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“y/n! where are you?!”

dammit.

you sigh heavily at the clanging of the bell on your front door, keeping your gaze laser-focused on your client’s thigh. you were a tattoo artist, and a well-accomplished one at that. people from all over the world came for your handiwork, even as an apprentice. back then, one of your clients, youngji, now one of your closest friends, posted one of her covers on tiktok, and the tattoo you’d designed on her forearm had gone insanely viral. since then, you’d had steady work come through the door as a professional artist. and with the help of your best friend, you’d finally achieved your dream of opening a studio of your own.

timeskip to today, and for the last three years, you’ve been operating out of a little shop in a tiny alleyway in tokyo. small, definitely sketchy, with even sketchier customers, but she was cute and within walking distance from one of your favorite little streets, filled with food, cafes, and trinket shops.

“i’m in the back working, yuma!” you yell.

youngji laughs at your dismayed expression from her place on your bench, and you pull the gun away to not mess up your design. the one and only nakakita yuma, one of your first regular clients, and for better or worse, your best friend. stomping, he drops a couple onigiri and iced americano on your desk, his lips just barely brushing the top of your head before he flops onto your couch with a heavy oof. 

“oh youngji-san, good to see you!" he half-waves. "oh my god y/n, you won’t believe what just happened. this crazy girl—“

the minute he starts yapping about last night’s one-night stand, you tune him out. yuma’s one night stands rarely went well, but still he kept going on them. and honestly, for the last year, it seemed like he was constantly on these dates, and getting more and more frustrated with each one. truly, it was like he was trying to get himself married off as soon as possible. but what on earth could you say? who were you to try to stop him from meeting the potential love of his life? youngji chuckles, used to yuma’s cat-like antics and near-constant presence in your shop.

“y/n… darling, you’re staring," she teases, taking note of your somewhat dilated eyes. 

“huh? oh my god, i’m so sorry youngji," you quickly apologize, returning your focus to her leg. "just one more rose and then we’ll be done.”

the buzzing fills your ears, leaving your mind blissfully blank. you didn’t mind having yuma around, but when he was there, it was like your brain went completely smooth. like, chicken breast smooth. it was ridiculous, really, how his presence distracted you entirely, no matter what you were doing. and it was irritating to no end. 

“y/n… you know he likes you, right?” youngji whispers, her eyebrows wiggling mischievously at you. “he’s obviously baiting you with these one night stand stories.”

you shake your head, keeping your hand steady as you finish up the final touches. 

“nah, we’re just friends.”

“right... friends who kiss, drunk cuddle, with matching tattoos and—”

“ok when you say it like that—“

“of course, my mistake. he’s just the best friend who brings you lunch, like, every day. and starts pouting if you go on a date. and loaned you millions of yen to help you open this shop. and looks at you like you hung the moon." she pauses, sarcasm dripping with every word.

"actually, yeah, you’re right. he doesn’t like you. he loves you,” youngji declares, wincing as you finally finish and start to bandage her leg.

“oh my god, shut UP!” you whisper-yell, tying off the saran wrap with a quick snap. “what if he hears you?!”

you glance over at yuma, airpods thankfully jammed in his ears. he hums under his breath, fingers tapping against his leg to a rhythm you can’t hear. and as he’s sitting there, bathed in sunlight with his eyes closed, you can’t help the soft smile that graces your lips.

“besides, he’s always hooking up with some girl. exhibit a, literally ten seconds ago when he was blabbing about the girl he went out with last night,” you say airily, taking out your contacts to switch them for glasses. “he wouldn’t be doing all that if he was waiting for me, you know?”

“that’s because you don’t make any moves on him, so he thinks you don’t like him like that!” youngji says, exasperated. “no friend would just call you 'baby' and not like-like you!"

“because i don’t like him, i’m literally going on a date with niki tonight!” you groan, handing her all the aftercare materials. "besides, he's called me 'baby' for years, that's just how he is."

“okay, okay, fine.” youngji puts her hands up in surrender, a teasing smirk on her face. “make sure you eat my hardworking busy bee. have fun, I’ll see you saturday.”

she blows you a kiss, and the front door closes with a soft jingle of the overhanging bell. you wave her off, locking the door with a soft click. ears twitching like a cat, yuma looks at you, one eyebrow raised. 

come here.

rolling your eyes, you take a sip of the coffee yuma had brought, soaking in the last rays of the setting sun. the worst part of being a broke tattoo artist was having literally no money to pay any employees to help you clean up the shop when you were done for the day. and you were a chronic procrastinator. so aside from when yuma dragged the rest of the boys to help you clean, bribed with promises of free dinner, you were left to convince yourself you loved cleaning. but they’d all been busy with finals lately and today, you were paying for yesterday's procrastination. 

"ahem," yuma clears his throat, a slight pout on his lips.

i said come here.

a beat passes and you sigh, resolve crumbling faster than a sand castle. 

fine.

he grunts dramatically with your sudden weight plopping onto his chest, but his arms curl around your waist anyway, your shoulder blades now acting as his personal phone rest. he’d started working out recently, his chest starting to become more defined and less of a soft pillow. this position shouldn’t feel normal between friends, but you settle into his chest anyway, as if he were your personal pillow.

“take a nap, you look like shit,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair absent-mindedly. "smell like it too"

your head pops up, catching him in the chin. 

“bitch—?!!”

before you can smack him, the bell of your front door jingles and you turn towards the sound, head tilted. yuma looks up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed. 

“were you expecting someone?”

but you're just as confused. 

“no…? youngji was my last client today and i thought i locked the door after she left,” you try to stand up. “guess i left it open and somebody wanted to stop by for a walk-in.”

but yuma hugs you tighter, gaze returning to his phone. his face remains still, though his tight grip on you says otherwise.

“they’ll go away if they see you’re closed,” he whispers lazily, completely oblivious to how warm your ears have gotten.

“nakakita yuma, you did not help me open this shop just so I could ignore customers,” you shake your head, tapping his nose teasingly. “you’re being extra clingy today”

yuma rolls his eyes, his grip unrelenting even while he continues to scroll on his phone. damn him and his arm days. he says nothing, but the slight smirk on his face betrays him.

with an evil grin, your hands ghost over his sides and he lets go with a loud giggle.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he whines, grabbing for you as you dance just out of reach, coffee firmly in hand. 

you blow him a kiss, giving a mock-bow on your way to the main area of your studio. you were exhausted, but if anything was going to save you, it was going to be new clients and yuma’s coffee. however, had you taken a second to look behind you, you would’ve seen yuma’s smile drop as soon as your back was turned. his eyes watch carefully as your figure disappears beyond the curtain, narrowed in distrust and suspicion.

you never forgot to lock your door. 

ever.

and he knew for a fact that the only other key to this shop was the one currently attached to the carabiner on his jeans.

“hello, welcome in! i’m actually— niki?! what are you doing here?” you smile, your cheeks warming as he bends to give you a peck on the cheek.

“hey beautiful, i just wanted to stop by early before our date, and let you know," he smiles lazily, his tall frame immediately filling your entire visual field. 

he’d started coming into your shop about three months ago, and over time, one conversation led to the next and you’d gotten to know him beyond the artist-client curtain. he looks like he’s just gotten home from the gym, dressed comfortably in sweats and a dark grey hoodie, hands deep in his pockets. he leans closer, eyes just barely peeking out from behind his dark curtain of hair. 

you swear you only blinked once. you hadn’t looked away from him, not even for a second. 

but nothing could've prepared you for what came next. 

“sorry noona, i’m gonna have to cancel.” your soon-to-be-ex-situationship smiles at you apologetically, though his eyes sport nothing but cold calculatedness as he holds the gun pointed straight at your forehead.  

you freeze, coffee hitting the floor before you can get a grip.

the ghost feeling of a bullet ripping through your brain is sending you into a panic faster than you can stop it. and if the gun didn’t kill you first, your almost inevitable heart attack was about to. christ, you really had a knack for picking men. 

“niki...? i don’t understand, why are you—“

“y/n, darling, you really should’ve known better,” he sighs, as if your question is that of a tiresome child. “it was so obvious that i was just playing with—“

BANG!

a loud crash echoes through your shop from the backroom and niki’s eyes narrow on you, the safety clicking off.

“who else is here?” he asks lowly, sounding nothing like the person you thought you’d gotten to know.

your heart clenches at the thought of exactly who was lounged on your couch. 

no way in hell would you get yuma mixed up in this. you didn’t even know what this was about!

“no one! i have no idea—“

“me, bitch.”

BAM!

another blink and all you see is yuma, standing in the doorway like some kind of avenged angel in his black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, gun drawn. niki lays on the ground, unconscious from the blow to the back of his head. 

you're frozen in place, rarely having seen your best friend so serious in your life. his eyes are fixated on niki, gun held in front of him like an extension of his body rather than a foreign, loaded weapon. you don’t recognize this yuma. this serious, unsmiling yuma. as if he hadn’t just knocked someone unconscious with no trouble at all. as if he could’ve killed him in cold blood and not batted an eyelash. as if he'd become someone else entirely. your heart lurches, the invisible wounds left behind by your past suddenly feeling as if they've been ripped open. 

“yu... ma…?”

at the sound of your voice, whoever is front of you is gone faster than you could snap your fingers. immediately, his eyes soften and yuma holsters the gun, running towards you. he holds you at arms-length, checking you all over for injuries. 

“y/n! are you ok?!! i heard—“

“get away from me.” you whisper, still staring at the unconscious niki on the floor.

“w-what?” his arms drop loosely at his sides, shocked by your tone.

you shove him off, grabbing the gun that niki had dropped.

“d-don’t t-touch me,” you stutter, gun shaking in your grasp. before you can stop them, tears start to form in your eyes, blurring your vision. for all you know, yuma could change his mind and finish what niki came to do. you'd been such a fool, trusting yet another man with a voice like honey. 

yuma’s gaze softens, holding his hands where you can see them. 

“hey, y/n,” he whispers softly. “baby it’s ok, it’s just me.”

“yuma,” he moves carefully, keeping his hands where you can see them.

“your yuma.” 

you look like a scared rabbit, ready to bolt at any second. your eyes look dazed, as if trapped in a memory. 

and he hates that it's his fault. 

you’ve never seen this side of him; he’d always been careful to keep his double life hidden from you whenever you’d come to visit. his weapons tucked safely behind a false wall. mysterious documents and phone calls excused away by an ill grandparent. his uncanny aptitude with computers and code loosely explained by a course he took in college. he watches you carefully, all too-aware that the safety is still off. 

you back away, hands shaking so hard that you nearly drop the gun. of course you’d never hurt yuma, you would never want that. but you’re terrified, your mind going into survival mode all on its own. you know it’s not him. you know he’s not here. and yet, all you can see is him. 

yuma steps forward slowly, careful not to spook you. you’re looking at him, but it’s almost as if you’re looking through him. 

you stand frozen, as if watching yourself in third-person, as yuma pulls the gun from your grip, flipping the safety on and pocketing it without taking his eyes off of you. you instinctively step back, unable to break his gaze. he follows you, not overcrowding your space, but close enough to let you know that he’s not going anywhere. a couple steps later, your back hits the wall, his quiet intensity sending your brain into overdrive. he leans down, close enough for his nose to just gently brush against yours.

“why are you running from me?” he murmurs lowly, setting off sparks in your stomach despite everything that’s happened. "what do you see?"

had your friendship been a lie? did you ever really know your supposed best friend? when he’d saved you that night, all those years ago, was it planned? come to think of it, he’d always paid for everything and got upset if you tried to pay, all while complaining that you spent all of his money and needed to find a boyfriend to use his money instead. stupidly, you never questioned where the money came from. not even once. really, what kind of 24-year-old had millions of yen just sitting around to help you open a tattoo studio?! not to mention what had happened just last week? god, you were an idiot.

“Y/N?!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!!”

you collide face-first into the chest of none other than nakakita yuma, your keys and umbrella clattering to the ground.

“YUMA?! what do you mean what the hell am i doing here?! what the hell are you- OW!”

yuma grabs your arm, dragging you to the alleyway to the side of your shop. he drags you next to the row of trashbins, keeping you mostly hidden from view from the alleyway. a rat skitters by, though neither of you take notice of it.

“you can’t be here right now! why are you out so late?!”

“jesus yuma, i just finished a spine tattoo!" you shove at him half-heartedly, starting to shiver from the cold of the rain seeping through your thin shirt. "you know i have late clients all the time, why are you— IS THAT BLOOD?!!”

yuma bats your hands away, looking nervously towards where the opening of the alleyway meets the street.

“don’t worry, it’s not mine. but you need to get out of here right—“

“WHERE IS HE?!!” a loud voice booms, no more than a block away.

“oh shit,” yuma mutters, backing you straight into the brick wall.

one brick in particular digs between your shoulder blades, though the expression on yuma’s face keeps your lips sealed. your heart stutters with the feeling of yuma’s skin pressed flush against yours, the lingering scent of the cologne he’d sprayed this morning filling your nostrils. the vein in his neck pulses with adrenaline, his right arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you tucked securely against his chest. the rain has soaked both of you through, the flickering streetlight painting the perfect setting for a night of shifty hands, violence, and shady business. 

“yu-kun, what’s going on?” 

your terrified whisper brings yuma back to reality, suddenly all-too-aware of your body pressed against his, subconsciously curled into his chest. and in spite of himself, his skin begins to heat against yours, searing warmth cutting through the cold rain. your pulse thuds against his skin, every shaky breath from your lips sending blood straight down south.

“y/n, i need you to kiss me."

he can hear their footsteps thundering down the pavement just around the corner, hooting and hollering, thirsty for blood. time seems to slow down and you nearly choke on your own spit at his words, having half a mind to knock him unconscious and hand him over.

“yuma, are you insane?! what the fuck is going on?!! and why—“

“kiss me, y/n,” yuma pleads, eyes darting between you and the street. every second passes like a ticking time bomb. “or we’re both going to die”

you must be ill. feverish. sick in the head. you don’t question it, why yuma is acting like the world is ending. 

"you owe me an explanation," you whisper harshly, yanking him down by his shirt. “and a drink.” 

yuma’s eyes flutter closed as you seal your lips against his, almost chastely. his cheeks warm, a guttural groan stuck in his throat, an undeniable heat in his chest. the footsteps thud closer, their heels promising violence.

“THERE! THAT MUST BE— oh for fuck’s sake!”

yuma clutches you closer by your waist, wet hair flopping into your eyes, while the other comes up to cup your cheek. you’ll blame it on the adrenaline. or the fact that death allegedly awaits you around the corner. either way, you’re not responsible for what happens next as yuma deepens the kiss, dizzy with the feeling of your nails scraping against his back: you practically moan into his lips, back arching off the wall and into his chest. 

“yuma,” you rasp, separating your lips for a whisper for air. 

“get back here,” a small smirk decorates his features, his voice a low whine. 

you’ll blame your actions on the fact that you were putting on the show of a lifetime, well, for your life. you yank yuma closer by the back of his neck, careful to keep his face hidden from the alleyway. his hands roam all over your back, as if memorizing every curve and tiniest detail. your lips ghost over the side of his neck, settling over the space between his neck and shoulder, hazarding a glare over his shoulder at the men in the shadows, as if shaming them for being present. yuma practically falls against you as your teeth sink into his skin, his breath coming out in harsh pants. you suck harder, overcome with years of pent-up desire; his fingers dig into your hips, as if tattooing his presence into your bones.

“fuck y/n, you might just kill me first,” yuma growls, grabbing your chin with one hand. 

you detach from his neck with a pop, threads of saliva shiny in the dim light. you just barely catch a glimpse of your already-bruising mark before yuma reattaches his lips to yours, one hand slipping under your shirt to grab your waist, keeping you in place while he continues his onslaught.

“jesus, GO HOME FREAKS!” a deep voice bellows. “it’s just a couple of perverts! fan out, he can’t have gotten far!”

you never did get your explanation afterwards, too distracted by the memory of yuma’s lips against yours, and the empty ache that had followed. 

“what the fuck is going on?” you glare up at yuma, keeping your arms crossed across your chest. 

you had no intention of repeating last week’s series of events, flushed cheeks be damned; fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice, shame on me. you couldn't think of a single good explanation for why he had so much money, why he could use a gun with such expertise, or why he'd been covered in blood. you hazard a glance towards niki, who is thankfully still unconscious and sprawled on the ground. thank god you were closed for the day; even the concept of a man was pissing you off. and

“are you dealing?!!”

yuma snorts, of course that would be the first thing you would think of. he raises a hand to brush the hair out of his face, and you can’t help it. you flinch. shocked, yuma looks at you, hurt and worry filling his gaze. 

“y/n? baby, i would never hurt you,” he says softly, arms dropping uselessly to his sides. 

his head hangs, hair falling back into his face. he peers at you through his curtain of bangs, gaze sad and pleading. 

“i know you’re scared, and i know a lot has just happened. im not dealing drugs but i don’t know what’s happening either and i promise i’ll tell you everything as soon as i know you're safe,” his breath hitches, almost as if he’s slamming a wall down. “will you trust me?“

you look at him, feeling the wall starting to grow between the two of you by the second. this was your best friend. he’d been your rock, your everything for the last five years. he’d rescued you when you needed him most, had protected you even when you’d refused it. but clearly, you hadn’t known anything about him at all.

“you’ll tell me everything?” you question, suddenly feeling more exhausted than you’ve ever felt in your life. 

he nods, almost too eagerly.

“yes, everything. everything i know, i’ll tell you y/n. but we can’t stay here, it’s not safe—“

as if on cue, niki’s phone starts ringing. 

“jake-hyung,” it reads.

your eyes widen. 

no way, it can’t be.

you're not stupid, you know you’re running out of options. it would only be a matter of time before whoever had sent niki came looking for him. and if 'jake-hyung' was who you thought it was...

better the devil you know than the one you don’t. 

slowly, you nod, tearing your gaze away from niki’s body. without wasting another second, yuma grabs your hand, leading you out the back door of your shop to where his car is parked. he fastens your seatbelt, making sure your hair doesn't get caught in it. 

“i am so sorry, love. i promise i’ll tell you everything.”

next thing you know, your vision goes dark, the scent of wood and lavender filling your nostrils. 

—

you wake up confused and disoriented, but somehow more rested than you've been in ages. the last rays of sunlight filter in through the closed blinds, the digital clock at your bedside table reads 7:59pm. 

christ, you'd slept a whole day. 

carefully, you sit up and blink slowly, trying to find your bearings. slowly but surely, all the memories of yesterday afternoon come flooding back: yuma, kicking open the front door to your shop. niki, holding a gun to your forehead. yuma, lounging on your couch. niki, unconscious on the ground. yuma, leaned over you, your back to the wall. niki's phone, 'jake-hyung'. yuma, begging you to trust him. you sigh. the last thing you remember is getting into yuma’s car and then…. nothing. 

you were still in yesterday's clothes, though someone had taken off your socks and scrubbed off your make-up. looking around, you slowly start to recognize where you are: yuma’s apartment. and on the other side of his bedroom door, there was a whole lot of yelling going on, their attempts at whispering completely futile.

"NAKAKITA YUMA!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!!"

"what the hell were you thinking?!"

"euijoo, you really can't expect me to have left her!"

"yuma, you know the rules! we have them for a reason!"

"you know what happens next, right?"

silence follows. 

you don't hear the next bit because you're too busy diving for the bed, back under the safety of the covers. 

just in time for yuma to open the door, sitting down next to you with a heavy sigh. peeking from beneath the blanket, you can see jo, fuma and euijoo all in the living room, putting on their shoes to leave. you’d occasionally seen euijoo around, when he accompanied his wife to the coffee shop next door. she had come in with yuma a couple times, always greeting you with a warm smile. and you hadn’t seen jo in a while since he’d become a father. you’d seen fuma around, sometimes dropping by yuma’s apartment unannounced. and who was always in the gym pictures that yuma sent you. who, once upon a time, had walked into a very unfortunate situation.

“yuma! where is— why are you on the couch?" fuma starts, kicking off his shoes. “y/n?!!”

“fuma-kun??” yuma groans, blinking sleepily in the sunlight streaming through his window.

you’re still fast asleep on his chest, wrapped in one of yuma’s t-shirts, not having so much as twitched a muscle. yuma has one arm around your waist, the other behind his head. the tv reads, are you still watching? numb from sleep, he blinks again, rolling his eyes as soon as he sees fuma’s disappointed stare.

“are you playing with her? you better not be, i raised you better than that,” fuma nags, arms crossed over his chest.

“no hyung, it’s not like-“

“she’s a wonderful woman and i don’t even want to know if you guys had sex, you just better have been wearing-“

“FUMA-HYUNG! oh my god, please it’s not like that!” yuma groans, trying his best to roll out from under you without waking you up. “we’re just friends!”

“right, and i’m half-unicorn,” fuma sighs deeply, turning right back around to leave. 

"hey dummy, i know you're awake.”

yuma speaks softly, his voice heavy with what seems like the weight of the world.

you pretend to not hear him, keeping your eyes shut tightly. of course, you’re grateful to yuma for saving your life. but apparently, your best friend has been living this double life you’d known nothing about. and you weren’t a complete moron. you knew your shop catered to a sketchy crowd that tipped way too generously for the jobs they claimed to have. you knew that more than a few sketchy business deals had taken place right under your nose. but for yuma, your yuma, to be mixed up in all of it, and you hadn’t known? god, best friend of the year.

he pokes your hip, clearly pouting that your back is still turned towards him. 

“go away, yuma,” you mutter, grip tightening on the blanket.

“y/n-“

“please?” your voice comes out as a whisper, just barely on the edge of tears again.

everything you’d ever known about nakakita yuma had been complete bullshit and you’d be stupid not to take a second to gather your thoughts before you’re blinded by his lies, again. even if it breaks your heart to take a couple steps back. 

“i just need some time,” you mumble, trying not to let guilt seep into your voice.

yuma doesn’t answer, but you feel his eyes boring into your back like lasers. and ever so slowly, you feel him get off the bed. his fingertips brush against your shoulder as he readjusts the blanket, his touch burning even through the thick fabric. 

“ok,” he says, his lips ghosting the edge of your brow line.

the door clicks shut and you breathe a sigh of relief, finally throwing the suffocating blanket off. his lips still burn against your skin as you sit up, staring at the photo yuma has framed at his bedside: it was the day of your 22nd birthday and yuma’s birthday gift to you had been the keys to your studio, bewitched. you smile softly, staring at the two of you. you don’t know who had taken it, but you’ve never looked so naive and joyful in your life, being spun around, keys glittering in the sunlight.

what an idiot.

what the hell were you going to do? actually, what on earth could you even do? run for it? jump out the window? 

you can just picture him outside the door, sulking in the kitchen, scrolling on his phone to distract himself. and your heart breaks all over again. just outside that door was the boy who’d become your best friend. the boy who’d wiped your tears when you were at your lowest. the boy who’d helped you get your life back and made your dreams come true. but after last night? really you should’ve known better. how could someone as kind as him be real? there was always a catch, you’d already learned that lesson the hard way. and right now, you had no idea who would be waiting for you outside that door: your sweet, kind-hearted yuma, or a cold-blooded killer. 

sighing, you roll out of bed. you desperately needed a shower and you'd slept over at yuma's enough times to have your own drawer. but the thundering of the hot water on your head does nothing to quiet your thoughts. you shut it off, the water starting to feel cold.

what happens now?

“JO?! what the hell?!!” you jump back, the towel you’d been using to dry your hair hitting jo in the chest like a wet rag.

"why on earth are you standing in the dark like some kind of serial killer?!!" 

one quick glance around the apartment told you yuma had left, his keys gone from the hook. you look back at jo, willing your heartbeat to slow down. 

asakura jo, one of yuma's friends whom you often asked for sketch ideas. he had a brilliant mind, the perfect idea bank whenever you found yourself hitting a creativity wall. you'd seen less and less of him since he'd become a father of two, but he was still the awkward, shy guy you'd come to befriend. though nowadays, he'd picked up a lot more of his wife's traits and gotten a lot more expressive. and sassy, dear god. but the man half-leaning on the counter in front of you now is none of these things: actually, he looks exhausted. dark circles under his eyes, rumpled pants, glasses hanging off his nose unevenly, mysterious stain on his t-shirt that looked suspiciously like baby food. 

"y/n, it's good to see you. well, circumstances aside," he waves half-heartedly from the kitchen. 

"you're,” you tip toe forward, wet hair dripping onto the hardwood. “involved...?"

you ask hesitantly, afraid to step out from the doorway leading to the living room, as if the cheap wood somehow marked the line between life and death. 

jo lets out an uncharacteristic snort, shaking his head. 

"involved?" he takes a sip of water. "y/n, i run the whole thing. and as the don of &TEAM, i have a couple things to discuss with you about what happened with nakamura riki.”

you back away, suddenly very afraid. the longer you looked at him, you could practically see the blood staining his hands. the weight of all their souls heavy on his shoulders. the illusion had shattered, and if jo was involved, then it was probably safe to say that everyone yuma had introduced you to were all criminals. but jo as their leader?! what kind of monsters did yuma have for friends, that someone as kind and endearing as jo was a criminal lord?! you’d always thought that he’d had the hands of an artist, but of course you'd been blind. you’d been a fool for not realizing his medium had been blood. christ, you hadn't even suspected—

"he hid it well, it's not your fault y/n." jo interrupts your thoughts. "you're not stupid for not realizing, you know. not even a little bit.”

“wow, fatherhood has made you wise,” you laugh wistfully at the absurdity of it all. 

“we all worked to keep our secret hidden, you know,” jo gives you an awkward half-smile, his ears the faintest shade of pink. “as for yuma... we all told him he had to tell you soon before things got out of hand."

"what do you mean, out of hand?" you inch forward, still clinging to the edges of the living room. "you knew this was going to happen?"

jo raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the kitchen counter. it's pictures of your run-in with niki, caught on the cctv of your shop. you inch closer to stare at yourself, though the pictures start looking more and more like they'd happened to someone else the longer you look at him. you don't recognize the terrified girl in the photo, a spilled coffee at her feet. the gun pointed to her head almost seems dystopian, as if it were a movie scene and not your reality. you don't recognize yuma, cold and unfamiliar in his relaxed stance over an unconscious niki. 

but aside from those, there are more pictures, neatly organized into little piles. each pile is a compilation of pictures of all of your other regular clients but two piles stand out the most: kim sunoo, and of course, nishimura riki. 

"i suspected they'd come after you to get to him, so we kept eyes on you just in case. but we thought it’d become more of a hostage situation, not a full-on hit. however,” jo sighs heavily, leaning back against the sink. "it seems more like they had no idea at all. or at least, they’d known and couldn’t have cared less.”

he turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. 

"no offense y/n, but why on earth would they come for you?"

you shake your head, not having a single clue. allegedly, your mother had died giving birth to you, your father of heartbreak. you'd gotten dropped at an orphanage as a toddler by a distant relative, but were too young to remember exactly how you'd gotten to korea from japan in the first place. there, you’d bounced from foster home to foster home until unfortunately, you'd aged out. with no funds for college, you'd taken solace in art and ended up sketching for fun while working part-time as a bartender. a chance encounter with jeon jungkook, one of the most famous tattoo artists in seoul, and you'd ended up under his wing as a tattoo apprentice before finally graduating and opening your own studio back home in japan. your studio, thereby dubbed bewitched, had been open for a grand total of two years.

"i have no idea," you whisper, still staring at the photos. of yuma, the cold glint in his eye. of you, frozen in horror. of yuma, standing between you and niki, as if he were a human shield. 

your mind trails back to the first time you'd met yuma and his ragtag gaggle of friends. 

you'd been 20, with almost a year's experience of being an apprentice, closing up shop the day after your uneventful birthday when he'd stumbled in with two friends in tow, drunk and clearly freshly 20. jungkook's shop, the magic shop, was right in the middle of hongdae, the perfect location for streetgoers living on the ideology of yolo, soju and poor decisions. the one with the cat-like eye smile and snaggletooth, somehow, he feels familiar. though, you have no idea who he could be.

"I WANT A TATTOO!" he slurs, unfocused eyes shiny with delight. 

"sir, you're drunk and—"

"wow you're really pretty," he smiles at you. "can i have this one please?"

you follow his finger, pointed directly at one of your old sketches. it's a net with a flower in the center of it, a lily actually, in honor of your mother. you shake your head, ears pinking with embarrassment that you'd accidentally left your sketchbook out. 

"i'm sorry, i can't do that one. it's not for—“

"i want it," he pouts. "please, if you can, it's really pretty."

"sir, i'm sorry but you're drunk and it's a big piece-"

"my sister's name is yuri and it'll be the third anniversary of her-"

maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you. or how excited he looks. either way, your mouth moves before your brain can catch up.

"ok, i'll do it" you nod, uncharacteristically sure.

was this guy drunk? oh absolutely. were you swayed by his round, cat-like eyes? perhaps. and his sister happened to have the same name as your mother? you didn't believe in fate or coincidences. but really, that sketch deserved to see the light of day, and your gut told you that this was the person to wear it. 

"hop up, i'll do the sketch first ok?" you smile, your heart lifting at how excited he looks that you've said yes. "my name's y/n, by the way."

"yuma," he grins, his snaggletooth poking out, looking somehow more sober than ever. “nakakita yuma.”

"y/n? you here?”

"yes?" you shake your head, clearing your thoughts. 

jo's looking at you like you've grown a third head, clearly concerned. 

"i know this is a lot. and i‘m really really sorry, but i need you to think back,” he sighs again, scrutinizing the pictures as if they'd spell out the answer.  “is there anything? literally even the tiniest anything that you might have done to piss off enhypen?"

“no, i really don’t!” your eyes zero in on a particular tattoo hidden behind niki’s ear, trying to hold your tears back. “i’m sorry but to me, they’re like everyone else that comes through my shop. i’ve never even heard of the name enhypen before today.”

but that wasn't entirely true. yes, you'd never heard of enhypen until today. but you’d seen that tattoo before, though it had been no work of your own. 

you sink further into the couch, wishing more than anything else that you could go back to being stupid, naive y/n. the y/n who didn't have an active hit out on her. the y/n who had wanted to live a simple life doing the thing she loved. the y/n who knew nothing about enhypen or &TEAM. the y/n who could tell her best friend everything. 

“jo, you know that all the people who come through my shop are involved in sketchy business one way or another,” he half-nods, shrugging his shoulders in agreement. “they pay me for my work, but also to look the other way. and i don't even want to know what goes on the other side of my front door." 

you quickly wipe away a tear before he can see it, though he silently slides the tissue box closer to you anyway.

jo sighs for what seems like the millionth time, feeling uncharacteristically guilty. over the last two years, you’d become one of his closest confidants after yuma had dragged him out on a trip to your shop, in an attempt to lighten the heavy burden of being &TEAM's don. you'd noticed him quietly doodling away while you did yuma's double lobe piercings, taking a peek over his shoulder. since then, there’d been many an afternoon he’d come to visit and take up a corner of your backroom, content to sit in silence and doodle away while his kids are at school and the &TEAM empire isn’t actively burning down.

“y/n, there’s something else i need to discuss with you.”

“there’s more?”

“because of what’s happened…” he takes a deep breath, looking you straight in the eyes. “you have to join &TEAM.”

“i have to— WHAT?!!” you choke.

“it’s either that, or…” jo trails off, waiting for you to catch onto his meaning.

you sit, frozen to the couch. if someone had told you last week that your art would land you in the mafia, you would've openly laughed. but now?

“why am i still alive jo?” you ask quietly, stare fixated on a snorlax figurine by yuma’s tv. 

"you shouldn’t be," jo states plainly. “i usually wouldn’t allow for a civilian like you to simply join, but yuma wouldn’t have any of it. and you know better than anyone else he’d murder the rest of us if we let anything happen to you. not to mention that even you have no idea why enhypen wants you dead.”

jo tilts his head thoughtfully, and for no reason at all, you shiver. your body feels what you can’t see, the chill of a presence much larger and more dangerous than you can imagine.

“and that makes me very curious,” he fixes you with a stare.

you shiver, suddenly get the feeling that all your thoughts are being ripped raw and laid open in plain view.

you still haven't wrapped your mind around the fact that if not for yuma, you would probably be laying in an unmarked grave somewhere right now instead of in the middle of his living room. no funeral, no flowers, just another headline: "budding tattoo artist lost to gang violence" or better yet, "unnamed woman dies from rampant gang violence in shibuya.” your life has literally done a complete 180 in just over 24 hours. and now you’re supposed to join some top-secret dark underworld empire?!

before you can answer jo, the front door creaks open, revealing a soaked-through nakakita yuma, complete with takeout from your favorite restaurant that was 100% on the other side of town. jo brushes himself off, nodding once at yuma. 

"we'll talk more tomorrow, y/n. until then you’ll stay here, and i'll need a list of all of your clients,” and then he’s gone with a soft click of the front door, leaving you and yuma to stare at each other.

“y/n, i—“

“good night yuma,” you turn on your heel coldly, still not prepared to face him.

a firm grip on your wrist stops you in your tracks.

“you need to eat.”

“i’m not hungry,” you sniff, still refusing to turn around. 

“you’ve been asleep since yesterday, and you haven’t eaten anything all day,” yuma shakes his head firmly. “i know you’re hungry, don’t even try to lie. you can be mad at me all you want after, or pretend i don’t exist. that’s fine, just please eat”

“no—“

“i got your favorite tonkatsu,” he smirks knowingly behind your back, taking note of how your ear twitches in response. 

gotcha.

“fine,” you huff, sitting down.

the smell of curry fills your nostrils, and your stomach grumbles in protest of having been deprived of nutrition. yuma sits across from you with his own ramen, watching you with careful eyes to make sure you eat every last bit. you can’t deny the smile that creeps its way onto your face either, your thoughts and emotions clearing with each warm bite.

“so, you’re a criminal?” you ask boldly, the rich broth fueling your desire for answers.

yuma coughs so hard, he nearly snorts out the noodles he was chewing.

“excuse me?!”

“you’re in the mafia, therefore you’re a criminal,” you lean back with your arms crossed, observing him with new, careful eyes. you’re in no mood for forgiveness, but you need answers. “why?”

“you know most of it already, y/n,” yuma laughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. “my dad was a gambling douchebag, didn't lift a finger around the house while my mom practically worked herself to death. and then i found out my sister had taken up a job in the red light district just so we could keep our house."

yuma exhales deeply, knowing you haven't heard the next part.

"fuma-kun found me first, offered me a job. just a quick sneak in and out to steal some drugs. eventually those drugs runs turned into well, hits. i was making good money, enough for my sister to find a part-time job somewhere else."

he pauses, gauging for your reaction. but you haven't budged, your face still indifferent despite the smidge of curry on your upper lip. fighting the urge to wipe it away, he takes a sip of broth.

"then about a year before i met you, a bunch of loan sharks broke into my home looking for my father, took almost everything we had. they killed my parents, took my sister, said they’d come back for me.”

he takes a long slurp, fighting the urge to look into your eyes. he can’t stand to see how you look at him now: disappointment and betrayal clear in every feature. he hates that you’re looking at him with such distaste, fear rimmed around their edges.

“when i found her, they’d, um, left her body in a dumpster, completely uncovered. as if she… hadn’t been human." he looks at his bowl with a sad smile. “f-fuma and jo helped me hunt down every last one of them. and i know you don’t understand yet, but they’re my brothers. i owe them my life, y/n.”

you just barely hang onto your cold expression, clinging to any hint of indifference you can find, fighting every instinct to reach across the table and give him the biggest hug. you'd known that he'd had a rough childhood, but never the true extent of it. and his sister? your heart breaks for 16-year-old yuma, the boy who'd had his innocence stolen from him. and splinters again, now understanding the full weight of the piece you’d inked onto his skin. you steel your gaze, refusing to admit that your heart had already long melted. 

“you got your revenge, why are you still killing people?” you ask softly.

yuma shakes his head.

“i haven’t killed anyone since i found the ones who hurt my family,” he fidgets with the ring on his necklace, a last gift from his sister. “the last time i ever thought about killing anyone was, well,”

his gaze returns to you, raw and imploring.

“when i saw niki holding that gun to your head.”

your heart stutters, and you awkwardly clear your throat, choosing to look at the wall behind him. you can’t stand to look at him right now, cursing your stupid heart for still skipping beats for a man you’d never really known. 

or had he really been the same all along?

even now you watch him, his head hung low, awkwardly playing with his rings. he still looks every bit the boy who would loudly announce his presence in your shop. who somehow always knew when you needed a pick-me-up. who would show up in the pouring rain to drive you home. who never failed to show up when you needed him, even if he complained the whole time about it. who was the first one to really notice. 

you look at him quizzically, your tone more curious than cold. 

“and you’re happy here?”

silence follows. 

“yes,” he eventually answers.

i’d be happier if you stayed with me. 

yuma stares helplessly at his hands, frustration and sadness welling up in his chest so fast he can barely contain it. this wasn’t what he wanted, never what he wanted for you. not ever. when he’d helped you flee korea, this wasn’t the life he’d wanted for you. you deserved to live a life all your own, without needing to look over your shoulder. to speak your mind, instead of walking on eggshells. to smile freely, without the weight of the world on your shoulders.

since that night all those years ago, he’d gladly wait all day and all night for you to realize how much he loved you, that no one he’d ever been with would ever compare to you. that he would never run so happily to anyone else in the rain. no one else he would drop everything for at the sound of a ringtone. no one else he would take so much joy in teasing so relentlessly. but for you to look at him with such cold eyes? he wanted to tell you to run like hell, away from this mess.

away from him.

—

“again.”

you hit the mat in frustration, sweat practically dripping into your eyes. you’d been taking hits for hours, your arms and legs bruised and weary, not to mention the long run this morning and your personalized crash course in sharpshooting. you muster your biggest glare at your current sparring partner and trainer, who’s normally kind expression has hardened into that of a drill instructor. your personal mafia life tutors were truly the avengers from hell: koga yudai, murata fuma, and byun euijoo.

“fuma-san,” you pant, taking a long chug from your water. “can we please take a break?! we’ve been at this for-“

“form up,” he orders, barely waiting for you to put your water down before charging again. “we go until you land a clean hit”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!!” you scream, rolling to the side. 

fuma’s right hand whistles by your ear, and you kick his left arm away before it can make contact with your ribs. sure, you’re battered and bruised but you know damn well that this tank of a man is holding back. you’re enraged, exhausted beyond belief. you were an artist, not a fighter. your hands were meant for sketching and inking, not be bruised from punching and blocking. without even thinking, you lunge, feinting one way, your leg coming around in a roundhouse kick. 

hit.

fuma nods once, unable to hide the proud look in his eyes, even though he’s holding your ankle up in the air with one hand. he’d always liked you: selfless. kind. soft-spoken, even when you were yelling at yuma for pissing you off again.

“good, we begin again tomorrow”

you collapse to the ground with relief, weary to the bone. 

“fuma-san,” you call between gulps of water. “why are you training me so hard? why—"

“y/n.” 

his gravelly tone catches you off-guard, so unlike the kind, older brother figure in yuma’s life that you had become accustomed used to. you’d usually seen him dragging yuma out the door of your shop by the ear, scolding him for slacking off. or passing by your shop after teaching a women’s self-defense class at the local gym. or breaking down the door to yuma's apartment if he got up late. you look up from your water, meeting his gaze from across the mat.

“it’s for your own good.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you with more questions than answers.

“jesus christ, god forbid anyone not be nonchalant and mysterious around here,” you mutter, wiping away your sweat with the towel kei had tossed at your head this morning.

all of a sudden, the teammies had become strangers to you. awkward smiles, conversations halted, skittering away. they were no longer the loud, carefree boys that you’d gotten accustomed to in your shop. you sigh. speaking of which, you highly doubted you would get any business after what went down. appointments suddenly cancelled, shop empty, closed until further notice. just like that, your dreams had shattered faster than cinderella’s slipper and all it took was one wrong decision with the wrong boy. jo had mumbled something about handling it, but he was a husband, father, and apparently, a criminal don carrying the weight of japan’s criminal underworld. your shop would sooner be robbed for all it was worth and turned into a squatted property.

“y/n-chan?! is that you?” 

you look up, the sound of your name unfamiliar from such a husky, yet delicate voice. you look up to see a beautiful woman, her features strikingly similar to—

“NO WAY! is that the mrs. wang?!“

“OH MY GOD, Y/N IT IS YOU!” she squeals, running to hug you despite your obvious stench and disheveled state. “babes, i haven’t seen you in forever! when was the last time you were in—“

“three years,” you cut her off with a polite grin, not wanting to dive into too many details. 

as glad as you were to see her, she was a stark remnant of the past that you’d been desperately running from. and she’d been there for it all, albeit from the shadows as none other than jake sim’s little sister, the hound dog for your greatest nightmare. you smile, taking her in. &TEAM looked good on her. she glowed with a confidence you hadn’t seen before, a sense of comfort and safety replacing the fear and anxiety she used to carry like a second skin.

“who knew i’d seen you again in japan? we have to catch up, there’s so much—“ 

“ahem.”

both of you whip your heads around to none other than nicholas wang standing in the doorframe.

“nichol! this is y/n! she’s one of my old friends—“

“she’s the one i was telling you about, princess” he cuts her off flatly, though his eyes can’t hide their admiration for her.

“from korea and—wait. WHAT?!” her jaw opens, staring between you and her husband. 

“y/n is—"

“SHH!” nicholas hushes and grabs her arm, dragging her out of the small gym space with little fanfare other than a quick nod in your direction. “as for you, harua’s coming to take you out for a run.”

“a run?!” you’re ready to cuss him out, consequences be damned. “i just went on a 10 mile run with kei-hyung this morning, and euijoo had me shooting—“

“calm down, not that kind of run,” he smirks.

suddenly, you have the feeling that you should’ve settled for becoming a headline instead. 

“you’re gonna go get us some guns.”

— elsewhere —

“nichol! she doesn’t know anything about enhypen, i swear. she—“

“christ woman, can you whisper?! she’ll hear!”

“she has no idea! no idea about what enhypen really is, trust me he made sure of that. and he made sure none of us would slip up around her either. plus she has no idea that he’s like, basically dead. and that we’re the reason why.”

“who are you—“

“heeseung. lee heeseung, the one we put in a fucking coma like three years ago?!”

“oh, that scumbag. wait, what does heeseung have to do with her?!”

“if i’m right… and i hope i’m not.”

“wow, that’s a first!”

“shut up. i think that he’s the reason she’s here. in japan.”

“and she was in korea originally? yuma said—“

“SHE’S THE GIRL YUMA IS IN LOVE WITH?!”

“um yeah, were you sleeping for the past four years?“

“ok, next question. anyway, from what i remember about him, he—“

“why the fuck are you guys whispering in the hallway? i thought we had to go get ready for—“

“SHH!”

“jeez ok, it was just a question! married people, i swear—”

“takayama riki, your time is coming so i don’t know why you’re complaining about married—“

“whatcha guys talking about?”

“jesus christ let’s just call everybody and have a freaking kumbaya in the middle of the hallway”

“ooh promise??”

“maki, shut your mouth and let’s go. juju will skin us alive if we’re late.”

—

“cover me.”

the last thing you expected of an arms deal, less than 72 hours after accidentally getting roped into the mafia, was to be clinging to the arm of shigeta harua. in the fanciest piece of clothing you’ve ever put on: a gorgeous, black evening dress. with a gun you barely know how to use, strapped to your thigh. hunkered down behind a tree, bark digging into your spine after barely dodging the bullet fired in your direction, just barely missing your shoulder by a half inch.

“y/n, stay down!” harua whisper-yells, his own gun in hand.

and to think when you’d first met him, you would’ve openly laughed at the idea of him even killing a fly. 

"ARGAHHAHAJAHHDJSKAK!!!"

“who the— HARUA-SAN?!!!"

harua cowers behind you, using you as a shield between him and whoever is sprinting towards both of you. 

"y/n-san, please save me!! yu—“

"SHIGETA HARUA YOU ARE SO DEAD!" yuma whips around the corner, chest heaving. "don't even THINK about using y/n as a shield, you brat!"

you stare between them, confused.

“you guys know each other??”

harua was the new hire at the jewelry store you partnered with for piercings, and mysteriously came up with a new flash sale every time you came by to restock. 

“he’s my brother,” harua answers, not taking his eyes off of yuma even once. 

“adopted brother,” yuma seethes.

a second bullet thuds into the bark, practically shaking the whole tree with its sheer velocity. fingers shaking, you just barely manage to get the gun out, your grip tight against the handle.

“ru-chan, what the hell is going on?!!” you whisper, chucking your unfortunately-probably-really-expensive heels off. “i thought we were only going to oversee this deal as the unbiased third-party, why the hell are we being shot at?!!”

“i don’t know,” harua answers, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “something must have—“

a third gunshot fires somewhere to your right, and your breath hitches in your throat. three different directions, less than two minutes. your attacker isn’t alone. 

“HARUA! Y/N! WHERE ARE YOU?!!” 

your eyes widen, locking eyes with harua in horror.

kei-hyung.

ducking behind trees and branches, you and harua make a run for it, dashing through the dense shrubbery towards kei’s voice. he had been inside; he must have made a run for it when he’d heard the shots go off. your bare feet dig deep into the ground, still slippery and muddy from this morning’s rain. 

“KEI-HYUNG! RUN!” you scream, already having lost sight of harua. 

“Y/N?! Y/N, WHERE ARE YOU?!” he calls again, somehow sounding farther away than before, from somewhere to your left.

zing!

you throw yourself around a corner, just barely managing to dodge the dagger slicing through the night air. it buries into the tree you’d just brushed past with a dense thud. you could cry right now, truly. your dress is torn, your knees bruised from tripping on branches and bushes smacking at your legs. your feet are covered in cuts, your arms bruised and bleeding from shoving branches out of the way. but still you run, adrenaline the only thing keeping your legs moving. there’s no one out here to save you. 

“OOF!”

you crash to the forest ground in a tangle of limbs.

“YUMA!?? what the hell are you doing here?!!” you scream, trying to disentangle yourself. you can’t decide whether to cuss him out or cry, but right now, you could kiss him. 

“i’ll explain later,” he huffs, helping you to your feet. “but we have to go right now.”

“GUYS!! RUNNNNN!”

harua comes barreling around the corner, not even pausing for a moment before grabbing both yours’ and yuma’s arms, practically yanking you all through the forest. hoots and hollers come from behind him, their thundering footsteps inching closer and closer. 

“IT WAS A TRAP!” 

at this point, you’re ready to fall into death’s open arms: you can barely breathe, your skin feels as if you’re covered in a million paper cuts, and your muscles are screaming from overexertion. 

BANG!

harua crashes to the ground, holding his leg.

“SHIT!” he screams, “y/n, you have to run! you have to get out of here and get help, i’ll be ok!”

“shut up, i’m not leaving you!” you fall to your knees, ripping a piece from your gown for a makeshift bandage. 

but harua’s hands come away sticky, his blood already seeping through. you look at yuma frantically. there was no way you could carry harua to the edge of the forest where the car was and still keep the three of you alive. there were only two options, and no matter how pissed you were at him, you’d rather be damned than leave either of them here to die.

“yuma, you have to get harua out of here. he’s bleeding too much, he’s going to die if—“

“i’m not leaving you, y/n,” he shakes his head firmly, refusing to budge. 

“yuma, i cannot carry harua out of here,” you retort, already unholstering the gun from its place on your thigh. “you have to get harua out of here, before he bleeds to death. i will be fine”

“no! i’m not leaving you, i—“

“would never forgive myself if either of you died because of me. go with harua, i can hold them off until you get back,” you smile grimly, trying to sound more confident than you feel. 

with each second that passes, you can feel the guillotine blade coming down closer and closer to your neck. you have so many things you want to tell him: to yell. to scream. to give him the biggest hug ever. but instead you nod firmly, turning around so you don’t have to see the look in his eyes. not a moment too soon after they’ve cleared the trees does a masked figure appear from the shadows. 

“y/n-san,” he laughs, removing his mask. “you really outdid yourself.”

your hands shake but still, you keep the muzzle of the gun trained in front of you exactly the way euijoo had taught you.

kei stares back at you, clapping slowly. two other figures emerge from the trees: fuma and harua, now standing tall and completely unharmed.

“congratulations y/n, welcome to &TEAM,” harua smiles at you. 

“you— you were never— you little— HARUA!” you yell, the tears finally spilling over. “you scared me, you brat!” 

you had really thought you were dead meat. you’d genuinely thought you, harua, and yuma were going to die in these woods. and for the first time in days, it feels like the boys are finally back to being the teammies that you’ve gotten to know and love. gone are the cold stares, only warm smiles greet you now.

“and yuma?” you start, wiping away a fallen tear.

“euijoo dragged him back home,” fuma shakes his head, looking at the sky in disbelief. “he was never supposed to be out here. we didn’t tell him we were initiating you on purpose, but someone blabbed.”

he shoots a sharp glare at harua, who has the good sense to look anywhere else, his pink ears giving him away immediately.  

“ok it is not my fault that you guys left me alone with him,” harua complains, his diction crystal clear. “all of you were gone, and he kept bugging me about when he can see y/n-chan because you monsters have been training her from sunrise to dusk everyday, and been keeping him out on missions with maki. i can only make so many excuses. i literally even said kei-hyung went to get milk! and then suddenly i have to go to the woods in the middle of the night?!! of course i had to tell him!”

“ok, ok, i got it,” fuma laughs, hands held up in surrender.

kei looks you up and down, an apologetic smile on his face. 

“let’s get you home to the doctor ok?” 

"home?"

"yes home,” kei smiles at you, waving at you to follow him. “you’re one of us now, aren’t you?”

but even as the four of you leave, filling the woods with loud laughter and easy conversation, you can’t shake the feeling that something was watching you.

or someone.

—

the loud bang of a slammed cabinet wakes you from your deep sleep.

“DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO GO THAT FAR?!” 

“everyone has to for initiation—“

“i didn’t!”

“you were different—”

“i know she’s your friend yuma, but we had to make sure we could trust her, especially with everything going on with enhypen right now! and i know that you know that, but you have to keep your feelings separate from—“

“she literally has a sprained ankle and is bruised from head to toe!” yuma yells, his words blurring together in frustration. “i haven’t seen her in almost a week, and the first time i see her again she’s injured head-to-toe and terrified running through the woods in a ripped dress! and now she’s in the medical ward!”

yeah, you’re wide awake now.

“you want me to keep my feelings separate?!! if someone made your wife even the tiniest bit unhappy, not to mention physical harmed, you wouldn’t keep shit separated!”

“language,” kei warns. 

“whatever, fuck this. i’m going to get her something to eat for when she wakes up,” yuma mutters, the door clicking shut behind him. 

silence fills the room, and from the other side of the curtain, you can hear kei collapse onto the couch with a heavy sigh. fuma sits down beside him, offering a couple pats on the shoulder.

“he’ll understand later,” kei replies cooly. “now with enhypen—“

you roll over, pulling the blankets over your head. enhypen this, enhypen that. you’d had enough of the dirtbags who had turned your life upside down, ripped you from the mundane line of being a tattoo artist and dropped you in the middle of a criminal empire war. really you didn’t understand what the big deal about them was. nothing else has happened in the week you’ve been with the teammies, and still, no one is any closer to getting answers as to why niki had come for you.

“how are you feeling dummy?”

your eyes flutter open, momentarily blinded by the bright LED hospital lights.

“yuma..? what are you doing here?” you groan, sitting up. 

at some point, you’d dozed off after the boys had dropped you in the hospital ward. a couple scrapes, bruises, a long gash on your arm from a branch, and a sprained ankle was what the doctor said. but honestly, for a mafia initiation ceremony of sorts? it wasn’t too horrible, though you did chew harua’s ear out for scaring you so badly. he’d had a fake blood bag tied to his leg that euijoo had sniped with a bb gun from afar, keeping up the illusion. 

“i was worried about you, you idiot,” yuma chides, taking out soup he’d gotten taki’s help with making. “how could you be so clumsy and trip over every single tree root in the forest? and get smacked by so many branches?! and honestly the fake blood harua was using was so obv—”

“oh i’m sorry, i thought i was about to die,” you huff, accepting the food anyway. your heart melts a bit; he’d even gotten you a celebratory milk tea. “forgive me, i’ll look a little harder next time and make sure the blood is a more realistic color”

yuma rolls his eyes, passing you another container filled to the brim with sushi. apparently, fish was very good for the healing process, so of course, he’d gone completely overboard and bought 100 pieces.

“so now that i’m initiated, you have to tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets,” you peer at him from over your sushi box.

you hadn’t fully forgiven yuma yet, but after the hell you’d been put through this week? you wanted nothing more than to have your best friend back.

“what do you want to know?”

yuma’s honest answer nearly has tuna flying out of your nose.

“really?!!"

“i’m being serious,” yuma looks at you, his eyes earnest. you were the one person he’d never wanted to see this side of him, but now that you had? he felt… relieved, honestly. you knew everything now, but for some inexplicable reason, you were still here. you hadn’t given him a well-deserved slap and disappeared. instead, you’d stayed, taken his family’s oath. he’d be damned if he let you go now.

“ask me whatever you want, y/n. anything i have is yours. any answers you want, they're yours.”

by the time you wake up again, the clock reads 10:28 PM.

“about time sleeping beauty,” comes a familiar voice from behind you. “how are you feeling?”

you turn to see yuma lounging in the recliner next to you, eyes just barely cracked open, an empty container of kimbap sits next to him. without looking up from his phone, he hands you a bag of onigiri and a small bowl of miso soup. 

“i’ve been better,” you hum gratefully at the warm soup. “so, what happens now?”

“eat up and then i’m taking you home. we’ll figure it out in the morning,” yuma answers dryly, obviously distracted. you decide not to pry. 

"where will i sleep? i've been on an air mattress in the gym—“

"THE GYM?!!" yuma pinches his nose, taking a deep breath. "they had you sleeping in the gym and i'm supposed to— never mind. you’re sleeping in juju and nichol's old room. and once you’re done eating, we’re going to go to your old apartment to get your stuff.”

“but my lease isn’t—“

“already taken care of.”

“but my roommate—“

“won’t bother you anymore.”

“how about—?’

yuma shushes you, pinching your lips closed between his thumb and index finger. “anything you think of in that pretty head of yours, i took care of it, ok? stop blushing before you become a tomato.”

“i’m not blushing!” you retort, swatting him away and throwing a napkin at his head for good measure.

"sure, dummy," he lets go, smiling to himself.

you throw another napkin at him, grumbling to yourself while you fumble around for your phone. laughing now, yuma hands it to you from where it was plugged into the wall, fingers lightly brushing across your knuckles.

you’re definitely blushing.

—

“yuma, you didn’t kill her did you?” you stand in your living room, shocked. 

yuma shrugs noncommittally, already shuffling over to your room to start packing your stuff up. he hadn’t particularly liked your roommate, but he’d tolerated her for your sake. when first moving to japan, you’d stubbornly refused his help with financials, always brushing him off and saying you can manage on your own. she was quite rude to you, not to mention constantly eating your food and asking for money. your landlord wasn’t any better, and yuma had already threatened to kill him once after finding hidden cameras and bugs in your apartment after a “maintenance sweep.” as of now, your apartment was practically cleared out, save for a week’s worth of dust covering everything. your roommate’s belongings were all gone, moved to and upgraded to a studio on one of the higher floors. you smile wistfully, packing up your kitchen belongings. it wasn’t much, but it had still been home. 

“y/n-chan!” yuma calls, his arms full. “i’m going to take these down to the car first ok? don’t take anything down without me.”

“i’m a big girl yuma, i’ll bring this box down when i’m done,” you call back, rolling your eyes.

but not before you got a glimpse of his passing figure in the hallway, the veins in his arms straining with effort. he’s wearing one of his black sleeveless tops, a backwards baseball cap on to keep the hair out of his face. you lick your lips, suddenly feeling parched.

ding dong!

“jesus— fuck!” you curse, nearly dropping the plate you were wrapping in surprise. 

yuma was still gone, and you hadn’t really spoken to any of your neighbors over the years. your roommate was obviously gone, so who on earth could it be? you tuck a knife into the waistband of your sweats anyway, the memory of niki still fresh in your mind. tentatively you stand on your tiptoes to peek through the peephole, praying that niki hasn’t decided to mysteriously appear and hold a gun to it.

“OH MY GOD!”

“JAY-OPPA!” you grin widely, swinging the door open. “what’s going on? i haven’t seen you in a while!”

“hey pretty girl,” he reaches to give you a hug. “i hadn’t heard you in a bit, so i came up to check on you. where you been?”

“oh, you know, family emergency,” you laugh awkwardly. “come in, sit down!”

jay was your downstairs neighbor, and one of the first friends you’d made since moving to japan. one fateful day, you’d both been in the elevator when it had decided to shut down, trapping both of you in it for three hours until firefighters came to pry you both out. he travelled a lot for work, so you didn’t see him often, but even still, he’d become a good friend over the past three years.

“woah, this place looks empty,” jay whistles. “you moving?”

“yeah, i am actually,” you hand him a glass of water, turning to pack up the rest of your belongings in the kitchen. 

“where to?” jay asks, almost too-innocently.

“oh, just staying with my aunt until things with my family die down,” you answer off-handedly, your mind not having caught up just yet.

“i thought you guys were estranged?”

shit.

you freeze for just a second, trying to continue packing as calmly as possible. 

what the hell?

you force out a laugh, opening up the drawers to make sure you’ve gotten everything. but really, you’re looking for a weapon. “oh well, you know, family emergencies really bring out the best in people i guess? tragedy really brings everyone back together and such.”

why was yuma taking so long?!!

behind you, jay was quiet—too quiet. the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge and you duck down just in time for the syringe to lodge itself in the cabinet above you. you whirl out of the way, leaving jay’s knee to crash into the counter instead of smashing into the back of your head. 

“you know, y/n,” he pants, his eyes having taken on a maniacal gleam. “you should really be more careful about who you become friends with.”

he lunges again, but this time, you dive out of the way, brandishing the knife from your waistband. and that’s when you see it, that cursed tattoo, branded on the skin along his waistline.

“what do you all want from me?!!” you yell, desperately clicking the power button on your phone to bring up the emergency phone call keypad. “you’re one of them, aren’t you?!!”

“who do you think i am, pretty girl?” he smirks lazily, advancing towards you like a seasoned predator. “i’m just the nice guy from downstairs”

“did he send you?!!” you hold the knife out in front of you like a shield. “is that what this is about?!”

“ding, ding, ding!” jay locks your front door behind him, leaving you cornered in the living room. “really y/n, i thought you were smarter than this! you didn’t really think he would just let you go, did you?”

“you were supposed to be my friend!” you scream, sounding pathetic even to your own ears.

“and who do you think made sure that elevator broke the moment you stepped in alone?” jay snickers, watching the horror fill your expression.

“if it weren’t for yuma—“

“you called?”

the front door flies open, the wood of the frame splintering with just one kick. you wince out of habit, your mind already calculating repair costs. yuma brandishes the door like some kind of viking warrior, bashing jay over the head with it. 

“y/n! LET’S GO!” he grabs your hand, practically dragging you down the stairs. “come on, MOVE!”

you practically dive into the passenger seat, barely closing the door before a bullet lodges itself in the window as yuma squeals out of the parking lot. you cling onto the bar above the seat for dear life, heart thudding unevenly as yuma weaves through the afternoon traffic. 

“y/n, how the HELL do you know him?!!” yuma curses, just barely avoiding a car that had turned out without looking, his arm instinctively shooting out to prevent you from face planting into the dashboard. 

“i—“

“and you better be fucking honest with me!” he curses again, just barely avoiding a pedestrian while trying to speed-dial fuma. 

“hello? yuma, what’s go—“

“they tried to attack her again,” yuma rushes out, the speedometer reaching 90 mph. he needed to get you the hell out of shibuya and onto &TEAM territory, fast. “jay was at her apartment, tried to drug her. they’re escalating, hyung.”

yuma’s words are lost on you as you stare blankly ahead, trapped in your memories. he was back. he’d found you, here in japan. all these years later and he’d sent niki after you, sunoo and jay to keep tabs on you. your heart clenches, phantom wounds ripping wide open. yuma glances at you worriedly, hand reaching across the console to envelope yours in his. 

“y/n, baby, i need you to breathe,” he squeezes gently. “i’m here, i won’t let him get you. you’re safe with me, always.”

you nod weakly, but reminders of him still beat down on you, like blows to salted wounds.

useless slut! don’t you know i don’t like milk in my coffee?!!

baby, i promise i didn’t mean to do it. it was just an accident!

officer, i think the neighbors must be mistaken… she’s just had a long night, you know what i mean?

leave me, and i’ll cut my throat open right here.

a breath shudders out of you, the world slowly coming back into focus with each circle that yuma rubs on the crook between your thumb and index finger. you had promised yourself that night, that you would do whatever it takes. lee heeseung would never have power over you again. 

“fuma-san?”

“y/n, are you ok?!!”

his worried voice settles over you like a warm blanket, so unlike the brutal trainer persona he’d been for the past week. 

“get jo and euijoo,” your voice sounds oddly calm. “it’s time for lee heeseung to die.”

yuma watches you carefully, having slowed down now that they had driven across the shibuya prefecture line into &TEAM territory. he’d gotten to know that name all too well in the past four years. too many times you’d woken up in pure terror, screaming that name as you jolted awake. too many nights he’d sang you to sleep, his fingers drawing aimless patterns on your skin with the reassurance that he could not find you. too many scars decorated your skin as a reminder of all you had survived under his cruelty. too many tear-filled conversations as you finally shared every jagged, horrific moment you’d endured at his side. 

***TW: THIS NEXT PART IS EXTREMELY TRIGGERING!! MDNI!! ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!! PLEASE SKIP THIS SECTION UNTIL THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

— four years ago —

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“yu-kun! what brings you in?” you beam at your newfound friend, though your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “please tell me that’s coffee.”

“when is it not?” he laughs, giving you that silly, snaggletoothed grin.

you were 20, a year under your belt of being an apprentice at the magic shop. ever since that night six months ago, yuma had become part of your new daily routine. always skipping into your shop whenever he wasn’t working at his internship, coffee or pastry in hand. during that time, you’d made leaps and bounds in your mother language. you could hold full conversations in japanese now, even if you completely butchered words here and there. you grin, taking the coffee from him.

and then you see the bike.

and the figure stalking towards the studio. 

“yuma, you have to go! right now!” you shove him away, towards the back of the studio.

your panicked tone catches yuma completely off guard, his eyes flickering to the unfamiliar figure coming towards the studio. sure, he loved to jump-scare you every so often, which usually ended up in a lecture and a smack on the top of his head, but your pleading eyes of pure terror has his feet moving to the backroom faster than his mind can fully wrap around what’s happening. 

“be quiet,” you warn, pulling the curtain. “and do not come out.”

yuma sits, ears perked, though his heart is racing.

“hee, honey! what brings you by?” you bat your eyes nervously, accepting the peck he gives you on your cheek. “i thought you didn’t get off work until 5?”

yuma rolls his eyes. he hated your boyfriend, a fact he didn’t mind being openly obvious about. though he'd never met him, lee heeseung was plenty notorious in the criminal empire underworld. yuma didn’t believe in men who talked down on women, as if they were somehow less than. didn’t believe in men who publicly visited the red light district. but how could he tell you without spilling his own secret other life? you would not heed his warnings, so entirely enthralled by the heathen that was lee heeseung that you would sooner cut off your own hand if he asked.

“why so skittish, sweetheart?” he drawls, taking in your figure. “it’s just me, people will get the wrong idea if you keep shaking like that.”

yuma’s eyes widen, his hands curling into fists. he'd known heeseung was horrible. one too many times he'd had to bite his tongue or leave the room when heeseung spoke about you at joint events. but he'd physically put hands on you? you, who were nothing but kind and gentle? you, who would rather suffer in silence than utter a single complaint?

“s-sorry hee, i—“

“you need to cut back on those sugary coffees, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at the coffee yuma had just brought you, on your workstation. “you could stand to lose a couple pounds.”

yuma bites down, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. he’s never actually seen the two of you interact, but one would be a fool to be intertwined in the criminal underworld and not know of the beautiful cruelty that was lee heeseung. and you? you were like sunshine: gentle, warm, kind. you lived and laughed loudly, your smile beaming and wide; this tiny, shaky voice you have now is completely foreign to him. it’s only your earlier warning that keeps him firmly planted in his chair.

— two months later —

you never brought up that day again, and yuma didn’t push you. but he did watch you carefully, hacking your texts for even the slightest hint of trouble. he made sure you were eating properly, heeseung’s opinion be damned. to yuma, you were little more than a shaking leaf in the wind; he was more than capable of carrying you, your boyfriend be damned.

“oh, another bouquet!” you laugh awkwardly, taking the large bouquet of red roses from the clearly-embarrassed delivery guy.

yuma frowns behind your back from his perch on one of the stools in your kitchen; you hated roses. and yet, like clockwork, you received at least two dozen of them a week. it was july, and yet, you were dressed in a long black sleeve top layered with a t-shirt and sweatpants. his eyes narrow on you, on the obviously weaker grip of your right hand. 

“let me see your hand, y/n."

you nearly drop the bouquet in surprise, scrambling to make sure your sleeves were pulled down. 

“yuma, what the hell?!” you scoff, already backing away. “i’m not—“

“show me. your hand,” yuma looks at you, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “i’m not asking again, y/n.”

you look at his outstretched hand, then back at him. he watches you, unhurried. ever since that day, you'd run from yuma. run from the hope of being safe. you didn't deserve that, didn't deserve love. but still, yuma showed up. and until you were ready to take that step forward, he would wait with arms outstretched, ready to catch you. he would never force you when you clearly were already terrified, so he waits, trying to convey his sincerity to you through his gaze.

you offer your left hand, still wary.

“the other one, y/n.” yuma doesn’t move, his presence steady and grounding.

you stare back at him, your pulse rising and becoming unsteady with each second that passes. realistically, you’d known this guy for less than a year. this guy who’d popped into your life on a random friday in february. who brought you your favorite snacks and drinks without complaint. who teased you incessantly without a hint of maliciousness. who bent to tie your shoes without a single word. who somehow always knew when you needed a hug, or a distraction.

and ever so carefully, you take his hand with your right one.

yuma released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, gingerly rolling up your sleeve with as much care as he could muster. what he saw beneath it, it took every ounce of willpower he had to not track down lee heeseung and shoot him on the spot.

“does he buy you roses every time he hits you?” he asks, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

you can’t answer, choked sobs leaving your body as your legs give out beneath you. yuma catches you by your waist, sinking to the floor of your kitchen with you. tears well in his own eyes as he holds you tightly against his chest, as if you’ll fade away if he lets go. you can’t seem to stop, now that the dam has been flooded wide open. the weight of all your secrets come crashing down, and with them, every ounce of strength zapped from your body.

“you’re safe with me,” he murmurs against your hair, tears slipping down his cheeks. “always, y/n.”

— one month later —

“y/n-chan! where—“

“ARGHHRHHHH!”

at the sound of your scream, yuma drops the ramen he was holding. you were closing up shop again tonight, you were supposed to be alone. but the sight before him has him seeing red.

blink.

“yu-kun…” you weakly cough out, somehow unafraid at the sight of him towering over your ex-boyfriend.

“y/n!” yuma drops the bloody tattoo gun as if it had electrocuted him, running straight to gather you into his arms. “come on love, we have to go to the hospital—“

”NO! he'll find me!" you back away, staring at the unconscious body on the ground. 

“all i want is to not get hit..” you beg to seemingly no one, your voice hoarse and empty. “it’s all my fault anyway, i should’ve remembered to set out his suit this morning. i should have waited to break up—“

“no love, none of this is your fault.”

yuma watches you, his heart splintering with each pass over your frail body. every cut. every scab. every bruise. some fresh, some old. the undeniable mark of fingerprints around your neck. your eyes, wide with fear. your right arm, bent at an awkward angle, cradled against your ribs. ever since that night last month, you’d become closed off. distant. cancelled plans at the drop of a hat. working odd hours, as if to avoid him. any notion of leaving him was cut off immediately with a change or conversation or door slammed in his face. but yuma would not stand for it, would not allow you to waste away. 

***SORRY I KNOW THAT WAS A LOT *hugs****

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

“come with me,” he decides firmly.

“where?” you laugh miserably. “yuma, he will find me, no matter where i go. i did it all! reported him, tried to find help. i failed.”

yuma’s heart surges with guilt. he knows exactly the kind of connections that enhypen had, the reasons your cries for help had gone unanswered. 

“come with me to japan y/n,” the words tumble out in a rush before you can protest, desperate to save you. “come with me to where i can protect you. i cannot leave you here like this, with him.”

“but i— what about the shop?” you fluster, willing the hope rising in your chest to die. 

could you really trust this guy?

but yuma is already gathering your few belongings, intent on getting you out before you can change your mind or shut him out again. he'd waited for this day, the day you were finally ready to get the hell out. but after today? even if he had to drag you, even if you hated him forever after this, he had to get you out.

“you’re too talented to stay here as an apprentice y/n,” he turns to face you, his eyes pleading. “jungkook would obviously never let you go!” 

he shoots a distasteful glare at your unconscious, miserable excuse of a boyfriend, fighting the urge to give him a decisive kick to the ribs.

“i swear to you, y/n,” he vows. “i swear on my sister’s name that i will protect you. for the rest of my life.”

maybe it’s the way he looks so determined, as if nothing could stop him. or the way he holds his hand out to you, so steady and sure. you think back to the boy you’d first met a year ago, drunk out of his mind. you’d given him the tattoo nearest and dearest to your heart for reasons you still didn’t understand. he’d wormed his way into your life, one giggle at a time; somehow becoming so deeply embedded in it, that not a day went by when the randomest things reminded you of him. he’d seen everything and yet, he hadn't run.

“okay,” you decide, your voice quiet but firm. 

you would not allow yourself to be controlled anymore. if the universe was finally giving you a way out, maybe it was time to take it.

—

“no, absolutely not.”

you sit between nicholas’ and euijoo’s wives, their hands intertwined with yours. nicholas’ wife had come to find you as soon as you’d stepped foot into the main house, apologizing profusely for not seeing the signs. for not helping. but you didn’t blame her, not really anyway. heeseung had been the perfect gentleman on the outside, his cruelty towards you only happened behind closed doors. and besides, you couldn’t be mad since she and nicholas had been the ones to put him in a coma, giving you the most peaceful three years of your life. jo’s wife had found you next, a sad, knowing smile on her face.

“we have your back y/n."

euijoo’s wife hadn’t said anything, though she’d given you a tight hug, as if she knew exactly what kind of burden you carried. fast forward to the emergency meeting now happening in the kitchen. 

“ok so we know for a fact that heeseung is no longer in a coma,” euijoo recounts, eyebrows tense with frustration. “y/n.”

you sit up straighter as all twelve pairs of eyes in the room turn towards you. 

“you said you felt like someone was watching you during your initiation?”

you nod. 

of course, of all people, it’s you who’s been a member of the mafia for maybe 48 hours and somehow, you’ve already been thrown in the middle of one of the worst wars in &TEAM’s history. the philosophers were right: until you came to terms with your past, it would never stop haunting you.

“so now the question is,” fuma sighs, staring at the makeshift mission cork board now hanging in the kitchen. “how do we lure him out? no one’s seen him in years, and the only reason we know he’s back, is because three of ENHYPEN’s executives have come after her within two weeks.

silence fills the living room, the quiet murmur of the heat steady in the background. you nod, the memories of jay and niki still fresh. sunoo hadn’t attacked you outright, but still, he was much more cunning than he looked. there was no telling what damage he’d done in the few months he’d frequented your studio leading up to niki's attack.

“first of all,” kei stands. “we need to get her out of tokyo. he knows she’s here, that she’s with us, and they still found her anyway.”

“what about the safe house in kamakura?” harua offers.

“won’t he just wait for her to come back?” maki counters. “he’s their number two for a reason. we know he’s patient, or else he would have revealed himself already.“

the room descends back into uneasy silence.

“what if,” jo’s wife turns to you, her head tilted thoughtfully. “we fake a wedding?"

jo nods for her to continue, looking between you and yuma. for once you’re sitting on opposite sides of the room, though yuma’s gaze hasn’t strayed from your figure even once. jo had been shocked that day, four years ago, when yuma had suddenly begged to be switched from his wife's bodyguard duty to be assigned to korea. then a year and a half later, had come back home with you in tow, suddenly requesting to move out of the main house to keep up the illusion of normalcy. he’d watched you both become practically inseparable, leaving the rest of the teammies to keep you suspended in this intricate web of lies. he knew how much yuma cared for you, how hard he’d worked to keep you in the dark about his double life. how much he complained about you making his life more difficult, yet did the smallest things for you without being asked. how fiercely he protected you, nearly coming to blows with the older guys for putting you through physical training hell. yuma was completely and utterly bewitched by you, whether or not he admitted it.

“like yes, we still send you to kamakura. but what if,” jo’s wife continues, talking faster before you can completely denounce the idea. “we sent you under the guise of being engaged, like a bachelor party of sorts. we know that heeseung is possessive, and this might be just the thing to send him over the edge.”

you nod carefully, willing your pulse to slow down. yuma’s eyes narrow, focused on the way your fingers have started to tremble despite the collected expression on your face. 

“would he even believe it? i’m only 24, you know.”

jo chortles, looking at his wife. then he makes eye contact with you, pointing at the simple gold band on his finger. and starts pretending to count to two. 

“ok enough. you’re different," you roll your eyes, jo’s timely quip instantly soothing your nerves.

“you’re right. he’s a control freak, the thought of me being with anyone else would probably be more than enough to send him over the edge and bring him out of hiding. only question now is,” you look around the room, eyes landing on a certain blonde. “engaged to who?”

all eyes in the room turn to look at one person, though his eyes never look away from yours.

“yuma?” fuma asks, though he already knows the answer. “what do you think?”

“…fine.”

and then he’s gone, whisking out of the room faster than a twister down tornado alley. the room lets out a collective breath, though no one comments on the thick tension in his wake.

“then it’s decided,” jo stands, looking around the room for any objections. “harua, taki, maki. you three will go with them and—“

“YES!! BEACH TRIP!!” maki squeals, practically sprinting out the door with taki hot on his heels.

you crack a smile watching them, your heart feeling a little lighter in spite of everything.

“yes and we’ll come for moral support,” nicholas’ wife winks at you.

nicholas frowns, sharing a glance with euijoo. sure, it would be nice to get out for them and the kids to get out of the city for some beach time. if only their biggest and most dangerous enemy wasn’t actively gunning for one of theirs. euijoo shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. there was no way in hell that he would be convinced that it was a good idea—

“juju, honey,” his wife calls sweetly, sensing the pushback from a mile away. “if anything, what kind of bachelorette party would just be y/n and the boys? if we want to sell it, then we’re going.”

“exactly,” jo’s wife nods, already knowing jo wouldn’t even try to stop her.

you choke back a laugh, watching all three married couples face off. the three of them would just have to hold down the fort, and figure out how to wrangle euijoo’s twins, nicholas’ daughter, and jo’s two on their own. unfortunately for them, the twins and jo’s youngest were in their threenager years. and nicholas’ princess was a terror all on her own. once upon a time, you’d gotten stuck babysitting all of them at once.

never again.

“MAKI! WHERE THE HELL IS THE BLANKIE?!!” you whisper-yell, jo’s two-year-old daughter fast asleep in your arms.

“bro, i don’t know! i swear it was just here,” he throws his hands up in surrender, smashed broccoli smeared on his bisexual hoodie. 

he’d just convinced the twins to take a nap, practically throwing jo’s son under the bus as the perfect role model to follow. now that shy angel baby, you’d babysit him any day. his sister on the other hand… the three of them in their terrible twos were giving you a run for your money, a decade or two lost on your life, and at least a handful of gray hairs. by the grace of divine intervention, nicholas’ daughter was being agreeable, curled up into the corner of the couch, safely tucked under-

“oh my god, that little brat!” you internally face-palm. “she took it!”

maki looks at her, mouth set in a grim line. he never thought he could be filled with so much dislike for a child and yet, the one and only offspring of nicholas wang never failed to exceed expectations.

“i’m not waking her up.”

“ok well, he’s gonna throw a fit if you don’t get it back as soon as she wakes up,” you hiss, jabbing a finger in euijoo’s son’s general direction. 

“why do i have to get it?!” maki retorts.

BANG!

the both of you freeze, heads whipped around comically towards empress wang. thankfully, she doesn’t stir but instead, pulls the blanket tighter over her head. you glare accusingly at maki, then at the bottle he just dropped. 

and draw a line across your neck.

you collapse into your borrowed sheets, mind reeling. the you of last week would have openly guffawed had she known the situation you’d be in. the room you’re in feels unfamiliar, sleep slipping further and further away from you. you toss and turn, the dark quiet that used to bring you comfort, feeling more and more like spiders crawling up and down your skin. minutes bleed into what feels like hours, and eventually, you give in. sighing, you stand up and grab the nearest hoodie, pulling the hood firmly against your hair, and begin fumbling through the dark towards the kitchen. you’d been at the main house a couple times to babysit and for movie night, though yuma had explained it away as jo’s inheritance. which, you supposed, wasn’t a total lie. 

“couldn’t sleep?”

yuma is leaned against the counter, a steaming mug in one hand. he holds another out to you, as if he’d known that you’d come poking around. you take it, albeit awkwardly. he doesn’t meet your eyes, though his fingers linger on your knuckles for a second longer than was socially acceptable between friends. you take a sip, unable to stop the small smile from spreading across your face.

hot chocolate.

“so… we’re doing this,” you offer tentatively, your voice cutting through the palpable tension.

“yeah,” he mumbles, looking more like a disgruntled cat than anything else.

you look at him, frustrated with his indifference. it’s not like you wanted this either! you hadn’t asked for your absolutely-batshit-insane ex to come hunting you down. you hadn’t asked to become a part of the mafia. you hadn’t asked to be forced into a fake engagement. 

“look,” you huff, leaning back against the counter. “i’m sorry, ok? if i had any other ideas for shaking heeseung other than being fake engaged to you, i would’ve—“

“you think that’s what i’m upset about?” yuma’s voice cuts through the dark, catching you off-guard. 

you look up from your mug, surprised to find him already staring at you. his eyes almost sparkle in the dim glow of the fridge light, watching you with that quiet intensity. 

“i’m mad that you have to go through this again. i’m mad that i convinced you to move here, and you’re still not safe. i’m mad that i can’t give you the life that you deserve,” he laughs bitterly.

“i could never be mad about being stuck with you, you dummy,” he murmurs, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “good night, y/n.”

he bumps your shoulder with his on his way back to his room, leaning down to just barely brush his lips against your forehead. you’re left reeling in confusion, though there’s no denying the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through your chest. 

“yu-kun,” you have no idea what you’re doing. but you reach for his retreating figure anyway, arms wrapping around his waist, nose buried in the back of the soft cotton of his t-shirt. he smells like warmth,

like home.

“can i sleep with you? just for tonight?”

when he doesn’t answer, you babble on, letting go as if you’ve been electrocuted.

“it’s ok if you say no. it’s just been a lot, like lately, and i’m kind of scared. and it’s dark. but like if it’s weird—“

“shh, of course you can,” yuma answers as nonchalantly as he can, though it’s too dark for you to see that his cheeks and ears have turned bright red. “it’s not like we haven’t slept together before.”

every muscle stiffens, and you freeze in your tracks. yuma faces you with wide eyes, realizing his blunder too late.

“wait no not like that! i meant like asleep. in the same bed—” 

“u-um, n-never mind” you rush out, already scurrying back to your room, and slamming the door as quietly as you can.

you dive into the covers, mentally kicking yourself in the head. stupid, stupid, stupid—

and just outside your door, the facepalm heard around the world echoes.

—

“AGHHHH!” 

your scream jolts yuma out of his sleep, and he’s sprinting for where you lay in his bed, moving faster than his body can even register that it’s awake.

“y/n?? y/n, hey it’s just a nightmare,” he shakes you awake, jumping back when you sit straight up. “shh, hey, it’s me, it’s just me, yuma. you’re safe here.”

“yu.. ma..?” you blink back tears, allowing your eyes to adjust. 

you’re not in korea. you’re not in his bed. you’re in japan. in yuma’s apartment. where you’ve been for the last three months. safe. yuma gathers you into his arms, rocking you gently.

“i-i’m sorry,” you hiccup, guilt rising up in your chest.

“no, baby you have nothing to be sorry about,” yuma hushes, humming some sort of lullaby to rock you back to sleep.

the endearment lands like a butterfly, and you find your heart racing for different reasons. coming from heeseung, ‘baby’ had meant punishment. ‘baby’ had meant you’d done something wrong. ‘baby’ had sent you into a spiral, mental preparing for what would come next. but from yuma, you surprisingly hadn’t even batted an eyelash. instead, you relax into his hold, your eyes already fluttering closed.

“there you go, pretty girl,” yuma hums, laying you back down. “i’ll protect you.”

as soon as he’s sure your breath has evened out, he begins to stand, his heart clenching at the sight of your peaceful smile. 

“stay?”

“w-what?” he stutters, sure he must’ve imagined it.

you tug at his shirt, too sleepy to care. 

“stay with me, idiot.”

“o-ok.”

and so he does,his fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin,  your head cradled against his chest, as if your body knew he could keep the nightmares away. that he was safe. and for the first time in years, you fall into a dreamless sleep, the dark a quiet comfort. 

—

“maki, bro, you are BANNED from aux,” you grumble, immediately skipping whatever brazilian funk remix he’d decided to cue up. in your defense, it was probably the tenth song in a row.

somehow, you’d survived the car ride with kei and fuma driving, leaving you, yuma, harua, taki and maki to pile up in the back of the van like a clown bus. no thanks to the rikiz’ scheming, you’d been squished between harua and yuma in the back row. 

“y/n-chan, do you need more space? i can—“

“it’s fine,” yuma cuts harua off with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “y/n can lean on me”

one tug of your waist later, your body was halfway to being completely in his lap; his larger-than-average hand splayed protectively across your thigh, though he continues to stare out the window, airpods shoved firmly into his ears. as if your position were the most natural thing in the world. 

rolling your eyes at taki and harua’s kissy faces and shooting a middle finger at maki, you relax into his hold. then kei snorts and you can just see the back of fuma’s head hung in his lap, as if he’s holding back laughter. you shoot enough daggers around the car to kill everybody at least three times over before settling into his chest. it was only an hour-long car ride anyway, and besides, yuma was always attached to you in some capacity: fingers laced with yours, a hand on your waist, head on your shoulder, laying on you, etc. nothing new.

but now of course, you were hiking to go get groceries with taki and maki, maki’s phone on full blast.

“soooo…” taki and maki both look at you, their eyes screaming mischief and mayhem. “what’s going on with you and yuma?”

you roll your eyes, having half a mind to smack them both over the head with all the chips you were carrying.

“nothing! jeez, you guys are worse than a couple of gossiping old ladies.”

“ok but!” taki shows you a picture he (unfortunately) took of you in the car: you’re fast asleep, body fully on yuma’s. his hand hasn’t moved from your thigh, though his fingers are now laced with your own. “this is soooo not a ‘just friends’ thing!”

“taki, have you forgotten that we’re literally engaged?” you glance around, as if enhypen will somehow pop out as soon as you turn the corner. 

honestly at this point, you’ve gotten over it. and maybe, that was a red flag. probably a sign that you seriously needed to go to therapy. truly, what kind of normal person was chill about being inducted to the mafia, actively being stalked by an ex-boyfriend, and several near-death experiences? but then again, you hadn’t exactly led a normal life. you didn’t have normal friends. what could possibly be normal at this point? it’s weird, though. the time you spend with the teammies, it’s like your brain is just completely off. no semblance of survival or common sense or anything, just safety. even now, being out in the open, no weapons save for a knife hidden in your belt, not a single warning bell is on.

“ok, but to be fair,” maki skips ahead. “you guys have been sooo touchy for literally forever. even before you became our sister.”

“sister?” you question.

“uh, yeah?” maki looks at you as if you’re the one who’s gone crazy. “you’ve been like our sister since before you joined. even if it was unofficial until last week.”

“but anywayyy,” taki presses on. “there’s just no way you guys aren’t endgame. like, what are the chances that he walks into the magic shop and picks the tattoo that means so much to both of you? and that you came here? and that you’re from the same city? and—“

“taki,” you roll your eyes, though your cheeks have undoubtedly gotten warmer. “there’s no way—“

“TAKI! MAKI!” yuma stands in the doorway, illuminated by the porch light. “what are you two doing?!! seriously, letting a woman carry groceries!”

he grumbles, taking your bags, even though you’re literally carrying nothing but chips and fruit. the rikiz stand dumbfounded: they both have water slung across their shoulders, holding all the heavy meat and vegetables, oil, and taki is carrying a watermelon that somehow hasn’t broken the bag and rolled halfway down the street.

“must be nice,” maki grumbles, kicking his shoes off. “we even gave you the chips!”

“princess treatment,” taki coughs loudly, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

fuma watches this whole thing with his arms crossed over his chest, a small smile on his face. yuma had never been one to initiate things, or pull the macho man card out. to him, yuma would always be that little boy sitting in the rain, chomping on a corndog on the curb. the one who blindly followed him home. the one who loved to pull pranks on the others, giggling loudly. the one who had yet to grow out of his fear of bugs. the one who loved too deeply, though he never said anything. but then he’d met you, and it was a strange feeling really: watching yuma become your biggest protector.

he’d been worried, that day when yuma had come running into the main house, begging jo to get an apartment nearby. had felt helpless, watching yuma run himself ragged looking after you. without a doubt, yuma had fallen so completely in love with you, even if he denied it at every chance. when fuma finally met you, he’d been apprehensive: as soon as you became an established artist, would you just run and ditch? would you trample all over his little brother’s heart? but after watching you both with kei from behind newspapers on the bench across from your studio, your heart was undoubtedly just as much his, as his was yours. even with every date and one-night-stand the two of you went on with another person, you only had eyes for each other. every glance when one of you thought the other wasn’t looking. every touch, as if you were each other’s center of gravity. every teasing remark, delivered with a playful smile. fuma and kei saw it all, though they said nothing and opted to make a bet on who would confess first.

by the time dinner came and went, everyone else has tucked in for the night, save for yuma who epically lost at king's cup and is now buzzed and washing dishes. you sit on the counter next to him with a beer in hand, being completely unhelpful, also beyond your fair share of tipsy.

“yu-kun,” you stare, a dopey expression on your face. “have i ever told you how pretty you are?”

yuma nearly breaks everything in the sink, the tips of his ears pinking with embarrassment.

“n-no, i don’t think so,” he turns to you, shutting off the sink.

maybe he’s drunker than he thought. but you look like you’re glowing, bundled in the hoodie you’d stolen straight out of his luggage. he takes the can from your hands before you can take another sip, chugging it one go.

“yu-kun!” you pout, your eyes lingering for just a second too long on his lips. “that was mine!”

he looks at you, one eyebrow raised. then comes to stand between your parted thighs, effectively caging you against the counter. his hands settle onto your hips, cheeks rosy.

“and you don’t think you’ve had enough?”

his close proximity has essentially wiped your brain clean, head empty, save for the smell of your body wash on his skin. you stare back at him, just now registering that yuma’s hands are anchoring your hips to the counter.

“haven’t you?” you manage weakly, though somehow, your retort falls much heavier than intended.

whatever happened tonight, nothing would be the same again.

yuma leans in close, close enough so that his nose is touching yours. you can smell the beer on his breath, but you’re too distracted by yuma’s hands sliding upwards under your shirt to notice. without even thinking, your tongue darts out to wet your lips, earning you a smirk.

“do you want to kiss me, y/n?”

you almost shove him off right then. him and his arrogant smile. teasing eyes. full lips.

“you’re being annoying,” you shoot back, trying to sound unfazed.

“if you want to kiss me then kiss me, baby,” his lips hover a singular breadth from yours, leaving it up to you. “i’m going to be your husband anyway, aren’t i?”

“with what ring?” you answer breathlessly, still stalling. 

yuma backs away for just a second to slip off the ring he wore on his pinky, one identical to the one he always wore on his index finger. the real ring was hidden elsewhere, beneath a false panel in his desk back home.

“will this one do?”

you sniff haughtily, intent on keeping up this charade for as long as you can to delay the inevitable. but yuma sees through everything, sees you scrambling to put your mental walls up faster than he can blow right past them. 

“i suppose,” you hold out your left hand, head still held high.

time stops in that tiny kitchen, the dishes long abandoned. yuma removes the ring on his index, slipping it onto his own ring finger. you stare at your joined hands, at the matching circles of silver.

“you don’t know, do you?”

you stare at him—his flushed cheeks, reddening tips of his ears, tousled hair, blown pupils. you’re completely sober at this point, heart pounding like crazy, transfixed by his round, cat-like eyes.

“know what?”

“how much i lo- like you.”

you nearly stop breathing on the spot, leaving the confession to hang in the space between.

“shut up.”

yuma nearly falls backward when you surge forward, lips crashing onto his mercilessly. he wants to fight you, to push back just because he can, but just the feeling of your lips on his nearly has him falling to his knees. you pull away with a gasp, wiping the corner of your lips.

“i like you too, idiot,” you grit out, trying your hardest to not make eye contact with yuma and his shit-eating grin.

without another word, yuma gathers you up into his arms, lifting you off the counter as if you weighed little more than a feather. his mouth stays glued on yours, laying you down gently on the bed, the door kicked quietly closed. the initial plan had been for him to sleep on the floor, but a couple words from you had him attached like a leech, starving for more.

“yu-kun,” you whisper comes out more like a whine, eyes feverish. 

your hands play at the hem of his t-shirt, fingertips grazing along his v-line. and yuma actually falls to his knees this time, thumbs hooked into the waist band of your shorts, dragging you to the edge of the bed. how he’d dreamed of this moment, had nearly gone insane with the idea of you. he forces himself to move slowly, giving you ample time to push him off. to yell at him for crossing the line. to change your mind. but you do nothing, instead sitting up on your elbows, watching him with hooded eyes.

“patience kitten,” yuma presses a soft kiss to your thigh. “we have all night.”

—

yuma wakes up first, body feverish with the remnants of alcohol and the taste of you. you’re still peacefully passed out beside him, your shirt slightly lifted to expose the multitude of love bites littered across your skin. smiling softly to himself, he tucks the blanket back around you, standing up with a soft kiss to your forehead.

“yuma? you’re up earl— oh my god!” kei stands almost comically, hand slapped over his mouth. 

he’d gone for an easy run this morning, eager to enjoy the beautiful weather. he’d just gotten back, brewed himself a nice coffee, and was ready to kick back and relax when yuma had stumbled in, shirtless. leaving your marks on full display. 

fuma says nothing, save for an appreciative nod and thumbs-up, a steaming mug of tea in hand.

on the other hand…

“y/n-chan, why the hell are you wearing—” nicholas’ wife stares at you, mimosa already in hand. 

“don’t. even. start,” you hold up a hand in defeat, death-glaring harua who’s already started giggling to himself. “you, be quiet!”

harua snickers behind his hand, dodging the beach ball you chuck at his head. 

you dive below the water, mortified, with half a mind to drag harua down with you. you’d woken up this morning, feeling more content and at peace than you have in years. a sticky note awaited on your phone, complete with a kitty doodle. 

“out with hyungs, be back soon pretty girl,” it read.

feeling foolish, a toothy grin makes its way onto your cheeks before you can stop it. you sit straight up, willing your cheeks to relax. just the memories of last night already has heat crawling across your skin, your heart fluttering. god, you’ve never been this excited about a boy. you’re giggling to yourself like an idiot, even worse than a high schooler. slapping your cheeks, you crawl out of bed, in desperate need of a shower.

that’s when you catch a glimpse of it. and you run out of the bathroom like your ass is on fire.

“RU-CHAN!” you whisper harshly, not even bothering to knock, and pointing at the your back, just beneath the collar of your t-shirt. “please tell me there is not—“

“HOLY SHIT! Y/N-CHAN, that is the BIGGEST hickey i have ever seen,” he giggles, giving you mock applause. “okay girllll, getting freaky—“

“SHUT IT!”

you swat at him, covering the giant bruise with one hand as you scurry back to your room. originally, you’d been planning to wear this really cute bikini that euijoo’s wife was letting you borrow. lo and behold, nakakita yuma had put a severe dent in those plans. as if mocking you from afar, an offensively-neon-orange rash guard hangs in the closet, as if yuma had known you would need it. 

that bitch.

you resurface to find her smirking at you, eyebrows wiggling knowingly. you flick some water in her direction, rolling your eyes, though harua doesn’t miss the way you scan the shoreline. kei, fuma, and yuma still hadn’t returned from whatever mysterious mission they were on, and taki and maki were still dead asleep. jo’s and euijoo’s wives were spread out on a picnic blanket, looking entirely at peace.

“i’m gonna go make a coffee,” you stand up, the breeze sending a tingle of goosebumps up your arms. “i’ll be right back.”

“ooh can you get me the strawberry milk in the fridge?”

“fine,” you roll your eyes with a small smile, changing into a t-shirt before walking back to the house.

the house is quiet, save for the sound of your wet footsteps and the rikiz snoring. yuma’s t-shirt hangs loosely around your shoulders as you move around the kitchen, humming slowly under your breath. wherever he was, they were taking forever to come back. and after last night? too much had been left unsaid. were you guys like a real thing now? what would happen once heeseung was taken care of? the sound of the shower turning on yanks you from your thoughts and you peer around the corner, frowning when you don’t see anyone. 

“maki?” you call, “is that you?”

no answer.

the warning bells go off too late, your skin prickling for half a second when something hard and sharp pokes between your ribs.

“hey baby,” a deep voice whispers in your ear.

you freeze, as if doused in ice cold water. you knew that voice, hated that voice. your skin crawls with disgust and unease. run. scream. fight. you will your body to move, but it refuses to cooperate, rooted to the spot. without meaning to, you flinch at his touch, your body falling back into old patterns before you can stop them.

“scream, and niki will shoot them both,” he growls, already pushing you towards the door. “imagine how disappointed yu-kun will be if you get them killed.”

you don’t answer, as if all breath had been stolen from your body.

“you’re coming back with me, baby girl” 

“fine.”

you comply, the knife digging into your ribs and the threat hanging over the rikiz being your sole motivation. you know how to handle him—something you’d inadvertently learned to keep him as calm as possible. you’re still barefoot, yuma’s shirt the only barrier between you and him. sharp rocks in the driveway dig into your feet, but you don’t cry out, careful not to set him off. as inconspicuously as possible, you try to glance around: you still don’t see niki or any of the others, the driveway completely blocked off from view of the beach.

“get in the trunk beautiful,” he smiles down at you. “don’t want you to hit your head.”

you do as he says, the trunk door slamming closed, leaving you in complete darkness.

—

“YOU LOST HER?!!”

yuma is a whirling hurricane of panic, fear, and misplaced anger. everyone is congregated in the living room, trying to figure out a disaster plan. after you hadn’t come back, harua had gone up to look for you, only to find the strawberry milk left out on the counter, and the coffee knocked over.

“where the hell would he go?” kei mutters to himself, feeling guilty a million times over for not being at the house, and dragging yuma away. “enhypen has no base here. there’s no way they would go all the way back to tokyo, would they?”

fuma says nothing, scanning the house’s security footage for anything they could’ve missed. but they’d been smart: looping the footage so that the last thing they saw was you leaving the house to join the others on the beach. yuma continues to pace, anxiously fiddling with the ring on his finger.

wait.

“fuma-kun, give me the computer.”

yuma’s hands fly across the keyboard, his long fingers typing with the skill of &TEAM’s most skilled hacker. his fingers cross out of habit, praying that you haven’t—

“got her!”

there you are, a blinking red dot on the screen. yuma breathes a sigh of relief, fist thumping on his chest over his heart. maybe this was fate playing out exactly the way it needed to. what else were the odds that he’d given you that ring just last night? this plan was working too well for his liking and he knew fuma had trained you with more than enough ways to kill a man.

but either way, that bitch was going to die. 

tonight.

—

you wouldn’t have gotten in the stupid trunk if you’d known how long you’d be stuck back here. your legs were cramped, you had to pee, and you were seething with anger. the longer you thought about it, the more you wanted to rip your hair out for being so stupid. if only you had just gotten the courage to get out sooner. if only you’d seen the signs. if only you hadn't convinced yourself that you could change him.

give yourself some grace pretty girl, you survived. not everyone does.

yuma’s words echo in the back of your mind and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with a sense of longing. to have his arms around you. to have him nearly break your door everyday with coffee in hand, already yapping about bullshit nonsense. to be curled up together on the couch, watching some stupid new romance anime. to go home. at this point, you’re tired of running. tired of being stuck under heeseung’s thumb. you shake your head, willing yourself to concentrate. 

until the teammies found you, you were on your own. no weapons. no shoes. and no freaking pants. off to a great start, clearly.

even though the sun is going down, the light is still blinding compared to the darkness of the trunk. you shield your eyes, just barely making out heeseung’s figure. he looks almost sickly, a vampire with the beauty sucked out of him. looking at him, you almost feel bad. emphasis on almost. being in a coma hadn't done him any favors, but really you would've preferred if he'd croaked along with sunghoon all those years ago. heeseung grabs your hand, all pretense of pleasantry gone.

“take it off.”

you glare, having half a mind to refuse. but you reluctantly slip the ring off your finger. you’d only just gotten it, but already you’d become attached to it. how it sparkled in the sunlight. how when you wore it, it felt like you could do anything. you’re about to slip it into your bikini top under your shirt for safekeeping, when heeseung snatches it from your grasp. his gaze has turned maniacal, eyes fixed on the ring with hatred.

“you’re coming with me,” he snarls, grabbing your wrist.

you have no choice but to follow, the stones in the driveway of wherever you are digging into your feet. you’re at some kind of beach house, though it stands apart from the rest of the houses higher up by the main road. you take it all in, filing the information away. heeseung yanks you forward into the house, practically throwing you into the counter. your heart clenches, fearing the worst. sure, you’d learned to fight. but that had been against fuma and kei. not a crazed madman. 

there’s a tool bag sitting on the kitchen floor, dusty and battered. heeseung opens it, taking out a hammer. unable to stop yourself, you flinch, the scars on your legs starting to feel as if they were on fire. as if they were trying to warn you to get away from him. heeseung doesn’t notice, too focused on the ring. he raises the hammer, smashing it to pieces over and over again. your heart clenches with each swing, watching the metal becoming bent and misshapen. but what scares you more is that he hasn’t noticed that with each swing, chunks of the counter come flying off. if anything, he’s become even more terrifying: his eyes are glittering with rage; he’s sweating, chest heaving with the effort of destroying yuma’s ring.

finally, he stops, turning to look at you. the hammer remains in his hand, but he holds a hand out to you, panting from exertion. he takes a step forward, but you take one back, hands held protectively in front of you. you knew the fury of lee heeseung. this? this was something else. he takes one more step forward, then seems to realize he’s still holding the hammer. chuckling to himself, he sets it back down on the counter and reaches it into his pocket.

“dance with me, baby”

the opening tune of daniel caesar’s ‘hold me down’ fills the quiet kitchen, and your knees nearly buckle. you stop breathing, eyes wide, trapped in a memory you can’t escape. that song. the one that always seemed to play when he was home, washing his bloody knuckles in the sink. as if it were the background music to your own personal hell.

heeseung cracks a smile, as if he’s just now noticed you. 

but you dance just out of reach, trying to get closer to the hammer. heeseung lunges for you, pressing his lips against yours. you nearly gag, trying to shove him off. his lips feel like thick rubber against yours. 

you can’t do this. you can’t kiss him. 

so you bite down hard, shoving him away as far as you can, inadvertently shoving him closer to the hammer. you watch him, terrified that he’s about to grab the hammer and smash your skull in, the same way he had yuma’s ring. 

“baby, why do you have to be so difficult?” heeseung advances on you. “you were always so obedient, why won’t you kiss me now? it’s just me, your hee.”

you don’t answer, trying to map out exactly how you could possibly dart past him and out the door. what you don’t notice, is that your shirt has slipped off your shoulder, leaving yuma’s love bite in open view. 

“YOU WHORE! you kissed that brat?!!” heeseung snarls, eyes narrowed on the mark. “bet you fucked him too, you little slut!”

he advances on you, effectively blocking off all exits. 

“but you don’t love him, do you baby?” his breath smells foul, as if he’d just risen from the grave. “DO YOU?!!”

you gulp, fear hammering in your chest. this was not the time to be stupid. but your brain flashes back to last night anyway. you think of yuma, and his stupid smile. of him slipping the ring on your finger in the dim light of the kitchen. of the way he’d held you, as if you were the most precious person in the world.

“TELL ME YOU DON’T LOVE HIM!” heeseung roars, backhanding you across the face with such force that you swear you’ve lost a couple teeth. 

your whole body crashes to the floor, ears ringing with the impact. you spit out a little blood on the floor, glaring at him with more hatred than you’ve ever felt in your life. though now, black spots swim across your vision and you swear you’re seeing double.

“this doesn’t have to be difficult darling,” heeseung crouches down beside you, his voice suddenly soft. “just tell me you love me.”

you should. you should say whatever he wants. do whatever he wants. be the picture of obedience. you’d never told yuma you loved him, stupidly deciding not wanting to complicate things further by confessing to your best friend that you’ve been in love with him for years.

“no,” you stare defiantly. “you fucking bastard!”

you were not the same girl that heeseung could just push around because he felt like it. you’d survived him once. you’d done your due diligence. you’d healed from everything he put you through. you had put blood, sweat and tears in finding your peace; you’d murder him in cold blood before you let him have any control over your life ever again.

“i love yuma,” you spit out, your own words giving you bravery with each syllable. “NA. KA. KI. TA. YU. MA. never you!”

for one long terrifying moment, he doesn’t answer. 

then you spot your chance.

“LEAVE! ME! ALONE!” you scream, launching the piece of countertop from under your hand as hard as you can at his face.

he howls with pain, temporarily blinded. you scramble to your feet, booking it to the door as fast as you can. but heeseung’s earlier blow has put you at a severe disadvantage: you can barely see, using all your willpower to even just stay on your feet. 

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” heeseung yanks you back by your hair, teeth bared and bloody. “you’re MINE! over my dead body will anyone else have you!”

“then DIE!” 

—

“that must be it!” taki sniffs, pointing at a beach house that stands alone at the end of what seems like an abandoned road. 

in the dimming twilight, yuma can just barely make out the road, whipping the wheel harshly to the left. your dot had disappeared from the map about ten minutes ago, and yuma would be damned if he let heeseung steal your light away again. the smell of smoke fills the air, thickening the closer they drive to the house. a fancy-looking car is parked outside, the trunk wide open, keys stupidly left in the ignition. fuma and taki pile out the car, already circling up to the front of the house, while he runs straight for the back, where an alarming orange glow emanates. 

heeseung could be waiting right there, a gun pointed at his skull. but he didn’t care anymore, all thoughts focused solely on you. you could be hurt, trapped somewhere in the smoke. just the thought of heeseung laying a finger on you? no, he dare not even imagine the person he’d become. chest tight with fear, yuma kicks the already-rotting back door open. the moment it collapses, a thick cloud of black smoke comes billowing out, and he drops as low as he can, stifling his cough in the crook of his arm. somewhere inside, something explodes.

yuma runs forward, seeing nothing but flames. still no sign of you anywhere, save for a hammer. panicked, his eyes narrows on a rickety-looking set of stairs, and the flaming beam hanging precariously just above it. he just barely makes it up the stairs before the bottom step is engulfed in flames. but he’s not looking. his weapon isn’t drawn. his guard is down when heeseung charges him as soon as he rounds the corner at the top of the stairs, smashing yuma into the wall. but he’s been in a coma for three years, whereas yuma has been overly prepared to beat him to a pulp. 

“WHERE IS SHE?!!” he roars over the crackling flames, his punches connecting with terrifying accuracy.

heeseung is almost unrecognizable. his hair is matted, a manic gleam in his eyes. dried blood is caked around his left eye, his mouth full of blood, looking more and more like a vampire. 

“she belongs to me, brat!” heeseung growls, just barely parrying away a blow. “she will never be—“

“I WAS NEVER YOURS!”

you appear from the woodwork like some kind of fiery angel straight from the depths of hell, brandishing a wood plank. it splinters upon impact, and heeseung crashes to the ground, head bloody and thoroughly unrecognizable.

“YUMA!” you scream, flinging yourself into his arms just as the floor gives out beneath where you were just standing, heeseung’s body tumbling into the roaring flames. 

but there’s no time to celebrate.

“y/n, come on we have to go!” yuma gathers you into his arms, your arms clinging firmly around his neck.

the stairs are a no-go, fully engulfed now. the floor groans with every step, black smoke making it nearly impossible to see. there’s only one room left that’s not up in flames, at the very end of the hallway. yuma sets you down gently on the windowseat, careful not to accidentally bash your already-bloody head against anything else. he wrenches the window open, letting loose a fresh pillar of black smoke, dropping down before holding his arms out for you.

you jump with a shriek, the room exploding behind you. he slings you over his shoulder, fuma and taki already sprinting out from the other side of the house.

“GO! GO! GO!” 

yuma flings himself into the driver seat, a stark contrast to his gentle maneuvering of your body into the passenger seat. fuma and taki hijack heeseung’s abandoned car, peeling out from the driveway just ahead of you. he holds your hand tightly, as if you’d disappear if he let go.

fleeing down the highway, the flaming inferno behind you, you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. soon enough, the both of you completely overcome with hysterical laughter, tears in your eyes. you're both covered in soot, blood, and at least an inch of black grime. yuma’s earrings shimmer in the light of the center display, his expression tense, as evidenced by the thick vein in his neck pulsing with every ragged breath. maybe you’re just dizzy and delirious, but there’s no other place you’d rather be. 

but there’s just one more, painfully obvious thing.

“yuma,” your soft voice makes his ears perk to attention. “you came for me?”

yuma can’t decide if he wants to cry or laugh.

“yes you idiot,” he giggles out, unable to hold it off with the absurdity of your question and the adrenaline high wearing off. “i literally ran through fire to get to you! you’re my best friend, of course i would come for you.”

the word ‘best friend’ lands like a whip. right, of course. clearly, you’d misread things. and last night had been nothing but—

“i lied yesterday you know,” yuma cuts your mental spiral off with a knowing glance. already, you’ve subconsciously angled your body away from him, your grip in his hand loose and becoming detached. 

“what is that supposed to mean?” you ask flatly, already slamming the walls down around your heart before it can break anymore. “what are— yuma, why are you pulling over?! enhypen could be coming for us and we’re just sitting ducks out here!”

“y/n.” 

the deep intensity of yuma’s voice catches you off-guard, and he grabs your chin lightly to force you to look at him. you stubbornly refuse, looking at your own reflection in the driver’s side window instead. his eyes soften, drinking you in. your lip is busted, your right cheek red and swollen, your hair a tangled bird’s nest. he swallows thickly, willing himself to say the words.

“l/n y/n, in every life, i would choose you,” he speaks lowly, the dam of his soul breaking wide open. “i would always, always choose you. i would run into every burning building to get to you. i would hurt anyone who even thought of hurting you. jesus y/n, i would do anything for you.”

“i—“

“i love you, you dummy. didn’t you know?” 

yuma lets go of your chin, his lips pressed together in a small, awkward smile. he watches you process his words in real time, your eyes becoming comically wide. really, he didn’t understand what was so shocking. he’d made it so ridiculously obvious, but you. you were a complete idiot. so deeply hurt by someone who was supposed to love and protect you, that you didn’t believe that you were capable of love anymore. if only you’d known just how many people he’d had to personally threaten to keep away from you.

“i know i sound psycho and it sounds insane, but,” he babbles on, fidgeting with his rings now. “i don’t think i ever just liked you. i swear i fell in love with you the day we met.”

“that night, harua was the one who told me to go talk to you. i wasn’t really that drunk, and i wasn’t really planning on getting that tattoo. but i just had to talk to you so—“

“shut up idiot.”

you yank him by the collar of his shirt, pressing your lips firmly against his. 

“i love you too,” you pull away with a whisper, tapping his nose affectionately.

yuma stares at you like a lovestruck cat, the corners of his lips tugging upwards without meaning to. his eyes look dazed, completely entranced by you.

“marry me?” he asks, holding your left hand. “for real this time?”

“yes you idiot,” you laugh, tears welling up in your eyes. “of course i would marry you”

and suddenly, it all feels real. even though no ring rests on your finger, it weighs heavier with the promise of the lifelong commitment you’ve pledged to make. yuma bends to kiss your hand, then your forehead, then both cheeks, then finally, your lips. tears of joy slip down his own face, mixing with the ones mirrored on yours. the two of you continue fleeing down the highway, entirely uncertain about the future, but completely certain and enamored with each other.

“you know i’m never letting you go right?”

“i’m literally covered in bites that you left, idiot. i couldn’t go anywhere else even if i wanted to”

“good"

—

“baby-chan~~”

yuma coos at your youngest daughter, trying his best to keep a serious face. she’s only two, but already she’s proving to be just as much of a handful as her dad.

“what did mama say about touching papa’s sparkles?”

your daughter pouts at you from her perch on yuma’s shoulders, the spitting image of her father. ever the innocent bystander, you pretend to ignore the pair of them, setting your other daughter down on the couch, who had fallen fast asleep in your arms.

“mama said to not touch papa’s sparkles until she said so or papa will get sick," she pouts, rolling her eyes with enough attitude for the four of you.

“that’s my sweet girl,” he praises exaggeratedly, kissing her knee.

yuma turns to look at you, his two-month-old snake piercings sparkling in the light of the setting sun streaming through your living room window. the original plan had been to burn enhypen down, enjoy marriage for a couple years, then revisit the idea of having kids. one midsummer’s night later, your cutie twin daughters had been made in the backroom of your studio.

time skip to two years later and they were giving you a run for your money, arguably on par with empress wang. yuma had caught the pair of them digging around in your tools and scared them off permanently. ever the shy twin, your older one's favorite pastime being stretched out in your lap while you sketched, or asking her papa to do her hair or play tea party. your younger one loved playing pranks on uncle harua. or jump scaring uncle kei. or plotting mayhem. your fault for letting taki babysit them the most really. to your surprise, the moment they'd been born, yuma had switched immediately to strict girl dad mode, already dreading the day either of them brought a partner home.

yuma sets her down, watching her scurry off towards jo’s son sketching quietly in the corner, nearly tripping over her stubby little legs.

“come here mama,” yuma collapses on the couch with a groan, grabbing your waist to drag you right on top of him.

“papa, we have to get dinner ready for the kids,” you whisper, trying to twist your head to look up at him.

the sunlight hits his blonde hair at just the right angle, his hair glowing like a warm halo. a sigh escapes you, a sound of mock exasperation that yuma feels more than he hears. still, his nose tucks deeper against the warm curve of your neck, your pulse beating in sync with his own.

“yuma,” you try, though you have no intention of getting up either. “we’re going to starve.”

“five more minutes,” he mumbles, his breath tickling against your neck. “papa needs cuddles and attention.” 

you squirm in his grasp, though his arms only tighten around your waist in response.

“you’re insufferable,” you roll your eyes, though the corners of your lips are turned up.

“and yet, you married me anyway,” yuma smiles down at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, staring at the rings of your intertwined fingers.

eight years later, and he was still entirely bewitched by you. and it would only ever be you <3

“y/n! where are you?!”

dammit.

you sigh heavily at the clanging of the bell on your front door, keeping your gaze laser-focused on your client’s thigh. you were a tattoo artist, and a well-accomplished one at that. people from all over the world came for your handiwork, even as an apprentice. back then, one of your clients, youngji, now one of your closest friends, posted one of her covers on tiktok, and the tattoo you’d designed on her forearm had gone insanely viral. since then, you’d had steady work come through the door as a professional artist. and with the help of your best friend, you’d finally achieved your dream of opening a studio of your own.

timeskip to today, and for the last three years, you’ve been operating out of a little shop in a tiny alleyway in tokyo. small, definitely sketchy, with even sketchier customers, but she was cute and within walking distance from one of your favorite little streets, filled with food, cafes, and trinket shops.

“i’m in the back working, yuma!” you yell.

youngji laughs at your dismayed expression from her place on your bench, and you pull the gun away to not mess up your design. the one and only nakakita yuma, one of your first regular clients, and for better or worse, your best friend. stomping, he drops a couple onigiri and iced americano on your desk, his lips just barely brushing the top of your head before he flops onto your couch with a heavy oof. 

“oh youngji-san, good to see you!" he half-waves. "oh my god y/n, you won’t believe what just happened. this crazy girl—“

the minute he starts yapping about last night’s one-night stand, you tune him out. yuma’s one night stands rarely went well, but still he kept going on them. and honestly, for the last year, it seemed like he was constantly on these dates, and getting more and more frustrated with each one. truly, it was like he was trying to get himself married off as soon as possible. but what on earth could you say? who were you to try to stop him from meeting the potential love of his life? youngji chuckles, used to yuma’s cat-like antics and near-constant presence in your shop.

“y/n… darling, you’re staring," she teases, taking note of your somewhat dilated eyes. 

“huh? oh my god, i’m so sorry youngji," you quickly apologize, returning your focus to her leg. "just one more rose and then we’ll be done.”

the buzzing fills your ears, leaving your mind blissfully blank. you didn’t mind having yuma around, but when he was there, it was like your brain went completely smooth. like, chicken breast smooth. it was ridiculous, really, how his presence distracted you entirely, no matter what you were doing. and it was irritating to no end. 

“y/n… you know he likes you, right?” youngji whispers, her eyebrows wiggling mischievously at you. “he’s obviously baiting you with these one night stand stories.”

you shake your head, keeping your hand steady as you finish up the final touches. 

“nah, we’re just friends.”

“right... friends who kiss, drunk cuddle, with matching tattoos and—”

“ok when you say it like that—“

“of course, my mistake. he’s just the best friend who brings you lunch, like, every day. and starts pouting if you go on a date. and loaned you millions of yen to help you open this shop. and looks at you like you hung the moon." she pauses, sarcasm dripping with every word.

"actually, yeah, you’re right. he doesn’t like you. he loves you,” youngji declares, wincing as you finally finish and start to bandage her leg.

“oh my god, shut UP!” you whisper-yell, tying off the saran wrap with a quick snap. “what if he hears you?!”

you glance over at yuma, airpods thankfully jammed in his ears. he hums under his breath, fingers tapping against his leg to a rhythm you can’t hear. and as he’s sitting there, bathed in sunlight with his eyes closed, you can’t help the soft smile that graces your lips.

“besides, he’s always hooking up with some girl. exhibit a, literally ten seconds ago when he was blabbing about the girl he went out with last night,” you say airily, taking out your contacts to switch them for glasses. “he wouldn’t be doing all that if he was waiting for me, you know?”

“that’s because you don’t make any moves on him, so he thinks you don’t like him like that!” youngji says, exasperated. “no friend would just call you 'baby' and not like-like you!"

“because i don’t like him, i’m literally going on a date with niki tonight!” you groan, handing her all the aftercare materials. "besides, he's called me 'baby' for years, that's just how he is."

“okay, okay, fine.” youngji puts her hands up in surrender, a teasing smirk on her face. “make sure you eat my hardworking busy bee. have fun, I’ll see you saturday.”

she blows you a kiss, and the front door closes with a soft jingle of the overhanging bell. you wave her off, locking the door with a soft click. ears twitching like a cat, yuma looks at you, one eyebrow raised. 

come here.

rolling your eyes, you take a sip of the coffee yuma had brought, soaking in the last rays of the setting sun. the worst part of being a broke tattoo artist was having literally no money to pay any employees to help you clean up the shop when you were done for the day. and you were a chronic procrastinator. so aside from when yuma dragged the rest of the boys to help you clean, bribed with promises of free dinner, you were left to convince yourself you loved cleaning. but they’d all been busy with finals lately and today, you were paying for yesterday's procrastination. 

"ahem," yuma clears his throat, a slight pout on his lips.

i said come here.

a beat passes and you sigh, resolve crumbling faster than a sand castle. 

fine.

he grunts dramatically with your sudden weight plopping onto his chest, but his arms curl around your waist anyway, your shoulder blades now acting as his personal phone rest. he’d started working out recently, his chest starting to become more defined and less of a soft pillow. this position shouldn’t feel normal between friends, but you settle into his chest anyway, as if he were your personal pillow.

“take a nap, you look like shit,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair absent-mindedly. "smell like it too"

your head pops up, catching him in the chin. 

“bitch—?!!”

before you can smack him, the bell of your front door jingles and you turn towards the sound, head tilted. yuma looks up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed. 

“were you expecting someone?”

but you're just as confused. 

“no…? youngji was my last client today and i thought i locked the door after she left,” you try to stand up. “guess i left it open and somebody wanted to stop by for a walk-in.”

but yuma hugs you tighter, gaze returning to his phone. his face remains still, though his tight grip on you says otherwise.

“they’ll go away if they see you’re closed,” he whispers lazily, completely oblivious to how warm your ears have gotten.

“nakakita yuma, you did not help me open this shop just so I could ignore customers,” you shake your head, tapping his nose teasingly. “you’re being extra clingy today”

yuma rolls his eyes, his grip unrelenting even while he continues to scroll on his phone. damn him and his arm days. he says nothing, but the slight smirk on his face betrays him.

with an evil grin, your hands ghost over his sides and he lets go with a loud giggle.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he whines, grabbing for you as you dance just out of reach, coffee firmly in hand. 

you blow him a kiss, giving a mock-bow on your way to the main area of your studio. you were exhausted, but if anything was going to save you, it was going to be new clients and yuma’s coffee. however, had you taken a second to look behind you, you would’ve seen yuma’s smile drop as soon as your back was turned. his eyes watch carefully as your figure disappears beyond the curtain, narrowed in distrust and suspicion.

you never forgot to lock your door. 

ever.

and he knew for a fact that the only other key to this shop was the one currently attached to the carabiner on his jeans.

“hello, welcome in! i’m actually— niki?! what are you doing here?” you smile, your cheeks warming as he bends to give you a peck on the cheek.

“hey beautiful, i just wanted to stop by early before our date, and let you know," he smiles lazily, his tall frame immediately filling your entire visual field. 

he’d started coming into your shop about three months ago, and over time, one conversation led to the next and you’d gotten to know him beyond the artist-client curtain. he looks like he’s just gotten home from the gym, dressed comfortably in sweats and a dark grey hoodie, hands deep in his pockets. he leans closer, eyes just barely peeking out from behind his dark curtain of hair. 

you swear you only blinked once. you hadn’t looked away from him, not even for a second. 

but nothing could've prepared you for what came next. 

“sorry noona, i’m gonna have to cancel.” your soon-to-be-ex-situationship smiles at you apologetically, though his eyes sport nothing but cold calculatedness as he holds the gun pointed straight at your forehead.  

you freeze, coffee hitting the floor before you can get a grip.

the ghost feeling of a bullet ripping through your brain is sending you into a panic faster than you can stop it. and if the gun didn’t kill you first, your almost inevitable heart attack was about to. christ, you really had a knack for picking men. 

“niki...? i don’t understand, why are you—“

“y/n, darling, you really should’ve known better,” he sighs, as if your question is that of a tiresome child. “it was so obvious that i was just playing with—“

BANG!

a loud crash echoes through your shop from the backroom and niki’s eyes narrow on you, the safety clicking off.

“who else is here?” he asks lowly, sounding nothing like the person you thought you’d gotten to know.

your heart clenches at the thought of exactly who was lounged on your couch. 

no way in hell would you get yuma mixed up in this. you didn’t even know what this was about!

“no one! i have no idea—“

“me, bitch.”

BAM!

another blink and all you see is yuma, standing in the doorway like some kind of avenged angel in his black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, gun drawn. niki lays on the ground, unconscious from the blow to the back of his head. 

you're frozen in place, rarely having seen your best friend so serious in your life. his eyes are fixated on niki, gun held in front of him like an extension of his body rather than a foreign, loaded weapon. you don’t recognize this yuma. this serious, unsmiling yuma. as if he hadn’t just knocked someone unconscious with no trouble at all. as if he could’ve killed him in cold blood and not batted an eyelash. as if he'd become someone else entirely. your heart lurches, the invisible wounds left behind by your past suddenly feeling as if they've been ripped open. 

“yu... ma…?”

at the sound of your voice, whoever is front of you is gone faster than you could snap your fingers. immediately, his eyes soften and yuma holsters the gun, running towards you. he holds you at arms-length, checking you all over for injuries. 

“y/n! are you ok?!! i heard—“

“get away from me.” you whisper, still staring at the unconscious niki on the floor.

“w-what?” his arms drop loosely at his sides, shocked by your tone.

you shove him off, grabbing the gun that niki had dropped.

“d-don’t t-touch me,” you stutter, gun shaking in your grasp. before you can stop them, tears start to form in your eyes, blurring your vision. for all you know, yuma could change his mind and finish what niki came to do. you'd been such a fool, trusting yet another man with a voice like honey. 

yuma’s gaze softens, holding his hands where you can see them. 

“hey, y/n,” he whispers softly. “baby it’s ok, it’s just me.”

“yuma,” he moves carefully, keeping his hands where you can see them.

“your yuma.” 

you look like a scared rabbit, ready to bolt at any second. your eyes look dazed, as if trapped in a memory. 

and he hates that it's his fault. 

you’ve never seen this side of him; he’d always been careful to keep his double life hidden from you whenever you’d come to visit. his weapons tucked safely behind a false wall. mysterious documents and phone calls excused away by an ill grandparent. his uncanny aptitude with computers and code loosely explained by a course he took in college. he watches you carefully, all too-aware that the safety is still off. 

you back away, hands shaking so hard that you nearly drop the gun. of course you’d never hurt yuma, you would never want that. but you’re terrified, your mind going into survival mode all on its own. you know it’s not him. you know he’s not here. and yet, all you can see is him. 

yuma steps forward slowly, careful not to spook you. you’re looking at him, but it’s almost as if you’re looking through him. 

you stand frozen, as if watching yourself in third-person, as yuma pulls the gun from your grip, flipping the safety on and pocketing it without taking his eyes off of you. you instinctively step back, unable to break his gaze. he follows you, not overcrowding your space, but close enough to let you know that he’s not going anywhere. a couple steps later, your back hits the wall, his quiet intensity sending your brain into overdrive. he leans down, close enough for his nose to just gently brush against yours.

“why are you running from me?” he murmurs lowly, setting off sparks in your stomach despite everything that’s happened. "what do you see?"

had your friendship been a lie? did you ever really know your supposed best friend? when he’d saved you that night, all those years ago, was it planned? come to think of it, he’d always paid for everything and got upset if you tried to pay, all while complaining that you spent all of his money and needed to find a boyfriend to use his money instead. stupidly, you never questioned where the money came from. not even once. really, what kind of 24-year-old had millions of yen just sitting around to help you open a tattoo studio?! not to mention what had happened just last week? god, you were an idiot.

“Y/N?!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!!”

you collide face-first into the chest of none other than nakakita yuma, your keys and umbrella clattering to the ground.

“YUMA?! what do you mean what the hell am i doing here?! what the hell are you- OW!”

yuma grabs your arm, dragging you to the alleyway to the side of your shop. he drags you next to the row of trashbins, keeping you mostly hidden from view from the alleyway. a rat skitters by, though neither of you take notice of it.

“you can’t be here right now! why are you out so late?!”

“jesus yuma, i just finished a spine tattoo!" you shove at him half-heartedly, starting to shiver from the cold of the rain seeping through your thin shirt. "you know i have late clients all the time, why are you— IS THAT BLOOD?!!”

yuma bats your hands away, looking nervously towards where the opening of the alleyway meets the street.

“don’t worry, it’s not mine. but you need to get out of here right—“

“WHERE IS HE?!!” a loud voice booms, no more than a block away.

“oh shit,” yuma mutters, backing you straight into the brick wall.

one brick in particular digs between your shoulder blades, though the expression on yuma’s face keeps your lips sealed. your heart stutters with the feeling of yuma’s skin pressed flush against yours, the lingering scent of the cologne he’d sprayed this morning filling your nostrils. the vein in his neck pulses with adrenaline, his right arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you tucked securely against his chest. the rain has soaked both of you through, the flickering streetlight painting the perfect setting for a night of shifty hands, violence, and shady business. 

“yu-kun, what’s going on?” 

your terrified whisper brings yuma back to reality, suddenly all-too-aware of your body pressed against his, subconsciously curled into his chest. and in spite of himself, his skin begins to heat against yours, searing warmth cutting through the cold rain. your pulse thuds against his skin, every shaky breath from your lips sending blood straight down south.

“y/n, i need you to kiss me."

he can hear their footsteps thundering down the pavement just around the corner, hooting and hollering, thirsty for blood. time seems to slow down and you nearly choke on your own spit at his words, having half a mind to knock him unconscious and hand him over.

“yuma, are you insane?! what the fuck is going on?!! and why—“

“kiss me, y/n,” yuma pleads, eyes darting between you and the street. every second passes like a ticking time bomb. “or we’re both going to die”

you must be ill. feverish. sick in the head. you don’t question it, why yuma is acting like the world is ending. 

"you owe me an explanation," you whisper harshly, yanking him down by his shirt. “and a drink.” 

yuma’s eyes flutter closed as you seal your lips against his, almost chastely. his cheeks warm, a guttural groan stuck in his throat, an undeniable heat in his chest. the footsteps thud closer, their heels promising violence.

“THERE! THAT MUST BE— oh for fuck’s sake!”

yuma clutches you closer by your waist, wet hair flopping into your eyes, while the other comes up to cup your cheek. you’ll blame it on the adrenaline. or the fact that death allegedly awaits you around the corner. either way, you’re not responsible for what happens next as yuma deepens the kiss, dizzy with the feeling of your nails scraping against his back: you practically moan into his lips, back arching off the wall and into his chest. 

“yuma,” you rasp, separating your lips for a whisper for air. 

“get back here,” a small smirk decorates his features, his voice a low whine. 

you’ll blame your actions on the fact that you were putting on the show of a lifetime, well, for your life. you yank yuma closer by the back of his neck, careful to keep his face hidden from the alleyway. his hands roam all over your back, as if memorizing every curve and tiniest detail. your lips ghost over the side of his neck, settling over the space between his neck and shoulder, hazarding a glare over his shoulder at the men in the shadows, as if shaming them for being present. yuma practically falls against you as your teeth sink into his skin, his breath coming out in harsh pants. you suck harder, overcome with years of pent-up desire; his fingers dig into your hips, as if tattooing his presence into your bones.

“fuck y/n, you might just kill me first,” yuma growls, grabbing your chin with one hand. 

you detach from his neck with a pop, threads of saliva shiny in the dim light. you just barely catch a glimpse of your already-bruising mark before yuma reattaches his lips to yours, one hand slipping under your shirt to grab your waist, keeping you in place while he continues his onslaught.

“jesus, GO HOME FREAKS!” a deep voice bellows. “it’s just a couple of perverts! fan out, he can’t have gotten far!”

you never did get your explanation afterwards, too distracted by the memory of yuma’s lips against yours, and the empty ache that had followed. 

“what the fuck is going on?” you glare up at yuma, keeping your arms crossed across your chest. 

you had no intention of repeating last week’s series of events, flushed cheeks be damned; fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice, shame on me. you couldn't think of a single good explanation for why he had so much money, why he could use a gun with such expertise, or why he'd been covered in blood. you hazard a glance towards niki, who is thankfully still unconscious and sprawled on the ground. thank god you were closed for the day; even the concept of a man was pissing you off. and

“are you dealing?!!”

yuma snorts, of course that would be the first thing you would think of. he raises a hand to brush the hair out of his face, and you can’t help it. you flinch. shocked, yuma looks at you, hurt and worry filling his gaze. 

“y/n? baby, i would never hurt you,” he says softly, arms dropping uselessly to his sides. 

his head hangs, hair falling back into his face. he peers at you through his curtain of bangs, gaze sad and pleading. 

“i know you’re scared, and i know a lot has just happened. im not dealing drugs but i don’t know what’s happening either and i promise i’ll tell you everything as soon as i know you're safe,” his breath hitches, almost as if he’s slamming a wall down. “will you trust me?“

you look at him, feeling the wall starting to grow between the two of you by the second. this was your best friend. he’d been your rock, your everything for the last five years. he’d rescued you when you needed him most, had protected you even when you’d refused it. but clearly, you hadn’t known anything about him at all.

“you’ll tell me everything?” you question, suddenly feeling more exhausted than you’ve ever felt in your life. 

he nods, almost too eagerly.

“yes, everything. everything i know, i’ll tell you y/n. but we can’t stay here, it’s not safe—“

as if on cue, niki’s phone starts ringing. 

“jake-hyung,” it reads.

your eyes widen. 

no way, it can’t be.

you're not stupid, you know you’re running out of options. it would only be a matter of time before whoever had sent niki came looking for him. and if 'jake-hyung' was who you thought it was...

better the devil you know than the one you don’t. 

slowly, you nod, tearing your gaze away from niki’s body. without wasting another second, yuma grabs your hand, leading you out the back door of your shop to where his car is parked. he fastens your seatbelt, making sure your hair doesn't get caught in it. 

“i am so sorry, love. i promise i’ll tell you everything.”

next thing you know, your vision goes dark, the scent of wood and lavender filling your nostrils. 

—

you wake up confused and disoriented, but somehow more rested than you've been in ages. the last rays of sunlight filter in through the closed blinds, the digital clock at your bedside table reads 7:59pm. 

christ, you'd slept a whole day. 

carefully, you sit up and blink slowly, trying to find your bearings. slowly but surely, all the memories of yesterday afternoon come flooding back: yuma, kicking open the front door to your shop. niki, holding a gun to your forehead. yuma, lounging on your couch. niki, unconscious on the ground. yuma, leaned over you, your back to the wall. niki's phone, 'jake-hyung'. yuma, begging you to trust him. you sigh. the last thing you remember is getting into yuma’s car and then…. nothing. 

you were still in yesterday's clothes, though someone had taken off your socks and scrubbed off your make-up. looking around, you slowly start to recognize where you are: yuma’s apartment. and on the other side of his bedroom door, there was a whole lot of yelling going on, their attempts at whispering completely futile.

"NAKAKITA YUMA!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!!"

"what the hell were you thinking?!"

"euijoo, you really can't expect me to have left her!"

"yuma, you know the rules! we have them for a reason!"

"you know what happens next, right?"

silence follows. 

you don't hear the next bit because you're too busy diving for the bed, back under the safety of the covers. 

just in time for yuma to open the door, sitting down next to you with a heavy sigh. peeking from beneath the blanket, you can see jo, fuma and euijoo all in the living room, putting on their shoes to leave. you’d occasionally seen euijoo around, when he accompanied his wife to the coffee shop next door. she had come in with yuma a couple times, always greeting you with a warm smile. and you hadn’t seen jo in a while since he’d become a father. you’d seen fuma around, sometimes dropping by yuma’s apartment unannounced. and who was always in the gym pictures that yuma sent you. who, once upon a time, had walked into a very unfortunate situation.

“yuma! where is— why are you on the couch?" fuma starts, kicking off his shoes. “y/n?!!”

“fuma-kun??” yuma groans, blinking sleepily in the sunlight streaming through his window.

you’re still fast asleep on his chest, wrapped in one of yuma’s t-shirts, not having so much as twitched a muscle. yuma has one arm around your waist, the other behind his head. the tv reads, are you still watching? numb from sleep, he blinks again, rolling his eyes as soon as he sees fuma’s disappointed stare.

“are you playing with her? you better not be, i raised you better than that,” fuma nags, arms crossed over his chest.

“no hyung, it’s not like-“

“she’s a wonderful woman and i don’t even want to know if you guys had sex, you just better have been wearing-“

“FUMA-HYUNG! oh my god, please it’s not like that!” yuma groans, trying his best to roll out from under you without waking you up. “we’re just friends!”

“right, and i’m half-unicorn,” fuma sighs deeply, turning right back around to leave. 

"hey dummy, i know you're awake.”

yuma speaks softly, his voice heavy with what seems like the weight of the world.

you pretend to not hear him, keeping your eyes shut tightly. of course, you’re grateful to yuma for saving your life. but apparently, your best friend has been living this double life you’d known nothing about. and you weren’t a complete moron. you knew your shop catered to a sketchy crowd that tipped way too generously for the jobs they claimed to have. you knew that more than a few sketchy business deals had taken place right under your nose. but for yuma, your yuma, to be mixed up in all of it, and you hadn’t known? god, best friend of the year.

he pokes your hip, clearly pouting that your back is still turned towards him. 

“go away, yuma,” you mutter, grip tightening on the blanket.

“y/n-“

“please?” your voice comes out as a whisper, just barely on the edge of tears again.

everything you’d ever known about nakakita yuma had been complete bullshit and you’d be stupid not to take a second to gather your thoughts before you’re blinded by his lies, again. even if it breaks your heart to take a couple steps back. 

“i just need some time,” you mumble, trying not to let guilt seep into your voice.

yuma doesn’t answer, but you feel his eyes boring into your back like lasers. and ever so slowly, you feel him get off the bed. his fingertips brush against your shoulder as he readjusts the blanket, his touch burning even through the thick fabric. 

“ok,” he says, his lips ghosting the edge of your brow line.

the door clicks shut and you breathe a sigh of relief, finally throwing the suffocating blanket off. his lips still burn against your skin as you sit up, staring at the photo yuma has framed at his bedside: it was the day of your 22nd birthday and yuma’s birthday gift to you had been the keys to your studio, bewitched. you smile softly, staring at the two of you. you don’t know who had taken it, but you’ve never looked so naive and joyful in your life, being spun around, keys glittering in the sunlight.

what an idiot.

what the hell were you going to do? actually, what on earth could you even do? run for it? jump out the window? 

you can just picture him outside the door, sulking in the kitchen, scrolling on his phone to distract himself. and your heart breaks all over again. just outside that door was the boy who’d become your best friend. the boy who’d wiped your tears when you were at your lowest. the boy who’d helped you get your life back and made your dreams come true. but after last night? really you should’ve known better. how could someone as kind as him be real? there was always a catch, you’d already learned that lesson the hard way. and right now, you had no idea who would be waiting for you outside that door: your sweet, kind-hearted yuma, or a cold-blooded killer. 

sighing, you roll out of bed. you desperately needed a shower and you'd slept over at yuma's enough times to have your own drawer. but the thundering of the hot water on your head does nothing to quiet your thoughts. you shut it off, the water starting to feel cold.

what happens now?

“JO?! what the hell?!!” you jump back, the towel you’d been using to dry your hair hitting jo in the chest like a wet rag.

"why on earth are you standing in the dark like some kind of serial killer?!!" 

one quick glance around the apartment told you yuma had left, his keys gone from the hook. you look back at jo, willing your heartbeat to slow down. 

asakura jo, one of yuma's friends whom you often asked for sketch ideas. he had a brilliant mind, the perfect idea bank whenever you found yourself hitting a creativity wall. you'd seen less and less of him since he'd become a father of two, but he was still the awkward, shy guy you'd come to befriend. though nowadays, he'd picked up a lot more of his wife's traits and gotten a lot more expressive. and sassy, dear god. but the man half-leaning on the counter in front of you now is none of these things: actually, he looks exhausted. dark circles under his eyes, rumpled pants, glasses hanging off his nose unevenly, mysterious stain on his t-shirt that looked suspiciously like baby food. 

"y/n, it's good to see you. well, circumstances aside," he waves half-heartedly from the kitchen. 

"you're,” you tip toe forward, wet hair dripping onto the hardwood. “involved...?"

you ask hesitantly, afraid to step out from the doorway leading to the living room, as if the cheap wood somehow marked the line between life and death. 

jo lets out an uncharacteristic snort, shaking his head. 

"involved?" he takes a sip of water. "y/n, i run the whole thing. and as the don of &TEAM, i have a couple things to discuss with you about what happened with nakamura riki.”

you back away, suddenly very afraid. the longer you looked at him, you could practically see the blood staining his hands. the weight of all their souls heavy on his shoulders. the illusion had shattered, and if jo was involved, then it was probably safe to say that everyone yuma had introduced you to were all criminals. but jo as their leader?! what kind of monsters did yuma have for friends, that someone as kind and endearing as jo was a criminal lord?! you’d always thought that he’d had the hands of an artist, but of course you'd been blind. you’d been a fool for not realizing his medium had been blood. christ, you hadn't even suspected—

"he hid it well, it's not your fault y/n." jo interrupts your thoughts. "you're not stupid for not realizing, you know. not even a little bit.”

“wow, fatherhood has made you wise,” you laugh wistfully at the absurdity of it all. 

“we all worked to keep our secret hidden, you know,” jo gives you an awkward half-smile, his ears the faintest shade of pink. “as for yuma... we all told him he had to tell you soon before things got out of hand."

"what do you mean, out of hand?" you inch forward, still clinging to the edges of the living room. "you knew this was going to happen?"

jo raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the kitchen counter. it's pictures of your run-in with niki, caught on the cctv of your shop. you inch closer to stare at yourself, though the pictures start looking more and more like they'd happened to someone else the longer you look at him. you don't recognize the terrified girl in the photo, a spilled coffee at her feet. the gun pointed to her head almost seems dystopian, as if it were a movie scene and not your reality. you don't recognize yuma, cold and unfamiliar in his relaxed stance over an unconscious niki. 

but aside from those, there are more pictures, neatly organized into little piles. each pile is a compilation of pictures of all of your other regular clients but two piles stand out the most: kim sunoo, and of course, nishimura riki. 

"i suspected they'd come after you to get to him, so we kept eyes on you just in case. but we thought it’d become more of a hostage situation, not a full-on hit. however,” jo sighs heavily, leaning back against the sink. "it seems more like they had no idea at all. or at least, they’d known and couldn’t have cared less.”

he turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. 

"no offense y/n, but why on earth would they come for you?"

you shake your head, not having a single clue. allegedly, your mother had died giving birth to you, your father of heartbreak. you'd gotten dropped at an orphanage as a toddler by a distant relative, but were too young to remember exactly how you'd gotten to korea from japan in the first place. there, you’d bounced from foster home to foster home until unfortunately, you'd aged out. with no funds for college, you'd taken solace in art and ended up sketching for fun while working part-time as a bartender. a chance encounter with jeon jungkook, one of the most famous tattoo artists in seoul, and you'd ended up under his wing as a tattoo apprentice before finally graduating and opening your own studio back home in japan. your studio, thereby dubbed bewitched, had been open for a grand total of two years.

"i have no idea," you whisper, still staring at the photos. of yuma, the cold glint in his eye. of you, frozen in horror. of yuma, standing between you and niki, as if he were a human shield. 

your mind trails back to the first time you'd met yuma and his ragtag gaggle of friends. 

you'd been 20, with almost a year's experience of being an apprentice, closing up shop the day after your uneventful birthday when he'd stumbled in with two friends in tow, drunk and clearly freshly 20. jungkook's shop, the magic shop, was right in the middle of hongdae, the perfect location for streetgoers living on the ideology of yolo, soju and poor decisions. the one with the cat-like eye smile and snaggletooth, somehow, he feels familiar. though, you have no idea who he could be.

"I WANT A TATTOO!" he slurs, unfocused eyes shiny with delight. 

"sir, you're drunk and—"

"wow you're really pretty," he smiles at you. "can i have this one please?"

you follow his finger, pointed directly at one of your old sketches. it's a net with a flower in the center of it, a lily actually, in honor of your mother. you shake your head, ears pinking with embarrassment that you'd accidentally left your sketchbook out. 

"i'm sorry, i can't do that one. it's not for—“

"i want it," he pouts. "please, if you can, it's really pretty."

"sir, i'm sorry but you're drunk and it's a big piece-"

"my sister's name is yuri and it'll be the third anniversary of her-"

maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you. or how excited he looks. either way, your mouth moves before your brain can catch up.

"ok, i'll do it" you nod, uncharacteristically sure.

was this guy drunk? oh absolutely. were you swayed by his round, cat-like eyes? perhaps. and his sister happened to have the same name as your mother? you didn't believe in fate or coincidences. but really, that sketch deserved to see the light of day, and your gut told you that this was the person to wear it. 

"hop up, i'll do the sketch first ok?" you smile, your heart lifting at how excited he looks that you've said yes. "my name's y/n, by the way."

"yuma," he grins, his snaggletooth poking out, looking somehow more sober than ever. “nakakita yuma.”

"y/n? you here?”

"yes?" you shake your head, clearing your thoughts. 

jo's looking at you like you've grown a third head, clearly concerned. 

"i know this is a lot. and i‘m really really sorry, but i need you to think back,” he sighs again, scrutinizing the pictures as if they'd spell out the answer.  “is there anything? literally even the tiniest anything that you might have done to piss off enhypen?"

“no, i really don’t!” your eyes zero in on a particular tattoo hidden behind niki’s ear, trying to hold your tears back. “i’m sorry but to me, they’re like everyone else that comes through my shop. i’ve never even heard of the name enhypen before today.”

but that wasn't entirely true. yes, you'd never heard of enhypen until today. but you’d seen that tattoo before, though it had been no work of your own. 

you sink further into the couch, wishing more than anything else that you could go back to being stupid, naive y/n. the y/n who didn't have an active hit out on her. the y/n who had wanted to live a simple life doing the thing she loved. the y/n who knew nothing about enhypen or &TEAM. the y/n who could tell her best friend everything. 

“jo, you know that all the people who come through my shop are involved in sketchy business one way or another,” he half-nods, shrugging his shoulders in agreement. “they pay me for my work, but also to look the other way. and i don't even want to know what goes on the other side of my front door." 

you quickly wipe away a tear before he can see it, though he silently slides the tissue box closer to you anyway.

jo sighs for what seems like the millionth time, feeling uncharacteristically guilty. over the last two years, you’d become one of his closest confidants after yuma had dragged him out on a trip to your shop, in an attempt to lighten the heavy burden of being &TEAM's don. you'd noticed him quietly doodling away while you did yuma's double lobe piercings, taking a peek over his shoulder. since then, there’d been many an afternoon he’d come to visit and take up a corner of your backroom, content to sit in silence and doodle away while his kids are at school and the &TEAM empire isn’t actively burning down.

“y/n, there’s something else i need to discuss with you.”

“there’s more?”

“because of what’s happened…” he takes a deep breath, looking you straight in the eyes. “you have to join &TEAM.”

“i have to— WHAT?!!” you choke.

“it’s either that, or…” jo trails off, waiting for you to catch onto his meaning.

you sit, frozen to the couch. if someone had told you last week that your art would land you in the mafia, you would've openly laughed. but now?

“why am i still alive jo?” you ask quietly, stare fixated on a snorlax figurine by yuma’s tv. 

"you shouldn’t be," jo states plainly. “i usually wouldn’t allow for a civilian like you to simply join, but yuma wouldn’t have any of it. and you know better than anyone else he’d murder the rest of us if we let anything happen to you. not to mention that even you have no idea why enhypen wants you dead.”

jo tilts his head thoughtfully, and for no reason at all, you shiver. your body feels what you can’t see, the chill of a presence much larger and more dangerous than you can imagine.

“and that makes me very curious,” he fixes you with a stare.

you shiver, suddenly get the feeling that all your thoughts are being ripped raw and laid open in plain view.

you still haven't wrapped your mind around the fact that if not for yuma, you would probably be laying in an unmarked grave somewhere right now instead of in the middle of his living room. no funeral, no flowers, just another headline: "budding tattoo artist lost to gang violence" or better yet, "unnamed woman dies from rampant gang violence in shibuya.” your life has literally done a complete 180 in just over 24 hours. and now you’re supposed to join some top-secret dark underworld empire?!

before you can answer jo, the front door creaks open, revealing a soaked-through nakakita yuma, complete with takeout from your favorite restaurant that was 100% on the other side of town. jo brushes himself off, nodding once at yuma. 

"we'll talk more tomorrow, y/n. until then you’ll stay here, and i'll need a list of all of your clients,” and then he’s gone with a soft click of the front door, leaving you and yuma to stare at each other.

“y/n, i—“

“good night yuma,” you turn on your heel coldly, still not prepared to face him.

a firm grip on your wrist stops you in your tracks.

“you need to eat.”

“i’m not hungry,” you sniff, still refusing to turn around. 

“you’ve been asleep since yesterday, and you haven’t eaten anything all day,” yuma shakes his head firmly. “i know you’re hungry, don’t even try to lie. you can be mad at me all you want after, or pretend i don’t exist. that’s fine, just please eat”

“no—“

“i got your favorite tonkatsu,” he smirks knowingly behind your back, taking note of how your ear twitches in response. 

gotcha.

“fine,” you huff, sitting down.

the smell of curry fills your nostrils, and your stomach grumbles in protest of having been deprived of nutrition. yuma sits across from you with his own ramen, watching you with careful eyes to make sure you eat every last bit. you can’t deny the smile that creeps its way onto your face either, your thoughts and emotions clearing with each warm bite.

“so, you’re a criminal?” you ask boldly, the rich broth fueling your desire for answers.

yuma coughs so hard, he nearly snorts out the noodles he was chewing.

“excuse me?!”

“you’re in the mafia, therefore you’re a criminal,” you lean back with your arms crossed, observing him with new, careful eyes. you’re in no mood for forgiveness, but you need answers. “why?”

“you know most of it already, y/n,” yuma laughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. “my dad was a gambling douchebag, didn't lift a finger around the house while my mom practically worked herself to death. and then i found out my sister had taken up a job in the red light district just so we could keep our house."

yuma exhales deeply, knowing you haven't heard the next part.

"fuma-kun found me first, offered me a job. just a quick sneak in and out to steal some drugs. eventually those drugs runs turned into well, hits. i was making good money, enough for my sister to find a part-time job somewhere else."

he pauses, gauging for your reaction. but you haven't budged, your face still indifferent despite the smidge of curry on your upper lip. fighting the urge to wipe it away, he takes a sip of broth.

"then about a year before i met you, a bunch of loan sharks broke into my home looking for my father, took almost everything we had. they killed my parents, took my sister, said they’d come back for me.”

he takes a long slurp, fighting the urge to look into your eyes. he can’t stand to see how you look at him now: disappointment and betrayal clear in every feature. he hates that you’re looking at him with such distaste, fear rimmed around their edges.

“when i found her, they’d, um, left her body in a dumpster, completely uncovered. as if she… hadn’t been human." he looks at his bowl with a sad smile. “f-fuma and jo helped me hunt down every last one of them. and i know you don’t understand yet, but they’re my brothers. i owe them my life, y/n.”

you just barely hang onto your cold expression, clinging to any hint of indifference you can find, fighting every instinct to reach across the table and give him the biggest hug. you'd known that he'd had a rough childhood, but never the true extent of it. and his sister? your heart breaks for 16-year-old yuma, the boy who'd had his innocence stolen from him. and splinters again, now understanding the full weight of the piece you’d inked onto his skin. you steel your gaze, refusing to admit that your heart had already long melted. 

“you got your revenge, why are you still killing people?” you ask softly.

yuma shakes his head.

“i haven’t killed anyone since i found the ones who hurt my family,” he fidgets with the ring on his necklace, a last gift from his sister. “the last time i ever thought about killing anyone was, well,”

his gaze returns to you, raw and imploring.

“when i saw niki holding that gun to your head.”

your heart stutters, and you awkwardly clear your throat, choosing to look at the wall behind him. you can’t stand to look at him right now, cursing your stupid heart for still skipping beats for a man you’d never really known. 

or had he really been the same all along?

even now you watch him, his head hung low, awkwardly playing with his rings. he still looks every bit the boy who would loudly announce his presence in your shop. who somehow always knew when you needed a pick-me-up. who would show up in the pouring rain to drive you home. who never failed to show up when you needed him, even if he complained the whole time about it. who was the first one to really notice. 

you look at him quizzically, your tone more curious than cold. 

“and you’re happy here?”

silence follows. 

“yes,” he eventually answers.

i’d be happier if you stayed with me. 

yuma stares helplessly at his hands, frustration and sadness welling up in his chest so fast he can barely contain it. this wasn’t what he wanted, never what he wanted for you. not ever. when he’d helped you flee korea, this wasn’t the life he’d wanted for you. you deserved to live a life all your own, without needing to look over your shoulder. to speak your mind, instead of walking on eggshells. to smile freely, without the weight of the world on your shoulders.

since that night all those years ago, he’d gladly wait all day and all night for you to realize how much he loved you, that no one he’d ever been with would ever compare to you. that he would never run so happily to anyone else in the rain. no one else he would drop everything for at the sound of a ringtone. no one else he would take so much joy in teasing so relentlessly. but for you to look at him with such cold eyes? he wanted to tell you to run like hell, away from this mess.

away from him.

—

“again.”

you hit the mat in frustration, sweat practically dripping into your eyes. you’d been taking hits for hours, your arms and legs bruised and weary, not to mention the long run this morning and your personalized crash course in sharpshooting. you muster your biggest glare at your current sparring partner and trainer, who’s normally kind expression has hardened into that of a drill instructor. your personal mafia life tutors were truly the avengers from hell: koga yudai, murata fuma, and byun euijoo.

“fuma-san,” you pant, taking a long chug from your water. “can we please take a break?! we’ve been at this for-“

“form up,” he orders, barely waiting for you to put your water down before charging again. “we go until you land a clean hit”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!!” you scream, rolling to the side. 

fuma’s right hand whistles by your ear, and you kick his left arm away before it can make contact with your ribs. sure, you’re battered and bruised but you know damn well that this tank of a man is holding back. you’re enraged, exhausted beyond belief. you were an artist, not a fighter. your hands were meant for sketching and inking, not be bruised from punching and blocking. without even thinking, you lunge, feinting one way, your leg coming around in a roundhouse kick. 

hit.

fuma nods once, unable to hide the proud look in his eyes, even though he’s holding your ankle up in the air with one hand. he’d always liked you: selfless. kind. soft-spoken, even when you were yelling at yuma for pissing you off again.

“good, we begin again tomorrow”

you collapse to the ground with relief, weary to the bone. 

“fuma-san,” you call between gulps of water. “why are you training me so hard? why—"

“y/n.” 

his gravelly tone catches you off-guard, so unlike the kind, older brother figure in yuma’s life that you had become accustomed used to. you’d usually seen him dragging yuma out the door of your shop by the ear, scolding him for slacking off. or passing by your shop after teaching a women’s self-defense class at the local gym. or breaking down the door to yuma's apartment if he got up late. you look up from your water, meeting his gaze from across the mat.

“it’s for your own good.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you with more questions than answers.

“jesus christ, god forbid anyone not be nonchalant and mysterious around here,” you mutter, wiping away your sweat with the towel kei had tossed at your head this morning.

all of a sudden, the teammies had become strangers to you. awkward smiles, conversations halted, skittering away. they were no longer the loud, carefree boys that you’d gotten accustomed to in your shop. you sigh. speaking of which, you highly doubted you would get any business after what went down. appointments suddenly cancelled, shop empty, closed until further notice. just like that, your dreams had shattered faster than cinderella’s slipper and all it took was one wrong decision with the wrong boy. jo had mumbled something about handling it, but he was a husband, father, and apparently, a criminal don carrying the weight of japan’s criminal underworld. your shop would sooner be robbed for all it was worth and turned into a squatted property.

“y/n-chan?! is that you?” 

you look up, the sound of your name unfamiliar from such a husky, yet delicate voice. you look up to see a beautiful woman, her features strikingly similar to—

“NO WAY! is that the mrs. wang?!“

“OH MY GOD, Y/N IT IS YOU!” she squeals, running to hug you despite your obvious stench and disheveled state. “babes, i haven’t seen you in forever! when was the last time you were in—“

“three years,” you cut her off with a polite grin, not wanting to dive into too many details. 

as glad as you were to see her, she was a stark remnant of the past that you’d been desperately running from. and she’d been there for it all, albeit from the shadows as none other than jake sim’s little sister, the hound dog for your greatest nightmare. you smile, taking her in. &TEAM looked good on her. she glowed with a confidence you hadn’t seen before, a sense of comfort and safety replacing the fear and anxiety she used to carry like a second skin.

“who knew i’d seen you again in japan? we have to catch up, there’s so much—“ 

“ahem.”

both of you whip your heads around to none other than nicholas wang standing in the doorframe.

“nichol! this is y/n! she’s one of my old friends—“

“she’s the one i was telling you about, princess” he cuts her off flatly, though his eyes can’t hide their admiration for her.

“from korea and—wait. WHAT?!” her jaw opens, staring between you and her husband. 

“y/n is—"

“SHH!” nicholas hushes and grabs her arm, dragging her out of the small gym space with little fanfare other than a quick nod in your direction. “as for you, harua’s coming to take you out for a run.”

“a run?!” you’re ready to cuss him out, consequences be damned. “i just went on a 10 mile run with kei-hyung this morning, and euijoo had me shooting—“

“calm down, not that kind of run,” he smirks.

suddenly, you have the feeling that you should’ve settled for becoming a headline instead. 

“you’re gonna go get us some guns.”

— elsewhere —

“nichol! she doesn’t know anything about enhypen, i swear. she—“

“christ woman, can you whisper?! she’ll hear!”

“she has no idea! no idea about what enhypen really is, trust me he made sure of that. and he made sure none of us would slip up around her either. plus she has no idea that he’s like, basically dead. and that we’re the reason why.”

“who are you—“

“heeseung. lee heeseung, the one we put in a fucking coma like three years ago?!”

“oh, that scumbag. wait, what does heeseung have to do with her?!”

“if i’m right… and i hope i’m not.”

“wow, that’s a first!”

“shut up. i think that he’s the reason she’s here. in japan.”

“and she was in korea originally? yuma said—“

“SHE’S THE GIRL YUMA IS IN LOVE WITH?!”

“um yeah, were you sleeping for the past four years?“

“ok, next question. anyway, from what i remember about him, he—“

“why the fuck are you guys whispering in the hallway? i thought we had to go get ready for—“

“SHH!”

“jeez ok, it was just a question! married people, i swear—”

“takayama riki, your time is coming so i don’t know why you’re complaining about married—“

“whatcha guys talking about?”

“jesus christ let’s just call everybody and have a freaking kumbaya in the middle of the hallway”

“ooh promise??”

“maki, shut your mouth and let’s go. juju will skin us alive if we’re late.”

—

“cover me.”

the last thing you expected of an arms deal, less than 72 hours after accidentally getting roped into the mafia, was to be clinging to the arm of shigeta harua. in the fanciest piece of clothing you’ve ever put on: a gorgeous, black evening dress. with a gun you barely know how to use, strapped to your thigh. hunkered down behind a tree, bark digging into your spine after barely dodging the bullet fired in your direction, just barely missing your shoulder by a half inch.

“y/n, stay down!” harua whisper-yells, his own gun in hand.

and to think when you’d first met him, you would’ve openly laughed at the idea of him even killing a fly. 

"ARGAHHAHAJAHHDJSKAK!!!"

“who the— HARUA-SAN?!!!"

harua cowers behind you, using you as a shield between him and whoever is sprinting towards both of you. 

"y/n-san, please save me!! yu—“

"SHIGETA HARUA YOU ARE SO DEAD!" yuma whips around the corner, chest heaving. "don't even THINK about using y/n as a shield, you brat!"

you stare between them, confused.

“you guys know each other??”

harua was the new hire at the jewelry store you partnered with for piercings, and mysteriously came up with a new flash sale every time you came by to restock. 

“he’s my brother,” harua answers, not taking his eyes off of yuma even once. 

“adopted brother,” yuma seethes.

a second bullet thuds into the bark, practically shaking the whole tree with its sheer velocity. fingers shaking, you just barely manage to get the gun out, your grip tight against the handle.

“ru-chan, what the hell is going on?!!” you whisper, chucking your unfortunately-probably-really-expensive heels off. “i thought we were only going to oversee this deal as the unbiased third-party, why the hell are we being shot at?!!”

“i don’t know,” harua answers, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “something must have—“

a third gunshot fires somewhere to your right, and your breath hitches in your throat. three different directions, less than two minutes. your attacker isn’t alone. 

“HARUA! Y/N! WHERE ARE YOU?!!” 

your eyes widen, locking eyes with harua in horror.

kei-hyung.

ducking behind trees and branches, you and harua make a run for it, dashing through the dense shrubbery towards kei’s voice. he had been inside; he must have made a run for it when he’d heard the shots go off. your bare feet dig deep into the ground, still slippery and muddy from this morning’s rain. 

“KEI-HYUNG! RUN!” you scream, already having lost sight of harua. 

“Y/N?! Y/N, WHERE ARE YOU?!” he calls again, somehow sounding farther away than before, from somewhere to your left.

zing!

you throw yourself around a corner, just barely managing to dodge the dagger slicing through the night air. it buries into the tree you’d just brushed past with a dense thud. you could cry right now, truly. your dress is torn, your knees bruised from tripping on branches and bushes smacking at your legs. your feet are covered in cuts, your arms bruised and bleeding from shoving branches out of the way. but still you run, adrenaline the only thing keeping your legs moving. there’s no one out here to save you. 

“OOF!”

you crash to the forest ground in a tangle of limbs.

“YUMA!?? what the hell are you doing here?!!” you scream, trying to disentangle yourself. you can’t decide whether to cuss him out or cry, but right now, you could kiss him. 

“i’ll explain later,” he huffs, helping you to your feet. “but we have to go right now.”

“GUYS!! RUNNNNN!”

harua comes barreling around the corner, not even pausing for a moment before grabbing both yours’ and yuma’s arms, practically yanking you all through the forest. hoots and hollers come from behind him, their thundering footsteps inching closer and closer. 

“IT WAS A TRAP!” 

at this point, you’re ready to fall into death’s open arms: you can barely breathe, your skin feels as if you’re covered in a million paper cuts, and your muscles are screaming from overexertion. 

BANG!

harua crashes to the ground, holding his leg.

“SHIT!” he screams, “y/n, you have to run! you have to get out of here and get help, i’ll be ok!”

“shut up, i’m not leaving you!” you fall to your knees, ripping a piece from your gown for a makeshift bandage. 

but harua’s hands come away sticky, his blood already seeping through. you look at yuma frantically. there was no way you could carry harua to the edge of the forest where the car was and still keep the three of you alive. there were only two options, and no matter how pissed you were at him, you’d rather be damned than leave either of them here to die.

“yuma, you have to get harua out of here. he’s bleeding too much, he’s going to die if—“

“i’m not leaving you, y/n,” he shakes his head firmly, refusing to budge. 

“yuma, i cannot carry harua out of here,” you retort, already unholstering the gun from its place on your thigh. “you have to get harua out of here, before he bleeds to death. i will be fine”

“no! i’m not leaving you, i—“

“would never forgive myself if either of you died because of me. go with harua, i can hold them off until you get back,” you smile grimly, trying to sound more confident than you feel. 

with each second that passes, you can feel the guillotine blade coming down closer and closer to your neck. you have so many things you want to tell him: to yell. to scream. to give him the biggest hug ever. but instead you nod firmly, turning around so you don’t have to see the look in his eyes. not a moment too soon after they’ve cleared the trees does a masked figure appear from the shadows. 

“y/n-san,” he laughs, removing his mask. “you really outdid yourself.”

your hands shake but still, you keep the muzzle of the gun trained in front of you exactly the way euijoo had taught you.

kei stares back at you, clapping slowly. two other figures emerge from the trees: fuma and harua, now standing tall and completely unharmed.

“congratulations y/n, welcome to &TEAM,” harua smiles at you. 

“you— you were never— you little— HARUA!” you yell, the tears finally spilling over. “you scared me, you brat!” 

you had really thought you were dead meat. you’d genuinely thought you, harua, and yuma were going to die in these woods. and for the first time in days, it feels like the boys are finally back to being the teammies that you’ve gotten to know and love. gone are the cold stares, only warm smiles greet you now.

“and yuma?” you start, wiping away a fallen tear.

“euijoo dragged him back home,” fuma shakes his head, looking at the sky in disbelief. “he was never supposed to be out here. we didn’t tell him we were initiating you on purpose, but someone blabbed.”

he shoots a sharp glare at harua, who has the good sense to look anywhere else, his pink ears giving him away immediately.  

“ok it is not my fault that you guys left me alone with him,” harua complains, his diction crystal clear. “all of you were gone, and he kept bugging me about when he can see y/n-chan because you monsters have been training her from sunrise to dusk everyday, and been keeping him out on missions with maki. i can only make so many excuses. i literally even said kei-hyung went to get milk! and then suddenly i have to go to the woods in the middle of the night?!! of course i had to tell him!”

“ok, ok, i got it,” fuma laughs, hands held up in surrender.

kei looks you up and down, an apologetic smile on his face. 

“let’s get you home to the doctor ok?” 

"home?"

"yes home,” kei smiles at you, waving at you to follow him. “you’re one of us now, aren’t you?”

but even as the four of you leave, filling the woods with loud laughter and easy conversation, you can’t shake the feeling that something was watching you.

or someone.

—

the loud bang of a slammed cabinet wakes you from your deep sleep.

“DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO GO THAT FAR?!” 

“everyone has to for initiation—“

“i didn’t!”

“you were different—”

“i know she’s your friend yuma, but we had to make sure we could trust her, especially with everything going on with enhypen right now! and i know that you know that, but you have to keep your feelings separate from—“

“she literally has a sprained ankle and is bruised from head to toe!” yuma yells, his words blurring together in frustration. “i haven’t seen her in almost a week, and the first time i see her again she’s injured head-to-toe and terrified running through the woods in a ripped dress! and now she’s in the medical ward!”

yeah, you’re wide awake now.

“you want me to keep my feelings separate?!! if someone made your wife even the tiniest bit unhappy, not to mention physical harmed, you wouldn’t keep shit separated!”

“language,” kei warns. 

“whatever, fuck this. i’m going to get her something to eat for when she wakes up,” yuma mutters, the door clicking shut behind him. 

silence fills the room, and from the other side of the curtain, you can hear kei collapse onto the couch with a heavy sigh. fuma sits down beside him, offering a couple pats on the shoulder.

“he’ll understand later,” kei replies cooly. “now with enhypen—“

you roll over, pulling the blankets over your head. enhypen this, enhypen that. you’d had enough of the dirtbags who had turned your life upside down, ripped you from the mundane line of being a tattoo artist and dropped you in the middle of a criminal empire war. really you didn’t understand what the big deal about them was. nothing else has happened in the week you’ve been with the teammies, and still, no one is any closer to getting answers as to why niki had come for you.

“how are you feeling dummy?”

your eyes flutter open, momentarily blinded by the bright LED hospital lights.

“yuma..? what are you doing here?” you groan, sitting up. 

at some point, you’d dozed off after the boys had dropped you in the hospital ward. a couple scrapes, bruises, a long gash on your arm from a branch, and a sprained ankle was what the doctor said. but honestly, for a mafia initiation ceremony of sorts? it wasn’t too horrible, though you did chew harua’s ear out for scaring you so badly. he’d had a fake blood bag tied to his leg that euijoo had sniped with a bb gun from afar, keeping up the illusion. 

“i was worried about you, you idiot,” yuma chides, taking out soup he’d gotten taki’s help with making. “how could you be so clumsy and trip over every single tree root in the forest? and get smacked by so many branches?! and honestly the fake blood harua was using was so obv—”

“oh i’m sorry, i thought i was about to die,” you huff, accepting the food anyway. your heart melts a bit; he’d even gotten you a celebratory milk tea. “forgive me, i’ll look a little harder next time and make sure the blood is a more realistic color”

yuma rolls his eyes, passing you another container filled to the brim with sushi. apparently, fish was very good for the healing process, so of course, he’d gone completely overboard and bought 100 pieces.

“so now that i’m initiated, you have to tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets,” you peer at him from over your sushi box.

you hadn’t fully forgiven yuma yet, but after the hell you’d been put through this week? you wanted nothing more than to have your best friend back.

“what do you want to know?”

yuma’s honest answer nearly has tuna flying out of your nose.

“really?!!"

“i’m being serious,” yuma looks at you, his eyes earnest. you were the one person he’d never wanted to see this side of him, but now that you had? he felt… relieved, honestly. you knew everything now, but for some inexplicable reason, you were still here. you hadn’t given him a well-deserved slap and disappeared. instead, you’d stayed, taken his family’s oath. he’d be damned if he let you go now.

“ask me whatever you want, y/n. anything i have is yours. any answers you want, they're yours.”

by the time you wake up again, the clock reads 10:28 PM.

“about time sleeping beauty,” comes a familiar voice from behind you. “how are you feeling?”

you turn to see yuma lounging in the recliner next to you, eyes just barely cracked open, an empty container of kimbap sits next to him. without looking up from his phone, he hands you a bag of onigiri and a small bowl of miso soup. 

“i’ve been better,” you hum gratefully at the warm soup. “so, what happens now?”

“eat up and then i’m taking you home. we’ll figure it out in the morning,” yuma answers dryly, obviously distracted. you decide not to pry. 

"where will i sleep? i've been on an air mattress in the gym—“

"THE GYM?!!" yuma pinches his nose, taking a deep breath. "they had you sleeping in the gym and i'm supposed to— never mind. you’re sleeping in juju and nichol's old room. and once you’re done eating, we’re going to go to your old apartment to get your stuff.”

“but my lease isn’t—“

“already taken care of.”

“but my roommate—“

“won’t bother you anymore.”

“how about—?’

yuma shushes you, pinching your lips closed between his thumb and index finger. “anything you think of in that pretty head of yours, i took care of it, ok? stop blushing before you become a tomato.”

“i’m not blushing!” you retort, swatting him away and throwing a napkin at his head for good measure.

"sure, dummy," he lets go, smiling to himself.

you throw another napkin at him, grumbling to yourself while you fumble around for your phone. laughing now, yuma hands it to you from where it was plugged into the wall, fingers lightly brushing across your knuckles.

you’re definitely blushing.

—

“yuma, you didn’t kill her did you?” you stand in your living room, shocked. 

yuma shrugs noncommittally, already shuffling over to your room to start packing your stuff up. he hadn’t particularly liked your roommate, but he’d tolerated her for your sake. when first moving to japan, you’d stubbornly refused his help with financials, always brushing him off and saying you can manage on your own. she was quite rude to you, not to mention constantly eating your food and asking for money. your landlord wasn’t any better, and yuma had already threatened to kill him once after finding hidden cameras and bugs in your apartment after a “maintenance sweep.” as of now, your apartment was practically cleared out, save for a week’s worth of dust covering everything. your roommate’s belongings were all gone, moved to and upgraded to a studio on one of the higher floors. you smile wistfully, packing up your kitchen belongings. it wasn’t much, but it had still been home. 

“y/n-chan!” yuma calls, his arms full. “i’m going to take these down to the car first ok? don’t take anything down without me.”

“i’m a big girl yuma, i’ll bring this box down when i’m done,” you call back, rolling your eyes.

but not before you got a glimpse of his passing figure in the hallway, the veins in his arms straining with effort. he’s wearing one of his black sleeveless tops, a backwards baseball cap on to keep the hair out of his face. you lick your lips, suddenly feeling parched.

ding dong!

“jesus— fuck!” you curse, nearly dropping the plate you were wrapping in surprise. 

yuma was still gone, and you hadn’t really spoken to any of your neighbors over the years. your roommate was obviously gone, so who on earth could it be? you tuck a knife into the waistband of your sweats anyway, the memory of niki still fresh in your mind. tentatively you stand on your tiptoes to peek through the peephole, praying that niki hasn’t decided to mysteriously appear and hold a gun to it.

“OH MY GOD!”

“JAY-OPPA!” you grin widely, swinging the door open. “what’s going on? i haven’t seen you in a while!”

“hey pretty girl,” he reaches to give you a hug. “i hadn’t heard you in a bit, so i came up to check on you. where you been?”

“oh, you know, family emergency,” you laugh awkwardly. “come in, sit down!”

jay was your downstairs neighbor, and one of the first friends you’d made since moving to japan. one fateful day, you’d both been in the elevator when it had decided to shut down, trapping both of you in it for three hours until firefighters came to pry you both out. he travelled a lot for work, so you didn’t see him often, but even still, he’d become a good friend over the past three years.

“woah, this place looks empty,” jay whistles. “you moving?”

“yeah, i am actually,” you hand him a glass of water, turning to pack up the rest of your belongings in the kitchen. 

“where to?” jay asks, almost too-innocently.

“oh, just staying with my aunt until things with my family die down,” you answer off-handedly, your mind not having caught up just yet.

“i thought you guys were estranged?”

shit.

you freeze for just a second, trying to continue packing as calmly as possible. 

what the hell?

you force out a laugh, opening up the drawers to make sure you’ve gotten everything. but really, you’re looking for a weapon. “oh well, you know, family emergencies really bring out the best in people i guess? tragedy really brings everyone back together and such.”

why was yuma taking so long?!!

behind you, jay was quiet—too quiet. the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge and you duck down just in time for the syringe to lodge itself in the cabinet above you. you whirl out of the way, leaving jay’s knee to crash into the counter instead of smashing into the back of your head. 

“you know, y/n,” he pants, his eyes having taken on a maniacal gleam. “you should really be more careful about who you become friends with.”

he lunges again, but this time, you dive out of the way, brandishing the knife from your waistband. and that’s when you see it, that cursed tattoo, branded on the skin along his waistline.

“what do you all want from me?!!” you yell, desperately clicking the power button on your phone to bring up the emergency phone call keypad. “you’re one of them, aren’t you?!!”

“who do you think i am, pretty girl?” he smirks lazily, advancing towards you like a seasoned predator. “i’m just the nice guy from downstairs”

“did he send you?!!” you hold the knife out in front of you like a shield. “is that what this is about?!”

“ding, ding, ding!” jay locks your front door behind him, leaving you cornered in the living room. “really y/n, i thought you were smarter than this! you didn’t really think he would just let you go, did you?”

“you were supposed to be my friend!” you scream, sounding pathetic even to your own ears.

“and who do you think made sure that elevator broke the moment you stepped in alone?” jay snickers, watching the horror fill your expression.

“if it weren’t for yuma—“

“you called?”

the front door flies open, the wood of the frame splintering with just one kick. you wince out of habit, your mind already calculating repair costs. yuma brandishes the door like some kind of viking warrior, bashing jay over the head with it. 

“y/n! LET’S GO!” he grabs your hand, practically dragging you down the stairs. “come on, MOVE!”

you practically dive into the passenger seat, barely closing the door before a bullet lodges itself in the window as yuma squeals out of the parking lot. you cling onto the bar above the seat for dear life, heart thudding unevenly as yuma weaves through the afternoon traffic. 

“y/n, how the HELL do you know him?!!” yuma curses, just barely avoiding a car that had turned out without looking, his arm instinctively shooting out to prevent you from face planting into the dashboard. 

“i—“

“and you better be fucking honest with me!” he curses again, just barely avoiding a pedestrian while trying to speed-dial fuma. 

“hello? yuma, what’s go—“

“they tried to attack her again,” yuma rushes out, the speedometer reaching 90 mph. he needed to get you the hell out of shibuya and onto &TEAM territory, fast. “jay was at her apartment, tried to drug her. they’re escalating, hyung.”

yuma’s words are lost on you as you stare blankly ahead, trapped in your memories. he was back. he’d found you, here in japan. all these years later and he’d sent niki after you, sunoo and jay to keep tabs on you. your heart clenches, phantom wounds ripping wide open. yuma glances at you worriedly, hand reaching across the console to envelope yours in his. 

“y/n, baby, i need you to breathe,” he squeezes gently. “i’m here, i won’t let him get you. you’re safe with me, always.”

you nod weakly, but reminders of him still beat down on you, like blows to salted wounds.

useless slut! don’t you know i don’t like milk in my coffee?!!

baby, i promise i didn’t mean to do it. it was just an accident!

officer, i think the neighbors must be mistaken… she’s just had a long night, you know what i mean?

leave me, and i’ll cut my throat open right here.

a breath shudders out of you, the world slowly coming back into focus with each circle that yuma rubs on the crook between your thumb and index finger. you had promised yourself that night, that you would do whatever it takes. lee heeseung would never have power over you again. 

“fuma-san?”

“y/n, are you ok?!!”

his worried voice settles over you like a warm blanket, so unlike the brutal trainer persona he’d been for the past week. 

“get jo and euijoo,” your voice sounds oddly calm. “it’s time for lee heeseung to die.”

yuma watches you carefully, having slowed down now that they had driven across the shibuya prefecture line into &TEAM territory. he’d gotten to know that name all too well in the past four years. too many times you’d woken up in pure terror, screaming that name as you jolted awake. too many nights he’d sang you to sleep, his fingers drawing aimless patterns on your skin with the reassurance that he could not find you. too many scars decorated your skin as a reminder of all you had survived under his cruelty. too many tear-filled conversations as you finally shared every jagged, horrific moment you’d endured at his side. 

***TW: THIS NEXT PART IS EXTREMELY TRIGGERING!! MDNI!! ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!! PLEASE SKIP THIS SECTION UNTIL THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

— four years ago —

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“yu-kun! what brings you in?” you beam at your newfound friend, though your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “please tell me that’s coffee.”

“when is it not?” he laughs, giving you that silly, snaggletoothed grin.

you were 20, a year under your belt of being an apprentice at the magic shop. ever since that night six months ago, yuma had become part of your new daily routine. always skipping into your shop whenever he wasn’t working at his internship, coffee or pastry in hand. during that time, you’d made leaps and bounds in your mother language. you could hold full conversations in japanese now, even if you completely butchered words here and there. you grin, taking the coffee from him.

and then you see the bike.

and the figure stalking towards the studio. 

“yuma, you have to go! right now!” you shove him away, towards the back of the studio.

your panicked tone catches yuma completely off guard, his eyes flickering to the unfamiliar figure coming towards the studio. sure, he loved to jump-scare you every so often, which usually ended up in a lecture and a smack on the top of his head, but your pleading eyes of pure terror has his feet moving to the backroom faster than his mind can fully wrap around what’s happening. 

“be quiet,” you warn, pulling the curtain. “and do not come out.”

yuma sits, ears perked, though his heart is racing.

“hee, honey! what brings you by?” you bat your eyes nervously, accepting the peck he gives you on your cheek. “i thought you didn’t get off work until 5?”

yuma rolls his eyes. he hated your boyfriend, a fact he didn’t mind being openly obvious about. though he'd never met him, lee heeseung was plenty notorious in the criminal empire underworld. yuma didn’t believe in men who talked down on women, as if they were somehow less than. didn’t believe in men who publicly visited the red light district. but how could he tell you without spilling his own secret other life? you would not heed his warnings, so entirely enthralled by the heathen that was lee heeseung that you would sooner cut off your own hand if he asked.

“why so skittish, sweetheart?” he drawls, taking in your figure. “it’s just me, people will get the wrong idea if you keep shaking like that.”

yuma’s eyes widen, his hands curling into fists. he'd known heeseung was horrible. one too many times he'd had to bite his tongue or leave the room when heeseung spoke about you at joint events. but he'd physically put hands on you? you, who were nothing but kind and gentle? you, who would rather suffer in silence than utter a single complaint?

“s-sorry hee, i—“

“you need to cut back on those sugary coffees, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at the coffee yuma had just brought you, on your workstation. “you could stand to lose a couple pounds.”

yuma bites down, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. he’s never actually seen the two of you interact, but one would be a fool to be intertwined in the criminal underworld and not know of the beautiful cruelty that was lee heeseung. and you? you were like sunshine: gentle, warm, kind. you lived and laughed loudly, your smile beaming and wide; this tiny, shaky voice you have now is completely foreign to him. it’s only your earlier warning that keeps him firmly planted in his chair.

— two months later —

you never brought up that day again, and yuma didn’t push you. but he did watch you carefully, hacking your texts for even the slightest hint of trouble. he made sure you were eating properly, heeseung’s opinion be damned. to yuma, you were little more than a shaking leaf in the wind; he was more than capable of carrying you, your boyfriend be damned.

“oh, another bouquet!” you laugh awkwardly, taking the large bouquet of red roses from the clearly-embarrassed delivery guy.

yuma frowns behind your back from his perch on one of the stools in your kitchen; you hated roses. and yet, like clockwork, you received at least two dozen of them a week. it was july, and yet, you were dressed in a long black sleeve top layered with a t-shirt and sweatpants. his eyes narrow on you, on the obviously weaker grip of your right hand. 

“let me see your hand, y/n."

you nearly drop the bouquet in surprise, scrambling to make sure your sleeves were pulled down. 

“yuma, what the hell?!” you scoff, already backing away. “i’m not—“

“show me. your hand,” yuma looks at you, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “i’m not asking again, y/n.”

you look at his outstretched hand, then back at him. he watches you, unhurried. ever since that day, you'd run from yuma. run from the hope of being safe. you didn't deserve that, didn't deserve love. but still, yuma showed up. and until you were ready to take that step forward, he would wait with arms outstretched, ready to catch you. he would never force you when you clearly were already terrified, so he waits, trying to convey his sincerity to you through his gaze.

you offer your left hand, still wary.

“the other one, y/n.” yuma doesn’t move, his presence steady and grounding.

you stare back at him, your pulse rising and becoming unsteady with each second that passes. realistically, you’d known this guy for less than a year. this guy who’d popped into your life on a random friday in february. who brought you your favorite snacks and drinks without complaint. who teased you incessantly without a hint of maliciousness. who bent to tie your shoes without a single word. who somehow always knew when you needed a hug, or a distraction.

and ever so carefully, you take his hand with your right one.

yuma released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, gingerly rolling up your sleeve with as much care as he could muster. what he saw beneath it, it took every ounce of willpower he had to not track down lee heeseung and shoot him on the spot.

“does he buy you roses every time he hits you?” he asks, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

you can’t answer, choked sobs leaving your body as your legs give out beneath you. yuma catches you by your waist, sinking to the floor of your kitchen with you. tears well in his own eyes as he holds you tightly against his chest, as if you’ll fade away if he lets go. you can’t seem to stop, now that the dam has been flooded wide open. the weight of all your secrets come crashing down, and with them, every ounce of strength zapped from your body.

“you’re safe with me,” he murmurs against your hair, tears slipping down his cheeks. “always, y/n.”

— one month later —

“y/n-chan! where—“

“ARGHHRHHHH!”

at the sound of your scream, yuma drops the ramen he was holding. you were closing up shop again tonight, you were supposed to be alone. but the sight before him has him seeing red.

blink.

“yu-kun…” you weakly cough out, somehow unafraid at the sight of him towering over your ex-boyfriend.

“y/n!” yuma drops the bloody tattoo gun as if it had electrocuted him, running straight to gather you into his arms. “come on love, we have to go to the hospital—“

”NO! he'll find me!" you back away, staring at the unconscious body on the ground. 

“all i want is to not get hit..” you beg to seemingly no one, your voice hoarse and empty. “it’s all my fault anyway, i should’ve remembered to set out his suit this morning. i should have waited to break up—“

“no love, none of this is your fault.”

yuma watches you, his heart splintering with each pass over your frail body. every cut. every scab. every bruise. some fresh, some old. the undeniable mark of fingerprints around your neck. your eyes, wide with fear. your right arm, bent at an awkward angle, cradled against your ribs. ever since that night last month, you’d become closed off. distant. cancelled plans at the drop of a hat. working odd hours, as if to avoid him. any notion of leaving him was cut off immediately with a change or conversation or door slammed in his face. but yuma would not stand for it, would not allow you to waste away. 

***SORRY I KNOW THAT WAS A LOT *hugs****

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

“come with me,” he decides firmly.

“where?” you laugh miserably. “yuma, he will find me, no matter where i go. i did it all! reported him, tried to find help. i failed.”

yuma’s heart surges with guilt. he knows exactly the kind of connections that enhypen had, the reasons your cries for help had gone unanswered. 

“come with me to japan y/n,” the words tumble out in a rush before you can protest, desperate to save you. “come with me to where i can protect you. i cannot leave you here like this, with him.”

“but i— what about the shop?” you fluster, willing the hope rising in your chest to die. 

could you really trust this guy?

but yuma is already gathering your few belongings, intent on getting you out before you can change your mind or shut him out again. he'd waited for this day, the day you were finally ready to get the hell out. but after today? even if he had to drag you, even if you hated him forever after this, he had to get you out.

“you’re too talented to stay here as an apprentice y/n,” he turns to face you, his eyes pleading. “jungkook would obviously never let you go!” 

he shoots a distasteful glare at your unconscious, miserable excuse of a boyfriend, fighting the urge to give him a decisive kick to the ribs.

“i swear to you, y/n,” he vows. “i swear on my sister’s name that i will protect you. for the rest of my life.”

maybe it’s the way he looks so determined, as if nothing could stop him. or the way he holds his hand out to you, so steady and sure. you think back to the boy you’d first met a year ago, drunk out of his mind. you’d given him the tattoo nearest and dearest to your heart for reasons you still didn’t understand. he’d wormed his way into your life, one giggle at a time; somehow becoming so deeply embedded in it, that not a day went by when the randomest things reminded you of him. he’d seen everything and yet, he hadn't run.

“okay,” you decide, your voice quiet but firm. 

you would not allow yourself to be controlled anymore. if the universe was finally giving you a way out, maybe it was time to take it.

—

“no, absolutely not.”

you sit between nicholas’ and euijoo’s wives, their hands intertwined with yours. nicholas’ wife had come to find you as soon as you’d stepped foot into the main house, apologizing profusely for not seeing the signs. for not helping. but you didn’t blame her, not really anyway. heeseung had been the perfect gentleman on the outside, his cruelty towards you only happened behind closed doors. and besides, you couldn’t be mad since she and nicholas had been the ones to put him in a coma, giving you the most peaceful three years of your life. jo’s wife had found you next, a sad, knowing smile on her face.

“we have your back y/n."

euijoo’s wife hadn’t said anything, though she’d given you a tight hug, as if she knew exactly what kind of burden you carried. fast forward to the emergency meeting now happening in the kitchen. 

“ok so we know for a fact that heeseung is no longer in a coma,” euijoo recounts, eyebrows tense with frustration. “y/n.”

you sit up straighter as all twelve pairs of eyes in the room turn towards you. 

“you said you felt like someone was watching you during your initiation?”

you nod. 

of course, of all people, it’s you who’s been a member of the mafia for maybe 48 hours and somehow, you’ve already been thrown in the middle of one of the worst wars in &TEAM’s history. the philosophers were right: until you came to terms with your past, it would never stop haunting you.

“so now the question is,” fuma sighs, staring at the makeshift mission cork board now hanging in the kitchen. “how do we lure him out? no one’s seen him in years, and the only reason we know he’s back, is because three of ENHYPEN’s executives have come after her within two weeks.

silence fills the living room, the quiet murmur of the heat steady in the background. you nod, the memories of jay and niki still fresh. sunoo hadn’t attacked you outright, but still, he was much more cunning than he looked. there was no telling what damage he’d done in the few months he’d frequented your studio leading up to niki's attack.

“first of all,” kei stands. “we need to get her out of tokyo. he knows she’s here, that she’s with us, and they still found her anyway.”

“what about the safe house in kamakura?” harua offers.

“won’t he just wait for her to come back?” maki counters. “he’s their number two for a reason. we know he’s patient, or else he would have revealed himself already.“

the room descends back into uneasy silence.

“what if,” jo’s wife turns to you, her head tilted thoughtfully. “we fake a wedding?"

jo nods for her to continue, looking between you and yuma. for once you’re sitting on opposite sides of the room, though yuma’s gaze hasn’t strayed from your figure even once. jo had been shocked that day, four years ago, when yuma had suddenly begged to be switched from his wife's bodyguard duty to be assigned to korea. then a year and a half later, had come back home with you in tow, suddenly requesting to move out of the main house to keep up the illusion of normalcy. he’d watched you both become practically inseparable, leaving the rest of the teammies to keep you suspended in this intricate web of lies. he knew how much yuma cared for you, how hard he’d worked to keep you in the dark about his double life. how much he complained about you making his life more difficult, yet did the smallest things for you without being asked. how fiercely he protected you, nearly coming to blows with the older guys for putting you through physical training hell. yuma was completely and utterly bewitched by you, whether or not he admitted it.

“like yes, we still send you to kamakura. but what if,” jo’s wife continues, talking faster before you can completely denounce the idea. “we sent you under the guise of being engaged, like a bachelor party of sorts. we know that heeseung is possessive, and this might be just the thing to send him over the edge.”

you nod carefully, willing your pulse to slow down. yuma’s eyes narrow, focused on the way your fingers have started to tremble despite the collected expression on your face. 

“would he even believe it? i’m only 24, you know.”

jo chortles, looking at his wife. then he makes eye contact with you, pointing at the simple gold band on his finger. and starts pretending to count to two. 

“ok enough. you’re different," you roll your eyes, jo’s timely quip instantly soothing your nerves.

“you’re right. he’s a control freak, the thought of me being with anyone else would probably be more than enough to send him over the edge and bring him out of hiding. only question now is,” you look around the room, eyes landing on a certain blonde. “engaged to who?”

all eyes in the room turn to look at one person, though his eyes never look away from yours.

“yuma?” fuma asks, though he already knows the answer. “what do you think?”

“…fine.”

and then he’s gone, whisking out of the room faster than a twister down tornado alley. the room lets out a collective breath, though no one comments on the thick tension in his wake.

“then it’s decided,” jo stands, looking around the room for any objections. “harua, taki, maki. you three will go with them and—“

“YES!! BEACH TRIP!!” maki squeals, practically sprinting out the door with taki hot on his heels.

you crack a smile watching them, your heart feeling a little lighter in spite of everything.

“yes and we’ll come for moral support,” nicholas’ wife winks at you.

nicholas frowns, sharing a glance with euijoo. sure, it would be nice to get out for them and the kids to get out of the city for some beach time. if only their biggest and most dangerous enemy wasn’t actively gunning for one of theirs. euijoo shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. there was no way in hell that he would be convinced that it was a good idea—

“juju, honey,” his wife calls sweetly, sensing the pushback from a mile away. “if anything, what kind of bachelorette party would just be y/n and the boys? if we want to sell it, then we’re going.”

“exactly,” jo’s wife nods, already knowing jo wouldn’t even try to stop her.

you choke back a laugh, watching all three married couples face off. the three of them would just have to hold down the fort, and figure out how to wrangle euijoo’s twins, nicholas’ daughter, and jo’s two on their own. unfortunately for them, the twins and jo’s youngest were in their threenager years. and nicholas’ princess was a terror all on her own. once upon a time, you’d gotten stuck babysitting all of them at once.

never again.

“MAKI! WHERE THE HELL IS THE BLANKIE?!!” you whisper-yell, jo’s two-year-old daughter fast asleep in your arms.

“bro, i don’t know! i swear it was just here,” he throws his hands up in surrender, smashed broccoli smeared on his bisexual hoodie. 

he’d just convinced the twins to take a nap, practically throwing jo’s son under the bus as the perfect role model to follow. now that shy angel baby, you’d babysit him any day. his sister on the other hand… the three of them in their terrible twos were giving you a run for your money, a decade or two lost on your life, and at least a handful of gray hairs. by the grace of divine intervention, nicholas’ daughter was being agreeable, curled up into the corner of the couch, safely tucked under-

“oh my god, that little brat!” you internally face-palm. “she took it!”

maki looks at her, mouth set in a grim line. he never thought he could be filled with so much dislike for a child and yet, the one and only offspring of nicholas wang never failed to exceed expectations.

“i’m not waking her up.”

“ok well, he’s gonna throw a fit if you don’t get it back as soon as she wakes up,” you hiss, jabbing a finger in euijoo’s son’s general direction. 

“why do i have to get it?!” maki retorts.

BANG!

the both of you freeze, heads whipped around comically towards empress wang. thankfully, she doesn’t stir but instead, pulls the blanket tighter over her head. you glare accusingly at maki, then at the bottle he just dropped. 

and draw a line across your neck.

you collapse into your borrowed sheets, mind reeling. the you of last week would have openly guffawed had she known the situation you’d be in. the room you’re in feels unfamiliar, sleep slipping further and further away from you. you toss and turn, the dark quiet that used to bring you comfort, feeling more and more like spiders crawling up and down your skin. minutes bleed into what feels like hours, and eventually, you give in. sighing, you stand up and grab the nearest hoodie, pulling the hood firmly against your hair, and begin fumbling through the dark towards the kitchen. you’d been at the main house a couple times to babysit and for movie night, though yuma had explained it away as jo’s inheritance. which, you supposed, wasn’t a total lie. 

“couldn’t sleep?”

yuma is leaned against the counter, a steaming mug in one hand. he holds another out to you, as if he’d known that you’d come poking around. you take it, albeit awkwardly. he doesn’t meet your eyes, though his fingers linger on your knuckles for a second longer than was socially acceptable between friends. you take a sip, unable to stop the small smile from spreading across your face.

hot chocolate.

“so… we’re doing this,” you offer tentatively, your voice cutting through the palpable tension.

“yeah,” he mumbles, looking more like a disgruntled cat than anything else.

you look at him, frustrated with his indifference. it’s not like you wanted this either! you hadn’t asked for your absolutely-batshit-insane ex to come hunting you down. you hadn’t asked to become a part of the mafia. you hadn’t asked to be forced into a fake engagement. 

“look,” you huff, leaning back against the counter. “i’m sorry, ok? if i had any other ideas for shaking heeseung other than being fake engaged to you, i would’ve—“

“you think that’s what i’m upset about?” yuma’s voice cuts through the dark, catching you off-guard. 

you look up from your mug, surprised to find him already staring at you. his eyes almost sparkle in the dim glow of the fridge light, watching you with that quiet intensity. 

“i’m mad that you have to go through this again. i’m mad that i convinced you to move here, and you’re still not safe. i’m mad that i can’t give you the life that you deserve,” he laughs bitterly.

“i could never be mad about being stuck with you, you dummy,” he murmurs, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “good night, y/n.”

he bumps your shoulder with his on his way back to his room, leaning down to just barely brush his lips against your forehead. you’re left reeling in confusion, though there’s no denying the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through your chest. 

“yu-kun,” you have no idea what you’re doing. but you reach for his retreating figure anyway, arms wrapping around his waist, nose buried in the back of the soft cotton of his t-shirt. he smells like warmth,

like home.

“can i sleep with you? just for tonight?”

when he doesn’t answer, you babble on, letting go as if you’ve been electrocuted.

“it’s ok if you say no. it’s just been a lot, like lately, and i’m kind of scared. and it’s dark. but like if it’s weird—“

“shh, of course you can,” yuma answers as nonchalantly as he can, though it’s too dark for you to see that his cheeks and ears have turned bright red. “it’s not like we haven’t slept together before.”

every muscle stiffens, and you freeze in your tracks. yuma faces you with wide eyes, realizing his blunder too late.

“wait no not like that! i meant like asleep. in the same bed—” 

“u-um, n-never mind” you rush out, already scurrying back to your room, and slamming the door as quietly as you can.

you dive into the covers, mentally kicking yourself in the head. stupid, stupid, stupid—

and just outside your door, the facepalm heard around the world echoes.

—

“AGHHHH!” 

your scream jolts yuma out of his sleep, and he’s sprinting for where you lay in his bed, moving faster than his body can even register that it’s awake.

“y/n?? y/n, hey it’s just a nightmare,” he shakes you awake, jumping back when you sit straight up. “shh, hey, it’s me, it’s just me, yuma. you’re safe here.”

“yu.. ma..?” you blink back tears, allowing your eyes to adjust. 

you’re not in korea. you’re not in his bed. you’re in japan. in yuma’s apartment. where you’ve been for the last three months. safe. yuma gathers you into his arms, rocking you gently.

“i-i’m sorry,” you hiccup, guilt rising up in your chest.

“no, baby you have nothing to be sorry about,” yuma hushes, humming some sort of lullaby to rock you back to sleep.

the endearment lands like a butterfly, and you find your heart racing for different reasons. coming from heeseung, ‘baby’ had meant punishment. ‘baby’ had meant you’d done something wrong. ‘baby’ had sent you into a spiral, mental preparing for what would come next. but from yuma, you surprisingly hadn’t even batted an eyelash. instead, you relax into his hold, your eyes already fluttering closed.

“there you go, pretty girl,” yuma hums, laying you back down. “i’ll protect you.”

as soon as he’s sure your breath has evened out, he begins to stand, his heart clenching at the sight of your peaceful smile. 

“stay?”

“w-what?” he stutters, sure he must’ve imagined it.

you tug at his shirt, too sleepy to care. 

“stay with me, idiot.”

“o-ok.”

and so he does,his fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin,  your head cradled against his chest, as if your body knew he could keep the nightmares away. that he was safe. and for the first time in years, you fall into a dreamless sleep, the dark a quiet comfort. 

—

“maki, bro, you are BANNED from aux,” you grumble, immediately skipping whatever brazilian funk remix he’d decided to cue up. in your defense, it was probably the tenth song in a row.

somehow, you’d survived the car ride with kei and fuma driving, leaving you, yuma, harua, taki and maki to pile up in the back of the van like a clown bus. no thanks to the rikiz’ scheming, you’d been squished between harua and yuma in the back row. 

“y/n-chan, do you need more space? i can—“

“it’s fine,” yuma cuts harua off with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “y/n can lean on me”

one tug of your waist later, your body was halfway to being completely in his lap; his larger-than-average hand splayed protectively across your thigh, though he continues to stare out the window, airpods shoved firmly into his ears. as if your position were the most natural thing in the world. 

rolling your eyes at taki and harua’s kissy faces and shooting a middle finger at maki, you relax into his hold. then kei snorts and you can just see the back of fuma’s head hung in his lap, as if he’s holding back laughter. you shoot enough daggers around the car to kill everybody at least three times over before settling into his chest. it was only an hour-long car ride anyway, and besides, yuma was always attached to you in some capacity: fingers laced with yours, a hand on your waist, head on your shoulder, laying on you, etc. nothing new.

but now of course, you were hiking to go get groceries with taki and maki, maki’s phone on full blast.

“soooo…” taki and maki both look at you, their eyes screaming mischief and mayhem. “what’s going on with you and yuma?”

you roll your eyes, having half a mind to smack them both over the head with all the chips you were carrying.

“nothing! jeez, you guys are worse than a couple of gossiping old ladies.”

“ok but!” taki shows you a picture he (unfortunately) took of you in the car: you’re fast asleep, body fully on yuma’s. his hand hasn’t moved from your thigh, though his fingers are now laced with your own. “this is soooo not a ‘just friends’ thing!”

“taki, have you forgotten that we’re literally engaged?” you glance around, as if enhypen will somehow pop out as soon as you turn the corner. 

honestly at this point, you’ve gotten over it. and maybe, that was a red flag. probably a sign that you seriously needed to go to therapy. truly, what kind of normal person was chill about being inducted to the mafia, actively being stalked by an ex-boyfriend, and several near-death experiences? but then again, you hadn’t exactly led a normal life. you didn’t have normal friends. what could possibly be normal at this point? it’s weird, though. the time you spend with the teammies, it’s like your brain is just completely off. no semblance of survival or common sense or anything, just safety. even now, being out in the open, no weapons save for a knife hidden in your belt, not a single warning bell is on.

“ok, but to be fair,” maki skips ahead. “you guys have been sooo touchy for literally forever. even before you became our sister.”

“sister?” you question.

“uh, yeah?” maki looks at you as if you’re the one who’s gone crazy. “you’ve been like our sister since before you joined. even if it was unofficial until last week.”

“but anywayyy,” taki presses on. “there’s just no way you guys aren’t endgame. like, what are the chances that he walks into the magic shop and picks the tattoo that means so much to both of you? and that you came here? and that you’re from the same city? and—“

“taki,” you roll your eyes, though your cheeks have undoubtedly gotten warmer. “there’s no way—“

“TAKI! MAKI!” yuma stands in the doorway, illuminated by the porch light. “what are you two doing?!! seriously, letting a woman carry groceries!”

he grumbles, taking your bags, even though you’re literally carrying nothing but chips and fruit. the rikiz stand dumbfounded: they both have water slung across their shoulders, holding all the heavy meat and vegetables, oil, and taki is carrying a watermelon that somehow hasn’t broken the bag and rolled halfway down the street.

“must be nice,” maki grumbles, kicking his shoes off. “we even gave you the chips!”

“princess treatment,” taki coughs loudly, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

fuma watches this whole thing with his arms crossed over his chest, a small smile on his face. yuma had never been one to initiate things, or pull the macho man card out. to him, yuma would always be that little boy sitting in the rain, chomping on a corndog on the curb. the one who blindly followed him home. the one who loved to pull pranks on the others, giggling loudly. the one who had yet to grow out of his fear of bugs. the one who loved too deeply, though he never said anything. but then he’d met you, and it was a strange feeling really: watching yuma become your biggest protector.

he’d been worried, that day when yuma had come running into the main house, begging jo to get an apartment nearby. had felt helpless, watching yuma run himself ragged looking after you. without a doubt, yuma had fallen so completely in love with you, even if he denied it at every chance. when fuma finally met you, he’d been apprehensive: as soon as you became an established artist, would you just run and ditch? would you trample all over his little brother’s heart? but after watching you both with kei from behind newspapers on the bench across from your studio, your heart was undoubtedly just as much his, as his was yours. even with every date and one-night-stand the two of you went on with another person, you only had eyes for each other. every glance when one of you thought the other wasn’t looking. every touch, as if you were each other’s center of gravity. every teasing remark, delivered with a playful smile. fuma and kei saw it all, though they said nothing and opted to make a bet on who would confess first.

by the time dinner came and went, everyone else has tucked in for the night, save for yuma who epically lost at king's cup and is now buzzed and washing dishes. you sit on the counter next to him with a beer in hand, being completely unhelpful, also beyond your fair share of tipsy.

“yu-kun,” you stare, a dopey expression on your face. “have i ever told you how pretty you are?”

yuma nearly breaks everything in the sink, the tips of his ears pinking with embarrassment.

“n-no, i don’t think so,” he turns to you, shutting off the sink.

maybe he’s drunker than he thought. but you look like you’re glowing, bundled in the hoodie you’d stolen straight out of his luggage. he takes the can from your hands before you can take another sip, chugging it one go.

“yu-kun!” you pout, your eyes lingering for just a second too long on his lips. “that was mine!”

he looks at you, one eyebrow raised. then comes to stand between your parted thighs, effectively caging you against the counter. his hands settle onto your hips, cheeks rosy.

“and you don’t think you’ve had enough?”

his close proximity has essentially wiped your brain clean, head empty, save for the smell of your body wash on his skin. you stare back at him, just now registering that yuma’s hands are anchoring your hips to the counter.

“haven’t you?” you manage weakly, though somehow, your retort falls much heavier than intended.

whatever happened tonight, nothing would be the same again.

yuma leans in close, close enough so that his nose is touching yours. you can smell the beer on his breath, but you’re too distracted by yuma’s hands sliding upwards under your shirt to notice. without even thinking, your tongue darts out to wet your lips, earning you a smirk.

“do you want to kiss me, y/n?”

you almost shove him off right then. him and his arrogant smile. teasing eyes. full lips.

“you’re being annoying,” you shoot back, trying to sound unfazed.

“if you want to kiss me then kiss me, baby,” his lips hover a singular breadth from yours, leaving it up to you. “i’m going to be your husband anyway, aren’t i?”

“with what ring?” you answer breathlessly, still stalling. 

yuma backs away for just a second to slip off the ring he wore on his pinky, one identical to the one he always wore on his index finger. the real ring was hidden elsewhere, beneath a false panel in his desk back home.

“will this one do?”

you sniff haughtily, intent on keeping up this charade for as long as you can to delay the inevitable. but yuma sees through everything, sees you scrambling to put your mental walls up faster than he can blow right past them. 

“i suppose,” you hold out your left hand, head still held high.

time stops in that tiny kitchen, the dishes long abandoned. yuma removes the ring on his index, slipping it onto his own ring finger. you stare at your joined hands, at the matching circles of silver.

“you don’t know, do you?”

you stare at him—his flushed cheeks, reddening tips of his ears, tousled hair, blown pupils. you’re completely sober at this point, heart pounding like crazy, transfixed by his round, cat-like eyes.

“know what?”

“how much i lo- like you.”

you nearly stop breathing on the spot, leaving the confession to hang in the space between.

“shut up.”

yuma nearly falls backward when you surge forward, lips crashing onto his mercilessly. he wants to fight you, to push back just because he can, but just the feeling of your lips on his nearly has him falling to his knees. you pull away with a gasp, wiping the corner of your lips.

“i like you too, idiot,” you grit out, trying your hardest to not make eye contact with yuma and his shit-eating grin.

without another word, yuma gathers you up into his arms, lifting you off the counter as if you weighed little more than a feather. his mouth stays glued on yours, laying you down gently on the bed, the door kicked quietly closed. the initial plan had been for him to sleep on the floor, but a couple words from you had him attached like a leech, starving for more.

“yu-kun,” you whisper comes out more like a whine, eyes feverish. 

your hands play at the hem of his t-shirt, fingertips grazing along his v-line. and yuma actually falls to his knees this time, thumbs hooked into the waist band of your shorts, dragging you to the edge of the bed. how he’d dreamed of this moment, had nearly gone insane with the idea of you. he forces himself to move slowly, giving you ample time to push him off. to yell at him for crossing the line. to change your mind. but you do nothing, instead sitting up on your elbows, watching him with hooded eyes.

“patience kitten,” yuma presses a soft kiss to your thigh. “we have all night.”

—

yuma wakes up first, body feverish with the remnants of alcohol and the taste of you. you’re still peacefully passed out beside him, your shirt slightly lifted to expose the multitude of love bites littered across your skin. smiling softly to himself, he tucks the blanket back around you, standing up with a soft kiss to your forehead.

“yuma? you’re up earl— oh my god!” kei stands almost comically, hand slapped over his mouth. 

he’d gone for an easy run this morning, eager to enjoy the beautiful weather. he’d just gotten back, brewed himself a nice coffee, and was ready to kick back and relax when yuma had stumbled in, shirtless. leaving your marks on full display. 

fuma says nothing, save for an appreciative nod and thumbs-up, a steaming mug of tea in hand.

on the other hand…

“y/n-chan, why the hell are you wearing—” nicholas’ wife stares at you, mimosa already in hand. 

“don’t. even. start,” you hold up a hand in defeat, death-glaring harua who’s already started giggling to himself. “you, be quiet!”

harua snickers behind his hand, dodging the beach ball you chuck at his head. 

you dive below the water, mortified, with half a mind to drag harua down with you. you’d woken up this morning, feeling more content and at peace than you have in years. a sticky note awaited on your phone, complete with a kitty doodle. 

“out with hyungs, be back soon pretty girl,” it read.

feeling foolish, a toothy grin makes its way onto your cheeks before you can stop it. you sit straight up, willing your cheeks to relax. just the memories of last night already has heat crawling across your skin, your heart fluttering. god, you’ve never been this excited about a boy. you’re giggling to yourself like an idiot, even worse than a high schooler. slapping your cheeks, you crawl out of bed, in desperate need of a shower.

that’s when you catch a glimpse of it. and you run out of the bathroom like your ass is on fire.

“RU-CHAN!” you whisper harshly, not even bothering to knock, and pointing at the your back, just beneath the collar of your t-shirt. “please tell me there is not—“

“HOLY SHIT! Y/N-CHAN, that is the BIGGEST hickey i have ever seen,” he giggles, giving you mock applause. “okay girllll, getting freaky—“

“SHUT IT!”

you swat at him, covering the giant bruise with one hand as you scurry back to your room. originally, you’d been planning to wear this really cute bikini that euijoo’s wife was letting you borrow. lo and behold, nakakita yuma had put a severe dent in those plans. as if mocking you from afar, an offensively-neon-orange rash guard hangs in the closet, as if yuma had known you would need it. 

that bitch.

you resurface to find her smirking at you, eyebrows wiggling knowingly. you flick some water in her direction, rolling your eyes, though harua doesn’t miss the way you scan the shoreline. kei, fuma, and yuma still hadn’t returned from whatever mysterious mission they were on, and taki and maki were still dead asleep. jo’s and euijoo’s wives were spread out on a picnic blanket, looking entirely at peace.

“i’m gonna go make a coffee,” you stand up, the breeze sending a tingle of goosebumps up your arms. “i’ll be right back.”

“ooh can you get me the strawberry milk in the fridge?”

“fine,” you roll your eyes with a small smile, changing into a t-shirt before walking back to the house.

the house is quiet, save for the sound of your wet footsteps and the rikiz snoring. yuma’s t-shirt hangs loosely around your shoulders as you move around the kitchen, humming slowly under your breath. wherever he was, they were taking forever to come back. and after last night? too much had been left unsaid. were you guys like a real thing now? what would happen once heeseung was taken care of? the sound of the shower turning on yanks you from your thoughts and you peer around the corner, frowning when you don’t see anyone. 

“maki?” you call, “is that you?”

no answer.

the warning bells go off too late, your skin prickling for half a second when something hard and sharp pokes between your ribs.

“hey baby,” a deep voice whispers in your ear.

you freeze, as if doused in ice cold water. you knew that voice, hated that voice. your skin crawls with disgust and unease. run. scream. fight. you will your body to move, but it refuses to cooperate, rooted to the spot. without meaning to, you flinch at his touch, your body falling back into old patterns before you can stop them.

“scream, and niki will shoot them both,” he growls, already pushing you towards the door. “imagine how disappointed yu-kun will be if you get them killed.”

you don’t answer, as if all breath had been stolen from your body.

“you’re coming back with me, baby girl” 

“fine.”

you comply, the knife digging into your ribs and the threat hanging over the rikiz being your sole motivation. you know how to handle him—something you’d inadvertently learned to keep him as calm as possible. you’re still barefoot, yuma’s shirt the only barrier between you and him. sharp rocks in the driveway dig into your feet, but you don’t cry out, careful not to set him off. as inconspicuously as possible, you try to glance around: you still don’t see niki or any of the others, the driveway completely blocked off from view of the beach.

“get in the trunk beautiful,” he smiles down at you. “don’t want you to hit your head.”

you do as he says, the trunk door slamming closed, leaving you in complete darkness.

—

“YOU LOST HER?!!”

yuma is a whirling hurricane of panic, fear, and misplaced anger. everyone is congregated in the living room, trying to figure out a disaster plan. after you hadn’t come back, harua had gone up to look for you, only to find the strawberry milk left out on the counter, and the coffee knocked over.

“where the hell would he go?” kei mutters to himself, feeling guilty a million times over for not being at the house, and dragging yuma away. “enhypen has no base here. there’s no way they would go all the way back to tokyo, would they?”

fuma says nothing, scanning the house’s security footage for anything they could’ve missed. but they’d been smart: looping the footage so that the last thing they saw was you leaving the house to join the others on the beach. yuma continues to pace, anxiously fiddling with the ring on his finger.

wait.

“fuma-kun, give me the computer.”

yuma’s hands fly across the keyboard, his long fingers typing with the skill of &TEAM’s most skilled hacker. his fingers cross out of habit, praying that you haven’t—

“got her!”

there you are, a blinking red dot on the screen. yuma breathes a sigh of relief, fist thumping on his chest over his heart. maybe this was fate playing out exactly the way it needed to. what else were the odds that he’d given you that ring just last night? this plan was working too well for his liking and he knew fuma had trained you with more than enough ways to kill a man.

but either way, that bitch was going to die. 

tonight.

—

you wouldn’t have gotten in the stupid trunk if you’d known how long you’d be stuck back here. your legs were cramped, you had to pee, and you were seething with anger. the longer you thought about it, the more you wanted to rip your hair out for being so stupid. if only you had just gotten the courage to get out sooner. if only you’d seen the signs. if only you hadn't convinced yourself that you could change him.

give yourself some grace pretty girl, you survived. not everyone does.

yuma’s words echo in the back of your mind and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with a sense of longing. to have his arms around you. to have him nearly break your door everyday with coffee in hand, already yapping about bullshit nonsense. to be curled up together on the couch, watching some stupid new romance anime. to go home. at this point, you’re tired of running. tired of being stuck under heeseung’s thumb. you shake your head, willing yourself to concentrate. 

until the teammies found you, you were on your own. no weapons. no shoes. and no freaking pants. off to a great start, clearly.

even though the sun is going down, the light is still blinding compared to the darkness of the trunk. you shield your eyes, just barely making out heeseung’s figure. he looks almost sickly, a vampire with the beauty sucked out of him. looking at him, you almost feel bad. emphasis on almost. being in a coma hadn't done him any favors, but really you would've preferred if he'd croaked along with sunghoon all those years ago. heeseung grabs your hand, all pretense of pleasantry gone.

“take it off.”

you glare, having half a mind to refuse. but you reluctantly slip the ring off your finger. you’d only just gotten it, but already you’d become attached to it. how it sparkled in the sunlight. how when you wore it, it felt like you could do anything. you’re about to slip it into your bikini top under your shirt for safekeeping, when heeseung snatches it from your grasp. his gaze has turned maniacal, eyes fixed on the ring with hatred.

“you’re coming with me,” he snarls, grabbing your wrist.

you have no choice but to follow, the stones in the driveway of wherever you are digging into your feet. you’re at some kind of beach house, though it stands apart from the rest of the houses higher up by the main road. you take it all in, filing the information away. heeseung yanks you forward into the house, practically throwing you into the counter. your heart clenches, fearing the worst. sure, you’d learned to fight. but that had been against fuma and kei. not a crazed madman. 

there’s a tool bag sitting on the kitchen floor, dusty and battered. heeseung opens it, taking out a hammer. unable to stop yourself, you flinch, the scars on your legs starting to feel as if they were on fire. as if they were trying to warn you to get away from him. heeseung doesn’t notice, too focused on the ring. he raises the hammer, smashing it to pieces over and over again. your heart clenches with each swing, watching the metal becoming bent and misshapen. but what scares you more is that he hasn’t noticed that with each swing, chunks of the counter come flying off. if anything, he’s become even more terrifying: his eyes are glittering with rage; he’s sweating, chest heaving with the effort of destroying yuma’s ring.

finally, he stops, turning to look at you. the hammer remains in his hand, but he holds a hand out to you, panting from exertion. he takes a step forward, but you take one back, hands held protectively in front of you. you knew the fury of lee heeseung. this? this was something else. he takes one more step forward, then seems to realize he’s still holding the hammer. chuckling to himself, he sets it back down on the counter and reaches it into his pocket.

“dance with me, baby”

the opening tune of daniel caesar’s ‘hold me down’ fills the quiet kitchen, and your knees nearly buckle. you stop breathing, eyes wide, trapped in a memory you can’t escape. that song. the one that always seemed to play when he was home, washing his bloody knuckles in the sink. as if it were the background music to your own personal hell.

heeseung cracks a smile, as if he’s just now noticed you. 

but you dance just out of reach, trying to get closer to the hammer. heeseung lunges for you, pressing his lips against yours. you nearly gag, trying to shove him off. his lips feel like thick rubber against yours. 

you can’t do this. you can’t kiss him. 

so you bite down hard, shoving him away as far as you can, inadvertently shoving him closer to the hammer. you watch him, terrified that he’s about to grab the hammer and smash your skull in, the same way he had yuma’s ring. 

“baby, why do you have to be so difficult?” heeseung advances on you. “you were always so obedient, why won’t you kiss me now? it’s just me, your hee.”

you don’t answer, trying to map out exactly how you could possibly dart past him and out the door. what you don’t notice, is that your shirt has slipped off your shoulder, leaving yuma’s love bite in open view. 

“YOU WHORE! you kissed that brat?!!” heeseung snarls, eyes narrowed on the mark. “bet you fucked him too, you little slut!”

he advances on you, effectively blocking off all exits. 

“but you don’t love him, do you baby?” his breath smells foul, as if he’d just risen from the grave. “DO YOU?!!”

you gulp, fear hammering in your chest. this was not the time to be stupid. but your brain flashes back to last night anyway. you think of yuma, and his stupid smile. of him slipping the ring on your finger in the dim light of the kitchen. of the way he’d held you, as if you were the most precious person in the world.

“TELL ME YOU DON’T LOVE HIM!” heeseung roars, backhanding you across the face with such force that you swear you’ve lost a couple teeth. 

your whole body crashes to the floor, ears ringing with the impact. you spit out a little blood on the floor, glaring at him with more hatred than you’ve ever felt in your life. though now, black spots swim across your vision and you swear you’re seeing double.

“this doesn’t have to be difficult darling,” heeseung crouches down beside you, his voice suddenly soft. “just tell me you love me.”

you should. you should say whatever he wants. do whatever he wants. be the picture of obedience. you’d never told yuma you loved him, stupidly deciding not wanting to complicate things further by confessing to your best friend that you’ve been in love with him for years.

“no,” you stare defiantly. “you fucking bastard!”

you were not the same girl that heeseung could just push around because he felt like it. you’d survived him once. you’d done your due diligence. you’d healed from everything he put you through. you had put blood, sweat and tears in finding your peace; you’d murder him in cold blood before you let him have any control over your life ever again.

“i love yuma,” you spit out, your own words giving you bravery with each syllable. “NA. KA. KI. TA. YU. MA. never you!”

for one long terrifying moment, he doesn’t answer. 

then you spot your chance.

“LEAVE! ME! ALONE!” you scream, launching the piece of countertop from under your hand as hard as you can at his face.

he howls with pain, temporarily blinded. you scramble to your feet, booking it to the door as fast as you can. but heeseung’s earlier blow has put you at a severe disadvantage: you can barely see, using all your willpower to even just stay on your feet. 

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” heeseung yanks you back by your hair, teeth bared and bloody. “you’re MINE! over my dead body will anyone else have you!”

“then DIE!” 

—

“that must be it!” taki sniffs, pointing at a beach house that stands alone at the end of what seems like an abandoned road. 

in the dimming twilight, yuma can just barely make out the road, whipping the wheel harshly to the left. your dot had disappeared from the map about ten minutes ago, and yuma would be damned if he let heeseung steal your light away again. the smell of smoke fills the air, thickening the closer they drive to the house. a fancy-looking car is parked outside, the trunk wide open, keys stupidly left in the ignition. fuma and taki pile out the car, already circling up to the front of the house, while he runs straight for the back, where an alarming orange glow emanates. 

heeseung could be waiting right there, a gun pointed at his skull. but he didn’t care anymore, all thoughts focused solely on you. you could be hurt, trapped somewhere in the smoke. just the thought of heeseung laying a finger on you? no, he dare not even imagine the person he’d become. chest tight with fear, yuma kicks the already-rotting back door open. the moment it collapses, a thick cloud of black smoke comes billowing out, and he drops as low as he can, stifling his cough in the crook of his arm. somewhere inside, something explodes.

yuma runs forward, seeing nothing but flames. still no sign of you anywhere, save for a hammer. panicked, his eyes narrows on a rickety-looking set of stairs, and the flaming beam hanging precariously just above it. he just barely makes it up the stairs before the bottom step is engulfed in flames. but he’s not looking. his weapon isn’t drawn. his guard is down when heeseung charges him as soon as he rounds the corner at the top of the stairs, smashing yuma into the wall. but he’s been in a coma for three years, whereas yuma has been overly prepared to beat him to a pulp. 

“WHERE IS SHE?!!” he roars over the crackling flames, his punches connecting with terrifying accuracy.

heeseung is almost unrecognizable. his hair is matted, a manic gleam in his eyes. dried blood is caked around his left eye, his mouth full of blood, looking more and more like a vampire. 

“she belongs to me, brat!” heeseung growls, just barely parrying away a blow. “she will never be—“

“I WAS NEVER YOURS!”

you appear from the woodwork like some kind of fiery angel straight from the depths of hell, brandishing a wood plank. it splinters upon impact, and heeseung crashes to the ground, head bloody and thoroughly unrecognizable.

“YUMA!” you scream, flinging yourself into his arms just as the floor gives out beneath where you were just standing, heeseung’s body tumbling into the roaring flames. 

but there’s no time to celebrate.

“y/n, come on we have to go!” yuma gathers you into his arms, your arms clinging firmly around his neck.

the stairs are a no-go, fully engulfed now. the floor groans with every step, black smoke making it nearly impossible to see. there’s only one room left that’s not up in flames, at the very end of the hallway. yuma sets you down gently on the windowseat, careful not to accidentally bash your already-bloody head against anything else. he wrenches the window open, letting loose a fresh pillar of black smoke, dropping down before holding his arms out for you.

you jump with a shriek, the room exploding behind you. he slings you over his shoulder, fuma and taki already sprinting out from the other side of the house.

“GO! GO! GO!” 

yuma flings himself into the driver seat, a stark contrast to his gentle maneuvering of your body into the passenger seat. fuma and taki hijack heeseung’s abandoned car, peeling out from the driveway just ahead of you. he holds your hand tightly, as if you’d disappear if he let go.

fleeing down the highway, the flaming inferno behind you, you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. soon enough, the both of you completely overcome with hysterical laughter, tears in your eyes. you're both covered in soot, blood, and at least an inch of black grime. yuma’s earrings shimmer in the light of the center display, his expression tense, as evidenced by the thick vein in his neck pulsing with every ragged breath. maybe you’re just dizzy and delirious, but there’s no other place you’d rather be. 

but there’s just one more, painfully obvious thing.

“yuma,” your soft voice makes his ears perk to attention. “you came for me?”

yuma can’t decide if he wants to cry or laugh.

“yes you idiot,” he giggles out, unable to hold it off with the absurdity of your question and the adrenaline high wearing off. “i literally ran through fire to get to you! you’re my best friend, of course i would come for you.”

the word ‘best friend’ lands like a whip. right, of course. clearly, you’d misread things. and last night had been nothing but—

“i lied yesterday you know,” yuma cuts your mental spiral off with a knowing glance. already, you’ve subconsciously angled your body away from him, your grip in his hand loose and becoming detached. 

“what is that supposed to mean?” you ask flatly, already slamming the walls down around your heart before it can break anymore. “what are— yuma, why are you pulling over?! enhypen could be coming for us and we’re just sitting ducks out here!”

“y/n.” 

the deep intensity of yuma’s voice catches you off-guard, and he grabs your chin lightly to force you to look at him. you stubbornly refuse, looking at your own reflection in the driver’s side window instead. his eyes soften, drinking you in. your lip is busted, your right cheek red and swollen, your hair a tangled bird’s nest. he swallows thickly, willing himself to say the words.

“l/n y/n, in every life, i would choose you,” he speaks lowly, the dam of his soul breaking wide open. “i would always, always choose you. i would run into every burning building to get to you. i would hurt anyone who even thought of hurting you. jesus y/n, i would do anything for you.”

“i—“

“i love you, you dummy. didn’t you know?” 

yuma lets go of your chin, his lips pressed together in a small, awkward smile. he watches you process his words in real time, your eyes becoming comically wide. really, he didn’t understand what was so shocking. he’d made it so ridiculously obvious, but you. you were a complete idiot. so deeply hurt by someone who was supposed to love and protect you, that you didn’t believe that you were capable of love anymore. if only you’d known just how many people he’d had to personally threaten to keep away from you.

“i know i sound psycho and it sounds insane, but,” he babbles on, fidgeting with his rings now. “i don’t think i ever just liked you. i swear i fell in love with you the day we met.”

“that night, harua was the one who told me to go talk to you. i wasn’t really that drunk, and i wasn’t really planning on getting that tattoo. but i just had to talk to you so—“

“shut up idiot.”

you yank him by the collar of his shirt, pressing your lips firmly against his. 

“i love you too,” you pull away with a whisper, tapping his nose affectionately.

yuma stares at you like a lovestruck cat, the corners of his lips tugging upwards without meaning to. his eyes look dazed, completely entranced by you.

“marry me?” he asks, holding your left hand. “for real this time?”

“yes you idiot,” you laugh, tears welling up in your eyes. “of course i would marry you”

and suddenly, it all feels real. even though no ring rests on your finger, it weighs heavier with the promise of the lifelong commitment you’ve pledged to make. yuma bends to kiss your hand, then your forehead, then both cheeks, then finally, your lips. tears of joy slip down his own face, mixing with the ones mirrored on yours. the two of you continue fleeing down the highway, entirely uncertain about the future, but completely certain and enamored with each other.

“you know i’m never letting you go right?”

“i’m literally covered in bites that you left, idiot. i couldn’t go anywhere else even if i wanted to”

“good"

—

“baby-chan~~”

yuma coos at your youngest daughter, trying his best to keep a serious face. she’s only two, but already she’s proving to be just as much of a handful as her dad.

“what did mama say about touching papa’s sparkles?”

your daughter pouts at you from her perch on yuma’s shoulders, the spitting image of her father. ever the innocent bystander, you pretend to ignore the pair of them, setting your other daughter down on the couch, who had fallen fast asleep in your arms.

“mama said to not touch papa’s sparkles until she said so or papa will get sick," she pouts, rolling her eyes with enough attitude for the four of you.

“that’s my sweet girl,” he praises exaggeratedly, kissing her knee.

yuma turns to look at you, his two-month-old snake piercings sparkling in the light of the setting sun streaming through your living room window. the original plan had been to burn enhypen down, enjoy marriage for a couple years, then revisit the idea of having kids. one midsummer’s night later, your cutie twin daughters had been made in the backroom of your studio.

time skip to two years later and they were giving you a run for your money, arguably on par with empress wang. yuma had caught the pair of them digging around in your tools and scared them off permanently. ever the shy twin, your older one's favorite pastime being stretched out in your lap while you sketched, or asking her papa to do her hair or play tea party. your younger one loved playing pranks on uncle harua. or jump scaring uncle kei. or plotting mayhem. your fault for letting taki babysit them the most really. to your surprise, the moment they'd been born, yuma had switched immediately to strict girl dad mode, already dreading the day either of them brought a partner home.

yuma sets her down, watching her scurry off towards jo’s son sketching quietly in the corner, nearly tripping over her stubby little legs.

“come here mama,” yuma collapses on the couch with a groan, grabbing your waist to drag you right on top of him.

“papa, we have to get dinner ready for the kids,” you whisper, trying to twist your head to look up at him.

the sunlight hits his blonde hair at just the right angle, his hair glowing like a warm halo. a sigh escapes you, a sound of mock exasperation that yuma feels more than he hears. still, his nose tucks deeper against the warm curve of your neck, your pulse beating in sync with his own.

“yuma,” you try, though you have no intention of getting up either. “we’re going to starve.”

“five more minutes,” he mumbles, his breath tickling against your neck. “papa needs cuddles and attention.” 

you squirm in his grasp, though his arms only tighten around your waist in response.

“you’re insufferable,” you roll your eyes, though the corners of your lips are turned up.

“and yet, you married me anyway,” yuma smiles down at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, staring at the rings of your intertwined fingers.

eight years later, and he was still entirely bewitched by you. and it would only ever be you <3

“YAH BYUN EUIJOO!!" 

you scream, arms comically windmilling as you sprint away from your homemade bomb. "babes, what are we doing?!!”

your hand slams down on the wood, heart nearly shooting out of your ass, as you just barely manage to catch yourself from toppling off the slippery dock. the dark water churns below, the choppy waves making the already-broken dock sway and shake with every stride.

unbeknownst to you, your latest nickname for him sends euijoo's heart into overdrive, his ears turning a bright shade of red. he watches you through the scope, crosshairs trained on the figure sprinting after you. 

theoretically you’d be the most nimble of the four of you, but unfortunately, your best friend and/or partner-in-crime is a month post-partum, euijoo's about as nimble as a stick, and harua's strengths lay elsewhere. leaving you to be the one sprinting for your life off a yacht, across a gangplank and trying not to fall through a rotted dock. thank god your current hyper fixation was running or you’d have been caught about half a mile back.

“okay y/n, just keep running. straight two blocks and a hard right, then jump.” euijoo mutters in your ear, curses on the tip of his tongue. “he’s hot on your tail”

you can just picture your childhood crush staring through his scope, dropping bodies faster than flies in water: one shot, one kill. euijoo was your eyes and ears, hunched over on some random rooftop. harua was running interference in the ballroom downstairs, putting on a show and distracting everyone from the fact that you were setting a bomb on the bridge. and harua was a brilliant dancer, hips and arms swaying to the beat of the music; he didn't major in contemporary dance for nothing, plus he had picked up belly dancing on some mission you weren’t privy to. but of course your target today was your absolute sworn enemy, ENHYPEN. and one of their lead men, sim jaeyun was hot on your tail. 

“fucking hell juju, just get me OUT of here please!” you scream, nearly flinging yourself into a brick wall while turning a corner.

“we’re coming to get you,” he cuts out, static filling your ears. adrenaline floods your system; you’re on your own for the next thirty seconds.

“rua, you’ve got two minutes to get the hell off of that ship before it blows up with you in it!”

“already on my way out doll,” the youngest of your quartet echoes.

you round another corner, heartbeat pounding in your ears. you can practically feel sim jaeyun hot on your heels, like a dog in pursuit of the hunt.

you sprint faster, your legs on fire from overexertion, chancing a glance at the reflection mirrored on the glass building across from you. fuck, he’s gaining?!!

“GET IN THE CAR!”

your best friend skids around the corner, harua in the passenger seat, euijoo in the back, slamming the door open. you dive in headfirst, head crashing straight into euijoo’s shoulder. dazed and high on adrenaline, the last thing you see is the glint of jake’s eyes like a spark in the night as the car screeches away. euijoo holds you against his side, his arm wrapped around your waist as a makeshift seatbelt, the other gripping the overhead handle for dear life while your idiot-best-friend-who-cannot-drive whips around corner after corner.

“JESUS CHRIST WOMAN! would it kill you to slow down on the corners?!!” you curse, two turns away from throwing up all over euijoo. 

“y/n, please shut the fuck up and let me concentrate! i can’t freaking see where i’m going if you’re talking to me!” she screams back, taking another hard left.

harua, on the other hand, looks like he’s having the time of his life, all smiles and bright eyes, save for looking a little paler than normal. he’s chewing on a lollipop stick, the candy long gone. euijoo is suffering in silence, also nauseous but knowing you’ll kill him if he even ventured to gag anywhere near you. besides his thoughts are otherwise occupied: nicholas was going to murder him for chaperoning this suicide mission. 

“you know nichol is going to kill me right?" euijoo mutters to you, his jaw clenched while your getaway driver nearly sends the lot of you careening into yet another brick wall.

you groan, tucking yourself tighter against him in an effort to ground yourself. nose buried in euijoo’s hoodie, fingers digging into his bicep, regret hits you faster than a bullet train.

you were so dead. 

“if it makes you feel better, he’s going to murder me too for putting her in danger. i sincerely doubt that this is what he had in mind when we left him to babysit and told him we were going out for a girls’ night!” you emphasize the last bit, glaring daggers at your best friend. 

she had thrown a proper tantrum that she would burn the property down if euijoo did not let her go out for a mission. as underboss, he handled a lot of internal affairs, aka approving who went on which mission. and resolving the fifty million arguments that seemed to happen everyday. anyway, there was always a “mission board” of things that needed to be done. as for her, being cooped up at home all day had made her antsy and irritable despite her best efforts, and nichol was worse than a hovering mother hen at best. add to that a newborn? it wasn’t a fight euijoo would win, not when she had sent in the big guns: you. and when you’d waltzed into his office with strawberry milk tea from his favorite cafe and those stupidly adorable, puppy eyes, euijoo knew he was absolutely done for. 

time skip to the three of you “driving to the mall” with harua in tow, who had overheard the whole conversation and successfully bribed you into letting him tag along. one quick “detour to avoid traffic” later, euijoo blinked and found himself on a rooftop to scout and snipe. so much for being underboss.

“shh, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him…” she winks at you in the rearview mirror, trying not to giggle at your compromised position squished against euijoo. your crushes on each other were as plain as day to everyone except the two of you. “besides, he knows i’ll kill him if he kills you.”

euijoo snorts. save for harua, all of your obituaries were about to read, “cause of death: wang yixiang.” 

“idiot juju” for him.

“idiot meimei” for you. 

“idiot darling wife” for her.

— 

“WHAT. THE. FUCK. WERE. YOU. ALL. THINKING?!!”

the three of you sit on the couch, heads bowed, hands folded in your laps. of course, harua got off scotch-free with barely a slap on the wrist, now peacefully taking his time in the bath. nicholas stands in front of you, all angry eyes and downturned lips. he would be terrifying, if not for the one-month-old, baby girl fast asleep in his arms.

“ok first of all,“ nicholas turns on euijoo, glaring cat-like eyes met with euijoo’s own doe-like stare. “you’re supposed to be my best friend?! how on earth could you not tell me you were taking my wife and my baby cousin out on a mission to blow up a ship?!!”

you purse your lips, looking straight down before you can make eye contact with the main reason you were all on this mess. one snort and it would all be over.

"it wasn't my idea, i swear!” euijoo protests, his voice cracking. “y/n, your idiot cousin, straight up LIED to me and asked me to take her to the mall. boom, i'm on a rooftop watching her set up a bomb!" he turns, glaring holes into the side of your head. 

you wisely choose to stare intently at the speck of dust in the carpet. 

"juju, my daughter is sleeping!" nicholas whisper-yells, rubbing his eyebrows in frustration. “MEIMEI, YOU SET A BOMB?!”

you had always been one of his biggest headaches from the day you’d been born, following him around like a baby duck no matter where he went. copying what he ate, the clothes he worse, the random habits he had. and after he moved to japan, of course you’d followed suit, coming to stay every summer and winter break since you’d turned 16.

euijoo was known for his patience, the secret to &TEAM’s interrogation tactics. his sweet appearance and honey-like voice threw prisoners off their guard, mistakenly believing that he could be manipulated. but byun euijoo hadn’t become the underboss simply for his connections. he was a master of deception, a terrifying wolf hidden beneath the skin of a sheep. he could drag out an interrogation for eternity, whittling away at any enemy’s will to live. a master of mental and emotional combat. but with you? you were where he drew the line, his infinite patience withered to a singular thread with one devilish smile from you. 

“you!” you look up to meet nicholas’ stare, pursing your lips to keep from losing it. “i only agreed to let you stay here so that you wouldn’t be put in danger! and now you’re setting bombs, running from the cops and ENHYPEN—“

"xiang-ge, please. i'm not a kid anymore" you scoff, leaning back on the couch with a huff. "you don't have to pull the big brother shit. i’m not a baby! besides, how can i deny my best friend when she just needs a girls’ night out?! she’s a new mom, you know. that’s stressful!”

“girls’ night out does not mean go plant a bomb!” euijoo and nicholas yell, glaring at each other that they’ve spoken in sync.

nicholas regards you for a moment, mentally cursing you out, knowing damn well he can't win against all three of you. your bullheadedness, euijoo's kicked puppy eyes and his own wife? yeah forget it.

"fine.” he turns to the leader of your trio. “we’ll talk later princess, we have a baby to tuck in."

your best friend winks at you, mischief twinkling in her eyes in spite of the mouthed apology on her lips. 

god, you were so happy nicholas married her. when you first found out he’d been arranged to marry, you had almost started crying at the thought of having some boring bimbo for a cousin-in-law. or was it second cousin? whatever. either way, you’d been sold the moment you found out she’d nearly poisoned him at the altar.  beauty, brains, and guts? a miracle. unfortunately, you'd been in taiwan and hadn't been allowed to attend the wedding. but then it was literally best friends at first sight and ever since, the two of you were often found scurrying around giving nicholas a run for his money. but in this moment? you’d rather die than be around for whatever married people did. 

it wasn't like you had anything against marriage but personally, you had no plans of ever getting married. watching what happened to your parents? no thanks. a lifetime of sleeping in separate rooms, barely tolerating each other, and your husband having a mistress or two on the side? not to mention how the institution of marriage was collapsing as a whole, PLUS how royally cooked the current dating game was? the pool of single men was slim pickings at best, but to find a decent man within asia’s criminal syndicate? you had better luck finding the tiniest needle in a stack of needles. besides you only had one man in mind, if only he would return your unrequited crush of eight years. but watching how in-love your best friend and cousin were, you couldn’t help the tiny pang of jealousy in your heart.

over the years, euijoo, naturally, became one of your closest friends. you so enjoyed riling him up, always giggling a bit when his eyes became wide with indignation, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. he had always been in the corner of your vision, and he'd always been the most good-looking to you out of all of nicholas' friends.  he was everything you could ask for in a man: tall, handsome, gentle. truly, you couldn’t come up with a single bad thing to say about euijoo. but your parents would never allow it, no matter that he was the underboss of &TEAM. they didn’t only care for money; their future son-in-law had to speak mandarin, have tons of connections, and be sitting on piles of money. not a single man you’d met in your lifetime quite made your flutter the way byun euijoo did.

euijoo grabs you, hauling you out of the house before your eyes and ears could be scarred for life. the two of you walk quietly, the path towards the main house illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns that taki, maki, and jo's son had put up for his second birthday, strung along the path like fireflies guiding the way. 

“oh. my. god. my head is killing me,” you groan, tilting your head back to take in the night sky. 

the stars were all out, twinkling brightly. the cold night breeze ruffling your hair, was welcome against your throbbing head. 

unfortunately for you, your head's run-in with euijoo’s shoulder, combined with your best friend nearly sending your unbuckled self out the windshield, hadn't done you any favors. and you were definitely at least mildly concussed. euijoo frowns, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“y/n, what’s going on? are you hurt?”

“yeah, just tired,” you wave him off, trying to speed past him before he could notice anything. but he always noticed. he noticed everything, especially when it came to you.

“stop acting tough little fairy, i know something hurts. what is it?” he stops you by your shoulders, round eyes shining in the lantern light. 

the raw concern reflected in them sends your heart fluttering before you can snatch it back. you throw his hands off, scurrying away before he can stop you again.

“i’m fine euijoo! seriously-“

you stop dead in your tracks in the entryway of the main house.

“y/n, you idiot why’d you stop-“

euijoo crashes into you, nearly bulldozing you over with his taller frame. when he looks up, he freezes, horror and dread filling his features. your parents sit in the main living room area, nursing steaming mugs of hot tea. fuma is with them, relief washing over his features as soon as he spots the two of you in the doorway.

“daughter, we must speak with you about a recent development,” your mother sniffs, putting her teacup down. “and clean yourself up, you’re covered in dust. so unbecoming of a lady! i have told you this over and over-”

you scoff, refusing to let their presence faze you. there was a large difference between mother and birth giver. your mother was undoubtedly the latter.

“recent development? you don’t speak to me for months-“

euijoo’s head snaps towards you, mouth slightly open in shock. he’d known you’d been spending a lot of time with &TEAM recently, staying longer than your usual annual summer. usually you were gone by end of august, but now it was december. you’d avoided the topic whenever he’d tried to ask and nicholas had warned him not to push the topic when he’d first asked what you were still doing here. but no contact with your parents? for months? he stands frozen, unsure what he’s supposed to do. fuma scoots past him out the door with wide eyes and a grim smile.

“-on end! no hi, hello y/n. nice to see you. by the way, since we’re stopping by, let’s get dinner! no, instead you want to waltz into this house like you own the place and criticize how i look, make fuma-oppa entertain you, and talk to me about some stupid recent development?!!” you snap, making air quotes.

“you will be married to kris wu by the end of the month. no further discussion,” your father replies, tactfully choosing to ignore your outburst. 

to say you were livid was putting your feelings lightly. your father had never been harsh, simply indifferent. as if having emotions somehow made you not his daughter. he had always treated you and your sisters as lesser, as if it was your fault that you’d been born female.

“WHAT?!!!” you splutter, equal parts pissed off and mortified. “how could you marry me off?! you haven’t even allowed me to come back to taiwan in months! xiang-ge left the taiwanese empire in your hands and this is what you choose to do now that it’s going to shit?!”

“our decision is final. you will be marrying kris wu by the end of next week,” your mother answers, dusting imaginary dust off of herself as she stands.

“EXCUSE ME?!! mama-“

“you leave for korea tomorrow. be ready by 9 am sharp,” your father adds, quickly following your mother.

“WHAT?! baba, how could you do this?! does xiang-ge know?! why-“

your mother scoffs at you, slipping on her ridiculous stiletto heels.

“of course he did, he actively tried to talk us out of it for months, that idiot boy.”

“MONTHS?!” 

“yes months,” your mother waves you off, slipping her jacket on. “i don’t know where he got the nerve to act like that! moving to japan has changed him for the worst!”

you want to rip your hair out, feeling betrayed all over again. nicholas, who had appointed himself as your big brother since the day you were born, nagging you left and right before you could even walk, had withheld something as important as this from you for months?! at this point, everyone’s a liar. and everyone is about to suffer for it. who’s next because-

“oh another thing,” your father stops in the doorway, turning to look at euijoo still awkwardly standing in the middle of the foyer. “you, euijoo-ssi,“

you hold your breath, fists balled at your sides, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“you will be accompanying her to korea. it’s been discussed with asakura-sama. someone will be here to pick both of you up,” your father scratches his beard, dismissing you with a wave of his hand.

you ought to pluck it out strand by strand. 

the front door clicking closed feels more like the gates of hell slamming down, leaving you trapped inside. you turn around to face euijoo, suddenly feeling dizzy. euijoo stares at you, looking as lost and helpless as you feel. 

“y/n-“

you collapse to your knees, hiding your face in your hands.

“y/n! y/n, little fairy, what’s-“ euijoo rushes to your side.

you look up at him with glassy eyes, on the verge of hysterical laughter. there are so many things you want to say, but you can’t find the courage to say any of them. you didn’t trust yourself to speak, lest the tears come down faster than a waterfall. euijoo holds you tightly against his chest, his own eyes starting to water. his chest aches, the thought of you walking down the aisle towards another man like a dagger to his heart. 

you’re finally getting married. 

but not to him. 

— 

you tip back the rest of your wine glass, taking a glance at your reflection in a nearby vase.

you hated this, hated all of it. 

just because you were born a girl, your parents had shackled you with an iron collar, your leash no longer than an arm’s length. you knew you’d never have a choice in who you married. actually, you’d been born with no opinion and no brain, according to “tradition.” but honestly, you hadn’t really believed they would do it. as the youngest daughter, why would you have any reason to believe that you would be shipped off? both of your older sisters had married well, to high-ranked members within the criminal underworld. your oldest cousin, nichol’s sister, had left the empire with enough money to survive for several generations, before she’d left for a better life in the united states. never once did you think your parents would chain you to the ugliest, most vile man they could find in china, not to mention the fact that he was older than you by over a decade. you would rather rot and burn in hell than marry and have children with kris wu, a family friend notorious for his controlling and violent nature, particularly towards women. but you were already in hell at this farce of a welcome party, stuffed into a black evening dress of his choosing. it showed too much skin for your liking, the slit on your thigh coming an inch too high. the house staff had done your makeup far too heavily, your eyelids heavy with dark, smokey shadow too intense for your features. you tug your dress back down again in frustration, you were more than ready to go home.

on the outside, you looked every part the taiwanese empire’s ice princess: beautiful, cunning, deadly. your mask at this masquerade-themed party was elegant, sharp and bejeweled. but on the inside? you were dying, yearning for your dream of an epic, fairytale love that had just shattered faster than cinderella’s glass slipper. like a fool you’d hoped that by some fairy godmother’s will, you’d be saved from this fate. instead, you were to be exchange vows by the end of the month to a rat and sorry excuse for a human being.

“y/n, i know this sucks but you need to smile,” euijoo elbows you, the faintest brush of his lips ticklish against the shell of your ear.

you follow his instruction, a twinge in your chest, slightly bowing your head in your fiancée’s direction. he nods at you, full of secrets and sinister smiles. just barely peeking out from under his collar, you can see the purple of a blooming hickey and the smudged, red smear of lipstick on his neck.

disgusting. 

you look away, placing your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, and grabbing a fresh glass. he was EXO’s underboss, the one who had been in charge of all EXO transactions in china and taiwan. he’d been invited into your family’s home on multiple occasions, usually for a round of poker and pot. for reasons you hadn’t understood until recently, mrs. qing, your family’s maid, had always shooed you upstairs before he could see you. and if you absolutely needed to come downstairs, you had to be entirely covered, sweatpants and hoodie preferrable. 

you feel the stares, the judgement. the pitying stares of complete strangers. whispered condolences in a foreign language. you wanted to scream at them all for standing idly by, knowing how heinous and repulsive he was, and allowing it to happen anyway. you were being forced to marry a man who was openly abusive and a whore. your eyes catch a waitress at the corner of the room, securing a silk scarf around the purpling fingerprints on her neck. 

why wouldn’t anyone help you?! 

but in all honesty why would they? your own parents had offered you to him on a silver platter with a bow tied around your neck. even now, they were talking downstairs, delight written all over their faces that you were “finally of age” and could now “fulfill your duty to this family.” 

“y/n, darling,” euijoo whispers, eyes round with worry. “you’re spacing out again.”

you snap out of your daze, turning to face euijoo. he stands tall, looking impeccable in his fitted suit. a matching gold wolf brooch is pinned to his right shoulder, mirroring the one pinned at your waist. his cologne smells like musk and woods, instantly calming your nerves. you had refused to wear exo’s crest, ditching it as soon as the maids had left. jo had given you your wolf pin the day of your first mission with &TEAM, although it was completely by accident.

—

you’d just turned 19. it was yet another night in another shady motel when the unmistakable sound of a silenced gunshot pricks your ears. you’d just run away from home to japan to escape for a couple weeks (again). your parents were threatening to divorce (again) and as the last child who hadn’t left the nest yet, they took their frustrations out on you (again).

no way, they already found you?!

sighing, you trudge over to your front door, already rehearsing any kind of excuse you could possibly pull from thin air.

“ok, fine you got me. but there’s no way you guys- oof!” you pad out into the hallway, stopped in your tracks by a strong chest.

that belongs to no other than byun euijoo.

“JUJU?!!” you yell, eyes bulged out in surprise.

“SHH!” he grabs you, a hand clasped over your mouth. “YOU’RE GOING TO GET US KILLED!” 

stumbling, he walks you back towards your room, kicking the front door shut behind him. his eyes dart around in a panic, finally locking in on the fire escape just outside the tiny window.

“out there, NOW!” he whispers, shoving you ahead of him.

“euijoo, what-“

“later, little fairy. move, NOW!” he urges, shutting the window behind the two of you.

but of course it’s december, and you’re dressed in a flimsy t-shirt and sweatpants. euijoo doesn’t look much better, dressed in a baggy pair of gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. if you’d seen him on the street, you’d have walked right past him. that, you supposed, was the point. 

“euijoo, what the hell is going on?! what are you doing here?” you shiver, your teeth clacking together.

“i could ask you the same question y/n,” he scolds gently, shouldering off his hoodie to wrap around you. although it’s much too large for you. “why are you in japan? aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“so, um,” you laugh sheepishly, your stomach flip-flopping as euijoo pulls the hoodie strings tightly to secure the hood to your head. “i ran away.”

“you did WHAT?!” euijoo yells, immediately shushing himself when he realizes just how loud he yelled. “you ran away?!!”

you roll your eyes, unconsciously scooting closer towards him to keep yourself warm. euijoo wraps his arms around you, also freezing. your breaths intermingle in the air, twin puffs of smoke in the frosty weather. the two of you must look stupid to passersby, pressed together like penguins, huddled along the railing of the rickety fire escape.

“it’s no big deal, seriously. it’s not my first-“

“you’ve run away more than once?!” euijoo’s eyes bulge, his mouth falling open in shock. “are you an idiot?! do you know how dangerous-“

“SHH!” you cut him off harshly, yanking him down closer to you. “there’s someone in there!”

and sure enough, not too shortly after you yank euijoo down, a masked figure pokes his head out. as if he’s looking for someone. euijoo holds his breath, willing the figure to go away before he can see either of you. he can see another figure rooting around in the neighboring room, undoubtedly not without noticing the still-cooling body on the floor. he shakes his head, disappointed. the whole point of this mission was for it to be stealth. like literally, the whole point was that ENHYPEN would have no idea that the teammies had just nerfed one of their key informants in japan. fast forward, there’s two masked figures looking for him, the body is not dumped, he stepped in the blood puddle, and he’s dropped the weapon somewhere in the room. 

eventually they leave, but you and euijoo stay huddled together for some time, cautious of a straggler who could easily shoot either of you. enough time passes that your limbs are frozen solid, joints cracking as you move to stand. euijoo unfurls himself from around you, his lips blue and teeth chattering. 

“y/n, stay here. i need to go back-“

“for this?” you offer, holding the incriminating gun in one sweater paw.

euijoo’s face crumples in relief, hugging you tightly on that fire escape. he’s so happy he could kiss you right now. 

“you thief,” euijoo laughs, picking you up and spinning you in a circle. “thank god for you”

you laugh, heart warm with pride. “you dropped it when you ran into me, idiot”

“no, you ran into-“

“nu-uh, don’t even start-“

nicholas and fuma nearly rip you both a new one when you get back, lips and fingers blue, noses running. jo’s as stoic as ever, saying nothing but ordering both of you to head to the infirmary as soon as you’ve showered. euijoo’s already starting to sneeze, his eyes watery. you elbow him, trying not to laugh while nicholas scolds you both, fussing more than a mother hen. euijoo accidentally snorts, and you just barely manage to smother your giggle with a cough into your sweater-pawed hand. nicholas fixes you both with a withering glare. 

“this is not funny,” he parrots, one eyebrow raised so high it’s practically in his hairline.

and that’s when you both completely lose it, holding each other in a fit of unrestrained wheezing. yeah, you never returned that hoodie.

—

“i- sorry. i’m just-“

the sound of a fork on glass clanks in the background, but you can’t look away. whatever you’d been planning to say dies on your tongue, mind blanking as soon as you lock eyes with him. 

he stares back at you, fighting to keep his expression neutral. his heart beats faster with every second he looks at you, beating fiercely with the need to shield you from this pompous circus. sure, he hadn’t set foot in korea for some time. but he sincerely doubted a man, particularly one marrying you, should have been spotted leaving the local strip club, noticeably disheveled, the morning of a welcome dinner for his soon-to-be wife. a loud cough pulls his attention away from you, and he raises his glass, thinly veiled frustration hidden behind a polite smile.  

“good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” booms the voice of kris wu. “thank you all for being here at this party we’ve thrown in honor of miss wang y/n’s arrival!”

all eyes in the room direct their attention towards you, and euijoo takes a subtle step closer, offering any comfort his presence could possibly give you. yesterday morning, nicholas had arrived at the front door of the main house, disheveled and dark circles under his eyes. 

“EUIJOO! euijoo i am so sorry, i had no idea-“

“you knew?” euijoo shoots back, eyes narrowed with his arms folded over his chest.

he’s just spent the whole night packing for this stupid trip, and is in no mood for nichol’s games. sure, he’s going back to the motherland, but it’s for an indefinite amount of time away from the place that had become home, from his found family, to watch the girl he’d fallen in love with, marry another man.

“yes,” nicholas starts. euijoo rolls his eyes, prepared to kick him out the door. “but i had no idea that they were planning to do it last night! i thought i had more time! i thought i could convince them that you-“

“save it,” he cuts his friend off with a cold glare.

“juju, you can be mad at me all you want. hit me, hate me, i don’t care! swear to me euijoo,” nicholas begs, grabbing euijoo’s shirt. “swear to me you’ll protect her, protect her like your life depends on it.”

euijoo scoffs, shoving his best friend off before nicholas can see the tears starting to form again in his eyes. he awkwardly coughs, willing them to evaporate. it was such a stupid weakness, how easily his emotions got involved in everything. nicholas pretends not to notice, hands dangling uselessly at his sides.

“you already know i will, nichol” euijoo promises, his voice practically a whisper. “and we both know why they pushed for her engagement too”

nicholas says nothing, feeling completely and utterly helpless.

euijoo watches your breath catch, the smallest slight in spite of your elegant posture and relaxed demeanor. you waved to the onlooking crowd, the slight trembling of your fingers going entirely unnoticed. euijoo stands stoically behind you, looking ever the part of &TEAM’s underboss. he’s dressed immaculately in a velvet black suit, slightly cinched at his waist. his only accessories are a simple golden chain necklace gifted by his mother, and a golden wolf brooch by his right collarbone (a/n: sbs gayo 2025 red carpet).

but you wang y/n, his dear little fairy, he could read you like the back of his hand. every quiver of your hands, the slightest lift in the corner of your lips, the tiniest twitch of your eyebrows. to him, you were an open book, you could never lie to him. but you were his best friend’s baby cousin, essentially his little sister. that’s where he should’ve drawn the line. but euijoo wasn’t stupid. wasn’t entirely naive. no line would’ve ever stopped you from waltzing across it, snatching his heart before he could even realize you’d taken it. and foolishly, despite his best efforts, you’d kept it since the first summer you’d arrived.

—

“I HATE EVERYONE!” 16-year-old you screams, throwing your backpack on the kitchen table.

euijoo startles from his nap on the couch, eyes blurry with sleep while you curse and slam cabinets in the background.

“y/n?! what happened?! why are you-“

his voice cuts off, rendered helpless when faced with your teary eyes. you were covered in eggs and feathers, a dusty shoe print clear on the black of your school jacket. 

“oh shit- i’m so sorry, i didn’t know anyone was home! i-“ you stutter out, hastily wiping your tears.

euijoo was the last person you’d expected to be home, his duties as probable future underboss keeping him at the office for odd hours. not to mention that he was the last person you’d wanted to see you like this. you’d started wearing a bow in your hair on days you knew you’d run into him, something that hadn’t gone completely unnoticed to nicholas.

“who did this to you?” his voice comes out harsher than he intended, instant regret washing over him as soon as he’s realized he’s scared you.

you take a step back, his clear concern for you taking you by surprise. you don’t know much about byun euijoo other than him being xiang-ge’s best friend, and  favorite person to piss off. you also know that he’s kind, always silently picking up after the others, his patience limitless for anyone other than xiang-ge. you knew that he was in contention to be the underboss for &TEAM. even though it was hard to believe that soft-hearted, 17-year-old euijoo could be running a mafia empire someday.

“come on, little fairy,” he smiles softly, holding a hand out to you. “i’ll help you with your hair.”

“little fairy? i have eggs in my hair!” you snort incredulously, your head bent over the sink while euijoo’s fingers thread through your hair in his best attempt to remove the slimy yolks.

“an egg fairy then” he snorts. “aigoo, you know how many people we could feed with all these eggs in your hair?! what a waste!”

and you can’t help but laugh along with him, your spirits feeling lighter than they have been in days.

you took xiang-ge’s departure from taiwan as an opportunity and escaped to japan with him, eager for a chance to get away from the toxic environment that your parents had no problem raising you in. everyday, they scolded something new about you: your grades, your appearance, your prospects. every day was spent in misery, and nicholas had been the only person you could trust. he knew all of your secrets, and listened to every complaint you had with open ears and a kind smile. with him gone, you’d sunken deeper and deeper into depression. ms. jing had been the one to give you idea actually, and your parents had allowed you to go with the sole condition of attending summer school to prepare for the college entrance exam. you had readily agreed, eager to get anywhere out of japan. but as luck would have it, it was only your first week of summer classes at this particular school, and a group of girls who had made it their personal mission to torment you. you assumed it was your accented japanese, but teenage girls had a way of being more cruel than anything the mafia princess lifestyle had ever thrown at you. 

and when euijoo and nicholas take it upon themselves to escort you to summer school the next day, all it takes is one withering glance and a scathing conversation with the principal for the girls, and anyone else, to never be your problem again.

—

euijoo’s presence is like that of an angel wrapping its wings around you. you hated the spotlight, the responsibilities that fell on your shoulders as the heir to the taiwanese empire. you’d much rather be out on a mission under the cover of darkness: setting a bomb, felling grown men like flies, running from danger with only euijoo’s voice to guide you. you were pretty, but you were not some sparkly object to be paraded about on some idiot’s arm. if anything, you preferred being hidden away from the spotlight. but there’s no hiding, not now. 

“the soon-to-be mrs wu, everyone!” kris raises a toast, a calculated gleam in his eye in stark contrast to his lazy smile. 

you want to throw up. or throw a knife between his eyes. or knock out all of his teeth. perhaps all of the above, in no particular order.

euijoo steps back as your new fiancée makes his way across the ballroom towards you, nodding his head once in acknowledgement. watching him lean over you, euijoo forces his hands to relax, keeping them politely clasped in front oh him before he can drive a fist through his nose. to him, you were a murderous little free-spirited fairy, content to be flitting around setting bombs and shooting people square between the eyes. you deserved someone who allowed you your freedom, who wouldn’t force you to carry the responsibilities of a traditional mob wife, who gazed at you tenderly, who would protect you with his dying breath. he saw none of these things in the clown standing before him. not a man, but actually worse than a child. children, at least, understood the word ‘no’. 

“euijoo-ssi, long time no see!” kris leers, one arm coming to grab you by your waist, the other reaching out to shake euijoo’s hand.

immediately you tense up, his fingers on your waist digging in with a vice-like grip. euijoo notices your discomfort and his eyelid twitches, though the polite smile on his face doesn’t even so much as falter. he’s also noticed the fresh hickey, rage beginning to bubble in his chest. you shake your head subtly at him: you would be ok, no point in accidentally starting a war over this. to his credit, euijoo doesn’t move and is absolutely content to leave kris’ offered handshake awkwardly floating in the space between the three of you. after all, they were of equal rank: underbosses in their own territories. embarrassed, kris laughs loudly, stuffing his hand back into his pocket.

“ahh, mr. tough guy i see! as expected of &TEAM’s underboss!” 

euijoo doesn’t answer, pretending to take a sip from the champagne flute he’s been holding as decoration all night. you’ve never seen euijoo like this: his gaze hasn’t left kris once, his behavior a complete 180 from the sweetheart you know. he looks every bit the predator the whispers of the underworld make him out to be, though you’ve never seen him as anything more than gentle despite his large frame. 

“my dove, we have people that we need to greet,” kris tugs on your waist, his smile unsettling and uncanny.

you nod, subtly removing it and stepping out of his reach. immediately, some of the tension in euijoo’s shoulders dissipates. he just barely stops himself from reaching out for you, the urge to shove you behind him louder than a howling wolf.

“euijoo-oppa,” you smile bravely. “wait here, i’ll be back!”

and you turn to take your fiancée’s outstretched arm, fighting the urge to push him down the stairs, grab euijoo and make a run for it. euijoo watches you go, the stem of the champagne flute snapping in his fingers. oppa? you had the nerve to call him oppa for the first time ever right now, and then take another man’s hand? his eyes widen at the broken stem, awkwardly placing it on a waiter’s tray before anyone can notice. with a sinking heart he watches you be paraded around the room on kris’ arm, looking more like a prize calf up being shown off for auction.

wait.

his eyes narrow at the crowd, his perfect vision honing in on the individual characters in the mass of glittery masks. the men were all dressed impeccably, each with their own symbolic brooches or family crests pinned to their suits. some with a woman on their arm, some without. those without wore bedazzled black masks with gold detailing. women without brooches were dressed in black dresses similar to yours, ill-fitting but bedazzled, clinging tightly to the arm of the man they were with. they all wore similar masks, though not quite as ornate as yours. they each held glasses of champagne, nodding and smiling at all the right times. but yet, if he looked carefully, each woman with a champagne flute reacted nearly a full second too slow. 

almost as if… 

euijoo’s eyes widen imperceptibly, grabbing another champagne flute before anyone can notice he’s not holding one. something was very, very wrong and he had a feeling that this stupid flute of ridiculously expensive, yet disgusting, champagne was going to be the key to getting both of you out of here alive. he swirls the glass, pretending to be lost in thought. the liquid looked and smelled the part at least. but fresh champagne being served at a party as extravagant as this one shouldn’t have been completely flat. even if it’d been poured early, champagne didn’t fizzle out this quickly. he looks back towards you, all too aware of the unseen eyes staring at him. 

this was no welcome party. 

this was an auction with human prizes, and you were the jackpot.

—

maybe it was because you’d had alcohol. and was more than a little bit tipsy. but euijoo looked really, really good right now.

“y/n, we have to leave” euijoo whispers, his kansai accent heavy and purposeful in attempt to throw off any hidden bugs in your room. exo had no japanese members as far as he was aware, and the dialect would throw off any auto-translator. everybody say thank you yuma

you cross your arms, unamused. you knew euijoo had been on edge since arriving in korea, but you’d just spent the last several hours being twirled around a ballroom in an uncomfortable dress, multiple layers of make-up, and a heavy bejeweled mask. your feet were throbbing from being on your toes all night in stilettos, and your throat impeccably dry from fake-laughing at prideful, beer-bellied men. you’d finally scrubbed the last of the mascara off, freshly showered and changed into comfortable clothes, and ready to sleep for the next century. euijoo would have to carry you if you were getting up out of this bed.

“juju-“ you start to whine.

“y/n, i’m not playing around right now.” he turns around, his shirt loosened.  

his serious tone catches you off-guard and your neck snaps to attention, your brain finally registering that he’s speaking in kansai on purpose. even still, you need a second to take him in: suit rumpled, jacket buttons undone, messy hair, all fake politeness gone. your heart stutters a bit, though the intensity of his expression forces you to shove it downs you can focus. 

“euijoo, what is it?” you question, sitting upright in the bed.

kris had tried to separate the two of you, but you had adamantly refused, even going so far as to threaten that you would slit your throat if he did not allow you and euijoo to share the same room. you would be damned if you were separated from the one person you knew you could 1000% rely on, in a foreign country where you barely spoke the language, in a rival empire. fiancee be damned. if he had no problem having another woman’s love marks on him at a party celebrating your engagement, you could have your best friend. euijoo slept on the small pullout couch in your room, stubbornly refusing to share even a corner of the king-sized bed you were currently laying in.

“it’s EXO. that party. that was not, um… they’re-,” euijoo stutters under your full attention, unsure how to word the disaster downstairs. he wanted so desperately to hide you from the ugliness of human nature, but there was no sugarcoating it. you needed to know. you sit quietly, watching with patient eyes. 

“y/n, i need you not to freak out ok?” euijoo takes a breath, looking over the room for one last sweep of the room for cameras or bugs. “but that was a human trafficking auction…” 

his voice trails off, watching the horror and disgust fill your eyes. he stands patiently, waiting for you to speak first and absorb what you’d just heard. 

you feel like slapping yourself across the face. the entire time you’d been downstairs, you had smiled like an absolute bimbo at everything they were saying. you hadn’t understood enough korean to fully understand what they were saying, but you had kept your head held high and a smile on your face refusing to look completely stupid in a room full of men. you’d fought every instinct that screamed at you to look to juju for guidance, to play the part of the blushing bride-to-be. 

all just to look like the biggest fool in the room. 

you want to gag at the thought of kris taking you around the ballroom to meet all those men, claiming that they were members of important families within EXO that you needed to become familiar with before assuming your role as his wife. when in reality, they had been sizing you up like they were looking for prime breeding stock. those pitying looks hadn’t come from any goodness of their hearts, but rather greed, lust, and disgust. there aren’t nearly enough words to describe how you feel. and all of those women in the room?! you’d assumed they were rich mob wives, hence the airy voices and drunken stumbling. only they hadn’t been drunk at all. if euijoo was right, and he probably was, they’d been drugged. and by some miracle, the two of you were sitting here, drug-free, just now realizing exactly what kind of bullet you had dodged. euijoo was extremely perceptive and you’d bet your birthright that the waiters serving him drinks had been placed there purposefully, his drink drugged just enough to throw him off his game. certain waiters had been circling all night, but you’d assumed it was their assigned section. it wouldn’t be crazy to assume that certain waiters carried drugged drinks and the masks told them which unlucky patron to give them to. 

“juju, we can’t,” you whisper. “there were too many women in there… we can’t just leave them!”

euijoo sighs in frustration, running his fingers through his hair for what seems like the millionth time. how on earth could he get you to understand that you were the one in most danger right now? ever since you were little, you’d fight him and nichol at every turn, even if you knew you were dead wrong. right now you were engaged to one of EXO’s most influential members, the leader of their division in china. you alone had met all of the “buyers” in the room. and if his theory was correct, you were the grand prize. and still you fought him at every turn. every hair on his arms stand on end; he can almost hear the silent auction happening at this very moment, right under your noses. bile rises in his throat at the mere thought of it, red starting to color his vision at the edges.

he’d rather let the whole world burn before he put you anywhere near the eyes and hands of those who wished to objectify and harm you.

but you’re staring at him with those stupidly adorable puppy eyes, your sweater paw hands clasped together. and he knows his own conscience too; he would never sleep if he left anyone to such a horrible fate.

“and no, i’m not leaving you here alone to rescue everyone,” you warn, knowing exactly what kind of plan he’s cooking up in that genius brain of his. “we do this together.” 

euijoo considers it. really considers the idea of throwing you in a box and shipping you back home to japan, where he knows you’ll be safe. instead, he pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to jo and fuma.

“one week, y/n. one week to get everyone out or i’m sending you home, no matter what”

you roll your eyes, deciding to take the small win for now. euijoo could be stubborner than a mule if he felt like it, but with you? you’d sooner win against a concrete wall. you meet his eyes, now fueled with purpose. you had been scheduled to be married by the end of the week, meaning that that would be the day of the final bid for your hand. at least now, you could do something about it rather than wait for the guillotine blade to drop.

“what’s our plan?”

—

the next five days pass by in a whirlwind of emotions, ill-fitting dresses, and false pretenses. kris paraded you around for hours for three of those five days, keeping you glued to his side. euijoo “comes” with you, a little bug hidden in the necklace you never take off, allowing him to listen in on the conversations happening around you. the other days were spent in solitude, kept locked in your room and away from euijoo with a guard outside your door. but even still, you and euijoo aren’t any closer to getting everyone out of here than you were five days ago. neither of you have heard even a peep about where the women are being held, or if they’re in the building at all. everyone is immediately on their guard around the both of you, and euijoo has yet to find a slip in their tight security. 

but you’re running out of time. 

with each ball, more and more women, and a couple of men sprinkled in, are being paraded around with brooches, which you’ve now come to understand was about as good as hanging a sign around their necks reading ‘sold’. the teammies have gotten roped in and are doing the best they can from their end. jo and nicholas remain in japan, sending kei and fuma to manage the rest of your unruly wolf pack. but aside from that, you had no idea what they were up to, or where they even were, too wary of bugs and spying eyes to ask euijoo what was going on behind the scenes. 

today marked day five. and as if he were twisting the knife, kris had left a note for you at the kitchen table, “work meetings all day. take the day to explore, my dove. don’t forget to buy yourself a dress, though i wouldn’t mind if you chose not to wear one ;)”

you’d thrown the note in the fire of the gas stove, the words “my dove” enough to make your blood boil. but the sexual innuendo and winky face? he’d be lucky if you didn’t take some inspiration from your best friend and kill him on the altar yourself. euijoo had nearly put a hole through the wall upon reading the note, the thought of kris wu having his slimy hands on you enough for him to see red. blood red.

“juju, what the hell are we going to do?”

the two of you sit on a bench, sipping on your milk teas while you take in the wonder that is hongdae street. a guy plays guitar in front of you, filling the atmosphere with lively music. couples walk everywhere, hand-in-hand with matching outfits. high schoolers walk around with their friends, talking and laughing, their hands full of photobooth strips. several others walked around with shopping bags, their own milk teas and iced coffees in hand. and most mind-boggling of all, none of these people knew that the two of you belonged to japan’s most dangerous criminal syndicate. or that your miserable self was to be married in two days’ time. or that the two of you were in the middle of busting a sex-trafficking operation. 

“cry,” euijoo replies, a grim expression on his face.  

“not helpful,” you glare, elbowing him lightly.

but crying wasn’t a terrible idea. two days. two days until your doom was spelled out for you but the two of you were no closer to solving anything. the two of you had spent the day wandering around, buying absolutely nothing but food and coffee. knowing how desperately you needed out of the exo fortress, euijoo had taken you to his childhood neighborhood and to meet his parents. 

“mom? mom, are you-“

“EUIJOO-YA!! wow, you’re home!” 

a short woman comes out from the kitchen, her apron and kimchi gloves still on. she turns to you,  bright smile on her face.

“and you must be miss y/n! wow, you’re so pretty! quickly, sit down, you must be so tired!” she fusses, rushing to take your purse and bags.

flustered, you awkwardly bow, trying to stop her from fussing over you. euijoo’s dad peeks his head out from the kitchen too, and smiles at the three of you before ducking back inside. euijoo laughs, his heart warm watching his parents fuss and worry over you. 

“euijoo!”

his head whips towards his dad, who’s making the eyebrows and pointing towards you with his head.

“SHE’S PRETTY! MARRY HER!” he mouths, giving him a thumbs-up with both hands.

chuckling euijoo looks away, his cheeks already tinged pink before he can stop them. watching you, chattering away with his mother and sister, he can so vividly see you as byun y/n, your eyes bright, his ring on your finger. and his heart breaks all over again.

if only. 

—

you sigh, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, dressed in another ridiculously-ornate black dress for yet another party tonight. but something feels different this time. the air weighs heavily on your shoulders, thick with tension you don’t quite understand just yet. and that’s when you see him amongst all of the masks at this “engagement party”, in a black corset and donning a mask similar to those of the women “for sale,” is none other than shigeta harua. 

what. the. HELL.

your husband-to-be had a penchant for masquerade balls and hidden identities, but you knew harua. the maknaez had become your babies in the years you’d been together and you’d know those round, sparkling eyes anywhere, even if they were hidden behind gray contacts and a mask. he’s swaying a bit where he stands, one hand loosely gripping a champagne flute. but you’ve watched harua pretend to be drunk enough times to know when he’s faking it, his sharp eyes a dead giveaway. he fake-giggles at something the man across from him says, his grip tightening around the arm of… RIKI MAUS?!! your nose flares just slightly, fear and uncertainty gripping your heart. maki stands in a relaxed stance, laughing expensively with the other buyer, his other hand in his pocket. his silver-white hair is styled sharply, and the simple mask he wears does nothing to hide his sharp, unmistakeable features.

your eye twitches and you nod once at the buyer you’re talking to, a tight smile plastered on your face while your eyes search the room for byun euijoo. you were going to wring his little ponyo neck for getting them involved in this mission. and if maki and harua were here, you were 100% sure the others weren’t far behind. you take a sip of your wine, chancing a glance around the room for the rest of them. your eyes land on a familiar mop of hair, and dressed in a waiter’s uniform is of course, takayama riki. little did kris know, his disgusting party had been infiltrated by &TEAM’s youngest wolves, their sharp eyes and glittering teeth hidden behind masks and temperate smiles.

you’ve got to be kidding me.

euijoo stands along the wall of the ballroom, carefully hidden amongst the curtains, playing the role of bodyguard perfectly. he’s noticed that you’ve caught sight of maki and harua, and probably taki hidden amongst the several waiters circling around the edge of the ballroom. kei and fuma were elsewhere, rooting through the mansion and its secrets after he’d “accidentally” bumped into some security guarding one of the doors to EXO’s main mansion, stumbling around in a “drunken” stupor. kei’s and fuma’s identities and features were too well-known to be working undercover, easily distinguishable as part of &TEAM’s upper hierarchy. even euijoo himself was well-known in the underworld, his name and face notorious within japan and korea’s criminal syndicate circles. sending the maknaez had been a heated debate, him and nicholas butting heads over the best course of action to get you out of here in one piece. but there were too many missing details and not nearly enough time. they, on the other hand, had been ecstatic to be sent to do “something big and important”. they, too, had been itching to help ever euijoo had briefed them on what was happening in the EXO mansion.

for the first time all night, you turn to directly look at him, all glaring eyes and angry eyebrows. he hates to admit it, but you look beautiful with your hair all done-up, your makeup highlighting your features beneath the warm glow of the overhead chandelier.

“what the hell are they doing here?!!” you scream with your eyes, pissed. those were your babies, aint no way were you going to endanger them in this mess!

euijoo shakes his head, subtly warning you to not engage with them. too many eyes were on you both, and &TEAM had been careful to keep the identities of their younger members hidden. if anyone saw you looking too carefully at any of them, the entire plan would be blown to pieces. it was already a shitty plan to begin with, but what could he do? he only had one more day. one more day to get you and everyone else safely out of here.

“later,” he mouths, directing his attention to kris. somehow, you’d managed to bug his bowtie with your nimble, little fairy fingers. and as much as he’d wanted to throw kris through a wall for the way he watched you tie the bowtie, he’d kept his expression neutral, pretending to turn away to fix himself a drink from the bar cart.

but as the night goes on, the more his eyebrows furrow in suspicion. you haven’t had anything to drink all night, but still, as the ball has progressed, you’ve started to stumble. you throw your hair back carelessly, laughing loudly at anything the sponsors tell you. they leer at you, their eyes hungry and lust-filled. their hands move freely to touch your hair, your shoulders, your waist, your necklace. 

and then he sees the bracelet you’re wearing. 

his eyes widen with horror, mentally kicking himself for not noticing it sooner. it’s a medieval-esque device, little needles indented on the inside meant to cause harm to its wearer if they tried to take it off. but it must be coated in some kind of poison to make you lethargic, because why else would you be draped across a sponsor’s shoulder, a lopsided smile on your face with no care in the world that your neckline has slipped a little lower.

"excuse me," he mumbles a half-hearted apology to the waiter he's absolutely bodied on his beeline towards you. 

"euijoo-ssi! where are you going, the party's just now getting started!"

he glances up to find kris grinning at him, the resemblance to the joker uncanny. he glances back towards you: your cheeks are completely flushed, gaze unfocused while a sponsor attempts to lead you away. 

oh fuck.

"none of your business, mr. wu," he smiles cheerily, then rushes off. 

kris watches him from behind the rim of wine glass. 

oh how he would make euijoo suffer.

"y/n! miss y/n, where are you going?" he calls to you, his voice gentle, as if he were a kindergarten teacher addressing his class. 

"euijoo? OMG JUJU-OPPA!" you slur, stumbling towards him with your arms wide open. "i missed you!"

he just barely manages to catch you before you fall over, glaring daggers at the sponsors watching you. he hears their mutters,

"that's the new mrs. wu?"

"what a mess, that wench"

"how scandalous, the new mrs wu is sleeping with her bodyguard!"

it takes everything in him to not scoff and roll his eyes right there. double standards much? their ferocious underboss had yet again waltzed into the ball, clearly visible hickeys scattered all over his neck and shoulders. not to mention that you were clearly a victim of this whole fiasco. what was wrong with people these days?!

"oppa," you pout, tugging at his sleeve. "i want to go home"

he shushes you, slipping his suit jacket over your shoulders.

"don't worry little fairy, i promised i would get you out of here remember?"

he leads you down the hallway, ignoring maki's questioning look as he speeds past. you were his sole priority, and he would just have to trust that he and the rest of the hyung line had trained them well enough. with every foot away from the ballroom, your steps get heavier and heavier, chest heaving with exertion. sweat beads on your brow, the dress weighing on you like a piano tied to your ankles. by the time you reach the stairs leading to the upstairs of the main house, you’re completely gassed.

"juju,” you pant, practically doubled over. “i don't- i can't walk- oof!"

euijoo flips the knife out of his pocket, cutting away the excessive train of your dress with bonechilling ease. he picks the lock on the bracelet off too, his suspicions proved by the tiny prick marks on your skin. little rivets of blood are already scabbing over, your skin raw from the bracelet digging into your wrist. but your mind is too foggy to comprehend much else besides the feeling of euijoo scooping you up, as if you were lighter than air. instinctively, your arms come to wrap around his neck, your face tucked into the crook between his neck and shoulder. 

“oppa, you smell really good” you murmur, your speech becoming more and more slurred with every minute. 

“y/n, shush,” euijoo hushes you, afraid of someone hearing. “can you be quiet until we get to your room?”

“fine….” you pout. “you sound like xiang-ge”

but you comply anyway, all the way until euijoo drops you onto your bed with an undignified oof! you peer at him, your limbs completely numb. your mind is still all over the place, all of your senses firing at once and completely overwhelming you.

“euijoo!” you call, still laying like a stick.

“yes?” he turns, and your heart skips a beat. 

his hair is completely mussed in all directions, suit crumpled from carrying you against his chest. the glasses he was wearing lay lopsided on his face, but still he watches you, his eyes round with worry.

“you look stupid,” you giggle. “like a kicked puppy”

“bruh,” he rolls his eyes, coming to take your heels off. they were an offending pair of 5-inch stilettos, hand-picked by your ever-so-considerate fiancee of course.

“can you help me with my dress too?” 

euijoo gives you a look. 

“y/n, i’m a man and you’re a girl. i cannot-“

“but i can’t move my arms,” you roll your eyes, still dazed and talking in your best cutesy voice.

“what do you mean you can’t move your arms?!” euijoo is about five seconds from panicking and shipping you home to japan, screw the plan.

“i literally cannot move my limbs euijoo,” you huff. “so come here, be a good best friend and help me with my dress”

at this point, whatever drug had been in your bracelet has started to wear off, its effect diminished from euijoo’s lockpjicking handiwork. but still, your limbs refuse to cooperate, your clarity of mind being the first to slowly return. euijoo’s mouth sets into a grim line, rage building with the knowledge of what exactly kris had been planning for you that night. that he’d known exactly what he was doing, leaving you drugged and surrounded by sponsors who could whisk you away to a dark corner. but one look at your face quells his anger faster than a bucket of water: the horror and pure terror building in your face, realization hitting as to what could’ve happened had euijoo taken his eyes off of you. and in that moment you can’t do anything but cry, your arms still laying limply at your sides.

“oh y/n,” euijoo sighs, pulling you up. he holds you close, nose buried in your hair.

“this is just so fucked up!” you curse, anger taking over your fear. “how could he be such a horrible excuse of a human being?! i don’t understand! even criminals have morals, but this? this is just-“

euijoo hugs you tightly, not a single care that your tears are staining his shirt. 

“shhh, i’m here y/n. my pretty fairy, don’t cry he’s not worth it,” he whispers, fingers moving lightly to undo your zipper. 

you tense in his hold, his words registering. euijoo freezes, too scared to say anything else lest he scare you away. choosing to play stupid, he grabs a t-shirt from his suitcase, throwing it over your head and threading your arms through the sleeves carefully. but he looks everywhere else but your eyes. 

“euijoo…”

“don’t,” he whispers firmly. “don’t say anything. your arms work now right?”

you nod, wiggling your fingers in confirmation. 

“here, you can wear my sweatpants. i’ll turn around,” euijoo turns, humiliated. he grabs another shirt from his bag, changing into it while you’re distracted.

he doesn’t want to hear your answer. it terrifies him, knowing the weight of what he’s let slip. kris might very well force you to marry him tonight instead of two days from now if he’d heard. he might separate the two of you. you stare at his turned back carefully, taking note of his bright red ears.

“euijoo-“

“you’re finished? ok i’ll just-“

“juju-“

“see myself out-“

“BYUN EUIJOO!” 

he stares at you like a kicked puppy, his eyes wide.

“can you just listen to me?! we don’t have to talk about it right now, but-“ you look up from your hands. “can we? when this is all over?”

euijoo regards you for a moment, blinking in disbelief at the words that have just left your mouth. you watch him hopefully, your legs now crossed in your lap.

“ok,” he decides. “i’ll just-“

“stay with me,” you offer shyly. “don’t sleep on that stupid couch, i know your back hurts. just sleep-“

“but i’m a-“

“shut up and stop trying to be a gentleman,” you sigh, exasperated. “just get in the bed.”

“y/n-“

euijoo stands like a stick, frozen in place. thoughts of nicholas beating the shit out of him cross his mind, his heart at war with his mind. but you’re tired, and watching him fight this internal battle is making you even more exhausted. groaning, you haul yourself out of the blankets and drag him down with you into the bed.

“shut up idiot, you’re not leaving me”

—

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!!” 

you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of a man screaming. your eyes bleary with sleep, you roll off the bed, landing with a heavy oof! on the floor. the clock on the wall reads 9:07am. by the time you’ve sorted out your wits, you stand up to see kris holding euijoo by the collar, both men glaring daggers at the other. kris holds a pistol in his other hand, the muzzle flush against euijoo’s forehead. 

“KRIS-SSI! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!! put him down! now!” you scream, terror clutching at your heart. 

“you dare be engaged to me and sleep with another man in your bed?!!” he roars back, the pistol pressed so tightly to euijoo’s head that it’s sure to leave a mark.

euijoo says nothing, his expression steeled. but inside, his heart is gripped with fear. pure terror that kris might turn the pistol on you instead.

“please kris, we’re just friends,” you plead, willing to say anything to get that gun away from euijoo. “i would never love him! and if you kill him, there will be war and &TEAM will come for you and everything you’ve built will be nothing but dust when they’ve finished.”

euijoo fights to shutter his expression, to shove down the hurt despite knowing that you’d never love kris. but your words echo in his mind.

“i would never love him!”

but kris didn’t become a top member of EXO for no reason. he doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that flashes across euijoo’s face first. the desperation in your voice as you fight to not look at euijoo. he lowers the gun and shoves euijoo away, smirking. he walks toward you, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you to not flinch away when he bends to kiss your forehead.

“forgive me, my dove. i must have been mistaken, i just get so…” he pauses, raising a hand to pat your shoulder. “protective of you.”

he lets go of you, his fingers burning like acid and poison against your skin. protection, my ass. 

she will never be yours, he mouths to euijoo with a sly smile.

“i’ll pick you up for at 5pm for a business meeting, my dove. wear my favorite dress,” the door clicks shut, and you fall to your knees, letting out the breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

fuck, that was close.

“y/n-!“

“euijoo, holy shit, you need to leave” you whisper-yell, the adrenaline rush starting to wear off. “i care about you too much to let you get hurt because of me, i won’t be able to take it! what if kris had shot you?! what if he-!!”

euijoo’s heart breaks watching you tremble, your arms wrapped around your torso in an attempt to self-soothe. he gathers you into his arms, your face pressed flush against his chest. his own chest heaves with the adrenaline crash, the feeling of the gun pressed to his forehead fading faster than dust at the thought of it being pointed towards you. 

“shh, it’s ok” he whispers, his voice softening. he would never forgive himself if you’d gotten hurt because of him. he would’ve taken every bullet in the exo armory if it meant you were safe. “i’m not going anywhere, ok? i would never leave you, not with him, not in this place, not ever”

the rest of the day, you don’t hear from kris again. the staff has no idea where he’s gone, other than “out for business.” they’re probably all lying to you. euijoo, on the other hand, is caught up with trying to figure out how the hell harua and maki lost taki last night after he’d taken you upstairs. kei and fuma are somewhere nearby, hiding out until euijoo can get them another opportunity to sneak inside to find where the auction girls are being kept. they’d scoured the entire east and north wing, to no avail. your room was in the south wing, and you had dragged euijoo for enough nightly strolls over the past week to still find no trace of where they’d gone. with kris’ wrath in mind, your desperation to find the auction girls grew.

euijoo had also noticed something particularly odd. the other members of exo seemed to not make an appearance in this house, which was extremely odd if their underboss was getting married off and having celebrations. even the other chinese members, luhan, tao, and lay, hadn’t been present. all the sponsors were masked, but their crests belonged to that of high-ranking, prestigious families in korea, japan, taiwan, and china. why were all these rich people here, but not a single one of exo’s ringleaders?

“miss y/n?”

“yes?”

you poke your head up, surprised. the maid waits at your door, an impassive expression on her face.

“mr. wu has asked me to get you ready for dinner with him”

you look past her, at euijoo’s pacing back. he’s whispering in rapid-fire on the phone, trying to put out some fire you can’t see. all you know is that taki’s missing.

“um, sure,” you stand hesitantly.

you don’t know what kind of dinner you could possibly be eating at four in the afternoon; but when your head hits the bathroom sink, the maid standing over you with a syringe in hand, you’d greatly prefer eating the entire slab of marble over whatever kris has planned for you.

—

drip. 

drip.

clang.

your eyes slowly blink open, adjusting to the low light of the swinging lightbulb above the dark cell you’re in. rusty iron shackles hang loosely around your ankles; your neck aches from where the maid had jabbed you with the syringe. the musty air reeks of body odor, urine and feces, the stench so pungent it clouds all of your senses. your eyes now somewhat-adjusted, you can just barely make out the shapes of other people stuck in the cell with you. and one particularly familiar mop of hair. 

“TAKI!” you whisper-yell, trying not to alert anyone that you’re awake.

taki’s head whips around at your voice, relief filling his features at the sight of you. his hair is hopelessly tangled, his clothes filthy with dirt and blood. his arms are covered in bruises, clear fingerprints decorating his skin. 

“y/n-noona! are you ok?!” he yells. “what are you doing down here?!”

“i’m ok! what are you doing down here?!”

“i, uh,” taki rubs his neck sheepishly, his voice cracking as it always did when he got caught doing something stupid. “did a little too good at being undercover and got separated from harua and maki. and then i thought i overheard one of the sponsors saying where the girls were. next thing i know, i’m waking up here…”

“jesus christ you idiot, everyone’s worried sick about you!” you scold, shaking your head in relief. “you know better than to go anywhere without back-up. euijoo’s been scolding harua and maki left and right for losing you! and those bruises?!”

“well, i didn’t go down without a fight you know” taki’s head tilts to the side, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“ok well, we have to find a way out of here-“

“that won’t be necessary,” a man’s voice booms. 

a metal door clangs shut, clipped footsteps headed your way. surprise, surprise, it’s your husband-to-be.

“splendid, i was hoping you knew each other,” he leers, peering at you through the rusty bars of your prison cell. “wolves are just so easy to catch! i haven’t see you before, but the rest of you won’t be too hard to find, fuma put up a pretty good fight just now. if one falls, the rest will go down faster than a stack of dominos.”

you share a look with taki. 

he’s bluffing.

mafia princess 101: body language. and kris was absolutely stressed to the max, his normally well-kept hair sticking out in multiple directions. his figure appears gaunt, as if arrogance had been the only thing holding it up since you’d last seen him just that morning. his shirt is mis-buttoned, the shirttails sticking out and stained. besides, if he’d gotten into a fight with fuma? he wouldn’t be the one walking away alive. 

“why are you doing this, kris?” you ask lowly, meeting his eyes. “why are you hurting all these people? selling them like objects and not treating them like living, breathing people?!”

he looks taken aback, as if no one’s stopped to ask him that question before. or worse, as if he’s never considered the gravity of his actions. but that flash of emotion is gone faster than you can blink.

“people?!” he laughs, teeth bared into an ugly sneer. “these so-called people are nothing more than common sluts i picked up in the whorehouses! homeless, no family, no friends, no job. they were more than willing to come with me when i told them of the beautiful lives they could live as shining diamonds to asia’s wealthiest! they asked for this, my naive little dove”

it takes everything in you to not openly laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement. you found it extremely difficult to believe that all of these people had known what they’d signed up for: a life of being drugged and incapable of basic functions, so blissfully unaware of the violations inflicted on their bodies. but kris catches the slight lift in the corner of your lips anyway.

“HOW DARE YOU MOCK ME?!” he roars, reaching through the bars to grab you by the throat.

you cough and splutter in his grasp, clawing at his rough hands to try to pry his fingers from your windpipe. but you’re locked in place, restricted by the shackles around your ankles and drugs still circulating through your system. 

“NOONA!” taki screams, helplessly rattling the bars of his own cell. “LET HER GO, YOU DISGUSTING MONSTER! PUT MY SISTER DOWN!”

you can’t die, he won’t allow it. over the years, you’d become a dear older sister to him: rolling your eyes but always helped him with his homework if he asked, never said no to a 3am convenience store run, deep conversations over ice cream under the stars, clutching each other for dear life during horror movies, made him and harua make up if they fought. he would never forgive himself if you died in front of his very eyes; he would never be able to face nicholas or euijoo again.

but his words fall on deaf ears. instead kris adjusts his grip, now nearly suspending you mid-air with both hands wrapped tightly around your throat. your eyelids flutter, black spots filling your vision. 

“you are disgusting!” you manage to cough out, eyes blazing with fury. “a vile, spineless, pathetic rat!”

kris’ hands squeeze tighter, so tight you can feel his fingernails leaving little crescents in the skin of your neck.

“when i’m finished with you, dove, you’ll wish you were dead instead!” he sneers, bringing your face up close to meet his through the bars. “forget the highest bidder, you will be my whore, you stupid woman! i will fuck you-“

“i would rather fuck a razor blade!” you spit, taking in a heaving gasp when he throws you down in anger. 

your head hits the concrete of your cell with a resounding crack, your vision already blurry from the drugs. you might be seeing double, but even you can see that his face has started to purple with rage, looking more berry than human.

“YOU INSOLENT LITTLE-!!”

“that’s enough from you, you pathetic bitch” 

BANG!

through half-closed eyes, you can just barely make out euijoo standing over kris like some kind of avenged angel, his eyes sparking with fury. his gun is drawn, kris’ now-bleeding head as evidence of its unforgiving nature. kei and fuma stand behind him, going around to the other cells to check on the other prisoners. 

“well! if it isn’t my slut’s little side fuck!” kris laughs maniacally, completely unaware of the danger he’s now in.

euijoo laughs, his tone a complete 180 of the sweetheart you’ve gotten to know.

“at least she’d fuck me willingly,” euijoo chortles, giving kris a swift kick to the ribs. 

immediately your cheeks warm, all too aware of the shocked croak that just left taki’s mouth. and fuma and kei fixing the two of you with widened, laser beam eyes. you can’t imagine the mess it’d be if nicholas had been standing right there. sleazy criminals aside, euijoo might’ve been the first one dead.

it happened last summer, on your annual escape to japan. nicholas and jo, obviously, were at home with their wives. the maknaez were out with kei and fuma on a training trip to the mountains. and yuma was at the tattoo shop he often frequented; you and kei had a bet on when he’d finally confess his so-freaking-obvious crush on the pretty apprentice you’d often seen in the window of the shop. so it’d just been the two of you home alone, stupidly engaged in a drinking game of taking a shot of soju every time something cringey happened on screen. of course, you’d won rock paper scissors and ended up choosing to watch “business proposal.” and somehow, over the course of your kdrama marathon, you’d scooted so close to euijoo you were practically laying in his lap. enough fidgeting later, you’d ended the night with whispers of sweet nothings and “relax for me, my pretty fairy”. the next morning, you hadn’t stuck around; actually, you’d booked it for taiwan.

BUT ANYWAY.

“give me the gun,” you grunt out, hobbling as close as you can to the bars before the shackles stop you. euijoo doesn’t look away from kris, the grip on his gun unwavering, the image of you battered and bruised ingrained into his mind.

“euijoo,” you call again, this time more firmly. just the sigh of kris’ body writhing on the ground is enough to turn your stomach, rage building like fire. “give me. the gun.”

this time, euijoo looks away from kris, his eyes softening as soon as it lands on you. without another word, he hands you the gun through the bars. he knows this kill isn’t his, as much as he’d like it to be. 

“i should riddle your body with as many bullets as people you’ve wronged,” you hiss out, straightening your posture to your full height. “but nothing i do will ever change how much you’ve hurt other people. but at the very least,”

you turn off the safety, taking aim. kris openly laughs, his teeth bloody. 

“you stupid girl! you won’t even-“

BANG! BANG!

kris howls, curling in like a shrimp around his now-shattered shins. 

“that was for hurting my little brother,” you scoff out, taking aim again.

BANG! BANG!

he lets out a bloodcurdling scream, his arms completely shot to death. euijoo watches grimly, quiet satisfaction in his gut. oh how he wanted to wring his neck for all he had done. but this was your win, you deserved to kill the man who had been so ready to sell you to a life of prostitution for a pretty penny.

“that was for even thinking about touching another person with those disgusting hands”

you take your final aim. 

“but this one? now this one’s for me, you disgusting, slimy, diabetic-looking, wet sock ass bitch”

BANG!

euijoo looks back at you, then at taki, the dead body with a hole in its skull, and the still-smoking gun in your grasp.

“damn y/n,” he whistles, popping the lock on your bars.

“trust fall,” you smile softly, your eyes rolling back as gravity takes over.

“Y/N!” is the last thing you hear before your vision goes completely dark.

—

“DON’T TOUCH ME YOU-“ you scream, eyes shooting open. your mind is still lost in whatever nightmare you’d been in, terror still coursing through your veins.

“y/n?! y/n calm down, hey, it’s ok it’s me, euijoo!”

your panicked gaze lands on the figure slumped at your bedside, his brown hair golden from the sunlight streaming in through the window.

“eui…joo…?” you blink at him. “who’s that?”

a long silence follows, his heart shattering with each millisecond that passes. 

“OH MY GOD I’M KIDDING!” you cough out, gripping his hands tightly. “i could never forget you byun euijoo”

still, he sits there frozen. 

“you asshole-“ he throws your hands away, turning away with a pout. “and to think i was so worried. and i changed all your bandages-”

“juju~”

“but noooo! you’re just as bad as nichol, making me worry and-”

“byun euijoo.”

“i’m never being nice again. you always do something stupid like-!”

you grab his face with both hands, planting your lips firmly on his. he nearly whimpers at the feeling of your lips on his, one hand coming up to deepen the kiss. he’s only kissed you once before, but there’s no way he can get enough of you. not in this lifetime, and probably not the next. 

“did we-“

“did you-“

“i love you”

you stare blankly at him, willing your ears to work.

“you, what?”

“i. love. you,” euijoo watches you, his cheeks tinged pink. “y/n.”

“i-“

“and i know you know,” euijoo coughs, knowing damn well he has to get this off of his chest while he still has the guts to. “ever since last summer, when we- um, yeah. but you ran away to taiwan because you were scared and that’s ok, you came back to japan anyway.”

“juju-“

“i love you y/n, and i don’t regret it. i don’t know when it happened, i just know how i felt the day your parents decided to arrange you off.”

it doesn’t matter anymore, he can handle the rejection if that happens. all he cares about is you knowing how much you mean to him.

“you know that jojo has been pushing me to marry. the entire hyung line, really. the only girl i could possibly want to marry was, well, you”

he looks down at his hands, fingers intertwined with yours.

“and when i asked your parents for permission, all they said was, we’ll see. next thing i know, you’ve been arranged to marry that thing and there i was, your bodyguard instead of your fiancee,” he laughs bitterly.

your eyes widen at the sincerity he holds in those beautiful eyes, the pure sadness in them. your mind thinks back to the worst week of your life, knowing damn well that your stomach had been fluttering with euijoo’s overprotectiveness.

“i love you, byun euijoo,” you whisper.

“what’d you say? i can’t hear you,” he teases, a smile already making its way across his round cheeks.

“i. love. you. juju.” you annunciate, hiding your face in his chest.

“i thought i’d lost you forever, you know, little fairy,” he laughs, breathing a sigh of relief that his ultimate love confession wasn’t for absolutely nothing. “you’re mine, ok?”

sure, you’d had sex. sure you’d just kissed. you could still say no and run away. 

“oh good, i wasn’t trying to be anyone else’s fairy,” you giggle, pecking his cheek at how adorably pouty euijoo’s being. “you’re my stupid puppy forever”

“Y/N-CHAN!! thank god you’re awa- EWWWWW!!!” taki screams, immediately backing out of your hospital room and straight into the wall.

“taki, shut up. this is a hospital!” nicholas’ wife scolds gently, nicholas at her side of course.

the three of them bundle into the room, carrying all sorts of homemade dishes, baked goods, flowers, and balloons. your best friend winks at you way-too-obviously, looking pointedly at your still-intertwined fingers and slightly swollen lips. euijoo looks like he’s just been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, nicholas putting on his best big-brother-like glare.

“do i hear wedding bells soon?” she sing-songs, her bright eyes in stark contrast to the sharp elbow she aims at nicholas’ ribs.

“byun euijoo. i need to speak with-“

“xiang-ge,” you start.

“nichol-“ euijoo is terrified.

“you know damn well you wouldn’t have let anyone else date her, much less marry her,” your best friend laughs, calling him on his bluff immediately.

“fine,” he rolls his eyes. “but still, if you break her heart euijoo, i will snap your neck”

“i’m pretty sure y/n would beat you to it,” he laughs in relief, kissing your forehead.

you look up at him, a bright smile on your face. “well of course, darling”

“UGH GAG!” taki yells. “you guys are so lovey dovey it’s so gross! i am still traumatized from what you said in the prison, euijoo!”

euijoo’s face turns bright red, looking everywhere but at nicholas. who, in turn, stares quizzically at euijoo. 

“what did you-“

“WOW! we have SO much paperwork to catch up on, all those people need access to resources and shelters and-“

“euijoo, get back here! what did you say-”

“we need to make sure we have enough food and water and clothes-“

“BYUN EUIJOO!”

—

“oh my god, euijoo you’re going to be a dad!”

“papa!”

“father!”

“abeoji!”

“baba!”

euijoo is frozen in shock. and horror. and sheer terror at the pregnancy test maki is holding, two lines clearly indicating positive. he’d seen it in the trash can when he was cleaning the bathroom, running out in pure glee and screaming, CONGRATULATIONS PAPA EUIJOO!” and of course, it was family dinner night so all the teammies were currently crowded together in his living room. 

you’d just gone out on a mission with harua and nicholas’ wife this morning, yet another sneak-attack-bombing situation. one of kris’ executives, presumably his partner in the auction scheme, was going around trying to track down and kill the victims.  many of them had already come forward with the names of the men who had terrorized them, landing them serious jail time or, well, the mafia’s way of handling things. obviously, this mission you were on, highly dangerous, lots of room for error, and his mind has already jumped to the worst case scenario: dead in a ditch, dead at the bottom of the ocean, dead in an unmarked grave, DEAD. 

oh my god did i just send my wife to her death?!!! did i just make myself a widower?!

immediately, his brain short circuits into full-on panicked, disaster mode. you’ve only just gotten married last month. and sure, you hadn’t exactly been super careful on your wedding night. but even still, it usually took at least three cycles! did he really manage to-

“we’re home!” you announce, gleefully kicking in the door.

the three of you look like shit. covered in mud, cuts, bruises.

“WHAT HAPPENED?!!” euijoo rushes over, jumping straight into protector mode. “why are you covered in mud?! are you hurt, what-“

“juju, babes, you’ll never guess-“ you giggle, relishing euijoo’s full attention on you. he fretted every time you went on a mission, especially now that you went much more often after having been disowned by your parents in taiwan. and you were the teammies’ only bomb expert.

“NOONA! ARE YOU PREGNANT AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!!” taki yells, shoving harua aside. “I CALL DIBS ON BEING THE GODFATHER!”

“taki, honey, what the hell-“

“WHAT?! NO I WANT DIBS!” harua shoves taki back, using his puppy eyes to maximum capacity.

“OH NU-UH! i found the pregnancy test so i get dibs!” maki strolls over, waving the pregnancy test like it’s the national flag.

“OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS!” you double over in laughter, literally wheezing and crying. “that’s not mine, that’s jo’s wife’s! don’t you know that’s why she’s resting upstairs away because all of you are loud as hell?”

everyone turns to stare at jo, who freezes at all the sudden attention on him. but his bright red ears are a dead giveaway. as soon as his wife had started acting weird, he’d immediately been suspicious that she was pregnant again. even their son had somehow picked up on it, he’d started kissing her belly before going to sleep about two months back along with a very cute “goodnight imoto-chan” she’d felt ill this morning and had taken a pregnancy test just in case as soon as they’d gotten to your place.

“um, surprise?” he rubs his neck awkwardly, not really sure what to say. they’d originally been planning to hide it until she started to show, but well, cat’s out the bag now.

“jo, you DOG!” kei cheers, coming over to clap him on the back.

euijoo deflates, trying to smile while watching the teammies surround jo. for some reason, he’d gotten his hopes up. nursery plans, baby clothes, you with your little pregnant belly, a child who was the perfect mix of both of you. 

“hey, what’s wrong?” you ask softly, kissing his cheek.

“nothing,” he laughs, putting on a brave face. “i just, i don’t know. thought about us, you know? with a baby of our own, and i guess i got a little too excited about being a dad and-”

you giggle, going up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ears. and what you say next has his face flaming redder than his hair, scrambling to pull a poker face together.

time skip to eight months later, you lazily blink awake to the sight of euijoo, nicholas, and maki waddling in through the door, their arms full of baby-related everything. with jo’s newborn daughter and nicholas’ daughter not being old enough to level up from her crib, the three of them had carted themselves off to the mall to buy everything you could possibly need for the twins you were carrying. your best friend was over at jo’s house, helping her with anything she could possibly need with jo being gone at a inter-alliance conference.

euijoo kisses the top of your head, then your belly twice. 

“good morning my troublemakers, be good for your mom today, ok?”

you wince, one of them giving a strong kick at their father’s voice. euijoo rubs your belly, willing him or her to calm down. the twins, a boy and a girl, were a bunch of mischievous brats. even within the womb you knew they’d be a handful as soon as they learned to walk.

“they definitely got it from you,” you breathe out shakily, the baby finally calming down.

“but i’m an angel,” he grins cheekily at you. “do you want your tea? what can i do to help?”

you shake your head, closing your eyes again, willing the contractions to go away.

everything was perfect, even if you were falling asleep to the whispered bickering of the three of them trying to put a crib together. you loved this little life of yours, surrounded by a loving family and your wonderful, doting husband at your side. he had always been your epic fairytale love, waiting for you to be brave enough to face it. he would never dream of caging you, clipping your wings to keep you from flying away. marriage and parenthood wasn’t so bad when it was byun euijoo, you supposed.

“YAH! of course my way is right, i literally just built a crib!” 

“nichol, the instructions literally say-“

“juju-hyung, the instructions are in english and i know you can’t read that so-”

"hey guys?"

all three heads whip around to face you.

"not to make anybody panic or anything, but i think my water just broke," you mutter out, sitting up.

damn, these kids can kick.

"MEIMEI ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!!"

"Y/N-NOONA, HOLY SHIT?!!"

amidst the n&m chaos, euijoo beams at you, his eyes clearly shaking with nervousness and excitement. but he's staying calm, already five steps ahead of you. you smile back at him, answering his unspoken question with a thumbs-up.

"ok i'm going to get the car ok? the hospital bag is already in the trunk and nichol and maki can finish the crib while we go, ok?"

you laugh, tears welling up at how calm he is. oh how you loved a man so lovely and willing to be a husband and father.

damn pregnant hormones.

you should’ve run when you had the chance.

you watch your fiancée from the top of the terrace, a cigarette between your lips. his pink hair stands out, bright amongst the masses of black suit and ties. he leans against the wall of the ballroom, hands in his pockets, observing.

what a stick in the mud.

“are you ready, y/n?”

you look at your brother, purposely blowing a cloud of smoke into his face.

jake sighs heavily, taking a sip from the champagne flute he’s holding. he’d run out of things to say. he, jay, and sunghoon had all put their heads together to come up with anything that they could say to make you feel better, but every time, they’d come up empty-handed. 

“what do you think, jake?" you scoff. "i’m being forced to marry a man who i’ve been raised to believe is the enemy for my entire life. not to mention the added bonus that he will resent me for as long as i wear his ring on my finger.” you finish, pushing off from the balcony.

“y/n-“

“and for what?? this shitshow of a wedding because our buffoon of a father decided shipping off his only daughter was the only option?” you ask, eyebrow quirked.

“y/n!” jake scolds, looking around to see if anyone heard your outburst.

for once in your life, the two of you are silent, staring at each other from opposite sides of the battlefield. jake was the perfect heir and son, second only to your oldest brother whom you haven't seen in years. he'd been sent to australia when you were a lot younger, and honestly, you could barely remember what he looked like. as a child, you'd grown close with the 02z and had been thick as thieves growing up. after all, you'd been born only a couple months after sunghoon. and although you were only related to jake by blood, everywhere they went, you followed. or at least tried to.

at some point during high school, they'd decided to become an “all boys' club." sure, they included you but you never understood their inside jokes. or even half of what they were talking about in the first place. you were just "jake's little sister"

but anyway, it wasn’t like being mafia royalty had earned you many friends, save for the ones who kissed your feet in a futile attempt to make their way to the top. this was different though; you were about to be truly alone, a princess off to her gilded dungeon.

ENHYPEN and &TEAM had been at each other’s throats for decades. ENHYPEN in the west, &TEAM in the east. honestly, it had gotten to the point where no one really knew what the feud was about. all that mattered was pride. but at some point in the last year, with the rising influence of BND in the north, both dons had decided enough was enough. too many people had died over such a useless war, on both sides. in the end, they’d both decided it was time to lay down arms against each other and focus on their new enemy. and in a sake-drunken stupor, your father had pitched a wonderfully horrendous idea to don asakura: in a show of good faith, ENHYPEN and &TEAM would be united through marriage. but with the former asakura don passed on, jo had been left to decide which of his right-hand men would fulfill the clause. lucky for you, tonight was your engagement party to the one and only nicholas wang.

god, i need a drink.

putting your cigarette out, you make your way to the bar. but you can’t stop the thoughts from plaguing you, running last night over and over again in your head. 

you’d just come home from backpacking in europe. nothing was unpacked. pizza was ordered, freshly showered, skincare routine complete. you’d poured yourself a glass of wine, ready to put on your favorite show, only to walk into the sight of your father in your living room, a grim expression on his face.

you were to be married in two weeks' time. you didn’t know much about nicholas, other than the encyclopedia-thick file of useless information that ENHYPEN had on him. half of the information in that file was wrong, occupational hazard of being the espionage master, you surmised. the problem was figuring out which half it was.

the paradox lay in that nicholas was all over the limelight, cat-like eyes glimmering for the cameras, full of secrets and half-truths. he’d been one of ENHYPEN’s top targets before this fiasco of a marriage, and staring at his composite picture as you down your drink, you can't help but shiver. even his picture promised arrogance and mischief.

“one strawberry mojito, please”

the bartender shakes his head. “sorry madam, no can do.”

“a strawberry margarita?”

“sorry, can’t make anything with strawberries in it.”

you raise an eyebrow, confused. 

“ok? um... an amaretto sour, i guess. did they all go bad or something?”

“no ma’am, the hosts specifically requested no strawberries for this party because some guy has an allergy.” 

“oh. which guy?” you question, taking the drink from him.

“the one getting married, i think,” he replies, going off to attend to a different customer.

“i see…” 

you leave a crisp five-dollar-bill, already formulating a plan. sure, you could allow yourself to be a pawn, moved at your father's whim. but you'd never had it in you to accept things as they were.

you descend the grand staircase, your head held higher than any queen. like most people, you'd greatly prefer your oversized sweatpants and hoodie right now. but few could hold a candle to you when you really leaned into the "mafia princess" bit. tonight, you’re dressed in a simple gown, your late mother's jewelry decorating your neck and ears. conversations halt, the music stutters, and a cold silence settles in the room like a fresh blanket of snow. 

you make it to the bottom of the stairs when the whispers start.

she’s not even that pretty…

hell must have frozen over if our yixiang is marrying that thing

how dare she?!!

you smile and nod as you pass the attendees, crossing the room with the posture of a regal empress. funny they were saying such things now. last week, these same people had practically been eating out of your hand for your attention. of course, they would never say such things to your face. you keep moving, pretending that their words don't bite like individual knives into your back. without further fanfare, the orchestra starts back up, but you don’t drop the mask. your mother had practically beat etiquette into you as a child, you weren’t about to abandon it now and give the masses something else to whisper about.

and then for the first time, you come face-to-face with him, your new dearly beloved. everyone around him is chatting, easy smiles on their faces despite the wariness in their eyes. contrary to his relaxed posture, your fiancée is gripping his drink like he wants to crush it in his hand. and when he finally turns to make eye contact with you, pure, unadulterated hatred flashes across his face.

perfect.

you smile mockingly, walking right up to him. you had spent your whole life surrounded by men who underestimated your value. nicholas had it coming if he believed you would bow so easily. 

“my love, we’re supposed to be celebrating our engagement. try not to look so miserable” you purr, lightly resting your hand on top of his. 

“sim y/n,” he whispers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “and here i was, praying you’d suddenly collapsed in the street.”

"funny, i was hoping you’d choke on a… strawberry,”  you smile, fighting the giddiness undoubtedly plastered on your face as you watch the horror fill his eyes. 

without losing eye contact, you take a sip from your drink, the gaudy, diamond ring on your finger catching the light. it had been shipped to your apartment yesterday, first-class with no return address. it was your first time wearing it, but already it was suffocating to look at. for his part, nicholas blanches, looking more-than-mildly nauseated. 

good.

before you can say anything, nicholas suddenly grabs you by the waist and jerks you towards his chest. you freeze, breath caught in your lungs. this close to him, you can't help but appreciate the cologne he's wearing, fresh and floral, yet warm and soothing. his features are sharper than you'd first noticed, your heart beating just a bit faster the longer you stare. you look away abruptly, following his gaze.

how dare he touch you so casually?!

you’re about to shove him off and into the nearest wine tower when you hear the squeal.

“NICHOL!!” 

you wince, allowing nicholas to hold you for the time being. anyone who was anyone in this world knew annie moon, the daughter of the one of the largest chaebols in korea. when faced with a common enemy, even if it was your archnemesis-turned-fiancée, you were on the same side. for now, at least.

“NICHOLAS! why didn’t you tell me you were getting married?! I would’ve sent a gift,” she smiles, chin held high with exaggerated importance.

you want to gag.

but it’s his reaction that surprises you.

his chilling demeanor instantly transforms into warm eyes and a charismatic smile. but you don't miss the tightness in his shoulders, how his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"oh no, that won’t be necessary! i heard you’ve just been engaged as well, congratulations!”

so this is &TEAM’s infamous espionage master. it really is incredible, how the mask slides into place. you would’ve believed him too, if you were anyone else.

damn, he’s good.

she beams at him, but it quickly drops as soon as her eyes brush over you.

“i don’t think we’ve ever met,” she says. “i’m annie moon, one of nichol-oppa’s best friends! you are...?”

she holds out her hand, as if waiting for you to kiss it. you opt to awkwardly shake it instead, a holier-than-thou smile on your face.

“pleasure to meet you, i’m y/n.”

“y…n…?”

“sim y/n,” you grin slyly, waiting for the recognition to cross her face.

and boy, does it hit her quick. her features drop, jaw opening almost comically wide. her eyes widen in surprise, almost as if you’d shocked her instead.

“sim…? you’re that y/n? ENHYPEN's y/n?!!”

you smile menacingly behind your glass, and she actually flinches. you’re half-tempted to bark at her just to see what would happen, but the hand tightly squeezing your waist says otherwise. amused, you take a sip from your drink as she rushes away with an awkward bow, bound to start more rumors that you’ve heard at least twice over.

as soon as she’s out of sight, nicholas lets go of your waist, forcing you to face him with a firm grip on your arm.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls. “are you trying to start another war?!”

you dodge the question, trying to angle your nose as haughtily as you can.

“should I be worried about her? because you might want to do something before she brands her name across your forehead. or pees on your shoe.”

“oh my god,” nicholas groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i can’t believe this. i’m marrying someone stuck in kindergarten.”

you opt to ignore him, taking a triumphant sip of your drink. you can't lie, you're extremely delighted to see the irritation written all over his features. “wang yixiang, if you don’t let go of me in the next two seconds, i will throw this drink in your face.”

he releases you, but instead of returning to his conversation, he steps closer, cupping your face as tenderly as a man could if he were being forced to marry his sworn enemy. 

“think you can fuck with me, princess?” he whispers harshly, “don’t forget. you’re moving into my house. i can, and i will, make your life a living hell. i don’t particularly recommend starting a war with me.”

your eyebrow twitches, but you force yourself to smile, looking the part of the ever docile wife. 

“but of course, darling,” you slightly curtsy, leaving for another turn around the ballroom.

nicholas can’t help but feel unnerved, watching your figure weave through the crowd. for some reason, he’s starting to feel like a mouse walking straight towards the cheese in the trap.

— 

the whole next week is wasted in useless wedding planning. despite being the bride, and you know, it’s supposed to be your day! center of attention and whatever?? no. you weren’t entitled to any kind of opinion whatsoever. you weren’t even allowed to bring any friends from home, not that you had many, lest they mysteriously rope you into some grand scheme to elaborately murder all of &TEAM in one sweep. well, you didn’t mind as long as you could pick the dress.

hence you were now at some random bridal shop, trying on gowns in front of shigeta harua and nakakita yuma, your new brothers-in-law-to-be.

if anything, all this entire experience has taught you is that marriage is a complete sham of an institution, because it’s actually embarrassing the amount of women who have come up to ask the two of them for their numbers. including several who appeared to be the bride themselves. like seriously?

you didn’t quite understand it, but you almost felt protective of them. even though they were &TEAM, the sworn enemies of ENHYPEN up until literally two weeks ago. how odd that you now felt protective of the very faces that had been the top of your wanted list. you shake away the thought, it's probably because they're so close in age to sunoo and jungwon.

you step out into the waiting room, only to see yuma cursing someone out. you stare with wide eyes, skirts bunched in your fists. harua sits frozen nearby, his lips in a thin line as he tries not to laugh. when the woman finally leaves, albeit in tears, yuma sits down with a huff, pointing middle fingers at the ceiling.

“my god, i’ve had enough of all these crazy people! like disrespectfully, please fuck off”

you can’t help but let out an undignified snort, and immediately both of them turn to you. and the ridiculous dress you’re wearing. you loved being fancy and elegant, but even this was a bit much. you were swimming in fabric, the train was completely bunched up, and the zipper had snapped. 

dead silence.

you don't know who laughed first. or maybe it was a snort. but within seconds the three of you are bursting into cackles, tension leaving the room faster than a bat out of hell. never mind you’d known them both for a grand total of four hours, but this? this was the definition of trauma bonding. this whole week has been ridiculous, and this truly is just the icing on the cake. when you’d dreamed your wedding, as all ten year olds do, you’d imagined being surrounded by your friends, brothers, marrying the love of your life. this? this couldn’t be further from that. you’d been a fool to dream of a loving marriage, honestly. and instead of breaking down in the middle of the boutique and letting the dam burst wide open, all of the emotions you’ve been holding in since the engagement party are letting themselves out in a great guffaw of unhinged laughter. you’re doubled over in the ridiculous dress, tears blurring your vision. yuma is literally on the floor, holding his stomach, and harua is gasping for air on the couch, knocking over the disgusting complimentary champagne.

“oh. my. god,” harua coughs, beating his chest for air.

“we have to get out of here or i’m going to lose my mind,” you manage to gasp out, wiping the last tear from your eye.

“i fear the groom and jo will shoot us on the spot if we don’t come home with a dress the day before the wedding," harua hiccups.

“ok wait, i think i have an idea” yuma wheezes, finally managing to collect himself.

and when you try it on, you finally understand what everyone’s talking about when they said they’ve found the one.

even the attendant nods approvingly as the three of you make your way to the register.

“dress 79, excellent choice miss sim”

—

the next time you see your beloved, you’re standing across from him at the altar.

“wang yixiang and sim y/n, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”

“yes,” nicholas grits out, his charismatic smile betraying none of his true feelings.

“oh absolutely,” you mutter, digging the ball of your heel deeper.

nicholas glares at you, but you bat your eyelashes innocently at him, the perfect image of the beautiful, blushing bride. you’d specifically worn platform heels for the sheer purpose of torturing him away from watchful eyes. as you stood together, hands clasped in the others, you stepped a little too close, masking it as the excitement of an over-eager bride. however, if one looked underneath all the layers of your dress, they’d see you were digging the balls of your feet into the tips of his toes, practically stamping them into the ground.

“do you, wang yixiang, take sim y/n, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“i… do.” he spits out, eyes narrowed.

“do you, sim y/n, take wang yixiang, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

realistically, what’s the worst that could happen if you said ‘fuck no’ and ran like hell?

“i do,” you almost sigh. you wanted the chance to grow old at least.

“then by the power vested in me,” the minister coughs, clearly flustered by your obvious animosity towards each other. “i now pronounce you husband and wife. you may kiss the bride.”

you close your eyes, tilting your head for the chaste kiss that will seal your fate. as if to prove a point, nicholas seizes you by the waist instead, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. as if to overpower you. oh, if only you would crumble that easily.

big mistake, honey.

he steps back, touching his lips in horror. you smile sweetly, licking your lips. 

“did i forget to mention i had strawberries for breakfast?” you whisper.

“you fucking bitch,” he mouths back, lips curling into a sneer right before he slumps to the floor.

truly, the next minute would've been less chaotic if someone had blown up the church instead. kei sprinted forward, epi-pen in hand and at the ready. fuma scooped up nicholas faster than you could blink; as if he’d screamed “i object!” and was kidnapping the groom in a mad dash out the door. jo was already barking orders through the phone. your wedding was practically over as soon as it started and you watch euijoo squeal around the corner, your new husband thrown in the passenger seat with little fanfare. fuma and kei jump into the backseat before euijoo takes off.

harua is tasked with escorting you to your honeymoon suite, while the others run damage control, escorting ENHYPEN out of the mayhem you’ve created. jake throws you a wink and sunghoon tips an imaginary hat in your direction as they’re escorted out, knowing your tricks all too well. after harua leaves, you can’t help but let the devilish smile cross your lips. you could be the obedient mob wife they wanted you to be. but you’d be damned if you were going down without a fight. after all, your father didn't ask you to sit in on 'sensitive' interrogations for no reason.

as a result of your actions, you spend the night in your honeymoon suite alone. truthfully, you couldn’t be more thrilled. instead of consummating a marriage with a man you hated, or pretending to be the good wife at your husband’s bedside, you order enough room service to feed a small army. gathering the rose petals scattered on the king-sized bed, you throw them in the hot tub with little remorse. and as you lounge in that tub, glass in hand, you can’t help but feel weightless for, honestly, the first time in your life. you have zero responsibilities, zero expectations. your first and last night of freedom, away from scathing eyes and boot-kissers. one last night when you could pretend you were still sim y/n.

—

the next day, the weight of being the new mrs. wang comes crashing down faster than a bird with broken wings. before the sun had even fully risen, harua collected you from your room, croissant and coffee thankfully in hand. documents signed, physical fitness exam conducted, belongings packed and moved. six hours later, you find yourself standing alone outside the house that you and nicholas were now expected to share. house was being modest, it was the size of a small palace. the maid comes running out to greet you, bowing a full 90 degrees before taking your purse.

“welcome home, mrs. wang”

you bow back awkwardly, not used to having maids or your new surname. ironically, your father had always believed that you should always be responsible for your own messes, and had never hired anyone to take care of the house or daily responsibilities. of course, that responsibility had fallen to you. in fact, there’d been many a week where you’d been left to your own devices, save for the chef who stopped by in the mornings to prepare you meals. the benefits of being the third-born child were truly second to none.

“when will mr. wang be back?” you ask.

“he’s here right now,” she says, pointing to the patio door. “in the pool.”

oh shit.

you’d known &TEAM was rich, but not pool-at-home rich. plus, you’d been hoping for a little more time to think of anything to say before seeing him. 

because now? you’re starting to feel a little bit guilty. 

when you’d eaten strawberry-chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast and snacked on strawberries that entire morning, you thought he’d get hives, worst case. maybe a rash or two to ruin a few of the wedding photos. 

instead, he’d collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat, eyes wide with rage and panic. if kei hadn’t had an epi-pen stashed in his pocket, you’d probably be a widow right now instead of a newlywed wife. and when you'd been at the altar, standing with your hands hanging uselessly at your sides, you’d been afraid. afraid for his life, of all things. what could you possibly say to him now?

steeling yourself, you open the gate to the pool. instead of looking like he’d almost died, nicholas was swimming laps. his arms cut through water like a knife through softened butter, pink hair safely tucked under a cap. you can’t help but nod appreciatively at his lean body as he propels through the water. 

he swims a couple more laps before stopping abruptly in front of you, gaze looking more crocodile than human.

“i was wondering when you’d be arriving, mrs. wang,” he peers up at you, blinking water from his lashes.

cute. scratch that, y/n, what are you thinking?!

“just brought all of my stuff, mr. wang” you shoot back, already irritated.

“lunch will be ready soon, i’m just going to finish up here,” he says, looking ready to push off the wall again. “but first…”

he beckons you closer, and you crouch, guilt still weighing on your mind. distracted, you don’t notice the wicked grin on his face until after you’re yanked into the pool, his arms ironclad around you.

before you can scream, you’re dragged under water, swallowing a mouthful of water instead of air. your arms are pinned tightly against your body, legs kicking uselessly beneath you. nicholas’ grip is tighter than a snake’s, weighing you down at the bottom of the pool like a slab of concrete.

you thrash, kicking and squirming, but panic has already settled in. your lungs are burning, desperate for air that isn’t there. black spots fill your vision and your body jerks involuntarily, starting to go limp. your fucking husband is going to drown you, less than 24 hours since you walked down the aisle. yeah, marriage is an absolute sham of an institution.

and then he releases you, dragging you to the stairs at the side of the pool. coughs rack your body as you sit, gasping for air. you can just barely make out nicholas standing a little further than arms-length away from you, watching you closely with that stupid smirk on his face.

“FUCK. YOU!” you splutter, trying to hit him.

“how’s that for karma?” he glares, impervious to your glares and middle finger. “i warned you not to fuck with me, princess.”

“i’m going to feed you a fucking strawberry bush for every meal for the rest of your life!” you scream, still coughing.

“and next time i will tie a fucking piano to your legs before i throw you in the pool,” he retorts.

he climbs out of the pool, shaking his hair in your face for good measure before making his way back towards the house.

and to think you’d wanted to apologize.

fuck. that.  

—

living as mrs. wang is strange, to say the least. the members of &TEAM’s inner circle all lived in the main house, despite having more than enough money to afford their own places.

for obvious reasons, jo lived with his wife in their own house, close to the edge of the estate. and for the life of you, you couldn’t understand how someone as sweet as her ended up with someone as cold as jo. on one particularly lonely, saturday afternoon, she had come over with tea and cookies. she'd been kind and even gave you the entire rundown of their love story. but the way they looked at each other? that was real love, and it tugged your heartstrings a little bit every time you saw them. sure they'd also started as an arranged marriage, but you sincerely doubted they'd ever tried to seriously kill each other.

“NOONA!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

ah shit. 

really, you didn’t mind that for whatever reason, your house had become a revolving door for the younger members of the inner circle within the singular month you’d been with &TEAM. for what it was worth, taki and harua seemed to be the only people genuinely happy that you were there. taki, always asking his odd, hypothetical questions. harua, waltzing through your door like it was his house and beelining for your snack cabinet. after nearly killing nicholas, yuma had rightfully shut you out, trauma-bonding-moment at-the-bridal-shop be damned. as for the others, you’d rarely seen kei, fuma, or jo. the few times you’d seen euijoo, he’d always opted to stare somewhere above your head whenever you saw him. 

literally a day after the drowning incident, nicholas had been called away for a mission in taiwan. and not even an hour after he’d left, taki and harua had nearly broken down your front door, trying to get an opinion over who was right about some stupid argument you couldn’t remember. you’d been the only one at home, so obviously you’d answered the door, gun in hand. all they’d done was simply push past you, chattering louder than a brood of mother hens,

—

“NICHOLAS-HYUNG!”

“NICHO-CHAN!”

“y/n-san? where’s nicho- oh right. i forgot he left already. anyway-“

“even better, we need a woman’s opinion. so basically, there's this girl-”

you stand there, completely taken aback. “yah, you can’t just barge into people’s houses unannounced!”

taki and harua ignore you, beelining straight for the snack cupboard with a wave towards miss seoyoon, the housekeeper. leaving you in the foyer to contemplate what on earth had just happened. 

but truth be told, you’re glad to have someone to talk to besides miss seoyoon. in the main house back home, you'd always been surrounded by noise and chaos. even if you weren't part of it. and then, over the weeks, they’d started dragging yuma and maki along, who with the help of snacks had started warming up to you. nowadays, it was a matter of who was dropping by the house for the day to entertain you and eat all your food. you’ve seen his brothers more than you've seen your husband since getting married, the last time having been three days ago,

the door unlocks with a bang and you shoot up, fumbling for the gun you keep in the coffee table drawer, when nicholas strides in, frustration etched into his eyebrows. his head snaps towards you, eyes narrowing when he sees what you’re wearing.

“who said you could wear my clothes,” he chides, mock irritation written all over his features. 

you roll your eyes, scoffing to hide your embarrassment. of course, miss seoyoon is doing laundry and the world is punishing you for choosing to dig through nicholas’ closet over being naked.

“none of your business,” you mutter, returning your attention to your show on the tv.

but he doesn’t move, eyes fixed on you. you’re wearing shorts and his favorite hoodie, looking worse off than the homeless man he’d given 20$ to on his way home. he doesn’t miss the way your mouth settles into a sheepish line and how intent your gaze is on the TV. you’re clearly determined to not look at him, but your body betrays you, already turned towards his presence like a puppet on a string. smirking, he crosses the foyer towards the kitchen. he’s not humble, he knows you find him attractive. how long until he gets you to admit it?

“keep it. clearly you need it more than I do,” he whispers, innocent words falling sharper than a butcher’s knife.

you turn, mouth already open in protest, when he presses a kiss to your forehead. then walks away like nothing happened, bedroom door clicking shut behind him. you watch him go, insult already forgotten. 

a buzzing from your phone pulls you from your thoughts.

“good afternoon y/n. or should i say, mrs. wang?”

“shut up heeseung, what do you want?”

“ouch, so hostile darling. lunch at cafe beriberi. meet me in an hour, don’t tell anyone.”

“oh... kay…?” you answer, your only reply the dial tone.

confused, you grab your keys. why had heeseung called and not jake? come to think of it, you haven’t heard a peep from ENHYPEN since getting married. glancing back, you can’t help but feel sorry. harua, taki and maki were all passed out on your couch, exhausted from a night of screaming at the TV and each other over some video game you barely understood. guilt winning over, you hastily scrawl out at a note about where you’ve gone.

it’s only after you’ve gotten on the subway that you realize you’ve forgotten your phone and gun at home on the kitchen island. go figure. 

“how is it, being married to him?” heeseung asks, staring at you like he’s asked the million dollar question.

you sigh heavily, opting to take a long sip of your coffee. it wasn’t that you particularly disliked heeseung, you just rarely spoke to him outside of official matters. those official matters usually involved him running interrogation while you stood behind the glass, observing.

“why are you here instead of my brother, heeseung?”

heeseung rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his ramen. 

“you know i can’t tell you that, y/n. besides, i’m curious. what is life like, being married to someone who was once your sworn enemy? to live with that pack of mutts?” he slurps.

you snort, well-aware that he's fishing.

“they’re... not as heinous as my father made them out to be,” you decide.

it’s the truth, with a couple details left out. if you were completely honest with yourself, you weren’t sure where your emotions stood anymore. your first day being married, your husband tries to drown you. a day after that, his little brothers decide your house is the go-to hangout spot. and as dangerous as they may be, they were a bunch of loudmouth idiots who never failed to remember your favorite snacks. or give you the latest gossip from college. close as you had been with the 02z, there had always been an invisible line drawn in the sand, one you knew better than to cross. you’d tried once. it had ended in a eight-month-long cold war. with the teammies, you were thrown into the middle of everything, whether or not you wanted to be. lovely person she was, jo's wife had also stopped by a couple times to check on you, often with a home cooked meal tightly packed, pregnancy stopping her from nothing.

within a month, you’ve been showered in more attention than you’ve ever received in your entire life. part of a family who loved loudly, out in the open. despite growing up surrounded by chaos and noise, you'd always been alone. no best friend, no one to confide in. even your husband paid more attention to you than your father ever did. a month ago, you’d been so sure that you could never love him. and then, two weeks ago had happened,

“FUCK!” you screamed, thunder and lightning shocking you out of your deep sleep.

“Y/N?!!” nicholas comes racing in, having heard you scream. his eyes are still blurry with sleep. “WHAT HAPPENED?! ARE YOU OK?!”

you’re curled up in a ball, a pillow over your head. tears leak out of your eyes before you can stop them. this was so stupid. so fucking stupid. you were old enough to not be scared of thunder and lightning, but here you were, terrified by the electric sky. sim y/n, who could take down a room full of grown men in a pair of stilettos, was terrified of thunderstorms. 

“i’m fine, go away!” you sniff hotly, your body jolting involuntarily at the next crack of lightning.

still, you feel the bed dip next to you and before you can stop him, nicholas wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

“stop acting tough, princess. go to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice raspy with sleep.

“nichol-"

“go to sleep.”

“get out— FUCK!” thunder booms, your ears ringing. “oh my god this is so embarrassing”

“shut up, go to sleep”

you must be dreaming when you hear it.

“i’d tear the sky down before i let it hurt you, princess”

and that night, your stomach warmer than a fireplace, you fall into the deepest sleep of your life.

“did you know him… you know, before all this?” you question, pushing the memory into the farthest corners of your mind.

“nicholas? sure, everyone knows him. he’s a silver tongued devil with the looks and charisma to back it up, better than me honestly.”

you stare, confused. heeseung admitting he wasn’t first? you’d never thought you’d live to see the day. heeseung shrugs, leaning back in his chair.

“it’s no secret that nicholas is beloved by the upper circles in Japan, but then add that with his network in taiwan?” heeseung shakes his head, almost like he can’t believe it. “he’s invaluable to &TEAM, there’s a reason he always comes to negotiate. besides, he used to be the don back in taiwan, all on his own. obviously, now he’s here and his sister runs the empire back home.”

you quirk an eyebrow, surprised. it made sense; you’d always noticed that nicholas had an uncanny ability to capture the undivided attention of any room he walked into without ever really trying. how he naturally takes the lead. but damn, he had a sister? you deserved best wife of the year, clearly.

“why didn’t my father mention any of this?”

“i don’t know. guess he thought it wasn’t important. besides, it doesn’t really change anything about him.”

you leave lunch with more questions than answers. heeseung had a point. nicholas wang was a powerhouse in his own right, like every inner circle member of &TEAM.

walking a little further, that’s when you pass the bakery, the smell of salt bread filling your thoughts. miss seoyoon loved salt bread and there had been many a night you’d invited her to sit with you for a round of cards, salt bread and wine on the table to share.

when you push open the door to your house a couple hours before dinner after a detour to the shopping street, you’re met with complete and utter chaos. 

“what the fuck is going on in here?!!”

at the sound of your voice, harua and yuma turn, their shoulders visibly relaxing at the sight of you.

“y/n! thank god you’re ok!” yuma starts, his eyebrows furrowing as if he’s caught himself. “where the FUCK were you?!!”

you stand frozen in the doorway, the salt bread container feeling more incriminating than it should. within five hours, your house had turned into some kind of base. harua sat in the middle of three computers, a map projected onto the gigantic tv in your living room, with seven dots moving around. on the map, some grids were grayed out. yuma was pacing back and forth, just now hanging up the phone.

“i went out for lunch with a friend?? i left you a note on the fridge?? why on earth does it look like the situation room in here?!!” 

“jesus y/n, we thought you got kidnapped! everybody is out looking for you!” harua yells, more pissed than you’ve ever seen him.

you look down at the floor, suddenly ashamed. this amount of concern is… new to you. even as the only girl in your family, your father hadn’t given you any special treatment. oftentimes, back in high school and college, no one had noticed when you'd snuck out. not even jake, your own brother. but this? you’d been gone for less than 24 hours and now you had nine top-ranked members of a mafia looking for you. people who had been nothing more than faces on a hit list a month ago.

“i-"

before you can finish your sentence, the front door slams open. and in comes nicholas, drenched in rain, blazing with fury. you’ve definitely seen him irritated. annoyed. pissed off. not like this though, downright murderous.

harua and yuma immediately see themselves out, packing their stuff up faster than if a tornado had swept in. harua brushes his shoulder against yours as he passes by. yuma tries not to giggle, mouthing good luck to you. as soon as the front door closes, nicholas tosses his outer jacket and umbrella on the ground.

“yixiang, i-"

“don’t even start,” he glares accusingly, your phone in his hand.

you can’t even say anything, just shocked at the rage on his face. you’ve never seen anyone this mad, not even the day you accidentally started a fire during an important meeting that your father was hosting.

“how stupid are you, y/n?!! you’re the wife of an inner circle member! MY WIFE! how could you leave the house without telling anyone?!!”

“i left a note-"

“oh goody, a note that anyone could have easily forged. you left your PHONE,” he yells, counting out on his fingers. “your GUN. your KNIFE. we could not CALL you. we could not FIND you. you had absolutely NO way to protect yourself. do you know how worried i was?!! how worried everyone was?!! you could have been hurt. or kidnapped. or DEAD.”

you throw your bags on the kitchen table, now pissed off.

“wang yixiang, i have seen you a grand total of three times since i married you!” you scream, irritation bubbling over. “you LEFT me here, and if it weren’t for harua, taki, and maki constantly letting themselves into this house, i would’ve gone insane! even euijoo takes me to get milk tea! you want to stand there and pretend you care about me?! pretend that you're my loving, doting husband?!! you tried to DROWN me! you're an asshole who-" 

before another word can leave your lips, nicholas grabs your face, crashing his lips onto yours. a squeak leaves your lips, eyes shuttering closed as you’re backed into the kitchen counter. 

his lips are soft, softer than anyone else you’ve ever kissed. his tongue traces the outline of your lower lip, his hands gentle but firm. one comes to snake around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest. suddenly shy, your hands hesitantly grab onto his shirt, oblivious to his soaked-through clothes starting to dampen yours. his other hand rests on the back of your neck, touch featherlight as he angles your head to pull you in closer. his lips travel down the column of your neck, leaving red and purple marks in his wake. you gasp softly, eyes shut in bliss. as if you’ve shocked him, he pulls away, holding you at arms’ length. spit shines on his swollen lips, pupils blown wide.

“go change. or you'll get sick,” he mumbles, expression shuttering closed. and without another word, he walks away, locking the door behind him to his office.

as if in a trance, you trace the outline of your slightly-swollen lips with your index finger.

the first time you’d kissed, it had been a chaste signing-your-life-away. but this? this was something entirely different. and now? staring at the damning marks on your neck in the mirror, you weren’t so sure what you were fighting anymore.

—

from that night on, things were different. there were no more long trips. no more weeks on end of not seeing each other. now, he was everywhere. in your bed. in your kitchen. in your living room. in your head. you couldn’t escape him. just the morning before, you'd walked into the kitchen just to find him shirtless making tea. and that kiss? you’d deny it to your grave: the butterflies in your stomach. the desire that had flowed through your veins like molten lava. the satisfaction of having his marks on your neck.

“wang yixiang! did you hide my cigarettes?!” you yell, rubbing your eyebrows.

for whatever reason, yixiang had taken a liking to choosing whatever minor inconvenience would piss you off and earn him a slap in the shoulder. yesterday, it’d been putting your favorite mug on the highest shelf you couldn’t reach. the day before that, he’d sent you a picture of some funny-looking bread at the bakery and said it looked like you. the day before that, he'd teased you relentlessly for completely butchering the mandarin vocabulary you'd learned. and then the day before that, he’d taken you out to dinner. and it’d been lovely, if he hadn’t told everybody it was your birthday when it absolutely 100% was not. you get the picture. 

he comes out of his office, looking better than he should for someone who’d been awake for the better part of the last 48 hours. his black velvet suit jacket hangs like a fitted glove over his shoulders, tailored perfectly to his slim, yet muscular builld. you nod approvingly at the scarf, the gold pin in it being your own personal touch. (2025 sbs gayo red carpet)

“no princess, i burnt all of them,” he says airily, pretending to fix his glasses and not watching for your reaction.

you roll your eyes, refusing to let another of his indiscretions piss you off. besides, you’d been meaning to take a break from them anyway. you stare at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the invisible wrinkles of your dress. it’d been three months since you’d walked down the aisle, but tonight was your first official gathering as mr. and mrs. wang yixiang. some alliance celebration dinner? you had no idea, you just showed up and looked pretty. 

life as a mob wife wasn’t much different than that of a mafia princess, honestly speaking. endless parties and galas, looking your best at every opportunity. knives disguised as silken words and half-truths. people would be waiting for you to make a mistake, and you would be fool to let them gain that satisfaction. they expected perfection, so you would be its quintessential illusion.

you wore your trusty platform wedges and a simple, yet elegant floor-length satin dress. nicholas had set it out for you that morning, next to a pastry from your favorite bakery. you’d been prepared to fight him on it, but the beautiful black of the dress had already caught your eye. you hated to admit it, but he had taste. it accented your curves, yet was softer than any dress you’d ever worn. if there was anything you loathed more than him, it was a corset. lies. you’d tried it on to make sure it fit, but really, you needn’t have bothered. a silk scarf with embroidered sequins decorated your neck, along with the ridiculously outdated, gaudy ring on your finger. but this time, it was accompanied by a wedding band.

yixiang knocks quietly, sucking in a breath at the sight of you as he enters.

“you look—“

“like a princess?” you offer, unable to stop the cheeky grin from spreading across your face.

he knows he's staring, but he can't help it. he’d fully been intending to say troll, but at the sight of you in the dress he’d had custom-made for you, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. you looked absolutely breathtaking, more beautiful than the night sky itself.

“y-yeah,” he stutters, fighting down the blush rising in his cheeks. “you have your phone? keys? gun?”

you groan, rolling your eyes. “yes, weno... it was ONE time, seriously!”

yixiang laughs, turning away before you can see the blush on his face at the nickname. spending more time with you, he’d made peace with the simple fact that you were married. there was no running from it. and you could be far worse: no spunk, no opinion, no personality. even on the days he'd been in taiwan, he found himself wondering what you'd been up to. he hadn’t wanted to admit it, but being so cold to you was more exhausting than at least trying to be your friend. you’d almost killed him, he’d almost drowned you, whatever, water under the bridge.

he hated your brother and friends, though he mildly tolerated them for your sake. you got along better with the maknaez than he’d ever expected, and the sight of the four of you screaming at each other over who unplugged the console was more heartwarming than he wanted to admit. nor had he forgotten the traitorous flutter of his heart at the sight of you in his clothes. plus, you looked extremely attractive when you were yelling at him. and kind of, adorable, when he got under your skin, annoyance and irritation all over your features.

and then that night, when he got that panicked call from harua, he couldn’t deny the worry that had flooded his body faster than water from a broken dam. had you finally had enough and run away? he’d been in a meeting in taiwan. the second harua hung up the phone, he’d excused himself and hopped the next flight to japan. it had already been an overcast day to begin with, the sky dark and ominous when it had begun to rain. your phone had been clenched in his fist, the other on the steering wheel as he cut corner after corner searching for you. you’d been stupid enough to leave your phone and every weapon at home, he seriously doubted you’d had the foresight to bring an umbrella. and when he’d come home just to see you standing there innocently with your ridiculous sack of salt bread and shopping bags, he’d wanted to simultaneously kiss you and burn down the ground beneath your feet.

“YIXIANG!” he shakes out of his thoughts to find you staring at him expectantly.

“jeez, you never listen to me when i’m talking,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “mr. park is outside waiting for us, come on”

he follows you, shaking his head. within the month you’d been here, you’d learn the names of every one of your staff members. he knew you snuck them bonuses from your weekly allowance. that you and miss seoyoon had wine nights. that you’d bought mr. park and his family tickets to disney sea. that you often sent the house staff home early. when he’d heard he was marrying you, he’d nearly murdered jo on the spot. you, sim y/n? the infamous ice princess of ENHYPEN? between the rumors and your own prickly personality, he thought you’d be his worst nightmare. instead, he’s starting to realize the woman he’d married was more like a sheep dressed in wolf’s clothing.

as soon as you arrive at the ball, jake greets you, crossing the ballroom in a few, long strides.

“little sis! hey bro, good to see you both!” he hugs you tightly, opting for a handshake with nicholas. “i haven’t seen you in forever!”

nicholas watches him with narrowed eyes. call him cynical and paranoid, but something’s off. he can’t quite place it, but jake’s shifty expression is telling him something big is about to happen.

jake smiles at you, pretending to not notice nicholas’ scrutiny. “we need to catch up, i’ll see you out there!”

you wave, your face settling back into its serene expression. chin held high, your arm in yixiang’s, you play the perfect, unassuming wife. smile politely. laugh at the right person’s jokes. lend an ear to the woes of the other wives. 

“psst! y/n!”

your head snaps up from where you’d been taking a breather at a table. nicholas, deep in conversation, watches you from the corner of his eye, senses honed in on you even if you so much as twitched that you needed help.

“over here!”

you pretend to take a sip of your drink, eyes scanning for the owner of the voice. they land on your idiot brother, half-hidden in the shadows of a side door leading to the hallway beside the bar. 

“what are you doing back there?!!” you mouth, looking around to see if anyone had seen him. 

jake doesn’t answer, waving towards the hallway, right by the bathroom sign. confused, you get up to follow and you feel like a complete moron catching yixiang’s eye to point to the restroom, holding your stomach so he'd know you'd be a while. he nods at you, laughter barely contained, returning to his conversation. the bathroom door clicks shut, locking behind you.

you whirl around, “jake, what the hell is going- father?!”

the curse dies in your throat, suddenly intimidated by the weight of your father’s piercing stare. he’d gotten older since you last saw him, eyes sunken a little more, more gray hairs than black. you’d only been gone for a few months, but he looked like he’d aged at least a decade.

“father, what is going on that you couldn’t discuss with me in the ballroom? you walking out of the women's bathroom is not not suspicious!”

“mrs. asakura, what are her weaknesses?”

you scoff, throwing your hands up in exasperation. of course, your father had never been one for niceties. blunt to a fault, as if the tiniest ounce of compassion would kill him. no matter that it’d been months since he’d last seen his only daughter. really, why had you been expecting any different? he’d gotten up and left in the middle of your wedding to take a phone call.

“i don’t know, she’s pregnant? her due date is in a month?”

your father sneers, looming so close you can smell the alcohol in his breath. “sim y/n, surely you know more than that? i didn’t send you to them just for you to be completely useless!”

you take a step back, mindlessly fiddling with the ring on your finger.

“what are you talking about? why on earth would I have been snooping around about her?”

SLAP!

you’re left reeling, tears welling in your eyes despite your best efforts. your cheek stings from where he’d backhanded you, sure to leave a bruising handprint.

“god, you stupid, stupid child! obviously, i needed someone on the inside, someone who could get close to the inner circle. that someone is you, the beloved wife of nicholas wang. as one of the top nine, he’s the closest we’ll get to jo but we need you to pull it off,” your father turns, “we’re going to bring &team down from the inside, even a preschooler could figure that out!”

before you can get a word out, your phone buzzes,

father: 1 attachment. 

you have to laugh. of course your father was using you. forcing you to betray your own husband. addressing you as sim y/n instead of wang, even though he'd been the one who literally forced you into his arms. you'd never asked to be caught up in this shit. and now you were being strung up over it by the shackles of family and the vow you’d made at the altar, your conscience holding you to it even though you’d been lying through your teeth.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you counter, keeping a poker face. “i could’ve been more proactive in my duties.”

"it doesn’t matter what you do know or don’t. you should’ve known better,” your father says, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “i don’t care that you’re married to that &TEAM rat. you are ENHYPEN’s princess, and they come first. always.” 

but the endearment lands more like acid. it doesn't sound the same when it’s not yixiang teasing you, holding something you need out of reach. or when he’s giving you that impish smile, clearly plotting something. or when he’s poking fun at you for your taste in music or style. or when he’s curled against your side, his lips in your hair, holding you while thunder and lightning streak across the night sky. or when he's behind you clasping your necklace, his touch more intimate than if he'd undressed you.

“don’t tell me you like him, y/n.”

your father's disapproving voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you shake your head, bowing.

“of course not, father. he is the enemy.” 

he nods once, dismissing you. “good. your brother will have more details next week.”

and he turns on his heel out of the bathroom, disappearing into the crowd of people before you can even mutter a half-assed goodbye. 

breath trembling, you return to the ballroom, feeling for all the world like a lion of a circus being forced to jump through a ring of fire. your whole life, you’d known your place: in the shadows of ENHYPEN, always in the shadow of your brother and friends, not to be seen or heard. really, were they ever you friends to begin with? half-hidden in the entryway, you look towards the group of nine, their silhouettes distinct in the low light of the ballroom. your family stood on the furthest side of the room, their seven figures familiar. you loved your family, but your heart had never been as full as it was now, surrounded by people you’d never thought would come to feel more like your brothers than the one you were actually related to. looking between them, you knew your choice was coming soon, whether or not you were ready to face it. 

lost in thought, you don’t notice the pink-haired boy staring at you, his attention diverted as soon as you walked back into the room.

“excuse me, guys. i have something I need to discuss with y/n.”

the guys watch him go, practically beelining for you. maki chokes on a snicker, holding his side from where fuma had elbowed him. kei and harua clutch each other, lips pressed tightly together in an effort to not burst out laughing. jo nudges his wife, small smiles on both their faces. euijoo watches quietly, a proud grin on his face. 

nicholas had always been the type to need time to get close with others, never letting people in too close. he’d been cold when they first met, all angry stares and downturned lips. but one deep conversation during a stakeout later, nicholas was easily his closest friend. in the weeks since finding out jo had arranged for him to marry you, euijoo had held nicholas as he cried, the first time in a long time. even if he never admitted it, nicholas was about as mean as a teddy bear. he’d dreamed of marrying the big love of his life, his mother’s ring tucked in the corner of a hidden drawer in his desk. that night, euijoo prayed. prayed and prayed that you wouldn’t be anything like the rumors they spread about you. that you’d be kind. and patient. 

but then you’d nearly killed him. and euijoo? if he hadn’t been the one driving, he probably would have shot you right where you stood. and then any hope he had for his friend falling for you ended when he told him he’d tried to drown you. he’d actually nearly strangled nicholas for that one. 

“are you insane?!!” he’d yelled, banging his head on the wall. nicholas, somehow still married, sat at the kitchen table, nonchalantly eating his ramen in the main house, instead of being on his hands and knees begging you for forgiveness.

but in the past few months, and nicholas would swear on his life and deny it, he watched his friend slowly, but surely, falling for you. he'd pretend he wasn’t on his phone, checking for any messages from you. that he wasn’t calling the housekeeper, asking what you’d been up to that day. that he wasn’t ordering another custom-made dress for you. that he wasn’t pestering the maknaez for breaking into the house to visit her. that he wasn’t excited when jo stopped sending him on frequent business trips. the only reason jo had done it in the first place was that he’d been afraid you’d actually kill each other. watching you both now, all shy smiles and lovestruck expressions, he could finally rest easy that his best friend was finally getting the happy ending he deserved.

“why are you hiding in the corner, princess?” nicholas teases, poking at your cheek. 

you swat him away playfully, his touch and warm eyes feeling more like daggers twisting into your heart. just when you were finally getting around to the idea of falling in love with your husband, your father drops this bomb, expecting you to do all the work without the credit. the only person at risk of losing everything was you. never him, never jake, just you.

you smile awkwardly, trying to not let the guilt seep through the corners.

“hm? i’m not hiding, just… tired.”

“shall we go then, princess?” he holds a hand out for you.

you blush, rolling your eyes. “only because you clearly want to.”

“oh yes darling, as if you clearly would prefer to waltz around and play nice with people who would rather slit both our throats over the couch,” he smiles wryly, slinging your purse over his shoulder as if it were his own. you take his arm with a snort.

by the time you reach home, you’re fast asleep in the passenger seat. nicholas looks at you, dead to the world, mouth slightly open, your hair a mess.

“wang y/n… what on earth am i going to do with you?” he whispers to himself, wholly and completely infatuated by you.

without another word, he picks you up bridal-style, careful not to bump your head on the roof of the car. you haven’t so much as twitched an eyelash. ever so gently, he changes you into your his shirt, tucking you gently under the covers.

the warm rag on your face makes you stir just a bit, just enough to recognize the man trying his best to rub your makeup off. you giggle sleepily, yanking him down beside you, whispering something that makes his face go redder than a strawberry.

stuck in your koala-like embrace, he traces the outline of your face. fast asleep, a smile still decorates your features.

"y/n, what are you doing to me?"

when you wake up, your eyes nearly bug straight out of your head. six pm?!! how on earth had you slept for the whole day?? you nearly trip over yourself getting out of bed, but as soon as you’re out from the safety of the covers, you can instantly tell that something is very, very wrong. the house’s silence weighs down on you, every shadow more menacing than the last. outside the window, the sun has just barely set, the clouds gloomy and promising rain. stepping out of your shared bedroom, all the lights are off, save for the one in the kitchen above nicholas.

“xiang-ah...?”

he doesn’t answer, pretending to ignore you. you shy closer, confused. things had been going well, why was he being so cold now?

“do you think I am a joke, y/n?”

“yixiang, what are you-“

that’s when you see it. your phone in his hands, the file your father had sent you bright on its display. his voice isn’t loud when he speaks, and you don’t know whether you’d prefer that or him screaming at you. the hurt is clear in his eyes despite his cold expression, as if an iron curtain has come down between the two of you.

“what the fuck is this, y/n?” 

“nicholas, just let me explain-“

“we let you into our circle,” he stands, his voice raised. “i let you get close to my brothers, i let you get to know me. and all you were doing this whole time was planning to go behind our fucking backs?!!” he curses, fingers running through his hair. “you were planning to kill jo’s wife?!”

“NO! i would never—“ 

“shut up. just shut up, i don’t want to hear your excuses.” he grabs your wrist, grip ironclad.

“nichol, let me go! you’re hurting me!” you cry, trying to loosen his hold.

“we’re going to see jo,” he snaps coldly, voice cracking just the tiniest bit. “you can explain yourself to him then.”

“weno, please-!”

“don’t fucking call me that. you don't deserve to.”

you squirm, trying to twist free of his grip. if he would just give you the chance to explain. that you’d never wanted this. that you’d never want to hurt jo’s wife. hell you hadn’t even opened the file!

“sim y/n, tsk tsk. no wonder your father expects nothing from you.”

the sound of your friend’s voice snaps you from your thoughts. from behind nicholas, you can just barely make out the silhouette of the man blocking the front door, his gun trained on nicholas’ chest. 

“ENHYPEN princess? or &TEAM whore? your move, y/n,” sneers heeseung’s voice from behind you.

you whirl around, now back to back with nicholas. heeseung smiles mockingly at you, his gun pointed straight at your forehead.

your brows furrow in confusion. how’d they even get into the house??

“heeseung?! what the fuck are you guys doing here?! how did you even—“

“you know y/n, you really should know better than to trust your staff. miss seoyoon? really, she was more than happy to let us in.”

you curse, pulling nicholas behind you as you turn to face the first intruder.

“what the fuck are you guys doing here, sunghoon?! my father only just sent me the file last night, i haven’t-"

sunghoon starts to smile, watching the realization hit you faster than a bullet train.

your father had never trusted you in the first place.

this was all part of some big test that clearly, you had failed miserably if heeseung and sunghoon were standing in your house. you really should’ve known better; your shithead father had always looked down on women, never letting them advance in the organization but rather, assigned them to roles in the wings. hell, you were probably the highest-ranking one and all you did was sit in on interrogations. but this? this was a new low. clearly, he thought his own daughter was completely defective and inferior. their silence was more than adequate to answer your question. 

at your back, nicholas was calculating. he seriously doubted he could tackle either sunghoon or heeseung without a bullet straight to the heart. he was carrying no weapons, and too far away from any panic button to hit it inconspicuously. you were hungover and more than likely had nothing on you either. besides, wasn’t this your plan all along? get close, kill him, kill the other guys, get to jo and take down &TEAM? why was sunghoon's gun pointed straight at you?

“were we ever friends?” you ask, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

nicholas' eyebrow twitches, even more confused. right now, sunghoon and heeseung were staring at you like a predator would prey. all macho-like with their haughty smirks, as if you’d never meant anything to them in the first place. and despite everything you've put him through, he can't help but feel protective of you. as you stand back-to-back, all he wants to do is turn around and hold you in his arms, shield you from the world and all the cruel tricks it seemed to play on you.

you're trying your damndest not to cry, taking small comfort in the warmth of nicholas' back against yours. he could hate you all he wanted, you didn't care. as long as he lived through this mess, you didn't care if he cursed you to the seventh circle of hell.

heeseung and sunghoon stare at you as if you were just another name on the hit list. as if you hadn’t practically grown up together. chased each around the main house and gotten scolded. taught you how to fight. picked you up from school. beat up a guy who was bothering you. you glare at sunghoon especially, the boy who was supposed to be one of your best friends. and that was exactly why you knew he would never stand against your father's orders. was this really how everything would end? 

“all those years we spent together sunghoon… and this is what happens?”

silence.

“of fucking course.” you scoff, betrayal and disbelief filling your features. “i was never going to be invited into the boys’ club, was i? is that why you’re here sunghoon? i know damn well why heeseung’s here, but why you? sim jaeyun too pussy to come shoot his sister himself?”

sunghoon shrugs, nonchalantly waving the gun. but you’re not stupid. you sat in on those interrogations because your body language-reading skills were far beyond the average mafia member. your words had struck a nerve with park sunghoon, even if he’d rather die than admit it.

“you’re a liability. why would we trust you?” he asks flatly.

“you love him, don’t you?” heeseung asks mockingly, the safety clicking off.

your eyes narrow, looking between the two of them. they really were going to shoot you if you didn’t stop standing here like a fool and do something.

“the fuck I do,” you snort, your posture relaxing. “love him? i’d rather die.”

you take a step closer to sunghoon, hands on your hips. “i have a massive hangover and i just woke up. pardon me for not getting into the specifics of mass-murder less than 24 hours after i was given the instructions for it.”

nicholas fights to keep his expression even, shielding his heart faster than your words can hurt him. he doesn’t know what you’re planning, but he wouldn't be the espionage master if he didn't know a lie when he hears one. and you? you're the worst liar he’s ever seen. duh, all he does is pay attention to you

“jake has no idea you’re here, does he?” you smirk, watching sunghoon. 

his gun twitches ever so slightly.

“wow, so he has no idea that both of you are here to shoot his baby sister and her husband. some bullshit mission to australia, i assume?” you muse, still taking steps toward sunghoon. right until the muzzle of his gun is flush against your forehead.