tell me who did that” he demanded, and you laughed outraged, how dared he? 

“Who did this? You’re asking who did this?” He swallowed when he saw your tired and ironic face, a mix of bitterness and exhaustion that didn’t belong to your sweet features. “Your friends!” you shouted while pointing at him, shaming on him “Your gang of sadistic dogs did this to me! How dare you to ask me as if they don’t act according to your orders?”

“I never told them to hurt you” he stated and for the first time his voice wasn’t sarcastic or mocking, it was simply neutral and serious “I’ve never harmed you physically, I never told them to-“

“You don’t have to, Jimin, when you’re not around they chase me and torture me just because you hate me, the whole school knows it, even the teachers. It’s implicit that they hit me and push me because of you” you let it all out, shouting to him with all your strength, breathing heavily after you’re done and adding “So, if you have a little bit of human decency, you will not ask me obvious questions.”

“Was it Chanwook?” he gave you your backpack and you snatched it from his hands. 

Your silence was his answer. 

Chanwook’s nose bleed and splashed on Jimin’s uniform jacket. 

“Who asked you to hurt her like that?” Jimin shouted in  his ear, the parking where  he made his friend go was empty, no witnesses around.

“I thought- I thought you would find it funny” he said breathless, his hands trying to crawl away from Jimin’s fist, but the asphalt scraped his palms and Jimin’s expensive boot kicked him on the stomach, feeling his ribs crack.

“I checked her medical record, her five-day inability wasn’t because she fell, was it?” he grabbed Chanwook’s head by his hair, pulling it harshly like Chanwook himself had done many times with your hair.

“Is not a big deal, dude. You were the one who started it all, we just followed you.” 

“What did you do to her?” and Jimin’s foot connected again to his knee. 

“I- I pushed…” Chanwook couldn’t talk, the pain making him howl. 

“What did you do?!” Jimin shouted very close to his ear, losing his patience, his hand getting more intense on his hair.

“I pushed her head to a locker twice, I wanted to see how many times she could take it until she passed out.” 

Jimin saw red. The blood of his eyes expanding on his sight and his sadistic side came out. He pushed Chanwook’s head to his car door twice, but he didn’t pass out. 

“I like this game too, we are going to see how many time you can take it until you pass” Jimin hit his head three more times, but apparently the head of that scumbag was made of titanium cause when he dropped him,  the fucker could still walk. Slow and dizzy, but his shivering knees  made him stand up. 

“Why did you do it?” Jimin asked, lighting up a cigarette and taking off his jacket. He had his sleeves rolled up, and your red ribbon showed on his wrist making him smile “Why would you hurt her like that?” 

“For the same reason as you.” Chanwook answered and Jimin froze “Because I want her.” 

“You want her.” He repeated, the fury accumulating on his burning chest and his butchered knuckles. That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Chanwook knew Jimin was pissed already, so if he was already fried, why wouldn’t he break it to him? He couldn’t hurt him more. 

“Sorry for being the one telling you, but your mouse has a nice pair of legs, I like to harm her and then I go to jerk-“ Chanwook couldn’t end the sentence because Jimin was tackling him, pushing down to the floor again. His fist went down to his face repeatedly. When Jimin stood  after getting tired, he made sure Chanwook was still breathing. He was, unfortunately.

“It’s little mouse, idiot.” 

He called the police anonymously, saying there was a student being attacked on the parking lot. Jimin took out his belongings to make it seem like an assault and knelt before leaving the place to warn his friend. 

“You will leave the school, get transfer, drop out of high school I don’t care, but if I see you tomorrow morning there you will suffer. You will say people attacked you and stole from you, not a word of this. And if I see you near her, if you dare to talk to her, to breath in her direction, I will come for you just like I have done for everybody who ever disobeyed me, do you understand?”

Chan’s swollen face couldn’t articulate a word, Jimin rolled his eyes to the disgusting scene. 

“Blink if you heard me and understand.” 

Chan blinked, and Jimin stand, ready to walk to his car, murmuring to himself “Why do people mess with what is mine?” 

The reunion you had with Jimin a couple of days ago left you anxious and uneasy, especially because you haven’t seen Chanwook and the others haven’t mess with you. You walked down the hallway and got to your locker and when you unlocked the door you find a brand-new copy of The Art of Loving, a red gift bow and a card adorning the edition.

No God, please. Don’t let it be from Jimin. 

You opened the card and read on his unmatched calligraphy.

“ ‘Is love an art? Then it requires knowledge and effort’. I will put effort, little mouse, and show you how artistic I can be. Jimin.” 

You were disgusted with his silly words. Was this a prank? It must be, three days ago Jimin was making fun of you because the shirt was too tight to your breasts and he could see the line of your bra, his friends also pointing at the softness of your flesh. 

You didn’t need the book anyways, you bought it on E-book and your essay was almost finish so you threw  it in the garbage, pretending that incident didn’t happened and moving on to your next class. You were unaware that from the other side of the hallway, near to the cleaning closet Jimin was watching you. Confused and sad with the scene of you hating his gift.

Why did you throw it away? 

The rest of the week was awfully peaceful for you. There was no sign of Chan, and Meeyon and the other idiot stopped messing with you. When they would saw you in  the hallways or the yard, they would walk away as if you were infected with something dangerous and contagious. They would not even look in  your direction. You were afraid they were gathering strength to finally come for you and beat you really hard. 

Jimin on the other hand was losing his mind. He has been watching you from afar, and he notices that the shiny gleam that you had in your eyes  was coming back , and he wasn’t the reason for it. He followed you after classes for almost a week, and he didn’t see any  trace of this alleged date guy you told him. 

He was starting to think you came up with it to make him mad, to catch his attention because you craved him as much as he craved you. He was about to leave the coffee shop where you were reading, when a guy appeared next to you and you stood up and greeted him with a kiss. 

A kiss. The kiss you didn’t wanted to give to him. 

His jaw clenched and his fist gripped  his car’s steering wheel controlling his anger. So You were not lying, you had someone indeed. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see who he  was, and then he gets a glimpse of his eyes and recognizes  him, it was a shy boy that always sat at the end of the class, the last seat. What was his name? Taesoo? Taejoon? 

Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.

He watched the two of you a little longer, seeing how you were calm and sweet with him. Punching him in the arm playfully, laughing, covering your mouth when he said something funny, sharing a damn slice of cake.  Cherry cake.  

The next day he decided he would do what he did better. Intimidate you, extorting you.

He stood next to your locker, his backpack to the side and arms crossed on his chest. You appeared on the hallway with a strawberry scarf on  your head and heart shaped earrings, a necklace matching your already annoying and stunning appearance.

“What do you want, Jimin?” you asked bothered with only his  presence near you.

The truth with you was that you knew what was going on between you and him, his incessant tease, his subtle flirtation and his fixation with you. Deep down you prayed your intuition was wrong because if you could ignore his horrible personality and sadistic tendencies, you would be on your knees for Park Jimin.

Thankfully, you still were a reasonable and logic person, you could not ignore his flaws, and you truly felt disgusted and resentment every time you saw him.

“I just wanted to check on my little mouse, how’s your day been ?”

“It was all good, until you came and now it’s ruined” you responded, not even looking at him. You unlocked  your locker and took your books out.

“Glad to hear that, no one has the right to ruin your day but me” he smiled discreetly “Have Meeyon and Junghae mess with you?”

You looked at him, briefly, surprised he was interested in your well-being.

“No, they haven’t, why?”

“Good.”

“Why?” you insisted “Did you tell them something?”

“I told them to stop, they won't even touch a single strand of your hair” his eyes turned darker and narrowed, and your heartbeat raise to the perspective and the rare sensation of Jimin being… Protective?

“Thank you.” You couldn’t believe your words, thanking your abuser for doing the bare minimum, but not having those three around lifted a weight from your shoulders and made your days lighter “What happened with Chan...”

“You will not worry about him anymore; he got what he deserved.”

“What do you mean?” your voice shaked anxiously.

“You won’t see him again.” Jimin smiled satisfied.

“What did you do to him?” you weren’t sorry for whatever happened to Chanwook, he was a despicable human being who liked and enjoyed pain from others, but you were not rejoicing on the fact he could have been harmed because of you.

“Nothing he didn’t do to you. Don’t worry sweetheart, he got transferred, he will be fine” you didn’t like how Jimin’s voice was to mellow, as if you trusted on each other “Speaking of be fine, why don’t you come to my house this evening and work on your essay, I still have the book…”

“I can’t, I have plans already” you cut him, cursing your luck.

“With that Taehyung asshole?” he pushed close your locker door, the sound of metal whipping down the hall, drawing attention.

“Who-?”

“I’ve done my research, all the people who are friends of my little mouse are also my friends.” His face was tainted with craziness and obsession, two things you evoked deeply in Jimin.

“Don’t hurt him.” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth.

“I won’t” he leaned closer to your lips  “I won’t, unless you don’t do something for me” his lowered chest voice was velvety against your ear skin “Met me at the lab at four, don’t be late little mouse.”

✔︎ TAGLIST: @tae-v-eat @whipwhoops @bunnyca @itachiswaify @sheylamc @samuelfortniteking @rkivewritersblog @mred435 @kthyg @jiminiemochisexybabe (my first taglist, i'm so excited 🤩)

AN: not sure what this even is. some strange, twisted storyline my brain threw together, again. but i needed to put it out here. i couldn’t leave it rotting in my drafts, even if it hadn’t been there that long.

LEVERAGE | KNJ ft. JJK : part.02 part.03 [end]

Find my stories • MASTERLIST • WATTPAD

Taglist: @magicalnachocreator, @solephile , @devilzliaison @calmyourtitts7 , @mar-lo-pap, @furioustrashlover, @sassybearfire, @inhuno @whoa-jo, @mikrokookiex, @agustd-sora

You looked around the room, your gaze drifting over the crowd. People moved in clusters laughing, negotiating, exchanging handshakes that meant far more than they showed. Every conversation here had a purpose. Deals were being made, alliances formed, relationships built on nothing but profit and power.

It was suffocating.

A quiet sigh slipped past your lips as you adjusted your posture, the weight of the evening settling heavily on your shoulders. You were tired, tired of the constant expectations, tired of playing your role so perfectly, tired of being present in a life that never truly felt like yours.

For a moment, your eyes searched for something, anything real.

Instead, they landed on him.

Jungkook stood a few feet away, effortlessly commanding attention as he spoke to one of his clients. His posture was confident, his voice calm yet firm, every word calculated. He looked exactly like what the world saw him as powerful, untouchable, in control.

He had introduced you earlier, his hand briefly resting at your back as he presented you with quiet pride. You had smiled, of course. You always did. Polite, graceful, composed. You spoke when required, nodded at the right moments, and played your part flawlessly before excusing yourself under the pretense of needing some air.

No one questioned it. No one ever did.

It had been seven years.

Seven years since you became his wife. And yet, standing there now, watching him from a distance, you couldn't help but wonder how it had all come to this. You didn't hate him. You didn't love him either.

Somewhere along the way, feelings had simply never existed.

Your marriage wasn't built on affection or understanding. It was an agreement, a merger between two powerful families, carefully planned and executed. You came from wealth, from influence, from a name that carried its own weight.

But Jungkook.

He was always a step above. With his family deeply rooted in politics and his own dominance in the business world, he held a kind of power that went beyond money. And you had learned, quietly and without resistance, where you stood in that hierarchy.

Beside him. But never truly with him.

You exhaled softly, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand as the noise of the room faded into a dull hum. Surrounded by people, yet entirely alone. You had grown used to this feeling. Perhaps too used to it and maybe that was the most exhausting part of all.

------

You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the liquid catch the light as it moves in slow circles. The golden hue reflects faintly against your fingers, almost mesmerizing. Without much thought, you bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip, more out of habit than desire. You don't even taste it.

Your attention shifts when you feel it a presence, familiar and heavy, settling beside you. Before you can turn, Jungkook leans in, his breath brushing lightly against your skin before his lips press against the side of your neck. The gesture is brief, almost casual, yet deliberate enough to be noticed.

Claiming.

"Bored?" he murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you despite the crowded room.

You don't flinch. You don't react.

Just a small smile touches your lips as you nod simple, honest. You never pretended with him. Not about things like this and it never changed anything.

Jungkook was a man who moved according to his own will. Decisions were made long before anyone else had the chance to question them. You had learned that early on. You could voice your thoughts, your discomfort, your quiet complaints.

But never in a way that interfered. Never in a way that asked him to stop and he preferred it that way.

There was something almost unsettling about how well the two of you had settled into this rhythm, silent understanding without emotion, presence without connection.

"The event is going to end soon," he says, straightening slightly, his gaze flicking across the room as if calculating something even now. "We can leave in a few minutes."

You nod again, your fingers tightening slightly around the glass before relaxing.

Of course.

Leave the moment it was no longer useful.

That's how everything worked in his world.

His attention returns to you, softer this time, but not warmer. His hand lifts, fingers brushing through your hair as he gently fixes a loose strand, tucking it back into place with careful precision. The touch lingers for a second longer than necessary, controlled, almost thoughtful.

Anyone watching would think it was affection.

It wasn't. It was habit.

Presentation.

Just another part of the image the two of you upheld so perfectly.

Your eyes meet his for a brief second, searching for something, anything but finding the same calm, unreadable expression he always wore and just like that, he steps away. Back into the crowd. Back into control.

Leaving you standing there, glass in hand, surrounded by noise. Yet wrapped in a silence that felt far too familiar.

------

You roll your hips, your breath coming in ragged, shallow pants as you straddle him. Sex with Jungkook is always a masterclass in controlled chaos; he knows exactly how to unravel you, and exactly how to take what he wants. He likes it rough, and tonight, he isn't holding back.

His left hand, the one covered in a beautiful, intricate sleeve of tattoos he usually keeps hidden beneath crisp shirt cuffs, grips your hip with bruising force. The stark contrast of his rough, inked skin against your flushed flesh is dizzying. You are one of the few people allowed to see this side of him, both the art on his skin and the predator in his bed.

Feeling the friction and the heat of you, Jungkook lets out a low, gravelly grunt. But when your pace falters and you begin to slow down, his patience evaporates.

"Did I tell you to stop?" he growls, his voice dripping with dark authority.

Before you can answer, his large palm connects sharply with your right cheek. The sting of the slap cuts through the haze of pleasure, making you gasp and let out a loud, needy moan.

He smirks at your reaction, knowing exactly how much you love it when he takes control. "Good girl," he murmurs darkly, though his words quickly turn more degrading as he demands your complete submission. "You're nothing but a needy little mess for me, aren't you?"

He doesn't wait for a reply. Jungkook hooks his fingers aggressively into your hips, manhandling your body to position you exactly where he wants you. Flipping the power dynamic in a second, he takes full control, pinning you down and pounding into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm that leaves you completely breathless.

Your fingers dig desperately into the mattress, your knuckles turning white as Jungkook continues his punishing pace. Every heavy thrust drives the breath right out of your lungs, leaving you capable of nothing but high-pitched, broken whimpers. He is relentless, using his superior strength to keep you pinned exactly where he wants you.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates straight to your core.

You force your heavy eyelids open, finding his dark eyes fixed on yours. They are dilated and wild, burning with an intense possessiveness. He reaches up, his tattooed hand tangling firmly in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat. He leans down and bites the sensitive skin right where your neck meets your shoulder, marking you as his.

You let out a cry, your body arching as a violent wave of pleasure begins to ripple through you. You are so close, teetering right on the edge of a shattering climax.

Sensing your peak, Jungkook smirks against your skin. Instead of letting you fall over the edge, he abruptly slows his pace to agonizingly slow, shallow thrusts.

"Jungkook, please..." you whine, your voice cracking with desperation as you try to roll your hips against him to chase the friction.

"Please what?" he taunts, his grip on your hips tightening to keep you still. He watches your desperate expression with pure amusement. "Beg for it. Tell me how badly you need to cum for me, you desperate little thing."

The degrading words should sting, but instead, they act like gasoline on a fire. The raw vulnerability of it sends a fresh spike of heat straight to your lower belly.

"Please, Jungkook... I need it. I'm yours, just please..." you desperately plead, completely unraveled by him.

He gives a dark, satisfied chuckle, clearly pleased by your total submission. "That's what I thought."

With a sudden, explosive burst of energy, he slams back into you with full force. He hammers into you, fast and deep, showing no mercy as he drags you over the precipice. Your vision goes white as your climax hits you in violent, crashing waves. You scream his name, your body locking up around him.

Jungkook lets out a loud, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his own release takes over, his body shuddering violently as he spends himself inside you.

-----

The morning light filtering through the heavy drapes felt like an intrusion. You woke up with a soft groan, the sound catching in your throat as a deep, ache pulsed through your muscles. Your body felt heavy, wonderfully wrecked, and incredibly sore in places that vividly reminded you of Jungkook's relentless possessiveness from the night before.

Rolling over, your hand searched the mattress, but the sheets beside you were cool. He was already gone.

You attempted to sit up, the cool morning air hitting your bare, flushed skin. You were still completely naked, your body painted with the faint, purplish marks of his possessiveness. You desperately wanted to wash the sweat and scent of him off in a warm shower, but your trembling muscles flatly refused to cooperate. You felt utterly drained.

Suddenly, a bright, bubbly giggle echoed from the hallway, slicing through the quiet room.

Instinct took over. Panicked by the sound, you frantically grabbed the heavy duvet and pulled it up to your chin, burying yourself in the warmth just as the bedroom door swung open.

Standing in the doorway was a tiny, energetic figure. Right behind him stood Jungkook.

He was the picture of effortless, devastatingly handsome domesticity. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants that hung off his hips, displaying the hard ridges of his abs and the mesmerizing, intricate sleeve of tattoos on his arm. His hair was messy, and his dark eyes softened the moment they landed on you.

"Mama! Dad said I can make a smoothie today!" your five-year-old son, Rawoon, announced proudly, his eyes shining with excitement.

You couldn't help the warm smile that took over your face at the sight of him. "Oh, really?" you rasped, your voice still a little thick and breathless from sleep.

Rawoon marched closer to the bed, crossing his little arms over his chest as a dramatic pout took over his face. "And I wanted you to help me, Mama. But Daddy wouldn't let me wake you up!"

Before Rawoon could climb onto the bed and accidentally discover why his mother was hiding under the covers, Jungkook moved with lightning speed. He swooped in, scooping the giggling five-year-old up into his arms, holding him effortlessly against his chest.

"Hey, no fair badgering your mother," Jungkook chuckled, his deep, raspy voice sending a familiar shiver down your spine. He looked over at you, a knowing, wicked smirk playing at the edge of his lips as his eyes raked over your bare shoulders, silently communicating that he was the reason you couldn't move.

Jungkook turned his attention back to his pouting son, booping Rawoon's nose. "Your mom needs to get ready for work, buddy, and she's very, very tired today. Ms. Suzy will help you make the smoothie instead, okay?"

Rawoon looked at you, seeking confirmation. You gave him an encouraging nod and blew him a kiss. Resigned but still excited about the smoothie, Rawoon nodded. "Okay! I'm gonna make a strawberry one!"

"That's my boy," Jungkook praised, adjusting his hold on the child as he started to walk out of the bedroom.

-----

You had just dropped Rawoon off at school, watching as he disappeared past the gates without looking back. The morning air felt unusually still as you sat behind the wheel for a moment longer than necessary, your hands resting lightly on it. Work was waiting.

It always was. But today, you didn't feel like going just yet.

A quiet thought crossed your mind, coffee. Something simple. Familiar. A small pause before stepping back into the routine that never really gave you space to breathe.

Without thinking much, you turned the car toward the café you always went to, the one just a few minutes away from Rawoon's school. It was your place. Quiet, tucked away from the noise of the city, warm in a way that didn't demand anything from you.

You needed that.

But as you pulled up, something felt off. The doors were shut. No lights. No sign of movement inside. Your brows furrowed slightly as you checked the time, certain you weren't early. This place was always open by now. Always.

A soft groan escaped your lips as you leaned back in your seat, irritation bubbling up in a way that felt disproportionate but you let it. Of course.

Even this one small thing didn't go your way. You stepped out of the car, the morning air brushing against your skin as you leaned against the side, your fingers slipping into your small bag. You pulled out a cigarette, placing it between your lips with practiced ease, already craving the distraction it would bring.

Your hand searched for the lighter.

Once. Twice. Nothing.

You exhaled sharply, annoyed now, your patience thinning far quicker than it should have. Tilting your head back slightly, you let out a quiet huff, your fingers digging deeper into your bag as if it would magically appear. It didn't. And just as you were about to give up. A presence. Close. Too close.

Before you could fully react, there was a soft click. A small flame flickered to life beside you. Your eyes shifted. A man stood there, holding the lighter up with steady fingers, the fire casting a faint glow against his face. For a brief second, you simply looked at him taking him in without meaning to.

You didn't ask.

You didn't question. You just leaned in slightly, bringing the cigarette closer to the flame. The tip burned, smoke curling upward as you took a slow drag, the familiar burn settling into your lungs. Only then did you pull back. Only then did you actually look at him.

There was something, unreadable about his expression. Calm, composed, but not entirely open. Like he was watching more than he let on. You exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting between the two of you as a quiet silence settled.

"The café is closed," he says, his voice low, even. "There's some alteration going on."

Your gaze flickers briefly toward the building before returning to him. You nod slightly, it makes sense. He must've seen you pull up, seen the way you lingered, the irritation written all over you. Still, something about the way he said it felt intentional.

Like he had been waiting. You don't dwell on it. Instead, you lift your hand, holding the cigarette out toward him, a silent offer. He takes it without hesitation. His fingers brush yours, just barely. Intentional or not you can't tell.

He brings it to his lips, taking a slow drag before exhaling, his gaze shifting away for a moment as if he's giving you space, yet somehow not really leaving it.

"I'm Namjoon," he says after a beat, his voice softer now. He gives a small, tight-lipped smile and there it is. Dimples.

It should've felt normal. Casual. Just a stranger being polite. But something about him didn't feel like a coincidence.

"Y/n," you reply, your voice steady despite the faint unease settling somewhere deep inside you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence lingers a little longer than it should. You take another drag, your gaze drifting away from him, trying to shake off the strange heaviness that settled the moment he appeared. It was just a random interaction, you've had plenty of those.

So why did this feel different? Beside you, Namjoon exhales slowly, the smoke curling into the air between you. His posture is relaxed, almost too relaxed, like he belongs exactly where he is. Like he planned to be here.

"A place like this..." he starts, his voice casual, almost thoughtful. "Didn't expect to see someone like you here." Your brows knit slightly as you turn to look at him.

"Someone like me?" you repeat, a hint of confusion slipping through your otherwise composed tone. His lips curve faintly, not quite a smile.

"Yeah," he says, glancing at you briefly before looking ahead again. "You don't look like someone who waits outside closed cafés in the morning... looking annoyed over coffee." There's something in his words, light on the surface, but carrying weight underneath.

You let out a quiet breath, a small, almost dismissive smile touching your lips. "And what exactly do I look like?" He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he studies you.

Not in a way that feels admiring. In a way that feels knowing.

"Someone who doesn't have to settle for something like this," he finally says. The words land softly but they don't feel light.

You hold his gaze now, your expression shifting just slightly. "You don't know me."

"No," he agrees easily. "I don't." A pause. Then, "But I know enough."

Something in your chest tightens. Your fingers curl slightly around the cigarette as your eyes narrow just a fraction. "What is that supposed to mean?" Namjoon finally turns fully toward you, his attention no longer divided. The ease in his expression doesn't fade but there's something sharper beneath it now.

Measured. Intentional.

"It means..." he begins slowly, his voice dropping just enough to make you focus, "you're not someone who should be standing here alone."

A beat passes. Then he adds. "Especially not when you're married into the Jeons."

The world doesn't stop. Cars still pass in the distance. The wind still moves lightly through the trees. But for a second. Everything feels still. Your expression doesn't change immediately. But your mind does. Sharp. Alert. Careful.

"...Excuse me?" you say, your voice quieter now, controlled. Namjoon doesn't look surprised by your reaction. If anything, he looks like he expected it.

"You heard me," he says, his tone calm, almost indifferent but his eyes don't leave yours. "Jeon Jungkook's wife." The way he says it isn't curious. It's certain. A slow, uneasy feeling creeps in. This wasn't a guess. This wasn't luck.

You straighten slightly, your guard slipping into place without you even realizing it. "People know him," you reply, keeping your voice steady. "That doesn't mean they know me." A faint smile touches his lips not wide, not warm. Just enough.

"I know enough." Your stomach sinks, just slightly. He exhales, smoke curling lazily into the air as if this conversation means nothing to him, as if he hasn't just crossed a line he shouldn't even be near.

"You dropped your son off just now," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "Rawoon, right?" Your heartbeat stutters. This time, your reaction is immediate. Your gaze sharpens, all traces of casual politeness gone.

"...How do you know that?" your voice is quieter now, but firmer. Namjoon doesn't answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you like he's observing how far you'll go before you break.

"I like places like this," he says instead, ignoring your question entirely. "Quiet. Not too crowded. Not... performative." His eyes flick briefly toward the café before returning to you.

"Seems like you do too." A pause.

"It's interesting," he continues, almost thoughtfully, "considering your husband prefers the exact opposite." Your jaw tightens. There's something wrong here. This isn't coincidence. This isn't harmless. This man, he knows too much.

"Who are you?" you ask, the question sharper now, more direct. But again, he sidesteps it effortlessly.

"Does Rawoon get along well with Jungkook?" The words hit differently this time. Not just intrusive. Targeted. Your breath catches, just for a second.

"What?" you frown, the confusion finally breaking through the tension. "What kind of question is that?" Namjoon watches you carefully. Too carefully. As if he's waiting for something in your reaction. A slip. A truth.

"Just curious," he says lightly, but there's nothing light about the way his eyes don't leave yours. "Children can be... sensitive to things adults pretend not to notice." A chill runs down your spine. You don't like where this is going. At all.

"Why does it matter to you?" you ask, your voice dropping, guarded now. "You don't even know us." That's when it happens. That small shift. The corner of his lips lifts slow, knowing.

A smirk. "I think I know enough," he says quietly. Your chest tightens. There's something he's not saying. Something he wants you to think about and then, he leans in just slightly. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to make it feel suffocating.

"What do you think would happen..." his voice drops, softer now, almost a whisper, "...if Jungkook found out Rawoon isn't his son?" Everything stops.

The air. The sound. Your thoughts. For a second, you don't even breathe. Your eyes widen, just slightly but it's enough. Enough for him to see and he does. Of course he does. You take a step back, your pulse racing now, panic clawing its way up your chest despite how hard you try to suppress it.

"...Who are you?" you repeat, but this time it's not just a question.

It's a demand. A warning. A plea. Namjoon straightens, watching you with something unreadable in his expression satisfaction, maybe. Or something darker. You swallow hard, forcing your voice to steady.

"What do you want?" There's a beat of silence, that smirk returns. Slow. Certain. Like he's been waiting for you to ask that exact question.

"That's a good question," he murmurs. His eyes lock onto yours. Sharp. Unwavering.

"I was wondering when you'd get there." ---------

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a blade. You didn't understand why you were obeying a man you had only just met, but Namjoon possessed a terrifying weapon: knowledge. He knew more about the fractures in your life than your own husband did, and that leverage was a noose around your neck.

Rawoon was and always would be, your first priority. Your husband, Jungkook, was a different story. He was a man consumed by the cold mechanics of business and the preservation of his reputation; he allowed no one to stand in his way. Not his rivals, not his enemies, and certainly not you.

You didn't know Namjoon’s endgame, but you knew the weight of the device in your pocket. It was a sleek, silver spy recorder, cold against your palm. He hadn't given you a choice; you couldn't risk Rawoon’s safety for the sake of a husband who barely saw you.

After waiting for the mahogany doors of his office to swing open and the trail of clients to vanish, you slipped inside. The click of the lock felt like a final judgment. Jungkook looked up, his expression unreadable, though his dark eyes held a silent demand for an explanation. You never came here. In this marriage of convenience and cold distance, your presence was an anomaly.

Swallowing your terror, you forced a smile to your lips, a mask of practiced grace. You crossed the room, your fingers trailing softly over the polished surface of his desk, a predator-turned-prey. As you reached his chair, you didn't hesitate. You sank onto his lap, the proximity making your heart hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird.

You leaned in, the scent of his expensive cologne filling your senses, masking the metallic tang of fear.

"I wanted to talk to you," you whispered, your voice a fragile thread of silk.

"Yeah?" he responded, his voice dropping an octave, wary yet intrigued.

"Is it absolutely necessary to enter my office this seductively?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips a rare, sharp flash of humor.

You didn't answer with words. You leaned closer, pressing light, feather-soft kisses against the pulse point of his neck. You felt the vibration of a low moan in his chest as his hand came up to caress your hair, his grip firm and possessive. As your lips finally met his in a kiss that tasted of desperation and deceit, your hand moved stealthily toward the underside of his desk, the recorder ready to slip from your sleeve.

The heat between you was a lie you had to sell with every fiber of your being. As Jungkook’s kiss deepened, turning hungry and possessive, you arched your back to meet him, tangling your fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled you closer, his large hand sliding down to grip your waist, anchoring you against him. Every time his breath hitched, you felt a sickening jolt of adrenaline, this wasn't passion; it was a distraction.

While you hummed into the kiss, feigning a surrender that made his pulse race against your skin, your right hand moved with ghostly precision. You let your arm drape naturally off the side of his chair, your fingertips brushing the cool, hidden underside of the heavy mahogany desk.

With the recorder gripped tight between your shaking fingers, you felt for the flat surface beneath the ledge. Jungkook’s mouth moved to your jawline, his focus entirely consumed by the rare warmth you were offering him. Now. You pressed the adhesive side of the device firmly against the wood, holding it for a split second until it caught.

As you pulled your hand back, sliding it up his chest to steady yourself, the deed was done. You broke the kiss just enough to look into his dark, clouded eyes, your heart thundering so loudly you were certain he could feel it through your ribs. You had just invited a monster into his sanctuary, all to protect the only person who mattered.

------

The ping of the text message felt like a physical sting. "Good job," Namjoon had written, two simple words that made your skin crawl. You wanted to smash his face in, to erase that smug satisfaction he carried, but the paralyzing fear of Jungkook kept you anchored. You had convinced yourself that once this task was done, you would be free. You were wrong.

When the unknown number flashed on your screen, you didn’t have to guess. You picked up, your voice a sharp blade of ice. "What is it now? I did exactly what you asked."

A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the receiver. "Oh, sweetheart," Namjoon purred, his voice dripping with a terrifying calmness. "This is only the beginning."

Despite your internal screaming to walk away, his leverage pulled you like a leash. That was how you found yourself standing at the threshold of a sleek, glass-walled penthouse overlooking the city. When Namjoon opened the door, the opulence of the place felt suffocating.

"Why am I here, Namjoon?" you spat, glaring at him with enough vitriol to burn.

"Care for a drink?" he asked, gesturing nonchalantly toward the bar.

You rolled your eyes, the sheer audacity of his hospitality snapping the last thread of your patience. "I'm done playing. I'm leaving."

You turned toward the door, but his next words froze the blood in your veins.

"I wonder how your husband would react if he saw these."

You whirled around, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. He held a manila envelope, tossing it onto the marble coffee table. You snatched it up, your fingers trembling as you pulled out the glossy prints.

There you were. And there was Taeyang.

The images captured the truth you had buried under layers of designer clothes and a high-society marriage. You and Taeyang had been "friends with benefits" long before you were bartered off to Jungkook for the sake of business mergers and family legacies. The marriage was a contract, a cold exchange of power, but what you had with Taeyang was a fire you refused to put out, even after the wedding.

Then came the darkest secret of all, Rawoon.

Neither Taeyang nor Jungkook knew the truth of the boy’s parentage. You didn't particularly care for either man’s heart, but the secret was your only protection. Now, looking at Namjoon’s predatory smile, you realized he didn't just want a favor. He wanted your entire life in the palm of his hand.

"So," Namjoon leaned back, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. "Shall we discuss our next move, or should I give Jungkook a call?"

"What do you want from me?" your voice cracked, the desperation finally bleeding through your mask of indifference. "I’ve done the dirty work. I’ve played your games. Why are you digging into a past that has nothing to do with you?"

Namjoon didn't flinch. Instead, he closed the distance between you, his footsteps silent on the plush rug. He stopped just inches away, the scent of expensive cologne and old wood smoke filling your senses. He reached out, his fingers tracing a slow, agonizing line across your bare shoulder. The touch wasn't warm; it sent a jagged chill straight down your spine.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice dropping to a silk-wrapped threat, "I just want you."

Your face twisted in a mask of disgust. "You’re delusional."

"Come now, Y/N," he chuckled, his eyes dark with a predatory gleam. "You’ve kept so many secrets from Jungkook already. What’s one more added to the pile? This wouldn't even hurt him, he doesn't know the real you anyway."

The air in the penthouse felt thick, unbreathable. You stared at him one last time, a silent vow of hatred burning in your eyes. You snatched your purse from the table and turned on your heel, heading for the door. You needed to run, to breathe, to scrub the feeling of his touch off your skin.

But halfway to the exit, you stopped.

Your breath came in ragged, heavy hitches. You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling at the roots as you fought the hollow void in your chest. Your marriage to Jungkook was a hollow shell, a masterpiece of performance art. You played the doting wife, he played the powerful husband, and together you played the perfect parents. But behind closed doors, there was only silence. Just a cold business arrangement that had left you starving for something, anything, real.

If the world was going to burn, you might as well be the one to light the match.

With a sudden, violent movement, you whirled around. You hurled your purse onto the leather couch and lunged at Namjoon. Your hands fisted into the expensive fabric of his dress shirt, bunching it up as you slammed your lips against his.

It wasn't a kiss of love; it was a collision of two dark forces.

You knew your heart was an empty chamber, a place where nothing grew and no one stayed. You didn't care about Namjoon, and you certainly didn't love him, but in this moment, the friction was better than the numbness.

Namjoon didn't hesitate. He let out a low, guttural growl, his hands sliding firmly to your waist to pull you flush against him. He took control of the kiss, his movements aggressive and demanding, mirroring the chaos of the secrets you both held. In the shadows of the penthouse, the line between victim and accomplice finally blurred into nothingness.

------

The days blurred into a haze of adrenaline and deception. What had started as a moment of desperate defiance had spiraled into an addiction you couldn't shake. Yet, despite the tangled sheets and shared breaths, the mystery remained.

"Why are you doing this?" you would ask in the quiet aftermath, your voice barely a whisper. "Why are you so obsessed with destroying Jungkook?"

Namjoon’s responses were always the same: cold, cryptic, and frustratingly calm. "The truth is a heavy burden, Y/N," he’d mutter, his eyes staring at the ceiling as if calculating a move on a chessboard. "You’ll know everything when the time is right. For now, just play your part."

Hiding the scent of another man from Jungkook was becoming a high-stakes game of Russian roulette. For weeks, you walked a tightrope, returning home to a cold husband while your skin still burned from Namjoon’s touch. But something had shifted. The hollow, aching emptiness that defined your life with Jungkook that sterile, loveless void was being filled by Namjoon’s dark intensity. With him, you didn't feel like a pawn or a socialite. You felt alive, even if that life was built on a foundation of lies.

The air in the penthouse was thick, heavy with the scent of expensive bourbon and the looming threat of discovery. Every time you were here, you felt like you were dancing on the edge of a jagged cliff, but the adrenaline had become more addictive than the safety of your gilded cage with Jungkook.

Namjoon’s hands were calloused and warm as they slid firmly over your ribs, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your waist. He pulled you flush against him, the friction of your damp skin creating a heat that rivaled the midsummer night outside. You let out a breathless, airy giggle when his tongue darted out to lick your earlobe, a sharp contrast to the calculated, cold man he played in the light of day.

"You're getting bold, Y/N," he rasped, his voice a low vibration against your neck. "Does the thought of him catching us make you thrive, or is it just me?"

You couldn't answer. Your breath hitched as he spun you around, pressing your chest into the cool leather of the sofa. The contrast of the cold material against your heated skin made you shiver. He didn't offer gentleness; he offered a raw, primal intensity that Jungkook had never even attempted.

Namjoon loomed over you, his heavy weight a grounding force. He reached down, his hand gripping your hip to anchor you as he entered you with a slow, devastating thrust. You arched your back, your spine forming a perfect, desperate curve as you gasped into the cushions. The sensation was overwhelming, raw and unfiltered.

He moved with a rhythmic, punishing pace, each movement echoing the power he held over your life. There were no sweet words or soft promises here, only the visceral reality of two people bound by secrets and sin. As his grip tightened on your waist, leaving faint marks that you knew you’d have to hide tomorrow, you felt that familiar, hollow ache in your chest finally begin to shatter.

In the wreckage of your marriage and the chaos of his blackmail, this was the only time you felt like you weren't a ghost in your own life. You clung to the edge of the sofa, your nails digging into the leather, lost in the storm that Namjoon had conjured. Whatever his endgame was, in this dark, sweat-soaked sanctuary, you were no longer a pawn, you were the flame.

------

The smoke from your cigarette swirled in the dim light of the bedroom, a gray ghost dancing in the air before vanishing into the shadows. You sat at the edge of the bed, the cool air of the penthouse raising goosebumps on your naked skin. Your phone screen cast a clinical, blue glow over your face as you scrolled aimlessly, trying to ignore the heavy silence that usually followed the storm of your encounters.

The mattress shifted. You felt the warmth of Namjoon’s body before you felt his touch. He leaned in, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

"I wonder," he began, his voice dropping into that low, melodic register that usually signaled a shift in the wind. "I wonder how you'll be reacting tomorrow."

The smoke caught in your throat. You pulled the cigarette away, your brow furrowing as you turned your head to meet his gaze. "What is that supposed to mean? What happens tomorrow?"

Namjoon didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, his eyes scanning your face as if he were memorizing a map of a city he intended to burn. Then, his lips curved into a smile. It was that tight-lipped, dimpled grin you usually found yourself drawn to, the one that made him look almost human, but today, the light didn't reach his eyes. It was a hollow imitation. A mask.

"Nothing," he said, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. "I'm just thinking about what tomorrow would be like. For everyone."

He reached out, his thumb grazing your jawline with a tenderness that felt more threatening than a physical blow. You stared at him, your heart beginning a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who had already set the timer on a bomb and was simply waiting for the world to notice the ticking.

"Namjoon," you whispered, the cigarette ash falling unheeded onto the silk sheets. "What did you do?"

------

You step out of your room, your footsteps slow as you descend the stairs, but something feels off. The house is louder than usual. Voices. Movement. The faint clatter of utensils from the kitchen. Your brows knit together as your gaze moves across the space. Maids are rushing around, setting the table, adjusting decorations, carrying trays, far more than what was ever needed for a normal day.

Even the air feels different. Prepared. You pause midway down the stairs, your eyes narrowing slightly. Jungkook stands near the dining area, giving instructions short, precise, controlled.

That, in itself, isn’t unusual. But what is that he’s involved at all. He was never particular about these things. Never cared what was cooked, how things were arranged. The house functioned, and that was enough for him. So why now?

“What’s happening?” you ask as you step closer. Your voice cuts through the movement around him. Jungkook turns to look at you. For a second, just a second his expression shifts. Subtle. But you catch it. Then it’s gone.

“It’s nothing,” he says smoothly, but not as effortlessly as usual. “One of my cousins is coming over. With his family.” Your gaze lingers on him. Cousin? He licks his lips briefly before turning away, adjusting his cuff like it suddenly demands his attention and that’s when you notice it.

He doesn’t hold your gaze. Not like he always does. Jungkook was many things but uncertain wasn’t one of them. Yet right now. There’s something restrained about him. Measured.

You watch him for a moment longer, trying to place it, trying to understand. But then you look away. You don’t care enough to question it.

“Hmm,” you hum softly, brushing it off as you move past him. Whatever this is, it’s his world. Not yours.

------

The doorbell rings later that afternoon. Everything stills for just a second. Then movement resumes, faster this time. One of the maids rushes to open the door. You remain where you are, standing near the living room, your expression calm, unbothered.

Until, you see them. First, a woman steps in elegant, composed, her presence quiet but refined. Beside her. A young girl, no older than twelve, holding her hand, her eyes curiously scanning the house and then. Him. Your breath stops. Namjoon. For a second, everything around you blurs. The room. The voices. The sound. All of it fades into nothing.

Your mind struggles to catch up with what your eyes are seeing.

No.

Your gaze locks onto him as he steps inside like he belongs here, like this is normal. Like this is how you were supposed to meet him. Jungkook walks forward, his expression now composed, controlled back to the man you know.

“Namjoon,” he says, extending his hand. Namjoon takes it. Firm. Polite. But there’s something beneath it. Something sharp. Unspoken.

“Good to see you,” Jungkook adds, his tone smooth but not warm.

“Likewise,” Namjoon replies, just as calm. Your heart pounds. You feel it now. That tension. That invisible line between them. Jungkook turns slightly, gesturing toward the woman beside Namjoon.

“You remember her,” he says, his tone softening just slightly. “Noona.” She smiles politely at you, and you return it out of habit, your mind still spinning.

Your eyes flick back to him. He doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Like none of this is unusual. Like you’re just, another part of the room. Your stomach twists. Dinner is quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful but heavy. Jungkook sits across from Namjoon, both of them composed, both of them speaking like this is just another formal meeting. But it’s not. You can feel it in every word. Every pause. Every glance.

“I heard you’ve been considering entering politics,” Jungkook says, leaning back slightly, his tone casual but edged. “Not a good move.” Namjoon doesn’t react immediately. He takes a sip of his drink before placing it down.

“And why is that?” he asks calmly. Jungkook smirks faintly.

“Because it doesn’t just affect you,” he says. His gaze flicks briefly toward Namjoon’s wife. “Noona would have to deal with the pressure. And your daughter…” A pause. “…she’ll grow up under scrutiny.” The words are polite. But the meaning isn’t. It’s a warning. A judgment.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t lose composure. Instead, he leans forward just a bit, his voice lowering. “Maintaining business ties with… risky partners,” he says slowly, “and being involved in things that aren’t exactly legal-”

Your breath catches.

“-is far more dangerous,” he finishes. Jungkook’s eyes darken. There it is. The shift. The mask slips, just enough.

“You should be careful with your words,” Jungkook says quietly, his tone no longer casual. Namjoon meets his gaze.

“You should be careful with your actions.” The tension between them thickens instantly, suffocating, like the room has shrunk. No one else speaks. No one dares to and you.

You feel it now.

The truth settling in your chest. This isn’t random. This isn’t coincidence. This isn’t just business. This is rivalry.

Personal. Deep and dangerous. Your eyes move between them Jungkook, calm but cold Namjoon, controlled but sharp and suddenly, everything makes sense.

The café. The threats. The way he knew everything. The way he pushed you. It was never about you. Not really. You were just a way in. A tool.

Leverage.

Your chest tightens, something sinking deep inside you as realization fully settles. Namjoon wasn’t in your life by accident. He placed himself there. For this.

-------

The air in the hallway felt thin as you dragged Namjoon toward the sanctuary of your room, far from the prying eyes of the staff. Downstairs, Jungkook was playing the attentive host to Namjoon’s wife, Mina, and their daughter, but the domestic facade felt like a fever dream.

You whirled around to face him the moment the door clicked shut. "You did all of this just to beat Jungkook? At what, Namjoon? I don’t get it." Your voice was a jagged whisper, trembling with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "This is childish. We are grown adults, and I’m done. I don't want to be your pawn anymore."

The absurdity of it all was suffocating. Whether it was a personal grudge or a deep-seated business rivalry, involving you was a bridge too far. You felt a wave of nausea roll over you, the weight of your double life, the secrets of Taeyang and Rawoon, and the sheer disgust at having allowed Namjoon to use your body as a battlefield against your husband.

"Childish?" Namjoon repeated, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm register. He stepped closer, his shadow looming over you. "Perhaps. But your husband... he deserves exactly what’s coming to him."

He spoke with a venom that suggested a history far darker than simple professional jealousy. You didn't wait for an explanation. You couldn't. "I'm done talking," you snapped, pushing past him. You felt like a fool, you hadn't just risked your own safety; you had put Rawoon’s future on the line for a game you didn't even understand.

When you returned to the hall, the scene before you stopped you cold. Jungkook was sitting on the sofa with Mina. He was leaning in, murmuring something that made her let out a soft, genuine giggle. Then, with a tenderness you had never once received, he reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Jungkook was never like this. Even in your most intimate moments, he was a man of cold mechanics and calculated pleasure. Seeing him offer Mina a glimpse of warmth that he denied his own wife felt like a physical blow to the chest.

The moment was shattered by Namjoon’s voice as he descended the stairs. Mina flinched, pulling away instantly, while Jungkook’s posture snapped back into a rigid, defensive line.

"It was wonderful catching up," Namjoon said, his eyes tracking the lingering tension between Jungkook and his wife. "I’m truly excited for your new project launch, Jungkook."

Jungkook regained his trademark smirk, his arrogance returning like a shield. "It’ll be the highest-earning project the firm has seen in a decade. You’d do well to watch and learn."

Namjoon’s gaze shifted to you, a predatory glint dancing in his dark eyes. "Oh, I’m watching. In fact, there are so many surprises waiting for both you and your lovely wife tomorrow."

Your blood ran cold. The way he said surprises sounded less like a promise and more like a death sentence.

Jungkook tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he sensed the shift in the room. "Is that so? Well," he replied, his voice dripping with dangerous curiosity, "I’d certainly like to know what those are."

-------

The day of the launch felt like a slow walk toward a guillotine. You moved through the crowded ballroom, the air thick with the scent of expensive champagne and the stifling ego of the city’s elite. You felt like a ghost haunting your own life, watching the high-society vultures circle Jungkook. They laughed at his jokes and nodded at his business brilliance.

Jungkook finally took the stage, the spotlight catching the sharp, arrogant lines of his suit. He looked every bit the king of the empire he had built on cold steel and calculated mergers. "Today," he began, his voice booming with a confidence that made your skin crawl, "we don't just launch a project; we redefine the industry."

As he spoke, you spotted Namjoon entering from the back. He walked with Mina on his arm, the picture of a supportive cousin. When his eyes locked onto yours, he didn't look away. Instead, he flashed a slow, devastating smirk, the look of a man about to pull the trigger.

"And now," Jungkook announced, gesturing grandly to the massive LED screen behind him, "a first look at the future."

The room went dark. The crowd leaned in, prepared for high-tech blueprints and glossy architectural renders.

The screen flickered to life, but there was no music. No corporate logo.

Instead, the speakers hummed with the sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing. The image resolved into grainy, high-definition footage of a hotel suite. It was unmistakable. It was Jungkook his back arched, his muscles tensed, stripped of his dignity and his designer suit. And beneath him, her fingers dug into his shoulders as she let out a shattered, desperate moan, was Mina.

The silence that followed was deafening, lasting only a second before the first gasp broke the air. Then, the room erupted.

"Is that...?"

"With his own cousin’s wife?"

"My God, the scandal..."

The whispers rose like a swarm of hornets. You stood frozen, your hand flying to your mouth to stifle a cry of pure shock. You knew your marriage was a lie, and you knew Jungkook was cold, but the sheer depravity of him sleeping with Namjoon's wife the very woman he had been so tender with just days ago, turned your stomach.

On stage, the "King" was crumbling. The blue light of the sex tape washed over Jungkook’s horrified face, highlighting every drop of sweat. "Turn it off!" he roared, his voice cracking as he lunged toward the tech booth. "Stop the feed! Now!"

Mina looked as though she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. She stood paralyzed, the flickering image of her own betrayal projected thirty feet high for the world to see.

But your eyes drifted to Namjoon.

He didn't look angry. He didn't look like a heartbroken husband. He stood in the center of the chaos, perfectly still, watching Jungkook’s frantic, pathetic attempts to hide the truth. Namjoon looked like a scientist watching a predictable chemical reaction.

He had known. He had known all along that Jungkook was sleeping with his wife. And he had used you, your body, your fear, your secrets simply as a distraction to keep Jungkook’s eyes off the trap until it was too late to escape.

The rivalry wasn't just about business. It was a total, scorched-earth war. And as the crowd’s cameras flashed, capturing the downfall of the man you called your husband, you realized that in Namjoon’s world, everyone was collateral damage. Including you.

-----

You met Park Jimin on a Tuesday afternoon when you were eight years old and still new enough to the school that every hallway felt unfamiliar.

The cafeteria was louder than anything you were used to. Voices were echoing off high ceilings, trays were clattering and children were shouting across tables as if silence was a crime punishable by death. You stood there for a moment longer than necessary with your tray in hand, scanning the room with the quiet desperation of someone hoping a seat might magically appear beside a friendly face.

Instead, a boy nearly collided with you.

He skidded to a halt just in time, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. His cherubic face filled your field of vision, chubby hands grabbing at the air in front of him in an attempt to find his balance.

“Whoa,” he said, steadying the tray before it tipped out of your hands. “Careful.”

You blinked up at him.

He was small for his age but there was an artless sort of ease and innocence in the way he stood there. His hair was a soft sandy blond that curled slightly at the ends and his eyes held the kind of playful brightness that suggested trouble was never very far away.

“Sorry” you said. You felt kind of embarrassed standing here in front of this beautiful looking boy, streaked as your cheeks were with the tear tracks that had made their way down your face as your mom had dropped you off in front of your new school.

He glanced at your tray, then back at the cafeteria, then finally at you again.

“You’re new?”

You nodded. You hoped desperately that he would offer you a hand of friendship and you wouldnt have to stand here awkwardly anymore.

“I could tell. You’re standing there like you’re waiting for someone to adopt you.” He smiled at you mischievously.

You frowned.

“I’m looking for a seat.”

“Well you won’t find one just standing there.”

Before you could protest, he reached over, grabbed your wrist with casual familiarity and began weaving through the tables.

“Come on.”

You stumbled after him, startled but too curious to pull away.

“Where are we going?”

“My table. All my friends are there too” he said simply.

He stopped near the back of the cafeteria where a small group of kids were already halfway through their lunches. A boy with glasses looked up.

“Jimin, who is this?”

“New friend,” Jimin interrupted, nudging a chair out with his foot. “Scoot.”

The others shifted without argument and before you could question it further, you were seated among them. Jimin dropped into the chair beside you.

“I’m Jimin” he said, opening his milk carton. “What’s your name?”

You told him.

He grinned, stuffing his face with the mini choco chip cookies in front of him. At your continued stare, he forwarded the packet and nudged at you to take some.

You stared at the cookies.

“Are you bribing me?”

“Obviously.”

You picked one up.

“Why?”

Jimin shrugged easily.

“Because making friends is easier than being bored.”

That was the beginning.

From that day forward, Park Jimin inserted himself into your life with the natural ease of someone who had already decided he belonged there. He walked you to class as soon as you entered through the school gates. He shared his snacks with you when you forgot yours and stole your pencils when he was bored just to watch you get annoyed. When other kids tried to pick on you for being the new girl, Jimin stepped between you and them with a bright smile that somehow managed to be both charming and mildly threatening. You grew immensely fond of him, becoming his partner in crime whenever he went around teasing other classmates. The two of you were like two peas in a pod, with the same sense of humor, mannerisms, even your favorite games.

By the time you were ten, it felt impossible to imagine your school days without him.

You didn’t know anything about his family beyond the vague fact that his grandfather worked in politics. Jimin didn’t talk about it much and you didn’t care enough to ask. To you, he was just Jimin. The boy who climbed trees better than anyone else. The boy who laughed too loudly during quiet reading hour. The boy who always saved you a seat. If anyone had asked you then, you probably would have said he was your best friend. For a while, that was enough.

Until the adults found out.

It happened on your birthday. Your parents had allowed you to invite a few friends over for a small party at your house. It was something you had been excited about for weeks. When your mother asked who you wanted to invite, you rattled off names without much thought. Jimin’s had been the first.

You didn’t notice the way your father’s expression changed when you mentioned it.

“Y/N,” she said carefully “how long have you known this boy?”

You glanced up from your bed.

“Jimin? Since third grade.”

Your father stepped into the room behind her.

“Park Jimin?” he asked sharply.

You frowned.

“I guess? That’s his last name.”

Your mother exchanged a look with your father. Then he sighed heavily and rubbed his temple like you had just given him terrible news.

“You can’t see him anymore, kiddo” he said.

The words were so sudden that for a moment you thought you’d misheard.

“What? Why?”

“Y/N, we cannot be seen with any member from his family” your mother explained.

“But why, Mama?”

Your father didn’t bother softening it.

“His grandfather is Park Yeoncheol. You know that your Papa lost the last elections because of him. Your granddad would be very angry if he finds out that you’re friends with the Park boy.”

“Oh.”

Your mother stepped closer, kneeling in front of you.

“This isn’t your fault” she said gently. “But it’s better if you keep your distance from him.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Do you want Papa to be angry at you? He loves you so much. He would be so sad if he hears of this, love.”

You tried arguing after that. You tried explaining that none of this had anything to do with you or Jimin. Your parents didn’t care.

The next day at school, the words felt heavy in your throat.

Jimin found you by the lockers like he always did.

“Y/N! Have you thought about which cake you’re going to order for the party? You know I love black forest but I can also make do with butterscotch.” He grinned at you cheekily.

You hesitated.

His smile slowly faded when he saw your expression.

“What’s wrong?”

You swallowed.

“My parents found out who your grandfather is.”

Jimin frowned slightly.

“…Okay?”

“They don’t want me talking to you anymore.”

The confusion on his face lasted exactly three seconds before disbelief replaced it.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Because our families are rivals.”

He stared at you. “And?”

“And they said we can’t be friends.”

Jimin laughed not because it was funny but because the alternative was worse.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know.”

“So we should just ignore them.”

You shook your head helplessly.

“They’ll ground me.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then we’ll just keep hanging out at school.”

“They’ll find out.”

“They don’t have to.”

Your chest tightened.

“You’re not understanding.”

“No” Jimin said quietly, “I think I am.”

The shift in his voice made your stomach drop.

“You’re choosing them.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re doing exactly what they told you.”

“I’m ten!”

“And?”

“And I can’t just ignore my parents! I don’t want to make Papa sad” Your lips wobbled, eyes filling with tears at your situation.

For a moment neither of you spoke. Then Jimin looked away. When he looked back, the softness that usually lived in his expression was gone.

“Fine,” he said lightly.

The sudden indifference caught you off guard.

“Fine?”

“Yeah.”

You waited for him to argue more but he didn’t.

“You’re not even going to fight me on this?” you asked.

“What’s the point?”

“You just said it was stupid!”

“It is.”

“Then why are you acting like you don’t care?”

Something that looked very close to hurt flickered in his eyes. But it vanished quickly behind a careless smile.

“Because if you’re going to dump me that easily,” he said “we probably weren’t that good of friends anyway.”

The words hit harder than you expected. You eyes widened, two fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“That’s not true.”

“Sure.”

“Jimin-”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N”

You watched him walk away with a strange tightness in your chest, knowing you had lost that sweet boy, your sweet boy, forever. That was the moment everything changed.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At first, the change in Jimin wasn’t obvious. For the first few days after your parents forbade the friendship, he simply stopped approaching you. He no longer waited by your locker in the mornings or dragged you toward the cafeteria during lunch. When you passed him in the hallway, he didn’t speak, didn’t smile, didn’t even acknowledge your presence beyond a brief glance that slid away as quickly as it appeared.

It should have made things easier. Instead, it made everything feel strangely hollow. You had expected anger. Some kind of confrontation. Jimin had never been the quiet type and his sudden indifference felt more unsettling than a fight would have.

A week passed like that.

Then the comments started.

You were reaching into your locker one morning when Jimin leaned against the metal door beside it, a sneer pulling on his otherwise sweet face.

“Well, if it isn’t the girl who abandons her friends because her dad told her to.”

Your hand froze halfway to your backpack, shame and guilt clawing at your chest. You did realise what a bad friend you had been to him but your pride wouldn’t let you admit it in front of the entire school.

“I didn’t abandon you” you said stiffly.

He finally glanced at you, eyes bright with amusement.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I tried to explain.”

“Sure.” His mouth curved slightly. “You know, I told my grandfather about that.”

Your head snapped toward him.

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“And what did he say?”

Jimin shrugged.

“He thought it was funny.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“That’s not funny.”

“No” he agreed lightly. “It’s pathetic.”

The insult stung more than you expected.

“You’re being rude, Jimin.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

He pushed himself upright, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“Well” he said as he started walking away “at least I’m consistent.”

The encounters didn’t stop there. If anything, they became more frequent.

Jimin had always been mischievous but now his attention carried a sharper edge and without his support, you were unbearably alone.

When you raised your hand to answer a question in class, he would mutter something just loud enough for the surrounding students to hear.

“Careful, guys” he’d say. “She might cry if the answer’s wrong.”

When you joined a group game during gym, he would conveniently end up on the opposite team.

“You probably shouldn’t run” he told you once, blocking your path with an easy smile. “Wouldn’t want to hurt yourself. You know that you’re not very sporty.”

You shoved past him.

“Move.”

“Oh” he said brightly, “she bites now.”

You learned quickly that reacting only encouraged him.

But ignoring Jimin Park had always been difficult, even when he was infuriating. Especially then.

One afternoon during recess, you were sitting under the large oak tree near the edge of the field when a shadow fell across your book. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly.

Jimin crouched down in front of you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s new.”

He ignored the comment.

“If your parents are so worried about us being friends, maybe they’re right.”

You glanced up.

“What does that mean?”

“It means maybe you’re not worth the trouble.”

Your jaw tightened.

“Then why do you keep bothering me?”

Jimin tilted his head slightly, studying your face. The silence stretched long enough that you wondered if he was going to answer at all. Finally he smiled.

“Because it’s fun.”

The words were light but something about the way he said them made your chest feel tight.

“You’re cruel,” you said quietly.

“Aww”

Then he reached forward and tugged sharply on one of your pigtails. The sudden sting made you yelp, your face screwing up as you tried to push back the incoming tears.

Jimin laughed as he straightened.

“You should wear your hair down” he said. “This is too easy.”

“Just leave me alone.”

His smile lingered for a moment longer before fading into something unreadable.

“Maybe I will” he said.

But he didn’t. Because even when he mocked you or stole your pencils or made snide remarks loud enough for half the classroom to hear, Jimin never let anyone else do the same.

One boy had tried once. The result was a black eye and a week-long suspension for Jimin. When the teacher had asked what happened, he only shrugged. “Tripped” he had said.

You heard about it later from someone else. You didn’t thank him but the warmth in your heart that you had carried only for him, since you were eight, even when his childish cruelty made you sob quietly in the washroom stalls, only burned brighter.

You argued more than you spoke normally, sometimes the insults were sharp enough to draw blood. But there were also moments when the old Jimin slipped through. Like the day you forgot your lunch and found a familiar packet of cookies sitting quietly on your desk during class. Or the time you tripped on the stairs and he grabbed your arm before you could fall, only to immediately shove you away afterward and mutter something about clumsiness.

Neither of you acknowledged those moments.

Then, during the summer before eighth grade, your parents made another decision.

“You’re transferring schools next semester” your father announced casually.

You looked up from your plate.

“What?”

“A boarding school” your mother clarified gently. “It’s one of the best in the country.”

“But my school is fine.”

Your father exchanged a look with your mother.

“This will be better for your future.”

“You’re sending me away because of him” you realized.

Your father didn’t deny it.

“It removes unnecessary complications.”

Your chest tightened.

“That’s stupid.”

“Y/N-”

“I already stopped being friends with him!”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Your father’s voice hardened slightly.

“The point is that you need to grow up and focus on your studies.”

You wanted to argue and to scream but deep down you knew the decision had already been made, like all the decisions before this.

And two weeks later, you packed your bags.

The last day before you left, you saw Jimin standing near the school gates after class. He leaned against the fence with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking like he had been there for a while. You almost walked past him.

“I’m leaving” you said.

Jimin didn’t move.

“Yeah” he replied quietly. “I heard.”

“Boarding school.”

“Sounds fancy. You must be happy.”

You sighed. No matter how much you might hope for it, the boy you thought was your best friend, your confidant, the boy whose eyes and innocent smile made your childish heart skip beats, just couldn’t be found anymore.

Finally you shifted awkwardly.

“Well then, goodbye.”

Jimin’s head lifted slightly as something flickered in his eyes.

“Goodbye?” he repeated.

You swallowed.

“What else am I supposed to say?”

He studied your face for a long moment. Then he laughed softly.

“You always were dramatic.”

The familiar mockery should have been comforting. Instead it felt hollow.

“I guess I’ll see you around” you said.

He didn’t reply. You hesitated. For a moment you almost apologized.

Then you remembered the months of teasing, the constant insults, the way he had made school feel like a battlefield. So you didn’t.

You turned and walked away instead, hoping against hope that he might stop you, or just wish you goodbye once so you could hold the hand of the only boy you had ever loved in your young life. But nothing like that happened. Jimin watched you go.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Boarding school forced you to rebuild your life faster than you would have liked. The first few months were awkward and lonely in the quiet, suffocating way that comes from realizing nobody around you knows who you used to be. No childhood routines. No familiar faces. Just long hallways, strict schedules and the constant expectation that you would adjust.

Eventually, you did. Mostly because of Kelly. She arrived halfway through your first semester with the sort of personality that refused to be ignored, friendly in a way that made resistance pointless. Within a week she had decided you were her person and within a month the rest of the dorm seemed to accept that the two of you operated as a unit.

Kelly talked enough for both of you. She filled silences easily, dragged you into social situations you normally would have avoided and somehow made the sterile atmosphere of the academy feel almost bearable. More importantly, she never asked about the strange gaps in your stories. When people reminisced about childhood friends or hometown memories, you simply changed the subject. It wasn’t difficult. The truth was that you had spent a long time deliberately not thinking about Jimin. At first, the anger had made that easy. Memories of his smirking face in the hallway or the relentless teasing during class had been enough to convince yourself that cutting him out of your life had been the right decision. You had repeated that logic often enough that eventually it started sounding believable. The crush you had harbored on him despite his cruel nagging started feeling stupid and hazy and anger took its place.

Time helped too. Three years was a long time when you were young. Long enough for old friendships to fade into something hazy and distant.

By the time you and Kelly graduated and moved to the city together for university, Park Jimin had become little more than an unpleasant chapter you rarely revisited.

Which was why you didn’t think twice when Kelly burst into your apartment one evening with a grin that practically split her face in half.

“You have to meet him” she announced, dropping her bag onto the couch.

You looked up from your laptop with mild suspicion.

“Meet who?”

“My boyfriend.”

You blinked.

“Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

“Since two months ago.”

“And you’re telling me now?”

Kelly flopped dramatically into the armchair across from you.

“Because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a disaster first.”

You snorted.

“That’s optimistic. What’s so special about this one, then?”

“He’s different.”

“They always are.”

Kelly pointed a finger at you accusingly.

“You’re being negative.”

“I’m just being realistic.”

“You’ll like him, I’m sure.”

“That’s exactly what you said about the wannabe finance bro who tried to explain investment portfolios to us during brunch.”

Kelly waved the comment away impatiently.

“Jimin is not like that.”

The name barely registered at first. It was common enough that your brain didn’t immediately attach meaning to it.

“Oh?” you said absently. “What’s he like?”

Kelly leaned back with a dreamy smile.

“Kind of an asshole, honestly.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile splitting your face.

“That’s a selling point?”

“But in a charming way” she insisted. “You know the type. Sarcastic, confident, a little mean but funny enough that you can’t really be mad about it.”

Something in your chest shifted faintly, though you couldn’t immediately explain why.

“And you like this man?” you asked.

“Unfortunately.”

You shook your head.

“You have terrible taste. It has been proven time and again.”

“He’s also ridiculously attractive.”

“Ah” you said as you snorted “Now we’re getting to the real reason.”

Kelly grabbed a pillow and threw it at you.

“Just come to dinner tonight.”

You caught the pillow and tossed it back.

“I already have plans.”

“With who?”

You hesitated.

“…Myself.”

“Cancel them. Please, for me.”

“I’m not cancelling my evening alone because you’re in love with a jerk.”

“You’re not cancelling” Kelly corrected. “You’re upgrading. Besides, you should go out a little. Socialize, talk to a few guys. How in the world would you ever get a boyfriend if you continue this? It’s not like men are queuing up around the block for a girl who never leaves home.”

You stared at her for a moment before sighing, a small twinge pinching your heart at the constant reminder of your perpetually single status. You knew Kelly didn’t mean it in an insulting way.

“Fine.”

She clapped excitedly.

“Great. We’re meeting him at that bar on Sixth.”

You closed your laptop.

“If he’s insufferable, I’m leaving early.”

“He’s not insufferable.”

You gave her a skeptical look.

“You literally described him as an asshole.”

“A charismatic asshole.”

“That’s worse.”

Kelly just laughed.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bar was loud in the comfortable way that came with a busy Friday night, music humming through the walls, conversation spilling over from crowded tables, the soft clink of glasses behind the counter.

You spotted Kelly immediately.

She was already sitting in a booth near the back, waving enthusiastically when she saw you. And someone else was sitting across from her. For a moment you only noticed the posture first. Relaxed and leaning back slightly in the booth like the entire room was his.

Then he turned his head.

Shaggy blonde hair fell loosely across his forehead, longer than it had been when you were children. The cut was deliberately careless, giving him a slightly rebellious edge that matched the dark jacket slung over the back of his chair. As he turned, the sharp line of his jaw, contrasted by the plump shape of his lips that were pulled into a knowing smile made your face heat up and your heart pump erratically in your chest. And his eyes. Oh, those pools of obsidian, so predator- like in their feline shape. Cruel in the exact same way you remembered.

Park Jimin’s eyes met yours across the bar. He didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked entertained.

Kelly stood up eagerly. “There you are!”

Your feet carried you forward automatically, though every instinct in your body screamed that something had just gone very, very wrong.

“Y/N,” Kelly said brightly, “this is my boyfriend.”

Jimin’s gaze never left your face. His smile widened slowly, like someone savoring a private joke.

“Jimin,” Kelly finished happily.

You stared at him.

He looked older, obviously, with a sharper jawline, broader shoulders, confidence worn like a second skin but the essence of him was exactly the same. Dangerously self-assured.

Jimin tilted his head slightly as you approached the table and sat down on the furthest possible chair from him to avoid his penetrating gaze.

“Well” he said smoothly.

His voice had deepened over the years but the tone was unmistakable.

“That’s a familiar face.”

Kelly glanced between you both.

“You two know each other?”

You opened your mouth.

Before you could answer, Jimin spoke first.

“Oh, we go way back.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach tighten. Meanwhile, Kelly looked delighted.

“Seriously? That’s crazy.”

Jimin’s eyes flicked over you slowly, deliberately after giving Kelly a smirk.

“You’ve changed, Y/N” he said.

You folded your arms.

“You haven’t.”

His grin sharpened, almost baring his teeth as his eyes flicked over your face cruelly as if cataloguing for the faults in your visage.

Kelly laughed nervously.

“Okay, I feel like I’m missing context.”

Jimin leaned his elbow on the table, still watching you with unsettling focus.

“We were childhood friends,” he explained lightly.

You let out a short, humorless laugh.

“That’s one way to describe it.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Not the way you’d choose?”

“I’d say something closer to ‘childhood menace.’”

Kelly looked between you both with growing fascination.

“Oh my god,” she said. “You two hate each other.”

Jimin’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Hate is a strong word.”

You met his eyes coolly.

“Not strong enough.”

For a moment the tension between you was almost tangible. Then Jimin leaned back in the booth with a quiet chuckle, his dark blue shirt pulling at his chest, affording you a view of the lean muscles of his chest. You gulped as your eyes flickered away.

“Well,” he said casually, “this should make things interesting.”

Dinner that night should have been uncomfortable. Instead, it became something worse. Jimin had always been the kind of person who thrived in chaos and the moment he realized exactly how awkward the situation was, he settled into it with the easy confidence of someone who had just been handed an extremely entertaining toy.

Kelly, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running between the two of you, spent the first ten minutes enthusiastically filling the silence.

“So you guys went to school together?” she asked, glancing between you.

Jimin rested his chin lightly on his hand, his gaze still fixed on you with unsettling patience.

“Something like that.”

You picked up your drink, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

“We survived the same building, at least I did. Jimin here was too busy trying to make sure that I didn’t.” you corrected.

Kelly laughed.

“That sounds dramatic.”

Jimin’s smile tilted.

“She’s always been dramatic. Trying to make everything bigger than it really is. I don’t remember any such antagonistic feelings between us. Maybe my memory of you is just hazy, Y/N.”

You scoffed quietly as he tried to deliberately downplay your relationship, smirking at you cheekily.

“You used to pull girls’ hair and call them dramatic when they got mad.”

Kelly looked delighted.

“Oh my god, really?”

“Constantly” you said, taking a sip of the drink that had already been ordered before you had arrived. It was your favorite. Kelly remembered that for once.

Jimin didn’t look remotely embarrassed.

“I was ten.”

“You were annoying.”

“And you were easy to annoy. Always so stuck up and allergic to fun. Has she become any better?” He laughed, putting an arm behind Kelly’s chair as he peered at her, egging Kelly on in an attempt to humiliate you. Kelly merely let out an uncomfortable snort.

Dinner continued like that for a while.

Kelly talked. You responded politely. Jimin watched.

It became increasingly difficult not to notice the way his attention kept drifting back to you. The subtle, almost lazy glances that lingered just a second longer than necessary.

When Kelly reached for his hand across the table, he allowed it without hesitation. But his gaze never left your face. You felt it every time.

By the end of the meal, your patience was wearing dangerously thin.

“So,” Kelly said cheerfully as the waiter cleared the plates and accepted Jimin’s card that he so graciously forwarded before the two of you could say anything, “we should all hang out sometime. The three of us.”

You immediately shook your head, “I’m busy.”

Jimin chuckled softly.

“You didn’t even ask when.”

“I don’t need to.”

Kelly rolled her eyes.

“You’re being rude.”

“I’m being honest. I need to work hard this semester if I want to land an internship.”

Jimin leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I missed this.”

You looked at him sharply.

“Missed what?”

“This charming personality of yours.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not for you.”

“Really?” he asked mildly, an eyebrow hitching.

Something about the question made your stomach tighten. Kelly sighed.

“You two are exhausting.”

“Then stop inviting him places” you suggested.

Jimin’s smile widened slowly.

“Good luck with that.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, he was right. Over the next few weeks, Park Jimin began appearing in your life with irritating consistency.

It started innocently enough.

Kelly inviting you both to brunch. A movie night. Drinks after class. At first, you assumed it was a coincidence.

Then you started noticing patterns. If Kelly suggested meeting somewhere, Jimin would already know the place. If you mentioned plans in passing, somehow he ended up nearby. Even when the two of you, Kelly and you, would make plans to hang out sans Jimin, he would inevitably show up to annoy you.

Once would have been chance.

Three times felt suspicious.

By the fifth time, it felt deliberate.

You were leaving the campus library late one evening when you spotted him leaning against the hood of a black sports car parked across the street.

Your steps slowed.

Jimin glanced up as if he had been expecting you. His mouth curved into a familiar smirk.

“Well,” he said as you approached, “look who it is.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“Why are you here?”

“Kelly mentioned you were studying.”

“That was four hours ago.”

He shrugged.

“I had time.”

Something about that answer made irritation spark immediately.

“You waited four hours?”

“Don’t sound so flattered.”

“I’m not flattered. I’m confused.”

Jimin pushed himself off the hood of his car, hands sliding casually into the pockets of his tailored charcoal pants.

“Kelly wanted to grab dinner together.”

“She could have texted me.”

“She did.”

You checked your phone. There was a message you hadn’t seen. You looked back up at him suspiciously.

“You still didn’t need to wait.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“You’re being weird, you know that right?”

“I’ve been told.”

You stared at him for a moment longer.

“Where’s Kelly?”

“Running late.”

“So it’s just us?”

“For now.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Fantastic.”

Jimin studied your expression with quiet amusement.

“You’re still holding a grudge.”

“You were insufferable for two years.”

“You deserved most of it.”

Your jaw tightened and you looked away from his face. The street lights casted a yellow so pale on his face that his skin looked almost luminescent, eyes glowing as they dug into yours.

There was a brief pause. Then he tilted his head slightly.

“You cut your hair.”

You blinked.

“…What?”

“It used to be longer.”

The comment caught you off guard.

“How would you know that?”

Jimin shrugged lightly.

“I notice things.”

The answer felt oddly vague but before you could press further, Kelly’s voice called from across the street.

“Sorry! Traffic was awful!”

She hurried toward you both, slightly out of breath.

Jimin stepped back easily as she reached them. You realised how close the two of you had been standing, him with one of his hands on his car and the other inside his pocket as he bent towards you, your faces close together. Your heart was thundering.

“Miss us?” he asked.

“Obviously” she replied, slipping her arm through his.

The movement should have looked natural instead it felt strangely performative. He glanced at you briefly. Just long enough for you to see the quiet amusement in his eyes.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over time, the pattern became undeniable.

Jimin didn’t just tolerate your presence. He seemed to seek it out. If Kelly invited you somewhere, he made sure he came along. If you declined plans, he conveniently had some work come up. In front of your eyes, Jimin would be unbearably touchy, constantly putting his arm around Kelly’s shoulders and caressing her face. It was irritating but you bore it for your friend’s sake. However, stranger still was your friend’s confession that Jimin had yet to kiss her. When you asked what was stopping him, Kelly looked uncharacteristically abashed and murmured that he was old fashioned and wanted to wait. It was a strange contrast. Nevertheless, this PDA in front of you (sans the kissing), never stopped.

Sometimes he provoked you directly. Other times he simply observed. It was subtle enough that Kelly never noticed but you did.

One evening during drinks, Kelly excused herself to take a phone call outside, leaving the two of you alone at the table.

You didn’t bother pretending politeness.

“Alright,” you said flatly.

Jimin lifted an eyebrow, his hand coming up to gently caress his lower lip, the silver ring on his thumb and the watch on his wrist catching the strobing lights.

“Alright what?”

“What are you doing?”

“Drinking.”

“You know what I mean.”

His lips curved faintly.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“You hate me.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“You bullied me for two years.”

“And you abandoned me first.”

“That was years ago.”

“Time flies.”

You leaned forward slightly.

“Then why are you constantly around me now? And what are you doing with Kelly? ”

Jimin studied you quietly for a moment. There was something unsettling about the calm focus in his eyes. Finally he smiled.

“You give me something to do.”

He ignored the latter part of your question completely. Your expression darkened.

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

Kelly returned before you could respond.

The conversation ended there but the tension didn’t because deep down, a quiet suspicion had begun forming in the back of your mind. Jimin’s behavior wasn’t just annoying. It was intentional.

And the way he watched you sometimes, too attentive, too patient, felt less like coincidence and more like someone slowly tightening invisible strings. You just hadn’t figured out why yet.

Jimin, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to let the game continue. And judging by the faint, cruel satisfaction in his smile whenever you snapped at him he was enjoying every second of it.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The club had been Kelly’s idea. Your semester exams were finally over and the reprieve from the academic pressure made you give in to her demand, even knowing your nemesis would surely be coming along.

It was loud in the kind of deliberate way that made conversation difficult and bad decisions easier. Music pulsed through the walls and floor alike, bass vibrating through your ribs as people crowded the dance floor beneath flashing lights.

You normally avoided places like this but tonight you had made an exception.

Kelly was already halfway through her second drink when she leaned across the table with a grin.

“I swear,” she said over the music, “you’ve been in a bad mood for weeks. We’re fixing that tonight.”

“I’m not in a bad mood” you replied.

She gave you a look that suggested she didn’t believe you for a second.

“Really? Because you’ve been snapping at everyone lately. Especially Jimin.”

At the mention of his name, your gaze shifted automatically across the room. He was standing near the bar with one hand resting casually on the counter, talking to someone you didn’t recognize. Even from a distance he looked completely at ease with his dark leather jacket pushed back slightly, shaggy blonde hair falling over his eyes as he leaned in to hear his companion.

As if sensing your attention, Jimin glanced up and your eyes met across the crowded room.

For a brief moment the noise seemed to fade behind the weight of his stare. Then his mouth curved into that familiar, infuriating smile. You looked away immediately. Kelly followed your gaze.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I think you two secretly enjoy hating each other.”

“That sentence doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does if you’ve watched the way you argue.”

“We don’t argue.”

“You absolutely do. Like two siblings constantly at each other’s throats.”

You picked up your drink, an unknown guilt suffusing your chest at her words.

“He antagonizes me, that’s all.”

Kelly laughed.

“And you antagonize him right back.”

“Because he deserves it. Prick.”

Kelly leaned back in her chair, sighing.

“You’re both exhausting.”

You took a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the lingering awareness of Jimin somewhere behind you.

It didn’t help. Because even without looking, you could feel his attention like a physical weight.

After another few minutes, Kelly’s phone buzzed. She glanced down and groaned. Her journalism internship demanded all sorts of odd hours.

“Ugh. I have to take this.”

“Work?”

“Unfortunately.”

She stood, already heading toward the quieter hallway near the bathrooms.

“Don’t disappear on me” she warned.

“I won’t.”

The moment she left, the table felt strangely emptier.

You waited a few seconds before standing. Sitting alone felt awkward and the music was loud enough that dancing seemed like the easier distraction. The dance floor was crowded but energetic, bodies moving under shifting lights as the DJ changed songs.

You pushed your way into the center, letting the music drown out your thoughts. For a few minutes, it worked. Then someone tapped your shoulder.

You turned to see a tall guy with dark hair and a friendly smile.

“Hey,” he said, raising his voice slightly over the music. “You looked like you were dancing alone.”

“I was, yeah.”

“Mind if I fix that?”

You considered it briefly, your intoxicated brain considering the prospect. Then shrugged.

“Sure.”

He introduced himself though the name disappeared almost immediately under the music and you both moved with the rhythm of the crowd. It was harmless. The kind of meaningless interaction that usually faded from memory by morning. As his eyes lightly fell on your hips, you sashayed to the beat.

You didn’t notice Jimin until it was too late.

He had been watching from the edge of the floor for several minutes.

At first he simply observed. The way the stranger’s hand settled lightly on your waist. The way you laughed at something he said. The easy closeness of two people sharing a moment that had nothing to do with him.

Jimin’s expression remained calm but the longer he watched, the tighter his jaw became. Something dark and sharp twisted slowly in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy in the usual sense. It was something far more possessive, something that had been simmering quietly for years, something that was made crueler and darker by your callous abandonment of him, twice.

By the time the stranger’s hand slid slightly lower on your waist, Jimin had already made his decision.

He stepped onto the dance floor. The crowd shifted instinctively as he pushed through, his gaze locked firmly on the two of you. You didn’t notice him until a hand closed firmly around the stranger’s shoulder. The man turned, confused.

“Hey-”

The crack of the gunshot cut through the music like lightning. For a moment nobody moved. The sound echoed through the club as the bullet struck the ceiling above the dance floor, plaster raining down onto startled bodies below. Screams followed immediately after and music stopped abruptly. People began pushing toward the exits in sudden panic.

You stood frozen as Jimin lowered the handgun casually back to his side.

His eyes were burning, chest heaving as he ground down his teeth.

The stranger beside you stared in shock.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.

Jimin didn’t answer. Instead he reached for the bottle sitting on a nearby table. The movement was so quick the man barely had time to react. Glass shattered against the side of his head with a brutal crack. The stranger collapsed instantly.

You stumbled back, heart hammering. The haze of vodka was finally clearing though not fast enough for you to run away from him like a bat out of hell.

“Jimin, what the hell are you doing?”

His gaze snapped toward you and the fury there was terrifying.

“What am I doing?” he repeated quietly, his eyes burning into yours.

“You just assaulted someone!”

Jimin stepped closer, the broken bottle still clutched loosely in his hand.

“You let him touch you.”

Your disbelief flared into anger.

“Excuse me?”

His voice dropped dangerously low.

“I was watching him all night. The way he kept looking at you. The way he thought he could just walk up and put his hands on you like that.”

“You’re insane.”

“Am I?”

“Yes!”

People were still scrambling toward the exits around you, the chaos building with every second. Jimin didn’t seem to notice. His entire focus was fixed on you.

“You think I’m insane,” he said slowly, “but you were the one standing there smiling while some stranger felt you up in the middle of a club.”

“He was dancing with me!”

“And that makes it acceptable?”

“It’s none of your business!”

Jimin laughed sharply.

“You really believe that?”

“Yes!”

The tension between you snapped.

“You’re dating my best friend!” you shouted.

His smile was cold. “That’s interesting.”

You stared at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Jimin stepped closer again.

“You know what I find funny?” he said softly. “The fact that after all these years, you still act like you don’t understand the situation.”

“What situation?”

“This one.”

He gestured lazily between the two of you.

Your anger sharpened.

“You pulled a gun in a crowded club because I danced with someone.”

“You let him touch you.”

“You’re not my boyfriend! In fact, you are not even my friend. You are nobody to me. You don’t get to decide anything for me!”

Jimin’s expression darkened further.

“No,” he said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean you belong to anyone else.”

The possessiveness in his tone sent a chill down your spine.

“You’ve lost your mind. You really have.” You said, finally moving away from him as the gravity of the situation sunk in. His gaze followed you like a hunter carefully tracking a prey animal.

“Maybe.”

Your patience finally snapped.

“Listen carefully, Jimin, because I’m only going to say this once.”

You stepped closer, your voice dropping to a dangerously calm level.

“You don’t get to control me. Not now. Not ever. Whatever weird obsession you’ve built up in your head does not give you the right to dictate who I talk to or who I dance with.”

For a brief moment, something like amusement flickered in his eyes.

“You think this is about control?”

“What else would it be?”

Jimin leaned down slightly, his voice low enough that only you could hear it.

“It’s about the fact that you’ve been walking around for weeks pretending you don’t notice what’s happening.”

Your stomach tightened. “I notice that you’re an asshole.”

He chuckled quietly.

“You’ve always been good at avoiding the obvious.”

“And what exactly is ‘the obvious’?”

His eyes searched your face with unsettling intensity.

“The obvious,” he murmured, “is that I’ve spent years making sure you never forget I exist.”

Before you could respond, the distant wail of sirens cut through the chaos. Jimin glanced toward the entrance. Then he smiled again.

“Perfect timing.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“What did you do?”

He looked back at you.

“I called the police.”

For a moment you simply stared at him.

“You shot a gun in a club… and then called the police on yourself?”

“Not exactly.”

Understanding dawned slowly.

“You reported the club.”

“Anonymous tip” he confirmed casually.

You felt vaguely nauseous at the chaos that had inundated your life and opened your mouth to say somehting.

“Relax,” he interrupted. “They’ll shut the place down for the night. No big deal.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

The sound of approaching police cars grew louder outside. Jimin grabbed your wrist.

“Come on.”

You jerked your arm back.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You can stay if you want,” he said calmly. “But when the police start asking questions about who fired the gun, things might get complicated.”

Your stomach dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

His expression was almost innocent. “Wouldn’t what?”

“You’d drag my family into this?”

Jimin’s smile returned slowly.

“Your father’s entire campaign revolves around public image. Imagine how interesting the headlines would be if his daughter got caught up in a nightclub shooting. And, remind me again, where is the petty princess who would dump anyone to be in her family’s good graces?” He looked around theatrically before grabbing your arm and pulling you close to his chest as he exclaimed, “There she is!”

Your pulse spiked. “You’re a psychopath.”

You only got a cruel smile in return before he began dragging you towards the exit, his hand clutching your arm in a vice grip. Throwing you inside his car with a cruel carelessness, he shut the door with a bang. The engine roared to life.

As the police flooded into the club behind you, Jimin sped into the night. The city lights blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow as the car tore through empty streets. He didn’t slow down until you were miles away.

When he finally stopped in an empty overlook above the city, you shoved yourself out of the car immediately.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded.

Jimin moved out to stand in front of you calmly. “You’re welcome.”

“For what? Are you serious?”

“For getting you out of there before things got messy.”

“You caused the mess!”

“Yes,” he agreed easily. The casual admission made your blood boil.

“You assaulted someone, fired a gun in public, blackmailed me, and now you’re acting like you did me a favor.”

Jimin stepped closer. “You’re missing the important part.”

“And what part is that?” You seethed.

His gaze darkened. “You were dancing with someone else.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“Shut up! That’s your takeaway from this entire situation?”

“It’s the only part that mattered.”

Your temper finally exploded.

“You don’t get to decide what matters in my life! You’re nobody to me, understand? You were dead to me the moment I left you in the dust back then!”

Jimin grabbed your face suddenly and kissed you. The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle. It was rough, demanding, almost violent in its intensity. One of his hands held your jaw in a tight, bruising grip as the other held your hands beneath your back. The force of his mouth against yours pushed you back two steps and you stumbled as you felt the hood of his car behind you.

Growling against your mouth, his chest knocked you backwards, forcing you to collapse onto the hood. You lay under him, your lips being punished by his as he sucked at your mouth, nibbled at your bottom lip and tried to gain entry into your mouth. A particularly hard nibble at your top lip forced your lips open as you tried to gasp for breath before he pushed his tongue inside your mouth, the lack of breath and the shock of his warm tongue ticking all over the inside of the warm cavern of your mouth, made you lightheaded. As he tried to pull your tongue into his wet mouth to suck it between his lips, a soft wail left you. He shuddered in response, his chest heaving as he moaned at your taste. His hand, which had been holding two of yours in a strong hold, left to run up your sides.

Shock froze you for half a second. Then your hand cracked sharply across his face. The sound echoed in the quiet night.

Jimin’s head turned slightly with the impact. Slowly, he looked back at you. Instead of anger, a strange satisfaction flickered in his eyes.

“You always did hit hard,” he murmured.

Your voice shook with fury. “You’re insane if you think that was acceptable.”

“I could get a psych evaluation, if you’d like.”

“And Kelly-” Your voice wobbled. He stared at the tears running down your face, his eyes softening at the guilt coating your voice.

“Kelly and I are done, princess.”

The words stopped you cold. “What?”

“I broke up with her.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

You stared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jimin shrugged lightly, “She served her purpose.”

The casual cruelty in his tone made your stomach twist.

“You used her.”

“I needed a way back into your life.”

Your anger faltered briefly.

“What are you talking about?”

Jimin stepped closer again, his expression dark and unwavering.

“You think it’s a coincidence that I started dating your best friend?”

Realization crept slowly up your spine.

“That’s… that’s insane.”

“Is it?”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m really not.”

He leaned down slightly, his voice quiet but deadly certain.

“You left me, Y/N. Not once, twice. Do you have any idea what I felt back then? How I felt when the girl who was the center of my universe left me to start her life over without me? You’re so cruel, you have always been. And I am the fucking idiot who cannot get over you. Your name is threaded into my heart, it runs in my blood. No fucking power on Earth can take you away from me again, not your family and certainly not you. You don’t get to leave me again, you dont!” He shouted, shaking slightly as his manic eyes bored into yours.

“I spent years making sure the next time you walked back into my life, you wouldn’t be able to leave again.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Jimin smiled, his eyes wild.

“Oh,” he said softly.

“I think I do.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week after the club incident, Park Jimin walked into your family home like he had always belonged there.

At that exact moment, you were upstairs in your bedroom, attempting to focus on a stack of notes that had remained untouched for the last twenty minutes. Your concentration had been terrible lately. Not surprising, considering the chaos of the previous week.

Kelly still hadn’t spoken to you properly. Guilt gnawed at you every time your friend declined your call and the feeling of shame held you in even deeper grip when you unconsciously found yourself caressing your lips as you thought about the bruising kiss. News outlets were buzzing about Park Yeoncheol’s sudden retirement and the equally sudden rise of his grandson as the party’s new face. Your father had spent several evenings in tense phone calls with advisors, strategists and donors.

Politics never slowed down in this house but today felt different. You heard the staff downstairs making a lot more noise than usual. The quiet but urgent shift in tone that always happened when an important guest arrived. Doors opening. Polite greetings. The sound of shoes against marble flooring in the main hall.

Then your father’s voice.

“Park Jimin.”

Your head lifted. For a moment you wondered if you had imagined it. But then you heard Jimin’s voice respond. Smooth, calm, unmistakably familiar as ever.

“Mr L/N.”

Your stomach dropped. You stood slowly, every instinct in your body suddenly alert. Curiosity got the better of you. The staircase overlooked the main sitting room below, separated only by a carved wooden railing that allowed sound to carry easily through the open space.

You moved quietly to the edge. Your father stood near the fireplace, posture formal but not unfriendly. And across from him was the man you had spent the last week thinking about, Jimin.

He looked completely comfortable standing in the middle of the home belonging to the man whose political career had spent decades opposing his own family.

“Your grandfather’s retirement came as a surprise” your father was saying.

Jimin inclined his head slightly.

“He believed the party needed someone younger to lead the next election cycle.”

“And that someone is you.”

“For now.”

There was a faint humility in the answer but you recognized it immediately for what it was. A performance. You scoffed.

Your father studied him carefully.

“You understand the history between our families.”

“Of course.”

“And yet you requested this meeting.”

Jimin’s hands rested loosely on top of his knees, posture casual despite the weight of the conversation.

“History doesn’t have to dictate the future.”

Then he said quietly, “You’re suggesting cooperation.”

“An alliance.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That word carried serious implications.

“Why?” your father asked.

Jimin smiled faintly.

“Because the alternative is continuing a political feud that wastes resources on both sides.”

“And you think my supporters would accept that?”

“With the right reasoning.”

Your father crossed his arms. “And what reasoning would that be?”

Jimin’s gaze flicked briefly toward the staircase. For a split second, you thought he had noticed you. But then his attention returned to your father.

“Mutual benefit,” he said calmly.

The conversation continued for another several minutes with talks of strategy, elections, voter blocs. Jimin spoke like someone who had been preparing for this conversation long before it ever happened. He wasn’t nervous or even particularly cautious.

Your father wasn’t dismissing him. If anything, he seemed… interested and was nodding along to many suggestions while making his own opinions known.

Finally your father sighed.

“You’re ambitious but that’s a good thing. I like it in young people such as yourself.”

Jimin chuckled softly.

Then your father said thoughtfully, “Political alliances are easier when families are connected.”

Your stomach tightened.

Jimin didn’t hesitate. “I agree.”

Something about the tone of that answer made your pulse jump.

Your father nodded slowly.

The meeting ended not long after that. Your father walked him toward the front door while continuing the conversation about scheduling future discussions.

You slipped away from the railing before either of them could notice you. But you didn’t go far. Instead you waited in the long hallway that connected the main entrance to the garden doors. You heard footsteps approaching. Then Jimin appeared around the corner.

He stopped the moment he saw you. For a second neither of you spoke.

Then his mouth curved slowly, “Look who’s eavesdropping.”

You crossed your arms.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.”

Jimin didn’t look remotely bothered.

“It was a scheduled meeting.”

“You’re trying to manipulate my father.”

“I’m negotiating. It’s the nature of politics.”

“That’s not the same thing at all and you know it.”

He stepped closer.

“It is in politics.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“So that’s the plan?”

“What plan?”

“You insert yourself into my family’s political strategy and suddenly we’re all supposed to pretend the last twenty years didn’t happen?”

Jimin tilted his head slightly.

“Relax. I’m not here to destroy anything.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Jimin stepped closer again.

“You heard the conversation.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And you’re trying to trap my father into a political alliance.”

He smiled slightly.

“Not just your father.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m going along with that.”

Jimin’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

“I don’t need you to go along with it.”

“Then what exactly do you need?”

His voice lowered slightly.

“You. Always have and always will.”

Your pulse jumped. Jimin stepped into your space suddenly. In retaliation, you grabbed the front of his suit jacket and pulled him down into a kiss. It was just as angry as the one the week before. You poured weeks of frustration and tension into his mouth. Jimin’s hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as the kiss deepened into something rougher.

When you finally shoved him back, both of you were breathing harder.

“You’re still a manipulative bastard,” you said.

Jimin wiped his lip slowly, eyes dark with quiet satisfaction.

Growing up, your parents had to work a lot and often left you and your brothers under her care. Your childhood is full of fond memories of make-believe adventures for hidden treasures, running barefoot across her lush garden and pretending to fly, and listening to her wonderful stories about mermaids, pirates, dwarves, elves, and faeries.

Your imagination was so vivid as a child, surely influenced by your grandmother and her long tales. Sometimes, you still see pieces of your time at her cottage and your thrilling expeditions of pretend. Fragments of following the leader through the thickets and foliage of a beast-filled jungle, of playing house in an underground bunker and punishing your unruly sons with vile, sticky-sweet medicine, and meeting the very creatures who inhabit the dream-like island located second to the right of the north star.

One of those inhabitants, if you could recall correctly, was a boy.

A faerie, to be more precise.

His skin was golden like the warm rays of a summer sun. Pointed ears folded over a hat you sewed for him one day, and he refused to take it off since. He always had a bright smile on his heart-shaped lips, and had a contagious laughter that could make flowers bloom.

He was a friend to you. Maybe something more.

He'd tuck wildflowers in your tangled hair when you slept on his lap, teach you how to fly and fight so you’d triumph over your enemies together, and come by the nursery window each night so he could sneak you out and take you on another adventure.

Then, one day, the window to the nursery was closed shut. The curtains were drawn together, and you were no longer waiting for him to take you away somewhere.

Because like all children, eventually, you and your brothers started to grow up.

The visits to your grandmother’s cottage became less and less frequent. The memories of that place and that boy long-forgotten like a distant dream.

School kept you occupied through your youth. Then, you attended college and studied hard to earn your degrees. Then, you applied for jobs and worked through shifts. You made friends over the years – ones who aren’t lost boys or creatures from fairy tales – and spend a lot of your time with them. You’ve even met a couple boys that taught you love when you got together, and taught you heartbreak when it didn’t work out. You became independent of your parents and made a home for yourself, and before you knew it, you realized that you had grown up as well.

Both of your younger brothers are well accomplished with their lives. One is married with their first child on the way. The other is studying abroad in a foreign country. Neither of them, however, would be able to take care of your poor grandmother full-time.

So, rather easily, it was decided that you’d be the one to move in and look after her.

It felt like a blessing in disguise.

You’ve become a writer with the intention of creating novels of fantasy and adventure. Instead, you work in a soul-sucking office job, where the company berates young women like yourself and it feels very much like a boys club among the staff. The friends you made, you hardly keep in touch with now, as all of you have become too busy to meet up with each other more than a few times a year. And after a recent messy breakup, the place you shared with your ex is no longer your home, and you can’t afford to live on your own with your current measly paycheck.

A fresh start at a place that you once grew up in feels like a miracle.

You could start all over. Never having to look back at the burdens and troubles that have been weighing you down and keeping you from flying.

After talking to your family about it, and eagerly insisting that you’d be more than happy to take care of your grandmother, you packed your bags, quit your job at the office, and quietly moved away. Gone with the wind as your next adventure unfolds.

“Good luck, sis. Let us know if you need anything.”

Your brother gives you a hug when he drops you off at your grandmother’s cottage. It’s a big change, and it’s been years since you’ve last been here. But as you grab your bags and turn to face the old cottage, perched up on the hill, with an iron gate around the flourishing garden of vividly-bright flowers and lush greenery, the nostalgia hits you like a wave.

Memories of your childhood, your play-pretend adventures with your brothers, and the wonderful stories your grandmother would tell all flood back to you like arms of an old friend welcoming you home after a long time apart.

Your grandmother greets you and your brother with tight hugs and remarks of how you’ve both grown up. It almost seems like she’s her old self again, quipping at your brother and asking how his wife is doing. You let them catch up and take the opportunity to settle in.

Not much has changed from what you remember. The aromatic notes of herbs and teas your grandmother likes to brew still linger in the house. The antiques she’d collect are still on display, and the furniture she has are a bit worn and outdated. Even the nursery that you stayed in as a child hasn’t changed much: the toy box is still there, your brother’s teddy bear is on the bed he used to sleep in, and the window with the thin curtain is still shut.

The floor creaks as you slowly walk around the nursery, reminiscing on the old furniture and dusty toys. Yet, your gaze keeps drifting toward the window and the little latch that keeps it shut.

How many times have you sat by it and daydreamed about that world of make-believe? How lonely had you been to longingly gaze out of it and wish to meet an imaginary friend that’d keep you company? How often have you used it to look at the stars and wish – and hope – to be taken away and leave all your childish worries behind?

Before you know it, you’re standing right in front of it.

You draw back the dusty curtains and let light flood in.

“Don’t open that window, dear.”

You nearly jump in surprise, quickly turning to see your grandmother had come to the door. “Hi Nana. Why not?”

She doesn’t answer. Rather, she simply stares at you for a long moment, almost as if she’s lost in her own thoughts. But her eyes shift. You realize it wasn’t you that she was staring at, but the window. When you turn to face it, you see nothing there.

“Don’t open the window,” she repeats firmly. “He’s been waiting for you to open it again.”

“Who is?” you ask, thoroughly confused.

You don’t know who she’s talking about, or why it would matter when the window is on the second floor. But when you turn to face your grandmother again, she’s gone. 

Your brother left hours ago, and you’ve finally unpacked the last of your belongings after an exhausting afternoon of cleaning, laundry, rearranging some furniture in the nursery, and cooking dinner for you and your grandmother.

She follows you around all day as you catch her up on how you’ve been doing. It feels nice to connect with her again. She’s still a great storyteller and seems happy to be in your company. But there’s a worried look on her face when she thinks you’re not looking as her eyes drift to something unseeable over your shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to stay there?” she asks as you help her settle in bed. She suddenly looks uncomfortable with the idea of you being in the nursery.

“I’ll be fine, Nana. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t open the window,” she reminds you before you wish her goodnight.

Luckily, you can still fit in your old bed, although it is clearly designed for a child. You grimace a bit at the heart-shaped frame and the faded green paint, and make a note to yourself to start looking for new furniture soon. You send your other brother a picture of his old teddy bear, and he exclaims how he remembers it once he had a chance to see your message. Soon, that led you to face-timing both of your brothers and showing them all the old toys and costumes that are all still in the room.

“I should’ve stayed and helped move some of them to the attic,” your brother remarks with a slight shake of his head. “Maybe I’ll stop by this weekend and do that.”

“I don’t know. I kind of like seeing them here,” you admit with a fond smile, opening a tiny drawer. Inside are stools of thread, loose buttons, pins in cushions, and other sewing tools. You rummage through the drawer and realize you’re missing a silver thimble.

However, in its place, you find something else.

“What’s that?” your brother asks when you pull out what looks like an old necklace. Hanging on the black, leather thread is an acorn with a hole in the middle.

“I don’t know,” you reply, holding it up by the thread. Your pulse quickens, your heart remembering something that you can’t place the memory of. Yet, somehow, you know that it’s yours. “Did either of you give this to me?”

Both of them shake their heads and shrug. If neither of them gifted it to you, then who…?

Outside, you hear a strange sound. Like the whistle of a flute. It sounds close, yet far away at the same time.

“What’s wrong, sis?” your brother asks, seeing your perplexed expression from his phone screen.

“I thought I heard something,” you tell them, standing by the window now. Through the glass pane, you can’t see anything, and your free hand touches the iron lock that keeps it closed. Was it a bird? What was it doing, crowing at this hour of night?

“What did you hear?”

“I thought… I heard…” you slowly answer, pulling on the latch and the lock clicks open. You slide it up, and the wind gathers, seeming to assist you at that moment, letting the window fly open. A chill runs up your spine as a cold breeze pass, but all you hear now is the rustle of leaves and the distant sound of a dog barking. “It’s probably nothing.”

The wind dies down, but you still shiver. Suddenly, you remember your grandmother wanted you to keep it closed. You stand on your toes and pull the window back down, unaware of how the shadows seem to shift around the nursery as it shuts with a soft thud.

“Sis?” your brother calls out to you, and you’ve almost forgotten you were still on the phone with them.

“It’s nothing,” you repeat, more to yourself than to them. Perhaps it’s the paranoia of disobeying your grandmother’s request, but it suddenly feels like someone is watching you. 

When you sleep that night, your dream is vivid. More than it’s ever been in a long time.

You dream of swords clashing and cannons firing amidst a grand battle against a ship of pirates for their buried treasure. You dream of a mermaid’s lullaby in a moonlit lagoon, and how she knows all the secrets of the dark waters. You dream of elven wanderers and their ancient traditions, bearded dwarves and their brave expedition into a skull-shaped cave, and a group of handsome men cloaked in animal skins as they enjoy their meal in a woodsy hideout. You dream of faeries glowing like fireflies as they dance together with the moon and stars above them.

“I missed you.”

The voice that whispers is familiar, but belongs to someone you can’t quite put a face to.

“What is this place?” you find yourself asking, sitting on a pink cloud and looking at the island below. A little world that you strangely feel attached to. It feels nostalgic. It feels like home.

And it feels like it’s beckoning to you. Compelling you to warm its cold, icy seas after so many winters without you. To bring light into the world where it’s been so dark without your presence. To stay forever, and never leave this world again.

Someone is with you. A friend, you think. The person the voice belongs to. The one who rules over this world you dream about.

His skin is golden like the summer sun, body lean and strong as he wears clothing made of leaves and vines. A coy smile curves on his familiar heart-shaped lips.

“You don’t remember, darling? This place is ours.”

You wake before you figure out who it is. Or what he meant.

Sunlight shines through the nursery window, and a breeze gently blows in.

You frown as you stare at it.

You’re certain you had closed it before you went to bed. 

For the first time in a while, you open your laptop, pull up a blank document, and write.

You write about the dream you had: the peculiar island and the strange creatures that inhabit it. You write about their adventures, and the magic that faith, trust, and pixie dust can bring. You write about the feeling of floating and how thinking happy thoughts can lift you in the air.

You write about the boy you saw and what you can remember of him.

Then, you stop. The room is silent without the tapping of your keyboard. For a moment, you stare at what you wrote and frown.

Somehow, trying to remember the boy in your dreams feels strange. You can recall the clothes he wears, the way being around him feels like basking in the sunlight, and the small dimples on his cheeks that look like tiny hidden kisses that reveal themselves when he smiles. But you can’t remember his face. You can’t remember his eyes.

It feels like you’re searching for a memory. Even if you’re certain you just made him up.

Was he based on someone you knew as a child? An old classmate? Someone you wanted to be friends with?

It doesn’t seem like it. Yet, whoever that person is in your dream, he must have been important to you.

“This place is ours.”

You save the draft and close the laptop with a sigh, fiddling with the acorn necklace you decided to wear lately. What did he mean by that? And why did it feel like he was actually in your head?

For the next few nights, you have the same recurring dream. You see glimpses of that island: the mermaid lagoon with crystal clear waters, the dark and damp caverns of the skull-rock cave, the giant trees with deep roots that hide hidden houses for faeries and the lost boys, and the grand ship the pirates use to hunt for treasures. You hear the sound of twinkling bells from the tiny faeries, the sound of laughter in the woods, the song of pirates as they sail the sea. You smell the firewood of a large bonfire the elves made, the strong stench of alcohol the dwarves share with each other, the salty air of the island where water meets shore. Your dreams become so vivid, you could almost swear you’re there.

“This can all be yours if you wish it.”

The next time you see him in your dreams, you’re no longer floating on a pink cloud above the island. You’re on the island now. Your bare feet touch the green grass and dirt. You feel the cool, sea breeze against your hair and skin. You see flowers bloom prettily, drawn to the warmth of the person behind you.

His arms wrap around you, pulling your back to his chest. Being in his embrace doesn’t alarm you. Rather, it feels familiar, like he’s held you like this before. You find yourself melting into his touch.

When he kisses your cheek, warmth lingers on your face. Somehow, that feels familiar too.

“Who are you?” you ask him this time.

His kisses trail down to your neck now. His lips on your neck are something different, but not unwelcome. A soft sigh falls from your own lips and you feel his smirk against your skin.

“A friend,” he tells you. He places a kiss on your shoulder now.

“I meant your name.” 

He laughs. And something stirs inside your heart, like a magic spell has been cast from the sound. “That, you’ll have to work a little harder for, darling.”

And before you could turn and look at his face, you wake up.

When you dream of him, he’s always just out of view. Yet, always with you wherever you go. Like a shadow.

As soon as you open your eyes, you grab your laptop and flip it open. The document is already on the screen as soon as you log in, and while the dream is still fresh in your mind, you write everything you remember: the adventure you went on this time, the part of the island that he showed you, what you guys did there, what was said.

What his name is…

Your fingers type it out. Without thinking about it, without even realizing what you’ve done. And suddenly, the answer is there before you.

Four letters that form one name.

Hope 

“My darling,” your grandmother begins, sitting on her rocking chair by a warm fire. “Do you remember the rules I taught you?”

You pause what you’re doing. The water in a large pot continues to roll into a boil as the red sauce you’re making heats the fresh tomatoes, meatballs, and herbs.

At first, you think it’s about the window at the nursery. The night you arrived here, you only opened it for a minute before you quickly closed it again. Surely, your grandmother was sound asleep then. She couldn’t have known that you opened the window, right?

“What rules, Nana?” you ask her, adding the pasta noodles into the boiling water.

“The rules about the Fae.”

You stop again. “The Fae?”

“The first rule,” she begins as she continues to rock on her chair. “Do not draw the attention of mischievous faeries.”

“But—” You part your lips, almost pointing out to her that faeries aren’t real. But something stops you. Somehow, telling her that feels like a lie.

“The second rule,” she continues. “Do not tell them your name.”

Names hold power to the Fae. You remember that much from your grandmother’s stories.

“Like Rumpelstiltskin,” you mention, recalling the tale of a naïve girl who gets out of a bad contract she later regrets by learning the little spinster’s true name.

She nods her head. “The third rule. Do not lie to them.”

Guilt starts to creep up on you for opening the window at the nursery. Although she hasn’t mentioned it again, a part of you is paranoid that she somehow found out about it anyway.

“Sounds like the moral of a children’s story,” you comment, half-joking as you finish up making the pasta. It’s nearly finished.

“The fourth rule,” she goes on more sternly, a small frown on her thin lips. “Do not accept gifts, food, or favors from the Fae.”

“Right,” you mutter, turning off the heat of the stove and serving the meal.

This rule, you know as well.

Your grandmother has told you stories of how faeries lure lost souls into the woods, trapping them into their world. Of bargains that don’t go as planned, leading to a price to pay with one’s servitude and torture to the tricksters. You’ve seen strange reports of mysterious disappearances and rings of mushrooms and pebbles left behind, of people entranced in a waltz-like dance as they edge toward the end of a cliff and slip to their deaths, and of people who’ve tasted the food and drinks of the Fae and later find themselves poisoned from the sticky, sweet indulgence.

“And the fifth, but most important rule of all,” she finishes, turning to look you in the eye. “Should you find yourself in their debt, you must give something of equal value in return. Only then will your debt be repaid.”

You sense the worry in her voice, and it occurs to you then that she knows. You had opened the window, let something in that you shouldn’t have, and whatever it is now targets you. The dreams, and now the rules about the Fae.

“Nana, why are you telling me this?” you ask her, helping her to her seat on the table.

“So you could learn from my mistakes.” She is quiet for a long moment as you serve her plate. She doesn’t seem to want to eat as she looks at you with guilt in her eyes. “I have a confession, my dear.”

“What is it?” you ask, settling down on your own spot on the table.

“When I was young, there was a place that I went to. A wonderful world full of adventure. I didn’t want to grow up. I still wanted to play and have fun, and not think about grown-up things like work, bills, and raising a family.” She grimaces as she thinks about how foolish she was then. How she loves her children and her grandchildren more than anything now. “I made a deal with the faeries then. I didn’t want things to change. I wanted to stay the same, but once I started to grow up, I realized that this wasn’t what I wanted anymore. So I made a new deal with them.”

Neither of you have touched your plates. You look at your grandmother with a small frown. “What was the deal?”

“I would take back my contract, grow old and allow time to resume normally again, if they leave my children alone,” she admits with a frown. “I fell in love with your grandfather. I knew we’d be married and have a family together, but that wasn’t good enough. A change of contract means nothing to them when the family I was going to have meant everything.”

You feel your chest tighten. “So, what did they want?”

“They wanted you,” she tells you sullenly. “The first-born of my kin from the child they couldn’t have.”

“That’s… quite a story, Nana.” You’re not sure what to say, or how much of it is true. Things like dealings with faeries, contracts, and such are all make-believe. Isn’t it?

“I just want to remind you of those rules, my dear,” she replies with a sad smile. “Before he tries to take you from me again.”

You don’t believe in faeries.

But your grandmother does.

Perhaps, as a child, you once did too. Mischievous by nature, you’d once claim that they’re the reason your hair gets tangled in the morning when you wake up, or why you seem to keep misplacing your things. Your brothers would call you silly and forgetful, but your grandmother, upon when you had first told her about these minor inconveniences, suddenly looked at you with worry.

That day, when you were still a child, she had tightly held your hand and told you the five rules. The five things to always remember when dealing with them.

However, you were just a child. Following rules seemed boring to you when the temptation of adventure came to your window every night.

In the shadows, the one called Hope would silently watch you as you played with your brothers, jumping on the bed and swinging around a wooden sword as you’d re-tell your version of fairy tales – ones that often involved defeating treacherous foes and overcoming difficult obstacles, but always ended with a true love’s kiss.

Embodied as a boy around your age, he slipped through the open window and personally invited you to his world of adventure. He liked your stories, he liked that you could prove you’re just as tough as your brothers and could fit right in with his group of friends, and he liked how you had a sweeter, softer, motherly side of you as well.

Every time he took you to that place, he didn’t want you to leave. Yet, you always had to.

You’d worry about your brothers when they weren’t with you, or you’d be afraid your grandmother would forget about you and shut the window before you could make it back home. You had school, a family, and a home here – you couldn’t stay with him all the time like he wanted you to.

So, Hope brought between worlds with the condition that you’d come back.

And for a while, you kept your word, meeting him again by the window the very next night.

Until one day, you didn’t.

The nursery window had been shut and locked, and you and your brothers had returned to your parents to grow up and forget. Your promise with the faerie had been broken.

You find yourself with your laptop open again, reading through the notes you’ve jotted down every morning after you’d wake up. Tabs are open on your browser on websites about the Fae, and your grandmother’s illness is starting to make sense to you.

It’s not the air she’s scolding and warning to get away from her. There are reasons she’s seeking protection in forms of four-leaf clovers, inverted clothes, and carrying objects of iron with her at all times. That the dairy and sweets she leaves by her door are an offering to appease them so they won’t cause her and her family harm.

Because she can see them.

Wisps of light that float out in her garden at night, lingering hauntingly until the dawn breaks. Forms of small animals like squirrels, mice, and birds that come to her door for old buttons, pretty stones, and shiny objects. Tiny, mischievous winged humans that can spoil food before their expiration or hide keys and coins when no one is looking.

Faeries.

For some reason, they’ve been harassing your grandmother lately. Perhaps, they’ve been bothering her longer than you thought, angry that she had taken you away from them and that world they wanted to keep you in.

And now that you’re here…

“So, you figured it out?”

You gasped, turning to the source. By the open window, as the ends of the curtains float with the wind, the one called Hope stands before you. Only, he isn’t a boy anymore.

Rule #1: Do not draw the attention of mischievous faeries.

The man before you is tall and thin, with a sharp jaw and a perfect nose. The apples of his cheeks rise with his heart-shaped smile. His skin is golden, glowing warmly like rays of the sun. The tips of his ears are a little pointier, and sunlight seems to naturally highlight his hair and brown eyes.

Faeries, as you’ve researched, come in different forms. Sometimes as small animals. Sometimes as nymphs, sprites, wisps, and pixies. Sometimes, however, they appear to you in a strange form. Human. Visible.

Only strong faeries can do that. Like kings and queens of the Fae.

He looks at you curiously, and although it should alarm you that he suddenly appeared in your room, it doesn’t.

You know him. You’ve seen him in your dreams.

Rule #2: Do not tell them your name.

“Hope?”

His smile widens, almost devilish. “Hope? What happened to Hobi?”

“Hobi,” you repeat, and somehow, that name sounds familiar on your tongue as well. “Is that what I called you?”

“You don’t remember?” He feigns hurt, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head a little. “You sure changed a lot since the last time I saw you, darling.”

“Darling,” you echo, feeling your heart stir at the pet name. You remember him calling you that in your dreams as well. Is that what he always called you?

Rule #3: Do not lie to them.

The faerie moves closer to you, frowning as he looks you in the eye. Your heart pounds nervously as you hold his piercing gaze. “You’ve forgotten all about me, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve never—“ you start, but you catch yourself. You have met him. Considered him a friend, even. The dreams, the memories of your childhood. How much of it was real, and how much of it was make-believe?

Rule #4: Do not accept gifts, food, or favors from the Fae.

“Well, it doesn't matter,” he states, finally backing off. “You’re here now. I can show you all the things you’ve forgotten again.”

That paradise island. The one that you’ve been dreaming so often about. A small part of you can’t believe it’s real and not just some figment of your imagination. That this faerie could actually take you there.

“At what cost?” you find yourself asking.

The faerie smirks. “Clever.”

A commotion comes from downstairs. You hear the distinct sound of twinkling, like the chimes of a small bell. Following that, your grandmother’s voice.

“I told you to stay away from me!” she snaps from downstairs. A crash of a shattering plate, flung to a wall. Thuds of other things being knocked over as your grandmother continues to yell at the faeries to leave her alone. Alarmed, you jump to your feet, ready to rush down to help her. But the presence of the faerie intruder makes you stop in the middle of the room.

How long has she been enduring them on her own until they drove her mad? How far will they try to break her until they get what they want? How much longer can she still protect you from them?

Rule #5: Should you find yourself in their debt, you must give something of equal value in return. Only then will your debt be repaid.

You turn to the faerie. “If I go with you, will you leave my family alone?”

“If you wish it,” he simply replies, but his mouth twitches in a small smile. You feel like you’re falling right into his trap.

The commotion downstairs gets louder. Your grandmother is shrieking as she tries to chase the faeries out, her voice desperate and exhausted from their illusions and magic. You want to stop it for her sake.

“If I go with you, will I see my family again?” you ask, thinking about your brothers, your parents, and your grandmother. A sudden wave of déjà vu hits you, as if you’ve asked him this before. You fumble awkwardly with the memory, trying to grasp it.

“What about my brothers?” you ask the boy by your window, looking at their sleeping forms. He doesn’t seem enthusiastic with the idea of bringing them with you. “And Mother, and Father? Nana will surely find out too.”

“There’ll be mermaids,” he tells you, smiling as your eyes light up.

“Mermaids?” you echo, thinking of how amazing it’d be to meet one.

“Pirates.”

“Pirates!” you exclaim, then quickly cover your mouth, nearly rousing your brothers from their sleep. He wants you to tell the ending of your Cinderella story yourself to his friends, and in exchange, he’ll take you to a magical place.

How easy it was for him then, when you didn’t know any better. And how terribly naïve you were, making deals with the devil by your window.

You hear your grandmother shouting your name now, trying to make her way upstairs. The faeries, it seems, have suddenly stopped bothering her. They’ve quieted down, but she knows that something is wrong.

“Forget them, darling. Forget them all,” he whispers, coming up behind you. His lips brushes against your ear as your pulse races, kissing you as lightly as the wings of a faerie. “Come with me, and you’ll never, never have to worry about a thing again.”

Your grandmother’s shouts are getting closer. You can hear her running up the stairs as fast as her frail legs can take her.

You turn to face the faerie behind you. He stands so close to you, you could kiss him. “Never is an awfully long time.”

Your grandmother is an odd, old woman, and there are five rules that she taught you, in hopes that you’d remember them when facing the Fae. Since you were a child, she’s protected you and your brothers from the devilish creatures she sees, from the one in particular that has staked his claim on you.

It would be nice to say she made it to the nursery on time. That all her charms and rituals of protection are enough to repel him and banish him from her home.

But as she opened the door to the nursery, you were gone. Vanished into thin air, just as she feared.

All that’s left is the gentle breeze that blows the thin curtains from the open window.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!