"getting slow," you say, wiping sweat from your forehead. the sun climbs higher, pressing heat through your thin robes.

your brother grins. "says the one who's been walking around like a ghost all week."

that stings because it's true. your mind keeps wandering to duties you don't want, to a future that feels like a trap closing around you. but not here. here there's only swords and discipline, the routine your family has known for centuries.

you drive him back across the packed dirt. his breathing comes harder as he blocks your strikes, the playful rhythm turning serious. this is what you were made for, not palace ceremonies or bowing to lords, but a sword in your hand and combat. he tries a desperate overhead swing. you catch his wrist, twist, and his weapon spins away. one quick sweep takes his legs out. he hits the ground hard, your wooden blade stopping at his throat.

"yield?"

he raises both hands, chest heaving. "i yield. but next time—"

"seorin."

your father's voice cuts across the yard like a whip crack. you and your brother both go still. that tone means trouble, the formal voice he uses when the world's about to shift under your feet. 

you lower your sword and look toward the house. he stands in the doorway, shoulders tight, holding himself the way he does when he's about to deliver bad news. your stomach drops.

"go," your brother says quietly. "don't keep him waiting."

you set down your sword and cross the courtyard. each step feels heavier than the last. your father has called you away from training before, but today something's different. the dread in your chest tells that whatever he's about to say will change everything.

the house feels cool after the sun. your father's already at the low table, the surface worn smooth by generations of hands. you kneel across from him, spine straight despite the unease crawling up your throat.

"yes, father?"

his weathered hands fold on the table. he then looks at you with heavy eyes.

"your duty begins tomorrow. you will live in the palace."

the words hit like a surprise punch to the gut as your brows pull together. this isn't right. this isn't the plan.

"i thought i would start once the crown prince takes the throne? what changed?" silence stretches between you. your father's face hardens into something you rarely see.

"don't ask so many questions, seorin." your father sternly commanded. "pack your things. you leave at dawn."

your mouth opens as protests crowd your tongue. this goes against everything. you've never followed orders blindly, never accepted commands without understanding them. your father taught you to ask questions, said it would make you a better guardian.

but something in the rigid line of his shoulders, the granite set of his jaw, kills every word before it forms. you knew you have no choice but to obey this time and it terrifies you more than anyyhing ever could. what happened in the palace that needs your immediate presence? why now, when the crown prince is still years from his coronation?

the questions die in your throat. you sigh, bowing to your father before leaving. the gesture feels hollow, performed from habit more than respect. tomorrow looms like storm clouds you're unprepared for.

your feet carry you to your chambers, where you begin the task he commanded, packing your life into bundles that can be strapped to a horse.

your hands move without thought, folding robes, rolling your duty uniforms tight. your swords, the ceremonial blade passed down through generations and the one worn smooth by training, each find their place among your things. every item represents part of who you are, who you've been shaped to become. yet packing them feels like preparing for a funeral.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

dawn arrives in soft grays and pale gold. you're already waiting when it does, belongings secured to your horse's saddle, everything essential reduced to what can be carried. you run your palm along your mount's neck, hoping to ease the nerve.

when your father emerges from the house, something's different in his stance, less the stern clan leader from yesterday, more the man who held you through your first steps.

"come," he says, swinging onto his horse. "we must arrive before full sunrise."

the horses beats steadily against the ground as you ride side by side through the awakening sky. the woods stood tall. branches overhead weaving green and gold, morning fog curling between trunks like clouds.

when the trees thin and the sprawling town around the palace comes into view, he finally breaks the quiet. "halt," he says softly, pulling his reins. you mirror him, turning with questioning eyes.

"yes, father?"

he guides his horse closer, close enough that you can see worries lines around his eyes. when he speaks again, his voice has warmth that had been absent yesterday.

"you failed to ask more questions earlier." a smile tugs at his mouth, lighthearted. "you stopped because i am your father?"

you blink, recognizing the familiarity of one of his lessons. a small smirk formed on your lips. "yes. and because you are head of our clan."

"that shouldn't matter." his expression grows serious, "inside the palace, you'll be pressured to obey nobles who outrank you. but don't forget who you are, seorin." his words firm and proud. "you are a shin. you belong to our clan. you are a protector. don't obey without question, without getting answers from whoever commands you, except for the one you serve."

"the crown prince," you add.

"precisely." he nods, approval warming his face. "my daughter, within those palace walls, no one else matters, not the queen, not the princess, not even the current king. only yourself and the prince who will become king. i fear what trials await you, but i trust you to navigate them well."

you bow your head and nod, his words settling in your heart like seeds in fertile soil. your fingers find the silk ribbon of your late mother's norigae pendant where it hangs from your robe.

she too had been bound to duty once, sworn to protect the queen with the same fierce loyalty that now flows in your veins. but bandits had ambushed the royal palanquin during a secret journey through these very forests, and your mother died fulfilling her oath. that loss changed everything. your father, your family, the very foundation of who you were meant to become.

your horses resume their steady pace toward the awakening town. the first merchants set up their stalls, early risers beginning daily chores as smoke rises from chimneys in thin gray clouds. you and your father navigate the winding streets in silence.

the palace gates loom before you, massive structures that seem to reach towards the sky. the guards recognize your approach and move to open them, heavy wood groaning as it swings wide to welcome you into a world you've prepared for but never truly known.

sunrise paints the palace courtyards in gold as servants move about their morning duties, each one stopping to bow respectfully as you and your father dismount.

the king's eunuch approaches. silk robes rustling softly against polished stone. his bow is deep and respectful.

"your majesty awaits," he says, "if you would follow me."

the journey through palace corridors feels like walking through a maze. every corners are tapestries woven with golden threads that catch morning light through wood latticed windows.

when you reach the king's private chamber, the eunuch halts, his voice rings clear "your majesty, the noble lord shin and his daughter, lady shin seorin, await your permission to enter."

"let them in." the eunuch bows once more before sliding the doors open. he steps aside, head lowered, gesturing for you both to proceed. you cross the threshold as the doors slide closed behind you. you move forward in unison until you reach the chamber's center, where protocol demands you stop.

your father descends first, lowering himself to both knees with grace. his palms press flat against the floor as he bends forward in the deepest of bows, forehead nearly touching the ground.

"your servant shin pays his deepest respects to his majesty," he spoke.

you follow without hesitation, kneeling gracefully beside him, hands folded properly before you as you bow until your forehead meets the wooden floor.

"lady shin seorin humbly greets your majesty," your voice followed.

silence then fills the chamber like incense, you remain motionless in your bow, awaiting for the royal cue.

"rise," the king spoke at last, calm but touched with warmth. "there is no need for such deep bows from those who have long protected this throne."

your father lifts his head slowly, catching your eye for a moment before you both straighten and sat formally. the king settles before you.

"lord shin," he begins, voice carrying gravity, "your family has served the crown with unwavering loyalty for generations. your late wife..." he pauses, genuine sorrow showing in his features. "her sacrifice will never be forgotten."

your father's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "your majesty honors her memory."

"and now," the king continues, gaze shifting, "i find myself in need of that same loyalty, that same dedication." he leans forward slightly, making the conversation feel more intimate despite the formal setting. "there have been developments that concern the safety of the crown prince."

the silence that follows is heavy with implication. you feel your curiosity pique as you voice out. "what manner of developments, your majesty?" you ask,

the king's expression darkens. "three attempts have been made on taesan's life in the past month. the first appeared to be an accident—a loose tile falling from a roof as he walked beneath. the second, poison in his evening meal, caught only because his food taster fell ill first." his voice drops lower. "the third was more direct. an assassin in servant's clothing, stopped only by a palace guard who paid with his life."

your blood chills hearing this. three attempts. the crown prince who's your future charge has been living under the shadow of death itself.

"the threats," you added, and it's not quite a question.

"letters arrive weekly now," the king confirms, hands clasping together tightly. "each more explicit than the last. they speak of preventing taesan's ascension to the throne, of ending the royal line entirely. the language suggests intimate knowledge of palace routines, of the prince's movements and habits."

"someone within the palace walls," you find yourself saying, the implication is too terrible and obvious to ignore.

the king's eyes meet yours, and in them you see not just a ruler, but a father fearing for his son's life. "that is our gravest concern, lady shin. we cannot trust the usual channels, the established guard rotations. too many have access, too many opportunities for infiltration."

your father straightens, understanding. "you wish for seorin to begin her service immediately. to be the prince's shadow."

"more than that," the king says, voice gaining strength. "i want her to be the one person in this palace whose loyalty cannot be questioned, whose motives cannot be corrupted. someone who answers to no one but the prince himself, and through him, to the crown."

you feel the weight of reality settling on your shoulders. this is why your training and service was accelerated.

"your majesty," you say, voice steady despite what's being asked, "what of the prince himself? does he know of these attempts? of the danger he faces?"

a shadow crosses the king's face. "taesan knows some of it, but not the full extent. he is..." the king searches for words that won't betray his son's perceived weaknesses. "he has a gentle nature. he prefers his books and charitable works to the harsher realities of rule. i fear that full knowledge of these threats might break something essential in him."

"but he must be informed enough to cooperate with security measures," your father observes pragmatically.

"indeed. which is why your daughter's role will be delicate. she must protect him while allowing him to maintain some semblance of the life he values. she must be close enough to intercept danger, yet subtle enough not to remind him constantly of the threats that surround him."

the king turns his full attention to you now, and you feel the weight of his scrutiny. "young lady shin seorin, are you prepared to undertake this duty? to become not just a guard, but a shadow? to place the prince's life above your own without question or hesitation?"

you think of your mother's pendant, warm against your chest. of the oaths sworn in blood by your ancestors. of the gentle prince you've never met but are now sworn to protect with your very existence.

"i am, your majesty," you reply, and the words feel like both promise and prayer. "i will guard the crown prince with my life, and i will not fail as..."

you stop yourself before 'as my mother did' can escape, but the king seems to understand. his expression softens with something that might be compassion.

"you are not your mother, and this is not her fate," he says gently. "but you carry her strength, her honor. i believe that will be enough."

he rises then, signaling the formal portion of your audience is drawing to a close. "you will meet the crown prince this morning. lord shin, you may take your leave to return to your estate, knowing that your daughter serves in the highest cause."

the dismissal comes and you and your father rise together, bowing once more before turning to leave. the doors slide shut behind you.

servants bow as you pass, and you wonder if they can sense the transformation. do they know you're no longer the daughter being escorted to an audience, but the crown prince's newly appointed guardian? the weight of your new identity presses against your shoulders.

when you reach the main courtyard where your horses wait, the morning sun has fully risen, casting long shadows across polished stone. your father's mount stamps restlessly, sensing the shift in routine, while your own horse who will remain behind when he leaves seems to understand.

your father stops beside his horse but doesn't immediately mount. instead, he turns to face you, and the formal mask slips away. here stands not the clan leader who delivered you to royal service, but the father who taught you to hold your first wooden sword.

"be well, seorin." he smiles, as he proceeds with a caution. "the prince is not the strongest, he's frail, soft in bone. he has never properly wielded a sword." a pause, heavy with meaning. "but he's strong in spirit, and i'll trust you to guard, and lead him well. "

"i will, father." you murmur.

"so," he finaly sighs, voice carrying emotions he cannot express within palace walls. "this is where we part."

the words hit harder than expected. you've known this moment would come. it was always inevitable, but knowing something and experiencing it are different feelings entirely.

"not forever," you smiled, though you both know the truth. your service will consume years, perhaps decades. visits home will be rare, brief, always secondary to your primary duty, and most of all, dangerous.

your father nods, understanding passing between you. "remember what i told you in the forest," your father continues, voice dropping so nearby servants cannot overhear. "trust no one completely except the prince. the palace is beautiful, but it's also a nest of vipers. everyone has motives beyond what they show."

you nod, "i understand."

"and seorin," he adds, reaching out to briefly touch your shoulder, a gesture that would be improper in more formal circumstances but feels necessary now. "don't lose yourself in duty. your mother was so focused on protecting others that she sometimes forgot to value her own life. you are not expendable, no matter what anyone tells you."

you treasure your father's words. then, you think of the king's words, of the expectation that you place the prince's life above your own, and wonder if your father's advice and your royal duty can coexist.

"i'll remember," you promise, and mean it.

your father then swings himself into his saddle with ease, but his eyes never leave your face. "make our family proud, daughter. but more than that, please come home to us when your service is complete."

"i will," you say, stepping back as he gathers his reins.

he nods once, formal and final, then turns his horse toward the gates. you watch him ride away, his figure growing smaller until he disappears beyond the palace walls. the sound of hooves on stone fades until only the morning bustle of palace life remains.

from somewhere within the palace walls, a bell chimes the hour. soon, you will meet the crown prince whose life now takes precedence over your own. but for just this moment, you allow yourself to feel the weight of what you've left behind and the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

you've barely taken three steps toward the palace entrance when the familiar rustle of silk announces the king's eunuch. he emerge from the shadows of a nearby pavilion as if he'd been waiting there all along, his movements as respectful as before.

"lady shin," he says, bowing respectfully. "his majesty has instructed me to escort you to meet crown prince taesan immediately."

the word 'immediately' threw you off. you glance down at your travel clothes, still dusty from the morning ride. "should i not be shown to my quarters first? i would prefer to make myself presentable-"

the eunuch's expression remains carefully neutral. "your quarters will be shown to you shortly, my lady. they have been prepared in the residence adjacent to the crown prince's chambers." he pauses. "his majesty believes it best that you meet the prince without delay. the sooner you begin your duties, the safer he will be."

of course. your room will be positioned for optimal protection. close enough to respond to any threat within moments, yet separate enough to maintain propriety.

"i understand," you say, the servants taking your things away. "please, lead the way."

the eunuch nods approvingly. "the crown prince is currently in the eastern gardens. he spends most mornings there."

as you follow him deeper into the palace complex, the corridors give way to more intimate spaces. living quarters rather than formal audience halls. the architecture here is softer somehow, designed for comfort rather than intimidation. latticed windows filter sunlight into patterns on polished floors, and the scent of flowering trees drifts in from nearby courtyards.

the eastern garden reveals itself gradually as you approach. first the sound of water flowing over stone, then the sweet fragrance of jasmine and plum blossoms, and finally the sight of the garden itself. stone pathways wind between pruned trees, small bridges arch over streams, and flowering shrubs create pockets of color against the grass.

and there, kneeling beside a bed of white chrysanthemums, is crown prince taesan.

your first impression is one of gentleness. there's something peaceful about his posture as he tends to the plants. he's dressed simply, not in extravagant robes you might expect of royalty, but in clean clothing that won't be harmed by garden soil. his dark hair falls partially across his forehead as he works, and there's a small smudge of earth on his cheek that he seems unaware of.

he's examining the roots of a young chrysanthemum plant, brow furrowed in concentration. even from this distance, you can see the care he takes with each delicate stem, the way his fingers move with gentleness. this is clearly not a prince who gardens for show. this is someone who genuinely loves nurturing living things.

the eunuch clears his throat softly. "your highness?"

taesan looks up, and you see his face clearly for the first time. there's an openness in his features, an honesty that seems almost naive in the context of the political poison surrounding him. his eyes are warm, intelligent, kind, and completely unprepared for the harsh realities his father described.

when his gaze shifts to you, standing respectfully behind the eunuch, you feel something unexpected. not just the weight of duty, but a feeling of something more personal. this is the person you've sworn to protect, whose life has become more important than your own.

the eunuch steps forward. "your highness, may i present lady shin seorin, daughter of lord shin. she has been assigned as your personal guard by his majesty's decree."

at these words, the servants who had been quietly tending to various garden tasks begin to withdraw, fading away into the background. the eunuch himself bows once more and retreats several paces, leaving you alone with the prince.

taesan sets down the small gardening tool he'd been using and rises gracefully to his feet, brushing the soil from his hands. when he turns to face you fully, his expression transforms into genuine delight.

"so, you're lady shin!" he says, and there's real warmth in his voice, as if your arrival is the most pleasant surprise of his day. "please, there's no need for such formality in the garden. i'm afraid i'm not very princely at the moment." he gestures to his simple clothes and the dirt still clinging to his sleeves.

you step forward and bow properly, despite his words. "your highness, i am honored to serve as your guard. i pledge my loyalty and protection to you."

when you straighten, you find him watching you with curious, kind eyes. not the judging gaze you've been warned to expect from palace inhabitants, but something refreshingly direct and honest.

"a guard," he muses, tilting his head slightly. "that seems rather excessive. i spend most of my time reading or here in the gardens. hardly dangerous pursuits." his tone is light, almost amused, and entirely without the paranoia that would be justified given the attempts on his life.

looking at him now, this young man who radiates contentment and speaks to you as if you're already friends rather than a stranger assigned to shadow his every move, you feel a strange mix of admiration and deep concern. there's an openness about him that seems to glow from within, an infectious happiness that makes you want to smile despite the gravity of your mission.

how is this possible? you think, studying his unguarded expression, the way he holds himself without tension or suspicion. how can someone who grew up within these palace walls, surrounded by deceit and betrayals that define court life, remain so innocent?

yet here he is, not just surviving but somehow maintaining a light within himself that the palace's shadows haven't managed to extinguish. it's remarkable, really. and it makes you understand, perhaps for the first time, why his life might be worth protecting. not just because duty demands it, but because the world needs people like him, even if it doesn't deserve them.

"i hope we'll work well together," taesan continues, apparently mistaking your contemplative silence for nervousness. "i know having a guard must seem like a burden, but perhaps we can make it pleasant for both of us. do you enjoy gardens, lady shin? or perhaps books? i spend quite a lot of time with both."

despite his warm invitation for conversation, you remain standing at attention-spine straight, hands clasped formally behind your back, with neutral expression. this is part of your duty, to be present but unobtrusive, ready to act at a moment's notice.

taesan seems to take your stoic demeanor in stride. after a moment, he returns to his gardening, kneeling once more beside the chrysanthemums, but continues speaking as if your silence is natural.

"you know," he says, carefully transplanting a small shoot to give it more room to grow, "i should have realized who you were the moment i heard your name. you're the daughter of the queen's late guard, aren't you?" he smiles, voice careful and soft. "your mother's sacrifice is still spoken of with great honor in the palace. she saved my mother's life."

you feel the familiar tightness in your chest at the mention of your mother, but your stance stood sturdy. "yes, your highness."

"and your father," taesan continues, a smile creeping into his voice as he works, "lord shin was my swordsmanship and combat instructor when i was younger. did you know that?" he glances up at you briefly, genuine fondness lighting his features. "he's an exceptional teacher. patient, and skilled, never lost his temper even when i proved to be..." he pauses, searching for the right words. "well, let's say i was not his most promising student."

your father had never mentioned teaching the crown prince, though you suppose it makes sense. the royal children would need instruction, and your family's reputation for martial excellence would make them natural choices as instructors.

taesan seems to notice your slight reaction and chuckles softly. "i probably shouldn't admit this to his daughter, but i fear i was quite hopeless with a sword. your father tried everything. different grips, different stances, different approaches entirely. he was always so encouraging, never made me feel inadequate even when it was clear i had no natural talent for combat."

he pauses in his work, sitting back on his heels with a rueful expression. "i'm afraid i'm much better with growing things than with weapons designed to destroy them. perhaps that makes me ill-suited for my future role, but..." he shrugs with a resigned gesture. "i've always believed there's more strength in nurturing life than in taking it."

you admired his words, nodding subtly to yourself. but you think of the three assassination attempts, of the letters promising his death, of all the dangers that lurk in the corners of the palace. how has he survived this long with such a philosophy? how does he plan to rule a kingdom when he openly admits to preferring creation over destruction?

yet as you watch him return to his careful tending of the plants, seeing the genuine contentment in his movements and the peace that seems to radiate from him like warmth from a hearth, you begin to understand your father's words from earlier.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the next twenty minutes pass in silence as taesan completes his morning gardening routine. you maintain your position. watchful, alert, scanning every movement in the garden around you both. servants move at a respectful distance, and the eunuch remains within sight but out of earshot.

"i suppose it's time for my other obligations," he says with a slight sigh, rising as he brushes the last of the soil from his hands and looking at his work with satisfaction. though it's more wistful than reluctant. the eunuch approaches as if summoned by some invisible signal, and together you begin the procession back through the palace corridors toward the prince's chambers.

when you reach the place, the eunuch gestures for you to wait as taesan disappears inside. "lady shin, if you would follow me, i'll show you to your quarters."

your room is exactly what you expected. it's small, functional, positioned for optimal response time should danger threaten. the space is clean and well-appointed despite its modest size, with a narrow bed, a simple table, and storage areas that will accommodate your few belongings. most importantly, it shares a wall with the prince's chambers and has a clear view of both his door and the main corridor approach.

servants then arrive with your bags, moving as they set everything within easy reach. once they depart, you allow yourself a moment to change from your travel-dusty clothes into something more befitting your new role.

the garment you select speaks to both heritage and function, a black jeogori with a crimson ribbon tied across the chest, paired with a dark baji that flows like a hanbok chima but has been tailored for mobility. this uniform has been worn by the women of your clan for generations, elegant enough for court yet practical enough for combat. over it goes a light armored vest, subtle but protective, and finally a thin silk sash around your waist where your sword's sheath rests against your hip.

when you emerge, properly attired for duty, the eunuch is waiting to escort you back to the prince. you find him in a covered pavilion near his quarters, settling himself at a low table where books and scrolls have been arranged neatly. the setting overlooks a smaller courtyard garden, peaceful and private.

you take your position across from him, close enough to intervene if necessary, far enough to avoid intruding on his personal space. the sight lines are good here, you can see all approaches while keeping the prince in your peripheral vision.

taesan looks up as you arrange yourself, offering that same warm smile that seems to be his default expression. "much better," he says approvingly, though whether he's referring to your change of clothes or simply your presence, you cannot tell. "i hope your quarters are acceptable?"

"yes, your highness. thank you."

he nods and opens the first of several books before him. classical texts, by the look of them, philosophy and poetry rather than the military treatises or political analyses you might have expected. "i usually spend the late morning hours reading," he explains, though you haven't asked. "today i thought i'd work on some confucian commentaries. there's a specific passage about the nature of benevolent leadership that i've been contemplating."

taesan seems perfectly comfortable with your stillness. he begins reading, occasionally making soft sounds of interest or taking notes with delicate brushstrokes. every so often he'll glance up, as if to share a thought, then seem to remember your role and return to his studies.

after half an hour of silence, he finally speaks again. "this particular scholar argues that true strength lies not in the ability to dominate others, but in the capacity to inspire them toward their better nature." he looks up at you directly. "what do you think, lady shin? in your experience, what makes a leader truly strong?"

the question catches you off guard, not because it's difficult, but because he's asking for your opinion rather than simply expecting silence. you consider your words carefully before responding.

"strength takes many forms, your highness."

"ah," he says, and there's genuine interest in his voice. "and what matters most, do you think?"

"my values may differ from your highness's," you say carefully, voice maintaining its tone. "i was raised to protect above all else. for me, true strength lies in the ability to protect those who inspire, or those who dominate. it matters not which, only that they are worth preserving."

taesan's face lights up with genuine delight, as if you've just revealed something profound rather than simply stating your training. he sets down his brush and leans forward slightly, expression animated with interest.

"how thoughtful." he smiles, and there's no condescension in his praise, only authentic appreciation. "you've managed to bridge two seemingly opposing philosophies. the protector serves both the benevolent leader who inspires loyalty and the strong ruler who commands it. what matters is not their method, but their worth."

he pauses, seeming to savor the insight. "that's wise, lady shin. you understand something that many scholars spend years debating-that strength in leadership can manifest in different forms, but the truly strong are those who merit protection regardless of their approach."

you bow your head in acknowledgment of his compliment, though something about his genuine enthusiasm for your perspective catches you off guard.

"thank you, your highness," you reply formally, though you cannot quite suppress a flicker of something warmer in your chest at his words.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

as the reading session ends, taesan rolls up his scrolls and closes his books with the same care he'd shown his morning plants. the sun has shifted, casting longer shadows across the pavilion, and you sense his day moving toward its next phase.

"i think that's enough reading for now," he says with a satisfied sigh, rising from his cushion. "perhaps a walk before the midday meal?"

you fall into step behind him as he heads back through the palace corridors, keeping your distance while staying alert. the halls are busier now than earlier. servants going about their work, minor officials moving between meetings, the general buzz of palace life in full swing.

it's as you're crossing one of the main courtyards that a voice calls out.

"taesan!"

both you and the prince turn toward the sound. a young man approaches with quick, carefree steps. he's about the same age as taesan, dressed in fine but modest robes that mark him as nobility. there's something immediately appealing about him. open, genuine, with the same natural warmth that marks the prince.

as he gets closer, you notice the similarities between him and taesan that go beyond friendship. there's a softness in his eyes that suggests he shares the prince's preference for kindness over ambition. he moves like someone well-schooled in court manners, but there's also something hesitant about him, as if he's always worried about crossing some invisible line.

"jungwon," taesan says, and his face brightens with the simple joy of seeing a dear friend. "perfect timing. how did your morning lessons go?"

the young man, jungwon, makes a face "about as well as you'd expect. father's new tutor seems to think the only way to learn statecraft is through repeating the most mind-numbing details imaginable."

you step slightly aside as the two friends come together, keeping your watchful position while giving them space. as you do, you offer jungwon a respectful bow, not the deep bow for royalty, but the acknowledgment appropriate between nobles of similar standing.

jungwon notices and returns it with the same courtesy, though there's curiosity in his eyes as he glances between you and the prince.

"ah," taesan says, remembering his manners. "jungwon, i'd like you to meet lady shin seorin, daughter of lord shin." the introduction comes naturally, and notably without mention of your official role. "lady shin, this is yang jungwon, my dearest friend and the only person in this palace who can match my complete hopelessness with a sword."

the casual and almost familiar way taesan introduces you sends an unexpected flutter of warmth through your chest. not "my guard" or anything, but simply your name and lineage, as if you're a person worth acknowledging rather than merely a function he's been assigned.

jungwon's expression then shifts to recognition and respect. "lord shin's daughter," he says. "your family's service to the crown is legendary. it's an honor to meet you."

"the honor is mine, young master yang," you reply with appropriate formality.

taesan glances between you both with satisfaction, as if pleased to have made this introduction. "jungwon's father serves as one of the senior officials in the ministry of personnel," he explains to you, then turns back to his friend. "though i suspect jungwon himself would rather be anywhere else than following in those particular footsteps."

jungwon's smile becomes somewhat rueful. "you know me too well. father despairs of my lack of... ambition, i suppose. he keeps hoping that proximity to proper authority" he gestures toward taesan with fond exasperation "will somehow inspire me toward greater things."

the comment reveals more than jungwon intended. you can hear the weight of expectations in his voice, the burden of a father's disappointment. taesan's expression grows more serious, and he places a friendly hand on jungwon's shoulder. "your father sees strength differently than we do," he says quietly. "that doesn't make his perspective right, merely different."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

for two weeks, everything proceeds without incident. no mysterious accidents, no suspicious servants, no threats appearing from the corners you constantly scan. the routine of protection settles into peaceful morning gardens, afternoon studies, and evening walks within the palace grounds. you begin to wonder if the king's concerns were overstated, if the assassination attempts were isolated incidents rather than part of a larger conspiracy.

it's this growing sense of security that makes you even more wary.

the night is deep and still when exhaustion finally claims you. you've been maintaining hypervigilance for weeks, and even the most disciplined guard needs rest. in your small chamber next to the prince's quarters, you allow yourself to drift into light sleep. still alert enough to respond to danger, but relaxed enough to let your body recover.

you're wearing simple white sleeping robes, your hair unbound and flowing loose down your back, when the soft sound of sliding wood pulls you instantly awake. your training takes over before conscious thought can intervene, the sound of a door opening where no door should be moving at this hour. taesan's room

you're on your feet and moving before you're fully awake, snatching your sword from beside your sleeping mat. there's no time to dress properly, no moment to bind your hair or don armor. someone is moving in the darkness, and every instinct screams that the prince is in danger.

your bare feet are silent against the cold floor as you slip from your room and immediately note the prince's door slightly ajar. when you peeked in, it's empty. your heart lurches with terror, you've failed in the most basic duty of a guard. you've lost your charge.

but where would he go? think like him, not like a warrior. where does taesan find peace? the answer comes immediately. water, gardens, places of natural beauty where he can think.

you move through the palace corridors like a ghost in white, your sword ready but held low. the main courtyards are empty, bathed in moonlight that turns everything silver and strange. your feet carrying you toward the ornamental ponds that lie at the heart of the residential quarters.

and there, silhouetted against the water's surface, you find him as you let out a sigh of relief.

taesan stands beside the largest pond, wearing his gat and simple, ordinary clothing that makes him look like any young nobleman out for a late-night walk. the sight of him safe, unharmed, and apparently alone should flood you with relief. instead, it fills you with fury born from terror.

"your highness!" the words come out sharp with authority, carrying none of the careful respect you've maintained for two weeks. you stride toward him with your sword still in hand, white sleeping robes billowing around you. "what are you doing out here? you cannot simply-" your words cut as you exasperated "this is dangerous!"

taesan turns at the sound of your voice, and instead of the guilty expression you expect, you see something that makes your anger spike even higher, a knowing smirk, as if he'd been expecting this exact confrontation.

"ah," he says, his tone almost amused. "i wondered how long it would take you to find me. quicker than i thought, actually."

the casual admission that he'd planned this, that he'd deliberately put himself at risk just to... what? test your response time? the audacity of it makes you want to scoff, though you manage to restrain yourself to clearing your throat pointedly.

"your highness must return to your chambers immediately," you say, your voice tight with barely controlled frustration. "it's not safe to be wandering the palace at night without proper security measures."

taesan's smirk softens into something warmer. he looks at you, taking in your unbound hair catching moonlight, your white sleeping robes, the sword in your hand held ready despite the apparent absence of threat.

"it won't be dangerous," he says quietly. "not when you're around."

the words hang in the night air between you, you stand there in silence for a long moment, your sword still held loosely at your side. finally, you find your voice, though it remains firm despite the strange flutter in your chest.

"your highness should not be so careless, especially when i am resting," you say, trying to restore some professional authority to the conversation. "my vigilance has limits, and your safety depends on predictable routines."

taesan chuckles softly, the sound carrying across the field."i apologize for startling you. i simply couldn't sleep, and the moonlight on the water looked too peaceful to resist." he glances at you with that same gentle expression you've grown familiar with over the past two weeks. "i should have considered that my restlessness would become your burden."

"it is not a burden," you reply automatically, then catch yourself at the admission. "it is my duty."

"but there's a difference, isn't there?" his tone is warm, and conversational. "between burden and duty. i prefer to think i'm not the former, even if i must be the latter."

despite yourself, you find the corners of your mouth threatening to soften. his self-awareness, his consideration even in moments like this, it's exactly the kind of thoughtfulness that makes him so different from what you expected in a prince. but you maintain your stern expression.

"your preferences matter less than your safety, your highness."

"always so serious," he muses, turning back toward the pond. "do you ever allow yourself to simply enjoy a moment? the way the moonlight turns the water to silver? the peace of a garden at night?"

"i find peace in knowing you are secure."

taesan glances at you again, and there's something almost fond in his gaze. "that's noble of you, lady shin. though i suspect there's more to you than duty and vigilance."

you're about to respond, perhaps to deflect or redirect the conversation back to safer ground, when every instinct you possess suddenly screams in alarm. the feeling hits you like ice water. there are eyes watching from the darkness, you can feel the hostile attention around the corner.

your head snaps up, scanning the garden's shadows with intensity that two weeks of peace had temporarily dulled. and there, a movement in the trees beyond the courtyard borders. the glint of metal catching moonlight where no metal should be.

"get down!" you shout, just as the whistle of an arrow cuts through the night air.

you lunge forward, catching taesan around the waist and pulling him aside just as the arrow buries itself in the grass where he'd been standing moments before. he stumbles against you, confusion and fear suddenly replacing the peaceful expression on his face.

"what—" he begins, but you're already moving, placing yourself between him and the direction of the attack.

"stay behind me," you command, you unsheathed your sword, rising to a defensive position as your eyes track movement in the shadows. not one archer, three figures emerging from the corners, masked and armed with both bows and blades.

the first attacker rushes forward while his companions circle to flank you. these aren't palace guards gone rogue or opportunistic bandits, their movements are too coordinated. they're assassins, trained ones.

your blade clashes with the first attacker's sword with a clang of steel that echoes across the area. behind you, you can hear taesan's sharp inhale, feel his presence at your back, vulnerable, trusting you to keep him alive, but also worried about your safety.

the second attacker tries to use your distraction with the first as an opening, but you're already spinning away, your long hair whipping around you as you parry and counter-attack. the white fabric of your sleeping robes billows and flows with your movements.

a blade whistles past your head, close enough that you feel the wind of its passage. too close. you duck and pivot, driving your elbow into his attacker's ribs while bringing your sword up to block the third assassin's strike.

the remaining two attackers press their advantage, but you've fought multiple opponents before. your training with your brother, and your father's relentless drills. you could kill them. should kill them, perhaps. but dead assassins tell no tales, reveal no masters, expose no conspiracies.

instead, you fight to subdue. a strike to a nerve center here, a blow to the head there. within moments, all three attackers lie unconscious on the stone around the pond, their weapons scattered and their threat neutralized.

only then do you allow yourself to breathe, turning back toward taesan. he's pressed against an ornamental pillar, his face pale with shock but his eyes wide as he takes in the aftermath of violence that erupted and ended in the span of heartbeats.

you raise your fingers to your lips and release a sharp, piercing whistle, the signal that will bring palace guards running from their posts throughout the residential quarters.

"the guards will be here shortly," you tell him, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "these men are alive for questioning. we'll finally have answers about who wants you dead."

the palace guards arrive within moments of your whistle, their torches creating shadows across the courtyard as they secure the unconscious assassins. questions flew around. how did they keep breaching the palace walls, who sent them, what intelligence failures allowed armed men to reach the crown prince undetected?

you answer what you can while keeping one eye on taesan, who stands apart from the mess with that same stunned expression he had throughout the fight.

the captain of the guards escorts him back toward his chambers, and you follow at a respectful distance, noting how his shoulders have drawn inward, how his usual graceful stride has dulled. at his door, he pauses, turning to look at you.

you're about to retreat to your own chambers when something stops you. perhaps it's the way his eyes trembled when he looked at you, or the memory of how lost he'd looked surrounded by unconscious assassins and drawn swords. the professional thing to do would be to give him space to process what happened. but the thought of him sitting alone with his fears feels suddenly unbearable.

you stand outside his door for several long minutes, wrestling with propriety and impulse. and finally, impulse wins.

"your highness?" you call softly through the wooden door. "may i enter?"

"yes," he immediately replies, as if he'd been hoping you would ask.

when you slide the door open, you find him exactly as you'd expected, still wearing the simple clothes from your pond, seated on his sleeping mat with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them.

"how are you feeling?" you ask, kneeling at a respectful distance but close enough that your voice won't carry beyond these walls.

taesan then lets out a shaky laugh that holds no humor. "weak," he says simply. "i keep thinkinh how did they get inside the palace gates?" his hands clench into fists. "i don't know who to trust anymore. if those assassins can walk freely through these corridors..."

the defeat in his voice makes your chest tighten. without thinking, you lean slightly forward, your usual professional distance forgotten.

"you are not weak," you say, "strength is not measured by skill with a sword, your highness. it's measured by..." you pause, searching for words that won't sound like empty comfort. "by how you choose to live when the world shows you its cruelest face. you could have become hard, suspicious, cold. instead, you tend gardens and read poetry. you trust people who haven't earned it and show kindness where others would show only deceit."

taesan looks up at you, and in the soft lamplight of his chamber, you can see something change in his expression. the despair doesn't disappear entirely, but it's joined by glimpse of hope, perhaps, or simply surprise at hearing such words from someone he's known to be reserved and professional.

"but what kind of king will i be if i can't even defend myself?" he asks quietly, and the question seems to come from the deepest part of his fears with vulnerability in his voice. "how can i protect a kingdom when i couldn't protect myself from three men in my own home?"

"that's what you have me for," you say softly. in the intimacy of this conversation, with defenses lowered and honesty hanging between you, it sounds less like a professional duty and more like a personal vow.

taesan meets your gaze. "thank you," he says, and his voice holds a warmth that seems to wrap around you like a blanket. "i don't know what i did to deserve such dedication, but i'm grateful for it."

"you can rest now," you tell him, your professional mask sliding back into place though not as securely as before. "i give you my word, i won't let anything happen to the crown prince."

taesan's expression grows fond, almost tender. "don't lose yourself in the process, lady shin."

you consider this, registering his word, before shaking your head. "i would like to try." you then bow deeply, using the formal gesture to hide your expression. "sleep well, your highness."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the morning brings grim news. when you seek out the head of the palace guard for an update on the captured assassins, his expression tells you everything before he speaks a word.

"they're dead," he reports grimly. "all three took poison sometime before dawn. hidden in false teeth, we think. they were professionals-no chance for interrogation."

the news unsettled you. assassins who kill themselves rather than risk revealing their employer suggest a plot far more serious and well-organized than random attempts on the prince's life. someone with resources and reach orchestrated last night's attack.

your audience with the king confirms your suspicions are shared. he thanks you formally for protecting his son's life, and you respond with appropriate duty-bound humility. but when you share your assessment, that this level of organization suggests corruption within the palace walls, that he should trust no one, especially among his ministers and officials, his face grows grave with recognition of the truth in your words.

the dismissal that follows is thoughtful rather than abrupt, and you sense the king will be reconsidering many relationships in the days to come.

you return to find taesan in his usual reading spot, but today jungwon sits beside him, both young men's faces marked by the strain of recent events. your arrival is acknowledged with the customary bow before you take your position across the pavilion, but the atmosphere feels heavier.

jungwon speaks first, his voice carrying none of its usual lightness. "i still can't believe they got so close to you. the palace is supposed to be the safest place in the kingdom."

taesan's response is quieter than usual. "lady shin saved my life. if she hadn't been there..." he doesn't finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the sudden silence.

the conversation turns, as it often does, to more personal matters. taesan inquires about jungwon's wellbeing, and you listen with the attention of someone who knows that every piece of information within these walls could be crucial.

"father is... displeased with me, as always," jungwon admits with a bitter laugh. "he thinks i'm wasting my friendship with you, that i should be leveraging our friendship to secure a more prominent position in court. he can't understand why i don't share his ambition for power and influence."

you file away this information. a disappointed father with ambitions for his son, frustrated by what he sees as wasted opportunities. in the current climate of suspicion, even family dynamics could prove significant.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

evening settles over the palace with deceptive calm, and you're maintaining your usual vigil outside taesan's chambers when his voice calls softly through the door.

"lady shin? could you join me, please?"

when you slide the door open, you find him seated at his low table, a piece of parchment spread before him alongside several stacked books. his expression is lighter than it's been since the attack, and you feel your shoulders relax slightly at the sight. a small smile tugs at your lips, whatever has occupied his evening thoughts doesn't appear to be anything alarming.

"you summoned me, your highness?" you ask, settling into a formal kneeling position.

taesan gestures to the space across from him. "please, sit. i was hoping to ask your opinion on something."

you move to sit across from him, noting the philosophical texts scattered around the parchment and what appears to be his own writing in progress. he sets down his brush and looks at you.

"i've been thinking about our conversation from the other morning," he begins, "about what makes a leader truly strong. i'd like to hear more of your thoughts on this, not as my guard offering professional counsel, but as someone whose judgment i've come to value."

the request catches you slightly off guard, but you consider his question seriously. "strength in leadership comes from understanding what you're willing to sacrifice for those you serve," you say after a moment. "a truly strong leader doesn't seek power for its own sake, but accepts it as a burden necessary to protect what matters most. they make the difficult choices others cannot, not because they're unafraid, but because their fear of failing those who depend on them outweighs their fear of personal cost."

taesa nods slowly, something like satisfaction drawing on his face. "that's remarkably similar to what i've been writing," he says, gesturing to his parchment. "the scholar, officials would have us believe that strength lies in unwavering authority, but i think you're right. true strength is in service, not dominance."

he pauses, then straightens as if gathering courage for his next words. "which brings me to something i'd like to request of you. would you consider becoming my swordsmanship and combat instructor?"

you can't help the small huff of surprise that escapes you. "why does your highness suddenly wish to learn combat? this is quite different from your usual interests."

"because i want to become the strong leader you described," he replies earnestly. "i've realized that i can't truly serve my people if i'm completely dependent on others for my own protection. i'm not asking to become a warrior, i know that's not my nature, but i should at least be capable of defending myself, and others if necessary."

you nod slowly, recognizing the wisdom in his reasoning. you're about to respond when a soft knock interrupts the moment.

"your highness?" comes the eunuch's voice through the door. "your evening meal has been prepared."

"enter," taesan calls, and you shift slightly to accommodate the servant who carries in a tray bearing his usual evening meal. rice, seasoned vegetables, and fragrant tea.

the servant, a young woman you've seen before in the kitchen staff, bows deeply as she sets the tray before the prince. everything appears normal. but as she pours the tea, a scent reaches your nostrils that makes your every instinct scream in alarm.

it's not the usual jasmine tea the prince favors. this smells wrong. not obviously poisonous, the scent is actually pleasant, which is exactly why it would go undetected. but your training included recognition of various toxins, and this particular sweet, slightly floral note underlying the tea's aroma is one you know well. a poison that would cause gradual weakness, eventual collapse, and death that might be attributed to natural illness rather than murder.

without hesitation, you lunge forward and slam the tea tray away from taesan, the porcelain and wood crashing to the floor. in the same motion, you draw your sword and press its edge to the servant's throat before she can even process what's happening.

the young woman crashes to her knees, terror splash across her face as she stares up at you with wide, frightened eyes.

"who do you work for?" you demand, your voice deadly quiet. behind you, you can hear taesan's sharp inhale, but you don't take your eyes off the trembling servant. "who gave you orders to poison the crown prince?"

the servant's eyes squeeze shut in terror as she bows repeatedly, words of apology spilling from her mouth in a desperate stream. "please, my lady, i'm sorry, i didn't mean-"

but you have no patience for evasion, not when taesan's life hangs in the balance. you press the blade harder against her throat until a thin line of red appears on her skin.

"i won't ask again," you say, your voice cutting through her pleas. "who gave you the poison? who are you working for?"

behind you, taesan's voice carries confusion and growing alarm. "lady shin, what's happening? what poison?"

the servant's terrified gaze darts between you and the prince, and for a moment, you think she might finally break, might finally reveal the plot that has been stalking through the palace corridors. but then something changes in her expression, not relief, but a grim resolution that makes your blood run cold.

before you can react, she grasps your blade with both hands, ignoring the way it cuts into her palms, and pulls it deeper into her own throat.

"no!" you shout, trying to pull the weapon away, but it's too late. the servant's eyes go wide, then vacant, as she collapses to the floor in a spreading pool of blood.

taesan staggers backward, his face pale with shock and horror. "she... she killed herself. why would she..."

you're already moving, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the door. the implications hit you like physical blows. another suicide, another dead end, another sign that this conspiracy runs deeper than anyone imagined.

"we need to leave, now," you tell him, your mind racing through protocols and contingencies. "eunuch!" you call to the trembling man hovering in the doorway. "summon the palace guards immediately. secure this room and remove the body. no one else enters until i return."

as you guide taesan out of his chambers, you quickly explain what just happened. "the tea was poisoned. a subtle toxin that would have killed you slowly, made it look like natural illness. the threat isn't just from outside assassins anymore, your highness. it's obviously coming from within the palace walls, from people who serve you daily."

taesan's steps are unsteady, his breathing shallow with shock. "the servants... people i've known for years... how can i trust anyone?"

"you can't," you say grimly, steering him toward the king's quarters. "that's why we need to-"

you stop abruptly as you round the corner into the main courtyard. what should be the peaceful heart of the royal residence has become a battlefield. bodies lie scattered across the polished stone, masked assassins in dark clothing, their weapons gleaming in the lamplight. but these aren't the only casualties. palace guards lie among them, and you can see signs of a fierce, recent struggle.

and there, standing amid the carnage like a sentinel, is your father.

lord shin turns as you approach, his sword still drawn and bloodied, his expression grim but relieved to see you alive as he embraced you. behind him, you glimpse the king, alive, thank the ancestors, but clearly shaken by the attack.

"father?" you breathe, hardly daring to believe he's here, that he somehow arrived at exactly the moment the palace needed him most.

"the estate received reports of increased activity around the palace," he says, his eyes quickly assessing both you and taesan for injuries. "i came with a small force to investigate. we arrived just as these assassins were beginning their assault on the king's quarters."

taesan stares at the bodies surrounding them, his face growing even paler. "how many were there? how did so many armed men get inside the palace?"

your father's expression darkens. "too many to be a random attack, your highness. this was coordinated, planned, with inside knowledge of guard rotations and palace layout." his gaze meets yours. "the attacks you've been facing isn't just a few disgruntled nobles or ambitious ministers. this is a full attempt to overthrow the royal family entirely."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

in the king's private study, away from prying eyes and potential spies, the royal family gathers with lord shin to devise a plan for survival. the queen sits beside her husband, her usual composure cracked by the night's violence, while taesan remains close to your side, still processing the reality that his own servants have been turned against him.

your father speaks with the authority of someone who has spent decades protecting this family. "the palace is no longer secure, your majesty. tonight's attack proves the plot has infiltrated too deeply. we cannot identify friend from foe among the staff, and every day crown prince taesan remains here increases the risk to his life, and to yours."

the king's jaw tightens, but he nods grimly. "what do you propose?"

"the prince must leave the palace immediately," your father continues. "he needs to go somewhere unexpected, somewhere his enemies won't think to look, until we can root out this case and eliminate the threat. lady seorin will accompany him. she's proven her skill and loyalty beyond question."

after a long moment of heavy silence, the king gives his reluctant consent. "very well. but this must be done with absolute secrecy. the fewer people who know of his location, the safer he'll be."

within the hour, preparations begin in earnest. but the usual protocols are abandoned. no servants are summoned, no eunuchs consulted. trust has become a luxury they can no longer afford. instead, you personally pack taesan's belongings, selecting only the essentials while he remains beside you. your hands fold his robes, choose books he cannot live without, gather the few personal items that will make the banishment bearable. the domesticity feels strange after weeks of maintaining formal distance, yet somehow natural, as if caring for his needs is simply an extension of protecting his life.

the plan is to depart before dawn, when the palace is at its quietest and the guards are changing shifts. a small window when movement might go unnoticed, when two figures in traveling clothes might slip away without attracting attention.

as you wait for the appointed hour, you position yourself inside his room rather than at your usual post outside. the night's events have shattered the old protocols. staying close enough to intercept threats is now more important than maintaining proper appearances. you sit in stillness, sword within easy reach, while taesan lies on his sleeping mat staring at the ceiling.

"you should rest," you tell him quietly. "tomorrow will be a long journey, and we'll need to travel quickly and silentlly"

"lady shin," he says suddenly, "could you do something for me? could you go to the yang residence and ask jungwon to come? i... i need to see him before we leave."

you shake your head immediately, professional instincts overriding any sympathy for his request. "that would be unwise, your highness. the plan works because only we know the destination, the timing. adding another person increases the risk of discovery exponentially."

"but jungwon is my most trusted friend," taesan insists, sitting up to face you directly. "he's never betrayed a confidence, never shown anything but loyalty. if i'm going to disappear for who knows how long, i need to say goodbye to him properly. i need him to know i'm alive and safe."

the tactical part of your mind knows this is a mistake, knows that every deviation from the plan introduces new variables, new dangers. but the part of you that has come to care for his wellbeing, that has seen how isolated and frightened he's become, recognizes that this might be the last normal moment of connection he'll have for a very long time.

"please," he adds softly, and the simple word carries the weight of trust and desperation both.

you look at his face in the dim lamplight, seeing the sincerity there, the absolute faith he has in his friend's loyalty. finally, your professionalism gives way to compassion.

"all right," you say quietly. "i'll bring him to you. but quickly, and quietly. we cannot afford to linger."

you slide the door open with silence, your senses alert for any sign of watchers or listening ears. the corridor remains empty, lit in the deep shadows of pre-dawn darkness. satisfied that your movement has gone unnoticed, you return to taesan.

"you need to wait in my chamber while i'm gone," you whisper, gently taking hold of his forearm to guide him. together, you move the few steps across the corridor to your quarters, where he settles into the corner farthest from the door. before leaving, you press your sword into his hands.

"keep this close," you tell him softly. "if anyone enters who isn't me or jungwon, don't hesitate to use it."

you then create a decoy in his room, lighting a single candle and arranging pillows under his blankets to create a sleeping figure. the ruse won't fool anyone who looks closely, but it might buy precious time if someone glances through the door. with the false scene set, you extinguish most of the lights and slip back into the night.

the yang residence lies within the palace compound, close enough that the journey takes only minutes of careful stroll through shadowed pathways. rather than announce your presence at the main entrance, you circle the building until you locate jungwon's quarters, identifiable by the soft glow of lamplight filtering through the window screens.

your whispered call through the latticed window wakes him immediately. when you quickly explain the night's events, the poisoned servant, the palace attack, the escape plan, his face transforms from sleepy confusion to genuine alarm for his friend's safety. within moments, he's dressed in traveling robes and his gat, ready to accompany you back through the darkened palace corridors.

the return journey feels longer, weighted with the knowledge that dawn approaches and time grows short. when you arrived back, sliding open your chamber door, taesan remains safe in the corner where you left him, your sword still clutched in his hands.

the reunion between the two friends is brief but heartfelt. in a moment that you know violates every security protocol but cannot bring yourself to prevent, taesan quietly reveals the location of the safe house to jungwon, a mountain cottage belonging to a trusted family retainer, isolated enough to avoid detection but accessible should his friend need to find him.

as you extinguish the candle in the prince's chambers and prepare for departure, you tell yourself that this small breach of operational security is a reasonable risk. after all, jungwon has been taesan's closest confidant for years, his loyalty beyond question.

dawn is just beginning to break when you finally prepare to leave the palace behind. jungwon has decided to accompany you for the journey, unwilling to let his friend face travel alone, even temporarily. rather than risk the main gates where guards might recognize the prince despite his common clothing, you lead them to a less monitored section of the palace walls where your father has arranged for ropes and horses to be waiting. two horses stand in the shadows. jungwon takes one while you mount the other, taesan settling behind you with a proximity that would have been unthinkable just days ago.

the path your father chose leads through heavily forested terrain-rocky, winding trails that slow your progress but provide excellent cover from any pursuing eyes. for over an hour, you navigate the difficult path in near silence.

when the safe house finally comes into view, it's exactly what you expected. small but well-maintained, isolated enough to escape notice but comfortable enough for extended living. you immediately begin unloading supplies and belongings. jungwon offers to help, and together you quickly establish a basic living arrangement that will serve until more permanent solutions can be found.

but as the sun climbs higher, jungwon grows restless about his absence being discovered. "i need to return before father realizes i'm gone," he says reluctantly. as jungwon prepares to mount his horse, you step forward, your expression shifting from the gentle demeanor you've shown in his presence to a far more intimidating one.

"not a single soul can know of this place," you tell him firmly. "no matter who asks, no matter what pressure you face, this secret dies with you. do you understand?"

jungwon meets your gaze steadily, recognizing the threat implicit in your words but also the necessity behind it. "i swear to you, lady shin. on my life and my family's honor, i will never reveal taesan's location."

the sincerity in his eyes convinces you, and you nod curtly before stepping back. "you can take the horse for now. return it when you visit again."

as jungwon's figure disappears into the forest, you turn back toward the cottage where your new life in hiding is about to begin.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the first day settles into an unexpectedly peaceful rhythm. taesan has positioned himself at the wide wooden platform that extends from the cottage's main room, a rustic engawa that serves as both workspace and contemplation area. dressed in the simple clothes of a common person rather than his usual silk robes.

the cottage will need firewood for cooking and warmth, and the pile left by previous inhabitants is running low. you select an appropriate axe from the tools stored in a small outbuilding and set to work splitting logs. the satisfying crack of wood splitting under your blade provides coziness of sorts. you've done this countless times at your family estate, but somehow the task feels different here.

"step back, your highness," you call as you notice taesan approaching, setting down his book to watch you work. "the wood chips might hit you. please, just return to your reading."

but he doesn't retreat. instead, he moves closer, his eyes bright with curiosity as he observes your technique. "i want to learn," he says simply. "if we're going to be living here, i should contribute to our survival."

his determination touches you, though you try to maintain professionalism. "this requires more strength than your highness might possess."

"perhaps," he acknowledges with that self-deprecating smile you've come to recognize. "but i'd like to try."

after a moment's hesitation, you hand him the axe, your fingers briefly overlapping with his as he takes the handle. "be careful," you tell him, stepping close enough to guide his stance. "the motion comes from your core, not just your arms."

taesan's first attempt results in the axe embedding itself in the log without splitting it, but you find yourself smiling at his concentration, the way his brow furrows with effort.

"not bad," you tell him genuinely, reaching around him to adjust his grip and twist the blade free. when the log finally splits under your combined effort, his face lights up with such genuine pleasure that you can't help but smile in return.

this pattern continues as the day progresses. when evening settles over the cottage with a tranquility that feels almost surreal after weeks of palace threats. you and taesan share your simple meal in silence, the only sounds the gentle crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of wind through the surrounding trees.

taesan sets down his chopsticks and closes his eyes briefly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he listens to the quietness around.

"thank you," he says suddenly, his voice soft but carrying deep sincerity. "for everything you've done. not just protecting my life, but... this." he gestures around the modest cottage, the peaceful meal, and the safety.

in the warm glow of the lamplight, his eyes hold that familiar kindness, but now there's something more, a depth of gratitude and trust that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly. you find yourself studying his face, noting how the flickering light catches in his dark hair, how genuine warmth transforms his features. for a moment, your heart skips in a way that has nothing to do with danger or duty.

your lips part slightly as the realization hits you, this feeling growing in your chest, this awareness of him not as a charge to be protected but as a man whose presence has become precious to you in ways that have nothing to do with sworn oaths.

you shake your head quickly, trying to dispel the thoughts, and sigh as you force your professional mask back into place. "it's my duty, your highness," you say, though the words feel hollow now. "i promised to keep you safe, and i always will."

something flickers across taesan's expression, disappointment, perhaps, or a recognition of the wall you've just rebuilt between you. his smile turns bitter as he nods. "of course. your duty."

after the meal, he retreats to the cottage's single bedroom while you spread your sleeping mat outside his door, your sword within easy reach as always.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the following three weeks establish a routine that becomes as natural as breathing. taesan continues his scholarly activities, reading and writing in the peaceful mornings, but now his afternoons are increasingly spent learning practical skills. what began as offers to help with chores evolves into genuine partnership. he learns to split kindling efficiently, to prepare meals without burning them, to mend tears in fabric with stitches.

by the second week, you've begun his combat training as he requested. starting with basic stances and simple movements, you guide him through the fundamentals of swordplay. his natural grace serves him well, though his gentle nature means he struggles with the aggressive mindset that effective combat requires.

but it's not his improving technique that you notice most, it's the way he no longer flinches when you move close to adjust his grip, how he meets your eyes directly during instruction without the propriety that once marked all your interactions. the formal distance that defined your relationship in the palace has completely gone.

your own transformation is equally significant. the stern professional mask you've worn for months begins to slip. when taesan makes a particularly clumsy attempt at a sword form, you find yourself laughing, not the polite acknowledgment of royal humor, but true, hearty laughter that surprises you both. during sparring sessions, you notice how comfortable he's become with proximity that would have been unthinkable in the palace. he doesn't retreat when you step close to demonstrate a technique, doesn't lower his gaze when you meet his eyes across crossed blades. 

in the evenings, as you both sit outside the cottage watching the sunset paint the forest in shades of orange, conversation flows more easily than it ever did in the palace life. he tells you about his dreams for the kingdom he'll someday rule, not grand visions of conquest or glory, but hopes for prosperity, education, and peace. you also find yourself sharing memories of your childhood, stories about your mother's service and your father's lessons that you've never told anyone.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

by the end of the third week, you catch yourself thinking less about the threats that drove you here and more about the strange contentment you've found in this simple livinh. it's a dangerous shift in priorities, you know, a guard whose attention strays from potential danger becomes a liability rather than protection.

but watching taesan practice his sword forms in the dappled sunlight, seeing him laugh, feeling the warmth of his presence during quiet evenings by the fire, you begin to understand that some risks might be worth taking, even for someone whose life has been built around avoiding them.

the afternoon sun filters through the canopy above as taesan settles into his usual reading spot on the cottage's wooden platform, a philosophical text spread before him as usual. you take your position nearby, standing alert despite the peaceful surroundings, eyes scanning the forest for any sign of threat.

taesan glances up from his reading and lets out a soft chuckle. "seorin," he says, using your name with the familiarity that has developed over these weeks. "there's truly no need for that anymore." he pats the space beside him on the wooden platform. "come, sit with me. tell me what you think of what this scholar has to say about the nature of true leadership."

you smile, a genuine expression that would have been impossible in the formal atmosphere of the palace. "i'm afraid i know nothing about the philosophers you read, your highness. my life has been devoted to the way of the warrior, not the way of words."

"all the more reason i'd value your perspective," he replies. "a warrior's wisdom is just as valuable as a scholar's theories, perhaps more so, since you understand the practical realities they only theorize about."

you're in the middle of a discussion about the practical applications of confucian ideals when taesan's attention suddenly focuses on something above your head. his expression grows concentrated, almost concerned, and you feel confusion flutter in your chest.

"what-?" you begin to ask, but the words die as he slowly raises his hand toward your head.

time seems to slow as his fingers approach, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his palm. your heart begins to race with a rhythm that has nothing to do with danger. you forget how to speak, forget how to ask what's wrong, forget everything except the feeling of holding your breath as his hand hovers just above your hair. then his fingers delicately pluck something from your hair, and he draws back with a small smile, opening his palm to reveal a tiny beetle, its shell catching the dappled sunlight.

"just a bug," he says softly.

you release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding and smile, trying to dispel the tension that has occured. "thank you."

but taesan doesn't look away. instead, his gaze remains fixed on your face with gentleness that makes your pulse quicken all over again. you can see him taking in details,  like the way sunlight brings out hidden depths in your eyes. you can see in his expression that he's no longer looking at you as a prince to his guard, but as a man to a woman who has become something far more precious than a protector.

"what are you thinking about?" you ask quietly, though part of you fears the answer.

taesan doesn't look away, doesn't retreat into the safety of formal distance. his gaze remains steady. "i'm thinking about how i want there to be a day when you can be the one who's vulnerable around me. when you don't have to be strong every moment, when you can let someone else protect you for once."

the words hit you with unexpected force, touching something deep inside that you've kept carefully buried your entire life. the idea of vulnerability, of being allowed to be weak, to be cared for rather than always being the one who cares, feels like water offered to someone dying of thirst.

your whole existence has been built around strength, around being the shield that stands between others and harm. the luxury of vulnerability has never been yours to claim. but hearing him offer it, seeing the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks of wanting to be the one who protects you heals something in your heart that you didn't even realize was wounded.

for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine it, laying down the weight of constant vigilance, resting in the safety of someone else's care, being cherished rather than simply valued for your usefulness. but the moment passes, reality reasserting itself. you swallow the dangerous feelings rising in your throat and force yourself to smile, professional duty overriding personal longing.

"vulnerability isn't something i can afford, your highness," you say gently but firmly. "especially now, when your life depends on my vigilance."

you rise from the platform, using the excuse of preparing lunch to put distance between yourself and the temptation he represents. but as you walk toward the cottage, you can feel his eyes following you, and the warmth in your chest refuses to fade entirely.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the cottage settles into its usual nighttime quiet, the only sounds the gentle wind through the surrounding trees. you lie on your sleeping mat outside taesan's room, staring up at the ceiling beams barely visible in the darkness, your sword within easy reach as always.

you couldn't slep, your mind still turning over the afternoon's conversation, the way his eyes had looked when he spoke of wanting to protect you instead. the memory of his gentle touch as he removed the bug from your hair seems to linger on your hair.

from behind the thin paper wall that separates the both of you, you can hear the soft rustle of fabric that says taesan is equally awake.

"seorin," comes his voice suddenly, low but clear through the barrier.

you respond automatically. "yes, your highness?"

his quiet chuckle drifts through the wall, carrying a hint of fond exasperation. "are you still going to keep addressing me so formally? even here, even now?"

"it is necessary," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears. "it is my job."

silence follows again, heavy with the weight of everything neither of you dares to say directly. you can almost feel him gathering courage for his next words, and your heart begins to beat faster in anticipation of what you sense is coming.

"seorin," he says again, "will you ever see me as someone more than just your duty? as someone you might actually care about, not because you're sworn to protect me, but simply because of who i am?"

the question hangs in the darkness. you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the ache that has been building in your chest for weeks now rise to an almost unbearable.

the truth is so simple and so impossible, you do care about him, far more than duty requires, but caring and being able to act on that care are different things entirely. you're a warrior, trained in violence and death, your hands stained with the blood of those you've killed to protect others. he is destined to be king, meant to marry some gentle lady of noble birth, someone who has never held a sword, never taken a life, someone whose softness matches his own goodness.

the life you've built around duty and service has no room for the kind of love that overwhelms you when you look at him. your nobility exists solely to serve his, your worth is measured entirely by your ability to keep him safe. what could you offer him beyond that? what place could there be for a woman whose greatest skill is dealing death?

yet the ache in your heart refuses to be reasoned away. when he speaks of vulnerability, when he looks at you with those warm, honest eyes, when he laughs, in those moments, you forget about duty.

"your highness should sleep," you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "it's late."

but taesan doesn't retreat into polite acceptance of your deflection. "please," he says with a desperate tone. "i need to know. do you care about me, seorin? not as your prince, not as your duty, but as me?"

the question pierces through all your defenses, demanding an honesty you're not sure you're brave enough to give. for a long moment stayed silent.

"i do care," you whisper finally. "i do."

but you offer nothing more. no elaboration, no explanation of what those simple words might mean. instead, you let the confession hang incompletely in the air.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

in the yang residence, the morning brings the usual humiliation. jungwon kneels before his father's desk, head bowed as minister yang's voice cuts through the air like a whip.

"useless!" minister yang spits, his contempt palpable. "absolutely useless to this family. years of friendship with the crown prince, and what do you have to show for it? nothing. you follow him around like a loyal dog, but you've secured no position, no influence, no advancement for our household."

jungwon's hands clench into fists against his knees, but he remains silent. these lectures have become routine. his father's disappointment in his lack of ambition, his failure to leverage his royal friendship for political gain.

"the other ministers' sons have appointments, responsibilities, futures secured through their connections," minister yang continues, pacing behind his desk like a predator. "but you? you waste your time on philosophy and poetry with a prince too weak to even hold a sword properly."

"father, friendship isn't meant to be-"

"friendship?" minister yang's laugh is bitter, cutting. "you think this is about friendship? this is about survival, about securing our family's position in the kingdom. and you have failed at every opportunity."

the verbal assault continues, each word designed to cut deeper than the last, until something in minister yang's demeanor shifts. his voice drops to something so ominous, and jungwon feels ice form in his veins.

"but perhaps," minister yang says slowly, "your failures have finally presented an opportunity."

jungwon lifts his head, confusion and growing dread warring in his chest. "father?"

minister yang's smile is cold, calculating. "i know the prince has fled the palace, son. and i know you know exactly where he's hiding."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

back at the cottage, the cottage feels different around you now, and for the first time since you took your oath to protect him, you allow yourself to wonder what might happen if you were brave enough to show your feelings for him in return.

evening descends and the last rays of sunlight filtered through the windows to cast everything in amber. the simple meal you've prepared sits between you and taesan on the low wooden table, steam rising from the bowls.

but despite the peaceful beauty of the scene, silence stretches taut between you like a drawn bowstring. last night's conversation lingers in the air, unresolved, creating an atmosphere so thick it's tangible.

you looked at taesan from across the table

"i apologize," you say suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper, "for being so stubborn."

taesan sets down his chopsticks, his full attention focusing on you. you take a shaking breath, gathering courage for words you've never spoken to anyone. "i grew up training from the moment i could hold a wooden sword. every day of my childhood was spent learning to defend myself, to fight, to kill if necessary. but more than that, i was taught that my life belonged not to me, but to the royal family i would someday serve."

the lamplight flickers across your face as you speak, revealing emotions you've kept carefully hidden. "they told me that when i grew up, i would have to put the royal family's life before my own, always. that my worth was measured entirely by my willingness to die for strangers who happened to be born into power."

your voice catches slightly as you continue, old pain surfacing . "i resented it. i hated knowing that my future was already decided, that i would never have the luxury of choosing my own path. and when my mother died protecting the queen... when i saw what that devotion cost her, cost our family..." you pause, swallowing hard against the tightness in your throat. "i despised everything about the duty that had been forced upon me."

taesan's expression softens with understanding, with compassion for the child you once were.

"the day i arrived at the palace," you continue, your voice growing steadier, "i wanted nothing more than to fulfill my obligation as quickly and efficiently as possible. i thought you would be like all the other royals i'd heard about. entitled, demanding, treating me like a tool to be used and discarded."

you meet his eyes across the table, and in the warm glow of the lamp, you allow him to see the truth you've been hiding. "but when i met you, everything changed. you were worth protecting, not because duty demanded it, but because of who you are. your kindness, your gentleness, the way you see goodness in everyone around you. as time passed, i found myself becoming truly devoted to keeping you safe. not out of obligation, but out of..." you pause. "simply just because."

taesan's eyes shine hearing your words, though your intent to him still isn't clear. "i never wanted you to put your life on the line for me," he says softly. "all i ever wanted was someone who would see me as more than just the weak prince everyone expects me to be."

he leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. "you gave me that. you didn't call me weak when i couldn't master swordplay. you taught me to fight anyway, with patience and encouragement. you shared your insights, your beliefs, your wisdom, not because you thought it was what i wanted to hear, but because you trusted me with your honest thoughts."

his voice grows even softer. "you treated me as your equal, not as a prince you needed to tolerate or appease. you challenged me, supported me, made me feel like i had the strength to become the man i want to be."

taesan reaches across the table, his fingers stopping just short of touching yours. "i like you, seorin. i love you. and i can't bear the thought of you meeting the same fate as your mother simply because duty binds you to protect me."

the confession hits you, beautiful and terrible in its honesty. your throat constricts painfully, and you feel tears threatening to spill over despite your desperate attempts to maintain composure. the walls you've built around your heart crack under the weight of his words, his love, his willingness to be so completely vulnerable.

for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would be like to let those walls crumble entirely, to reach across the table and take his outstretched hand, to admit that your feelings for him have grown far beyond duty into something that terrifies you with its intensity.

but even as your heart yearns toward him, the chains of a lifetime's training hold fast. you straighten slightly, drawing back.

"i appreciate your... admiration," you manage, avoiding his eyes. "but we should eat before the meal grows cold."

taesan's face falls slightly, but he doesn't press, doesn't demand more than you're able to give in this moment. instead, he nods with the same gentle understanding that first made you care for him.

you both begin to eat in a silence that feels different now, not awkward or tense, but heavy with the unspoken words. until the sharp knock at the cottage door cuts through the atmosphere. your hand flies to your sword before conscious thought can intervene, every instinct screaming danger as you rise from the ground in one fluid motion.

your gesture is clear, stay back, stay safe, as you position yourself between taesan and whatever threat might wait beyond the door. your fingers close around ther grip of your blade, muscles coiled and ready as you approach the entrance with silence.

the door swings open under your hand, and you're already drawing steel when you recognize the familiar figure silhouetted against the night. your father stands there, chest heaving, his usually composed features tight with urgency.

"father?" you lower your sword immediately, stepping back to allow him entry.

lord shin pushes inside quickly, closing the door behind him with hands that shake slightly from whatever news he carries. when he turns to face you and taesan, his expression is grim enough. 

"we've found them," he says without preamble, "the masterminds behind the assassination attempts. it's a plan of ministers, several high-ranking officials who oppose prince taesan's succession to the throne."

the revelation settles over the cottage, but you find yourself nodding with bitter satisfaction rather than surprise. "i knew it," you hiss, your voice sharp with vindicated suspicion. "the coordination, the inside knowledge, the professional assassins, it has always been them."

but taesan's reaction is entirely different. the color drains from his face as the implications hit him, and his voice comes out strangled with shock. "which ministers? lord shin, are you certain?"

your father's next words lands personal with taesan. "minister yang is the primary architect of the conspiracy. jungwon's father has been orchestrating the attempts on your life."

taesan staggers backward as if struck, his hand reaching blindly for support. "jungwon," he breathes, and the anguish in his voice cuts through you like a knife. "is he... is jungwon safe? his father wouldn't hurt him, would he?"

"we don't know," your father admits grimly. "they have vanished, minister yang and his accomplices disappeared from the palace before we could apprehend them. they're likely fleeing the kingdom, but search parties are scouring the countryside. your brother and i have been leading the manhunt."

you step closer to your father, professional instincts taking over despite the emotional turmoil. "have there been any attempts on our location? any sign that our hideout has been discovered?"

"none that we're aware of," he replies. "it's possible they still don't know where you are, but you cannot afford to become confident. they're desperate now, cornered. that makes them more dangerous."

he moves toward the door, urgency driving him even as exhaustion lines his face. "i came to warn you both. be prepared for anything. trust no one who isn't blood or proven beyond doubt. i have to return to the search. every moment they remain free is another moment they can plan their next move."

as the door closes behind him, the cottage feels suddenly smaller. you turn to find taesan standing frozen in the center of the room, his face a mask of shock and grief that makes your heart ache in response.

without conscious decision, you find yourself kneeling beside him, your hand rising slowly to rest gently on his back in a gesture of comfort.

"i never wanted this," taesan says, his voice hollow with sorrow. "violence, plottings, people dying because of my birthright. i know i'm incompetent, i know i'm not the strong ruler they expect. maybe their doubts about my fitness to rule are valid. but to go this far..."

"no," you say firmly, your voice carrying a strength that surprises you both. your arms move to encircle him, holding him against the storm of self-doubt and grief overwhelming him. "you are not incompetent. you deserve to rule this kingdom."

you feel him tremble in your embrace, and your voice grows even more certain, more passionate. "the ministers aren't trying to kill you because you're weak, your majesty. they're afraid of you because you're everything they're not. educated, wise, compassionate. you would bring peace and good governance to the kingdom, and they can't allow that to happen because it would threaten their own power."

your hands tighten against his back, holding him steady as you continue. "they fear the kind of king you would become, one who serves his people rather than exploiting them, one who chooses justice over personal gain. that's why they want you dead. not because you're unworthy, but because you're exactly what this kingdom needs."

in the lamplight of the cottage, you hold the man you've come to love and offer him the one thing he needs most in this moment, not just protection from external threats, but protection from the doubts and fears that threaten to destroy him from within.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

evening settles over the cottage with deceptive peace, but sleep brings no respite from the tension that has gripped you both since your father's warning. you maintain your vigil outside taesan's room, the routine now charged with urgency. the cottage remains dark, no candles lit, no warm glow to reveal your presence to potential threats.

you sit upright against the wall in your white sleeping hanbok, unbound hair flowing loose around your shoulders, sword gripped firmly in your hand. through the thin wall, you can hear taesan's restless movements gradually settling into exhausted sleep. hours pass in hypervigilance, your senses stretched taut, listening for any sound that doesn't belong to the natural rhythm of the night forest.

then it comes, a single rustle of leaves that makes every instinct scream alarm.

your body goes rigid as you press your ear to the wall, straining to identify the source. more rustling follows, slow footsteps trying to move with stealth through the undergrowth. your heart begins to race as the sounds multiply, coming from different directions around the cottage's perimeter.

they've found you. and they haven't come alone.

moving with deadly silence, you slip into taesan's room and kneel beside his sleeping form. your hand covers his mouth gently but firmly before he can make a sound as consciousness returns, his eyes flying open in confusion and fear.

"quiet," you breathe against his ear, barely audible. "we're surrounded."

taesan's eyes widen with terror, but as he looks into your face, he sees the calm determination there, the absolute focus of someone who has trained their entire life for moments like this, and that calmed him too.

you creep to the window and peer carefully through a gap in the shutters. dark figures move in the shadows beyond the cottage, positioned at points around the building. professional killers, just as you expected. the front approach, the sides, and, your heart sinks as you spot movement near the back door as well, every escape route is covered.

returning to taesan's side, you kneel close enough that your whispered words won't be heard beyond these walls. "they're surrounding us completely. front, back, all sides. if we try to run together, they'll swarm us both." your voice remains steady despite the gravity of what you're about to plan. "i won't let that happen."

you take a steadying breath, meeting his gaze with intensity. "i need you to trust me."

the plan forms in your mind, keep him alive, no matter the cost. but you can't tell him the full truth. can't explain that what you're asking requires a sacrifice he would never willingly accept.

"when i go out the front door, i'll create enough of a distraction to draw the guards away from the back entrance," you whisper, your hands gripping his shoulders. "that's when you run. there's a horse tied to the tree behind the cottage, take it and ride straight back to the palace. don't stop for anything."

taesan's eyes search your face, and you can see him trying to read the truth you're hiding. "what about you?" he asks, though his voice already carries doubt.

"i'll catch up," you lie, the words tasting like ash. "but you cannot wait for me, do you understand? no matter what you hear, no matter what happens, you keep riding. never look back, never turn around. promise me."

taesan stares at you, and in the darkness you can see him seeing through your lie to the truth beneath. this isn't a plan for both of you to escape, it's a plan to save him at the cost of your own life.

"no," he whispers, his voice breaking. "there has to be another way. i won't leave you to—"

"you will," you interrupt, your tone brooking no argument even as your heart breaks at the pain in his eyes. your hands tighten on his shoulders, trying to transfer your conviction to him through touch alone. "this is what i was born for, what i trained for. this is my purpose."

but the words feel hollow now, inadequate to express the full truth, that you're not just fulfilling duty, but protecting the man you love, ensuring his survival even if it means you'll never see him become the king you know he can be.

seeing his continued resistance, you do the only thing left to you. you cradle his face in your hands, your voice dropping to vulnerability. "please, trust me. i promise you, i promise i'll find a way to survive this. but only if i know you're safe."

the lie burns your throat, but the faith he places in your promise shines in his eyes like starlight. reluctantly, he nods. "i understand," he whispers, though the words sound torn from his soul. "i'll do as you say."

you pull him close for a moment that lasts both forever and no time at all. when you finally pull away, your expression has transformed into the mask of calm you've worn into every battle, except this time, you're not fighting for duty or honor.

"get ready," you whisper, moving toward your weapons. "when you hear the fighting begin, that's your signal."

taesan takes his position at the back door, his sword, the one you've taught him to wield these past weeks, trembling slightly in his grip as you press the blade into his hands.

your eyes meet one last time across the dark cottage, and in that moment, everything you feel for each other passes between you in silence. love, grief, desperate hope, and the terrible knowledge that this might be farewell. you turn away quickly, before the tears burning behind your eyes can fall, before your resolve can crumble.

at the front door, you pause for just a breath, centering yourself in the calm that comes before battle. then, you explode into motion.

the door crashes open as you launch yourself into the night, your blade swinging through the air in deadly arcs. the first assassin falls before he can even draw his weapon, your steel finding the gap in his throat. the second staggers back, clutching at the spreading crimson across his chest. the third crumples as your blade opens him from shoulder to hip.

your attack worked well, every remaining assassin converges on your position like wolves scenting blood. you hear the rustle of movement as the guard at the back door abandons his post, drawn by the sounds of combat.

in the darkness behind the cottage, taesan closes his eyes as tears prick at his lashes, your final words echoing in his mind. never look back, never turn around. he bolts from the cottage, his feet flying over the uneven ground as he runs toward the waiting horse. no men follows, your sacrifice has bought him exactly what you intended.

every instinct screams at him to turn, to look back toward the sounds of battle that grow more desperate with each passing second. but he trusts you. he trusts your promise to survive, trusts that following your plan is the only way to keep you both alive. his hands shake as he unties the horse and swings into the saddle, the animal sensing his urgency as they bolt into the forest.

back at the cottage, you face ten masked killers in the dark clearing, your white hanbok billowing around you. your hair streams behind you in dark waves as you move, but ten against one are impossible odds, even for someone of your skill. your endurance begins to crack under the relentless assault. a blade slips past your guard, opening a line across your arm. another catches the flowing fabric of your hanbok, the silk tearing as you spin away from a blow.

tears stream down your face as you fight, not from pain, but from the knowledge that every second you buy with your blood is another second taesan has to reach safety. in the distance, you hear the sound of hooves as his horse carries him away from this place of death.

one assassin notices the sound and starts to turn toward the noise, but you're already moving, your blade punching through his ribs before he can take a step.

the battle becomes a motion of steel and blood, desperation and fury. bodies fall around you, but not enough. your strength bleeds away with each wound, each parry that comes a fraction too slow. soon only two remain standing against you, but you're limping now, your left leg barely supporting your weight.

still, you're alive. two more, and you might actually keep that impossible promise you made to him. hope flickers in your chest as you raise your sword for what you pray will be the final exchange.

you lunge forward, committing everything to one last strike, but the second assassin, wounded but not dead, drags himself across the ground and slashes at your other leg. the blow sends you stumbling, your guard dropping for just an instant.

it's enough.

the standing assassin raises his blade for the killing blow, and you know with certainty that this is how it ends. you've bought taesan his escape, but you won't live to see him again.

but then the air sliced through.

it's taesan, crashing into the assassin from behind, his sword seeking the man's heart, desperate. but he's still learning, still awkward with the weapon, and the blade goes wide. the second assassin, seeing his chance, lunges toward taesan with his remaining strength.

you see the blade coming, see taesan's eyes widen with terror, see death reaching for the man you love more than your own life. without thought, and hesitation, you throw yourself between them.

but taesan sees your movement, understands your intent, and in that instant makes the same choice you did. his arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest as he turns, placing his own body between you and the assassin's sword.

the blade slides between his shoulder blades with a sound like silk tearing. his sharp intake of breath against your ear is the loudest thing you've ever heard. time slows as you feel his blood, hot and desperate, soaking through your cloth.

everything goes vacuum. the night, the forest, your own heartbeat, all of it fades to nothing as taesan's weight settles against you, his breath hitching with each beat of his failing heart. his blood spreads across the white silk.

when he falls, you fall with him, but not into despair.

the fury that consumes you burns brighter than the sun. you rise from taesan's blood, and by the remaining assassins, wounded, exhausted, but still breathing, just like you.

your blade moves with inhuman speed, driven by adrenaline and rage. the first man dies before he can raise his weapon. the second manages a grunt before your steel silences him forever.

when it's over, when their blood mingles with his on the ground, you stand swaying in the sudden silence. your own wounds gush crimson, your strength fading away with each breath. you drop to your knees beside taesan's still form, your vision already beginning to gray at the edges. your hands finds the back of his head, cradling taesan's broken body against you. his blood mingles with yours, but his eyes, those gentle, honest eyes that first showed you what kindness looked like, still hold their warmth as he gazes up at you.

even through his pain, even as life ebbs away with each breath, he manages to smile. that same soft expression he wore when you first met him in the garden, when he spoke of nurturing life rather than taking it. but the smile falters when he sees the blood seeping through your side, understands that you too are dying.

"why?" you sob, the word torn from the deepest part of your breaking heart. your tears fall onto his face. "why did you come back? i told you to run, i told you never to look back!"

taesan's hand trembles as he lifts it toward your face, his fingers barely able to brush away your tears. "on the horse," he whispers, his voice growing fainter with each word, "i could feel it in my heart. the way you looked at me in the cottage... your promise felt too distant, too much like goodbye."

he pauses, gathering strength that shouldn't exist anymore, sustained only by the need to make you understand. "even from the distance, i could hear the swords clashing, could hear you fighting for your life. i couldn't lose you, seorin. i realized i can't live in a world without you in it."

his eyes search your face with tenderness. "but you... you're strong enough to live without me. you always have been."

"no," you cry, your voice breaking as you shake your head weakly, holding him closer against your chest. "it's not true. i can't live without you."

the confession that has been building for months, held back by duty finally breaks free from the deepest pits of your heart.

"what i did tonight, putting my life on the line to protect you, it wasn't just about duty anymore." the words come between sobs, raw and honest and too late. "it wasn't just care or obligation or the oath i swore. i love you. i love you so much it feels like my heart is too small to contain it all."

you look down at his face, memorizing every beloved detail through the blur of tears.

taesan sighs in contentment, peace settling over his features despite the pain wracking his body. to hear those words from your lips, the words he'd dreamed of but never dared hope for, is worth every moment of agony.

your strength finally fails, and you collapse beside him on the blood-soaked ground, your bodies aligned like two halves of a whole finally made complete. with tremendous effort, he turns his head to face you, his hand reaching out to cradle your cheek with gentleness.

"i love you too," he whispers hoarsely, his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone, wiping away tears that continue to fall. "say it again. please, i need to hear you say it once more."

through your tears, through the gathering darkness at the edges of your vision, you give him the gift he asks for, and the word you've always wanted to say. "i love you, taesan." you sob. "i love you."

his smile brightens one final time, radiant with joy despite everything. to hear his name on your lips for the first and last time, it was enough. more than enough.

his hand grows heavy against your cheek, his breathing shallow and distant. you watch as the light in his eyes, that beautiful, gentle light that made you first understand what it meant to protect someone not from duty but from love, slowly dims and finally fades.

"taesan," you whisper, but he cannot hear you anymore.

you press your face against his still chest and weep with what remains of your strength, your arms wrapping around him as if you could somehow hold his spirit to earth. the forest around you grows quiet except for your soft sobs and the gust of wind through the trees, while the growing sound of hooves, the shouts of the palace guards, and your father's voice slowly reaches your fading ears.

PHASE 1. COMPUTER BOOTING 20XX/10/25 01:28PM (UTC-4)

Not all heroes wear capes. They really don’t.

But most heroes do have some kind of cool powers or fancy weapons, outfits all color-coded, their symbol etched into the fabric and all that jazz. Your skin-tight black jumpsuit doesn’t stand out much despite the neon green lining and the only weapon you have on you is the smart watch on your left arm which can technically shoot laser beams. You never actually tried. Never had to.

The thing is you don’t have any superpowers. No extraordinary speed or strength, no element manipulation or mind reading. You’re just really good at everything cybersecurity-related. It’s not a superpower but some say it kind of is, because you type a few cryptic words into a computer terminal and voilá, magic. Maybe in a way it really is because you can’t even explain the way all these numbers, logical operators and coding languages click in your binary-wired brain. It all just makes sense. You love how predictable it is; that programs always work according to their inputs unlike anything that includes fallible human variables.

So yeah, maybe you used to be reckless with it, pushing your own boundaries, setting more and more impossible targets just to see if you could get through any security system no matter how well they were done. You never did anything actually bad, you didn’t steal data or planted viruses, you just wanted to see if you could do it if you wanted to. It was almost like a game to you, those escape room types, except when it came to carefully built firewalls, you needed to get in and not out, or well, usually that’s the easier part.

Hacking into the client database of Gotham city’s resident billionaire’s company was probably the most stupid and at the same time, most brilliant achievement of your life. When men in black suits came to get you after you proudly left your binary signature, Nightglow, in the log system, you really thought you would end up behind the bars for attempted cyberthreat despite your innocent motives and how well you hid your digital footprint. But instead here you are: tracking down bad guys, hacking into evil corporation’s networks, supporting missions as the guy… or well in this case ‘the girl in the chair’. Which is exactly why today’s different.

Today you’re not sitting behind your three monitors in one of the windowless back rooms of Mount Justice with an ear piece in and your favourite bubble tea on side for emotional support. Today you’re heading to Blüdhaven, a city that’s currently flooded with gang activities like black market trading and shipping illegal goods, to disable a satellite. And with that, hopefully to save the world; no pressure.

At least you’re not alone. None other than Green Arrow’s nephew has been assigned as your partner and you should be relieved because his mission success rate is immaculate. But still, the irony of the pairing tastes bittersweet on your tongue. Out of all the members of the Team, it just had to be him.

Reserved, witty, deadly Riwoo.

The thing is… you used to have a crush on him.

It wasn’t anything serious (just a phase, really!) but it still haunts you. Especially today.

It happened right after you joined the Team. You saw a camera footage of him in action and bumm, your heart rate spiked. There was something about the quiet confidence he held himself with. How he handled the bow with sure, skilled hands and his movements left no room for hesitation. You found yourself holding your breath whenever you watched him pull the bowstring and send the arrows flying, hitting the target right on spot. Bullseye every single time, he never missed.

Maybe it was because he was a respected member of the Team without having superhuman powers, so you immediately felt a connection as if that alone made you kindred spirits. Or maybe it was because he had a killer jawline, pulled off that green uniform like nobody else and you always had a thing for gingers. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what made your heart skip a beat, you had to deal with your little crush all the same. Because unfortunately for you, you have never been good at hiding your feelings (one more reason to stay behind the monitors!) while Riwoo has great observation skills, so you’re sure he knew. He must have, he’s just kind enough not to say anything.

As time passed, you convinced yourself that you have moved on. You almost forgot about it, this devastating little crush…

And now, you’ve just spent almost two awkwardly quiet hours in a black van trying not to combust on the way. No matter how convenient it would have been, getting dropped off from a plane in bright daylight in the middle of a bustling port definitely would have turned some heads which isn’t ideal for a covert mission and unfortunately you can’t allow yourselves to stall time because the area in question is too big to skim through within nighttime hours. So you had no choice but to use a more conservative way of transportation and Riwoo took on the driver’s role without questions asked.

The battered, faded city board of Blüdhaven comes into view and as you get closer to the docks, the already busy traffic gets congested with 16-wheelers and blue collar workers getting to and off of their shifts.

Sitting in the passenger’s seat, your knee is moving up and down in a nervous rhythm as you stare outside the window and you can’t stop fidgeting with the rings you have on. Without your usual setup, the cold metal against your skin is the only thing that feels grounding.

Deep breath, Y/N, deep breath.

It might be your first time on a field mission but there’s a first time for everything. It’s not like you’re going to die… right?

It’s Riwoo’s  voice, quiet but steady, that pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, Sparkles,” he calls out and you blink, bewildered. It’s so sudden that you don’t know whether to be more shocked that he spoke up at all or by the name he called you.

“Huh?” You whip your head towards him on the other side of the van behind the wheel.

“You will be fine,” he says as if he could read your mind. Calm and collected, his voice vibrates through the air while his unshakeable gaze makes your fingers still and stop fidgeting with your rings.

“My name is not Sparkles,” you mutter but there’s nothing actually defiant in your tone.

Riwoo merely hums non-committedly, looking away slowly but there’s an almost amused twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“I know.”

PHASE 2. ACCESS DENIED 20XX/10/25 02:03PM (UTC-4)

You added the van’s licence plate number to the authorized list beforehand, so getting into the shipping port is easy. The archer parks the van in a back alley between two warehouses on the west side of the harbor, not too far but not too close to the docks either since you don’t want to attract too much attention. Blüdhaven has gotten quite an unfortunate reputation lately due to the rise of illegal activities, so you have to be careful whom you run into even if it’s in the middle of the day. Since you practically brought a watch and a bow to a potential gun fight with a gang, it would be wise to avoid anything going too physical.

“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” Riwoo turns to you once you have both checked that the surrounding area is safe and you wouldn’t get ambushed anytime soon. You nod as you mentally run over what you have discussed in the beginning of the otherwise quiet journey. “We sneak into one of the security offices where you connect to their network which gives us access to the camera surveillance to know where to find the satellite and how to avoid unwanted run-ins, then we go and deactivate the satellite and use the chip we got to delete data.”

“Easy-peasy,” you give Riwoo a thumbs-up sign after the run down to lighten the atmosphere a bit because this awkward tension is killing you. Not because you think this mission is fun or unserious, you just can’t function properly if you’re not comfortable in your skin and now you’re already very much out of your comfort zone without your beloved computer and rainbow backlit keyboard.

When Batman showed up to give you details on your newest mission against The Light, you thought that you would do what you usually did: helping them from the shadows, keeping an eye on everyone’s positions or maybe even trying to come up with another way to delete the data without physically accessing the satellites. No wonder you were taken aback when he assigned you to leave the base but a quick search was enough for you to understand why.

Due to the radio frequency signals used for the ship navigation system near the port, it’s unclear where exactly the satellite signal originates from since other radio transmissions interfere with it. It would take days to check every warehouse and cargo container, so your best bet is to check the internal network and that’s where you come into the picture. It’s logical yet you can’t help but worry whether Riwoo thinks you’re a liability. Sure, you have been trained for basic combat skills when you joined the Team but without actually using that knowledge in any real-life scenario it probably helped as much as your late night video gaming sessions. You probably couldn’t protect yourself if it came down to an actual fight. Luckily, given the nature of the mission and the satellite’s position, there’s a chance that you can just sneak in and out without running into supervillains unlike other duos in more compromised locations.

“Okay, let’s go,” Riwoo nudges you and secures his grip on his bow in case he needs it. “Did you check the closest security control point?”

You nod. You did your research during the car ride and while you couldn’t get into the port’s closed, local network, you could collect all public data from the internet, even get into the owners’ email lists. After skimming through boring business conversations, forged transaction slips and dozens of dark web references, you actually found something useful for your mission.

“Yeah, I found one that’s temporarily closed for maintenance but I doubt they disconnected it from the network,” you reply, eager to prove your worth and point ahead towards the white painted container block in about fifteen minutes' walk.

You have watched numerous on-field covert missions like this happening through CCTVs’ video feed but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing, for the feeling of your heart trying to rip through your ribcage from how wildly it’s beating. And you don’t even do anything dangerous, just running from the shadow of one container to another to stay out of sight. It’s not even like you’re being chased by gangsters but your adrenaline levels apparently can’t distinguish actual danger from an easy exercise. Just how your heart can’t seem to make a difference between Riwoo making a move and simply stopping you from blowing your covers when two workers pass by and he corners you against a container’s side to hide. No, your heart is busy freaking out because oh my god, he touched you.

Luckily, your symptoms calm down by the time you get to the office which is closed as expected. The archer keeps an eye on your surroundings while you decode the keypad code. That’s pretty much a piece of cake, so you’re inside in less than a minute and you let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the computers and the server rack cabinet despite the stuffy air.

“When did you say this place was closed down?” Riwoo asks with furrowed eyebrows. He’s half in the shadows with how little natural lighting the window panels provide but you can’t allow yourselves to turn on the lamps. Small windows also mean a smaller chance for exposure, so it’s actually a good thing for you.

“About a week ago,” you reply and lean down to tinker with the power switch on the extension cord. You straighten up and lean against the computer desk once the machine whirs to life.

“Very convenient,” Riwoo hums and you tilt your head seeing the crease between his brows.

“Do you think it might be a trap?”

“Not sure. It might be The Light’s doing though, so they could plant the satellite here easier in case they don’t want a crime lord to potentially mess with it.”

“Then the sooner we get over this, the better,” you conclude because if The Light really did use this office, they might be back anytime.

With a touch on its side, you activate the augmented reality screen of your glasses, a gadget you have been working on with the tech team for a while now to upgrade it for better field support. It’s certainly much more convenient to have it with you instead of a computer but you miss your trustworthy touchscreen and physical keyboard. This way you have to rely on your watch’s hologram projection to type if you don’t want to give voice inputs to the user interface.

Your fingers work rapidly over the virtual keys as you type in commands and run a few lines of code trying to authenticate yourself to get high level access within the computer network.

“How long is it gonna take?” Riwoo inquires with a concerned frown on his forehead but he doesn’t hover over you nor does he rush you.

“Depends. If they have shitty security, two minutes or less. If they are not that stupid, more,” you tell him because you can’t make a better guess without actually looking at their system. You would have done it beforehand if it was possible but the port’s security is running on a local area network which means you have to be here physically to connect.

“I will keep watch then,” the archer says and leans against the container’s uneven wall. He’s seemingly fine with being quiet the whole time but after a few minutes pass with you systematically cracking passwords and getting through firewalls of different sections, trying to find what you actually need, the silence is already driving you crazy. He might be able to cope with stress quietly, but unfortunately for him, your go-to solution is being nosy as heck.

“So… why ‘Riwoo’? Does it have a meaning?” You break the silence, desperately trying to find a topic when you have some time while waiting for your scripts to run and it’s as good of a topic as any because you’ve been actually curious about it for some while. Most people with double identity chose a cool-sounding, meaningful name for themselves, a moniker that has something to do with what they can do and what they stand for. But Riwoo? It honestly sounds like a nickname rather than a superhero alias.

“Not really. Somebody used to call me that,” he shrugs, tone dismissing but there’s something brittle about his voice. Something that makes the admission feel heavy like there’s a history behind his name he’s not ready to uncover. You note the way he uses past tense too, so you don’t dare to ask more about it and Riwoo uses this chance to turn the question back at you. “What about you, Glow-getter?”

Once again you are taken aback for a moment when you realise he just made a pun. Okay, so he definitely knows what your name is but what is he trying to do with these names? You have never heard him call others by any sort of nicknames.

“That was… so not funny,” you grimace but there’s a part of you, a small part that you buried under layers of fake nonchalance that somehow feels special and you can’t stop the corner of your mouth from curling up.

Riwoo clears his throat as he turns his head away, fingers twitching near his quiver before wiping his hand in his pants.

“Anyways, while we’re waiting, can you look up criminals located around here, so we could be prepared just in case?” He diverts the topic back to the mission and it doesn’t take a genius to realise that he isn’t the type to appreciate small talk questions. But you can’t exactly start with trauma-dumping, right?

“Yeah, sure,” you turn back to the hologram to log into the Justice League’s network. “By the way, I liked Sparkles better,” you blurt out and then immediately regret it because why did you even say that?

Thankfully, Riwoo doesn’t say anything, so you’re back at keeping an eye on the progress of the command running and skimming through the police database and additional files on Blüdhaven from the League. You list off a few known criminals who have been known to have activities here and recent police reports but nothing much The Light-related pops up. The archer seems satisfied with that much though, so you’re about to log out of the system when you see the separate database for Team members.

Your fingers hover over the holographic keyboard, hesitating, as you glance towards Riwoo who is still standing by the small opening slit of a window with crossed arms, keeping a watch. You don’t have any bad intentions and it’s not like you want to dig deeper than superficial stuff like whether he grew up in Star City all his life or if he sucked at Maths or if he has a secret LoL account associated with his email address, anything that could maybe start off as an unassuming enough way to initiate a conversation, something to bond over. Literally anything that isn’t about the mission but interesting enough so he would actually answer. And technically you have access to the League’s network, so you shouldn’t feel that bad about it. It’s not like you’re going to look at classified information. It’s just a basic background check, almost like homework before the main part of the mission. At least that’s what you tell yourself when you open his file.

The first thing you spot is his birth date and it makes you pout because it was only a few days ago and you didn’t even know. But then what you read next freezes the blood in your veins.

Alias: Riwoo Mentor: Green Arrow Birth name: Lee Sanghyeok Date of birth: 2003.10.22. Place of birth: Gotham City Known relatives: Sportsman (father), Huntress (mother), Cheshire (older brother)

PHASE 3. SYSTEM GLITCH 20XX/10/25 03:07PM (UTC-4)

“Anything interesting?”

You flinch violently at Riwoo’s voice and you swear your heart almost stops when you see him turned towards you.

“What?”

“I asked if you found something,” he repeats slowly, eyebrow raising at your over-the-top reaction. 

He looks at you, eyes dark and searching, and for a long moment you fear he knows. Even though realistically you know very well that there’s no way he could have seen what’s displayed on the projected user interface of your glasses. Unless he has mind reading abilities which based on his file he doesn’t but… at this point who knows what he’s hiding. Because what the hell?

You have so many questions, so many facts, things you thought you knew about him, to question.

Wasn’t he born in Star City then? Why isn’t Green Arrow listed as a relative if he’s his uncle? Was that just a cover up lie because his actual family is full of villains and The Light accomplices? What else did he lie about?

“Um…” You mumble when you realize you’re just staring and Riwoo is still waiting for your answer. Your eyes flicker to the metal head of the arrow he’s casually twirling in his hand and can’t help but think how easily he could get you out of the picture and the Team would never know you didn’t just disappear in the middle of the mission.

ACCESS GRANTED.

You blink at the green words on the terminal in the corner of your eyes and let out a long exhale.

“Yeah, I’m in,” you exclaim and start typing again furiously.

You close the Justice League’s database before opening up the port’s security feed and move the screen to the holographic projection. This way Riwoo can see it too as you put CCTV snapshots on display while scanning the area for high levels of radio frequency possibly coming from the satellite you’re looking for. At this point it would be more suspicious not to do so, that’s why you decide to stick to the plan as long as he isn’t acting shady.

Still, you tense up when Riwoo steps closer, your shoulders drawn up as his woody scent envelops you. For the first time it doesn’t evoke nervous giddiness in your chest but rather a wave of dread and guilt. You should have never opened that file, you should have never read about him behind his back. Then you would be able to act normal and focus on the mission instead of spiralling down and second-guessing every action of his.

Back at Mount Justice, you remember him pocketing the high-tech chip Batman handed over, one for each team, to disable the satellites and delete the data. You haven’t doubted, not even for a moment, that it isn’t in the right hands because Riwoo is more suited to protect it but now… Now you can’t help but wonder whether him keeping it ‘safe’ is just a ploy to make sure it never gets inserted into the satellite. Could it be that he would sabotage the mission? What if he had been a mole all along?

But… the Justice League clearly knows about his close association with villains since it’s in the database and even Green Arrow vouched for him. Not to mention you have seen him in missions before and he never seemed disloyal, never even hesitated. He has never given you any reason for doubt and usually you aren’t the type of person who would judge anybody based on their relatives either but his entire family is made of villains for heaven’s sake! What are you supposed to think?

“Wait! Can you zoom in on there?” Riwoo points at one specific camera feed of the docks where gantry cranes unload cargo from an incoming ship.

You snap out of your spiraling thoughts and pull it up in full screen mode, quickly catching on what he has noticed already: a satellite dish on top of three rusty containers in the same color right under an electric overhead crane’s metal frame, so it would be easy to miss from further away. However, the main issue is not the height you need to get up to or how well it’s covered but that it’s apparently in the middle of the busiest part of the dockyard, right above several gang members walking around with guns in their belts, loading suspicious bags of substances into trucks.

Good grief.

You’re both quiet for a while, probably debating whether there’s a way you can sneak up there in bright daylight without gathering too much attention, but no matter which camera angle you look at, there are only a few ways of getting there and all include either moving gantry cranes or jumping and climbing from nearby containers, neither of which are quiet activities to do.

“Let’s try to get it done after nightfall. Right now, it would be almost impossible to get there without being spotted,” Riwoo states way too calmly and while you know that he’s right (it’s a covert mission for a reason, so it’s important to stay hidden), there’s a little voice in your head now saying that maybe it’s his way to stall. The later the satellites get deactivated, the better it is for The Light after all. Even better if just one team messes up and all the sensitive, classified information about the Justice League gets broadcasted worldwide.

You still nod to Riwoo’s suggestion, forcing yourself not to jump to conclusions too soon despite this newfound pressure on your chest.

“Should we stay here until then?” You ask as you move the video feed to the corner of your glasses’ vision and turn off your watch’s hologram. 

“It seems as safe of a place as any around here,” the archer shrugs and you look around in the cramped, dusty office room. Regarding facilities it’s certainly better than being stuck in the van and if you remember correctly, the restroom also has a small window, so if things go utterly wrong, you could even use that to sneak out. Maybe. Once again it’s not something you have ever had to do before and hopefully you won’t have to do it today either. Maybe somebody made a mistake or the database has been corrupted. Maybe, hopefully, you’re worrying over nothing.

Gosh, it’s already driving you crazy.

You slump down on one chair with a heavy sigh and start working on an alert system, so you would get notified if anybody comes within 50 meters radius of the office based on the nearby CCTV cameras’ feed. It gives you something to do and takes your mind off of things like potentially being in a closed place with the enemy.

Not an enemy, you remind yourself. Everybody is innocent until proven guilty.

Your distraction strategy doesn’t work for too long though. Once you’re done with the program and  checked on the situation near the docks, you have nothing to do but there are hours left until sunset gives you enough darkness to move closer. It doesn’t help that Riwoo started casually cleaning his arrows and compound bow an arm’s length from you. If it wasn’t for that stupid file you read, you would probably be nervous due to his closeness and not because he could be dangerous to you.

Okay, that’s a lie; one of the reasons why you’re nervous is his closeness regardless of what you have learned about him.

Having nothing to do, you start bouncing your leg out of habit and that gets Riwoo’s attention again. He looks up from where he’s oiling something on the machinery and shoots you a questioning glance. You don’t wait for him to reassure you about your safety this time.

“Any plans for Thanksgiving? Assuming that we won’t all be brainwashed by then,” you break the silence with the first thing that comes to your mind even though the holiday is almost a month away.

You pull up your legs onto the chair to hug them close to your chest in order to make yourself more comfortable. It helps with the jittery feeling in your limbs but not with your heart. Especially because Riwoo doesn’t take his eyes off you as he tilts his head as if he’s considering you. For a heartbeat long you think he won’t answer, that he will call you out on your bullshit but he doesn’t do either.

“Training, what else?” He deadpans as if it’s supposed to be obvious.

“You don’t go back to Star City with Green Arrow?” You ask, aiming for sounding casual but probably failing horribly.

“No.”

Riwoo’s answer is quick, sharp. Automatic. You keep playing your part, the curious and naive, before he can realize that his secret has been uncovered.

“Oh. Your families don’t spend the holidays together?”

“No… not usually,” he says with a sudden pause, his grip on the bow getting tighter.

For the first time since you’ve known him you can tell he’s hesitating. That the look in his eyes is searching and unsure, almost defensive, and it breaks your heart into ragged little pieces even if he doesn’t show obvious signs of somebody lying: he doesn’t look away nor does he clear his throat. He just leans back in his chair almost lazily while watching you intently. 

“Will you go home?”

It’s a fair question, you suppose. He has no idea that you feel more at home at the Mount Justice base than at your parents’ house that’s always empty and cold. He doesn’t know that the reason why it’s easy for you to get away with being a Team member without anyone knowing is because your family doesn’t really care where you are.

“Not sure. My parents might be too busy. They’re workaholics, so they usually are,” you shrug, downplaying it. It used to hurt when you were younger but you’re used to it now. Work always comes first for them. They think parenting is all about providing opportunities and that gifts equal love. You don’t want to sound ungrateful because there are much worse ways to grow up. Like being raised by assassins.

“I guess we will be seeing each other over the holidays then,” Riwoo says, his voice somehow softer than the usual stern tone he uses when he’s debriefing or strategizing.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you mutter and once again you wish that you didn’t have to deal with all these conflicted feelings. It would be so much easier to be giddy without feeling guilty at the same time.

PHASE 4. HEARTBEAT PROCTOCOL 20XX/10/25 08:04PM (UTC-4)

It’s been hours.

Other than one major heart attack when you thought somebody headed your way and a toilet break when you contemplated texting somebody from the Team about your dilemma, nothing extraordinary happened.

You have been constantly checking on your watch feed to see whether the others have already succeeded with their missions or not and reading news articles posted about the ongoing summit. By the time the area around the satellite clears out, Riwoo knows about your League of Legends rank, your favourite guilty pleasure fast food and even that one time when you managed to pull a muscle after one of the girls talked you into doing yoga with her, never again. At least tonight, you only have to run and climb. Hopefully.

You’re so restless from waiting around, you’re actually grateful when Riwoo finally says that you should head towards the satellite. You have already checked the area for additional automated security such as motion sensors but apparently, the port staff only changed guards, closed the gates for the night and called it a day, so you don’t expect much trouble.

The port is quiet in the moonlight. You can hear the sound of waves washing up the pier’s metal body. There’s a smell of oil and salt in the air as you leave the office, somehow more prominent now that the harbor has quieted down from human noise.

Riwoo is on the front, his steps light and quiet like a hunter’s. You catch yourself holding your breath whenever you move, inhaling only when there’s a moment to spare between steps. You’re moving from blindspot to blindspot using the dark to your advantage and you keep checking on the camera feeds to make sure the night shift security can’t spot you. You have already frozen the screen of the CCTV closest to the satellite but it would be too striking if many cameras showed a still image. You’re too focused on making sure you’re on the right track that you don’t even notice when you fall behind.

One moment you’re just behind Riwoo, then you look away for a bit and by the time you look back ahead, he’s gone. Your eyes have already somewhat adjusted to the dark but you can’t see him and his absence stirs discomfort in your chest. Okay, you can do this. You know where to go after all, so you should be able to catch up. You turn two corners then four but still no signs of him. You start to wonder whether he went off on a totally different route or…

No, don’t even go there.

“Hey! Who’s there?” A gruff voice cuts through the dark and you turn on your heels to face the tall guy fifty or so meters away. You can’t really make out much about him from this distance but his broad shoulders and the way he reaches for something in his belt says enough to activate your panic mode. Playing innocent probably wouldn’t get you anywhere.

You swear under your breath when he starts walking. You click a few buttons on your watch to turn on its flashlight mode and momentarily blind the guy while you duck behind a container. The blood roars in your ears while you hear him curse and his steps keep getting closer. You don’t even realize you’re shaking as you’re searching for the beam setting on the watch until a whish sound is followed by a loud pop and a thud.

Then silence.

“Knock-out gas,” Riwoo explains readily as he somehow materializes next to you with his bow in hand. He doesn’t seem angry but you can’t help but feel like a burden.

“Sorry,” you mutter and exhale shakily.

Even though you’re pressed on time, Riwoo doesn’t rush you. He lets you calm down on your own and regulate your heartbeat until you can focus on the task at hand.

“Why are you called Nightglow if you’re afraid of the dark?” He wonders aloud, sounding sincere without mocking when you hesitate to step into the black void between two tall container rows.

“I’m not afraid of the dark… if I’m not in the middle of a crime lord’s territory,” you whisper back, a bit defensive because it’s not the darkness around you that scares you. Riwoo must find something about your objection funny though because amusement flickers in his eyes.

“Glow-rious, aren’t you?” He asks, playful and this time you can’t help but chuckle at the pun despite the grave situation. It makes it somewhat easier to keep going.

“You aren’t afraid at all? Not even a tiny bit?” The question slips without meaning to and Riwoo furrows his brows.

“Of the dark?”

“Of dying,” you deadpan and it lands heavy somewhere between you. His face is half hidden in shadows but you can tell he means it when he responds.

“If I was afraid of dying, I wouldn’t fight for what I believe in,” he says matter-of-factly, ready to die for a cause like a real hero. Or a true villain. You wonder what your fear makes you.

Riwoo doesn’t let you ponder over it a lot, he circles around the dock container’s corner and steps onto its door handle to give himself enough momentum to climb on top of the huge metal box.

“Come on,” he offers a hand to pull you up and your heart, that traitor, skips a beat.

PHASE 5. BRUTE FORCE ATTACK 20XX/10/25 08:46PM  (UTC-4)

Closer to the docks, the containers waiting to be loaded onto ships are more aligned, standing high and proud in parallel lines. The metal under your feet is still warm from the sunlight but this way you get close enough to the docks without anybody stopping you. When the satellite comes into your line of sight, you gulp at how high it is but you’re so close to finishing the mission that you don’t let it bring you down. You’re searching for any grabbable parts on the vertical surface towering over you but Riwoo clearly has a different idea because he starts adjusting his bow setup. The arrow he attaches to the string seems like a foldable metal one but you don’t recognize what it is until the archer aims towards the top container. When the arrow releases, its head starts opening like a blooming flower and four hooks grow from the metal. The grappling hook gets caught on the corner of the container and Riwoo yanks on the metal chain connected to the end of the arrow to check its stability.

“Wow, that’s so cool,” you blurt out, impressed, which makes him scratch the back of his neck with a little soundless laughter.

“Thanks. Now climb,” he nudges you to grab onto the chain sling.

You do as he says and with your feet against the container’s side, arms pulling your own weight up, you start climbing. You’re over the halfway point when reaching for the next section, something flies right over your head with a scary speed. Its wind hits your back, leaving your bare neck in goosebumps, but the panic only settles when you see a metal discus bigger than the size of your hand lodged into the container right over the chain you’re holding yourself on. You gasp for air, looking behind your back, a scream leaving your mouth when the next discus is coming right at you. Your palm burns as you slide downwards on the sling just in time to avoid it hitting you.

“Leave her alone,” Riwoo’s sharp voice echoes in the air and your breath is catching in your throat because you have never heard him talk like it. Razorsharp but almost afraid.

Your grip on the chain turns tighter when you hear thunderous footsteps resonate through the metal and turning around, you see your attacker in the flash.

Sportsmaster.

“Why should I?” The man in a hockey mask asks in a mocking tone right when he steps casually onto the same container Riwoo is on, the one you hang over from a few meters above.

“Nightglow… Keep going,” you hear the boy tell you firmly before he starts rapid firing arrows towards his own father and you feel guilty for ever doubting his loyalty towards the Team and the Justice League.

While The Light’s enforcer is occupied with blocking the attacks, you continue your ascend with your heart beating out of its rhythm.

“Is this all I taught you?” Sportsmaster taunts and you have to fight the urge to look back down when he practically spits the next words. “You have become weak, son.”

You press your lips into a straight line as your arms start to ache but you push through the discomfort and pass by the two discuses digging into the metal, using them as stepping stones to get over the edge with a sigh.

Your relief when you’re finally on a stable horizontal surface again doesn’t last long when you see two figures emerge from the dark behind the satellite dish. Of course, it would have been too easy if the satellite wasn’t guarded by The Light's men but for crying out loud, who else will show up tonight?

You push yourself to your feet and glance down to Riwoo engaging in a close combat with his father, then back at the two black clad men. And behind them, at the gantry crane’s huge metal hook.

“Riwoo…”

“I’m a bit busy down here,” the archer yells back a bit sarcastically and you can’t even blame him.

“I know. Just heads up that I will reorganize things a bit here,” you warn him as you back into one corner of the container. Before the two men could reach you, you make a run for it and jump over to another container, then another, then slide one level down and keep running.

You feel like a character in a video game except you’re getting visibly tired and you really regret not taking up on the advice to do more cardio even with your position. It’s pure adrenalin and stubbornness that gets you through it.

You scream involuntarily and duck behind a container when something explodes not far from your path. You peek out from behind your cover how Riwoo taught you, watching for shadows and reflections and assess the distance between you and the central operating room. It’s only a few meters. You can do it. You have to.

You pick up a tool lying around in a worker station next to you and throw it as hard as you can in the opposite direction. It seems to hit something as it lands loud enough to get the attention of the man who came after you. While he’s busy chasing down a screwdriver you run into the operating room after decoding the keypad code. You hurriedly barricade the door and switch on the power before sitting down in front of the computer. Thank goodness modern solutions allow remote access and control even for these huge transport machines.

“Come on, come on,” you tap your fingers impatiently against the desk while you’re waiting for the lagging system to authorize your login but once you’re in, you start looking through the  programs until one labeled as ‘Crane Control’ catches your eyes.

You know that years of playing video games doesn’t matter when it comes to handling these giants nor does coding help when one would have to be precise to grab and move containers properly but lucky for you, you don’t need to do a good job. You just need to move the trolley and the hook to hit something.

It takes a bit to get the hang of it, to understand what is considered left or right movement and how long you should press down or up to get the hook where you want it but once you do, you manage to swing one of the dudes right into the ocean. The other seems rather keen on staying beside the satellite, so you move the hook back and forth until you manage to knock him off the container and then bury him under a bunch of second hand phones as you tear one of the container’s doors open. Lastly, you hook the metal claw into the satellite as well to move it to ground level. The metallic body of the hardware might get damaged as it hits the ground but your watch still shows ongoing transmission levels, so you need that chip hooked directly onto its storage system to stop it.

Still, you feel pretty accomplished, adrenaline thrumming in your veins and pride swelling in your chest. You can’t wait to ask Riwoo whether he’s pleasantly surprised that you managed to do all this much on your own.

However, when you open the video feed of where he is, you see that his father has him on the ground, cornered, yet offers him a hand. You get up to run there, to do something, but as you turn the volume up on the video, Sportsmaster’s words make you halt.

“Do you really think all those so-called heroes care about you?” He scoffs, venom dripping from his words. “Why not choose the family business? You could work for us from the inside. We could make that girl take the blame. She’s alone. Nobody would know.”

PHASE 6. ZERO-KNOWLEDGE PROOF 20XX/10/25 9:54PM  (UTC-4)

“And how exactly would you do that?” You hear Riwoo snort and you feel absolutely blue screened.

Is he actually considering it? And you’re supposed to keep listening to it while the fate of the world is literally in one of his pockets? It’s one thing if his father or The Light wants to kill you for trying to stop their evil plan but Riwoo? You might be just a hacker, incompetent when it comes to combat to go against the Sportsmaster but you will be damned if you don’t try to stop him from trying to manipulate your partner into joining the dark side.

You practically rip up the control room’s door and run back towards them. Your chest is heaving and there’s a sharp pain in your side but you push through it.

“You can’t,” you object, like you have any right. You put your feet down, proud and determined, and stare at Riwoo headfirst.

“Nightglow,” he looks at you a bit surprised but his voice is leveled, emotionless. Though what squeezes your heart is that he calls you on your name. Not a silly nickname or punny one. All business.

“You can’t do it. Not because of me or because I’m afraid of dying but because you said you fight for what you believe in and I think this is not what you believe in. It doesn’t matter what your family business is. You’re good at your core. That’s why I liked you for so long. The entire team… we’re your friends and we care about you. Please, don’t listen to him,” you ramble, practically begging him while willing yourself to ignore his father standing just a step away from him.

“Wow, what a touching monologue,” Sportsmaster mocks you with clear boredom in his voice while Riwoo stares at you with something indescribable in his eyes. “But thank you. For coming out of your little hideout. It will make it easier for us,” he says as he lifts the javelin in his right hand which makes you flinch and step back.

“I will do it,” Riwoo volunteers and your heart stops beating.

“Now that’s my son,” the enforcer clicks his tongue proudly while you can only whisper Riwoo’s name like a prayer nobody will listen to.

This is the part where you should do something to protect yourself or run but you’re frozen, eyes fixed on the boy pulling out an arrow from his quiver.

Maybe it’s the only mercy he can show you. He will make it fast and painless unlike his father. Maybe dying by his hands isn’t that bad. You close your eyes shut firmly, so you wouldn’t have to see it happen and try to brace yourself for the impact, for the taste of blood in your mouth.

It’s quiet for a long minute, you only hear the sound of gravel under shoes and the ocean waves in the background. Then Sportsmaster cries out in pain and your eyes snap open.

There Riwoo stands with his bow held out, his fierce eyes trained on the much taller figure’s shuddering body on the ground and you gape at the sight. He just used an electro-shock arrow on his own father.

You collapse to the ground as relief washes over you. You barely notice Riwoo’s closeness until he reaches out and brushes the messy strands of hair out of your face.

“Hey, Sparkles, look at me,” he whispers with something gentle in his voice now.

You can feel tears prickling your eyes as you look up at his crouching figure.

“I thought that you… that he would…” You stutter, voice breaking.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Riwoo says so earnestly that you let out an involuntary sob.

He’s so close you can see the mole under his eye and the subtle silver glittering in his pupils from the moonlight. His hand slides from your temple to your cheek to wipe away stray tears and you want him to hold you like this forever.

But the doom is still oncoming as the imaginary timer is ticking down, and you have a job to do. Not to mention you are in enemy territory, so you can’t allow yourself to stall too much.

Riwoo helps you up when you manage to calm down and his palm is warm against yours, his calloused fingers gently brush against the pulse point on your wrist and you exhale shakily. Then you feel something small and metallic being slipped into your hand and when you look down you recognize the silicon body of the flashdrive that contains Batman’s chip.

“What? Why?” You blink in confusion, not getting why he gives it to you now.

“The electroshock won’t last long. I will distract him, so you could insert it to the satellite," he explains, glancing over his shoulder at the grunting Sportsman. Oh gosh, he must be furious right now.

“But…”

“It’s okay, my father won’t kill me…” Riwoo interrupts your objection with a smile that’s trying to be reassuring. Then he’s off after one last squeeze of his hand, leaving you with the computer chip in hand.

PHASE 7. UPLINK FAILURE 20XX/10/25 10:17AM  (UTC-4)

You curl your fingers around the tiny piece of metal and turn back towards the satellite. The dish panel is dented from the fall but its tower unit seems to be made from a massive enough material to not be affected by the impact. You set your watch to flashlight mode and run your hands over its body. There are no USB ports anywhere, so you hook your nail into the only tiny opening you find. You manage to pry it open and sigh in relief at the sight of the power supply and circuit board. Once you find an empty slot, you don’t hesitate to attach the chip into the control system directly and then wait for it to connect.

SYSTEM OVERWRITE INITIATED - 0%

The small visual user interface of the inside panel blinks to life.

You can only hope the program Batman wrote runs fast enough because you can hear not only the sounds of Riwoo fighting with his father but also approaching footsteps from multiple directions. You anxiously watch the progress bar move forward while you pull up the CCTV feed to monitor your surroundings. A dozen armed people… just great. It doesn’t matter whether they are members of the local gang or followers of The Light, you would rather not face them.

“How is it going?” Riwoo shows up right next to you slightly panting, startling you, but you just point at the control system’s UI.

SYSTEM OVERWRITE IN PROGRESS - 47%

“What happened to…” You cut yourself off because you aren’t sure calling his father would be appropriate in this situation but calling him by his alias on the other hand might sound villainizing. Riwoo doesn’t expect you to finish though.

“Family session ended for today,” he shrugs like it’s nothing but you can see it in his eyes, for once not so unreadable, that he’s a bit shaken up. You see a fresh surface wound on his cheek where the javelin probably scraped him and the thought alone makes you feel protective even though out of the two of you it’s clearly him who can protect himself better.

“Are you–” okay, you want to ask, reaching up to touch the skin around the injury but then suddenly a gun shot echoes in the dockyard. The criminals finally noticed that their playground had been tampered with.

“Stay here and make sure the chip finishes its job. I will handle our new company,” Riwoo says with a confident smile stretching over his lips which is awfully handsome of him. If you weren’t so worried, you would definitely blush just because of it but right now your blood vessels are busy enough to pump anxiety into your veins.

“But there’s so many of them,” you try to protest after glancing at the cameras showing the incoming gang members.

“I have a plan,” he says and it’s probably supposed to be reassuring but you are not assured. Not because you don't trust him but because you worry for his wellbeing. You’re practically vibrating out of your skin because it was supposed to be a simple in-and-out in your head, a true covert mission when you don’t run into anybody and you can get back to your little IT room at Mount Justice thinking that maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Instead you managed to meet Riwoo’s father, a mercenary of The Light, who actually wanted you dead. Really not the ideal scenario one would daydream about when it comes to meeting their crush’s family. And now the Blüdhaven criminal underworld seems to have it out for you, too. What a day.

Riwoo’s plan apparently includes him shooting smoke arrows around to confuse the gang members and while they are stumbling around in the thick grey smoke, he can immobilize them from the top of a container. As you watch him pull arrow after arrow, clearly in his element, you once again realize why you have been impressed by him in the first place. He’s so cool.

Suddenly, there’s a ping and when you look down at the control panel, you catch the sight of its last message before it disappears.

SYSTEM OVERWRITE FINISHED - 100%

Then the entire motherboard sizzles and the distinct smell of burn becomes clear in the air as the satellite shuts off. No more signs of radio transmission either.

Relief washes over you as you check your watch and you’re about to tell Riwoo that you should leave now because your job is done when you see a tattooed man in Hawaiian shirt behind him holding a knife.

“Riwoo, watch out!”

PHASE 8. FIREWALL DOWN 20XX/10/25 10:41AM  (UTC-4)

You have never had to make decisions that could cost lives on the spot but tonight seems to be the first in many aspects. It’s not even a conscious decision, not something that you think of as a good idea. You act on the kind of survival instinct you didn’t even know you had in you until now when you click the buttons of your watch. The energy beam rips through the air and smacks the gang member on the shoulder a mere arm-length from Riwoo. His knife falls from his hand as he yelps, a punch from the archer sending him to the ground.

You don’t think when you leave your post by the satellite and cut through the rippling smoke to get to the container from where the boy jumps off. You crash into his chest a bit awkwardly with his bow in the way but you still curl your arms around his neck. Feeling his heartbeat resonate through flesh and bones, you exhale shakily at the tangible proof of his well-being.

“Oh my gosh, I almost hit you,” you whisper in disbelief at your own actions. If your aim was just a bit off you could have injured him instead of the armed guy but Riwoo looks at you almost proudly.

“Well, you didn’t. You saved me,” he corrects you as he pulls back, his pointy canines peaking out when he smiles. “I would say we’re even.”

“You take it way too lightly,” you shake your head, dropping your arms next to your body as your boldness catches up to you. You immediately miss his warmth though.

“A few more field missions and you’ll get used to it,” Riwoo shrugs and then to your utmost surprise reaches for your hand and pulls you after him. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” you agree easily, relief washing over you as the two of you leave behind the chaos of the Blüdhaven port.

It’s all very cinematic, you think, the smoke curling around you, the sound of commotion behind, the aimless gunshots and the police sirens echoing from a distance. Riwoo’s fingers intertwine with yours gently but firm enough to know that his hold is not accidental. You follow his lead without thinking, without wondering about where his loyalty lies because now you know, without an ounce of doubt, that despite his secrets you would put your life into his hands anytime.

You feel almost delirious, high on adrenaline, on this ‘we did it!’ feeling by the time you get back to the car and buckle in your seatbelt. You pull up your holographic screen one last time to send a message to the base about the mission.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it all worked out,” a soft laugh bubbles out of you while Riwoo steps on the gas pedal and joins the late night traffic. Even the gritty streets of the city seem less intimidating now than just a few hours ago when you arrived.

“How do you feel about some fast food?” Riwoo asks as he drives past the neon sign of a burger place. His question reminds you of your own dismissed hunger because you have barely eaten all day due to nerves and well, trying to disable that satellite and surviving.

“Honestly, I could eat anything now. One cheeseburger and I would be happy.”

Riwoo shoots you an unimpressed look as he takes a right turn down to the 24/7 drive-through.

“We should at least get dessert too after partially saving the world. You know, glow big or glow home,” he winks and you roll your eyes fondly at the newest pun with your name.

It’s something you could get used to, you realize, and isn’t that such a dangerous thought? Getting comfortable with something that’s only supposed to be fleeting?

You don’t let yourself dwell upon it and focus on the present itself, on the warm, greasy burger leaving an oily mess on your fingers as it ceases your hunger. Junk food and syrupy sweet carbonated drinks, its can hissing with a satisfactory sound as you pop it open, always taste the best when you’re extra hungry but in this moment it feels even better. Being in a tucked away parking lot corner in a dodgy city doesn’t matter when you’re with Riwoo, basking in post-mission satisfaction and all.

“Sparkles…”

“Hm?” You turn towards the boy, watching the passing car headlights and shadows paint lines over his face. Underneath it all he looks almost nervous which is ridiculous, why would he be nervous now of all times?

“Did you mean it?”

“What?” You blink, surprised, reaching for a napkin to wipe your hands in before taking a sip from your soda.

“When you said you liked me,” Riwoo replies and you almost choke on your drink. Spluttering, you put the can down and cough, not meeting the boy’s apologetic eyes.

“I thought you knew,” you mutter once there’s no choking hazard nearby.

In that moment back in the dockyard you were too busy trying to convince him to stay on your side and you didn’t even realize you mentioned it. The realization hit you a bit later but since he didn't react, you thought that maybe he didn’t hear it or maybe he didn’t question it because he had known all along since subtlety wasn’t your forte.

“I literally once thought that I put on my shirt inside out and that was why you stared. Or maybe that I had something on my face,” Riwoo lets out a small, awkward laugh as he scratches the back of his neck. You even find his sudden shyness cute.

“Oh.”

You chance a glance at the boy, his ear tinted pink even in the low light, and a coy smile curl on your lips. It doesn’t sound like he minds that you like him and it somehow makes the whole thing a bit silly.

“Remember when I told you I’m not afraid of dying on the field?” He asks and you hum. You can’t quite forget that. His unafraid self in the face of his own mortality. “Well, today I was afraid that you would be hurt. I don’t know what I would have done if my father–”

“But I’m fine. Just like you said I would be,” you cut him off because him taking the blame for something like this doesn’t sit well with you. It’s not his fault who his parents are but it’s his choice which side he’s on, that’s what really matters.

“Let’s play LoL when we get back,” you suggest, trying to divert the topic to something lighter, something that didn’t squeeze your heart tight. It’s not like he rejected you but this weird limbo you’re in makes you feel vulnerable. “So I could show you I can actually kick ass.”

“You can show that to me on the training mats too,” he points out and you playfully swat his shoulder at the indication behind his words. You know that you need more combat practice but you have probably exhausted your exercise quota for the whole month and practicing with him would probably turn you into a blushing mess anyways.

“But LoL sounds good too. Bring it on,” Riwoo grins and then just as casually he adds: “It’s a date.”

Not all heroes wear capes. Some have killer smiles and a playful glint in their eyes. They take your breath and accelerate your heartbeat with a single word. Like a trojan malware, sneaking into your heart deeply without you even noticing.

And for once, you don’t mind your firewall crumbling down.

END NOTES thank you for reading! if you haven't yet, check out other parts of the collab, you can find them all here.

also fun fact, it was such a joy for me to sneak a few of my favorite tech terms into the story, which are:

heartbeat protocol: used to monitor resource availability by sending a signal (‘heartbeat’) at regular intervals between two systems

brute force attack: trial and error based hacking method e.g. trying all options systematically to crack a password

zero-knowledge proof: a cryptographic method where the verifier can assure that something is true without revealing the data itself

i hope the story was understandable though despite me mystifying tech stuff. and literally having to google 90% of the DC-related stuff

☆ BND masterlist

💌 askbox

He was… your polar opposite. He was different from you, different from anyone. A hero who had come from another world, suddenly entering Earth to fight for justice. Everything you knew about him came from whispers of his reputation, fragmented details you remembered being said among the other heroes. And yet, still, none of it told you enough to know how this was going to play out–two heroes being opposites and thrown together for a mission so crucial.

And Mr. Martian—or Leehan, as he was originally named—knew he was different from the rest. The moment he landed on Earth, nothing was familiar. Once he got into the headquarters, he had to come up with a false name on the spot, get used to speaking in a new language, and learn to follow basic human mannerisms that still felt odd to him in every way.

He was still learning. Always adapting to what was around him.

But one thing that did become a second nature within his time here: reading people. Back home, he didn’t need to study others to sense what they felt—he could simply already know. Here, though, he kept himself from reading into minds. It was more ethical, more human, to rely only on body language. And with practicing in not doing so, he would end up strengthening those skills stronger than ever.

Which meant he wasn’t able to ignore the awkwardness that hung between the both of you.

The silence filled the room, only to be broken by the quiet tapping of his foot against the floor and your slight shifting in your chair to give restless glances at the doors, as if you could prepare the bio-ship to be ready faster. Neither of you said anything, but the weight of your thoughts loomed over you—the mission, the chip, the partnership—settled heavily on your shoulders.

This wasn’t the situation you wanted to be in. Not with the silence, not with the weekend long pairing with another hero you barely knew. But, this mission was too important to even let a small mistake happen—there could be no room for hesitation.

You had to at least start something.

“Is this your first mission?” you broke the silence, finally trying to meet eyes with Mr. Martian.

He slowed his tapping, and he brought his eyes from the floor to meet yours instantly. He looked almost dumbstruck—eyes slightly widened, brows furrowed, and his lips puffed out as though he had been suddenly caught off guard.

“Me?” he pointed to himself, and your slow nod made his senses prickle with confusion. “…This is not my first. It’s my fourth, actually.”

“Oh.” The word slipped out before you could catch it. You pressed your lips together, scrambling for something to add, anything to salvage the threadbare small talk.

And wasn’t this the time where he was supposed to ask you the same thing?

“And you?” he asked, as if plucking the thought right out of your head.

“Not my first either.”

“That’s good.” Leehan shifted in his seat, leaning a little closer to the table between you both. “At least we both have some experience.”

But clearly not enough experience to keep a conversation alive.

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

“Have you… been on a bio-ship before?” he asked suddenly, almost too quickly, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. His brows pinched slightly, the regret showing—he still hadn’t broken the habit of speaking in response to people’s thoughts like they were actually the words they said. He definitely needs to work on not subconsciously reading people’s minds.

Too many bad memories link to that impulse.

“I actually haven’t,” you replied with much more enthusiasm than Leehan would have expected. “Have you?”

“I have,” Leehan admitted, his tone quiet but his eyes flickering with something brighter. “It’s a vehicle I’ve used for several missions, actually. A large aerodynamic ship capable of shape-shifting into anything its users need.” He hesitated, almost shy, though the excitement lingered in his voice. “It’s a product created by Martians… like me. Something that is familiar for me here.”

And for the first time since you two sat down together, the silence that now followed didn’t feel unbearable.

“It looks like we can get more comfortable with each other soon,” you said, not quite offering a full smile, but enough to show you were softening. “I can get used to the things you know—to get to know you better.”

“To like… connect with me in a better way?” he asked carefully, almost as if he was still being wary of not ruining the mood.

“You can say that.”

As Leehan returned that smile, a chime could be heard on the device around his wrist. His gaze dropped immediately, reading the notification. The bio-ship had been cleared and stocked for departure.

“Looks like it’s time,” he said, rising from his seat and pushing the chair back into place. “The ship’s ready for us.”

You stood as well, quickly tucking the chip into a zippered pocket before following him. The energy between you wasn’t exactly smooth yet, but it was shifting—warming, if only slightly.

At least, that’s what you hoped.

PREPARATIONS TO A SUCCESSFUL MISSION

Heading to the bio-ship wasn’t a slow walk, but your steps still felt heavy and reluctant. Your stomach had twisted with that familiar pre-mission unease, though this time it felt stronger—like your nerves were warning you of something bigger than you could name.

If you felt this off already, you couldn’t imagine how well you’d hold yourself together once the mission actually began.

“You ready?” Leehan asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks. When you glanced up, he was studying you with that same steady look he’d worn earlier. You looked away again, noticing how you two were already where the bio-ship was. For a moment, you wondered if he thought you were just irritated by the silence again.

But his gaze lingered, and you could see it—the shift in his expression. The way his eyes subtly trailed on the look that you weren’t sure you had. You would’ve assumed that everyone gets anxious before a mission, but the way he was striding—shoulders straightened, steps steady—you couldn’t help but feel the odd one out. He continued to look at you, not judging exactly, but focused in a way that made your senses prickle.

For a moment, you wondered if Martians even felt their nerves going crazy like the way humans did, especially during moments like these. Or if this one in particular just didn’t allow himself to show it. It made you feel like you weren’t just only preparing for a mission—you also felt urges to study him the way he was probably studying you.

Yet, you only felt obligated to hide it. So, you nodded, quickly plastering one of those fake smiles before dropping it. Even though you tried relaxing the sudden tension in your face, he still looked at you like he already knew something.

And he did. He wasn’t mistaking it this time.

The jaw clenching. The stiffness in posture. The knitting in your brows. He noticed.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly, more as an observation rather than an accusation.

“It would be weirder if I weren’t,” you tried playing it off, leaving a light chuckle to follow your words. But even to you, the sound wasn’t convincing. It still held that hesitation—the doubt of wondering if you could really pull this off.

Leehan subtly tilted his head, still watching you with that unblinking focus that made it impossible to hide. Seriously, these Martians were good at holding eye contact.

“Maybe,” he started off slowly, his tone being careful and controlled. “But, it just shows that you are aware of how much this matters. So, fear doesn’t always mean it’s a weakness.”

You blinked at him, not expecting an answer that was… surprisingly reassuring. It wasn’t exactly comforting nor smooth, but it felt sincere. In all honesty, clumsy was the right word for it.

“...Right,” you let out a small breath of relief—a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. “Thank you for that.”

He simply nodded, before turning toward the bio-ship. His hand hovered over the red-and-black crystalized door, fingers pressing lightly into its strange surface as though he was gathering his thoughts.

“And if you’re so worried—don’t be,” he said finally, his voice was no less than certain. “We still need to talk about our plan, after all.”

Now, you weren’t entirely sure if that was soothing enough for you to hear. If anything, it only highlighted the difference of how he works compared to other heroes. By now, you would’ve already composed a plan back when you two were waiting. But, due to the silence that you weren’t necessarily familiar with, some planning had to be done in the vehicle—which, honestly, could waste some valuable time.

“I really hope that brings me at ease.”

Sliding the door open, you peeked into the interior of the bio-ship. Leehan motioned for you to enter first, and you did. The moment your foot crossed the threshold, a breeze of cold air brushed against your ankles. The walls inside were deep red with a mix of black, their surfaces embroidered with bits of crystals that looked like they belonged as jewelry. With each step, the more you looked around, the more that you noticed the ship seemed to stretch larger than you would have had imagined.

The sliding noise of the door shutting was followed by a soft click, drawing your attention back to Mr. Martian. He was already walking toward a white stand, his movements filled with precision and confidence. You watched as his fingers moved over the surface, pressing patterns you couldn’t follow until two glowing panels of light appeared in the air.

Profiles—yours along with his—shined to life.

You moved closer, drawn by the display until you stood next to him, but still leaving room to not have the shoulder-to-shoulder contact. His eyes scanned your details while yours scanned his.

“Is this supposed to help us for the mission?” you asked, genuine curiosity seeping into your voice. You inched closer to read little bits of his powers. The more you read about his data about the abilities you only heard rumors of, your eyes still widened a little, despite yourself.

“We can learn more about each other so we can play our proper roles for this mission,” Leehan said, though his voice dipped when he caught the look of surprise on your face. His lips pressed together for a moment, as if second-guessing himself. Was it his abilities that made you react like that? “So yeah—it should. I brought up the profiles for a reason.”

You only nodded, the familiar awkward weight settling back between you.

“Shape shifting, Telekinesis, Camouflage, and Telepathy…” you murmured, scanning the glowing list and taking quick mental notes. “That’s nice.”

“Same with you,” Leehan replied, leaning in without the hesitation to glance at your side of the projection. You realized how close he had moved—close enough for your shoulders to brush if either of you moved even slightly. You stayed rooted in place, but Leehan seemed perfectly unbothered, eyes focusing on the words. “Enchanced Vision, Duplication, and Flight—” he paused, and for the first time a faint hum escaped his lips. “Oh. We have one in common. Flight.”

“Cool,” was all you managed to say, though in your peripheral vision you noticed his eyes narrowing just slightly, fixed at the top of your profile.

Was there something wrong?

“You look pretty,” Leehan said.

Your head snapped toward him. He didn’t flinch under your stare, only turning to face you more directly. His expression was still calm—too calm—but something about the air between you felt different now, heavier. But, there was no hint of embarrassment, no sign that he thought he had just said something unusual.

“…What?”

He lifted a hand and pointed at the glowing panel, where your profile picture hovered. “Your profile picture,” he clarified matter-of-factly, as though that made the words any less startling.

As if the explanation was completely obvious.

You let out an incredulous laugh, though it came out more nervous than amused. You were definitely caught somewhere in between nerves and disbelief. The way he seemed so oblivious made you wonder if you were the one twisting things in your head.

But then his gaze lingered again—longer this time—on the photo before flicking back to you. “Or…” His voice slowed, thoughtful. “Is attractive the better word?”

Yeah. Definitely not oblivious.

At least, to you.

“The first one was just fine,” you muttered quickly, instantly turning your head away from him. You forced your eyes to focus onto his profile instead, but staring at his picture only reminded you that the real thing—the person standing right next to you—was now far too overwhelming. So you dragged your gaze back to your own photo, hoping it would ground you, hoping it would settle the sudden rise of… whatever was twisting in your chest.

Leehan, however, found your response perplexing. In his mind, he had simply given you a compliment—a completely truthful one. Yet the way you tightened up, the way you deliberately avoided his eyes, left him wondering what he said wrong.

Was he too direct? Or was it said at the wrong timing?

He might have been too straight forward. But, it wasn’t as though he’d lied about what he said. And—strangely enough—watching you trying to deal with his words stirred something else inside of him.

Maybe he should tone it down.

Maybe.

…Or many he shouldn’t because seeing you react like this made him feel unexpectedly—quietly—content.

But instead of pushing it any further, Leehan decides to let it go. He gave your profile one last glance after being distracted with studying your behavior. If you listened closely enough, you might have caught him quietly repeating your real name under his breath, as if he was trying to remember it himself.

And you did hear it. But with your own decision, you chose to ignore it.

“So, Mr. Martian,” you quickly spat out, forcing the shift in the conversation as you dropped down onto one of the black leathered sofas. You only looked up briefly, catching him closing out the glowing profiles. “I think it’s time we actually plan, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

He sat beside you without hesitation, his arm close enough to brush against yours. The choice startled you—you’d expected him to take the opposite seat—but you shoved that thought aside. The mission came first, regardless of distance… or lack thereof.

“Since we are assigned to the Coast City Space Museum,” Leehan began, lifting his wrist so that another shining panel appeared for both of you to see, “I already drafted some notes from the mission briefing. We can adjust as needed.”

You leaned in, scanning the agenda from top to bottom, your eyes making sure you didn’t miss any line. Mirroring his earlier habit, you read bits of it out loud.

“The disguises would definitely be a good idea,” you replied, glancing at him. “We would blend in better. Otherwise we’d stick out and be seen with another motive.”

“I agree,” Leehan said, his eyes not leaving yours. “There will most likely be traps set around the exhibits. It’s best to act like we actually belong there.”

“Yeah, we are definitely going to have to be careful—especially if there are any innocent civilians around too. These two days would’ve been a great time to hide something in a place that people wouldn’t normally suspect.”

Leehan gave a faint smile, clearly glad you were on the same page again. He shut off the glowing panel once you finished reading, his eyes lingering on you. He noted the slight hum you made in approval, almost cataloging it away as another detail about you worth remembering.

His observation skills, it seemed, wanted to sharpen more than usual today.

“It sounds like we got a plan,” Leehan said, pleased that this was getting somewhere. “So… are you ready to change into our clothes together?”

“Ye—wait, wait,” You quickly backtracked, tripping over your own words. Your professional tone instantly crumbled into pure panic. “What do you mean together?”

You leaned back sharply, demanding for an explanation—only to realize that your knee brushed against his. The light contact sent a jolt down your spine, leaving you scrambling to pull away and lock your legs tightly together.

Meanwhile, Leehan… just sat there. Completely unbothered. That same blank expression staring back at you as though you were the one acting strange.

Did this guy even know what he was saying?

Was he even real?

“As in…” he pointed toward a section of the ship, where two identical black doors stood side by side. “The changing rooms. Our clothes should already be prepared so we don’t stand out.”

“Oh.” The word slipped out with a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief washed through you, your pulse slowing as your shoulders eased.

“Unless… you want to?” Leehan added suddenly, blurting it out like it was the most natural thing in the world. His tone did not carry no hesitation, no playfulness—just a matter-of-fact suggestion. If it was something you were comfortable with, then it shouldn’t be a problem to follow. At least, that’s how his reasoning went.

After all, what did he really know about human customs anyway?

Clearly… not enough.

“Not a single chance.” You shot back instantly, springing to your feet like the chair had burned you. You marched to one of the changing rooms, yanking the door open and slamming it shut just a little harder than necessary.

Leaning against the door, you pressed your palms flat against the cold surface, as if bracing yourself in case he tried to enter. Which was ridiculous—he wouldn’t.

Right?

A few seconds later, increased songs of footsteps passing outside your door, followed by the turn of a doorknob and soft click of the door right next to your rooms shutting.

You let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he really didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But the nagging voice in your head wouldn’t shut up—was it wrong for you to even think… that way about him? To be someone who is trying to make things painfully obvious? Or was he simply too strange, too unaware of how he may come across in situations like these?

For your own sake, you decided on the latter.

It didn’t take long before you forced yourself to recollect your thoughts, giving yourself a brisk little pep talk under your breath. Then, with the change to determination, you threw on the outfit that had been neatly set aside for you inside the bio-ship.

You stepped out of the changing room, adjusting the hem of your vest. Your outfit was a pair of black flared pants, a white blouse, and a fitted black vest. It looked formal but it was still comfortable, enough to blend into the Museum crowd without having to draw any suspicion.

Leehan was already seated on the sofa, posture composed, gaze lifting as soon as you appeared. His outfit mirrored yours—black trousers, though looser, paired with an untucked white button-up that made him look effortlessly put together. He offered you a thin, almost polite smile before rising to his feet.

Your instinct was to step back, your body slightly tensing before you noticed a small clear object in his hand.

“Figured we’d need to wear these earpieces for this mission,” he said, palm open, offering it to you like it was something fragile. The device gleamed under the ship’s lighting, and you reached for it quickly. Your fingertips brushed against his skin, and the fleeting contact gave you that same warm sensation again.

“In case we can’t find each other when we get separated.”

“Good idea,” you replied, putting it into your ear. Tilting your head, you adjusted the piece until it fit in just right, then finding a way to hide it from being shown. You couldn’t quite keep yourself from glancing at him as you asked, “Have you tested these yet?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, also slipping his own earpiece in the right side of his ear. “We could test it now, if you’d like.”

You pressed the side of the earpiece once, twice—waiting for a signal, a crackle, anything. All you got was silence. Across from you, Leehan tilted his head, quietly watching your every attempt before taking a slow step back, as though distance might make the test more accurate.

His lips moved. You could see the faint shape of your name on them, but nothing came through. You pressed again, harder this time, frustration threatening to creep in as your finger jabbed at the small device. Still nothing.

By the third attempt, your patience was slipping thin—until you heard hurried footsteps.

Leehan closed the space between you two in seconds. Without hesitation, he reached over for your hand, his palm warm as it settled over yours. His fingers guided yours with careful precision, pressing exactly where you hadn’t.

Your breath got caught—not because of the earpiece, but because of him.

Up close, you really got to notice how his features were impossible to ignore. Strands of his blonde hair fell just enough to frame his forehead. His brows, his eyes—even his nose seemed elegant, along with his lips looking soft—and far too close. You realized, belatedly, how long you had been staring.

A faint white glow lit up at your ear, pulling both of you back to the task at hand. Leehan’s gaze lifted to meet yours directly, and for a second, the air felt heavier than it should.

“Can you hear me?” His voice slipped through the earpiece, raspy and smooth, filling your ear in a way that felt startlingly intimate compared to hearing it out loud. His lips curved into the smallest smile, satisfied with the result.

His hand retracted, letting go of your hand slowly, before retreating a step. “Good. Let me try hearing from you now.”

You swallowed down a thousand unhelpful thoughts, only managing a quiet, “yeah,” before watching him move back across the room again.

“Hello, Mir?” Leehan's voice crackled through the earpiece, the nickname filling your chest with an unexpected feeling. Technically, it was just a shortened version of your hero name, but coming from him, it sounded… different. “Can you hear me?

“Yeah, I can hear you clearly, Mr. Martian,” you answered, your voice steadier than how you felt. From the slight low hum he let out, you could tell he didn’t approve.

“Just call me Leehan.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Your… real name?”

“Yeah,” He nodded once, as if to reassure you there was nothing strange about offering something so personal.

“...Okay. Leehan.” The name felt odd on your tongue, not quite the way he said it, but the smile that immediately spread across his face was proof enough that he didn’t mind.

“It sounds nice when you say it.”

Your stomach twisted, and you instantly blamed the air inside the bio-ship. Maybe it was the atmosphere. Or maybe it was because he was too at ease in a vessel built by his people. It definitely wasn’t you that was the problem. No way.

“I’m glad you think that way,” you replied, though your tone tilted toward uncertainty. “Comfortability between partners is always… good to have.”

“That’s why I wanted to go on the first name basis,” Leehan explained plainly. Then, he added, softer with his tone, “Only if you feel comfortable, of course.”

“I don’t mind. My name is—”

“Y/N.” He cut you off so gently that it almost didn’t feel like an interruption. “I know it.”

Your throat went dry. “That’s… good to know.”

“And it’s good for the mission too,” Leehan added. “In case we run into something unexpected at the scene.”

Right. The mission.

What were you even trying to assume?

As much as your mind wanted to spiral—analyzing, dissecting, hyperfixating—there was still a task ahead. A task you weren’t even sure the two of you could handle smoothly. If anything, this strange ease between you should have been happening already.

You forced yourself to nod, switching gears as you tapped your wrist to light up the map’s scope. Soon enough, you’d both be out there—completely responsible for handling something that, if mishandled, could devastate the world.

As you focused back into your hero mode, you came to one conclusion: there was no secret meaning behind anything Leehan had said or done.

It’s all for the sake of the mission.

“Speaking about the mission,” you mentioned, bringing back the conversation to how it should have been. “I think it would be better for us to split up from the start. That way, we waste less time looking around. If we enter together and then split midway, it could raise suspicion for anyone trying to disrupt us.”

“That makes sense.” Leehan nodded, eyes thoughtful. “It would be easier for me to shapeshift into someone else without drawing attention—even if we cross paths inside.”

“And I could duplicate you,” you added quickly. “Any form you want. They’d have their own mind, and I could command them to follow instructions.”

Leehan hummed in approval. “That would definitely work—especially since we’ve already disabled the museum’s cameras and affected its system.”

You frowned slightly, remembering something. “The only downside is that with the cameras mysteriously down, there’ll probably be more hidden threats lurking inside the place. And for duplication to work, I’d need contact first. That complicates things.”

“I am sure we can figure it out,” Leehan reassured you. “We could scout the area first. Look for a hidden spot or go to a closed room if necessary.”

You were oddly glad he stopped there. Any further, and the tension between “strategy” and “something else” would’ve been too much.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “That works.”

“Then we’re set?”

“Yeah. We’re set.”

And now, for the first time since stepping onto the bio-ship, the reassurement actually felt real and right to accept.

Now, all that was left was to see if everything would turn out well.

And hopefully, this goes down the way you two have planned it.

TWO MAKES ONE GREAT SPY

Hearing the signal from both of your wrists, the faint chime had told you two had just arrived. The once large bio-ship had already shifted down into its disguise—a car parked at the curb. From the outside, it was just another vehicle on just another day.

With the plan already decided, you took the first action.

Slipping out first, you walked down the sidewalk and pushed open the wide glass doors of Coast City Space Museum. The cool air inside instantly brushes against your skin, leaving a faint scent of metal and old paper displays. Your steps had echoed against the marble flooring, the sound quickly blending with the other footsteps in the building.

You blended in as if you had every right to be there, letting your enhanced vision take a quick sweep in the central hall. You noticed groups of people walking from exhibit to exhibit—ranging from students, families, tourists, and overall ordinary citizens. A quick scan confirmed that they were clean: no hidden spyware, no weapons, and no signs of anything or anyone suspicious that could pretend to be innocent.

At least, nothing obvious yet.

“Have you entered the building?” Leehan’s voice can be heard gently through the earpiece, low enough to feel like he was right behind you, whispering in your ear.

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath, turning casually down one of the side halls. “Come in.”

By your command, Leehan also slipped through the entrance effortlessly, as if he’d already mastered the undercover act on how to look ordinary.

“Where are you headed?” His voice carried steadily through the earpiece.

“To the right,” you murmured, pretending to study a wall display. “So head to the left.”

“Got you,” he replied without hesitation, heading toward the other hall.

This was your first time being at this museum. It had a strange charm—the half genuine and old artifacts and the other half being large displays to entertain the curious tourists. But, the longer you stared, the more it became harder to shake the feeling that some of these attractions aren’t just for show.

It’s The Light, after all.

You drifted further into the right wing, weaving past glass cases of meteor fragments and simplified diagrams that tried their best to explain the impossible. Families passed by you—kids pressing sticky palms against the displays while parents tried, and mostly failed, to pry them off.

Nothing out of place. Nothing suspicious.

Until your foot sank.

You stopped cold, glancing down at the black tile beneath your shoe. It wasn’t much—a square no bigger than a notebook page. At first, you assumed that this was a part of the museum’s attraction—the kind that is meant to light up the floor based on the tourists’ steps.

But, instead of glowing, you could only hear a faint click once you lifted up your foot again. You looked around, seeing a hologram projection on your left, spilling out a shimmering hologram of meteors raining down in endless loops. It looked harmless enough, an educational illusion for wide-eyed tourists. But something about it was… wrong.

The tile was too small. Too deliberate.

Too out of place.

You could’ve triggered it with just the edge of your heel, and yet it was tucked perfectly where no one would notice unless they were watching closely.

Definitely not part of the museum.

Your fingers twitched at your side as the holographic meteors reset, looping endlessly before fading back to how it was—an empty display that seemingly blended in with the rest of the pieces.

You swallowed once, then pressed your hand to your earpiece.

“Hey,” you murmured under your breath.

“Hm?” Leehan’s voice answered almost immediately, low and even, like he’d been waiting. “You called for me, Mir?”

“Well, yeah,” you replied, subtly drifting a step away from the suspicious tile. You couldn’t risk drawing attention by staring too long. “But… what’s up with using that nickname? I thought we were on a ‘first name’ basis?”

“It just stuck,” Leehan’s low chuckle buzzed in your ear, sending a ripple down your stomach. “Nothing wrong with a little nickname, right?”

“Right…” you said, though your voice trailed off, betraying your unease.

“What’d you call me for, Mir?” he pressed gently, dragging the focus back where it belonged. “Did you find something already?”

“Check the floor around you,” you murmured, eyes flicking across the exhibits, making sure no one noticed you lingering too long in one spot. “Look for a tile that feels… off. It kind of blends in, though. But, you'll know it when you step on it.”

Static, then the sound of footsteps clicking steadily over comms. You held your breath, nerves tightening with each step. For a fleeting second, you worried you’d imagined it all—that maybe you were just paranoid.

“Pressure-based,” Leehan’s voice cut through, steadier than yours. “That’s what they are, right?”

“Right, right. Did you… see one? Feel one?” you asked quickly.

“Yeah. Just triggered it,” he confirmed. “Some hologram lit up on one of the empty glass displays. You saw the same thing?”

“Yeah. Meteors, specifically, on my end,” you muttered, stepping on the tile again, watching the loop before it dimmed again. “Looks harmless enough, but this isn’t a tourist attraction. At least, I don’t think it is.”

“There’s definitely triggers disguised as some,” Leehan agreed, his voice dipping lower, as though that could shield you both from whatever was listening.

Your fingers curled into a fist at your side. “You think it signals to them that we’re here?”

“It’d be hard, considering how there’s innocent people wandering here. But, it could be one of their tacky mechanics—just enough bait to get someone to press it before they come scurrying over here.”

“We just need to figure out what it does.”

“You want me to test it?” Leehan suggested without hesitation. “I could keep pressing it, acting like I think it’s one of the museum’s interactive displays.”

That idea made your stomach churn. It felt unusually almost too reckless for you.

“No. We can’t be sure it’s harmless,” you said sharply, lowering your voice when someone brushed past you. “For all we know, pressing it again could set something off. Something we won’t be able to undo.”

“Or maybe it’s just bait. A way to see if anyone like us notices too much,” he replied, tone infuriatingly steady.

“Which is why we should ignore it for now,” you insisted. “Blend in. Come back later on another sweep. If we linger, they’ll know we’re here.”

“Not necessarily,” Leehan’s voice hummed low in your ear, calm where you were taut as a wire. “We didn’t react. They have nothing to confirm.”

“Still doesn’t hurt to be careful,” you snapped back quietly, your pulse racing faster than you wanted to admit.

“I can be careful,” Leehan countered smoothly. “But, holding it off and avoiding these won’t solve anything. We need to figure out how to disable these sensors. If it’s tied into an alert system, each press we activate could lead to an easier way to wreck it.”

You hated how he was probably right. Staring at the families nearby with their kids stomping their sneakers a little too closely to another tile—it felt dangerous. It felt like one wrong move could drag every innocent citizen into something they couldn’t escape.

And you couldn’t let that happen.

“It could,” you admitted, hesitation still clinging onto your voice.

“You know how to do that, right?” Leehan pressed. “Your enhanced vision could trace where these plates connect. Follow the wiring, see if they’re feeding into a central system. Then slip in and wreck it—just like the cameras.”

“You think that’s possible?” you asked, half-dreading the answer you were about to get.

“You won’t know unless you try.” His voice carried that same maddening calm, like he believed you’d succeed before you even did.

“Alright then,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. “Buy me time, will you, Mar?”

There was a slight pause. “Nickname based now?”

“It just stuck,” you replied, copying exactly what he had said when he gave you that sudden nickname.

Leehan found himself trying to fight back the small smile from tugging at his lips, but only a low chuckle could be heard from your earpiece.

“Sounds good, Mir.”

As civilians continued to wander, the plan had become set in motion.

You drew a short breath and steadied yourself, then let your vision sharpen. The brightly lit museum now dimmed slightly, the usual colors now draining away and the hidden layers revealed themselves. Thin lines of faint, glowing lights run beneath the museum floor, like veins under the skin, pulsing slightly with energy.

The wiring from the title you’d stepped on was easily followed by you through the flooring, in which you saw that specific line branching into a thicker one that lit brighter than the rest.

“There,” you whispered. “I see a large trail—it leads to the west wing. Past the exhibition showcasing the moon rocks.”

“Good. Follow it, but don’t draw attention,” Leehan said, calm as ever. “I’ll sweep the galleries and cover you if anything looks off.”

The glowing thread continued to fitter as you moved, forcing you to adjust your sight with each step you took. The deeper you followed the line, the more other trails of the wires and series of conduits continued to expand. You watched your steps carefully, subtly avoiding the tiles that might trigger something if pressed.

“There’s multiple tiles,” you spoke under your breath, notifying Leehan. “I believe they are all linked.”

“I’ll be careful,” he replied.

You slowed as the trail of the wires all seemed to tighten into a bundle, the glow all funneling into a compact node. As you stopped your enhanced sight, it brought you back to the sight of a service door being covered by a uniformed guard nearby, casually tapping away at a tablet. You could hear whistling from him as he blocked the door to where the system was.

“Found it.”

“Where is it?” he asked, picking up the pace of his own footsteps.

“In front of a locked room—blocked by a guard,” you said, letting your words hang. “There’s definitely a control hub behind it.”

Leehan’s voice dropped to a near-whipser through the comm. “You need me to do something?”

“I’m wary—camera system’s down, but there could be lingering eyes,” you replied, scanning the guard’s casual posture and the crowd around him.

“I can shapeshift into that guard,” Leehan offered quickly. “But I’ll need your help for one thing.”

The way he framed the request made the air tighten in your chest. “What is it?”

“Go up to them and ask for help,” he put it simply. “Act like you need directions or assistance. Then, walk down the hall as they help you, and I’ll slip in, take their place, and get to the hub.”

It seemed simple, and yet, it still held its own risks.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

You stepped closer, constructing a look to soften your expression into something polite and confused, the kind of look that people would rarely ever question. The faint crease in your brows, your shoulders rounding—it painted you as someone that was lost, rather than someone on an important mission.

“Excuse me?” Your voice was hesitant, but it was gentle to catch someone’s attention.

The guard shifted, lifting his head to glance at you. “Can I help you?”

His tone was professional, though it carried a little boredom on his part.

“Yes,” you said, weaving the careful note of frustration into your words, like you’d been wandering too long. “I’ve been trying to find a certain exhibit—the immersive virtual reality simulation?” You let the words tumble out as though you weren’t even sure you had the title right.

The guard straightened his posture a little, nodding. “You should walk down this hall,” he said, pointing casually down the very direction where you knew Leehan waited. He even stepped forward, angling his body so you could follow the direction of his hand. It left the perfect window for you to act.

As his attention strayed, your hand worked quickly, fingers brushing over the cool metal of the lock behind him. You gave the mechanism a quick twist, a tug—practiced efficiency where each click of the resistance of the lock weakened under your touch.

“And then turn to your right, then left,” the guard added, completely oblivious to what was happening behind him.

You pressed on before he could pull back, shifting your tone to something softer, more vulnerable. “I actually tried asking someone else earlier,” you confessed, lowering your gaze for effect. “But I still couldn’t get there… I must be terrible with directions.” You looked back up, lashes fluttering slightly, letting a subtle nervous smile play at your lips. “Would you… maybe walk me there?”

There was a pause—a heartbeat in which his eyes lingered on your face, reading your expression. The corner of his mouth tugged faintly before he nodded. “Sure,” he agreed, his tone slipping unconsciously into something warmer, softer.

That was your confirmation. The little performance had landed, his attention tethered firmly to you while your other hand delivered the last quiet twist to the lock, loosening it just enough for Leehan to do the rest of his part unseen.

You let him lead the way, trailing slightly behind the guard as though you really were there to follow his guidance. He chatted idly, words tumbling into the air about the museum attractions, the city, and how busy the day must’ve been. You nodded at the right times, offering soft hums of acknowledgment, and even managing a few polite smiles—yet your mind wasn’t on him.

Your focus was trying to locate a small movement in your peripheral vision, holding the knowledge that Leehan was close, watching, waiting for the moment to perfectly slip into place. Every step you had taken was calculated, every glance stolen toward a nearby corner was a search for him.

The guard would’ve naturally assumed he was escorting a lost tourist. But, in reality, he was just walking straight into the middle of your own plan.

You pressed the edge of your earpiece just enough to route the tiny conversation feed to Leehan—quiet, but secure. The comm hummed faintly against your skin; his voice was a low thread at the back of your skull, intimate and impossible to ignore.

“Wish you could speak to me like that,” he whispered, amusement softening his words. You felt heat crawl up your neck. Even through the comm, his tone had gone playful. “Didn’t know you could pull that.”

“Be quiet,” you muttered, forcing the word to come out breathy and distracted so the guard wouldn’t notice. “It’s just for the plan.”

“I know, I know,” Leehan answered, backing off into business. “I saw you two, by the way.”

“When?” you asked, keeping the question low and even. You still toned down your own voice, which when the guard’s eyes flicked between you and the exhibit ahead, he did not sense anything from you other than a lost visitor.

“When you were focused on replying to him,” he said, a tiny lift in his voice once he let those words out.

“Oh.” You let the single syllable fall, then forced yourself to smile at the guard.

“Why?” he asked through the comm, his curiosity lingering.

“Did you… want to see me?” he pressed, the question teasing.

“Other than hearing this guy speak?” you asked, forcing a small laugh as you answered the guard, then angled your voice low so only Leehan would catch it. You had no idea how long this detour would take, but you prayed it would be long enough for him to finish his part. “Then, yeah.”

“That sounds oddly nice to hear,” Leehan replied through the comm, padding beside you as he matched the guard’s stride. His tone was light, but there was a softness under it you weren’t used to—an almost private warmth that made your chest tighten. “Too bad your attention can’t stay on me for too long, so I’ll be quick.”

You kept your hum in response small, keeping your face blank and distracted for the guard’s benefit. The corridor smelled faintly of polish and warm plastic, the lights hummed above, too bright and ordinary. “You better be,” you said, the words clipped but not unkind.

By the time you had turned the corner, Leehan had already memorized the guard’s build, facial structure, and uniform by the time his back was turned. He hurriedly went to a clear section of the corridor, shifting seamlessly without the eyes of any other visitors or guards. His features easily shifted into the guard’s form, mirroring exactly what he wanted to appear as.

It felt almost too easy.

But, knowing that it might not take long for the guard to actually come back, he fastened his own footsteps.

The lock wasn’t much of an obstacle anymore—your work was quite evident of that. Leehan’s gaze lingered on the scratch marks etched around the knob, the subtle twist in the metal from where you’d forced it. His mouth curved, faint but genuine.

You’d thought ahead. You’d made it easier for him.

For all his Martian training and talents, there was something grounding about knowing you were quietly watching out for him in your own way.

“I just arrived at the exhibit, you should hurry,” your voice cut in through the comm, calm but edged with urgency. It snapped him back into the rhythm of the mission, pulling his mind from that small, human comfort.

Without wasting another second, he slipped into the room. Inside, the room had hummed faintly with power. There was a central hub placed in the center of the room, its surface crowded with tangled wiring and rows of blinking lights. He instantly got to work, fingers working quickly, acting with every fragment of training he had memorized.

A few careful presses. Few twists, few pulls. The lights were now flattering, The bright blinking had slowed. Then silence carried out through the room.

The pressure tiles were off.

Leehan moved swiftly, slipping back out through the door, shutting it softly. He let his stride carry him toward the opposite side of the hall. If the real guard were to return, they would not be able to cross paths.

At least, not at that moment.

“I disabled it,” he said into the comm, his tone even but underpinned with quiet satisfaction. “Sensors are gone, and they should be offline still even from the moment we actually find the satellite.”

“Okay, good,” came your reply. The relief in your voice was subtle, but enough. That was both enough for everything and nothing, but it was enough to actually get a move on. “I’m glad you got this done quicker than other people would’ve.”

And for a brief, fleeting moment, Leehan let himself savor the thought that he had done more than disable a system. He had kept pace with you—matched your rhythm, even eased your burden—and the thought filled him with a warmth he didn’t fully understand.

A warmth he feels like he shouldn’t be feeling.

Even if he tried to hide it—to force it away by focusing on making his steps to stay steady—it still continued to linger in his chest. It was a feeling that was supposed to feel comforting, yet it scared him more than anything.

He hasn't felt this way before.

“Signs all seem to be clear on this floor, so meet me on the second floor,” you instructed, your eyes still scanning the glass cases and polished displays for anything that meant to be hidden yet it still stood out. But, you could only notice people speaking to one another that they were leaving the place. “The visitors seem to be leaving now, so it’s best to quickly carry out our plan before it’s too noticeable that we are here for an entirely different motive.”

“Let’s sweep the planetarium?” Leehan suggested, voice soft but sure.

“Yeah.”

“On my way,” he replied as he turned down the next hall. He halted after a few steps though, voice lowering so that only you would hear through the comms. “Also, nice performance back there. You looked and sounded… conveniently lost.”

“No need to mention it,” you muttered, forcing your focus to latch onto the map of the museum in your mind instead of the faint heat crawling up your neck. It wasn’t like you to falter over quick and rapid fire compliments, to let praise seep into your skin—but from him, it felt heavier. It felt as though he hadn’t just been only talking about it for the mission.

You were confusing yourself more than he was confusing you.

You forced your attention forward, toward the planetarium where the real danger might wait. Still, a piece of you couldn’t help but replay his tone, quiet and deliberate, as though the words had been meant only for you.

“Let’s just scope the second floor to see if there’s anything dangerous or out of place,” you said, bringing the attention back for both of your sakes—or, more honestly, for your own.

“You got it.”

You took the elevator while Leehan insisted on the stairs, his voice still clear in your ear even as you ascended separately. The moment you stepped onto the floor, you knew something was off.

The second floor was empty. Eerily quiet. The previous crowds of children hovering over the displays with their parents accompanying them to tourists snapping pictures of new exhibits were gone. Instead, there were only a few visitors left that seemed to rush into the elevator you took. With the flickering looks they exchanged with the guards, it was obvious how they could have sensed the tension too.

The echo of your shoes on the polished tiles filled the place much quicker than chatter could.

Your gaze instantly swept through the perimeters of the floor. It was easy to point out how there were more guards present here than in the lobby, either roaming around or staying like statues near the exhibits or closed doors.

The obvious ones were the ones that seemed like it was their first time having an important role in this plan. One leaned against a railing, but his posture was too stiff, his eyes scanning the crowd every few seconds. Another pretended to check his watch but kept shifting his weight like he was waiting for a cue.

Something was definitely up here.

“More guards, more dead giveaway answers,” you whispered into your earpiece, slowing your steps so you didn’t look like you were avoiding them. “They aren’t as slick as they seem.”

“We can’t be that obvious yet,” Leehan’s voice came steady in your ear, grounding you. You imagined him pacing with that same collected expression he always carried, scanning angles you couldn’t see. “Scope around the floor first, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, though the sound barely disguised the pressure that was building up in your chest. “It’s just… a huge floor. Even enhanced vision might take a while to sweep through everything—especially without knowing exactly what kind of mechanisms they’re using.”

You forced yourself to stroll past a towering model of the space shuttle in the night sky exhibit, eyes lingering on its shining white frame, but your mind was already darting to look beneath the surface, imagining the hidden systems humming just out of sight.

“You don’t need to stress yourself out, Mir,” Leehan said softly, close enough to where you could feel the warmth of his presence without even looking. He was only a few feet away—a distance that wasn’t obvious yet it felt small to you. “Doing this won’t help us save anyone. We’re in this together, okay?”

It was impossible not to notice how different you two were in moments like these. If anything, the differences only made you feel like you could admire them—admire him. You know you’re the type to always panic, always having thoughts of your missions turning out the opposite from what you expected it to be. You were like a tight bundle of worry, masked with a seemingly confident demeanor.

But, with Leehan? He outwardly was composed in a way that matched whatever he felt inside. He always seemed to be aligned with his thoughts and his own plans. Those qualities unavoidably stood out, and in the weirdest way, they became exactly what you needed.

You thought of the times where someone would tell you to “relax” as if it were that simple. No one had ever bothered to linger within reach without desperately asking for something in return. No one has stayed a couple of feet away, ready to step in when you need it.

His presence no longer carried the weight of a stranger being assigned to work beside you. It now felt familiar, almost unsettlingly so—as if he was someone you had always known beyond the mission.

He was more than the quiet rumors other heroes whispered about him in passing, more than the blunt remarks he was known for. Beneath all of that was someone who deeply cared, though in ways that weren’t outright or obvious.

Simply in his own ways that reminded you that he was someone you could rely on.

He was more than what you thought of him. More than the opinions you had built up about him. And in that space with what you assumed and what you were learning, you realized how seamlessly you two fit together—even as first time partners.

No one has ever made you feel like this before.

And Leehan could only say the same.

In the past few hours, he knows that he’s been more attentive to you than what protocol required. He was careful, yes, but also more curious—drawn to you in a less professional way. He was aware of your enhanced vision, of how it might catch the smallest flickers of his closeness, yet he didn’t pull back. If anything, he allowed himself to remain within your reach on purpose, unspoken but deliberate.

In all his time working alongside human heroes, no one had pulled his focus like this. He felt gravitated by whatever force you had—he was heavily convinced that there was something magnetic about you.

It was something that made him want to be pulled even closer to you. A feeling that wasn’t centered around his duty, but mainly you.

It was supposed to be a comfortable feeling. It should have felt easy—the feeling where two people could trust the other to do their part. That was the entire point for partners: to make the difficult things less burdensome together. Instead, Leehan’s chest could only be twisted in deeper knots every time he thought about it.

His own discomfort did not root from the idea of you being untrustworthy. If anything, it was the opposite. You filled in the parts that he didn’t have. You were an expert in the ways that mattered.

Too perceptive. Too steady. Too caring.

And it only frightened him more than any other threat on a mission he ever had. Because the more he let your presence become familiar—the more he let you in—the closer you’d be able to see the parts he worked so hard to keep hidden.

His skills went beyond what was labeled on that online database. It painted to make his abilities as neat when it was actually messier than what it shows. There were things he has done here that he continues to regret here. There were things he’d done on Mars and things he’d refrained from doing here that left lingering trails in his memory.

The catalog couldn’t hold the weight of those decisions. So, really, the short descriptions of his powers were a simple front to have the others accept him as a normal person.

If anyone saw everything of him—looking deeper into the powers that were obviously displayed but he couldn’t help but protect—what would they do? Most importantly, what would he do if anyone knew?

Even words on a screen wouldn’t be enough to hide his true abilities once people work with him. Leehan knows what he’s capable of and he surely doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

He doesn’t want to hurt you.

That thought of hurting you landed on him heavier than he expected.

The whole idea—of making someone go through what he has done in his past—was a loop he’d try not to spiral into. He had learned to be careful with distance, with names, with trust. Yet you were different. Your presence felt like a key, slowly unlocking those parts of him where he had no idea of how to follow the protocol to not let you see those parts.

Leehan doesn’t want to relive the past. He doesn’t want to follow through with his past actions. Not even for his own benefit and definitely not against the people he cares about.

Or love.

Love?

That word happened to hover, absurd yet still sharp. He’d listen to humans dropping it carelessly in movies or overhear people use it too casually in the corridors. Leehan remembers that he documented it as a simple human quirk that linked to people’s own emotions or actions.

But, he still doesn’t believe that this feeling could be so intense.

He hadn’t expected it to one day translate into the heat beneath his ribs, the heat transferring enough to seep on his skin and leave a weight in his throat that made stabilizing his breath a huge effort.

“Hello?” your voice cut through, way softer and calmer than his racing thoughts. It had a soothing quality that made the nerves temporarily stop jumbling all up in his head. “Mar?”

That nickname was a small, casual—something so simple but human—and it unsettled him in the gentlest way.

Does he… love you?

That question felt ridiculous and impossible at the same time. It carried no proof, only an abundance of sensations he didn’t know how to sort out. But, he couldn’t pinpoint the fluttering in his stomach, the attention lingering onto everything you did, and the reluctance to step away even when distance felt safer.

“Leehan, are you listening?” Your voice pushed him back toward the present, crisp with duty. He realized, with a small, shocked awareness, that his hand had moved to his chest—an unconscious attempt to quiet the sudden, unfamiliar hammering spreading across his chest. His heart was racing in a way training hadn’t taught him to handle yet.

Oh no.

“Yeah, yeah—no, I’m listening,” he responds back, completely flushed on his own—even though he realizes how his tone is way different from what he usually portrays.

“Why did you zone out like that?” you asked, watching him step away as if the air had suddenly shifted into something that became too hot. You opened your mouth to press further with your questions, but you then cut yourself off. “We can’t have that on a mission.”

Leehan didn’t argue. His shoulders only slightly dropped—a silent surrender that said he’d already caught himself. He shouldn’t be distracted now. Not with guards lingering the perimeters.

He shouldn’t be acting like this on a mission.

“Sorry,” Leehan could only utter, letting the word slip out thin. His mind was still pounding with things he couldn’t say aloud, but he continued to latch onto your voice like it was going to keep him in place. He paused, lifting a handle to rub his temple like it was going to help him push away from the spiral of his thoughts. “What were you saying?”

“Two to three guards posted around each hallway. Spread out. Easier to take down one-by-one if we split and push.” Your eyes scanned the floor as you spoke, repeating your words as well as measuring the situation. You watched guards be near the railings, some leaning too close to service doors—cataloguing their positions as you talked.

“Then, let’s get to action,” he rushed into the plan, snapping back quicker than you’d expected. For the short time you’d worked with him, he had always been the one calming you, grounding your nerves with that quiet assurance he seemed to wear so naturally. Now, though? His words tumbled out faster, rougher, as if he was trying to outrun something that was invisible to you.

This was unlike him. If anything, it felt like the roles reversed this one time. Instead of moving with the familiar rhythm he used to soothe you, he was matching the rhythm you’d been trying to tame yourself.

“It’s easier for the other guards to scurry over to fight us all at once, though,” you pointed out, your gaze skimming along the corners. The enhanced clarity of your vision sharpened on the small rectangular objects clipped inside their jacket pockets. “They’ve all got sensors on them. One press, and the rest will know.”

“Right,” Leehan muttered.

You glanced at him. Normally, this was the moment where he’d seize control with the safest option: a clean shapeshift, silent infiltration, a neat solution. But now? He seemed too still. Too quiet.

“So… you could shapeshift as a ‘head guard,’ right?” you pushed, keeping your tone even. “Say you’re checking their sensors. Blend in, collect intel. Or…” You gave a faint shrug. “We go the old-school way.”

“Old-school way?” His head tilted slightly, almost like he needed you to spell it out.

“Fight them head on,” you said flatly, letting the bluntness carry the weight.

His brows knit together. “And what if they call for more backups?”

“Then we find the target first, take them down fast, and disable whatever’s inside before reinforcements can flood in,” you answered, careful to measure your words. You knew how fragile a plan could be if it frayed under panic.

Leehan finally hummed to keep up, but his agreement felt slow. “Sounds good. Do you still want me to shapeshift and collect the sensors first?”

You smirked despite yourself. “Well, now that I said it—fighting them head on feels funnier than that.” Your voice held a little more confidence than before, showing something that wasn’t so evident earlier. “And plus, we have flight, remember? Easy sweep in, easy sweep out. Hopefully.”

The words felt strange coming from you, but in a good way. The usual choke of nerves had finally loosened, being replaced by something sharper. The adrenaline didn’t sting anymore—it now feels almost addictive. This was the part you secretly craved—the unpredictability, the thrill of moving faster than fear could catch you.

The longer you were here, the more you got used to it.

That’s what you loved about being a hero. Even if you never outrightly show it.

Leehan could only blink slowly, trying to register your words. Reckless. It was a label that didn’t fit the careful person he believed himself to be.

Were you really that type to be reckless?

You—this version of you—hadn’t been reckless before; you’d been precise, hyperaware. But, really, did he even know you well enough to know what kind of a person you were?

“What do you say, Leehan?” you asked again, your voice filled with determination. “You in?”

It seems like he doesn’t.

He hesitated, handling a small internal battle that you couldn’t see. Even with the way his jaw tightened, he finally eased his own body. “I’ll follow your command.”

He gave you the briefest tilt of his head toward the corridor you were already watching. That was the signal; you returned it with a small nod and let your gaze lock on the cluster of guards ahead. You scanned to see the thin wires of circuits glowing slightly underneath the tiles again, along with the small outline vibrations from the sensors and faint outlines of the guards scattered across this floor.

It was an obvious tactic that you’d look for the biggest crowd, but you knew that it was necessary. When there were more guards, there were usually more secrets.

That cluster of people you were seeking were behind a heavy maintenance door. It was too obvious, too guarded… and yet it was perfect. By going in that direction, you were definitely going to get closer.

Fortunately, to save some time, Leehan had already swiped a copy of the keys earlier in his shapeshift disguise, so entry wouldn’t be a problem. Without drawing any attention, you two acted like visitors, matching each other’s pace as you walked practically shoulder to shoulder.

At the door, he slipped his hand into his pocket for the keys, but one nearly slipped through his fingers — the faint clink of metal against metal ringing sharper than it should have in the hushed exhibit hall. A pair of guards glanced your way.

Thinking fast, you whistled, low and offhanded, like a bored tourist trying to fill the silence. Your eyes flicked deliberately toward the nearest display case—a random moon poster—and you eyed it to “study” the art as though it deserved all your attention. It wasn’t the perfect cover, but it was enough; the guards dismissed you after a few seconds too long.

Behind you, Leehan finally slid the right key in. As he worked the lock, his fingers brushed against yours. The contact was fleeting, almost careless, but it left a lingering warmth on your skin. He tapped twice—a signal that showed that the job was done—before withdrawing his hand.

And that’s when the absence hit you. The sudden lack of touch hit deeper than the moment itself, something uninvited curling in your chest before you shoved it down.

Feelings could wait.

The mission could not.

It was time.

Without leaving a second to waste, you shot into the air without hesitation, bits of energy bursting out with a ripple of rose. Leehan rose beside you, perfectly in sync, the two of you cutting through the stale air of the museum. Within seconds, you descended hard in front of the guards stationed in the exhibit room, the impact echoing like thunder against marble floors.

Their hands twitched toward the small sensors clipped inside their pockets, but you were already moving. A sharp twist, a sweep of your hand, and the tiny devices were yanked free. Leehan mirrored you with instant precision, his movements fluid enough that it almost looked rehearsed from the day before. One by one, the sensors clattered against the far end of the hall, harmless and out of reach.

One of the guards lunged forward, a baton pulled out from his belt in practiced motion. A swoosh followed with the speed of his swing, but you quickly slid to the left, your boots skidding across the smooth floor. His strike ended up hitting nothing but the empty space. In one fluid motion, you caught his wrist, twisting it sharply until his balance faltered. With a grunt, you yanked him forward and slammed his body hard against the ground, the echo ringing through the exhibit like a dropped stone.

The man groaned, his grip faltering just long enough for you to rip the baton from his hand. You flipped it in your grip before sending a sharp kick to his side, forcing him to roll away and stay down.

Just in case.

Across the room, Leehan was instantly a blur of movement. He’d taken to the air for a split second, enough to throw his opponent off-balance with his unpredictable angles. The guard’s eyes darted upward, trying to follow, but it was a mistake. By the time the man adjusted, Leehan was already behind him, landing down silently as a fallen feather. His hand clamped onto the rough fabric of the uniform, gripping tight at the shoulder. With a brutal twist and a sharp tug, Leehan yanked the guard backward, dragging him down in one swift motion. The man’s legs buckled as his back hit the floor, his breath leaving him in a stunned gasp.

But there was no pause. The shuffle of boots echoed down the hallway, and more guards rushed into the exhibit, weapons already drawn.

The guards did act fast, but you and Leehan were faster.

The baton you’d retrieved from the first guard became an extension of your arm, every swing keen and deliberate. You drove the momentum forward, forcing the others to stumble back step after step, their boots scraping against the polished floor as they struggled to keep up.

Each time you had connected your hits, the crack of metal could be heard against their body parts. You were able to land clean on exposed spots—the sudden hit on the stomach, the jolt of their arm being forced backward, and the smack against their thighs that buckled with the applied pressure.

It was noticeable to see their defense fraying, the movement of their counterattacks growing messier by the second.

Whenever they tried to hit back, you would easily duck, feeling the breeze just brush past above your head. Immediately straightening your posture, you finally got a good hit, a sharp strike from the baton you’d stolen. You smacking the weapon onto one of the guard’s knees caused him to jerk back with the sharp impact.

As that guard crumpled from your kick, you quickly handled the other one by kicking him. The crack of his sensor sparking under your heel confirmed that the device was wrecked.

It was a small victory, but there was no time to savor it.

You pivoted back into stance, baton raised, eyes locked on the group in front of you.

What you didn’t focus on was hearing a steady thrum of boots growing louder behind you. Those sounds were blocked out due to the chaos in front of you—a tune out of place.

But, Leehan heard it. He noticed the guard trying to sneak attack you.

He didn’t waste any time thinking. His pulse spiked as the new guard closed in, aiming low and ready to grab your legs. In an instant, Leehan lunged, his form a complete blur, intercepting the strike before it could be made. His shoulder crashed into the man’s chest with enough force to rattle the wall, the impact sending a dull tremor through the room.

The guard gasped, air punched out of him, but Leehan didn’t give him time to recover. His hand darted down, fingers curling around the baton clipped to the guard’s belt. With one sharp yank, he tore it free, the weight of the weapon settling into his grip.

“Behind you,” he said—low, urgent, though his actions had already told you everything. “Be careful.”

The guard struggled against him, trying to push back, but Leehan’s stance was iron. His gaze flicked toward you for half a breath—along to check if you were safe, but also more to make sure you saw how close it would have been.

“Thank you,” you huffed, swinging back into stance as the rush of near-danger ran hot in your veins.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Leehan glancing your way between strikes. His eyes, usually unreadable, were sharp and locked in, lips tugged into the faintest curl—not a smirk, not just amusement. It was something heavier. Something that felt like approval.

That single look hit harder than the attempted strong hits by the guards itself. A squeeze in your chest that was subtle but undeniable, like your heartbeat tripped over itself before snapping back into proper rhythm. You forced yourself to refocus, jaw setting, lungs pulling in a steadying breath.

It was a reminder that pushed you into handling the guards present. The tightened grip on the stolen baton led to each swing landing becoming cleaner and sharper. The guards continued to fall under the crack of your blows.

They couldn't keep up with the speed you’d suddenly snapped into, seemingly amping up the amount of strength you had already displayed.

Along with your pace, Leehan always knew how to match it. Without needing to share a word, his hits always synced with yours. Every time one tried to corner either of you, you both would know when to cut them off without hesitation.

It was as if that brief exchange—your thanks, his glance—had sharpened both of you.

As he served the last hit, the last guard fell with a thud that echoed through the exhibit hall. He exhaled, chest rising and falling in shift exhaustion. The floor was littered with bodies—groaning figures hunched over in pain, others sprawled still from where they’d fallen.

When his gaze finally returned to you, he caught the contrast. You seemed like someone in good shape—standing upright, baton loose in hand, and not even winded up like the way he was.

“Thank god our clothes are still in one piece, huh?” you joked lightly, meeting his eyes with a glint and a small smile.

The corner of Leehan’s lips twitched into something unreadable. “I wouldn’t hate the idea of it not being that.”

Your mind stuttered, body freezing half a second too long. Malfunction. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“It’s not the time for your jokes,” you muttered quickly, shrugging past it before the heat in your chest would betray you again.

“You’re right,” Leehan said evenly, eyes shifting down the long hallway you hadn’t been able to reach yet as it was blocked off by the sheer number of guards. His tone now dropped, “You go ahead.”

“What?”

“You go ahead—I’ll handle these guards.”

“They’re already down,” you countered, scanning the whining pile of men near his feet.

“There’s… extra measures I need to take.” His voice lowered further, so quiet it was nearly a growl. “For the both of us.”

“...But—”

He lifted a hand and tapped his earpiece, a subtle reminder. His eyes softened, steady but insistent. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

“...Okay,” you finally breathed out, forcing your legs to carry you forward. Each step felt heavy, your feet dragging slightly against the floor. Instinct made you glance back, but Leehan hadn’t moved. He stood rooted where you’d left him, framed by fallen guards, offering you a smile you couldn’t quite catch in full before distance blurred it away.

The farther you went, the tighter your chest grew.

You were worried.

A part of you wanted to stop, to argue again that you should stay together—that two was safer than one. But, trust was the only thing you had right now—not time. He was trusting you to continue forward, and you had to trust him to keep his word intact.

All you could do was continue on. And let him trust you to find that satellite.

A PROMISE IS A PROMISE

Leehan’s eyes tracked the hallway, watching until your figure disappeared around the corner. Only then did his shoulders drop, his expression hardening as he turned back to the work he didn’t want you to see.

He crouched beside one of the groaning guards, fingers brushing against the man’s temple before easing his eyelids shut. Leehan pressed his palm flat against the guard’s forehead. A spark shivered through his skin, and his own eyes flared white before bleeding into a steady, eerie green.

That was the cue.

His vision shifted, no longer the room around him but a flood of flickering fragments—the guard’s memories, scattered like shards of glass.

Training drills. Patrols. The blur of your face. His own. The fight just moments ago.

He continued to select them one by one, prying them loose from his brain. Each chosen fragment now dimmed, quickly dissolving into nothing. The guard’s memories from what was known or seen was now smooth, scrubbed clean.

When Leehan finally pulled his hand back, the man slumped limply to the ground.

This should have felt satisfying. Reassuring. It was power—the kind others would have dreamed of.

To have the power to rewrite, to erase, to decide.

But it only made him feel hollow. Horrible.

This was why he’d sent you ahead. Why he’d smiled, why he’d promised. To not only reassure you—to protect you from this. From the proof that he was more dangerous than you realized.

People had told him before: you seem harmful. And he’d believed them. How could you not, if you ever caught him like this?

Even if he despised it, he couldn’t stop. Not tonight. For the mission. For your safety.

If he couldn’t hide this power from himself, he could at least hide it from you.

He needs to hurry to get to you as soon as possible.

You hurried down the hall, the faint shimmer of your enhanced vision pulling you forward like a thread of light. It led you to a faint glow near the wall, and when you blinked out of the trance, you almost doubted what you’d seen.

At first glance, it was nothing more than an ordinary wall—smooth, nondescript, designed to vanish into the background. No tourist, no guard, no one, would suspect a thing.

Cautiously, you pressed your palm against it. To your surprise, it gave beneath your touch, caving in slightly. Your pulse quickened. With more force, you shoved, and the illusion broke—the wall swung inward, heavy steel masked in plain sight.

A perfect trap. Hidden. Intentionally invisible.

Beyond it stretched a new path, the walls shifting from polished white to raw gray metal. The faint glow ran along the right side, guiding the way to lead you further down.

You glanced around one last time, marking the signs overhead, then pressed two fingers against your earpiece.

“Head down the same hall I went through—make a left, straight, then left again, then right. Look for a wall on the side that caves when you press it. That’s the door.”

Static hummed. Then, muffled noises from his end. The dull thud of footsteps. A shuffle, then nothing.

“Got it,” his voice finally crackled through. And then—silence.

For your own reassurance, you assumed that he was busy continuing his part.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep moving, though unease prickled down your spine.

You slipped inside and swung the door shut with a deliberate thud. The metal felt heavier than it looked. Turning your focus on the lock, you activated your enhanced vision again—except this time, instead of peeling back layers of sight, your gaze sharpened, a flash of red bursting from your eyes.

Twin beams burned into the steel, heat rippling off the lock as it warped, edges hissing and running like molten wax. You tilted your head carefully, tracing the seams until the mechanism sagged and sealed in place, fused beyond repair. The harsh smell of scorched metal lingered in the air.

Once you were satisfied with how no one could force their way in without a fight, you turned your back to head to the glowing light.

Each step you drew closer—the light only intensified until you saw the source yourself.

You saw a control panel, along with the screen with a countdown, the numbers being blazed in red.

This was a countdown before the satellite takes its place on its world if not taken care of.

Your pulse kicked into high gear, but your hands moved without hesitation. Reaching into your suit, you pulled out the chip, its edges gleaming in the cold glow. Untouched. Untainted. Ready.

This was it.

The chip slid into place with a faint click, and the console was now whirring to life. The protective measures and the biometric scans surged across the screen. However, one by one, they all collapsed, passing through the hidden recognition features.

The countdown had now vanished, replaced with a white loading bar crawling across the display.

For the first time in what felt like hours, your chest loosened. A sharp breath rushed out of you, a slight pain that followed with the suddenness. But, you felt relief—fragile, but comforting.

Numbers ticked upward.

5% … 18% … 34%.

The sound of the system’s low hum filled the silence, too loud in comparison to the absence of footsteps or loud shouts. Every passing second stretched impossibly long, the bar’s slow crawl daring you to trust it.

Still, you let your shoulders drop into a slight slump, the glow from the screen painting your face in paler light.

There was progress.

At last.

The numbers crawled up the bar—41%… 47%… 52%—and the silence pressed in on you until your fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against your thigh. Then the room changed. A keening alarm ripped through the air, lights flipping from white to a bright red. The floor vibrated, leading you to stumble as you clapped a hand over your ear even as the sound rattled through your bones.

It must be alerting them that something was happening with the console.

The door you’d welded shut with your vision held like a promise of safety, metal fused and immovable. That thought should have supported you, but the wail and the flashing lights did the opposite: they turned every second into a countdown.

You were the only person here. Leehan was still not here.

You instantly jabbed your earpiece, voice raw. “Leehan,” you shouted into the comm, letting go each time to repeat it, forcing the words out so he wouldn’t be blinded by the siren on your end. “Leehan? Are you there?”

“Y/N?” His voice came back almost immediately, breathless and close with footsteps. “Are you okay? What happened?” The undercurrent of panic in his tone made your lungs clamp.

“My—” You swallowed against the roar. You kept your eyes on the screen, staring at the numbers slowly going up. “The console’s alerted. Sirens are up. The door’s sealed. I can’t—you might be in danger.”

There was a scuffle, a muffled shout on Leehan’s end, then his voice again, lower and urgent. “Listen to me. I’m close by. I just need to walk down this hall again and turn right like you said.”

“Where are you?” You forced steadiness into your voice, but the siren tore through it. “You said you’d be here—I sealed the door not knowing this would happen. I’d open it for you, but if I do, we won’t get this shut in time and it’ll be worse.”

“I got delayed.” His breath hitched. “There were more guards than I expected. I had to… take care of them. I’m moving now. Stay with the console. If anything flashes red or the loading stalls, hit the bigger green button on your left—three quick presses, then hold. That will force a manual purge but it overheats the system. Don’t do it unless you need to abort.”

You hummed an answer and forced your fingers steady over the override panel, mind racing.

Try not to abort. Watch over the console.

The bar crawled to 72%.

The room felt impossibly small.

“Then stay where you are. Hold on,” he said.

“What about you?” panic rose immediately, every syllable sharp. “There have to be more reinforcements this time—you’re going to get hurt.”

“I’ll keep watch. I won’t let anyone get near your room,” he promised, voice low and urgent over the wail of alarms. You could hear him moving—hurried steps—like he was already placing himself between you and whatever was coming. “I’ll manage.”

Leehan’s worry for you was palpable, even through the comms. He sounded more tense for your safety than for his own. Just as you had no clear idea of what waited beyond the walls of your sealed room, he didn’t know what lay on the other side either. He couldn’t see through your eyes, and the uncertainty gnawed at him just as it did at you.

What if there were traps?

The thought of it continued to prickle at his mind, hurrying his own pace to get to you sooner. He had seen enough, anticipated enough, but there was no predicting every hidden mechanism in this place.

You being in that room alone with sirens blaring was proof that anything could be concealed in this museum with the work they had done.

He knew your capabilities—knew that you were more than enough to handle yourself—but that knowledge didn’t stop the irregular rises of worry in his chest. It didn’t stop him from imagining a scenario where a split second could make the difference between you being unharmed and being caught in a trap you hadn’t foreseen.

And so, despite the tension in the hallways, the alarms screaming, and the possibility of reinforcements, he stayed vigilant—he had to.

The only thing supporting him was this one thought he couldn’t shake.

He couldn’t let anything happen to you.

You didn’t want anything to happen to him. The progress bar—87% now—numbers were barely slowly increasing. Your mind was crowded with images of Leehan out there, moving through the unknown, potentially running into reinforcements or other hidden traps. The sirens had slowed slightly, but the harsh wail still pierced the room in sharp bursts, rattling the steel walls and making your heart jump with each blare.

“Leehan,” you called again, desperation threading through your voice, tighter than it had ever been before. “Are you there?”

“I’m outside the door—hear this.” Light knocks were sounded, and the small, deliberate gesture was enough to confirm he was there. Relief washed over you in a rush, though it was immediately tangled with worry. Can he really stay safe out there?

“Okay,” you managed to say, your voice shaking just slightly. “Is there anyone around?”

“Not yet,” he replied, scanning the area as best he could. “I don’t know if anyone is lurking.”

“Hopefully they don’t appear soon—” Your eyes flicked back to the screen. 89%. The bar edged closer to completion, each percentage raise easing one of your nerves before it overpowers you again. “It’s almost there.”

“That’s good to hear,” Leehan’s voice came through—almost unnaturally so, like he was holding onto certainty to shield you both. “We’ll get out of this.”

Even with that door separating you both and your form of contact is nothing but an earpiece, you could feel the weight of his words pressing against the anxiety gnawing at you. He was still there, keeping the threat at bay on the other side, while you were trapped with nothing but the echoes of alarms and numbers. And somehow, that was enough to keep you moving—keep you focused—even as your stomach twisted with every passing second.

Thud!

A large hit was heard against the metal door, causing you to whip your head to that direction. There was no large dent that came through the door, but it felt loud enough to not assume that there was no kind of impact made onto it.

Footsteps multiplied outside, heavier and faster, not just Leehan’s this time. Panic clawed at your chest.

“Oh no.”

“Leehan?” Your voice cracked, rising in pitch as the pounding and grunts grew louder. You winced, ears straining against the comms as if each hit had a physical weight. “What’s happening?”

Only grunts and shouts answered, and a rush of sheer panic made a string of curse words tumble from your lips. Your eyes stayed glued to the screen, desperate for any sign of progress.

91%.

“Y/N,” Leehan’s voice finally broke through, which you heard him pant slightly. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

“You can’t just say that!” you yelled, your hands clenching around the handle of the console, believing that it could cause the system to move quicker. “Are you okay? Can you really hold them off for me?”

“Focus on the mission, not me.” His tone was commanding, aiming to smooth your stress, but you felt your chest tighten anyway.

“You are a part of this mission, together with me!” Your voice rose again, spilling frustration and fear into every word. “If we don’t get out of this together, this mission isn’t successful!”

A sharp crack sounded on the comms, following the unmistakable impact of his punch. “I need you to stay calm,” he said, voice steadier now despite the sounds of struggle in the background. “Keep your eyes on the screen. I’ll hold them off.”

You wanted to trust him. So badly.

But the shrieks were deafening. The chaos outside rang at your ears. Every impact—every grunt or crash—you could only wonder: was it him, or against him? Dread twisted in your chest as monstrous roars joined the sounds. The floor beneath you trembled, throwing off your footing, threatening to topple you.

What the hell has The Light brought in?

What nightmare did they unleash to make sure this mission fails?

95%.

Then, silence. Or at least, the worst kind of silence. Leehan’s earpiece went radio silent. You didn’t know if he was doing okay—the shouts were not helping you differentiate who was who anymore. Your chest tightened, the ongoing dread seizing your mind, feeding into your thought storm of worst-case scenarios.

96%.

The shrill alarms, once piercing, were muted—blocked out, but the distant echoes of struggle still reached your ears. You couldn’t help but focus on every muffled yell, every heavy thud—all the noises that only made you feel uneasy.

97%.

Your fingers tingled and numbed as they pressed against the console. The room seemed to shrink around you, the vibrations under your feet and the sporadic noises telling you that the fight outside was far from over.

98%.

Your steps faltered as anxiety crept up at your balance. You forced yourself to focus, though every nerve screamed to just exit out of the room to turn around.

To run to him.

99%.

Your hand hovered over the chip insertion point, trembling. You couldn’t take your eyes off the progress bar, the percentage being stared at more intensely than ever. It was as if each percentage point was a lifeline, each one a beat closer to survival.

100%.

DIASABLING: COMPLETE!

The sirens died as suddenly as they'd begun, the red lights immediately snapping back to the bright and harsh light that matched the museum, The console’s low robotic chime announced the node was dead and the system obediently powered down—proof that you’d done it.

You should feel triumph. You should feel relieved that the satellite can no longer be used to cause any harm.

But, that still didn’t change the fact that Leehan was still out there. The scraping along with the thuds felt like signs that told you he needed you now.

It didn’t matter how dangerous it was—you had to be out there with him.

There was no way he could’ve fought that entire hall alone.

You yanked the chip free, its cool surface slick against your palm. You slid it back into your pocket with more force than necessary, hating the small tremor in your fingers. Then you crashed toward the welded door. Every strike you laid on that metal frame was frantic, a noticeable feat of fear: palm, fist, shoulder, palm again. You didn’t feel the burn at first—only the urgent, animal need to get out and find him.

When the metal finally split and the door hanging slightly off its hinges, the motion threw your shoulder and arm against the frame. A fresh feeling of pain seared along your skin where the metal scraped you.

You sucked in a short breath, ignoring the pain as you shoved the door open fully.

The corridor hit you with everything at once—the warm temperature, stale air, dust motes drifting in the strip of light, boot prints smeared across the floor like noticeable fingerprints rubbed along glass. Your eyes tracked a hulking shape ahead: at first a monster’s broad back, a mass of alien silhouette looming over a cluster of fallen guards. Your stomach dropped; you stumbled back, breath snagging in your throat.

You watched the eyes shining from the creature starting from green to write. Once its arm was lifted away, the flesh was now emerging, seams smoothing until the monstrous outline folded like a mask being removed. The thing inhaled once, and where it had been was someone painfully familiar from the sound and back alone.

Mr. Martian.

Leehan.

Was this how he was able to fight off all these people?

He stood there, half-turned, shoulders heaving. His sleeves were more creased than not; his chest rose and fell in smaller gasps. For a moment neither of you moved—his shock mirrored yours so fully it felt like a mirror had cracked between you.

When did you get here?

And how much did you actually see?

You saw every mark on him now: the grime clinging to his jaw, the ragged fray of his hair, the color leeched from his face where he looked exhausted, along with having drained the blood from his cheeks.

He looked… tired.

Hollowed in the places you were only beginning to notice.

You opened your mouth, and a sound slipped out—it was useless, half-formed. Your hand went to your side on instinct and came away sticky. Your fingers brushed the cut; wet heat smeared across your fingertips. A thin line of blood trailed down your palm and plopped cold onto the floor.

“Y/N!” Leehan’s voice cracked as he rushed to you, panic stretching your name into something raw. His hand clamped onto your arm before you could react, his other hand sliding down to grip your wrist. With frantic precision, he dragged the fabric of his sleeve against the blood, trying to stop it.

You were frantic that some of your blood would stain his hands. But, you couldn’t pull away. He sounded too vulnerable. His voice had faltered on the last syllable of your name, his fingers now hovering as though terrified of pressing too hard, terrified of hurting you.

He was trembling.

He dabbed at the wound once, twice—then froze, finally realizing the intimacy of what he was doing.

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours. For a second, the loud noises ringing his ears had faded; all you could see was the storm in his face.

“Oh—” His hands slipped back like he’d been burned. “I’m sorry. I—” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “You probably didn’t want me touching you, right?”

The words tumbled out heavy with shame, sadness tugging at the edges of his voice. It wasn’t disgust at you—you could hear it, see it in the way his gaze wavered—but disgust at himself. At how easily he had given in to the impulse, at how much he wanted not to let go. His voice shook as he tried to fold it all back inside, even as his eyes betrayed the weight he carried.

Before he could sink any further into the pool of his own doubt, you reached out with your uninjured hand, your fingers firm against his arm. The contact startled him—his breath caught, his body stiffened—but you didn’t let go.

“Let’s get out of here.”

His eyes flicked toward you, glassy, unfocused. “Huh?” His voice was dazed, like he was waking from a dream he didn’t want to admit he was in.

“Our job is done here,” you repeated, letting each word press into him until it reached through the brain fog. You glanced around the hall again—guards strewn on the ground, none stirring up, the air still humming faintly with the aftermath of violence.

“We did it.”

You gave him a small but genuine smile, enough to finally ground him in your words.

The mission was completed.

Leehan might’ve lingered there, letting that truth process into his mind longer, but instead he moved instinctively—your feet left the ground as his flight synced to yours, his arm still locked with yours as if he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to. You led the way down the long, dim corridor, even with your arm now loose on the grasp of his arm, he still didn’t let go.

He followed your lead down the deeper part of the hall, flying through until the faint green glow of a single word emerged ahead:

EXIT.

You two both stopped flight temporarily, letting your feet softly hit the ground. You stretched out your hand toward the door, blood still traced over your arm, but before your fingers touched the handle his arm shot out across yours. He twisted the knob instead, holding the weight of the door as though the gesture alone could keep you from more harm.

You caught his side profile—jaw tight, eyes locked on the cut across your arm as if every drop of blood was a fault made because of him.

He looked scared. Broken even. But you kept the words in, saving them until you were both safe.

He had gone through hell there. Fought, endured, and carried burdens you still didn’t fully understand.

He did everything he could for this mission. For the people. For you.

Your chest swelled, not with panic or adrenaline anymore, but something quieter and heavier.

You were proud of him.

The bio-ship sighed as the hatch sealed and the engines shifted to autopilot—that familiar, comforting whoosh that meant you were moving without needing to steer. You slid into the nearest seat, nursing the dull ache along your arm, watching Leehan through the soft cabin light.

He stayed standing for a moment, hand on the console, then disappeared toward the small restroom. You heard water run—too quick, too rehearsed—and the faint scrape of fabric as he tried to steady himself. When he dried his hands, he didn’t walk straight back. Instead he went to an open storage locker and rummaged, the clatter of supplies punctuating the quiet.

You shifted, scooting over to make room. He returned carrying a sterile white box, the kind of kit you hoped you’d never need but were grateful to have. He sat down carefully beside you, like he was trying not to break whatever fragile balance had rebuilt itself between you two.

Without exchanging a word, you offered your arm to him. He peeled back your sleeve with gentleness, exposing the scrape more. Inside the kit he grabbed a pack of antiseptic wipes, using one of them to continue dabbing away at the wound properly this time.

He worked with the quiet focus of someone who’d done this a thousand times in the wrong places. First he wiped off the dried streaks caused by the size of the scrape. Then he worked closely to the edges of the cut, coaxing them loose with gentle, patient pulls so the new skin underneath wasn’t disturbed. You flinched, winced each time; each time he paused, thumb hovering at the crease of your wrist like he was afraid of snapping something fragile.

Then he’d breathe, and his fingers would return, slower, softer.

When the wound was clean, he dabbed a fingertip of ointment onto his middle finger and brought it to the cut. Every time it stung and you let out even the smallest hiss, Leehan always withdrew. He would stop before looking at you again, waiting for your permission to continue.

Afterwards, he wrapped a bandage around you—secure enough that the bandage wouldn’t slide, loose enough that it can be unwrapped without trouble if you needed to reapply more ointment.

He set the bandage roll aside, hand drifting toward the kit’s lid. Before it could snap shut, your hand slid over his—warm—stopping him mid-motion. For a second neither of you moved. Then you drew the lid back open, your fingers still grazing his.

“You’re not taken care of yet,” you murmured softly, like you were offering him something more than the words could comfort him themselves. You plucked one of the clean cloths, shifting closer until your knees almost brushed.

He stiffened, instinct urging him to retreat, but you were quicker. The cloth pressed lightly against his temple, sweeping away the grime clinging to his skin. With your other hand, you combed his hair gently back, holding strands out of the way as you worked.

He stayed still—too still—as if one wrong move would break this moment. His gazed flicked from your bandaged arm, to you, and back again—a quick cycle.

He admired the same features that had stopped him cold the first time he’d seen your profile paired with his.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just your profile. It was everything. Every glance, every word, every spark of defiance in your eyes—enough to hold him in a trance he felt he shouldn’t allow.

And seeing it this close, feeling your hand steady against his cheek, brought it all rushing back. The same pull, the same dangerous ache.

Your cloth swept lower, grazing the corner of his mouth. You froze. The air thinned between you. His breath caught, sharp, and when you dared to look up, his eyes were already locked on yours—unguarded, intent, searching.

Before you realized it, your body leaned in. Your palm anchored lightly to his cheek, the pull in your chest urging something more—something reckless, but something more real.

But then he shifted. Just a tilt of his head, breaking the line of possibility.

Oh.

Your hand retreated as if burned, leaving behind a hollow heat that spread down your arm. The sensation twisted through you—disappointment, confusion, a sting you couldn’t quite name.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered, the words breaking from him before he could catch them. His fists clenched tight against his knees, knuckles white, eyes refusing to meet yours. “I… it wouldn’t work out. Even if I wanted it to.”

Your breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… us.” The word scraped out, fragile.

Your chest tightened. “What about us won’t work?”

“You saw it yourself.” His voice cracked, his composure unraveling with every word. Gone was the calm, unshakable Leehan—the one who calmed others when everything was in shambles. What sat in front of you now was what he considered as the real him.

Panicked. Hurt. Afraid.

“You saw what I could do.”

“And?” you asked, confusion sharp in your tone.

“You shouldn’t like me—for what I gave you. For who you think I am. It was—” he shook his head, breath shuddering. “It was all a front. A mask. Everything you saw in those seconds… that was the real me. The part I never wanted you to see.”

Your heart hammered, but your answer came steady, firm. “Everything was not fake. You’re careful, you’re dedicated—you care. You care so much.”

More words were urging to be spilled by you—you wanted him to know, to feel what you felt without him second-guessing everything. You wanted to be the one to tell him he wasn’t alone in this.

“And I like you for that,” you said, the sentence you’d been fighting with yourself over finally spilling out. It felt raw and honest and utterly irreversible when it left your mouth—no more rehearsals, no more second takes.

And you were more than fine with that.

You never felt more confident in those words now as they were no longer the ones that lingered in your brain, but they were now said as it mixed in with the air in here.

Leehan’s face crumpled the way it did when he was trying to hold back something he could not name. “No, no—” he breathed, panic rising, his eyes searching your face like he expected the reassurance to be a joke. “You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?” Your voice shook with the same desperation, because none of this made sense to you. You were past the point of being polite or careful.

This wasn’t a moment where you’d be willing to pull back this time to figure it all by yourself. You wanted the answers now so badly.

Answers from him.

“Why would you even say that?”

He looked like he was tearing himself apart to speak. “Because I’m… different. You’re human. I’m a Martian.” The words fell clumsy, earnest—an explanation that seemed like an excuse as much as it was a warning. “That form you saw—what you thought was a monster—that should’ve told you everything. I shouldn’t be someone you can… or should choose.”

“For God’s sake,” you burst out, words tumbling over each other now that the built up wall of withdrawal had finally broken, “I couldn’t care less where you’re from, how you act, or what your powers are—I like all of it. I like you. Everything about you is something I can appreciate.”

You swallowed, chest tight as you drew one ragged breath to stabilize yourself. “And you just won’t even let me do that.”

The confession came out raw and messy; your voice even shook as you said the thing you knew he feared most.

“Because I’ll hurt you.” The sentence was small. Brittle—the same defense he’d pull up whenever closeness edged too near to the real him.

“But you didn’t.” You jerked your chin toward the bandage. “You patched me up. You stayed. You fought for this mission. You saved the console. You didn’t hurt me.”

He closed his eyes, a quick shuttering that spoke of memories and guilt you couldn’t touch.

Guilt he refused to let you touch.

“That doesn’t erase what I can do.” His voice was hoarse, not from exertion now but from the weight of admitting it. “There are parts of me that aren’t safe. I’ve seen what happens when I let them loose.”

“Nothing about you screams danger to me.”

He froze, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge whether you were serious or testing him. “What do you mean?” His voice carried tension, a tightness born from years of caution. “You saw my form, you saw what I was doing to the guards—you could’ve pieced together all my lies by now. You now know how I downplay my powers to keep people from judging me.”

“It doesn’t change a thing.” Your voice was calm, resolute, leaving no room for argument.

“Still—” He pressed, leaning slightly closer, desperate to make you see the truth before you made a choice he thought might be dangerous. “My powers go beyond what was labeled on that screen. My shapeshifting? Into this, something that isn’t relatively close to how I actually looked? My telepathy? I can read your mind, speak to you through it—hell, I can erase parts of your memory without you even knowing, unless I tell you. That’s what I did to those guards. That’s dangerous, Y/N. It’s dangerous that it’s even in my easy grasp. It could be used at any moment.”

‘You won’t hurt me,’ you thought, letting the words settle in your chest before you spoke them aloud.

“You can’t guarantee that—” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes flickering with the weight of what he could do.

“That still doesn't change a thing for me, Leehan.”

The weight of his name fell heavy on him, echoing through his chest and clinging tighter than he wanted. His panic softened, the sharp edges of fear dulling at the sound of your words.

He wasn’t lying when he admitted to you that your voice, saying his name like that, carried something stronger than any caution or fear he had ever known.

He never lied when he said it sounded better than anything he’s ever heard.

“You’re still the person I want,” you said softly, meeting his gaze, “and nothing will change that.”

“Why do you like me… for me?” Leehan asked, his voice tight with disbelief. His usual composure had cracked, leaving him exposed in a way few had ever seen. Anyone else would have recoiled from this level of vulnerability, taken back their words, or guarded themselves—but you hadn’t.

“The strength from your powers,” you said softly, taking a slow breath, “wasn’t enough to make me overlook the real parts of you. The parts you don’t show anyone. Remember what I said? You’re kind, caring, someone who thinks of others even when it’s hard. I like that about you. I like you… for you.”

His eyes flickered down for a moment, almost afraid to meet yours. “Even… even knowing my original form? The form you saw?”

“Yes,” you pressed, grabbing his noticeable bruised hands, brushing your fingertips over his knuckles. “Even knowing about your original form.”

He exhaled, a shiver running through him. “Why… why me?”

“Because it’s still you,” you said, leaning forward just slightly, letting the words sink in. “All of you. And now that I think about it, I was able to learn a lot. I was able to learn that I love you—for you.”

Love.

The same word he was trying to pinpoint earlier to his feelings.

It was the same word he’d been trying to name in himself, something he’d feared, something he’d tried to avoid. Yet hearing it from you, so clear, it never felt more right than anything.

Leehan blinked rapidly, his breath catching in his throat. For the first time in a long while, the chaos in his mind—the fear of what he could do, the walls he’d built around himself—finally fell apart.

He stared into your eyes, so full of hope, and for a brief, perfect second, the world seemed to shrink around the two of you. Every flicker of doubt, every layer of turmoil that had held him back, melted away under the weight of your gaze.

He loves you.

Without thinking, his hand reached up, gently cradling the side of your face, tilting your head closer. His lips met yours—they were soft, hesitant, almost questioning, as if he wasn’t sure what was allowed, what was right. That uncertainty lingered for a heartbeat, but it was enough to send a thrill through you.

You leaned forward, pulling his hand away from your face, guiding the moment yourself. Your lips pressed more firmly against his, and the kiss deepened naturally, urgent yet tender. It was the weight of everything unspoken—the fear, the relief, the bond that had grown between you—concentrated in this single, perfect connection.

It held everything neither of you had dared to express before.

He was hesitant at first, his fingers trembling slightly as they rested against your waist. But, with you taking the lead and him following it, he knew he was getting used to it.

When you finally pulled back slightly, gasping for a fraction of air, he didn’t retreat. His eyes were wide, searching yours as if asking for permission, reassurance, confirmation that this was real.

Even if it was a dream, he wanted it to last forever.

Without warning, his lips crashed onto yours again. There was no hesitation this time, only certainty and need. He shifted, leaning you back against the sofa, giving him room to cradle you close. His hands settled firmly on your hips, guiding and continuing to let the kiss deepen between you both.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes fluttered open, admiring the sight of him. He looked caught out of a daze, lips slightly parted, eyes glossy, almost like an invitation that made your chest tighten with longing. The subtle pink-red tint of his lips, so soft and full, made your breath hitch, and you couldn’t help letting out a small, gasping chuckle. Leehan’s own laughter followed yours, quiet and warm, the smile curling on his face that never failed to make your heart do backflips.

You reluctantly freed yourself from his grasp, though his hand lingered lightly on your waist, also reluctant to let go. You caught the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, which only made you giggle again. Sliding down beside him, you interlaced your fingers with his, letting a soft silence settle between you both.

“I also love you, for you, by the way,” he blurted suddenly, the abruptness only reinforcing the truth of it. His words, unpolished but sincere, wrapped around your heart like a warm hug.

You leaned a little closer, letting your head brush against his shoulder. He was still the person you had fallen for—uncertain, careful, and yet entirely, unmistakably himself. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

He was the one.

“I figured. You wouldn’t kiss someone so passionately if you didn’t love them, would you?” you teased, watching his cheeks flush red, the color perfectly mirroring the tint of his lips.

“I had to remind you again,” he managed, his voice low but laced with sincerity. “And I’m willing to say it as many times as it takes.”

For once, none of your differences mattered. Not your powers, not your past, not the chaos of the missions. All that mattered was the trust between you two, the certainty that you had found someone who truly understood, who truly cared. Leehan could confidently say he had found the one.

“Let’s say… if there’s ever a pair mission again,” you began, leaving a pause for effect, a small, mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Would you want to be partners with me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’d be with you all the time if I could.”

“I don’t think that’s possible for all missions,” you said, tilting your head with a grin.

“I’ll rig it,” he joked, eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and confidence. “You know what I’m capable of.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at his ridiculousness, feeling warmth in your chest. Beneath the teasing and the jokes, there was comfort.

Comfort in having the knowledge that he was finally at ease with his own abilities, that with someone he trusted, he didn’t have to hold back or fear what his powers could do.

For once, he could just be Leehan, and you wouldn’t hate it.

That you were someone who would remind him, without hesitation, that you wouldn’t judge. That you would see him—truly see him—and still choose to stay.

Leehan had always felt, deep down, that he knew this, but these moments—the laughter, the teamwork, the hand holding, the kiss—solidified it in a way words never could.

The answers that he was looking for were now all laid out for him.

The one he loves. The one he wants. The one that completely rearranged his world.

It was all you.

A quiet exhale escaped him as he tightened his grip on your hand, his thumb brushing over yours in a soft, protective gesture. You both looked at each other, unable to fight back a smile from forming on both of your faces.

That was when you both knew that this mission was more than a simple success.

It was the start for something far more.

‘💬’ ─── wow this was a roller coaster…. Well mainly to me because what do you me i actually wrote a… A KISSING SCENE????? anyways i hope you guys enjoyed this ^^ ONE MORE FIC TO GO FOR THIS COLLABBBB !!

Jaehyun's eyes darkened at your challenge, that trademark smirk spreading across his face as he took a step closer, close enough for you to smell the faint scent of ozone that clung to speedsters and see the gold flecks in his brown eyes.

"Anything for my girl," Jaehyun said with a lopsided grin, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it always did—casual, affectionate, and absolutely devastating to your composure. His fingers brushed against yours as he tucked the chip into his utility belt, the contact sending electricity racing up your arm. "But don't you worry, I'll be right there with you."

His hand lingered near yours for a second longer than necessary before he pulled away, leaving your skin tingling where he'd touched you.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

Hours later, you found yourself crouched on a Metropolis rooftop, the gleaming spire of LexCorp Tower stretching impossibly high above you. The wind whipped through your dark tactical suit, and you pulled your hood up against the chill. Beside you, Kid Flash bounced on his feet, yellow lightning crackling faintly around his boots.

God, he was magnificent like this—energy practically radiating from every line of his body, eyes bright with anticipation. The tight fit of his costume left little to the imagination, and you forced yourself to look away before he caught you staring.

"Remind me again why we couldn't just run up the side of the building?" he asked, peering through binoculars at the tower's security systems.

"Because even you can't outrun a laser grid designed to detect objects moving faster than a speeding bullet," you replied, proud of how steady your voice sounded despite the way he kept shifting closer to you on the narrow rooftop ledge. "Lex doesn't take chances with his toys."

"Fair point," Jaehyun lowered the binoculars and flashed you that crooked smile that never failed to make you forget how to breathe properly. His free hand came to settle at the small of your back, presumably to steady you on the ledge, but the warmth of his palm burned through the thin material of your suit. "Good thing I've got my girl to slow down time for me." His thumb drew small circles against your spine, and you bit back a gasp at the charged contact.

"Speaking of which..." He stepped even closer, his chest now brushing against your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke. "How exactly does this work again? The whole syncing thing?"

Your mouth went dry. They'd practiced this before, but somehow it felt different now—alone on a rooftop with the city lights twinkling below and Jaehyun's body radiating heat beside you.

"It's not like Rip's time travel," you explained, hyperaware of how his hand was still resting on your back. "He can actually move through the timestream, see different points in history. I just slow down the flow of time in a localized area."

"So you're not actually stopping time?" His fingers traced lazy patterns against your spine through the suit material.

"Not exactly. I'm creating a bubble where time moves differently—slower for everyone except whoever I'm connected to." You tried to focus on the explanation despite the way his touch was making your pulse spike. "That's why I need the physical contact. It's like... extending my personal timeframe to include you."

"Huh." His voice had that thoughtful quality he got when he was genuinely curious about something. "What's the biggest area you can affect?"

"Maybe a city block if I really push it. Rip always said I approach time like a sculptor instead of a traveller, shaping it rather than moving through it." You turned slightly to look at him. "Why all the questions?"

That crooked grin spread across his face. "Just making sure I understand exactly how my girl's powers work."

The casual endearment made heat flood your chest, and you had to look away before he caught you blushing. "I just need to touch you when I activate my powers." you managed. "Skin contact works best for establishing the connection."

"Skin contact," he repeated, and his voice had gone rough and low. His gaze dropped to your lips before snapping back to your eyes, dark with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Got it. So when you slow down the world..."

"You'll still move at normal speed relative to me," you finished, trying not to think about how his voice went low and gravelly when he was concentrating. "Everyone else will be crawling, but you'll be free to move however fast you want. It'll make you look even more impossible than usual."

Jaehyun's grin widened, predatory and confident, and you felt your knees go weak. "Impossible, huh? I like the sound of that."

Instead of simply holding out his hand, he reached up and slowly pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth, the leather sliding away to reveal long, elegant fingers and calloused palms. Your eyes followed the movement, transfixed by the casual display.

"Shall we test it out before we head in?" he asked, extending his now-bare hand towards you, palm up. "Make sure we're properly synced?"

The word 'synced' shouldn't sound that intimate coming from him, but it did. Everything sounded intimate when Jaehyun said it with that voice, that look in his eyes that suggested he was thinking about far more than just mission parameters.

You stared at his outstretched hand, the pause stretching longer than it should. The smart thing would be to keep this professional, to maintain the careful distance you'd been cultivating. But the mission required perfect coordination, and if they failed...

You pulled off your own glove and placed your palm against his.

The moment your bare skin touched his, electricity shot up your arm—and not the Speed Force kind. His hand was warm and roughened from training, surprisingly gentle as his fingers curled around yours with careful ease. You closed your eyes, reaching for your powers, trying to ignore how your entire body seemed to light up from that simple contact.

But Jaehyun had other ideas.

His thumb began tracing slow, deliberate patterns across your knuckles, the touch feather-light yet utterly consuming. When you opened your eyes to look at him, he was watching your face intently, drinking in every detail with the quiet focus of someone determined on remembering every moment.

"Focus," you whispered, but your voice came out breathless.

"I am focused," he murmured back, his thumb never stopping its maddening caress. "Just not on the mission."

Time bent and slowed around them. The distant sounds of traffic faded to a low hum, the blinking lights of aircraft overhead became sluggish pulses of red and white. But Jaehyun remained perfectly clear beside you, his hand solid and warm in yours, his presence sharp and immediate in your slowed world.

"Whoa," he breathed, looking around at the world that had suddenly turned to molasses, his grip on your hand tightening. "This never gets old. It's like having the entire world on pause just for us."

Just for us.

The words sent a thrill through you that had nothing to do with your powers.

"Just for the mission," you corrected quickly, but your voice came out softer than intended, and you made no move to pull your hand away from his.

"Right. The mission." Instead of releasing you, his other hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingertips trailing along your cheekbone with delicate precision. "Guess this means we're officially in sync now. What do you call it when two people are perfectly matched like this?"

"Tactically advantageous," you managed, though it was hard to focus when he was looking at you like you were the only person left in the world.

"I was going to say being in your lovezone, but tactical works too," he teased, that dangerously alluring grin spreading across his face again.

You rolled your eyes, but you were fighting a smile and losing. "Did you just—that's not even how timezones work."

"Hey, I'm a speedster, not a physicist." His expression grew more serious, his brown eyes alight with a fire that seared straight through you. "I just know that right now, at this moment, I'm exactly where I want to be."

His hand was still cupping your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin in slow, hypnotic strokes. "We make a good team, Paradox. We always have."

Your heart was thundering so loud you were sure he could hear it. The look in his eyes was so intense and longing that you felt your resolve cracking.

Before you could do something catastrophically stupid like kiss him, an explosion lit up the night sky a few blocks away. Both of you turned towards the sound, the spell broken but the tension still crackling between you like live wire.

"That's our cue," you said, reluctantly releasing your hold on time. The world snapped back to normal speed, sounds and motion rushing back like a wave.

But Jaehyun didn't let go of your hand right away. His fingers lingered, squeezing gently, his bare thumb pressing one last circle across your knuckles before he pulled away.

"Ready to infiltrate the most secure building in Metropolis?" he asked, pulling his glove back on with movements that were somehow both efficient and sensual.

"With you? Always."

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

LexCorp Tower at night was a monument to corporate power and technological supremacy. Every floor gleamed with light, every window reflected the city below like a mirror. Security cameras swept in precise patterns, motion detectors hummed with electronic vigilance, and somewhere in that gleaming spire, a satellite dish disguised as part of the building's communications array was preparing to upload the Justice League's most dangerous secrets.

You and Kid Flash approached from the tower's blind spot, a narrow alley where the building's own shadow provided cover. The service entrance loomed below you, protected by what appeared to be a simple keycard reader but undoubtedly concealed far more sophisticated defenses.

"Thermal imaging shows twelve guards on the ground floor," you whispered, consulting your wrist display while trying to ignore how Jaehyun had positioned himself directly behind you, his chest pressed against your back as he looked over your shoulder at the readings. His breath was warm against your neck, and you had to resist the urge to lean back into his solid warmth.

"And the elevator?" His voice rumbled against your ear, low and sultry in the darkness.

"Biometric locks, weight sensors, and a lovely little feature that floods the shaft with knockout gas if it detects unauthorized passengers." You turned your head slightly and found his face inches from yours, noticing the way his pupils dilated when your lips accidentally brushed against his jaw. "Lex really doesn't want visitors."

Jaehyun's breath hitched at the accidental contact, his palms coming to rest on your hips with a possessiveness that made heat pool in your stomach. "Good thing we're not using the front door," he murmured, his lips nearly grazing your ear.

He pulled out a small device from his utility belt, but instead of moving away, he remained pressed against your back, his arms caging you in as he worked. "This should hack the keycard reader, but we'll have thirty seconds before the system realizes it's been compromised."

"Thirty seconds to get through the door and past whatever's waiting on the other side," you said, every brush of his fingers against yours making it harder to focus as he programmed the device. "Doable, if we time it right."

"Time it right," he echoed with a chuckle that vibrated through his chest and into your back. His mouth hovered near your ear as he spoke, sending shivers down your spine. "See what you did there?"

You couldn't help but smile, leaning back against him just slightly. "Just plug in the device, Flash."

The hack worked flawlessly, green light flooding the reader as the lock disengaged with a soft click. They slipped inside, finding themselves in a sterile white corridor lined with maintenance equipment. A faint electric hum filled the air as the strip lights above cast everything in cold, clinical clarity.

"So far so good," Jaehyun murmured, then froze as footsteps echoed from around the corner. Heavy boots, multiple sets, heading their direction.

"Security patrol," you breathed, your heart hammering against your chest. "They're not supposed to sweep this area for another ten minutes."

"Change of plans." The footsteps were getting closer, accompanied by the low murmur of voices. Three guards, from the sound of it, and they'd be visible in seconds.

Without thinking, you grabbed Jaehyun's wrist, but he had the same idea. His arm wound around your waist, pulling you flush against him just as your powers activated. The sudden full-body contact sent shockwaves through your system.

His heartbeat thundered wild and urgent against your chest, and you felt your own pulse scramble to match his desperate rhythm. You felt his hand tremble slightly as it curved around your waist. His grip was possessive yet reverent, thumb stroking along your side while his other fingers splayed across the small of your back, drawing you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

Time slowed to a crawl around them. The footsteps became a deep, rhythmic thrum, the voices dropping to an incomprehensible bass rumble. Electricity danced around Jaehyun's feet as he prepared to move.

"Now," you whispered.

Instead of simply running past the guards, Jaehyun swept you up into his arms properly, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, pulling you tight against his chest. The princess carry made your breath catch—you were completely surrounded by him, his scent, his warmth, his strength.

"Hold tight," he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with more than just adrenaline.

Your arms wound around his neck instinctively, fingers weaving through the soft hair at his nape before giving it a gentle pull that made him groan low in his throat. His grip on you tightened in response—one arm securing you closer against his chest while the other held you firmly beneath your knees, his fingers pressing into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

They darted past the slowly advancing guards together, Jaehyun's speed carrying them both through the corridors like they were flying. To the security team, it would look like nothing more than a brief gust of wind, a flicker of shadow. By the time you released your hold on time, you were already several corridors away, pressed against the wall beside a maintenance shaft.

And Jaehyun still had you cradled against him.

"That was incredible," he said, slightly breathless, his face inches from yours. His eyes were dark and intense, pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. "The guards didn't see us coming."

You could barely concentrate on his words. You were still in his arms, your bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, and you could feel his heart racing against your ribs. His hands hadn't loosened their grip on you at all. If anything, they'd tightened, thumbs tracing tantalizing circles over your ribs and the back of your thigh.

"The confusion comes later," you managed, but your voice came out husky and breathless.

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment you thought—hoped—he might kiss you. The air between you crackled with tension, heavy and electric.

"We should keep moving," he said finally, but his voice sounded strained, reluctant.

When he finally set you down, his hands lingered on your waist, thumbs continuing to draw small circles against your hip bones. The touch was intimate, possessive, and it sent heat racing through your veins.

You made your way deeper into the building, using the maintenance tunnels to avoid the main security grid. But every brush of his hand against yours when he helped you through a narrow passage, every time he steadied you with hands that seemed to find excuses to touch your waist, your back, your arms, every shared look in the dim light of the tunnels—it was all driving you slowly insane.

The satellite control room was on the fortieth floor, according to your intelligence, housed in the same section as Lex's private laboratory. Getting there would require passing through multiple checkpoints, each one more sophisticated than the last.

"Motion detectors ahead," you reported, checking your scanner while trying to ignore how Jaehyun had positioned himself directly behind you again. "Looks like a laser grid across the entire hallway."

"How many beams?" His palms came to rest on your shoulders to steady himself as he looked over your head at the readings, but his thumbs began tracing patterns against your collarbones that made it hard to think.

"Seventeen horizontal, twelve vertical. They're spaced too close together for you to run between them, even at full speed."

Jaehyun studied the corridor through the ventilation grate, his chest pressed against your back, his chin nearly resting on your shoulder. "What if you slowed down the detector system? If the lasers are moving slow enough, I could time my run to pass between them."

"The beams don't move, Jaehyun. They're solid barriers." You turned your head to correct him and found your lips centimeters from his, close enough to feel his breath against your mouth.

"Right." His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering there before meeting your gaze again. "What about the sensors themselves? Those have to have some kind of processing speed, right? A delay between detecting an intrusion and triggering the alarm?"

You felt your pulse quicken—not from attraction this time, but from genuine excitement. His idea was brilliant. "That... could actually work. If I slow down time around the detection grid, there might be a lag between when you break the beams and when the system realizes it's been triggered."

"How long of a window are we talking?" His hands slid down from your shoulders to your arms, fingers wrapping around your wrists in a touch that was both gentle and claiming.

"In slowed time? Could be several minutes from your perspective. More than enough time for you to get through and disable the system from the other side."

"And if you're wrong?" His thumbs found your pulse points, pressing gently against the rapid flutter of your heartbeat.

You met his gaze, drowning in the intensity you found there. "Then we'll have about two seconds to come up with a Plan B before this place goes into full lockdown."

Jaehyun's grin was answer enough, and it struck you how that infuriatingly confident smile might be your complete undoing. "I love it when my girl talks dangerous. Let's do this."

They dropped down into the corridor through a maintenance panel, landing silently on the polished floor. The laser grid stretched before them, a maze of deadly light that would challenge even Kid Flash's reflexes under normal circumstances.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

You turned to face him, and instead of simply placing your hand on his shoulder, Jaehyun caught your wrists and guided your palms to rest flat against his chest, right over his rapidly beating heart.

"For better contact," he explained, but his voice was rough and his eyes were dark with a need that had nothing to do with the mission. "Skin to skin works better, right?"

The thin material of his suit might as well have been non existent—you could feel the scorching heat radiating from his skin and the firm ridges of his chest beneath your palms. Every ragged breath he drew made his muscles shift and flex under your touch, and you could sense the coiled tension in his body as he prepared to move, like a predator ready to spring into action.

"Ready?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Born ready." His hands covered yours, pressing your palms more firmly against his chest. "But first..."

Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned down and pressed a soft, heart-stopping kiss to your forehead. "For luck," he murmured against your skin.

Your breath hitched, the world narrowing to the single point of contact where his lips had been. Heat bloomed under your skin, and you despised how your heart was threatening to leap out your chest at the fleeting touch.

Time slowed around them once again, the faint hum of the laser grid dropping to a barely perceptible drone. Jaehyun took a deep breath, electricity crackling around his form as he prepared to run, and you thought you'd never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

"See you on the other side," he said, and took off.

Watching Kid Flash move at full speed while time crawled around him was like witnessing pure art in motion. He flowed between the laser beams with impossible grace, his body contorting and twisting to slip through gaps that shouldn't have existed. Red light painted his yellow costume in brilliant streaks as he danced through the grid, every movement precise and absolutely captivating.

He reached the control panel in what felt like an instant, fingers flying over the keyboard with inhuman speed. The laser grid began to power down just as you felt your hold on time starting to slip.

"Done," Jaehyun called as the world snapped back to normal speed. "Grid's offline for the next twenty minutes."

"Show off," you muttered, but you were smiling as you jogged to catch up with him.

"Hey, you're the one who made it possible. That was some serious time manipulation back there." He held the elevator door open for you, but as you passed him to enter, his free hand settled at the small of your back, fingers spreading wide and possessive. "You're incredible, you know that?"

The elevator doors closed, sealing you in together in the small space. Instead of moving to opposite sides like professionals would, Jaehyun kept his place beside you, the distance between you so narrow that you could smell his cologne mixing with the scent of ozone.

"Just doing my job," you said, keenly aware of how his hand was still resting on your back, thumb sketching small circles that were definitely not professional.

"Right. Your job." His voice was soft, almost wistful, and it made you look up at him. He was watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read, a mix of intensity and hesitation flickering in his eyes.

The elevator was small, intimate, and the ride to the fortieth floor suddenly felt like it would take forever. Jaehyun's presence filled the space, his body radiating heat and electricity that seemed to seep through his suit.

"Floor forty," you said weakly as the numbers climbed, "here we come."

But the tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, and you both knew the real challenge wasn't the mission waiting above—it was resisting each other long enough to complete it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

The elevator ride to the fortieth floor passed in charged silence. Every detail of Jaehyun’s presence beside you seemed magnified. Every time the elevator swayed slightly, his hip brushed against yours, sending sparks through your nervous system.

His hand was still resting on the small of your back from when he'd guided you into the elevator, fingers warm through the thin material of your tactical suit. What should have been casual felt reverent, almost worshipful, as if he were memorizing the shape of you with his touch.

"Thirty seconds," Jaehyun said as they approached their destination, his voice lower and rougher than usual.

"Remember, we need to hold them off for at least five minutes while the sequence deactivates," you replied, checking your gear one final time—trying to ignore how he'd casually hooked a finger through your utility strap, the way he reeled you in left no question about what he really wanted. "Think you can keep up?"

Instead of answering immediately, Jaehyun turned to face you fully in the small space. His free hand came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his heated gaze. "With my girl? I'd follow you anywhere."

His thumb brushed across your cheekbone with a delicate, breaking sweetness, and the look in his eyes was so smoldering and so full of barely restrained desire, that your breath caught in your throat.

The elevator chimed softly, announcing their arrival, but neither of you moved. Jaehyun's eyes dropped to your lips for the umpteenth time, lingering there with such obvious want that your heart started racing for entirely different reasons than mission nerves.

"Jaehyun," you whispered, not sure if it was a warning or a plea.

The doors slid open with a soft whoosh, breaking the spell. Jaehyun's hand lingered on your face for a fraction longer before he reluctantly pulled away, but his fingers trailed down your neck as he did, leaving fire in their wake.

"Showtime," he murmured, electricity already starting to dance around his hands.

The corridor that greeted them belonged more in a science fiction film than a corporate building. Sleek metal walls curved overhead, embedded with pulsing blue lights that cast everything in an ethereal glow. At the far end, through reinforced glass doors, they could see their target : a room full of servers and satellite equipment, with what looked like a sophisticated communications array integrated into the building's structure.

"Two guards," you whispered, spotting the figures stationed outside the control room. "Armed, alert, and they definitely don't look like they're in a mood to chat."

"When are they ever?" Jaehyun cracked his knuckles. "Same plan as before?"

"Same plan." When you turned to look at him, he was already reaching for you, his hands settling on your waist with well-worn confidence.

"For the sync," he said, though his grip was firmer than necessary, thumbs stroking across your ribs through your suit. "We work better when we're connected."

The approach went smoothly—too smoothly, you realized as you disabled the guards and breached the control room without encountering any additional resistance.

The satellite control center was exactly where their intelligence had indicated, banks of computers humming with electronic life, their screens displaying feeds from the disguised communications array on the roof.

"There," you pointed to the main console, but Jaehyun was already moving, his body brushing against yours as he passed.

He pulled Batman's chip from his utility belt, the small device no bigger than a flash drive gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, locating the primary data port.

You found yourself mesmerized by the fluid movement of his hands as he carefully inserted the chip into the console, remembering how those same fingers had felt tracing patterns on your skin.

"Almost got it," he said, glancing up to catch you staring. His eyes darkened with satisfaction at your obvious attention. "There!"

The screen flashed green, and a progress bar appeared : DEACTIVATION SEQUENCE : 1% COMPLETE.

"Five minutes," you said, watching the bar crawl forward. "We just need to hold this room for five minutes."

But the minutes ticked by with no sign of security forces, no alarms, no indication that their presence had been detected. The deactivation progressed steadily : 20%, 40%, 60%.

"This is too easy," you muttered, checking the corridor outside. Still empty.

"Don't jinx it," Jaehyun replied, but you could hear the tension in his voice. He felt it too—the wrongness of their unopposed infiltration.

80%. 90%. 95%.

"Deactivation complete," Jaehyun announced as the progress bar filled to 100%. "Satellite systems offline and data erased."

The moment the sequence finished, every light in the building went out.

Emergency power kicked in seconds later, bathing everything in hellish red, but the damage was done. They were plunged into a world of crimson shadows and blaring alarms.

"Lockdown initiated," a computerized voice echoed through the corridors. "All personnel report to emergency stations. This is not a drill."

"We need to get out of here," you said, but as they reached the elevator, the doors refused to open. The display showed a simple message : SYSTEM OFFLINE.

"Stairs," Jaehyun said grimly, his fingers quickly interlacing with yours.

But when they reached the stairwell, they found the fire doors sealed shut. Blast barriers had deployed across every exit, trapping them on the fortieth floor.

"Well," Jaehyun said with forced cheerfulness, "looks like we're taking the scenic route."

Before you could ask what he meant, the windows at the end of the corridor exploded inwards in a shower of glass and debris. Jaehyun immediately pulled you against him, shielding your body with his as fragments rained down around them.

Through the opening stepped a figure that made your blood run cold.

Mercy Graves walked through the wreckage like she owned it—which, considering her position as Lex Luthor's right hand, she practically did. Her perfectly tailored suit was unmarred by so much as a speck of dust, and her cold smile was more terrifying than any weapon.

"Bravo," she said, her voice carrying easily across the room despite the howling wind from the broken window. "Truly impressive work. You've successfully corrupted Mr. Luthor's satellite array and disabled a significant portion of our surveillance network."

Jaehyun's hold on you deepened, electricity crackling around his free hand. "Mercy Graves," he said, his voice hard with protective fury. "Shouldn't you be at some corporate meeting, plotting hostile takeovers?"

"Oh, I was. Until our security system informed me that someone was attempting to steal from LexCorp." Mercy's smile widened, predatory and cold. "Mr. Luthor does so hate thieves. But I must admit, I'm impressed by your efficiency. Most infiltrators take hours to reach their objective. You accomplished your goal in mere minutes."

"We're not thieves," you said, your hand moving to your weapon, and you felt Jaehyun's arm tighten around you. "Just returning some borrowed property to its rightful owners."

"How noble. And how futile." Mercy gestured, and armed figures emerged from concealment throughout the floor. Not security guards—these were military contractors, heavily armed and professionally trained. "You see, we've been expecting this little visit for some time. The Justice League's methods are so... predictable."

Behind her, more figures rappelled through the broken window. An entire strike team, armed with weapons that looked distinctly non-standard.

"Anti-speedster nets," Mercy explained pleasantly, noting Jaehyun's wary expression. "Electrified, naturally. And temporal disruptors for your charming companion. Amazing what LexCorp's R&D division can accomplish when properly motivated."

The mercenaries raised their weapons, and you could see the exotic technology built into them. Devices specifically designed to counter their abilities.

Jaehyun's hand lingered at your waist for a moment before reluctantly letting go, his jaw clenched as lightning began to crackle ominously around his form. "Here's what's going to happen," he said, his voice sharp as thunder. "You let us walk away, and we promise not to tell Superman how badly we just embarrassed your security team."

Mercy's pleasant expression didn't change, but her eyes went arctic cold. "I think not."

The mercenaries opened fire—energy blasts, explosive rounds, and those damned temporal disruptors all filling the air at once.

You threw up your time field instinctively, but the moment your powers touched the disruptors' energy, white-hot agony exploded through your skull like someone was driving spikes into your brain. You screamed, tasting copper as blood ran from your nose, but you managed to slow the immediate area—bullets hanging in the air, energy blasts frozen mid-flight. However, the amount of effort it took was enormous, like trying to hold back an avalanche with your bare hands, and you could feel your powers fracturing under the strain.

"Paradox!" Jaehyun's voice cut through the chaos as he moved like liquid lightning, but even his incredible speed was being countered. The anti-speedster nets tracked his every movement with mechanical precision, forcing him into an increasingly smaller area. Every time he tried to build momentum, electrified cables snapped towards him, missing by inches and leaving smoking craters in the floor. He couldn't get close enough to any of the mercenaries to take them down.

A temporal disruptor beam sliced past your ear, and your time field collapsed entirely. Reality snapped back with vicious force—bullets resumed their deadly flight, one grazing your shoulder and spinning you around, the pain sharp and immediate.

He saw you falter the instant your field shattered, the world snapping forward with lethal speed. A dozen trajectories lined up to kill you in the same breath. With a snarl, Jaehyun blurred forward, forcing his way past the nets even as they singed across his arms and shoulders. Lightning erupted around him in a violent surge, the overload burning through the closest cables long enough for him to reach you.

Jaehyun caught you immediately, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he absorbed the impact, pulling you behind an overturned desk. "I've got you," he whispered fiercely against your hair, his hands already checking you for injuries with feverish care. "I've got you, you're okay."

His gaze flicked upwards, scanning the rain of gunfire and how the disruptors herded you into a kill zone. Sparks still danced across his arms from where the nets had clipped him, but he pushed the pain aside, calculating in a heartbeat.

"The roof," he shouted over the sound of bullets shredding their cover, his body shielding yours. "We need higher ground, better positioning!"

But the stairwell was sealed, and the mercenaries were closing in from three sides. The only way up was...

"The window," you realized, blood streaming down your arm. "The broken window—we jump."

"Are you insane? That's a forty-story drop!"

Another volley erupted around them. The desk wouldn't hold much longer under the assault.

"Trust me," you said, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. "I have an idea—but we have to move NOW!"

A grenade rolled towards their makeshift cover, its timer already counting down.

Together, you sprinted towards the shattered window, weaving between gunfire and dodging electrified nets. Jaehyun's hand was locked around yours, his grip unbreakable even as they ran for their lives.

You leaped through the opening just as the mercenaries closed in, weapons trained on the window. For a terrifying moment you were in free fall, forty stories of empty air beneath you, the ground rushing up with lethal intent.

Then Jaehyun's speed kicked in. The world blurred into streaks of colour and motion as he ran up the side of the building, his feet finding impossible purchase on window ledges and architectural details, carrying you both towards the roof in complete defiance of gravity. One arm was locked around your waist, holding you against him with desperate strength, while his other hand found purchase on the building's facade.

Wind whipped past your face so fast it brought tears to your eyes, and you clung to him with desperate strength, your arms wrapped around his neck, legs locked around his waist as he carried you up forty stories of sheer building face.

You landed hard on the rooftop in a controlled crash, rolling across the gravel surface in a tangle of limbs. Jaehyun's body shielded yours, curving around you as jagged stones tore through fabric and bit into his back instead of yours.

When you finally came to a stop, you were lying beneath him, his arms braced on either side of your head, his face inches from yours.

"Are you hurt?" he asked urgently, his hands immediately moving to check you for injuries, fingers trailing over your arms, your ribs, your face with desperate tenderness.

"I'm okay," you whispered, making no move to push him away.

Around you, the disguised satellite array sat dark and lifeless like a mechanical graveyard—your virus had done its job, circuits fried and transmissions severed. The mission was complete.

But your victory was short-lived.

Mercy Graves emerged from a rooftop access door, no longer alone. Behind her came a squad of power-armored mercenaries, their suits gleaming with advanced technology.

Jaehyun was on his feet instantly, pulling you up with him and immediately positioning himself between you and the threat. His arm wrapped around your waist from behind, holding you against his back.

"Impressive," Mercy said, clapping slowly. "Truly spectacular. But ultimately pointless. You're trapped, forty stories above the street, with nowhere left to run."

The armored figures spread out with military precision, forming a perfect circle around you both.

"You've caused LexCorp considerable expense tonight," Mercy continued. "The satellite array alone was worth several billion dollars. Mr. Luthor's investors will not be pleased."

"Send us the bill," Jaehyun quipped, but you could see the tension in his stance. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and trapped.

"Oh, I intend to. But not in the currency you might expect." Mercy's smile turned vicious. "You see, Mr. Luthor has grown quite tired of Young Justice interfering in LexCorp's affairs. Tonight, that ends."

She raised a small device—a detonator.

"This building has been rigged with controlled demolition charges," she explained pleasantly. "In precisely sixty seconds, LexCorp Tower will collapse in on itself, taking you and any evidence of tonight's activities with it."

You felt ice form in your veins. "You'll kill hundreds of people. The night shift workers, the security guards—"

"Were evacuated ten minutes ago, as soon as our security system detected your intrusion. Mr. Luthor may be ruthless, but he's not wasteful." Mercy's eyes glittered with cold satisfaction. "You, however, are a different matter entirely."

She pressed the detonator.

Warning klaxons began blaring throughout the building. Red lights flashed in sequence, and a computerized voice began the countdown : "BUILDING EVACUATION COMPLETE. DEMOLITION SEQUENCE INITIATED. T-MINUS SIXTY SECONDS."

"And now," Mercy said, backing towards a helicopter that was rising beyond the roof's edge, "I bid you farewell. Do give my regards to the Justice League—assuming anyone survives to deliver them."

The helicopter's ladder descended, and Mercy grabbed hold, allowing herself to be lifted away into the night sky. The armored mercenaries activated jetpacks, following her to safety.

You and Jaehyun were alone on the roof of a building that was about to collapse beneath you.

"Options?" Jaehyun asked, surveying the empty rooftop, his usual cocky confidence replaced by sharp focus.

"Limited," you replied grimly. The nearest building was too far to jump to, even with his speed. The helicopter was already disappearing into the distance. And forty stories down was certain death.

"Fifty seconds."

The building shuddered violently beneath your feet, concrete dust raining from the edges of the roof. Jaehyun's hand found yours briefly, a ghost of a touch that might have been reassurance or goodbye.

"Forty seconds."

The countdown felt like a death sentence. Even with your powers, the logistics were nightmarish—how do you safely get two people off a collapsing building when there's nowhere to go?

The building groaned ominously, steel beams screaming under pressure. Windows on the floors below began exploding outward in sequence, glass cascading down like deadly rain.

That was when part of the roof caved in.

The explosion erupted from below, the demolition charges beginning their sequence exactly as programmed. The sound was deafening—a thunderous roar that seemed to split the world in two. A massive section of the rooftop collapsed without warning, revealing the skeletal remains of the floor beneath, twisted metal and sparkling electrical wires creating a hellscape of destruction.

You're scanning the wreckage for an escape route when Jaehyun suddenly freezes mid-step. His head jerks upward, eyes locking on something above you. The colour drains from his face, and your blood instantly runs cold.

"Paradox!"

Before you can react, a blur of red and yellow lightning slams into your side, sending you sprawling across the roof. Pain explodes through your ribs as you hit concrete, but it's nothing compared to the sound that comes next—steel screaming against stone, then a wet crunch that makes your stomach drop.

When you roll over, gasping, Jaehyun is pinned beneath a concrete slab the size of a car. His left leg disappears under the crushing weight, and blood pools dark against the gray stone. His agonizing scream pierces through the air, and you feel your heart shatter completely at the horrific sight before you.

"No, no, no—" You're crawling towards him before you can think, palms slamming against the concrete, trying to lift it. But it's too heavy, easily several tons, and the angle was all wrong—lifting it might send both of you tumbling over the edge into the abyss below.

"Jaehyun, you idiot!"

The words tear from your throat as you throw your weight against the concrete slab crushing his leg. It doesn't budge. Your hands are already raw, fingernails cracked and bleeding from clawing at the debris. Tears blur your vision, making everything swim.

"Why would you—" Your voice splinters and breaks completely. You can't even finish the sentence because you already know why. You've always known why.

Blood trickles down his temple, dark against his pale skin. When he speaks, each word comes out strained, forced through gritted teeth. "I had to."

His hand lifts, trembling, shaking with the effort, but still finds your face. His thumb brushes your tears away with the same gentleness he's always shown you, even now when his body is screaming in agony.

"I couldn't let you get hurt."

The tower shudders around you both, dust raining down like snow. Your powers feel completely drained—not even a spark left after the battle. And his speed? Useless. All that power, all that incredible velocity that makes him untouchable, and none of it matters when there's a building's worth of concrete pinning him down.

All because he saw you about to be crushed and didn't hesitate or think twice.

That's Jaehyun. Has been since you met him. The boy who jumped off the Queensboro Bridge last month to catch a falling civilian. No plan, no backup. Just blind faith that he'd figure it out on the way down. The same kid who races into burning buildings while firefighters are still suiting up, who pushes his speed past safe limits because someone's life hangs in the balance.

You've watched him do this a hundred times, maybe even a thousand. Throwing himself into danger for strangers, for teammates, for anyone who needs saving. You've seen him take bullets meant for children, breathe smoke to pull families from fires, absorb impact after impact when he can't save everyone at once.

Each time, your heart stops beating as you watch him throw his life away like it means nothing. Each time, you tell yourself he'll learn, that seeing you scared will be enough to make him careful.

It never is.

Now he's trapped because of you. Because when chunks of concrete started raining down, he didn't stop to calculate trajectory or wind resistance or whether he'd make it out alive. He saw you in the path of destruction and his body moved before his brain could catch up.

"You're an idiot," you whisper, and your voice is barely holding together. Each word feels like it's cutting your throat raw.

He tries to smile through the pain etched deep in every line of his face. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

Your chest caves in at the casual way he says it. As if being 'yours' is worth dying for. As if loving you is reason enough to let concrete crush his bones.

Even now, when he's bleeding, trapped, probably dying, you can see that same unwavering certainty in his eyes. That if time rewound and he had to choose again between his safety and yours, he wouldn't even pause or hesitate. He'd throw himself in front of that falling debris over and over again until the end of time.

Your safety will always matter more to him than his own life. Your pain will always hurt him worse than his own injuries. That's who Myung Jaehyun is—has been since the day you met him. That's the boy you fell in love with.

That's the boy who's going to die because the only thing more valuable than his life is his love for you.

"Thirty seconds."

"Get out of here," Jaehyun's voice cuts you back to the painful reality you're currently facing. "Use your powers, slow down time, find a way off the roof."

"I'm not leaving you." Your voice cracked, hands desperately clawing at the concrete crushing his leg.

"Paradox—"

"I'm NOT leaving you!" The words tore out of your throat, raw and desperate, your fingernails breaking against the unforgiving stone. Blood wells under your torn cuticles, but you can't stop clawing, can't stop trying. "I can't lose you, not like this, not when I never told you—"

"Twenty seconds."

The building shuddered beneath you both, more sections of the roof beginning to collapse. Soon the entire structure would come down, and with it, any chance of saying what had been burning in your chest for months.

"Listen to me," Jaehyun gasps, urgency breaking through the pain. "You have to survive."

"No." The word falls from you like it's made of glass, fragile, final. You freeze, palms flat on the concrete, chest heaving.

"Please." His voice cracks on the plea. You lift up your head to see that familiar, heartshattering determination in his eyes to save you.

Only this time, there's no getting back up. No miraculous recovery. No tomorrow where you can yell at him for being reckless and he can promise to be more careful while you both know he's lying.

"Fifteen seconds."

Your vision blurs. "Even now—" you can barely force the words out, "even when it's going to kill you this time, you're still choosing this."

His brow furrows. "W-what—"

"You always do this!" Your palms slam against the rubble, useless fury shaking through you. "You always choose everyone else over yourself. Do you even know how many nights I've stayed awake—wondering if today was the day I'd lose you? How many times I've had to—to just stand there and pretend it didn't tear me apart, watching you throw your life away like it doesn't matter!?"

"Ten seconds."

"And here you are again, but this time I—I can't save you." Your voice barely scrapes out of your throat—raw and heartbroken, each word mercilessly carving out pieces of your own heart. "You'd rather destroy me completely... than deal with the possibility of losing me yourself. You'd rather make me live with the guilt of your death... the—the knowledge that you died, died! Because I wasn't strong enough to save myself, than fight to stay alive—"

You took in a shaky exhale, looking at the man in front of you as the anger washed away, leaving only your hurt behind, defenseless for all to see as you finish your statement with barely a whisper.

"—just because you couldn't bear to watch me get hurt."

His tears mix with the blood on his cheeks, and in his eyes flickers the ruinous truth, the demolishing acknowledgment that you're right, that he's always been this selfish, this willing to break your heart to avoid breaking his own.

"You're not scared of dying, Jaehyun." you continue, voice growing softer but somehow more soul-wrecking. "You're terrified of watching me die. So you're choosing the path that feels easier to you. You're choosing to make me the one who has to carry this loss instead of both of us fighting through the fear together."

"Five seconds."

You lean forward until your foreheads touch, the dust choking between you, breaths ragged and shallow. "And the worst part?" Your lips tremble against his. "I can't even hate you for it. Because I'd do the same thing."

The admission destroys what's left of your composure, leaves you sobbing against his face as the truth cuts through both of you. "If our positions were reversed, if you were the one about to be crushed, I'd throw myself under that concrete without hesitation. I'd choose to break your heart rather than risk watching you die, and I'd tell myself it was love while I destroyed you."

"Four seconds."

Your hands cradle his face, memorizing the angles, the warmth that's already fading. "There's something I have to say before it's too late—"

"Paradox, don't—" His voice breaks on your name.

"I'm in love with you!" The confession explodes from your chest like it's been suffocating you for months. "I've been in love with you for so long, and I know this is the most devastating timing in the history of cruel timings, but I can't let us die without you knowing. You have to know someone loves you this much."

Your body shakes with the force of it, your voice splintering apart. "You are the bravest, most infuriating—most beautiful person I've ever known, and I'm sorry I was too afraid to tell you, I'm sorry I waited so long—"

"Three seconds."

"You don't have to be sorry," Jaehyun whispers, voice fading, hands weak as they cover yours. His thumbs trace your tears. "I love you too. I've loved you since that first mission, when you saved the warehouse. I've been carrying it this whole time."

"Really?" The word comes out shattered, drenched in hope and heartbreak because of course—of course you both waited until both your worlds were ending to finally say it. Of course you get to hear that he loves you back right before you lose him forever.

"Really." His smile trembles, breaking through the blood and tears. "I was waiting for the right moment. Guess I... waited too long."

"Two seconds."

"Your timing has always been terrible," you sob, a strangled laugh bursting out with it. "We could've had months, Jaehyun."

"I know," he breathes, pressing his forehead harder to yours. "I'm sorry we only get this much."

"One."

Time stopped.

Not slowed—stopped completely, like the universe itself couldn't bear to watch this tragedy play out. The countdown voice cut off mid-syllable, the collapsing building froze in mid-destruction, even the tears on your cheeks suspended in air. You could hear your own heartbeat thundering and feel Jaehyun's pulse where your hands cupped his face—proof you were both still alive, still here, still fighting against an ending that felt inevitable.

You stared at shock at the impossible stillness around you. This wasn't your power. You'd never been able to do this before—you slowed time, you didn't stop it entirely.

"What—" Jaehyun's voice was filled with awe and disbelief. "Did you just—?"

"I—I don't know," you whispered, feeling reality pushing against your grip with violent force. "I've never... this shouldn't be possible."

 But love and desperation and the absolute refusal to let cruel timing steal away the only person who had ever mattered to you had shattered every limitation you thought you had, reaching into territory that felt like wrestling eternity itself into submission with your bare hands.

"I just... I couldn't let you go. Not after—" Your voice broke, hands still trembling against his face. "Not after finally telling you."

In the perfect stillness, you worked with frantic determination. The concrete that had seemed impossible to move yielded to your enhanced strength. You pulled Jaehyun free, immediately dropping to your knees to check his leg, your hands gentle but thorough as you examined the injury.

"Bruised, but not broken," you determined, looking up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. "Can you run?"

"With you? I can do anything," he said, the sincerity in his voice making your breath catch. He got to his feet with your help, his hand immediately finding yours and refusing to let go.

"Good, because I can't hold this for much longer." The strain was enormous, like trying to hold back the ocean while your soul slowly unraveled. You could feel your powers beginning to fray at the edges, reality pushing back against your unnatural grip with increasing violence. Blood was starting to trickle from your nose again.

"The edge of the roof," Jaehyun said, understanding immediately, his free hand coming up to wipe away the blood with heartbreaking tenderness. "If we can get enough distance before time resumes..."

You ran together through the frozen destruction, hand in hand, past debris suspended in mid-air like deadly art installations, through smoke that hung like solid fog. Every step felt like you were running through your own memories—all those missions together, all those moments when you'd been too afraid to reach for him, all that wasted time.

At the roof's edge, Jaehyun stopped and turned to face you, his eyes searching yours in the strange twilight of stopped time.

"I need you to know," he said urgently, his hands framing your face the way yours had moments before, "that loving you has been the best part of every day for months. If we don't make it—"

"We will," you said fiercely, then softer, "we have to. I just got you."

He gathered you into his arms without hesitation, one hand supporting your back, the other curling under your knees—just like before—but this time, the closeness hit harder. Your chest tightened from the familiarity, warmth flooding through you until it almost hurt, like your heart couldn't decide whether to burst or break.

"Hold on to me," he said, his lips brushing against your temple.

"Always," you replied, your arms winding around his neck, holding him like an anchor. "Always, Jaehyun."

You released your hold on time.

Reality snapped back with thunderous, vengeful force. The building resumed its collapse, explosions blooming throughout the structure like deadly flowers as forty stories of steel and concrete came crashing down in a symphony of destruction. But Jaehyun's arms were strong and sure around you as you plummeted through the night sky, his heartbeat steady against your cheek.

At the last possible instant, his body launched into motion. The city seemed to tilt beneath you as he flung both of you down the sheer wall of the neighbouring building, momentum carrying him with terrifying certainty. Glass and steel whipped past in dizzying flashes, each foothold snatched in a blur before the eye could catch it. He held you tight against him, every muscle coiled with control, every movement so impossibly precise.

You hit the street running, Jaehyun's momentum carrying you both away from the collapsing tower and into the maze of Metropolis streets. His grip on you never faltered, not even as he navigated the chaos of falling debris.

Behind you, LexCorp Tower fell with a roar that shook the entire city block, windows shattering for miles around, the sound of Lex Luthor's empire crumbling echoing through the night.

You finally stopped in the same alley where you'd started this mission, both of you breathing hard—not just from adrenaline, but from the sheer magnitude of what you'd just survived, what you'd just confessed, what had just changed between you forever.

Jaehyun set you down with unwavering affection, his hands lingering on your waist like he couldn't quite bring himself to let go. His hair was disheveled, his suit torn in places, but his eyes were drinking you in like you were a miracle he still couldn't quite believe in.

"Is it over?" you asked, swaying slightly from the aftereffects of pushing your powers beyond anything you'd ever imagined possible.

His hands tightened on your waist to steady you, and you could feel the fine tremor in his fingers as he checked his communicator with his free hand. "Deactivation sequence successful. Satellite's been disabled. Mission..." He looked up at you, but instead of the smile you expected, his face was heavy with guilt. "Mission accomplished."

The silence stretched between you, weighted with everything that had just happened.

"I'm sorry." The words came out quiet, but they hit the air between you with crushing weight. His voice was raw, stripped of all his usual charm and confidence. "God, I'm so sorry for what I put you through up there."

You started to speak, but he continued, words pouring out like they'd been building pressure inside him. "You had to watch me get crushed. You had to listen to me try to convince you to leave me behind to die. And then—" His voice cracked completely. "Then you had to push your powers past every safe limit just to keep us both alive because I was too reckless, too stupid to think of another way."

His hands moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing the tear tracks on your cheeks. "You could have burned yourself out completely. You could have died trying to save me, and it would have been my fault. All of it would have been my fault."

"Jaehyun—"

"I almost lost you tonight," he whispered, and his voice broke on the words. "Not to the mission, not to the villain, but to my own selfishness. Because I was so terrified of watching you get hurt that I made a choice that nearly killed us both. And you—" His breath hitched. "You had to be the one to save us. Again."

The guilt in his eyes was heartbreaking to witness. This wasn't the confident, flirty speedster who always had a joke ready. This was someone who had just realized how close he'd come to destroying the person he loved most.

"Hey." Your voice was soft but firm as you covered his hands with yours. "Look at me."

His eyes focused on yours, swimming with unshed tears.

"You didn't almost lose me tonight," you said gently. "We almost lost each other. And yes, you made a choice that scared me, but it was the same choice I would have made. The same choice I did make when I decided to stop time instead of running away like you told me to."

You pressed closer, voice growing more tender. "We're both here. We're both alive. We both chose each other, even when it was dangerous and stupid. That's not something to apologize for."

"But your powers—"

"Are fine," you interrupted firmly. "I'm fine. A little drained, maybe, but fine. And do you know why I was able to push them that far?"

He shook his head, still looking lost in his guilt.

"Because I had something worth fighting for. Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't just trying to survive—I was fighting to live with you." Your voice grew softer, more intimate. "You didn't force me to save us, Jaehyun. You gave me a reason to."

Some of the tension left his shoulders, though the guilt still lingered in his eyes.

"Besides," you added, letting a small smile curve your lips, "at least I know where you get that habit of cutting things close."

That finally earned you a ghost of his usual grin. "Touché."

"So," he said eventually, and you could see him trying to shake off the weight of what had happened, trying to find his footing again. "That happened."

"Which part? The successful mission, the near-death experience, or the mutual love confession while a building was collapsing around us?"

"All of it." He stepped closer, his hand reaching up to brush dust and debris from your hair with fingers that trembled slightly—though whether from the aftereffects of his injuries or from finally being able to touch you like this, you couldn't tell. "Though I have to say, your timing could use some work. Confessing your love while I'm literally being crushed? That's pretty dramatic, even for you."

"Hah, seriously? My timing?" You laughed, a sound somewhere between hysteria and joy that bubbled up from somewhere deep in your chest. "You're the one who waited until we were literally about to die to tell me you loved me back."

"Fair point." His thumb traced along your cheekbone, and you leaned into the touch. The simple contact sent electricity racing through your entire body. "But for the record, I was planning to tell you tonight anyways after the mission. Over dinner, if you'd let me take you."

"Really?" The word came out scarcely audible, hope and disbelief warring in your chest.

"Really. I had this whole speech planned out and everything." His smile was soft and wondering.

You felt tears prick your eyes—not from fear this time, but from uncontainable relief and joy. "So, what now?"

"Now?" He pulled you flush against him until there was no space left between you, his voice dropping to that low, rough tone that made your heart stumble. "Now I get to actually call you my girlfriend instead of just my girl."

The word hit you like a lightning bolt, sending heat spiraling through your entire body. Your cheeks burned, and you felt suddenly breathless, like all the air had been sucked out of the alley. "Your girlfriend?"

"If you want to be," he said softly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart race faster. "I mean, we did just confess our undying love to each other while facing imminent death. I think that qualifies us for official relationship status."

You stared at the boy in front of you who'd just called you his girlfriend like it was the most natural thing in the world, and felt your chest crack wide open with pure, overwhelming happiness.

"I..." you started, then stopped, stunned by the enormity of it all. "You really want that? Me as your girlfriend?"

"More than anything," he said without hesitation, his hands coming up to cradle your face. "I've wanted to call you that for months. Tonight just gave me the excuse to finally say it out loud."

The sincerity in his voice made tears blur your vision again, at finally having everything you'd dreamed about but never dared to hope for.

"Yes," you whispered, "I want that. I want to be your girlfriend."

The smile that spread across Jaehyun's face was radiant, bright enough to light up the entire alley. "Perfect. Because I can finally do what I should have done months ago."

He pulled you in by the waist and kissed you. It was everything you'd imagined and more. His lips moved against yours with months of pent-up longing, and you melted into him completely, your hands fisting in his torn suit to pull him nearer. The world seemed to slow down all on its own—no powers, no manipulation of time or space—just the perfect moment stretching between you.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Jaehyun rested his forehead against yours. His eyes remained shut, lashes dark against his skin as his fingers dug into your sides. You could sense his pulse racing beneath your palms, could still feel the ghost of his kiss as he struggled to etch every detail into his mind, to preserve this stolen piece of heaven.

Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his gaze soft and wondering as he took in your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted your hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist where your pulse hammered frantically against your skin.

He paused there for a moment, lips still pressed to your racing heartbeat, and you could see that familiar mischievous glint spark in his eyes.

"Careful, princess," he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing. "Keep racing like that, and people are going to think you're the speedster, not me."

The nickname combined with his cocky tone made your face burn even hotter, and you tried to tug your hand away in embarrassment. "Shut up," you muttered, but you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips. "That's your fault anyway."

"My fault?" He grinned, still holding your wrist captive, his thumb now sketching lazy circles over your pulse point. "I'm just standing here being devastatingly charming. Not my problem you can't handle it."

"Devastatingly annoying, maybe," you shot back, but the breathless quality of your voice completely undermined any attempt at sass.

"Mmm, but you love me anyway," he said, pressing one more kiss to your wrist before finally releasing it.

"Yeah," you admitted softly, your heart doing those impossible flips again. "I really do."

"So does this mean I'm officially in your lovezone now?" he asked with that crooked grin that had been driving you crazy for months.

You groaned, but you laughed nevertheless. "I cannot believe you actually used that line."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

You considered this for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah. I guess it did."

"Good," he said, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "Because I've been wanting to be in your lovezone for a really long time."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never." His grin widened. "But I promise to make it worth your while."

As they made their way back towards the rendezvous point, Jaehyun caught your hand in his, your fingers interlacing naturally. The simple contact sent warmth spreading through your chest, and you couldn't stop smiling.

"You know," he said, "I think we make a pretty good team."

"In the field and out of it," you agreed.

"Think the others will be surprised?"

You squeezed his hand, thinking about all the knowing looks and barely concealed smirks you'd been getting from your teammates for weeks. "I think the others saw this coming long before we did."

"Probably." He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "So, about that date..."

"What about it?"

"I was thinking dinner. Somewhere nice that doesn't involve breaking into supervillain headquarters or nearly getting killed by billionaire megalomaniacs' right-hand women."

"Sounds perfect," you said. "As long as you promise not to be late."

"Me? Late?" Jaehyun's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'm the fastest man alive. I'm never late for anything."

"We'll see about that, speedster."

Where LexCorp Tower once stood, there was only a smoldering husk, its satellite dish buried in the rubble. The mission was complete, the team was safe.

In the distance, sirens wailed as emergency crews responded to the tower's structural damage. But here in the quiet alley, with Jaehyun's hand warm in yours and his smile lighting up the darkness, you felt like you had all the time in the world.

Tick tock—time was on your side at last.

@coriihanniee ᯓᡣ𐭩

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

After Batman laid out the situation and each team had received their chip to deactivate the satellites, Blaze and Aqualad broke off from the rest of the group to gather their supplies. The weight of the mission pressed down on them, though for Blaze, it was another frustration added to the pile. She yanked open a locker and tossed her gear onto the bench, her irritation simmering hotter than her flames. Of all the people she could’ve been paired with, it had to be Sungho.

Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she paced, muttering under her breath. She’d trained hard, proved herself more than once, and now she was supposed to play nice with Mister Calm-and-Collected himself? Just her luck. The thought alone made her jaw tighten. Fire and water weren’t exactly the dream team, and she couldn’t help but wonder what Batman had been thinking. What use would her flames really be in the Florida Everglades? She pictured the swamp, endless water, soggy ground, humid air. All the things that dulled her fire and slowed her down.

Meanwhile, Sungho moved with steady precision, carefully checking his weapons and strapping the chip safely to his belt. His silence only made her more restless. He never complained, never slipped, like the water he commanded, always composed, always controlled. And maybe that should have been reassuring, but to Blaze, it only felt like a challenge. She wasn’t about to let him think she’d falter just because the terrain wasn’t in her favor.

Once their gear was secured, the two of them stepped into the Zeta beam with their motorbikes, the familiar light surrounding them before spitting them out at the nearest League outpost to the Everglades. “Recognized B02, Aqualad, B08, Blaze.” From there, they wheeled their motorbikes into the open air, engines rumbling as they rolled toward the tree line. Water and fire, forced together. And if that wasn’t a recipe for disaster, well, maybe it was a recipe for something else entirely.

The ride was silent, the only sound the steady growl of their motorbikes cutting through the night. Blaze’s thoughts, however, were anything but quiet. She found herself turning over the same question again and again: why didn’t she like Sungho? 

Her mind drifted back to when they first met. She had been loud, rowdy, unashamed of it, after all, flames always danced brighter when they were given air. And then there was him. Sungho, proud and poised, standing at Aquaman’s side like he’d been born for it. Proper, perfect, untouchable. Everything about him screamed control and composure, and that was exactly the problem. Blaze had never liked perfection. Perfect was dull. Perfect left no cracks, no rough edges, no sparks. Chaos was far more human, far more alive.

But Sungho wasn’t even human, not really. Atlantean blood ran through his veins, giving him strength, grace, and a kind of calm that made her want to shake him until he snapped. At first, she had tried. She’d teased him, pushed him, tried to get him to loosen up, to laugh, to do anything other than give her that steady, measured stare. He never gave in. If anything, he seemed more interested in hanging around Kid Flash and Robin, their easy camaraderie shutting her out without a second thought.

That was when she made the vow. If she couldn’t make him bend, she would beat him at his own game. She would be louder, stronger, better. She would prove that fire burned brighter than water ever flowed. That vow had hardened into a rivalry, one that defined every sparring match, every training session, every sideways glance they’d shared since.

Now, as the Everglades crept closer with each mile, Blaze tightened her grip on the handlebars. She told herself the silence was unbearable, that she hated it. But deep down, what really unsettled her was the question she’d never dared to ask: had she vowed to hate him because it was easier than admitting she couldn’t stop noticing him?

Suddenly, Blaze’s thoughts were cut short as Sungho’s voice crackled through the comms in her helmet, calm and steady as always. “We’re getting close. We’ll need to ditch the bikes soon and continue on foot.” Blaze blinked, realizing she’d been so lost in her own head she hadn’t even noticed the shift in terrain around them. She clenched her jaw, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d caught her slipping. “I know that,” she snapped back, her voice sharp over the line. “I don’t need you playing leader right now.”

There was a pause, the sound of the engines filling the space between them before Aqualad’s sigh came through, quiet but heavy. He didn’t rise to her bait, didn’t even argue. He just kept his eyes forward and his grip steady on the handlebars. As much as her attitude grated on him, he knew this wasn’t the time. The mission came first. Whatever sparks she wanted to ignite between them, he’d let them burn themselves out, for now.

Just minutes later, the two pulled up to the coordinates, the swampy edges of the Everglades stretching out before them. They parked their bikes in the cover of the trees and pulled off their helmets.

Sungho stole a glance in her direction, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Blaze stood with her hair whipping dramatically in the night wind, her eyes catching the silver glow of the moonlight. Her hero suit hugged her form in a way that made her look sharper, stronger, and somehow even more beautiful than usual.

He clenched his jaw and gave his head a subtle shake, forcing himself back on track. Focus, he reminded himself. This was not the time. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also unbearable. Loud, unpredictable, chaotic, a walking storm. The kind of person he should never lose focus around. She reminded him a little of Kid Flash in that sense, but with her… it was different. Too different. And he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

As they moved away from the bikes and prepared to start on foot, Sungho’s eyes dropped briefly to Blaze’s boots. His brows drew together, the faintest crease of disapproval crossing his otherwise composed face. “Heels,” he said flatly, the word carrying all the judgment he didn’t bother to voice. “In a swamp. Why am I not surprised?”

(Y/n) shot him a sharp look, tossing her hair over her shoulder with practiced defiance. “Some of us fight crime in style,” she retorted, her tone laced with fire. “Sorry if you wouldn’t know anything about that.” Sungho exhaled through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, but didn’t push it further. Still, he couldn’t help the corner of his mouth from twitching upward, just slightly.

They had barely been walking a minute before (Y/n) started up again, her voice cutting through the thick Everglades air with endless complaints. First, it was about the swamp, then about the bugs, and, of course, about her partner. “Honestly,” she grumbled, swatting a mosquito away, “this would’ve been way more fun with Jaehyun. Or Leehan. Or Robin. Riwoo. Hell, I’d take Woonhak and his super temper over this.”

Sungho’s jaw tightened as he pressed forward, trying to tune her out, but each name she listed was like another poke to his patience. Finally, he stopped walking and glanced at her, his voice sharper than usual. “Maybe,” he muttered, “I’m the only one who can deal with your annoying hot ass.” The words hung heavy in the humid night. Both of them froze, wide-eyed. That was not what he’d meant to say. Hothead, he’d meant hothead.

(Y/n)’s lips parted, a slow, dangerous smirk threatening to spread across her face as Sungho’s composure cracked for the briefest of moments. His ears burned, but he quickly turned away, resuming their path as if nothing had slipped.

“You think my ass is hot, huh?” (Y/n)’s voice sing-songed behind him, her grin audible in every syllable. She jogged a step to keep up, leaning just close enough to make him twitch. “Oh, come on, fish boy, talk to me. Are you embarrassed?”

Sungho kept his gaze locked straight ahead, jaw set, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. But the heat creeping up the back of his neck betrayed him, glowing almost as red as the tips of her hair.

(Y/n) caught it instantly, pouncing on his silence like a cat with cornered prey. “Oh, wow, you are embarrassed,” she teased, her tone dripping with glee. “Didn’t think the mighty team leader could blush like that. It’s cute.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he tried to breathe evenly. Every word she threw at him chipped at his restraint. It was getting harder, much harder, not to bite back. And the worst part? She knew it.

Finally, Sungho exhaled sharply and shook his head, forcing his voice back into its calm, measured cadence. “Enough,” he said, not looking at her. “Focus on the mission. You never know when an enemy will appear.” The words carried the steady authority of a leader, but the faint flush lingering on his cheeks betrayed that she’d gotten under his skin. (Y/n) only smirked wider, but she bit back her next comment, at least for now.

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds their feet sinking softly into the damp ground and the distant hum of swamp insects. The moonlight barely pierced through the thick canopy overhead, leaving the world around them in a hazy, uncertain darkness.

Then, movement. A faint rustle, low and deliberate, somewhere in the brush. Both of them froze instantly. It didn’t sound like footsteps; it was heavier, dragging, unnatural.  (Y/n) narrowed her eyes, trying to make out shapes in the shadows, but the swamp gave nothing away. “Probably just some animal,” she muttered under her breath, though the edge in her tone betrayed her doubt.

Sungho’s shoulders stiffened, one hand already shifting toward his water-bearers. “Perhaps. But I wouldn’t be surprised if The Light were controlling animals again,” His words trailed, his gaze sweeping the treeline. They pressed on, each step heavier, their movements sharpened with caution now. The air felt thicker, the silence almost deliberate, as if the swamp itself was holding its breath.

Then, without warning, the water at their side rippled violently. A massive snake shot out, striking straight for (Y/n)’s arm. She jerked back just in time, the snake’s fangs snapping shut inches from her skin.

Before she could even catch her breath, the swamp erupted around them. Two alligators surged from the muck, their jaws wide, while a cloud of bats scattered from the trees, diving at them with wild, erratic shrieks.

(Y/n) immediately summoned her flames, swiping at the bats as they swooped, while Sungho’s water-bearers cracked open with shimmering arcs of liquid light, lashing back at the gators.

But no matter how many blows they landed, the creatures just kept coming, relentless, eyes glazed with the same unnatural gleam. It was clear these weren’t just animals anymore. They were weapons, soldiers. The swamp became chaos in an instant.

The snake lashed at (Y/n) again, its scales glinting faintly in the moonlight. She twisted away, palms igniting with a roar of flame. A jet of fire tore across the air, forcing the serpent back with a hiss. She wasn’t one for grappling, not when her fire gave her the upper hand from a distance. Every time a bat dove too close, she snapped her wrist, bursts of flame flaring and scattering them into the dark. The heat lit up the swamp like a dying star, her fire reflecting off the water’s surface in violent flashes.

Meanwhile, Sungho was already knee-deep in the fight, quite literally. One alligator lunged at him, and with practiced precision, he twisted aside, his water-bearers unfolding into gleaming whips. With a sharp movement, the liquid hardened into blades, slamming against the gator’s side. It snarled, thrashing, only for Aqualad to plant his feet and strike again, driving it back with raw force. He excelled where Blaze faltered, in close combat, in the fray, unflinching.

“Keep them off me!” she shouted, flames spiraling out as she forced another wave of bats back. “You’re welcome,” he grunted, catching the second alligator by its snapping jaws. Muscles flexed as he shoved it back into the muck, water surging around his arms to bind the beast. With one final heave, he hurled it aside. The snake lunged again, aiming not for Blaze this time but for Aqualad’s side. She spotted it just in time. “Duck!” she yelled, unleashing a searing column of flame that scorched the serpent midair, its body crashing back into the water with a splash.

For a brief moment, the two of them found themselves back-to-back. His stance solid, blades raised, her palms glowing hot, fire licking at her fingertips. She fired outward in controlled bursts, keeping their enemies at a distance, while he struck down anything bold enough to break her perimeter.

Despite their constant rivalry, the rhythm came naturally. Her long-range precision gave him cover; his brutal close combat gave her breathing room. And together, they held their ground, two forces that should’ve clashed, yet somehow fit perfectly against the swamp’s relentless assault.

The bats broke away first, retreating into the shadows with shrill screeches, but the snake and the gators were relentless. Their glowing, unnatural eyes stayed locked on the two young heroes as they circled in the muck, waiting for any opening.

(Y/n) threw another burst of fire toward a gator, but her mind was already racing. Fire alone wasn’t going to cut it, not when they just kept coming back. Then it hit her. Temperature. If she could focus enough, maybe she could manipulate the snake’s body heat. Drop it low, cold enough that it would have no choice but to retreat. It was risky, though; one wrong move and she’d be too distracted to defend herself. “Cover me,” she muttered, stepping back, heat dimming at her palms. Aqualad’s head snapped toward her, frown sharp. “What are you doing?” “I’ve got an idea. If I can bring down its body temperature, it’ll retreat on its own. But I’ll need focus, which means…” she gestured toward the circling predators, “…you’re babysitting.”

For a split second, Sungho’s jaw tightened. Three beasts, all on him? He didn’t like it, but he could see the logic in her plan. He shifted his stance, water blades gleaming as the gators snapped closer. “Fine. I’ll hold them off. Do not lose focus.” Blaze smirked, tilting her head even as she closed her eyes to concentrate. “Don’t worry, fish boy. I like it when you take charge, put those muscles of yours to good use.”

The comment made him falter just a fraction, enough to bring heat to his ears. He tightened his grip on his blades, forcing himself back into the fight, silently cursing her timing. Even now, she couldn’t resist.

Aqualad’s blades clashed against thick scales, water striking with precision as he kept the gators at bay. Their snapping jaws came dangerously close more than once, but he held his ground, his movements sharp and fluid, honed by years of discipline. Still, every second felt heavier knowing Blaze was wide open behind him.

(Y/n) shut out the noise, shut out the chaos. Her breathing steadied as she fell back into the lessons Firestorm drilled into her: focus. See the target. Find the right temperature. Adjust. The world around her dulled until there was only the massive serpent sliding through the swampy water.

She opened her eyes, and her transformation was instant. Her hair flickered, glowing before igniting fully into fire that licked and danced with every shift of her focus. Golden light burned in her irises, locking onto the snake with an intensity that made it writhe as if under her spell.

Aqualad noticed immediately, glancing back for only a fraction of a second. She was radiant, dangerous in a way that made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. Then his eyes snapped to the snake, it was thrashing strangely now, movements sluggish and uneven. It’s working.

With a surge of strength, he dodged one gator and lunged at the snake, his fist colliding with its scales in one final strike. He felt it immediately, the shift. The snake’s body was unnaturally cold beneath his hand, it felt like ice. Its glowing eyes dimmed as it recoiled, hissing weakly before slithering back into the dark waters.

Aqualad exhaled in relief, but there was no time to savor the small victory. The snake was gone, but the two gators remained, snapping their massive jaws as they turned their attention back to the heroes.

Aqualad’s blades cut through the water as he parried another vicious snap from a gator’s jaws, but even with the snake gone, the fight wasn’t easing up. The reptiles were stronger than they looked, their thick hides shrugging off strike after strike. Gritting his teeth, Sungho called over his shoulder, “Blaze, any brilliant ideas before we’re stuck here all night?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, maybe stop showing off and hit where it hurts. These are your kind of pests, fish boy.” Her smirk was audible even through the chaos. Sungho blinked, realizing the simplicity of her words. Their scales. He had been wasting his strength on the armor instead of the softer gaps. “Of course,” he muttered, half-annoyed with himself. Leave it to her to make the obvious sound like an insult. “Then let’s end this,” he said, adjusting his stance.

Together, they pressed forward, Blaze’s fire driving the gators back just enough for Sungho to strike at the vulnerable spots, under the jaw, behind the limbs, the softer parts of their bellies. Her fire bursts created openings, and his blades capitalized on them, their movements slowly finding a rhythm that almost felt natural.

Finally, after what felt like far too long battling tooth and claw, the last gator thrashed in defeat, retreating back into the swamp with a low growl. Blaze exhaled sharply, tossing one final flame to force it further away. But just as she released it, the gator jerked to the side, and so did Aqualad.

The fire struck his torso. He let out a sharp cry, staggering back as heat seared through his flesh. The smell of scorched skin and fabric filled the air. Still, he didn’t drop his weapon. Didn’t even slow down. With sheer grit, he finished the fight, driving the beast off completely before lowering his blade. Blaze froze for a moment, eyes wide. She hadn’t meant to hit him. Not him.

But Sungho said nothing, his face tense, jaw tight. He simply straightened, chest heaving, and acted as if the pain in his torso didn’t exist. There wasn’t time to be injured. Not now. Once the swamp finally quieted, the ripples fading and the last hiss of retreating creatures disappearing into the dark, Blaze wasted no time. She sprinted over to Sungho, words tumbling out in a frantic rush.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I wasn’t aiming for you, I swear I…” Her voice barely stopped long enough to breathe, her eyes darting over his smoking torso as panic laced every syllable. For the first time since he’d known her, the fire in her tone wasn’t anger, but worry. Genuine. Unshakable. Sungho’s chest tightened at the sight. No witty retort, no smug smirk, just her, rattled and afraid she’d really hurt him. It was disarming.

“I’m fine,” he tried to say, his voice calm, steady, but the lie cracked the moment he moved, and a sharp wince betrayed him. The part of the burn that was visible was angry and red, already marking his skin, possibly forever. Blaze’s expression hardened, though her eyes still shimmered with guilt. Without asking, she slid her hand under his arm and pulled him toward the nearest tree. “Sit. Now.”

He could’ve protested. Normally, he would have. But her grip was firm, and her voice, though quick and flustered, left no room for argument. So he let her guide him down, the two of them settling in the shadows of the tree, just long enough to catch their breath.

For once, Blaze wasn’t looking to bicker. She was looking at him. Really looking. And Sungho, despite the sting in his body, couldn’t help but feel strangely flattered. He’d never seen her like this, unguarded, worried for him and him alone.

Blaze’s hands hovered uncertainly over him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the burn but not daring to touch. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for once her voice dropped, quiet but quick, spilling out before she could stop it. (Y/n) thought about it for some time, just sitting by his side, hands hovering over him. The shirt had to go. She needed to see the entire damage. 

“Can you remove your shirt on your own? Or do you need help?” For the first time, ever, Sungho witnessed (Y/n), Blaze, the Blaze, blushing. Her face red not only with worry but with embarrassment. Sungho tried to sit up a little more, not slumping against the tree, but his torso screamed out for him to stop. “ARGH” He groaned loudly, the pain a bit too much for him. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” (Y/n) said, preparing herself for what was to come, both in seeing his bare torso as well as the injury she caused. Blaze reached out, her hands carefully finding the end of his shirt, her fingers curling around it, slowly pulling it up. Sungho’s hand shot out and landed on her shoulder, his breath heavy and low. She continued pulling, bit by bit, until finally, it came over his head, his arms slowly raising up to help her. As the shirt was off, Sungho’s head flew forward, landing in the nape of (Y/n)’s neck, his breath warm on her skin. 

“Come on, pretty boy, help me out here,” She said as she tried to push him away, but he persisted, he stayed still, only gripping her tighter, his voice low as he answered. “Just a minute… I just need to recharge.” Blaze stayed still, her ears probably as red as her flames, her heart skipped a few beats, though she would never admit it, especially not to Sungho, but she quite enjoyed this position. 

A minute later, Aqualad moved back with a groan, his back once more meeting the tree. His eyes a bit dazed from the pain, (Y/n)’s hands slowly moved from his shoulders, down his torso until they hovered over the injury. It wasn’t too big but still enough to cover a third of his torso, mostly on his side, but a little bit crept from his side onto his structured stomach. His abs flexed with each breath. (Y/n) had to make sure that she focused on the burn and not his abs, his biceps, his kissable lips. She shook her head, getting back to business. Trying to see if she could do something, anything to heal him. 

She tried to focus her powers on lowering the temperature, to do anything to heal him, but her efforts proved useless. No matter how much she tried, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t reverse the damage she had caused. Fire wasn’t meant to heal; it was made to destroy. 

“There’s nothing I can do… God, I should’ve never joined this team. My flames, they’re too much, too dangerous. Everyone else can fight side by side, but me? I can’t even keep from burning the people I’m supposed to protect. It wasn’t a problem with Firestorm; he could handle it, but the rest of you,” She shook her head sharply, frustration biting at the edges of her words. “I don’t belong here. I never did.”

Sungho blinked, the weight of her confession settling over him heavier than the ache. He’d never heard her sound so raw, so unguarded. For all her fire, all her pride, beneath it she carried this fear of not fitting, of being too much.

He understood it more than she knew. His voice came low, steady as ever, but gentler than before. “You are not the only one who feels that way.” Her eyes flicked to him, startled. “I was raised to be perfect,” he admitted, gaze drifting toward the moonlight flickering through the canopy. “A soldier. A leader. But here, among the team,” He paused, his throat tightening with unspoken doubts. “I do not always believe I belong either. I am not sure I was meant to lead this team. To lead anyone, I never finished my studies in Atlantis. I try to seem like I have it all together, but I don’t. None of us do, not even Robin, no matter how much he tries to say he does,”  

Blaze blinked at him, her usual sharp retort nowhere to be found. Instead, silence stretched between them, heavy but oddly comforting, two people who burned differently, but maybe not so different after all. (Y/n) turned her gaze toward him, taking in the way the moonlight caught the sharp lines of his face, the calm steadiness in his posture, the faint tension still lingering in his arm from the burn. This, this quiet, raw conversation, was easily the longest they’d ever shared in all the years they’d known each other.

“I… even though I don’t really like you all that much,” she began, her voice softer than usual, careful, “I’ve never thought you were a bad leader. You’re fair. You do what’s best for the team. I might not always cooperate,” she admitted, a small, rueful smirk tugging at her lips, “but that’s not a reflection of you. That’s… more me, my fiery self, most of the time Firestorm let me do my own thing, he always said that I had the mind of a hero even before he truly started training me, so I’m not really used to following orders.”

For a moment, the fire and water of their personalities, the rivalry and the teasing, all seemed to fade into the quiet night, leaving just two people acknowledging each other’s strengths and flaws, in a way neither of them had dared before.

(Y/n) shifted slightly, the movement careful but deliberate, closing the small distance between them. Her fingers brushed against his before she gently took his hand into hers, the warmth of her touch grounding him more than he expected. She leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, her voice quiet now, almost vulnerable. “I’m… sorry,” she whispered again, the words spilling out like smoke. “We should rest for a little. Let that burn cool down.”

Sungho froze for just a heartbeat at the unexpected contact, his usual calm momentarily shaken, but he welcomed it nonetheless. He allowed his eyes to close, leaning back just slightly to accommodate her, the pain in his torso pulling at him but dulled, if only a little, by the gentle pressure of her hand and the quiet presence of her near him. For once, the battlefield seemed a world away, replaced by a rare, fleeting moment of trust and closeness.

An hour later, the two young heroes stirred awake, the quiet sounds of the swamp easing them back into reality. It didn’t take long for both of them to realize how closely they’d been curled together, (Y/n)’s head still on his shoulder, her hand still wrapped firmly around his.

The second awareness struck, they both jolted apart as if burned, faces flushed, avoiding each other’s eyes. The silence was thick, broken only by the awkward shuffle of boots against dirt as (Y/n) muttered something about needing to keep moving, and Sungho agreed with a stiff nod.

Without another word, he pushed himself to his feet and started forward, his upper body bare after his shirt had been singed beyond use in the fight. (Y/n) trailed behind, biting her lip as her gaze betrayed her, lingering far too long on the sculpted lines of his back and shoulders, the play of muscle with every step he took. She quickly tore her eyes away, trying to will the heat in her cheeks to fade, but it wasn’t from her flames this time.

After a while of trudging through the swamp, the silence between them started to grate on (Y/n). She hated silence, always had. It was dull, heavy, the kind of thing that pressed in on her until she felt like she’d burst. If she’d been paired with Kid Flash, at least there would’ve been constant chatter, jokes, anything but this stifling quiet. Still… she supposed watching the muscles in Sungho’s back shift as he walked wasn’t the worst kind of distraction.

Finally, she’d had enough. She opened her mouth, intending to ask how he was holding up, but the words twisted on her tongue, sharper than she meant them to be. “Next time, maybe try not standing in the way when I’m fighting,” she snapped, her tone defensive, masking the concern underneath.

Sungho stopped mid-step, his shoulders tensing as he turned his head just enough to glance at her, his expression tight. “Perhaps if you exercised better control of your flames, I wouldn’t have to be in your way,” he shot back, his voice edged with uncharacteristic anger. The air between them thickened, no longer silent but charged, their rivalry sparking back to life like kindling catching flame.

(Y/n) couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her words came out like fire, sharp and hot. “Maybe if you weren’t such an arrogant asshole, we would’ve actually gotten along.” That did it. Sungho stopped in his tracks, turning fully toward her this time. His footsteps were heavy against the damp earth as he closed the distance between them, his voice cutting just as sharply as hers.

“You think I’m arrogant? Have you met yourself, princess?” His tone was low but biting, controlled fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. “You’re stuck up, you never shut up, and you never listen to orders. You make everything harder than it has to be.”

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tight. “Maybe I’d listen to orders if the so-called leader didn’t play favorites with his friends over the rest of us.” The words hit him harder than he expected. Sungho froze, blinking at her, his composure slipping for just a second. Favorites? He… didn’t have favorites. Did he? Right?

Sungho’s voice dropped lower, calm but edged. “When have I ever played favorites?”

(Y/n)’s smirk was almost triumphant, as if she had been waiting for him to ask. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe when I first joined the team and you barely looked at me? You were too busy talking with Kid Flash and Robin. Or when the whole spy thing went down, you only told your little ‘core group,’ like the rest of us didn’t matter, we only found out because Jaehyun accidentally brought it up around us.” Her tone grew sharper, each point landing like a dagger. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you pair people on missions. It’s always you and your ‘core gang.’ The rest of us? Especially me? We’re left out.”

Sungho opened his mouth, ready to bite back, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell her she was wrong, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how it must have looked. How she must have felt. His lips pressed into a tight line, jaw flexing as he struggled to find an answer. And for once… he didn’t have one.

She didn’t let him get a word in before pressing on, her voice rising, sharp with anger but trembling just enough to betray the hurt underneath.

“You know, if you didn’t want us on your team, if you didn’t want me on your team, you should’ve just told Batman that. There’s no point having members who just sit around and wait while you run things with your favorites. I’ve been a sidekick since I was nine, Sungho. I have just as much experience as Robin, but you don’t treat me like it. You don’t treat me like a real member at all.”

Her arms crossed, her gaze burning into him even as her voice cracked slightly. “So maybe it’d be better if I just left. Went back to Firestorm. At least he knew how to value me.” The sarcasm laced in her words was sharp enough to cut, but the anger couldn’t hide the truth; she was hurt. Badly.

Before Sungho could gather a response, the sound cut through the tension, heavy boots pounding against the wet ground, fast and closing in. Both of them froze, listening. Definitely not animals this time. Sungho’s voice was low but firm, all business again. “We’ll finish this later. Right now, we focus on the mission.”

(Y/n) scoffed, her glare still sharp even as she shifted into a fighting stance. “Fine. But stay out of my way this time, or I’ll have to explain to Batman and Aquaman why I came back without you.” Sungho bit down hard on his tongue, swallowing back the retort that burned at the edge of his lips. Maybe having them both boiling over with fire and fury would work to their advantage against whatever enemy was rushing toward them.

Seconds later, the source of the sound revealed itself: dozens of soldiers, maybe fifty in total, charging through the swampy terrain. Their weapons gleamed under the moonlight, blades, batons, and worst of all, heavy rifles that made Blaze’s stomach twist with unease.

Her eyes darted toward Sungho. He was holding himself tall, composed as always, but she wasn’t blind. The burn across his torso was slowing him down, his movements just a touch tighter, his breathing a little heavier. He was hiding it well, but not well enough for her not to notice.

Blaze clenched her fists, fire sparking at her knuckles as she turned back toward the oncoming wave. Whether they liked it or not, their bickering didn’t matter anymore. If they wanted to survive this, they’d have to fight together. And for now… that meant putting their argument on ice.

Aqualad was the first to move, surging forward into the fray with practiced precision. His tattoos lit faintly as he pulled the swamp water to his will, shaping it into sharp tendrils that cracked like whips, striking soldiers off their feet and tossing weapons from their hands. Every motion was efficient, powerful, though Blaze could see the strain in the tightness of his jaw, the way his torso burn made him slower than usual.

Blaze launched herself upward, flames coiling at her heels as she hovered above the battlefield. Firestorm had taught her the technique, and though she wasn’t as graceful as he was, it gave her the edge of height. She hurled bursts of fire at the advancing soldiers, trying to keep them back, but hesitation clawed at her chest. The memory of Aqualad’s burned skin still seared her mind, and she pulled her flames short, holding back just enough to keep from risking him again.

It was a mistake. A bullet grazed past her shoulder, and another barely missed her leg. She faltered midair, and she almost fell from the sky. “Blaze!” Aqualad’s voice rang out like a command, sharp and unyielding. “Pull yourself together! You are a valuable member of this team, we, I, cannot win this without you!” The words hit harder than any blow. For once, she heard no judgment, no arrogance, only belief. Her chest tightened, but then she clenched her fists, her fire roaring to life around her.

(Y/n) shot downward, landing beside him in a blaze. She thrust her hands forward, creating a towering wall of fire that encircled them in a wide arc. Soldiers shouted as their guns became useless, heat driving them back. Within the fiery shield, Sungho had fewer enemies to face at a time, and Blaze, finally, let herself burn at full force.

Keeping the fire wall blazing at full force drained nearly everything from her, but Blaze refused to let up. Sweat poured down her temple, her lungs tight with heat, but she still threw herself into the fight. Close combat had never been her strength; her power thrived on distance, but she couldn’t just stand there.

Every punch, every kick was clumsy compared to her teammates, but she recalled the lessons Black Canary had drilled into them. Plant your feet. Lead with your shoulder. Strike quick, strike clean. She pushed through, fists blazing as she swung at the soldiers who broke through the edge of her fire.

To keep them back, she let her own body temperature rise, waves of heat radiating from her skin until the air shimmered. Soldiers staggered, sweat soaking through their gear, their movements sluggish. It gave her the edge she needed to keep fighting, but in her tunnel focus, she barely noticed the effect on Sungho until she glanced at him.

The steam rising from his water constructs told her everything. His tattoos glowed, his arms moved with force, but the humidity was thinning, his water attacks weakening. Her fire was burning him out. If she pushed too far, he wouldn’t just falter; the swamp itself would turn against him.

Her chest tightened. No matter how angry she’d been at him before, no matter what words had been thrown between them, she couldn’t let her flames consume him. Not Sungho. Never him.

Blaze clenched her fists, forcing the fire to retreat. The roaring wall of flames shrank, flickering out until only faint embers curled at her feet. At once, the heavy heat pressing against the swamp began to ease, the suffocating air thinning enough to breathe again.

She turned her focus to Sungho, eyes narrowing as she reached for the energy around him. The burn on his torso, the strain in his arms, he was overheating. Carefully, deliberately, she pulled at the excess warmth, lowering his temperature bit by bit. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Enough to steady his breath, enough to let the water answer his call again.

Around them, the swamp was quieting. Most of the soldiers lay sprawled across the wet ground, unconscious, their bodies having buckled under the heat Blaze had unleashed. Only a handful remained, stumbling, desperate.

With renewed strength, Aqualad surged forward. Water coiled to his command, lashing out in sharp strikes, sending guns flying. He closed the distance on the remaining soldiers with fluid precision, his fists and weapons moving like extensions of the tide. One by one, they fell until silence finally reclaimed the Everglades.

Blaze stayed rooted where she was, chest heaving, her eyes locked on him, her knees felt weak, perhaps she overdid it with the fire wall. Sungho moved closer, feeling that something was off. 

Blaze’s body went limp in his arms, the heat of exertion still radiating off her as she sank toward the murky water. Sungho’s arms tightened around her just in time, keeping her from plunging in. Her hair, damp from the swamp, clung to her face as she blinked up at him, too spent to protest.

“I… I need to apologize,” he began, his voice low but steady, carrying the weight of sincerity that rarely touched his usual calm demeanor. “I should have seen your value long before this. I… I didn’t, because all I saw was the fire, the chaos, the… uncontrollable parts of you. How you move too fast, how you push too hard, how you can’t just… fit into what I thought a hero should be.” He shook his head slightly, as if trying to rid himself of the memory. “But that was stupid. I was looking at the wrong things. What I didn’t see… was everything else. The skill, the courage, the heart… the parts that matter. And I was wrong to ignore that.”

Blaze blinked, chest heaving, eyes wide as his words sank in. For once, the teasing banter, the rivalry, the constant friction, all of it melted away, leaving just the quiet recognition between them. Sungho’s arms held her steady, unyielding, protective, and for the first time, she let herself truly feel the weight of his words.

Blaze’s hand pressed against Sungho’s cheek, her thumb tracing the gentle curve of his lips with a teasing tenderness that contradicted the fire in her eyes. Her smile was soft, almost vulnerable, even through the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. “You know…” she whispered, her voice low, playful yet laden with something unspoken, “I’ve always liked those eyes of yours. And… your lips. I often wonder…” She hesitated for a breath, letting the words hang between them, heavy with a weight neither wanted to name, “how sweet they’d be… against mine.”

Sungho froze for a moment, his own pulse catching at the intimacy in her gaze, the way her hand lingered, warm against his skin. He had spent years knowing her as the untamable fire to his steady current, the chaos to his calm, the spark that always threatened to ignite everything around her. And yet, here she was, inches from him, soft and vulnerable, a part of her daring to reach for him despite every instinct telling her not to.

His own eyes flickered down to her lips, and he couldn’t deny the pull, the slow, undeniable yearning that had always simmered beneath their rivalry. They were opposites in almost every way, fire and water, reckless and calculated, but it was precisely that difference that drew him in, that made every glance, every touch, feel electric. He felt it now, the way the world had fallen away until all that remained was her warmth against his skin, the softness of her hand, the faint heat of her body mingling with the cool air.

A part of him wanted to close the gap, wanted to feel the taste of those lips, to answer the longing she had just dared to speak. Another part hesitated, knowing the complexity of their lives, the missions, the team, the chaos that always followed Blaze like a shadow. But the yearning, the deep, magnetic pull between them, was too strong to ignore.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. All the arguments, the rivalry, the pride, even the exhaustion from the battle, it all fell away, leaving a fragile, electric silence. Blaze’s thumb traced his lips again, and he felt it, a shiver that wasn’t from the swamp’s damp air, but from the unspoken promise in her touch. Opposites, yes, but perhaps exactly why neither of them could resist the pull, the silent ache to be closer, to feel something that neither fire nor water alone could quench.

Sungho’s hand twitched, hovering just near hers, and for a moment, he wondered if it was possible to let go of reason, of control, and simply let the connection between them exist, fragile, yearning, and undeniably real.

Sungho finally broke the silence, shaking himself free from the daze that Blaze had pulled him into. His voice was calm but carried that underlying edge of command that never failed to ground her. “We should probably hurry up and finish the mission,” he said, glancing around at the swampy darkness, “you know Batman’s counting on us and everything. And… after that, maybe we should talk.”

Blaze felt a spark of warmth at his words, her exhaustion melting into something lighter. A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips, and she let her voice slide back into its usual playful edge. “Sure thing, pretty boy.”

Sungho mirrored her tone, a faint smirk dancing across his own lips. He reached out and helped her to her feet, their fingers brushing in a brief, electrifying touch that lingered just long enough to remind them both of the tension simmering beneath the surface. “Let’s go, darling,” he said, his words carrying a quiet intimacy that made her heart race even as they returned to the mission at hand.

Together, they stepped forward into the murky swamp, the heat of their shared tension blending with the adrenaline of the mission, each silently aware that whatever came after, the pull between them was far from over.

They continued trudging through the uneven swamp terrain, (Y/n)’s boots and Sungho’s feet sinking slightly into the soft, muddy ground, water lapping at their ankles. The air was thick with humidity and the lingering scent of burnt fire from their earlier battle, but the tension between them had eased slightly. It wasn’t perfect silence, but it wasn’t the heavy, suffocating quiet of their earlier argument either.

Blaze let out a small huff as she adjusted her footing on a slippery patch of moss. “You know,” she began, her tone light but teasing, “for a fish boy, those biceps of yours aren’t half bad. They’re, quite… impressive.” Sungho didn’t even glance down at himself; he simply smirked. “I should take that as a compliment or a challenge?” Blaze rolled her eyes, letting out a small laugh, “Both. But mostly a compliment. Just, don’t get too full of yourself.”

For a moment, they walked in companionable silence, broken only by the squelching of their steps in the swamp. Then Blaze misjudged a particularly slick patch of mud and stumbled, pitching forward slightly. Sungho reacted instantly, catching her waist with his big and steady hands. “Careful there,” he said, his voice teasing but laced with genuine concern. “Falling for me, are we, princess?”

Blaze blinked at him, momentarily flustered, then smirked, shaking her head. “I think you might be the one falling, fish boy,” she shot back, tugging herself free while still balancing herself. “I just… happen to be slippery.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head as they continued. “Slippery, huh? You mean like your temper?”

“Exactly like my temper,” Blaze said with a grin, bumping her shoulder lightly against his as they navigated a tricky patch of roots and mud. “You might be strong, but you can’t control me, pretty boy,”

“I’d argue otherwise,” he replied, eyes glinting with quiet amusement as he offered her a hand over another patch of slippery ground. “You know, I think it’s kind of exciting, this fire of yours. Hard to ignore.” Blaze’s heart fluttered at his words, but she kept her teasing edge. “Exciting, huh? Careful, fish boy, I might just turn that excitement into actual flames.”

Sungho shook his head, suppressing a grin. “Just… don’t burn me this time, okay? I’m still healing from earlier.” “Noted,” Blaze said, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. “I promise I’ll keep my fire mostly under control… mostly.”

The back-and-forth continued, laughter and small jabs punctuating their cautious steps through the swamp. Their hearts thudded both from the exertion of the mission and from the slow, inevitable pull between them. The fate of the world still hung in the balance, but with every glance, every touch, every teasing remark, the tension between them transformed into something warmer, something undeniable. Even amid the muck and danger of the Everglades, their bond was solidifying, step by step, stumble by stumble, laughter by laughter, until the world outside their small bubble of connection seemed just a little bit further away.

Before long, the two heroes came upon the building where the satellite was hidden, looming dark and ominous against the murky night. From this point on, stealth was no longer optional, it was everything. Every step mattered, every movement had to be precise, and they couldn’t rely on Mr. M to bridge the gaps with telepathy. No whispered thoughts, no silent signals, just the two of them, side by side, trusting that the other would move, act, and react exactly as needed.

Blaze stole a quick glance at Sungho, his silhouette sharp in the dim light, muscles tensed and ready, eyes scanning every shadow. She reminded herself to breathe, to trust him, to trust the plan. They’d been through too much to stumble now.

Sungho mirrored her movements instinctively, noting her steady grip on her gloves and the faint glow of heat lingering along her hair. They didn’t speak, words would betray them, but there was a rhythm forming, a silent understanding that didn’t need explanation. Follow the plan. Stay quiet. Move together. Easy as pie… at least, that’s what Blaze kept telling herself as they pressed closer to the building, the weight of the mission and the absence of their telepathic teammate amplifying the tension in every cautious step.

The plan was deceptively simple: sneak inside the building as quietly as possible, letting shadows be their cover. Once inside, Blaze would send out a controlled heatwave, scorching the floors and walls just enough to incapacitate most of the guards without causing structural damage. Any remaining threats would be handled by Aqualad, using his command of water to sweep through corridors and take down whoever managed to stay on their feet. He was definitely in his element, a perfect match for this kind of operation. Meanwhile, Blaze’s mission was critical, reach the satellite, install the chip, and make sure it was deactivated. With the chip in place, all that remained was a clean exit. Simple, right? At least, that’s how it looked on paper. In practice, things were rarely that neat.

What actually unfolded was a far cry from the neat plan. They managed to slip inside undetected, hearts pounding, but Blaze’s carefully calculated heatwave barely fazed the guards, each one was braced for exactly that kind of attack. Panic didn’t set in, not yet, but it was close. Meanwhile, other guards had moved quickly, cutting off Aqualad’s connection to the water outside, as well as their easy way out, trapping both young heroes in the center of the room. Exhaustion weighed heavily on them, their muscles trembling from the earlier fights. Sungho was clearly injured, though he stubbornly tried to pretend otherwise, hiding the pain behind a clenched jaw and flared nostrils. This battle was shaping up to be unlike anything they’d faced before, the earlier skirmishes, intense as they were, now felt like mere practice compared to the storm that had descended upon them.

Aqualad leaned close, his voice low and calm, brushing against Blaze’s ear: “Give them all you’ve got.” The words were barely audible over the chaos around them, but they carried a weight that silenced her usual fire and argument. She opened her mouth to protest, to remind him that she didn’t need to be told how to fight, but the look in his eyes, steady, unwavering, filled with a quiet command, made her pause. There was no room for debate; he would handle it, and she had to trust him.

He stepped back, moving fluidly as he threw his weapons across the room despite the injuries that slowed him, his focus sharp. As they reached the walls, he sent bolts of electricity arcing through the framework. Sparks flew, sizzling as they hit surfaces and ignited small fires along the edges of the room. The sudden flare-ups helped Blaze immensely, each tiny blaze reducing the amount of energy she would need to exert, letting her focus on precision and control rather than raw power.

Blaze’s instincts kicked in immediately. She raised herself above the floor, floating effortlessly as the heat from her own body amplified, her hair flaring like a living flame. Her eyes glowed a deep gold as she began to weave the fire into a storm, spiraling flames around the guards with controlled intensity. It was fast, erratic, unpredictable, everything the soldiers hadn’t prepared for. The air shimmered with heat, the scent of scorched metal and ozone filling the space, and the guards struggled to shield themselves, coughing and ducking as the wall of fire closed around them.

In the chaos, Aqualad moved with careful precision, holding the chip tightly in his hand. Blaze split the storm just enough to create a corridor for him, her flames roiling and twisting on either side to keep the guards at bay. Every step he took was measured, every move deliberate, his body a blend of strength and grace as he navigated the battlefield. Water arcs from his command lashed at guards who tried to flank him, sending them tumbling, while the heat from Blaze’s firestorm forced them to shield themselves rather than advance.

Blaze’s attention never wavered from him. She shifted midair, controlling the fire around him like a living barrier, ensuring no guard could slip through to block his path. Her focus sharpened, every movement precise, one second a flare to distract, the next a burst to drive an enemy back. The room was a controlled inferno, alive with motion and danger, yet every fire, every spark, every floating motion was a message: “You are safe. I’ve got this.”

Aqualad reached the satellite, his hand steady despite the burn on his torso and the relentless heat surrounding him. Blaze created one last wall of fire, swirling it around him like a protective cocoon, giving him the precious seconds he needed to connect the chip. Sparks danced along the floor, flames licked the walls, and smoke curled in the corners, but the two of them moved in perfect tandem, each anticipating the other’s needs, each covering the weaknesses of the other. Every exhaled breath, every flicker of fire, every shiver of electricity was a synchronized dance of power, skill, and trust, a deadly ballet that only the two of them could perform.

Blaze hovered above him for a brief second, catching her breath, then landed softly beside Aqualad. The smoke and heat around them made the air heavy, but the chaos of the mission faded into a distant hum as she looked at him, really looked. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the burn on his torso sharp but not stopping him, his eyes darkened with fatigue yet alight with that unwavering focus she’d always admired.

Without thinking, without any of the usual teasing or defiance, she leaned in, letting instinct take over. Her lips met his in a kiss that was fierce, urgent, and filled with everything they hadn’t said in all these years, the rivalry, the tension, the mutual respect, and the undeniable pull between them. Aqualad responded immediately, his own lips pressing into hers with equal force, heat, and passion. The kiss burned hotter than any fire she could summon, hotter than any battle they had fought, as if all the chaos in the world funneled into this single moment.

Time seemed to stretch. The fires around them cast flickering shadows across their faces, but they didn’t care. Every ounce of control they usually held melted away as they clung to each other, hands tangling in hair and suits, bodies pressing closer. It was a connection that had been simmering beneath the surface for years, a magnetic force neither of them could resist any longer.

Finally, the kiss broke, but only reluctantly. Blaze’s forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling, hearts thundering in sync. She whispered, “We probably should… get out of here before more show up.” Aqualad gave a tired, wry grin, brushing a singed strand of hair from her face. “Yeah… I think we might need to fight again if we don’t move.”

Still holding hands, still close enough to feel each other’s warmth, they moved toward the exit, the tension and yearning between them now unspoken but palpable, a silent bond forged in fire, water, and everything in between. 

Once they reached their motorbikes, both heroes slid onto the seats, exhausted, sweat and soot clinging to their suits. They sat for a moment, letting the adrenaline fade, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. The chaos of the mission still buzzed in their veins, but the relief of being safe was overwhelming.

Aqualad pulled out his communicator, fingers trembling slightly from fatigue and lingering tension. “Batman,” he said, his voice steady despite the burn on his torso, “the mission was a success. The satellite is neutralized.”

There was a long pause before a curt response came through, tinged with the weight of other battles raging elsewhere. “Acknowledged. Good work. Don’t linger.” The briefness of the reply reminded them of the magnitude of what was happening beyond their small corner of the Everglades, Batman and the Justice League were still locked in battle with the Light, a war that would not end anytime soon.

Blaze let out a long breath, glancing over at Aqualad. “At least one thing’s done,” she muttered, voice soft but laced with exhaustion. Aqualad nodded, running a hand through his damp hair. “Yeah… one satellite down. We’ve done our part. Hopefully the rest of the team will be done soon,” 

For a moment, they simply sat there, side by side, letting the silence stretch, a comfortable, rare silence. Around them, the moon reflected off the wet ground, the swamp quiet now after the storm of battle. The mission might not have been perfect, and their argument earlier had nearly thrown them off, but in the end, they had relied on each other, fought for each other… and somehow, survived together.

Blaze nudged him gently with her shoulder, smirking despite her weariness. “You’re still alive, so I guess you didn’t need me to babysit you the whole time.” Aqualad managed a small grin, the burn on his torso throbbing but the smile genuine. “Guess not. But thanks… for keeping me alive anyway.”

They shared a glance, a silent acknowledgment of everything they had been through, not just tonight, but all the tension, rivalry, and unspoken feelings that had finally bubbled to the surface. The mission was just one step, but together, they had made it through. And for now, that was enough.

Sungho let out a deep breath, trying to steady himself after the adrenaline of the mission. “We… we need to talk,” he said, voice low but serious, a tinge of something else, hesitation, maybe worry, lingering underneath. (Y/n) smirked, leaning back slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. “Yeah? Well, then you better sit down on the ground for a second,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He blinked, caught off guard, but obeyed, lowering himself to the ground with a slightly raised eyebrow. Before he could question her further, (Y/n) moved closer and, without warning, perched herself onto his lap, her legs went around his body, her hands sliding around his neck. The warmth of her body pressed against him, and his initial surprise melted into something else entirely, a heady mix of yearning and curiosity.

“Sit still,” she whispered teasingly, leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss. It was slower, more deliberate than before, full of heat and urgency, as if they were trying to make up for every moment they had held back. Sungho’s hands instinctively went to her waist, holding her close, unsure where to rest them but unwilling to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, both slightly breathless, (Y/n) rested her forehead against his, still smiling with that teasing glint. “Talking is boring,” she murmured. “This is way more fun.” Sungho chuckled, a mix of disbelief and happiness flooding him. “Alright, fair enough… but now, seriously, are you happy to have been paired with me, or would you still rather have Kid Flash or Superboy instead?”

(Y/n) tilted her head, pretending to think it over, tapping her finger against his lips. Then she leaned closer, her smile mischievous. “Nah… I think I’d rather take you. You’re… so much more fun to play with.”

Sungho’s heart raced as he pulled her a little closer, letting the warmth of her body and the intensity of the moment sink in. For now, they didn’t need words, just the closeness, the teasing, and the undeniable pull between them.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, voice softening but still playful. “But don’t get cocky, fish boy. I can still be the worst nightmare you’ve ever had to deal with.” Sungho laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Blaze.” The two stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the calm after the storm wash over them, knowing that whatever came next, they’d face it together.

As they finally stood, brushing themselves off and stretching out the soreness from the mission, Blaze smirked, an all-too-familiar competitive glint in her eyes. “Race you back to the cave,” she challenged, already taking a few steps forward. “Loser buys dinner on our first date.”

Sungho raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, you’re on, princess. Don’t cry when I leave you in the dust.” With that, they took off, Aqualad using bursts of water propulsion to gain speed, Blaze using her fire-enhanced bursts to float slightly above the ground. The forest blurred around them, their laughter and taunts echoing through the trees.

“You call that fast?!” Blaze shouted, trying to pull ahead, her hair whipping behind her like a trail of golden flame. “Keep up, princess!” Sungho shot back, eyes narrowed in mock ferocity, muscles straining, his torso still aching from earlier, but adrenaline carrying him forward, he pressed the gas even harder. By the time they reached the cave, both were breathless, their competitive banter replaced by ragged laughter. Blaze collapsed dramatically onto the ground, gasping, “Fine… fine… you win. But dinner better be amazing, fish boy, if I’m paying.”

Sungho chuckled, helping her up, but before either of them could speak again, they were pulled into each other’s orbit, lips meeting in a fiery, desperate kiss. Hands tangled in hair, fingers brushing over jawlines, and for a moment, the world outside disappeared.

Once inside the privacy of the cave, the kisses grew longer, deeper, more urgent. A playful shove turned into pressing bodies together, the teasing and rivalry giving way to an almost magnetic need. Breathless whispers and stolen touches filled the air, hearts hammering in sync, and it was clear that the mission had only been the prelude, the real danger was how much they couldn’t keep their hands, or lips, off each other.