When you had said as much to your parents as a teen, they were beyond offended and went on a long spiel about the good fortune your family has, the health in all of your bodies, and the love you share. You have doubts against all of those points, but it was then that you realised that you’re alone in your disbelief of the spirit of the crypt and have kept your thoughts to yourself ever since.

As soon as you were old enough with sufficient funds in your bank account from tirelessly working, not some gracious blessing by the crypt spirit, you left the family home and lessened your contact with your family. You knew that your views are far too different to truly be at peace in one another’s presence any longer.

Still, you truly do love your family, despite their misguided beliefs. So, you attend family gatherings, send birthday and holiday well wishes, and, reluctantly, join them for the annual trip to the family crypt. To pay respects to long dead relatives you can never remember the names of and to thank the spirit you don’t even believe in. 

You’ve been taught all about crypt spirits since you were little. Their whole deal is looking after the remains of a particular bloodline from the safety of the crypt assigned to them. How they’re assigned exactly, nobody has ever been able to tell you as much. Which had probably been the start of your suspicious doubts about this whole crypt spirit business. Regardless, you know that they apparently endure an eternal existence in one building, surrounded by caskets of remains, and the souls of those too stubborn to let go of this world. 

Honestly, it sounds like a sad life, or un-life as it may be. When you still believed in them, you always made sure to make something extra special for your family’s crypt spirit to leave on the yearly excursion in hopes of cheering them up. 

However, it’s been well over a decade since you stopped believing. 

Today, as you follow your parents into the crypt with your aunt and her family behind you, your hands only hold an old, wooden box. 

You have no idea what is in the box. Your mother had shoved it into your hands upon leaving your parents’ house half an hour ago and then batted your curious hands away when you tried to open the latch to peer inside. Apparently, it’s a very special gift for the crypt spirit that your family must leave every fifty years. It’s the first you’ve heard of it. Then again, you’re only half that age, so you’re not surprised it’s new to you and simply accept it. 

It isn’t until all of the gifts and offerings are placed down in the centre of the stone table in the middle of the main crypt chamber, and you realise that there’s no space left for the box still in your hands, that you turn to your mother on your right to question her.

“Where is this supposed to go?” you wonder, half certain that your uncle has taken up the space the box belongs due to his excessive gifts this year. Which, you are pretty sure, are supposed to sweeten the spirit into blessing his new business. The third this year, but he’s positive he won’t get scammed again. But he will because he’s a fucking idiot.

“I’ll show you after the thanks,” your mother responds quietly, before patting your hand on top of the box with a little smile sent your way. Something odd flashes in her eyes, something strangely sad and her touch lingers for a moment too long. But then she’s facing forward to where her own mother stands in her usual space near the table to lead the annual thanks to the spirit. 

You know there’s no point in trying to talk any further, it’d earn you nasty looks and a slap over the back of your thigh in scold, so you copy everyone else and give the head of the family your full attention. 

At this point in your life, you could recite the whole speech yourself if you desired to, though you truly do not want to do that. But it does mean that you don’t have to give your full attention to repeat the mantras in all the right places without drawing attention to yourself for misspeaking, which means your gaze can wander without risk. 

It's always struck you as odd, that every single year the crypt is perfectly clean when you all arrive. There are no cobwebs, no dust and dirt lingering at the edges of the room, no leaves blown in through gaps and cracks that you know must exist in a building as old as this. Your family crypt has been in this very spot for at least two centuries now and your family is proud of the structure being entirely original, so you know that time would’ve claimed some of the stone. There has to be cracks in the slabs and stones. Yet, you see no dirt.

Which wouldn’t be odd if you had ever heard of any of your family visiting the crypt outside of the annual trips. But as far as you’re aware, this one day a year is the only time anyone comes near to this old building. 

For a family so obsessed with the thought of crypt spirits and respecting ancestors, none of them seem to care to give them attention past words and thoughts all other days of the year. It’s just another reason you stopped believing a long time ago. Surely, if these spirits really exist, they would’ve shown some anger to your family over the years for not keeping their home clean. 

Then again, maybe that’s why your family never seems to quite have the luck and good fortune they claim to. Always missing that one last number on the lottery. Always being in front of the person in line who wins a year’s worth of coupons in restaurants. Always catching the edge of clothing on sharp corners they should’ve missed and ruining fancy garments. Things you notice but your family never seems to register. 

It kind of drives you crazy that they ignore the obvious things in front of their own eyes yet believe in invisible beings with no proof. You’re just glad that you don’t have to deal with it that often. It’s the little blessings that make all the more impactful differences, you find.

Even though your eyes are wandering around the main chamber, you’re not really focused on what you’re looking at. You’ve seen it all before and nothing ever changes. Even your grandmother still wears the same elegant, purple velvet dress she has been wearing since you were little. You could probably perfectly replicate the scene with pencil and paper if you weren’t such a terrible artist. 

Yet suddenly, just after you’ve passed your uninterested gaze over the gate at the side of the chamber, the gate you know leads down into the catacombs and hasn’t been unlocked since your great uncle passed away before you were born, your mind registers the face peering back at you. 

Immediately, your eyes dart back to the gate. But even as you flicker your intense focus over it, peering carefully into the darkness beyond and paying extra special attention to where your mind had told you a face peered around the corner of the wall, you see nothing. 

In over two decades of coming to the crypt, you have never seen anything present other than your family, no hints of their beliefs having even the slightest hint of merit. Yet now…

You must just be tired. 

You’re mentally exhausted from work and spending the previous few hours with your parents while your mother reminded you of all the family held true about the spirits of the crypts. All things you know well enough and had tried to tell her as much, but she insisted that you needed to hear it once more before the ritual started. In the end, you had relented and let her drone on and quiz you. 

Over the past year, she’s tried extra hard to bring you back home, and to spend more time together. But you can only handle so much of her growing insistence that you need to embrace the spirit that resides over your family crypt. You’ve learned to just let her get it over with, lest you want to turn a ten-minute update phone call into an hour-long lecture when you have much better things to do.

Deciding that it must’ve just been your mind playing tricks on you, you do your best to push the image of those barely visible features out of your mind and focus on your grandmother instead. 

Once the final thanks has been said a handful of minutes later, all at once, in eerie synchronisation, your entire family turns to look at you. Even the children. 

Suddenly, you think you’re missing something very important. 

“What?” you mutter uneasily and try to step back instinctively. Yet your mother puts her hand on your back and urges you forward with a firmer hand than she’s ever used on you. “What’s going on? Ma?” 

“It’s time for the offering,” she answers while leading you over to the gate. 

“The box?” you ask, glancing at it, then over your shoulder to your family. You spot the back of your father as he rapidly leaves the crypt while everyone else continues to stare at you in a rather unnerving manner. 

“Yes, sweetheart, the box,” your mother confirms and taps your back, prompting you to turn back around and realise that the gate is now open, yet you hadn’t heard a single thing. There wasn’t a creak of metal, no clack of a key in the lock despite the fact you can see it in the lock right now. There should’ve been a noise, even a new gate would make noise. 

Are you really that tired to have not heard?

“Down there?” you gawp in disbelief while motioning to the stairs. You can’t see down them without stepping forward onto the landing at the top due to the fact the stairs go down to the right, but you know it’s dark, like really fucking dark. 

“Yes, this is a very special offering, sweetheart. It’s a great honour to be chosen.” 

“Then I’m sure someone else will love to do it!” you chirp and try to hand the box over, but your mother steps back. “I don’t even believe in all this! Make someone who believes in this shit deliver the old, creepy box down the old, creepy stairs!” 

“The reason you don’t believe is the reason you should be the one to do it,” your grandmother speaks up as she shuffles closer. “I watched my brother take his own box down those steps fifty years ago tonight, and now, it is your turn.”

“Your brother?” you question. “The one who died fifty years ago? Is this how he died? He fell down the stairs and broke his neck?”

“We should just push her,” the asshole teen boy of your oldest uncle declares, making you glare at him; though you feel smug when your uncle smacks the back of his son’s head and hisses at him not to be disrespectful. You knew you liked that uncle for a reason. Though, the guilt in his eyes when he looks at you makes you question his title of favourite uncle as your heart twists uneasily. 

“Come, sweetheart. Here, you won’t go blindly,” your mother encourages as she offers you a wind-up torch that she procures from her little cross body bag. The torch is practically the same size as the bag; it must be all it contains and something about that feels very strange to you. “At the bottom of the stairs, keep walking to the end of the hall then turn right. You will enter the main chamber where the family crest is carved into the floor; place the box in the centre.”

“This really seems like something someone else should do,” you try to refuse, yet your mother places the torch on top of the box then moves even further away than she previously stood. 

“It has to be you, my little one.” She hasn’t called you that in an awfully long time and certainly not in such a tender voice. 

It doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right. 

“I-I come right back, right? It’ll just be a few minutes,” you reason and rearrange the box into your left arm so that you can pluck the torch off of the top with a shaky grip. 

“You’ll be okay, I promise,” your mother says, yet her voice wavers and you just know that she’s lying. 

“Ma…” you whisper.

“Go,” she replies just as quietly, though it does nothing to hide the tremble in her tone. 

You want to argue, every instinct in you is telling you to drop the box and run out of there, to get as far away as possible. Yet there is another part of you, something in you that you can’t name, nor have you experienced before, that is telling you that you need to do this. Even if you don’t truly know what this is yet. But you’ll know soon, you’re certain of that.

“I love you,” she says as you take your first step onto the landing at the top of the stairs. 

You pause and look at her, see the tears in her eyes. “Do you?” you can’t help but wonder, because with everything in you, you know that whatever this is that you’re being forced into, it can’t be something that someone who truly loves you is capable of. 

“With my whole heart,” she insists and steps closer naturally. 

“No, you’ve always loved this more,” you argue softly before turning away to press the button on the torch and shine the beam down into the darkness. Before your mother can formulate a response through her pained gasp, you descend the steps. 

Despite it all, despite the fear in your veins and the heart breaking in your chest, you can’t help but notice how odd it all is as you walk further underground and along the stone hall, until the candlelight from the crypt chamber no longer reaches your back. 

It’s cooler down here, of course it is, but it’s not the damp cold you expected, nor is it cold enough to make you wish you had worn a cardigan or jacket over the elbow length sleeves of your dress. There’s the expected earthiness of being underground, even with the stone in between the dirt and yourself, but it’s not unpleasant. 

Yet, the biggest oddity of all, the oddity you haven’t seen the full extent of yet due to your limited lighting, is that it’s as clean as the crypt above. There’s not a single speck of dirt or cobweb in the entire catacombs as far as you can see, and even further to where you can’t see. At least, not yet.

Although it’s incredibly fucking creepy being underground in stone rooms you can barely see, you don’t hesitate; having decided to just get this over and done with so that you can shortly go home and promptly cut all contact with your family from this day onwards. You move as quickly as you can without risking getting hurt in the low lighting; following the directions your mother gave you until you locate the crest carved into the large stone slab in the centre of the room. Carefully, you crouch down and place the box as perfectly in the middle as you can before turning and rushing out.

You don’t look back, but if you had, you would’ve seen the figure step onto the crest and pick up the box.

The toes of your heels catch on the steps a few times as you rush up them, but for the first time in your life, you manage to catch yourself every time and make it up to the landing. Where your heart promptly drops into your stomach. 

The candles are still lighting up the chamber. The offerings are still neatly set up on the stone table. The fresh flowers and garlands are still decorating the space. Yet you are the only one left to witness it. Your family is gone, and worst of all, the gate is closed.

“No, no, this is…no, they wouldn’t take it this far,” you mutter out in desperate disbelief. You lift one trembling hand to grip the ornate metal of the gate with hope in your chest that this is just a joke and it will swing open when you pull it. It clunks as the latch catches in its frame, holding the gate securely in place. “No. No, no, no.” You grab the gate with both hands as firmly as possible with the torch still in one hand and shake at the gate as hard as humanly feasible.

“Stop that,” a sudden male voice makes you stop with a shriek and turn to peer down the stairs. The beam of your torch lights up a figure standing at the bottom and looking up at you with dark, stern eyes. 

With another shriek, you launch the torch downwards without thought, trying to defend yourself, yet the torch clatters onto the floor and the man is nowhere to be seen. 

You swear at your own idiocy as you watch the light flicker out before only darkness greets you down the stairs. It’s frankly put, terrifying, and to make things even worse, your phone is in your father’s car so you can’t even use the torch feature from that either. 

Throughout your whole life, there has been a rule that no electronics, especially phones, are allowed in the crypt to not risk disruption during the ritual. You’ve never thought anything of it; it makes sense really. It would be disrespectful to have a phone start to ring and ruin the thanks. Yet now, you wish you hadn’t accepted that rule so easily. Accepted any of the rules and traditions so easily.

There’s a part of you that tells you not to turn away from the stairs, not now that you’ve seen that face much more clearly: the sharp jaw and short, dark hair. He looked so real, sounded so real; you can’t accept that it was just your imagination again. But you need to try and find a way out and it’s certainly not down those steps.

So, you take an unsteady inhale to gather your nerve and turn back to the gate to peer through in hopes of there being something within reach that you can use to break the lock and free yourself. You don’t dare rattle the gate again.

You look, and look, and look, and yet, you find nothing.

The candles lighting up the crypt are the same brand and style as your family has been using for some years now, ones you even buy yourself purely because they’re easily available in most stores, so you know that each candle burns for four hours. 

The last candle on the table flickers as you stare at it forlornly before going out, leaving only smoke and darkness behind. 

For three hours, you’ve been sitting on the stone landing, leaning against the gate, and hoping that some kind of miracle will occur and free you. Someone has to clean up all the food and burned-out candles, there has to be some kind of groundskeeper who will be by and can free you. Someone will come by any second. Right?

Without the candles, you can’t even begin to guess how much longer you sit there with your eyes closed so that you don’t have to see the never-ending darkness enveloping you. It could be ten minutes; it could be an hour or more. You have no idea. But it gets too much to just sit in silence. You know it will drive you crazy, so you need to do something to try and keep your sanity for a little bit longer. 

Even when you open your eyes, you can’t see a thing and it’s utterly terrifying. If there is one thing that will make this a little easier, it’s light. You don’t have much hope in you that the torch still works, you had heard it crack against the stone floor after all, but it’s your only option.

Carefully, you shuffle along the ground on your backside until your feet slip down onto the first step. Then, you slowly descend, feet tapping at each step until they’re steady in place before moving further. 

When your feet don’t slide off anymore, you know you’re at the bottom of the stairs and stop for a moment to gather your nerves again. This is where you saw that man standing. You have no idea who he is, ghost or spirit. Or something else, something worse. You just hope with everything in you that he isn’t evil and watching you ready to strike. 

You were always told that the spirit of the crypt’s entire purpose is about protecting the bloodline, your bloodline, meaning it would logically go against his very purpose to hurt you. Which would be comforting if you had confirmation of the man’s reason for being here. But you don’t, so there is still fear in your heart making every movement hesitant.

After timidly crawling around on your hands and knees and blindly patting the floor for long enough that your knees hurt from the hard slabs, you finally feel plastic under your hand and quickly grab the torch. When it’s in your hands, you lean back onto your knees to fiddle with it and wind up the crank. 

Suddenly, now that you’re no longer facing downwards, you realise that there is the faintest glow coming from the room up ahead. It should feel ominous, you think, seeing the soft light at the edge of the archway into the room, but it doesn’t. It’s oddly…welcoming. 

You remain in place for a moment or two, then get to your feet, wincing at the pain in your knees as you do. Once you’re standing at your full height and have the torch gripped in both hands in a strange method of self-soothing, you edge towards the room.

Part of you expects to see the man inside of the room, so it takes a silent little pep talk to yourself before you can make yourself peer around the arch into the room, only to find it empty. Oddly enough, the light isn’t coming from in here but another hallway. 

“Oh, I’m going to die,” you mutter to yourself as you force your feet forward to enter the room and approach the hallway. The light is brightest at the other end, yet still, there doesn’t seem to be a light source there, just another hallway. “At least I’m already in the tombs,” you muse and tighten your hold on the torch before bravely walking forward.

You pass a few small tombs on your way down the hallway, none of which are lit but the light somehow reaches them enough that you can tell that they’re all impeccably clean and empty of life. Well, if you can even call a spirit or ghost a life, that is. You’re not sure what they’re classed as exactly, especially crypt spirits, but you don’t think it’s really all that important right now, if at all.

At the end of the hall, the light is brighter to the right, so you turn and follow it to the other end of the short hallway, then down another, and another, until you finally find the source. 

You come across a large room, decorated beautifully with various materials. Silk draped artfully from the arched stone ceiling and wrapped around columns. Velvet cushions of varying colours sizes dotted comfortably around the space. Rich, dark wood carved into various pieces of furniture. 

Everywhere you look, there is more to see and boggle your mind. It seems impossible to find all these beautiful items so deep underground. Especially when you know that your family doesn’t bury the deceased with anything other than the clothes and jewellery on their body.

Yet, not as impossible as the fact that no matter where you look in the room, you cannot see a single light source. No candles, no torches, no flames of any type. There isn’t a single light, yet you can see every inch of the room and its décor as if multiple lights fill the space.

“What the fuck?” you whisper incredulously and step into the room to try and get a better look. 

Now that you’re further in and the large shelving unit isn’t blocking the view to your right, you can see another archway further down the wall, like the multiple on other walls, yet this one also has light coming from within. Curiously, you follow it.

“Okay, what the fuck?” you gawp as soon as you’re at the doorway and notice that this is, without a doubt, a kitchen. 

It’s perhaps only a third of the size of the room behind you; nevertheless, it still feels spacious and bright. Yet cosy, with a large, circular table taking up most of the space and surrounded by multiple chairs, outdated counters around the edge of the room, an old wood-burning stove against one wall, and even a sink with taps. 

There’s steam coming from the pot on the stove and now that you’ve seen it, you can suddenly smell something mouthwatering. You’re not sure what’s cooking, it’s never been your forte, but you know when something smells delicious. 

Too hungry and intrigued to be cautious, you walk over and lean closer to get a better scent without lifting the lid. You may not know much about cooking, but your parents scolded you many times in your earlier life for removing lids and opening oven doors when they had been cooking; so, you know that you could run the risk of ruining whatever is bubbling away within the pot by removing the lid. 

Deciding that standing here will just make you hungrier, you turn with every intention of returning to the main room, though the sudden presence in the archway makes you freeze in place.

It’s the man, and he’s staring at you with those intense, dark eyes. 

“H-hi?” you offer after swallowing thickly. “Are you the crypt spirit?” 

The man, or spirit may be more apt, doesn’t respond for a moment, just stares at you intimidatingly before he nods, and his posture deflates a little as he sighs. “My name is Jeon Wonwoo. I have been watching over your family for almost eight centuries now.”

“Eight centuries? The crypt is that old?” you gawp in utter shock.

“No. I was your ancestral guardian before I became your crypt spirit. I was the one who you all prayed to and asked to come to the living realm to guide your ancestors’ souls to the afterlife. Now, however, I am stuck here, thanks to your ancestors building this place.” 

“Oh…sorry?” 

He waves a dismissive hand. “You were not the one to trap me and I have spoken to those ancestors since; I guided them after all. They did not know that building the crypt would force me to be tied to this world and have apologised profusely. I hold no resentment and have grown accustomed to my home.” 

“They built this for you?” You motion vaguely around the kitchen and to the room behind him.

“No, I once had the ability to do that myself; to manipulate the sacred space of the catacombs.” 

“But you don’t now?” 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You do not seem to be scared of me any longer,” he comments and moves further into the kitchen, so you step aside to let him access the stove when he motions to it. “I may not be able to manipulate the catacombs to such a degree any longer, but as far as you are aware, I could still hurt you.” 

“I’m going to die down here regardless of what you do or do not do to me, Jeon Wonwoo. I’m the type of person to quickly accept the inevitable.”

“Is that why you remained on the stairs for four hours?” 

“It was light.” 

“And then it was not.” 

“And then it was not,” you agree, yet have nothing more to say on the matter because he’s right. You hadn’t accepted your situation then and still held onto hope. But now that you’ve wandered the catacombs deep enough that you know you won’t easily find your way back, you know you won’t be able to leave this place. 

“You must be hungry, sit.” 

“How did you get food down here?” you wonder as you do as told and move to the table to sit on one of the cushioned chairs, so that you can watch his broad frame move to fill the two bowls he plucks from one of the under-counter cupboards.

“I am not a ghost, I need sustenance as much as you, so the catacomb provides. As long as I am here, food will appear.”

“Oh, so you are a living being,” you comment with a hum. Wonwoo glances at you curiously before stepping aside to open the bread bin. He pulls out the loaf from within and cuts off a few generous slices. “I was wondering what a spirit is classed as; if you are alive or ghost-like.”

“Why would you give food offerings to a being that has no use for it?” 

“Humans are stupid.” 

The way Wonwoo laughs makes you perk up; it’s such a lovely sound and you suddenly want to know what he looks like when he laughs. You imagine his handsome face looks even prettier lit up.

“You are a human,” he points out. 

“I didn’t say I’m not stupid. I must be, I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“No, you are perhaps the only one in your family who is not stupid,” he corrects as he turns and carries a plate of sliced bread in one hand and two spoons in the other. 

He places the plate on the table then offers you one spoon before placing the other in front of a chair a few away from your own, further around the table so you will be able to see one another as you eat without being as far away as possible, while putting himself directly opposite you. 

“I’m the only one who didn’t believe in you,” you point out as he returns to the counter to grab the two bowls. 

“It is not stupid to not believe in things you have no proof for.” 

“Strange thing for a spirit to say.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, placing both bowls down then moving to fill two glasses with water while you peer into your bowl at what looks like some kind of stew or soup. All you know is that it’s a warm orange-red, has lumps of what looks like vegetables, and smells delicious. “What that also means,” Wonwoo starts as he returns, putting the glasses down beside your bowls before finally sitting. “Is that you do not believe in the ridiculous human sacrifice nonsense.” 

“Human sacrifice?” you repeat dumbly and lift your head to look at him instead of staring hungrily at the meal before you. “They sent me down here for you to kill?!”

“No, no.” He shakes his head slightly. “Not at all. Even if I wanted to kill you, I could not; it goes against my very purpose. I think your family must know at least that much.”

His assurance does calm your sudden disbelieving anger. Something about Wonwoo feels so genuine that you don’t doubt him even the slightest bit. He could probably tell you that the world is a giant computer simulation, and your entire life is nothing more than lines of code you could never comprehend, and you’d just nod and accept it. Though the way his gaze keeps flickering distrustfully to the broken torch on the table makes you wonder if he knows anything about modern technology. Probably not.

“For some bizarre reason, a few decades after building this crypt, your ancestors decided that I require a human for company, so they started a tradition of sending an adult down into the catacombs every fifty years to live the rest of their days with me.” 

“You don’t want the company?”

“Why would I want the company of humans who will wither away before my very eyes? I have had to burn seven of your ancestors so far. You will be my eighth when your own time comes.”

“When will that be?” 

“I am not psychic,” he deadpans and picks up his spoon, then uses it to motion vaguely at your bowl before dipping it into his own. “Eat; before it gets cold.” 

“Oh, right, thank you,” you respond gratefully and do as told, making a soft, appreciative noise when you have your first spoonful. “This is delicious.”

“Thank you, but were you never taught to not talk with your mouth full?”

You’re already too busy spooning food into your mouth to respond.

After dinner, you help Wonwoo clean up; learning where everything goes, and how he likes to clean. And unintentionally staring in awe at the taps long enough that he questions you.

“Are these no longer in use on the surface?” he wonders, gently touching the cold tap with the slightest hint of a pout on his lips. “These are a wonder in of their own. I cannot imagine how you can live without them, and I refuse to change them. I do not have the power any longer to do it even if you ask.”

“No, it’s not that, we still use taps just like these, but I’m just wondering how the fuck you have working plumbing down here.” 

“Your great uncle showed them to me in his mind after a few decades with me; he was beyond fed up with the pump. When I saw this marvel, I copied them to the best of my ability with the limited knowledge he had. I do not know any more than the taps; that they are metal, and one produces hot water and the other cold. I know nothing of plumbing.”

“Wait, are you telling me that there aren’t pipes bringing the water? It just appears?”

“I can only replicate what I can see.”

“Holy shit, that’s insane.” He frowns at you. “That’s a compliment,” you insist, assuming his expression to be offence and proven correct when the furrow in his brow smooths out. “So, you can make anything?”

“No, not now. My powers are too weak, too limited these days.” 

“Why?” 

“Your family stopped loving me.” 

“What?” You look at him puzzled and ignore the hint of pain on his features as he turns and heads out of the kitchen. Of course, you follow. “My family practically worships you.”

“That is not love. That is for their own gain; always praying for wealth or beauty, nothing meaningful.” 

“They believe you bless us with good health.”

“I…I do what I can,” he admits with a forlorn sigh and stops at the shelf to take a frame down to show to you. 

You look at it and are surprised to recognise the ugly ice-lolly stick frame. It’s stained partially red from all of the colourings in the frozen treats you had made yourself ill to consume and make this very frame. The drawing within looks the same as the day eight-year-old you drew it; a vague humanoid shape holding hands with a little girl under the sun with creepily big smiles on the faces. But they’re happy. They’re supposed to be happy together.

“Your family loved me once, but it faded long before your own did. I used the last of my power to retrieve this from where it had been in the crypt chamber for five years. The last time I was loved by your family.” 

“I stopped believing in you,” you admit. “And because of that, you lost your power?” You frown guiltily at him and hand the frame back, so he puts it back in place with nothing but love in the way he handles the almost two-decade old frame stuck together with PVA glue and a child’s love.

“Not entirely. I still have some, otherwise I would fade away. As long as your family continues to visit annually and pray to me, I will exist and have some power. But it is the love of the family we protect and guide that gives us true power. I lost that, for a long time. But when you were a child, you loved me and that gave me the power to see into your great uncle’s mind and recreate the kitchen and bathroom. I am truly grateful to you for loving me for long enough to allow me to learn of a modern toilet and bring one into my home.” That makes you laugh and now, as he sees you laugh, you are blessed with Wonwoo’s smile for the first time. 

You were right, he truly is beautiful when he smiles.

Time passes differently underground. Of course, you have no way to see outside, to watch the sun and moon chase one another across the sky, so you can’t tell how the day progresses. Wonwoo, however, knows. He still has enough magic in his body to just know these things. He makes sure to feed you three meals a day and send you to bed at what you assume must be a reasonable time.

It had been very strange to get used to the bedroom that he had presented for you to live in for the rest of your days. He made a point of showing you the springy mattress on the metal bedframe, both of which creak with every movement, but he had looked so proud that he has a modern bed for you that you haven’t complained once in the past weeks of living together, even if your back constantly hurts.

There had clearly been some effort on Wonwoo’s part to make this room comfortable for your great uncle based on the man’s mind. Which is very sweet of the spirit, and you appreciate his care, but it’s all very outdated and suited to a man stuck in the 70s. There’s only so many times you can listen to glam rock records on the turntable while staring at posters of David Bowie and Queen before becoming wildly uncomfortable with someone else’s choice of décor leering down at you as you lay in bed.

So, you take up spending time in the main room; that large, beautiful room where Wonwoo is often found sprawled over cushions reading yet another book. At first, you hadn’t been that interested in the books, but with little else to do, you pick books off of the shelves to work your way through.

The days don’t seem to drag as much when you can look up and see Wonwoo absorbed in a book across the room. Just knowing that you’re not alone helps. Even if some days you barely say a few sentences to each other, it’s still comforting to occupy the space together.

Still, some days, you can’t settle on a book, and you don’t want to bug Wonwoo to entertain you, so you retreat to your uncomfortable room to play those same records and have staring contents with posters that reign supreme in the sport. 

“You can remove them, you know,” Wonwoo’s voice pulls you away from where you’re glaring at the biggest poster of David Bowie; you think it’s from one of his albums. It’s a famous photo of the man with a colourful lightning bolt painted over his eye, but you’ve never been a fan of the man. Although you can now sing along to some of his songs, you still wouldn’t say you’re a fan. If anything, you think you might even dislike him and his music now due to the forced proximity. Still, you don’t have any other music to play, so you reluctantly listen to the vinyl record with his name on it and mumble the words back at him to pass the time.

“What?” you ask, rolling your head on the rug under you to look at him in the doorway. 

“Those posters, they were your uncles, I don’t care for them. You can remove them. This room is yours to do with as you want; if you do not like the posters, you can remove them instead of glaring at them all the time.”

“I don’t glare all the time.”

“Every time I pass your room, you are glaring.”

“Why do you pass my room?” You give him a puzzled look. 

“To get to the library.” He lifts the book in his hand; the one he had been reading earlier when you gave up reading your own book and retreated to your room.

“There’s a library?!” you sputter and abruptly sit up. 

“Of course, where did you think I get my books from?”

“The shelves in the main room, or your bedroom, not a fucking library!” 

He sighs. “Was cursing necessary?” 

“Yes!” You jump up and turn the record player off before urging him to show you the way. “You should’ve told me about the library, Wonwoo!” 

“I assumed you would’ve discovered it on your own,” he admits as he obligingly walks down the hall and motions to the room at the end to allow you in first. 

You step in and gasp at the sight of the shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls, plus even more stacks of books on the floor around the room due to running out of shelf space. 

“I have never told you that any room is off limits to you, just warned you not to venture out of our living area lest you get lost in the catacombs.”

“You have never told me I can go wherever I want to either,” you reason as you run your fingers over the spines of the books on the shelf closest to you. 

There doesn’t seem to be a system in place, at least not that you can tell when there are multiple languages present and you only know your native tongue. You really can’t tell what these books are about, nor if they’re in some kind of alphabetical order. 

“I’m like a vampire,” you add. “I need to be explicitly invited to a place to step inside.”

“What’s a vampire?” he queries, making your head snap around to look at him in surprise. There is the slightest purse to his lips, showing that he’s pressing them together. 

“Wonwoo!” you exclaim, when you realise that he’s trying not to break and laugh at his own joke, and then you realise why he would find this so funny. “You’re literally carrying Dracula!” You point at the book in his hands, and he cracks, laughing and leaning over with the force of it. “Honestly, your sense of humour is so outdated.”

“I am almost nine hundred years old,” he reminds amidst his laughter and walks into the room to put the book on the shelf and start to look for another to catch his attention.

“You look good for it,” you comment casually, unaware of the way Wonwoo immediately looks at you with widened eyes and a blush tickling his cheeks. Though, he quickly rushes to hide around the other side of the unit in front of him out of your sight until the pink leaves his skin. 

The two of you peruse the shelves in a content quiet for a while until you pop up behind Wonwoo to ask him a question about the book in your hands. Your sudden appearance makes him shriek and panic, abruptly shoving the book in his hands onto the shelf. Though in his rush, he fails to make it secure, and the book falls down to the floor between the two of you.

For a few tense seconds, you both stare at it. Without warning, you dart down to reach for the book. Wonwoo shrieks again and rushes to grab it first, using a little of his power to pull the book across the stone to him before you can grab it. 

“That’s cheating!” you accuse as you straighten up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Wonwoo replies as he shoves the book under his shirt by the button open near his collar. You watch the book drag down the inside of his shirt and stop at the waistband of his trousers, where he always neatly tucks his shirts into. 

“If you think I’m afraid of playing dirty, you really don’t know me,” you point out while stepping closer to him. Wonwoo steps back with eyes wide and both hands over the book at his stomach. “Are you going to be a good boy and give me the book or am I going to have to take it from you, Jeon Wonwoo?” you question as his back hits the shelf and he yelps softly at the contact. 

It’s beyond amusing to you to see the ancient spirit being so skittish. It’s the most entertainment you’ve had in the past weeks, and you decide right here and now to make it a habit to play with Wonwoo like this.

“I…” Wonwoo starts yet trails off when you step even closer until your left foot finds a place partially between his. His wide eyes dart down between your bodies then back up to meet your gaze. 

You just about manage to catch sight of his suddenly very pink cheeks before he vanishes. You’d yell out and call him a cheater again if something hadn’t hit your foot when he vanished, drawing your attention down to where the book he had tried to hide is now half propped on your left foot. 

“Huh,” you muse and reach down to pick it up curiously. The golden writing on the spine is in another language, so you almost give up on finding out what exactly Wonwoo had tried to hide from you and pretend he hadn’t been intrigued by. Yet you still open the book and immediately, a grin lifts your face as you understand. “Oh, Wonwoo, you horny fucker,” you snigger, noticing the illustration of a man and woman having sex on the first page you see. You turn the page and find that this must be some kind of smutty novel, or a guide on how to have sex, based on how the illustrations change as if walking the reader through the stages and movements.

You flick through the pages a little more then get bored and decide to put the book away and return to your own task. Wonwoo can collect his porn in peace later, and you’ll only tease him minimally. Mostly because, based on the pictures, it seemed rather vanilla and Wonwoo had been pretty flustered for something so innocent, at least by your standards.

By the time you pick a book to take to the main room, Wonwoo hasn’t returned to the library and has instead decided to read one of the books from the shelves in the main room, where you usually get your own reads from. At least, he’s pretending to read. 

Even once you sit down and open your own book, in your periphery you can see him repeatedly looking over at you from over the top of his own book. Though you don’t point it out and just giggle quietly to yourself before focusing on your story.

Months pass with Wonwoo. Over time, you’ve explored your home and discovered that there are many things stored around; more records, even more books, various art supplies, and plenty of older games and activities. Each of which Wonwoo obligingly sits and patiently teaches you to play, regardless of how long it takes or how many times you get the rules wrong in your effort to learn. 

During the months, the two of you get closer, which was bound to happen after living with someone and having only them for company, but you hadn’t expected how quickly it would happen. 

Clearly, Wonwoo hadn’t expected it either, as one day, some months in, when he tries to use his power to playfully steal your favourite huge cushion away before you can reach it to sit on, the cushion moves a lot faster than expected and pelts him in the face. 

“Holy shit!” you exclaim and crack up, almost falling over from laughing so hard. Especially when Wonwoo just gawps dumbly at the pillow covering half of his body where he’s now slouched against his own pillow pile. 

“You love me,” he blurts, instantly shutting you up.

“What the fuck, man?!” you sputter.

“You think of me as your friend?” he asks in surprise. 

“Well, yeah,” you confirm. 

“And you love me.”

“Whoa, dude, I do not fall that easily, take it a step back. You’re pretty and all, but down from your self-appointed pedestal, thanks.”

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks quietly. 

You just nod silently, trying to wrap your head around this whole conversation. It feels rather surreal and you’re starting to wonder if he had hit his head when the cushion smacked into him. Can spirits get concussions? 

“I think you’re beautiful,” he informs honestly.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You shuffle your weight from foot to foot awkwardly and look away shyly. “But uhm, just because I think you’re pretty, it doesn’t mean I’m in love with you or anything.”

“I know.” 

“Then why did you say that?!” You look at him frustratedly confused. 

“I said you love me, not that you’re in love with me. Do humans no longer platonically love their friends?”

“Ooooh.” You understand as your eyes round out slightly. “I see. Yes, yes, we do. Sorry, people tend to mean romantic love, so my mind automatically went there. Yes, I do love you platonically, what has that got to do with anything?”

“I told you; when your family loves me, my powers come back.”

“Wait, that still applies?” You rush over and yank the cushion off of him to drop onto at his side with wide, excited eyes. “Even though I’m down here with you, loving you still affects you?”

“As long as you are alive, your love for me will always affect me.” 

“Then I guess there’s only one thing for it,” you decide and take his face into your hands, making his eyes blow wide and cheeks warm under your palms. “You’re going to have to make me fall in love with you, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“What?!” he sputters and removes your hands from his face. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?!”

“I imagine the more I love you, the more of your power returns, right?” He nods. “Then we can have so much fun! You can raid my mind and make so many things to improve our home!” 

“You do not like our home?” He frowns, almost pouting offendedly. “I have worked hard to build this home. I love this home, why don’t you?”

“I do, actually. It’s beautiful and I feel more at home here than I ever have anywhere,” it’s only as you say those words that you realise the truth to them. “Huh, that’s true.”

“Did you intend to lie?” He frowns further, more genuinely upset this time at the thought of you lying to him; something you haven’t done so far, and you can’t imagine a situation where you will feel it necessary to lie to the man either. 

“No, no, not at all,” you assure and wiggle your arms a little so that he removes his hold from your wrists. Though, you grab his hands before he can move them away to hold them in your own. 

It’s the first time you’ve held hands, but the sight of Wonwoo’s shy, diverted gaze and red tipped ears makes you internally promise to hold his hand at every available chance. He’s so easy to fluster, it’s so endearingly cute.

“I just meant that I hadn’t realised until I said it. Perhaps when I was little I felt at home with my parents, but then I grew up and realised how obsessive they are about all this. Even my dad follows it all despite not being part of the bloodline. But here, I feel safe, comfortable, happy. I feel like you accept me entirely and enjoy being by my side. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever needed in a home, and now I have it, with you.” 

“Oh.” He lets out a breath and slowly nods. “I can’t recall my childhood, or much of my human life, but I think I may feel the same way. I can’t remember ever being this happy and content in eight hundred years.”

“Okay, this is really sweet but I’m very stuck on what sounds like you were a human once?” You gawk when he just nods. “What the fuck, Wonwoo?” You let go of his hands to hit his shoulder scoldingly. 

“What?!” he exclaims and grabs your hands before you can hit him again. 

“Why did you never tell me?!”

“I wasn’t aware it was something you care to know!”

“Of course it is! I want to know everything about you, idiot.”

“Oh…I didn’t realise. You never asked.”

“Well, I didn’t know that you were human to ever ask about.”

“All spirits are, at least guardian spirits. I don’t really recall much of my life, only glimpses and vague memories, but I think I was spoiled, not a nice man, so I was punished upon death to live as guardian to one of the bloodlines I wronged.”

“You were shitty to my ancestors so now you have to watch over their shitty descendants; that sucks.”

“Sometimes. I must admit, many of your family have been terrible people,” he agrees and looks at your hands that are once again in his own. Bravely, he adjusts his hold until your palms can comfortably press together. “But knowing you makes it worth it.” As Wonwoo lifts his head to look at you with a gaze so earnest, your heart skips a beat. 

You think he’ll make it so easy to fall for him.

A whole year passes with Wonwoo growing stronger and stronger as your love for him grows bigger and brighter with every smile, every day spent simply existing together. 

You never thought you could fall in love so peacefully, so entirely without any fear or attempt to stop it. But it feels right, like perhaps you were always meant to love Jeon Wonwoo.

Sometimes, you do wonder if he knows the extent of your love. Obviously, he knows that it’s pretty extensive at this point; he can feel it and regularly shows off his growing powers by surprising you with new items in your home. Items he saw in your uncle’s mind yet never had the power before to create, including a hot tub that he refuses to go near. 

Though, he also refuses to go into your own mind to recreate anything you’ve seen, no matter how much you pout at him. You really want a new bed, but he has never given you the chance to even say that and instead has the habit of vanishing whenever he thinks you’re going to ask him to delve into your mind, without explaining why he won’t even take a peek for one item. 

Based on how Wonwoo’s power and general aura has grown exponentially in the past year, he must know that your love passed platonic some time ago. But he never mentions it, never shows any sign of being aware. At this point, you can’t tell if it’s because he genuinely hasn’t put those pieces together in his innocence, or if he’s taken up being skilled at tricking you just to prevent making things awkward and bringing your unreciprocated feelings to light. 

If he’s not going to mention it, you sure as hell aren’t either. You may not be ashamed of your love or care that he doesn’t return it, but you certainly don’t want to face rejection. You may be comfortable in your own skin, but even you would be embarrassed by the man telling you that he doesn’t return your love. 

It feels unnecessary at this point, anyway. You’re happy with the way things are, happier than you have been in a long time. 

At least, normally you are.

Of course, with it being a year to the day that your family locked you up in the catacombs with their only offers of sustenance being on the other side of the locked gate, it means it’s time for the annual family trip to the crypt. 

Although you closed your heart off to your family when the last light of the candle burned away that day, today, your heart aches.

The gentle call of your name makes you look away from the mocking eyes of David Bowie on your wall and to Wonwoo in the entranceway. He has a box in his hands that you haven’t seen in a year. “I think perhaps it’s time to give you this.”

“The offering?” you mutter confusedly as you sit up and cross your legs, so Wonwoo walks over and places the box on the bed in front of you carefully.

“You were the offering; this was always for you.”

“For me? Then why did you hide it from me?”

“It wasn’t hidden. It’s been in my room waiting for you, but you never go in there.”

“I’m a vampire,” you remind, and he chuckles. “If it was mine, you should’ve put it in here.”

“I almost did at first, but I thought you were doing well without it. Though today, you miss your family knowing they will be above us soon, so this might help. Or not. I haven’t looked inside but I know these boxes are always sent with the sacrifice to offer comfort to them as they pass their years stuck with me underground.”

“Oh.” You reach for the box and flick the latch. 

As soon as you start to open the lid, Wonwoo chooses to vanish instead of walking away like he usually does, unless to escape your teasing or line of questioning. You’re not sure why exactly he left like that, maybe nothing more than just because he wanted to give you privacy and panicked that you were opening the box, or maybe something else. Though the first option seems the most likely for your oddly skittish friend.

Choosing to ignore his behaviour, like you often do, you focus on opening the small chest. Although there is an envelope on the top with your name written on the front in your mother’s handwriting, your attention is drawn to the worn face of the ragdoll underneath. You haven’t seen the doll in such a long time. 

It was your favourite toy as a child; you carried it with you everywhere and couldn’t sleep without it, and would cry for hours if you ever misplaced it. Thinking about it now, you can’t recall when you outgrew the toy exactly, but you know that when you found it in a box of old toys when you were an angsty teen, you had tossed it in the box for donation and hadn’t thought about it since. Now, as you stroke your fingers over the worn-soft face of the doll, you’re silently glad that your parents didn’t listen to you and saved your childhood comfort.

Under the doll are some family photos; one for every annual trip to the crypt, showing the progression of your family’s growth and age, with you right there in the centre between your grandmother and mother. Until now, you’ve never noticed that you were always placed in the centre despite almost everyone else changing positions around you. Only your grandmother and mother remained in place at your sides and all of your blood relatives just fit wherever suited them at the time. 

Until now, you hadn’t considered once in the past year that maybe it hadn’t been a spontaneous decision to sacrifice you out of all of the adults of your bloodline. Yet now that you’re thinking about it, it makes sense. 

You always thought that it’s just because your mother is the closest to your grandmother as her eldest that you were raised with the most fanatical upbringing. Your mother had always drilled the importance of the yearly visit and ritual into you at every available opportunity. And ever since you were old enough, she would quiz you and give you homework to write your own essay of thanks to the crypt spirit on a weekly basis. None of your mother’s siblings have raised their children in the same way, even if they all believe in the spirit too. You just thought she was intensely devout.

But maybe it’s always been much worse than that. Maybe, she has been raising you for the sole purpose of sacrificing you one day.

Now that you’re thinking about that possibility, you can so vividly remember the time your mother had admitted to you that she never wanted children, and had never been a maternal woman like her sisters and friends. When you asked why she had you if she didn’t want children, she smiled, cupped your too young cheek, and simply said “for the love of family”. You had assumed she meant the family she made with your father, the three of you, but now, now you’re wondering if she had always meant the bloodline. Now you’re wondering if the only reason she birthed you was to give you away to a spirit one day in the misguided belief it will benefit the bloodline.

With that thought in mind, you pack everything back into the box and take it to find Wonwoo. He’s not in the main room so you assume he’s cleaning the catacombs, and you don’t want to go wandering around the halls looking for him and risk getting lost. You know he would find you once he realises that you’re not at home, but that could take a while; he has a lot of halls and tombs to clean.

You put the chest down on the table for him to find when he returns and go to the recently developed second bathroom. Or as you call it, the hot tub room. Wonwoo, however, just calls it your bathroom, even if it only contains the hot tub and some décor.

Although the hot tub itself is wonderful and Wonwoo had managed to create it with multiple settings so that you can adjust it to how you’d prefer, there is something important he failed to factor in when creating the hot tub; suitable clothing for you to wear in it. 

When Wonwoo had seen the hot tub in your uncle’s memories, he hadn’t seen anyone but men using it, wearing swimming trunks Wonwoo had assumed were simply shorts. So, in his innocence, he had assumed that you can wear your own shorts and t-shirt in the hot tub. It hadn’t occurred to him that you would need something else, and he had vanished when you tried to explain to him what a bikini is. 

As you strip down to bare skin and clamber into the heated, gently bubbling water, you muse if the reason Wonwoo refuses to enter this room, other than his distrust for modern technology, is that he knows the hot tub implies you will be naked and that flusters him greatly. Even if he has no issue with going near the bathtub or shower, at least you assume so as he’s always clean, but maybe that’s just part of his spirit powers.

Sometimes, you do ponder what exactly Wonwoo’s powers are. You know that he can manipulate your home within the catacombs when he’s strong enough. And he can always repair and clean all of the catacombs and crypt; hence why it’s always clean despite your family only visiting once a year. 

You also know that Wonwoo cannot enter the crypt himself. The gate is imbued with some kind of celestial power that keeps him trapped in the catacombs. He can’t reveal himself to the bloodline unless guiding them, so he can’t even leave the catacombs when they open the gate for the sacrifice to descend the stairs. 

Whenever he cleans the crypt, he has to stand on the other side of the gate and summon a crypt cleaner to clean the sections that he can’t see himself to send his magic to. It used to take a lot out of him, but now that he’s full of your love, he finds the task much easier and only looks a little run down after cleaning the crypt chambers.

But other than those things, you don’t know if Wonwoo’s powers extend further. You’ve never explicitly discussed how he watches over your family, how he “does what he can” in regard to giving your family good health, or how he guides the deceased to the afterlife. At least you know that one day, you’ll have the answer for the latter when he has to guide you. You just hope you have plenty of time with the man before then.

The thing about Wonwoo’s creating the hot tub, other than the no swimwear issue, is that despite it logically being water focused; therefore, all the normal water rules apply, Wonwoo had forgotten that aspect when creating the hot tub. Which means that this water doesn’t have the habit normal water does of making your skin wrinkle. 

Many days you’ve spent enough time relaxing in the water with your mind wandering down various paths without realising how long you’ve been inside, until Wonwoo knocks the door timidly and tells you that it’s time to eat or go to bed.

Today is no different. You know you’ve been in the water for quite some time, and your stomach is starting to tell you it’s getting close to lunch time, when there’s an almost too-quiet knock on the door. 

You lift your hand out of the water to eye the perfectly smooth skin of your fingertips as you remain silent, just to mess with Wonwoo and force him to knock a little louder and call your name through the door.

“I can’t hear you!” you call and reach over to turn the bubbles up. You can hear Wonwoo talking through the door; you can actually clearly hear him questioning why you left the box in the main room, but you need a pick-me-up right now and flustering Wonwoo is a sure-fire way to brighten your day. “Sorry, Wonwoo, but I really have no idea what you’re saying, you’ll have to come inside!” you sing-song and move over to the side of the tub facing the door to cross your arms on the edge and rest your chin on them to watch the door intently.

Honestly, you’re pretty convinced that Wonwoo will just give up and leave, that he’ll simply wait until you come out of the room of your own accord to talk to you then. Yet, after a few anticipatory moments, the door handle tentatively turns and your eyes light up.

You can’t help but giggle as Wonwoo shuffles awkwardly into the room with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He has the chest in one arm as his other hand remains gripping the door.

“Shut the door, you’re letting all the heat out,” you scold. It’s not true at all, there’s no chill entering the room at all. It’s always at the perfect temperature and Wonwoo knows that; he’s the one who designed the room that way. Yet he obeys and closes the door before pressing his back against it and holding the box with both hands. “What’s the matter, Wonwoo, something in your eyes?”

“N-no,” he stammers and lifts the box a little. “Why is this not in your room?” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“What?” His features scrunch in confusion. “What do you mean you don’t want it?” 

“I mean what I said.” 

“But…it’s for you.” 

“No, it’s to make those people who are supposed to be family feel better about bringing me into this world for the sole purpose of sacrificing me.” That makes Wonwoo open his eyes to look at you incredulously. His eyes widen fractionally at the sight of your bare, glistening arms, yet he can’t see the rest of your body, so he manages to only softly blush shyly and keep his eyes open.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m always in the middle of those photos and my mother always said she’s not maternal, never wanted kids, yet she had me ‘for the love of family’. Which I’m pretty sure means this; sacrificing me for the sake of appeasing you.” 

“Are you certain?”

“It makes sense.” You shrug and motion vaguely to the box. “Look for yourself at those photos and try to tell me it’s not suspicious that I’m always pride of place.” 

Wonwoo holds your gaze for a moment before nodding slightly then lowering to sit on the floor and open the box. With gentle hands, he moves aside the doll to pick up the photos and look through them carefully. 

“See, everyone but my grandmother, mother, and I change place.” 

“I see,” he mutters. “That is strange,” he concedes and puts the photos away, plucking up the envelope instead. “Oh, you did not read your letter.”

“I don’t want to. Either it’s lies about them loving me, or the truth.”

“You’re not curious?”

“Curious? Yes. Willing to read the words? No.”

“Perhaps, I could read it to you?” he offers and looks back up at you. “Then you will know for certain.”

“Just read it and summarise, I don’t need it word for word,” you agree and move to another side of the tub so that you can lean back against it slouched down, only your shoulders and head above the water. Wonwoo immediately looks away as soon as you start to move so that he won’t see anything even if you sit upright.

He’s quiet for a minute or so, eyes stuck to the letter as he silently reads it before he lets out a disappointed breath. “Your suspicions aren’t explicitly confirmed, but it does seem like you’re correct. She states that this is your fate and such crap.”

You gasp and look at him in amusement. “Jeon Wonwoo! Did you just drop a very minor curse?”

“The situation calls for it.”

“Watch out, you’ll stop using coasters next, you bad boy,” you tease, giggling at the red that tinges the tips of his ears. “Anything else in that letter?”

“It does state that if you had a family of your own, children to look after, they would’ve sacrificed your childfree aunt instead.” 

“So, I’m only good to sacrifice or raise children.” 

“That…seems the gist of things, yes,” he confirms and folds the letter up to place it back in the envelope, then puts that in the chest to close it. “What shall I do with this now?”

“I don’t care right now.”

“I’ll put it somewhere for safe keeping until you decide.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t. This isn’t the only one of these I have down here.” He pats the box before getting up with it in his hands. He looks at you, seeming to have forgotten that you’ve moved, and immediately freezes. 

“Are you a virgin?” you suddenly query. Wonwoo squeaks and vanishes, taking the box with him, making you snicker and assume it is a confirmation to your suspicion, however an unintended confirmation. It’s no wonder he reads such vanilla porn.

Although you still can’t tell the passage of time down here, you know when your family arrives at the crypt due to the fact Wonwoo sits at your side on the pillows in the main room and takes your hand into his. He never usually initiates affection, only blushes and accepts your own, so you know this is him comforting you. 

“You can feel them?” you assume, giving up on your book and instead leaning closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder. 

He hums in confirmation and holds your hand tighter. “What would you like me to do?” 

“What do you mean?”

“To improve our home.”

“Oh. I’ve always wanted a huge bed to spread out on.” 

“A bed? That’s all you want?” 

“Well…” For a second, you almost consider explaining to him what sex toys are, but you think that is too far and just nod. “Yeah, I saw this bed in a movie before; I’ve always wanted it. Can you recreate something from a movie I saw?”

“What is a movie?” You lift your head to peer at him suspiciously, expecting this to be another one of his jokes about being old and out of touch with modern living, yet he looks entirely serious. 

“Oh, a moving picture to tell a story. Movies are usually somewhere between an hour and four hours long, but an hour and a half to two hours is the average length.”

“Are you telling me that not only have humans developed instant portraits but moving ones too?” he gawps at you in awed shock.

“I guess you can put it that way,” you giggle amusedly. 

“Why do all of your photos not move if that is a possibility?”

“Ah, movies are shown on TVs or in cinemas, not on pieces of paper or in frames.”

“What are TVs and cinemas?”

“If you look in my mind, you can see; I’m not going to be able to explain it to you.” You motion to your head. Wonwoo glances at your head with an uncertain frown. “Why are you so against looking in my mind, Wonwoo? I am entirely consenting.”

“Because it becomes so easy after the first time. I have to create a link between our minds and that’ll mean I will be able to access your mind at any point.”

“I have nothing to hide.” 

“You will have no true privacy. I won’t purposely enter your mind without consent, but sometimes if I’m relaxed enough, my own mind opens up and travels, connects. I know that it will be a constant fight around you to keep to myself, I’ve never been so comfortable with someone before.” 

“That doesn’t bother me.”

“In those moments, it won’t just be your memories I see. I’ll see your thoughts too.”

“You can read minds?” 

“Only if the connection is strong enough. I’ve…I’ve never done it before, but I know I will with you.” 

“Makes me feel special,” you joke softly.

“You are to me.” 

“Oh.” 

There’s a moment here. Of sparks and racing hearts. Of flushed cheeks and a tightened hold of another’s hands. Of gravitating fractionally closer, before he looks away and plucks your book from your lap to look at in a slightly trembling hand.

“Wonwoo-” you murmur softly, wanting to bring that moment back and wondering what it will take. Although it was only a glimpse of something between you, you think that something could be exceptional, if only it would happen.

“A bed?” he asks, returning to the previous topic. 

“A big comfy bed, with a wooden frame.”

“Oh,” he frowns slightly. “You don’t like the metal one? I thought it is very modern, and you would like it.”

“It’s noisy and the mattress isn’t comfortable.”

“Why have you never told me?” He looks at you. 

“Well, at first, it was just because you looked so proud of it that I didn’t want to upset you, and then I figured there’s nothing to be done about it. But then when you got strong enough, I tried, but you always vanished or changed the subject when I tried to bring up you going in my mind to see the bed I want.” 

“I apologise. If I knew it is so uncomfortable, I would’ve done all I can to change it. I’ll create a wooden framed bed which I hope will be comfortable for you.” 

“Does that mean you’ll look in my mind?”

“No.” He shakes his head and hands you your book back as he leans back against the pillows propped against the wall behind you both. “I have seen many beds in my time; I can recreate one of those.”

“Many beds, huh?” you tease but he misses the insinuation and just hums in confirmation, making you giggle. 

Wonwoo glances at you curiously but instead of questioning you, he just smiles and then motions to your book. “Read to me.” 

“I don’t have a very good reading voice,” you warn as you put another pillow on your lap so that you can prop the book on top and hold the pages open with one hand, just so that you don’t have to let go of Wonwoo’s hand still clasped securely in your own.

“You have a beautiful voice, all of you is beautiful,” he disagrees softly, making you look at him and find him looking at you in a soft, tender kind of way that makes your heart race all over again. “I could spend forever listening to you talk about whatever makes you happy.” 

“I don’t know enough about you to talk about you forever,” you retort, and giggle when his cheeks visibly warm.

“I- that- you-” he sputters before pointing at your book quickly and looking away. “R-read.”

“Whatever you wish, my dear Wonwoo.” You hum and turn your focus back to the book to do as asked, while Wonwoo watches you with adoration in his eyes and truly willing to spend forever like this. As long as he’s with you.

As more time passes with Wonwoo in the catacombs, you learn more about the man and he you. But what you feel the most important out of your newfound knowledge is that without a doubt, the spirit returns your feelings.

You can’t say that he is definitely wholeheartedly in love with you like you are him, but after almost two years together, you’re very positive that all of his shy blushes when he initiates affection first and tender smiles when you catch him watching you, can only mean one thing. Unless those things suddenly change when a human becomes a spirit and spends centuries stuck underground, but you don’t think so.

Still, despite being certain that Wonwoo loves you and knowing that it’s impossible that he doesn’t know that you are head over heels in love with him, nothing has happened between you. There have been a few instances where he’s lingered and you’ve waited, but he always turns away, or vanishes, or changes the subject so abruptly that you can only dumbly blink at him as your mind tries to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Although you have the rest of your life to spend by Wonwoo’s side, the rest of your life to love and be loved by him, you’d rather not have to wait the rest of your life to hear him admit to the words. 

Part of you, a rather big part admittedly, wants to grab Wonwoo by his stupidly handsome face and kiss him until the confessions flow effortlessly from your tongues. And also, that your tongues wind up in each other’s mouths. You’d really like that.

But the other part of you, the logical part of you, knows that doing as much would make Wonwoo freak the fuck out.

If you’re going to do it, you need to ease him into it. Baby steps, so to speak.

So, one day when you sit down next to him to read like you do every single day, you press a quick kiss to his cheek nonchalantly before focusing on your book. No sooner have you found the place where you last read to, Wonwoo vanishes, and you sigh. 

“Okay, even smaller,” you mutter and get comfortable in place to try to read your book while your mind is distracted wondering how you’re supposed to take a smaller step than kissing his cheek.

The same evening of the day you kiss Wonwoo’s cheek, you find out that perhaps, you took the exact right step, despite the fact the man hasn’t shown his face until he calls you for dinner.

Every single day, Wonwoo cooks for you; he insists on also laying the table and serving you himself. And today is no different. Everything is set up on the table already and Wonwoo is hovering behind your chair when you enter the kitchen. 

You eye the meal set up on the table. It’s much more extravagant than he’s made in a while. “Were you stress cooking?” you wonder as you sit in your chair and let him tuck you in.

“No,” he replies too immediately to be honest. You snicker, though cut off in shock when he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before darting away to take his own seat.

For a moment, you can only stare across the table at his reddened cheeks and downturned eyes as he pretends to be entirely focused on serving the various dishes between you, always spooning your share onto your plate before he even thinks about himself. 

When you’ve fully registered that Wonwoo had actually reciprocated your affection from this morning, you stretch your legs out to tap your foot against his, making him look up at you with wide eyes. 

“This looks delicious, Wonwoo, thank you.” 

“O-of course,” he replies and shyly moves his foot closer to allow your ankles to lock together under the table while he goes back to dishing up. But now, there’s a content little smile turning his lips up and you think that things will fall into place soon enough.

In some ways, things between you and Wonwoo change drastically after the day you first kiss one another’s cheek. At least, drastically for a shy, centuries old spirit who is skittish at best when physical relationships are even vaguely referenced, and infinitely skilled at disappearing at worst. 

Every single day, Wonwoo kisses your cheek, sometimes multiple times, and he has even started to kiss your head when you rest it against his shoulder while curled side by side on the pillows to read. He doesn’t even hesitate to hold your hand anymore; he even bravely laces your fingers together to secure the tender hold.

Yet, in other ways, nothing has changed. 

You haven’t discussed what it all means; that your feelings passed platonic long ago and are clearly very mutual. A few times, you’ve tried to bring it up. Yet, every time your voice turns serious, and you look at him so earnestly, Wonwoo clams up and vanishes; sometimes with a little squeak if he’s extra taken off guard. 

Despite how you’d love to climb into his lap and make out with his pretty face, you know that’s far past his comfort levels and you’re okay with that. You can take it as slow as he needs, even if you’d rather the only slow is more in the slow and deep way involving zero clothing and your legs wrapped around his waist. 

You’re more than willing to take it a miniscule step at a time, but you need to hear him say it. You need to hear him admit that he has feelings for you. Of course, Wonwoo saying “I love you” is the ideal scenario, but you will accept him simply saying that feelings exist in a romantic manner. 

Although you’re pretty damn confident about how mutual your feelings are, there’s still a small, insecure part of you that taunts you with his inability to be honest about his heart. And unfortunately, that little part is starting to spread its thin, spindly fingers out to try and claim more space for uncertainty to grow.

It takes you some time of thinking on it, of not rushing through the mental process of trying to come up with a way to get the words from the man, before you realise that maybe trying to coax him into talking isn’t the way forward. 

Perhaps, the best course is to bare your heart first and hope that he will follow suit.

One night, while you’re both getting up from the pillows ready to head off to your beds, you decide that despite being pretty sure that you have plenty of time left with Wonwoo, that there’s no time like the present. 

“I love you,” you declare, abrupt in that the room was quiet before and there was no warning that you intended to speak. Yet your tone is still soft, still gentle to not disturb the calm of the room in hopes that Wonwoo won’t be so startled.

Instantly, he lifts his head from where he’s just gotten to his feet after neatening the pillows. His eyes are wide and a little wild, and lips parted ever so slightly. He looks like he wants to say something; that there are a million thoughts behind his eyes but he’s unable to catch any of them to create a response.

“Not just as a friend, though I do also treasure you in that way too. But I mean that I’m completely in love with you and want to spend the rest of my life loving you and being loved by you in return. I’m not expecting you to say anything back right this second, you can have time to gather your thoughts, but I’d like to know how you feel, Wonwoo,” you make sure that your tone is serious, yet still soft, still cautious of scaring him away. You want him to know that you’re being honest and that this is important to you; but that won’t matter if he vanishes before you can get your point across. “I can take things at your speed, but I need to know that this means to you what I think it does; that you feel the same way about me as I do you.” 

Even though you usually kiss his cheek, and gain a kiss in return, every night before you part ways to go to bed, tonight, you don’t. Wonwoo is still staring at you as if he is frozen in place as his mind tries to decipher the meaning of life itself, so you really don’t think it’s wise to touch him right now. 

“Sleep well, Wonwoo,” you finish with a little smile then turn and go to your room. 

As you get ready for bed, you feel oddly lighter than before your confession. You hadn’t expected to feel this way because you’re positive Wonwoo already knew of your feelings. The man can literally feel your love, so he certainly already knew. But something about speaking the words aloud pushes those sharp fingers of insecurity away from your heart and allows you to breathe a little easier. 

Just as you clamber into your big, comfy, wooden framed bed, there’s frantic knocking on your bedroom door. 

In the three years you’ve lived here with Wonwoo, he has never knocked on your door like that. In fact, he’s never knocked on your door before. Your door is always open during the day when you’re awake, and he’s never had a reason to talk to you at night.

As quickly as you can, you shove the duvet out of the way and scuttle to your door to open it.

Wonwoo still looks a little wild, his eyes are still wide as they land on you, but there’s something new in them. Something determined that shines a little darkly and makes your heart thrum.

“I love you,” he rushes out firmly before deflating slightly, as if it took a lot of strength for him to admit to those words. “I have never wanted to spend an eternity by someone’s side until I met you. You are everything I never knew I wanted, everything I never knew I needed, and I never want to let you go. I hate your family for the pain they caused you, but I will forever be grateful to them for sending you to me. I love you with everything in me, and I will continue to for the rest of my existence. I wish I could spend all of my endless years with you, but I can’t, and it makes my heart ache to think of the day I have to let you go. However, until that day, I want to give you all the love I have. Will you allow me that honour?” 

You blink at him dumbly for a moment before you slowly nod, unable to actually gather the words on your tongue. Though, by the way he lights up and smiles so brightly in a way you’ve never seen him before, you think he’s more than okay with your silent agreement. 

“I’ve never kissed someone on the lips before, but I would really like to try, may I?” he requests, stepping closer and gently touching the tips of his fingers to your jaw, coaxing you to tilt your face towards him.

“Please,” you whisper, trembling fingers grasping onto his shirt over his chest. For the very first time, you’re the flustered one between you; mind still whirling with the genuinely unexpected and heartwarming confession, not to mention his request to kiss you added on top. 

None of this is going how you played it out in your mind, how you thought tonight would go, and your heart and mind is a mess of Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo, but there’s nothing you would change given the chance.

Wonwoo smiles at you softly, looking more like his usual shy self now as he carefully cups your face in both of his warm palms. You can feel the slight quiver of his fingers as they press gently against your skin, a sign of his nerves as he leans in. 

Ever so carefully, Wonwoo brushes his lips against yours, almost testing the waters, before he tilts his head a little to the right and kisses you so tenderly that you think you would melt into a puddle by his feet if he wasn’t holding you. Your knees feel weak, and your cheeks are warmed so ridiculously for such an innocent and short kiss. 

It’s more perfect than any first kiss you could’ve imagined with him. Even your fantasies of climbing on his lap and sliding your tongue into his willing mouth can’t compare to the truth of the simple and undeniable love of this kiss.

Somehow, when your eyes meet again after he’s pulled back, you think you love him even more than before. Your heart swells and he takes a shaky breath as his chest expands as if he feels it too. You think that by the way his heart races under your palms, he most certainly does.

Considering how shy Wonwoo had been for the first three years of your time together, you really had thought that was a good basis for assumption to how he’d be once in a relationship with you. You assumed, that if anything, he’d be even shier thanks to the added layer of affection and commitment between you.

But as it turns out, you do not know Jeon Wonwoo as well as you had thought.

The very morning after your exchanged confessions and sweet first kiss, Wonwoo greets you with his lips against yours and a hand on your waist. After breakfast, while he’s leaning around you to pick up your dirty dishes ready to take to the sink, he kisses you again. As he sits by your side for your morning reading session, he kisses you yet again, sweet and simple. When you’re both in the library looking for your next reads, he kisses you against the shelves with his arms bracketing your head and chest brushing yours. And so, the habit continues throughout the day, all the way until he kisses you at your bedroom door before going to his own for the night. 

And the next day, the cycle repeats.

Of course, you never once refuse his enthusiastic kisses that grow braver and braver each one. There’s not a single part of you that wants to refuse, and you’re more than happy to accept him as far into your personal space as he wants to be. Even if it’s highly unexpected, but definitely a pleasant surprise. 

Though, as the days pass and Wonwoo gets more confident, more adventurous with how he kisses you and how his hands press and pull your body to his heart’s desire over your clothing, you realise that you’re going to have to do something you really don’t want to do.

You’re going to have to stop him. 

Sure, you’re thoroughly enjoying this, and he is too based on the increasing frequency and urgency of his lips against yours, but you don’t want him to get ahead of himself. He’s never admitted to having zero sexual experience before, but based on the confession that he hadn’t kissed anyone before you, you think it’s a pretty logical deduction that Jeon Wonwoo is a virgin. 

An almost nine hundred year old virgin. 

You’re probably more into that than you could ever admit. There’s a part of you that really doesn’t want to stop him, that wants to push him down the next time he groans softly against your mouth as his hands explore your body, that wants to show him what he’s been missing out on and absolutely ruin him. You just know he’d look so fucking beautiful with pink staining his cheeks, your claims blooming red and purple over his body, and eyes blissed out and glued to your body as you ride him until your body gives out. You think it’d be a great way to go out, honestly.

But unfortunately, you love the man far too much to not at least try to have an honest conversation about it all before climbing onto his lap and letting him experience things that his innocent, vanilla porn reading mind could never imagine. 

You want to blow his mind as he blows his load, so to speak. But first, talking.

“Sweetheart,” you start, putting a hand to his chest to stop him leaning in again. Some time ago, possibly ten minutes, possibly longer, Wonwoo had backed you against the corridor wall just outside of the hot tub room before you could enter and immediately attached his mouth to yours. Of course, you hadn’t argued at all and had happily pulled him closer encouragingly. But now, your conscience is waving the morals flag and reminding you that you should be the bigger person right now, as the experienced one.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” he asks, frowning at you, looking very much like a sad puppy. It almost makes you remove your hand and let him lean back in to steal your breath away all over again with his thorough kisses, but you remain strong. 

“I do, a fucking lot, but we need to talk.” 

“About kissing?” He tilts his head slightly, utterly confused and only furthering the puppy likeness. 

You suddenly imagine him wearing a collar and your brain short circuits for a few seconds until he tries to lean in again, assuming your silence means you’ve given up on talking. Though him pressing against your hand to try and get closer brings you back to reality, and you nudge him back again. 

“My love,” he complains. “I want to kiss you.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” you coo and cup his face. “But we need to talk.”

“About what?” he asks, sounding impatient.

“That before me, you hadn’t kissed anyone.”

“Oh…” Suddenly, he leans away, pushing away from the wall where he’s leaning on one arm, and removing the other from around your waist as he puts space between you. “I didn’t realise it was so obvious. I’m trying hard to learn.” 

“No! No, no! I didn’t mean it like that!” you insist and push away from the wall yourself so that you can take his hands into yours and squeeze reassuringly. “You’re not bad at kissing, like, not at all. I thoroughly enjoy the way you kiss me, Wonwoo.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He perks back up a little and adjusts his hands in yours to slot your fingers together and hold you more securely. “Then what do you mean if not that I’m bad at kissing?”

“Well, based on how much you back me against the nearest surface and kiss me so heavily, I’m pretty fucking sure you want to have sex with me, right?” 

Wonwoo blinks at you a few times dumbly as he takes in your words and accepts that you’ve seriously said them to him. Then, his cheeks suddenly bloom pink, and he shyly looks away to a low spot on the wall behind you to your left. “U-uhm, y-yes,” he admits in a nervous stammer. “If-if you would like that-that.” 

“I’ve wanted to climb you for years; I most certainly want that.”

“Climb me?” he questions puzzled as he looks at you, too bewildered by your words to be shy.

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh!” he squeaks and looks away again, blush darkening beautifully. 

“But based on the fact you’re new to kissing, I think it’s safe to assume you’ve never had sex either, correct?” Wonwoo hesitates before nodding, unable to look at you or verbally confirm your words. “Which means, I think we should talk about it; our desires and interests before we get that far. We need to be on the same page.” 

“Isn’t that clear?” He looks at you again, once again puzzled and so innocent. “We wish to have sex; that is our desire, is it not?”

“Yes, but there are many ways to have sex, sweetheart. Some people like it rough, others don’t. Some like to involve toys, others don’t. And many other things that we will need to discuss, but for now, we need to discuss expectations for our first time together. What exactly do you want to happen, Wonwoo?”

“I…want to have sex with you?” He tilts his head. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Okay, bluntly; is all you want right now is to put your penis in my vagina?” Wonwoo’s eyes bulge and his whole face pinkens, tips of his ears so red they practically glow with heat. “Wow, if you blush so dark at that, you really aren’t ready for anything more.”

“There’s more?!” he sputters, practically shrieking. 

“Well, have you heard of oral sex?” 

“Oral? That means mouth…” 

“Mmhmm,” you confirm and tug him closer as your lips turn up a little in a slight smirk. “Using the mouth to make your partner orgasm.” 

“H-how?”

“Well, for example, I could take you to your room right now, lay you on your bed, pull down your trousers, and fill my mouth with your cock.” Wonwoo inhales sharply, fingers curling into the backs of your hands and lips popping open. “I could explain how I would bring you to orgasm that way, but I’d much rather just show you, if you’d let me. Can I show you, my love? Will you let me make you cum with my mouth?” 

“Fuck.” It’s the first time you’ve heard Wonwoo swear, and it makes your blood fizzle with rapidly growing desire. Now that you’ve heard how good the curse sounds in Wonwoo’s low, aroused voice, you know that you’ll do everything you physically can to hear it again.

As soon as he nods in consent, you’re dragging him to his room to push him down onto his bed, more than just a little excited to do your best to earn curses and moans to fall beautifully from Wonwoo’s lips. 

And earn them you do, repeatedly. It’s better than you could’ve ever imagined.

Time with Wonwoo passes in a way that feels slow, like a calm river gently flowing along as you float atop, curled up safely in his arms and holding him in return. It’s a content kind of life you live with him.

Yet, you age and are reminded that as much as you don’t want it to, your time with Wonwoo will inevitably come to an end.

Although you’re pretty certain that Wonwoo can’t feel your emotions, he always seems to know when that sour little stone in your heart weighs you down with the reminder that this, as much as you’d love it to, isn’t eternal. Only Wonwoo is.

You would accuse the spirit of reading your mind, but you know he can’t. He still refuses to look into your mind, even if he’s tempted to for the sake of learning more about movies, so he hasn’t created a mental connection with you. 

Still, after five years, he just knows you. 

“My love,” he says softly while watching you look at your reflection in the mirror on the dressing table in his room. Well, your shared room, but originally just his. Yet now, he’s added extra touches to make it suitable for you both, brought all of your belongings in, leaving your old room to David Bowie on the wall.

“Mm?” you respond, prodding and pulling at your face, at the delicate wrinkles beginning to fall into place with age, with the smiles and laughter Wonwoo brings to your being every single day. 

You don’t hate the blooming wrinkles for what they are; proof of how happy you are. That even though you haven’t seen the sun or sky in five years, there’s nowhere in the world that could create these growing signs of a joyful life on your skin. Yet, at the same time, you hate them for reminding you that you’re nothing more than a human; destined to grow old while Wonwoo remains eternally thirty-six and has to watch you die one day. It's not fair to either of you, but you can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Come to bed, beautiful,” he requests softly, having watched you for the past almost ten minutes, watched your lips turn down the longer you observe your reflection in the ornate mirror.

You don’t argue, you never have it in you to refuse Wonwoo, especially when he makes his wishes in such a tender tone; latches his wants directly to your heart and makes you unable to do anything but bend to his will. It’s not his powers at work, just you being utterly whipped for Jeon Wonwoo. If he was anyone else, you would rather it was his magical, mystical, spiritual powers manipulating you instead of you just being a giant fucking simp for the man. But it’s Wonwoo, so you oblige willingly. Always happy to make him happy.

As soon as you’re under the duvet, Wonwoo dims the light and settles down at your side where he belongs.

For a few minutes, you lay there, both on your sides facing one another as your gaze turns unfocused as you think. For his part, Wonwoo just watches you, silently and patiently waiting for you to be ready to either talk or curl up in his arms to go to sleep. 

When you let out a soft exhale, sighing a little and blinking your eyes back to him instead of staring over his left shoulder, he knows you’re ready, and by the way you remain where you are, he knows it’s not to sleep.

“What’s on your mind?” he questions, lifting his left hand from the mattress in between you to tenderly brush your hair back from your face, tucking the choppy strands behind your ear to not interrupt his view of you even a little. 

A few days ago, you handed Wonwoo a pair of scissors and told him that you had full faith in his ability to not make you look utterly insane. He had zero faith in himself, but he still gingerly cut away at your hair until you were content with the length. He still thinks he did a terrible job and should never cut your hair for you again. Though, his unskilled job has at least lessened the strands that hang around your face, so when you inevitably ask again, he knows he’ll say yes. Just so that he can make more of your features unobscured to his adoring gaze without having to constantly push your hair aside.

Still, he’ll never cut away any more than this, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to brush your hair back and let his fingers trace over your skin. He’ll take any chance to admire your beauty and caress your skin, even if that means making chances for himself by leaving your hair just a little too long to not fall across your face and threaten to poke you in the eyes when you lay down. A perfect excuse to reach out and touch you.

“Do you remember what you wanted your future to look like when you were human?” you ask, tilting your head back a little to see him better.

“Not really,” he answers honestly, no hesitation in talking about his life those centuries back. It always makes your heart warm a little when he responds so openly regardless of what you ask; even his painful memories of battle and losing friends and family aren’t off limits when you ask. “I was more career focused.” 

“General Jeon,” you hum, remembering that Wonwoo had once told you that he had been so close to reaching the rank of general before he died in a battle he wasn’t even supposed to be present for. But he had been over ambitious and stubborn, insisted he should be there because he knew it would better his chances of promotion. Yet the information hadn’t been accurate, and he and his men had been ambushed and quickly overwhelmed. Wonwoo doesn’t know what happened after that, if any of his men survived, or if they all perished thanks to his egocentric orders. You know that he has never let go of that guilt, but he also doesn’t have the strength in him to try to learn what happened, even when he could’ve found out in those years before he was bound to the crypt.

“I don’t think I ever considered anything else in detail. I only have a vague memory of wanting to climb the ranks until I was satisfied.”

“No intention of falling in love and starting a family?” 

“Not that I recall. I was never interested in romance growing up. Neither did I have interest in peering into the brothels with the other boys to get a glimpse of the scantily dressed women. I just wanted to train, and study maps and battle strategies.”

“Nerd.” 

Wonwoo sighs, making you giggle. His unimpressed look melts away and he smiles adoringly at you. “I will happily be your nerd, if you continue to giggle that way.”

“You already are, no backing out now.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” he assures and moves closer, smoothing his left palm over your waist and to your back to bring you close enough to tangle your legs together under the duvet. “Is that what you’re thinking about? The future you wanted?”

“I never had a specific plan in mind. I was content to just exist and live a happy life. The details never mattered to me. Except one thing.”

“Family,” he finishes, making you look at him as if he’s crazy. “What? You didn’t want to have your own family, children?”

“If it happened, sure, but it wasn’t a thing. I never fantasied about it or anything.”

“Then…a husband?”

“You’re shit at guessing, you know?” you deadpan, and he pouts a little. You can’t resist leaning in to press a soft kiss to his protruding lip, then giggle when he pulls you back in with his hand on your jaw to make you kiss him properly. Not that he ever needs to make you; you’re always more than happy to kiss Wonwoo at every available opportunity.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve made up for your teasing kiss, he loosens his hold and allows you both to settle your heads comfortably on the long, plush pillow spread across the head of the bed for you both to share. 

“What did you fantasise about then, for your future?” he inquires curiously, hand settling on your waist under your sleep shirt where his fingers trace soothing patterns mindlessly against your skin, one of his favourite hobbies.

“I always wanted a cottage.” 

“A cottage?” he repeats, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

“Yeah. Every time I saw them in the older movies, those cosy little cottages with their cute gardens, and thatched roofs, and shutters on the windows, I always imagined living in one. Waking every day to the view of the countryside, going downstairs and making breakfast in a little kitchen, not too little, but not too big. Cosy. The whole house would be cosy. Always just a little below comfortably warm, so that I’d have an excuse to start a fire in the fireplace and curl up on a comfy chair in front of it and watch the flames dance. And now…” You let out a breath, lips turning down at the corners. “I can so easily imagine you there by my side, taking turns to read passages from the same book aloud, fire warming our feet and nothing but time left.” 

“That sounds perfect, my love,” he says with his heart aching and knowing that yours is doing the same judging by your downturned expression. 

It sounds like a dream; living with you in an actual house, somewhere where the two of you could step outside into the fresh air to lay on the grass and watch the clouds when the weather is nice enough to. Where you could go for walks hand in hand down country lanes, stopping to point out little animals and insects to one another. Where he could pick wildflowers for you every day and present them to you with the breakfast that he’d bring you in bed, so that you’d wake up and never doubt his love and devotion to you. Where he could learn to grow a garden lush and thriving, yet incomparable to your beauty no matter how many variations of colourful and delicate flowers that he filled it with.

“You’d like that, a cottage in the country?” you ask, smiling a little as your mind wanders further with the life that you can’t help but imagine with the man you are so wholeheartedly in love with.

“I’d like anywhere as long as you’re by my side.” 

You shove him gently, smiling pleased by his words while he chuckles at your smile, looking nothing but entirely endeared even as you roll your eyes. “Cheesy fucker.”

“Mm. You make me like this,” he declares. “I think a sweet little cottage in the countryside sounds perfect. I would love to try to grow my own crops, to make even better, fresher meals for you.” 

“Maybe I could take up painting as you tend the garden,” you suggest.

“You could paint the landscapes we decorate our home with,” he agrees.

“No,” you scoff. “I’d paint endless portraits of you. You’d be the prettiest view even there.”

“Ah.” He blushes, still shy when you compliment him so intensely, sounding so confident of your own words. He no longer argues with you, he even believes you now, that you really think he’s that beautiful, believes that he is. “I don’t think I’d like to have paintings of my face everywhere.”

“I plan to become an expert at nude portraits,” you say with a salacious smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him for comedic effect. It creates the intended outcome, and he laughs.

“Okay, darling, I look forward to your masterpieces. You’ll have to paint a self-portrait for me to have on my bedside table.”

“Is it not enough to sleep next to me every night? You need me on the bedside table too?” you joke, shuffling closer and finally wrapping your arm around his waist. It makes Wonwoo relax, unaware that he even held any tension until it melts away with your hand caressing his back and your lips curled up into a sweetly happy smile as you peer at him with sparkling eyes.

“I need to have your beautiful face everywhere I turn,” he declares, trying to sound serious, but he’s smiling too much.

“Ah, should I paint a fresco of us on the ceiling above our bed? A tasteful, erotic scene.” Wonwoo just laughs before he kisses you, overcome with his love for you. 

When the kiss naturally breaks, he starts to talk about the library in your shared cosy home, leading to further discussions of the hypothetical future while both of you giggle and smile, even as sleep tries to drag you under. There’s no rush to fall asleep, not when neither of you want to miss a moment of this.

It's a wonderful thought; imagining the happy ending you could’ve had together if you met as humans. But you didn’t. You didn’t meet as humans, and you don’t get your happy ending.

Although you spend all night exchanging sweet words and designing your dream cottage together, it leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

When you were a teenager, you had a friend who didn’t believe that love and happiness could ever last. 

She came from a broken home; not because her parents were divorced, they were married and had no intention of parting ways, but because they remained together despite clearly no longer holding an ounce of love for one another. 

Your friend watched her parents fall out of love as a child, watched their happy home turn into a darkened shell of what once was. And she lost the ability to believe that love really means anything; to believe that it’s real and can last more than a handful of bittersweet years.

You had never agreed with her. Even as a teen, you didn’t think it was right for her to have such a negative outlook. That her parents aren’t proof of anything, that they aren’t the rule to love, but simply two people who just weren’t suited to one another anymore.

Throughout your life, even as you distanced yourself from your family, you didn’t believe her at all. Even when your family sacrificed you and you realised that their love for you wasn’t what you thought it was, and yours for them vanished in the blink of an eye, you believed that she was wrong. 

You believed that love looks different for everyone, but it can last; even with time passing and people changing and growing, love can remain.

Then, you met Wonwoo, fell in love, and you knew she was wrong. 

Every day you wake next to him and love him a little more. Every time he smiles at you, you know that nobody will ever make you happier. You know that as long as you’re by his side, you’ll always know love and happiness.

You love Wonwoo with everything in you and he says he feels the same. He shows you that every single day…

At least, he used to show you that.

It takes you a little while to notice it, but Wonwoo starts to withdraw from you. Such minuscule increments at a time that you don’t notice at first.

Don’t notice that his eyes no longer shine as bright when he looks at you, the gradually muted edge to his smile when you say, “I love you”.

“Look at this, Wonwoo!” you enthuse, showing him your latest attempt at painting his portrait. It’s terrible, really utterly atrocious, but he smiles at you and accepts the little canvas into his hands as if it’s something precious. His gaze runs over the messy brush strokes and incorrectly mixed shades as you rest your chin on his shoulder from behind. “I think I’m finally getting that spark in your eyes right.” He doesn’t respond, just hums, gaze glued to the eyes that no longer reflect his own. “I’ll work on it. I have the rest of my life to stare at your pretty face and learn to recreate it on canvas.”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly as you pluck the canvas back into your own hold, ready to bounce back off to your recently created art studio. 

“I love you,” you sing as you skip out of the room, smiling as Wonwoo returns the words, yet you don’t look back and because of that, you fail to notice the weight pulling down the corners of his smile.

Don’t notice that he doesn’t reach for your hand at every chance anymore, that he slips away more often than necessary to clean the catacombs.

Just as you sit beside Wonwoo on the pillows, a book already open in one hand and the other left free for him, he closes his own book and gets up. You look at him puzzled and let out a questioning noise.

“I’ve just remembered, it’s been a while since I’ve cleaned the Eastern most corridors,” he states, putting his book aside for later. “I won’t be long,” he says, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to your lips, but you don’t realise that he was going to walk away without even kissing you if you hadn’t puckered your lips at him in a silent request. 

“Okay, I’ll keep your seat warm,” you declare cheekily while shuffling around to lay across the space he usually occupies at your side, but he walks away and you don’t even realise the significance of that.

But now you know.

Now you’ve noticed him pulling away and feel so stupid for not noticing sooner. For not paying better attention and tightening your grip before he could slip between your fingers.

Now you’ve noticed and can only watch as the distance grows little by little. You don’t know what to do to fix it. You don’t want to let him know that you’ve noticed, in fear that it will be the final push he needs to admit that he no longer wants to be with you. That he was wrong and his love and devotion to you isn’t eternal.

Now you’ve noticed, and you feel so stupid for not believing your friend when she said that love and happiness never lasts.

In the end, you don’t get the chance to gather your nerves and ask what went wrong. In the end, Wonwoo takes a look at you, at your pale skin hidden from sunlight for eleven years, at the lines on your skin showing the passage of time, your withering life, and he breaks.

“I can’t do this,” he chokes out as he watches you collect your nightclothes from on top of the dresser, beside where his own still remain neatly folded ready for him. Side by side like every night for the past years. Side by side like you belong with him, but he can’t face that anymore. 

“Do what?” you ask, putting down the bundle as you turn to look at him puzzled and concerned, hearing the broken edge to his voice. Though, one look at him, the pain in his eyes as he looks at you as if it’s the last time, and you know. “Oh.” You feel the strength rush out of you and you have to take a step back to lean against the dresser behind you, lest you collapse into a boneless pile on the floor. “Y-you don’t want me.” 

“I do,” he insists, getting up from being perched on the end of the bed to approach you and hold your face so securely that despite the past years of watching him slip between your fingers, you believe him. “I never want to be without you, my love. I said that and I still mean it with all of my heart. You are my heart. I can’t live without you.” 

“Then what do you mean, Wonwoo? If you mean that, why have you been pulling away for so long?” You want him to argue. You want him to tell you that you’re fucking crazy for suggesting that he’d do such a thing. You want him to tell you that you’ve been imagining it. But he doesn’t. 

Wonwoo’s expression turns guilty as his thumb strokes under your eye. “I am so sorry for that; that you noticed. You must be hurting.” 

“I am. So, tell me why and we can fix it, we can make us both happy again.” 

“I’m happy with you, I’ve never not been happy with you.” But the sadness weighing down the edges of his mouth and eyes down tells you another story. “And that’s why I know I can’t keep you here.” 

Your heart stops for a second as a cold fear takes over your body. Your hands tremble as you lift them towards his hands, yet before you can make contact, he lets go and rushes off. “Wonwoo!” you yell desperately, scrambling to rush after him but he doesn’t slow down. 

For the first time in a decade, you leave your home and enter the catacombs, following Wonwoo through the seemingly endless corridors while your calls of his name grow more and more panicked. 

There’s something twisting and turning in your chest, dancing at the edge of your mind, taunting you with a suspicion you can’t understand with the terror growing thicker in your veins. You know with everything in you that whatever Wonwoo is planning, it’s not good. That whatever he wants to do, it will change everything irreversibly and hurt in a way that you’re not prepared for.

Your mind is whirling too much to even realise that Wonwoo isn’t vanishing like he easily could, that he’s staying within your sight; far enough that you can’t reach him no matter how hard you push your legs, but still close enough that you don’t lose track of him. He’s purposely leading you through the catacombs, but you’re too full of fear to notice.

It’s only when the air becomes lighter and you recognise the barely visible crest under your rushing feet that you realise where Wonwoo is going. Now that you’re crossing the main chamber of the catacombs, Wonwoo darts off, practically sprinting out of sight. 

You can hear his frantic footfalls slapping down onto the stone steps. Somehow, you manage to push yourself faster in your sudden bout of extreme fear and stumble to the bottom of the stairs just as he reaches the landing at the top and comes to a still in front of the locked gate. 

“What’re you doing?!” you yell in alarm as Wonwoo grabs onto the gate, skin sizzling as his hands glow with the visible use of his power. You’ve never seen his power before, only how it affects your home. This is something different, something incredible. Something insanely fucking dangerous. “Stop it!” you scream, running up the steps as fast as you can, toes of your shoes catching on multiple steps and barely managing to catch yourself as your wide eyes remain glued to Wonwoo.

“No!” he grits out through teeth pressed so tightly together that you fear they will crack and fall apart under the pressure. Your heart feels much the same right now as you watch the man you love with everything in you putting himself through such agony. 

“Wonwoo, stop it!” you reach out but can’t touch him. He’s emitting so much power right now that it’s creating a physical yet invisible barrier around him. A shield of pure mystical energy that a mere human such as yourself has no chance of breaking through. “You’re going to kill yourself!”

“I’m already dead!” he snaps, looking at you with eyes so dark with the power flowing through him that he doesn’t look like the man you love. 

You take a step back and almost lose your footing on the steps, almost tumble back, but something wraps around your waist, something that feels like a manifestation of his love as it pulls you safely upright. When your eyes meet his again, they’re softer, scared, and desperate, yet so full of heart-breaking adoration that you wonder how you thought for even a split second that this isn’t your Wonwoo. 

“But you’re not,” he continues, voice a lot quieter now, trembling around the edges with the weight of the decision he’s made, a decision he still hasn’t let you in on. “I can’t watch you waste away at my side. You deserve a good life, the best life. I want you to have it.” 

“I want to be with you, that’s all I want.” 

“I know, I know you do.” He lets go of the gate with one hand, reaching out to you to gently brush his fingers over your cheek while his eyes roam your features as if he’s memorising every single atom of life within you. “I want you by my side too, my love. I have never loved anyone the way I love you, and I never will again, no matter how long I live. And that’s why I can’t let you squander your limited years with me.”

“It-”

“My love, please,” he pleads, using his power to pull you in closer so that he doesn’t have to remove his reverent touch from your cheek, his right hand still pulsing with light against the gate. You expect him to say something more, to try and explain himself further, beg you to understand, but he doesn’t.

Wonwoo leans in and presses his lips against yours as if it’s the first time. As if it’s the last time. 

Your heart breaks and swells all at once, overflowing with your love for him, and perhaps, that was your mistake here; allowing him to kiss you knowing how it always sends your heart into overdrive with pure unyielding affection and adoration for the man holding you so tenderly. 

You’ve always known that your love gives Wonwoo power, that it makes him strong, though you never knew it was something to wish to avoid. You never before thought that Wonwoo would ever use your love for him against you.

With your thundering heart strengthening him, Wonwoo succeeds in emitting a pulse of pure mystical energy that blows the gate right off its hinges, sending it flying across the crypt and crashing into the opposite wall. Immediately, the crypt around you starts to tremble; dust and little pieces of centuries old stone begin to crumble down around you.

You barely manage to blink at Wonwoo in fear before that same invisible force wraps around you and rushes you through the crypt, past the entrance doors that blow open as you near, and deposits you on the grand stone steps outside.

“What are you doing?!” you screech, trying to walk forward and return to your love regardless of the crypt falling down, falling to pieces in front of your very eyes. 

Your heart is shattering, tumbling to the ground with the pieces of ancestral stone as the air between you and Wonwoo grows thicker with dust. You can see him watching you, can see the sad smile on his lips, the shine on his cheeks as tears stain them. You want to run to him, want to wipe away his tears and hold him close, even if it kills you. But you can’t. Wonwoo has created a shimmering barrier in front of you, protecting you from harm’s way. At least physical harm because you know that your heart has never hurt like this. You know it never will again. 

He’s tearing your heart in two and yet, you still love him with every broken piece of you. You want to stop so that he no longer has the power to keep you away and you can return to him, but that very urge only proves that your feelings haven’t wavered the slightest amount.

“Wonwoo, please,” you desperately beg, words thick and choked out with the tears clogging your throat and spilling freely over your cheeks. “I love you so fucking much, please don’t do this.” 

“I love you the same, sweetheart, that’s why I have to do this,” he responds, voice so gentle yet perfectly clear to you, as if he’s standing right in front of you, as if he never forced you apart. As if he’s not making you watch him be buried alive. 

“That makes no sense!” you yell, slamming your palms against the barrier. 

“To love is to let go.”

“No!” Your legs give out under you, weakened by the pain coursing through your body from your chest, and you drop to your knees, eyes still glued to him. “Wonwoo… Please, don’t let me go,” you sob, using what little strength you have left to stay upright, fingers doing their best to dig into the barrier and let you through. But it’s too strong.

“I have to,” he whispers, voice trembling as his own pain becomes too much to hold back. His hands curl into his shirt over his chest as he struggles to stay where he is, as he fights the urge to run to you because he knows he can’t. He still can’t leave the crypt even with the gate destroyed. He’s no longer trapped in the catacombs, but he’s still bound to this space, and trying to fight that would only shorten the time he has left to look at you. 

“I-I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You’ll see me again, in a long time. You need to live a long, happy life, okay, my love?” he requests, sniffling around his words. “Then when we meet again at the end, you can tell me all about the world as I guide you to the afterlife.”

“Then-then we’ll be to-together?” 

Wonwoo doesn’t answer, but the sad downwards tilt of his mouth speaks volumes. When your time comes to pass on, you’ll see Wonwoo again, yes. He’ll take your hand and guide you to your afterlife, but that will be the last time you ever see him. He’s a crypt spirit, an ancestral guide, he isn’t allowed to rest. He hasn’t been granted his afterlife because he has to guide your bloodline. 

You shriek and jerk forward when a large slab falls from the crypt ceiling directly behind Wonwoo. Inches away from landing on him. “You need to leave!” you scream. 

“I can’t, sweetheart,” he reminds sadly, raising a shaking hand slightly to at least protect himself with a shimmering barrier. He can’t die, but he can still get hurt, and although he doesn’t care about that for his own sake, he doesn’t want you to see him injured. He’s already hurting you enough as it is, he couldn’t live with himself if he forced you to watch him bleed. 

“Wonwoo…” You want to beg and plead with him, yell at him to at least try to leave. He blew the gates off, something he should’ve never been able to even touch, let alone manipulate like that, but he did. 

Surely, if he tries hard enough, he can leave the crypt. Right? 

Yet, as much as you want to say the words, want to believe in them, you know deep down that there’s nothing Wonwoo can do. He’s trapped for all eternity thanks to your family.

It's as you remember that, that something occurs to you.

Abruptly, you stop crying and straighten up, chest shuddering and breath coming out in uneven hiccups still, but the tears cease as a surge of hope gives you strength. Wonwoo’s eyes widen a little as he watches the strange change in your demeanour.

“Y-you’re here because of my family,” you recall. Wonwoo nods slowly. “Because we want you to remain and watch over us.” 

“Sweetheart…” Wonwoo says, shuffling forward, feet breaching the border between catacombs and crypt chamber ever so slightly as his heart twists with worry and fear of what you’re working towards here. He isn’t sure what you’re thinking, but his heart seems to be three steps ahead of his mind and panicking. 

“If one of us sets you free, removes your ties to the family, you can leave.”

“No, no, my love, no,” he begs, rushing closer, dodging the pieces of the crypt suddenly falling heavier between you as he desperately tries to get to you and stop you. “I-I won’t be able to guide you!” 

“If I don’t free you now, no-nobody will. You’ll be stuck here forever. You deserve to rest, you’ve paid your dues, Wonwoo. You showed me a love I never would’ve had otherwise.”

“Please, sweetheart, don’t,” he sobs pleadingly. “We won’t see each other again!” 

“I know,” you say and smile at him, full of love and a pained acceptance for what this means. But you love him too much to force him to live a life of painful solitude after you’re gone. He deserves to know peace and to have his own afterlife. “To love is to let go.” 

Wonwoo opens his mouth to argue, to plead some more as he stumbles forward, reaching out towards you in a last desperate attempt to stop you before you can say the words.

“Jeon Wonwoo, I set you free.” 

For the last time, Wonwoo vanishes.

Watching Wonwoo disappear into thin air is a memory you will never escape. The fear in his eyes, the pain, the silent scream of betrayal. It’s haunted you ever since that day, but you don’t regret it, even all these years later.

Not a day has gone by where you haven’t thought about Jeon Wonwoo, haven’t felt your old, barely patched together heart ache for the man who you still love with everything in you. 

Decades have passed; you’ve travelled the world, made memories, met people, adopted some animals, lived in multiple different houses, and yet, you’ve never really found a place where you belong. 

Not that it’s been a bad life, not at all. You’ve kept Wonwoo’s words in mind and done all you can to experience all humanly possible in your limited time. You’ve been happy, even experienced love multiple times, but it’s never lasted. Not when your love is still at home in Wonwoo’s heart, wherever he may be. 

You often ponder about that; what Wonwoo’s afterlife is like. You hope it’s a good one, that he’s happy there, genuinely happy. You don’t want him to have forgotten you, but you hope that he’s not lingering on what can’t be. 

Then again, wishing for him to have accepted that you’ll never see each other again is rather hypocritical of you when you’ve never been able to give your heart to another, and every night dream of a life with Jeon Wonwoo. A life you will never have, and you’ve accepted that, but you still dream.

Still, no matter how far you go, you always return here; to this heap of rocks that means nothing to anyone but you anymore.

“I wonder, can you see the stars tonight, my love?” you question once you’ve settled your old body down on the dusty steps, leaning back against the same old slab you’ve used as a back rest for almost six decades now. Your walking stick lays at your side, too far out of reach to be of use again, but you know that doesn’t matter. You know you won’t need it again.

The wind blows gently against you and although you know Wonwoo is no longer here, you always like to imagine it’s him responding, showing you that he hasn’t forgotten you.

“It’s the last time I’ll visit you,” you declare after a while of calm, content silence. Peaceful last moments. “I don’t know what my afterlife will look like, but I hope I remember you still. I hope there’s a shrine I can visit to talk to you. I know you won’t hear me, I know you don’t now, but I still wish for it.” You lift a rapidly weakening hand to brush your fingers over the stone under you. “I still love you with everything in me, Jeon Wonwoo, and I always will. Wherever you are, I hope you know that.”

You’ve pondered this moment for a long time, what it’ll feel like; if it will hurt, if it will be like falling asleep, if you’ll even feel the moment it happens. 

In the end, it feels natural. 

You get to your feet, feeling decades younger and turn to look down at where you’re laid perfectly still, eyes closed and looking nothing but content. Like you’re taking a nap in the arms of your lover. Peaceful. 

“I’ve always known it,” the voice coming from behind you makes your chest tighten and eyes widen. You had thought that a ghost wouldn’t have a heart to beat, but you feel it thundering against your ribs as you shakily turn around and let your disbelieving gaze settle on the man before you. 

He’s still so beautiful. 

“W-Wonwoo,” you choke out.

“Hello, my love,” his voice wavers while his dark eyes shimmer as they take you in. As soon as he takes a step, you do the same and throw yourself into his opening arms with a sob.

There are so many things that you want to say, questions on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t voice them at all. You hold on so tightly to the man you’ve missed so dearly for the past fifty six years and melt against his chest as his arms clutch onto you as if he’s missed you just as deeply.

Although you know that it hasn’t been a simple short few minutes that you’ve been standing and holding onto one another, you know that it’s been quite a stretch of time, it doesn’t feel long enough. You never thought you’d see Wonwoo again and you had genuinely been okay with that, but now that you’re back in one another’s arms, you never want to let him go. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper pleadingly when he tries to loosen his hold and create a little space between you. You grip onto the back of his shirt, the same shirt you had once admitted you liked the best on him, and he had worn it at every chance after that.

“It’s time to go,” he says softly, hands sliding across your shoulders and down your arms where they’re wrapped around his waist to gently unwind them from him. 

“Please-”

“You don’t have to worry,” he promises, lifting your hands to cup his face, making you lean back to look up at him, uncaring that your cheeks are slick with tears you hadn’t thought possible for a ghost to cry. At least you’re not the only one who has visibly felt their emotions; his eyelashes are clumped with his own tears and eyes a little red. But he’s smiling as he turns into your palm to press an adoring kiss in the centre.

“But-”

“Do you trust me?”

“With everything in me,” you answer without hesitation, without any hint of doubt for the man. You have full faith in him and always have, even now. 

“Then don’t fight it. Take my hand and let me guide you like I’ve been waiting to for all these years.”

There isn’t a falter to your steps when Wonwoo steps back, lowering your hands and lacing the fingers of your left hand with his right. You follow him, eyes locked onto him, and he smiles in relief.

He pauses just to lift your connected hands and press a kiss to the back of yours before he turns and starts to walk, and you follow. 

You’d follow him anywhere, even if your mind is reeling with the image of stepping into your afterlife with your hands empty and no one at your side. But your heart doesn’t doubt him. Your heart trusts him, still beats in time with his, and where Wonwoo is involved, your heart has always reigned supreme. 

Wonwoo had never told you what it’s like to guide a soul to the afterlife, how he does that other than taking their hand and walking with them. You hadn’t known how he accesses the afterlife; if there’s some kind of door, a portal, or something else. And honestly, even now, you’re not sure how it works. 

You walk alongside Wonwoo, eyes glued to him and savouring every moment you have with him, uncertain which will be your last. You miss the moment you step from the living world into the next. You don’t even realise that you have until Wonwoo comes to a stop and turns to look at you with a nervous, shy little smile.

Silently, he motions forward with a tilt of his head, making you look forward and realise that you’re no longer in the cemetery you know so well after ninety years of life. You don’t know where you are, but it’s beautiful. 

The air is crisp and clean, the sky bright and blue, the grass so green and alive and dotted with masses of beautiful flowers of all types, many you’ve never seen before. It’s like something out of a dream and a part of you feels like you’ve been here before, like maybe you did dream this up once upon a time yet forgot it, like most dreams. 

Though the landscape isn’t even the point of focus, the thing that really catches your eye, that makes your breath stutter in your chest and eyes to prickle with a fresh round of tears, is the sweet little cottage in front of you. 

Ever since you were a small child, you’ve wanted to live in a cosy little cottage like you’ve only seen in movies, like you hadn’t found the likes of no matter how hard you looked over the past decades. Nothing ever lived up to the image you painted in your mind’s eye, an image that Wonwoo had helped create as you spent nights tucked up together painting a mental picture together of a future life, a home you both knew you’d never have.

Yet here it stands before you. 

“Say something,” Wonwoo requests barely above a whisper, hand holding tighter to yours when you just stand and gawp disbelievingly at the home before you for a few beats too long. 

“It’s beautiful,” you manage to get out breathlessly, and feel Wonwoo relax at your side. You turn your head to look at him, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t understand, Wonwoo. What’s going on? How are you here right now? Why are you not in your afterlife?”

“I am now,” he turns and takes your free hand, gently encouraging you to face him fully. “When you freed me and I lost my tie to the human realm, I was sent to the spirit realm and put before the Grand Council; the spirits who delegate a spirit’s position and can approve or reject the termination of a bind, like you did for me that day.”

“They rejected it?” you assume, gasping in horror. 

“No,” he reassures, still smiling his precious, adoring smile as he watches your expression morph with every emotion in your chest. “They said that I had long paid my dues and could pass on.” 

“But…you were the one to guide me.”

“I was the one to reject it.”

“What the fuck?!” you sputter, making him laugh. “Why the fuck would you reject it?! Are you insane, Jeon Wonwoo?!”

“Because I have never stopped loving you,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing, a natural fact of the universe. Jeon Wonwoo loves you; everyone knows it. “If I passed on that day, I knew I would never see you again, not the real you; just a poor imitation in my afterlife that could never hold a candle to you. But if I remained and continued to watch over your bloodline, I would one day have the chance to see you again.” 

You blink at him as you try to wrap your head around his words, what they mean exactly, how he’s still here right now. “But the crypt was destroyed, where have you been?”

“Before the crypt was built, I could travel between the spirit and human realm as I wished, travel where I wished as long as I still fulfilled my duties. I’ve been watching over your family, but mostly, I’ve been by your side.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the meaning to his words settles in your mind. That through the past decades, you’ve never truly been without your love, even if you hadn’t known that. “Are you serious?” 

“I am.”

“For the past sixty years?”

“At every possible moment. Admittedly, I did leave when you took bedfellows.” His features twist with distaste at the memories of witnessing you taking lovers over the years. It makes you giggle and his expression melts as he leans closer to you as if enchanted by your melodic laughter. “Even though I didn’t enjoy those aspects and always wished it was my hand you held and arms you slept in, I have never been truly sour about it. I’m glad that you found others to love and lived a full life. All I wanted was for you to be happy and healthy, and you have been. You travelled and experienced so many things. I experienced many with you too, even if not in the same way. It felt as if we experienced them together, and I’ve been happy to have you in what way I could these years.”

“But I never knew you were there.” You frown. “All the times I’ve talked to you and wished to hear you talk back yet only heard the wind.” 

“I know, sweetheart. I always responded, always wished you could hear me, but it wasn’t time.”

“Until now.”

“Until now,” he agrees. “I’ve been waiting to guide you and I’m beyond glad that it happened naturally after a full life.” 

As happy as you are to see him, to know that his devotion and love has never wavered, you’re still so confused about why he’s standing by your side in the afterlife. “Why are you still here?” you blurt suddenly, unable to hold back the question anymore.

“Do you not want me here?” he questions, frowning and suddenly looking hesitant, as if he had never considered that possibility.

“Of course I do, idiot!” you exclaim and watch his shoulders loosen as the sudden weight on his chest flies free with his momentary fear that you don’t want him to remain by your side despite still loving him. “I’m just so fucking confused! I thought you don’t go to the afterlife with the souls you guide!”

“I don’t ordinarily,” he confirms and steps a little closer until the toes of your shoes are touching. “When I returned to my role as your family’s ancestral spirit, I struck a deal with the council.”

“What kind of deal?”

“That I would return to the role willingly, for as many years as it takes until I can guide you as my final crossing, and then…I will stay by your side and share your afterlife with you.” 

“What?” you murmur in shock, eyes wide as you stare at him in disbelief. “Share it with me?”

“Yes, but only if you truly want me. If you don’t, well…you do want to spend your afterlife with me, yes?”

“I never want to be without you again,” you answer honestly, nodding firmly and holding on tighter to his hands. “Don’t you dare leave me, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“I won’t. I promise, I’m here for all eternity by your side.” 

“Good.” You nod in approval. “What would happen if I said no?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have an afterlife. I would simply…cease to exist.” 

“And you agreed to that?!” you baulk. “Wonwoo!” 

“You love for me didn’t waver even as I forced you away. Even as I held you back and made you watch the crypt begin to bury me, you still loved me so strongly that I had the strength to hold you back. Even after that, even after freeing me and I was sent to the spirit realm, I still felt that love. I knew in my soul that you will always love me, and I put my entire faith in that remaining true until now and for even longer. For all eternity.” 

“I would say your faith in me is crazy, but considering we’re here right now and I still love you as much as I always have, if not more, you’re clearly much wiser than me.”

“Well, I am over nine hundred years old,” he jokes, grinning teasingly as he leans down, closer to you.

“God, you’re so fucking old,” you groan playfully before tilting your head up to kiss him as if it’s the first time all over again. 

At least this time, you know you never have to worry about a last kiss. You have all of eternity to kiss every inch of his pretty face, and body, to your heart’s desire. Something you will certainly take advantage of at every opportunity. 

And there really is no time like the present.

“So, I’ve got my thirty-something-year-old body back,” you declare as your arms loosely wrap around Wonwoo’s neck. He tilts his head to the side, curious and silently questioning where you’re going with this as his fingers curl into your hips to hold you that bit closer. “If I recall correctly, there should be a huge bed in our dream home, correct?”

“Yes, that is what we discussed,” he confirms with a nod, eyes flickering a little as his mind starts to catch on to what you’re edging towards.

“Well, then I think that the combination of a young body again, a big bed, and sixty years apart means we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t you, my love?”

You can see the moment it all clicks into place in Wonwoo’s mind. His eyes widen as they light up in understanding, before his eyelids turn heavier, eyes darker, and lips tilt up in a smirk that never fails to make you feel weak in the knees.

“Oh, that we do, sweetheart,” he agrees and slides his hands down to the back of your thighs to pick you up as effortlessly as he always has. You’re momentarily very glad that his spirit strength has remained the same even now, but then he’s slotting his lips against yours and leaving you unable to do anything but wrap yourself around him and lose yourself in his touch.

Somehow, Wonwoo gets you both into the cottage and where you need to be, but you don’t pay any attention to anything but him, not yet at least. All you care about right now is being back in the arms of the man you love, and who you know loves you just as entirely; you can take in the décor later. 

You have all of eternity left, after all. 

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Even without looking over to where you can hear him hovering at the threshold to your shared home office, you know what he wants. He hasn’t said a word, but you can practically feel the sheer need rolling off of him; can hear the desperation in his incessant shuffling, edges of his too long jeans dragging against the carpet.

Part of you wants to tell him not to hover; to prompt him to come out with the thoughts swirling in his pretty head. But the other part of you, the part you know he craves so much, wants him to use his words like a big, brave boy.

A few minutes longer of ignoring him as you focus on your PC game, Wonwoo toddles over and lowers to his knees on the floor just to the right of you. You can feel his big, imploring gaze peering up at you as he stuffs his hands between his thighs, but you don’t look at him yet.

“B-baby?” he calls softly, tentatively. You hum questioningly without looking at him. “Can…I…I want…you.”

It’s not quite what you want, but it’s a start, so you turn your head to look down at him. Immediately, he shuffles under your gaze, already soft pink cheeks darkening. He glances away, though quickly looks back to bravely hold your gaze, knowing you like it when he looks at you. “Try that again, baby,” you encourage.

“I want you,” he rushes out breathlessly and leans closer as his hands come out from between his thighs to grip onto your right calf, revealing that he’s been hiding his erection with his forearms. Not that you’re surprised at all, Wonwoo only wears these jeans when he’s feeling a particular kind of way. They’re just the right amount of rough to give him what he wants.

“I’m busy, baby,” you respond, while running one hand through his hair. He whines and leans into your palm, craving your touch however he can get it. “You’re a big boy now, Wonwoo; you can take care of yourself, can’t you?”

“But…” he tries to argue but his eyes are sparkling at you in the way that you know means he likes this; that he’s in the perfect headspace to be treated dismissively and left to his own devices despite you being perfectly within reach. It’s the reason he wears these jeans and the first sign of what he wants. If he wasn’t wearing them, you wouldn’t immediately be dismissive of him; you would test the waters a little more and only continue once he looks at you in the way he is now. As if he wants you to make him work for it.

“I said I’m busy,” you remind and tighten your hold in his hair for a second, just long enough to watch his eyes roll back in a pretty flutter behind his glasses, then you return your attention to your computer.

Wonwoo makes a needy little sound before he scoots closer and tugs your right leg between his spread thighs. Even through the material of both of your trousers, you can feel how hard he is as he ruts against your shin; whimpering as the denim drags against his hard cock.

He’s probably already leaking too; he always gets so messy when he’s like this.

As Wonwoo desperately humps your leg, you’re only pretending to be invested in your game. It’s impossible to truly ignore him when he’s like this.

You barely need to turn your head to see him clearly; see the focused scrunch of his features, his closed eyes, and open mouth letting endless shameless moans into the air.

He sure is a pretty sight, but you can’t tell him that, not right now. You’ll save the praise for later when he’s curled up against you in bed and coming down from his needy headspace.

For now, you know he craves something else from your lips. “That good, huh?” you question tauntingly.

Wonwoo’s eyes fly open to find you. “Uh-uh huh,” he confirms, nodding dumbly.

“My pathetic little boy just needs to hump a leg like a feral dog, huh?” he nods rapidly, fingers curling into your calf as his hips pick up speed. “That close already, Wonwoo?” Another set of shameless nodding as his wide eyes remain glued to your condescending sneer. His breath is hitching and hips twitching as he grinds his cock against you. You know that he’s close, teetering on the edge, and all he needs is one little push. “Can’t even last long enough to be of any use, can you? Worthless boy.”

Wonwoo’s eyes rolls back and his grip on your calf turns so tight it’ll probably bruise, but you barely feel it; too entranced by how fucking beautiful your boyfriend is as he spills into his jeans.

You watch him come down, make sure he’s okay by carefully eyeing him for signs of discomfort or signs that you’ve been too dismissive this time. Thankfully, he’s fine, already nuzzling into your thigh and running his right hand up your inner leg.

You catch his hand before he can reach your crotch, making him sit up and land big, needy eyes on you. “Still want more?”

“Please.”

“I want you waiting laid down, tongue out by the time I reach the bedroom; ready for me to use how I want, understand?”

Wonwoo nods madly then scrambles to his feet. He hovers for a moment as he waits for the pins and needles to dissipate from his legs and uses the chance to lean over to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

When he has full feeling back in his legs, he waddles off to the bedroom to strip down ready for you to use him however you want. It’s all he was made for, anyway.

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You both obviously can’t help but remember the conversation; remember that you both essentially admitted to wanting each other, at least on a purely physical level. Of course, Wonwoo’s gift implied that his attraction runs deeper than that, but you hadn’t shared your part and have no intention of doing so either. But Wonwoo is a smart man; he has to know that he’s not alone in this.

Although you try to stick to your newly normal routine of cooking and gaming together every evening, Wonwoo takes longer to clean up than usual, and you’re the one who goes to bed first now, even if you’re not tired enough and lay in bed wide awake for hours, unaware that Wonwoo is doing the same thing down the hall.

There’s something growing in the air now that your shared attraction has met it from your own mouths, and neither of you really know how to navigate it. It’s a new situation for you both, and it takes a few days before things get back to normal.

At least, normal in the way that Wonwoo has pulled back and doesn’t follow you around when he’s home to ask you questions, but there’s a new tension, and his dark gaze lingers on you in a way that he’s never let it before.

The other new thing is that Wonwoo is usually present these days when you wander down to the kitchen once you’re properly awake, and you ignore the fact that he’s clearly adjusted his workdays to time his lunch break to be at home when you get up.

Sometimes, he even has lunch waiting for you. Usually, it’s something he’s picked up on his way home; but today, there’s a covered pan on the table, empty bowls in your usual seats, and Wonwoo is at the other end of the table, reading some papers with a couple of open files on the table in front of him. 

Without a word, as soon as he hears you entering the room, he puts down the papers as he gets up. He moves around the table and removes the lid from the pan so that he can serve both of you a generous portion of the still steaming pasta dressed in a red sauce, which you know is spicy from looking alone. You haven’t taught him a spicy pasta sauce, so either Wonwoo has decided to experiment today, or he’s recreated a recipe he found online.

As he puts your bowl back down into your place, he finally looks up at your still sleep puffy expression and muses, “Do you really get up this late every day?” 

You give him a flat look as you sit. “Unless you killed your wife, don’t try to ride my dick,” you retort, effectively ending the conversation. 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes as he puts the lid back on the pan then sits down. He waits until you try the food and make a sound of approval before he digs into his own portion with a proud little smile tugging his lips upwards.

As you eat in a comfortable quiet, you can’t help but glance over to the files and papers still laid on the table, almost perfectly legible from your place. You know it’s all work related; you’ve seen Wonwoo with files like this many times, but he’s never before left them open around you. 

Before today, he’s always been so careful about not letting you see whatever he’s working on, and you always assumed it’s due to a mix of it not being your business and Wonwoo trying to protect you from all of that. Yet now, you’re suddenly thinking that it wasn’t you he was protecting but himself, the gang he is loyal to and plans to run one day. You’re suddenly thinking that it was more that he didn’t trust you to keep whatever you see safe, keep him safe; but now, he does. 

You look away as soon as the thought comes to your mind. You don’t want to think about that; how much trust he must have in you to give you ample opportunity to spy on things related to his work, without a hint of concern on his features as he eats his lunch.

So that you don’t unintentionally linger on the thought, you bring up something you’ve been thinking about for a few days now, but things have been too awkward to want to ask. “We’re in June now, right?” 

Wonwoo looks up at you and nods in confirmation. “Just a bit, why?” 

“The deadline to let me go is quickly approaching. Either you need to let me go by the 10th or give me my phone back, because I’m expecting a very important call.” 

“The 10th?” You hum and nod as you focus on stabbing some pasta with your fork. “It’s the 12th today,” he informs you simply. 

Immediately, you freeze, then look up at him. “Tell me you’re joking,” you murmur.

“No.” 

“I swear if this is a joke-” you warn as panic rises in you. 

“I’m not joking, it’s really the 12th, look,” he insists and pulls his phone from his trouser pocket to hand over to you, so that you can see the date on the lock screen. 

Fear grows in you, and you feel the blood rush out of your cheeks, turning your skin pale. 

“What? What’s so important about the call?” Wonwoo asks, worry filling his veins as he looks at the genuine panic on your features.

“I need to go home right now,” you declare, scrambling to your feet. 

“What?” Wonwoo jumps up to rush after you to the entrance hall.

“I need to go home, Wonwoo!” You’re still in your pyjamas, but you don’t care as you shove your sockless feet into your shoes, which haven’t been touched since you arrived, except to be moved when you want to clean the floor under them or wipe away the dust that tries to settle on top of them.

“What’s going on?” 

“Just unlock the door so I can leave; it’s better you keep as far away from me as possible,” you warn, walking to the door and motioning to the lock impatiently.

“I’m not doing that until you explain,” Wonwoo argues firmly.

“No!” you exclaim and turn to walk over and shove him a little; it’s not hard in any way, but it shocks him enough to stumble back a few steps with wide eyes. “I’m fucking sick of this shit; pretending that you have any power over me, Jeon Wonwoo! I’m done with it! I should’ve never let it go on this long but I…” you trail off and shake your head, already turning back to the door.

“You what?” he asks, voice quieter as if he knows that whatever you stopped yourself saying is important.

“Doesn’t fucking matter, just unlock the door,” you insist, not turning to look at him as you anxiously shuffle your weight from foot to foot.

“But-” 

“I said unlock it!” You almost shriek, looking over at him with something so manic in your eyes, that although he’s reluctant to do so, he does as you say; he’s too worried by how wild you look right now, by whatever it is you’re hiding. 

As soon as the door is open, you take off sprinting down the hall, leaving Wonwoo watching you go, feeling like he’s just lost the best thing he’s had in a long time. And there’s nothing he can do to bring you back.

It takes you a few hours to get to your apartment. You have to tap into skills that you haven’t wanted to use in years, to pickpocket unsuspecting people to gather money for transportation. Plus, you have to actually find the buses you need in order to get to your apartment, which is quite the ordeal when you have no phone to look up bus schedules or directions, and people aren’t that willing to help a desperate looking woman wearing ruffled pyjamas in the late afternoon. A few people even try to convince you to let them take you to the police station, thinking you’re in trouble or mentally unwell and in need of professional assistance.

The sun is threatening to set by the time you stumble into your apartment. 

It looks the same as you left it, minus the items Wonwoo collected for you, which surprises you. You thought it’d be dusty as hell when you return, but it looks like someone’s kept it clean. For a second, you wonder if Wonwoo has been cleaning it, or perhaps hired someone to keep it clean, but that doesn’t make sense as he seemed to have no intention of letting you leave. Still, you don’t know anyone else who has access to your apartment. 

Deciding that it’s really not important at all right now, you push the thought aside and grab a sharp knife from the kitchen. Once you’ve pulled the couch away from the wall far enough to give you easy access to the back of it, you drop to your knees and use the knife to cut open the back of the couch. 

Out of the hollow of the couch frame, you pull out a duffle bag to put on the floor before you and open. You ignore the cash within, the various ID and collection of sentimentally and financially valuable items and grab the outdated mobile phone. As you hold down the power button to turn the device on, you mutter prayers to a god you don’t believe in to let the battery be high enough to boot. 

As soon as the screen lights up and shows that there is enough battery to make a call, you let out a breath of relief and dial one of the very few numbers that you know by heart, before holding it to your ear with your heart hammering anxiously against your ribs.

The call rings a handful of times before it’s picked up by a voice that is so familiar to you, even when it’s been months without hearing it. “Princess, you’re okay?”

You let out a little relieved breath before answering, “I’m fine, dad, things just…” You sigh. “I’m okay. Where-where are you? Are you…” you worry, knowing exactly what kind of hell your father can and will rain down on the world without hesitation if he thinks something has happened to you, his little girl.

“Where do you think I am? I came to find you! My daughter didn’t answer our routine check in call, and her phone is off?” He scoffs as if it’s ridiculous that you’ve even asked. It is, really; you already know where he is, knew what he’d do if you missed the call. But still, you hoped. You foolishly hoped because now, now you have something to lose from his fierce protectiveness of you. “Of course I came to find you! I feared the worst, and when I got here and had your whereabouts tracked, I found out that this hoity toity little bitch had you kidnapped, and then her husband ran off with you?” 

In a split second, your whole body turns cold. Fear freezes your lungs and locks your heart in its icy grip. “Dad…who are you with?” 

“Who do you think?”

You close your eyes tight and put your free hand over them, mind already conjuring up images of what your father is doing to Wonwoo. “Don’t hurt him,” you plead. 

“He stole you and kept you locked up for almost three months! I’m not going to let him get away with that.”

 “No, please, dad, please don’t hurt him, please,” your voice turns desperate, enough that your father is audibly thrown.

There’s a moment of shocked silence before he responds in a disbelieving mumble, “What?” He clearly walks out of the room, as there’s the sound of a door opening and closing, before he talks again, “You’re begging, why?” 

“He protected me from her; took me away to keep me safe from his psychotic wife,” you inform, trying to reason with the man by telling him that Wonwoo protected you; that he isn’t the one who caused you harm. “I don’t give a fuck what you do to her, but please, don’t hurt him.” 

“Bit late for that, Princess,” he responds simply.

You can’t talk for a few long seconds as the worst-case scenario travels through your body, and the ice coating your heart starts to seep inside, threatening to freeze it so thoroughly it’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. “Is he dead?” you can barely get the words out; you’re talking in a whisper that you’re not certain is audible on the other end of the line, but it is.

“No, but the boys are enjoying beating the shit out of him for kidnapping their sister.”

It settles you greatly, and now that you’re thawing a little, anger is starting to rise in you knowing that your brothers have come along too. You understand your father doing so; he’s always been protective of you as his youngest child, his little princess who can do no wrong. Yet, he’s always trusted you to handle yourself and gives you more freedom than he gives his sons. But your brothers have always overstepped; have always butted in and treated you like a fragile little doll who can’t even stand on your own feet without a support around your waist keeping you upright. They act like they are that support, but they’ve always been more like shackles holding you back by not allowing you to do what you need to on your own; not trusting you to do it on your own.

“Do you really think so lowly of me to think I couldn’t get away whenever I wanted?” you hiss in disbelief at your father, of all people, not having faith in your abilities, even if you’ve proven yourself many times. “He left me all alone in that apartment to do what I want for hours and days at a time. I had opportunity to leave; I just wanted to see how long he’d keep it up.” 

It’s the truth; from day one, you could’ve left the moment Wonwoo was gone. You had eyed the security system and knew you could disable it without setting off the alarm; you’ve broken in and out of places with similar systems many times in the past. 

But you had been kind of bored with how quiet your life had been since you left your hometown last year, to play pretend at a normal lifestyle with no connection to the gang world. You wanted to see the other side of the fence. But it turns out, it’s fucking boring on grass not fed on blood, and so you had decided that being Wonwoo’s hostage was a potentially fun change and wanted to see how long he’d stick it out before sending you home. 

You never expected to become attached to him though. 

As if reading your mind, your father speaks in a curious, surprised query, “And now you like him?” 

“I don’t dislike him,” you mutter, not willing to admit it to your father. 

“I’ll make a deal with you, Princess,” the man decides after a short, thoughtful noise. “You come back home with us, and I’ll let your pretty boy live.” 

“You promised to never blackmail me, dad,” you remind him. 

“It’s not blackmail, but a deal.” 

“You just threatened to kill him if I don’t comply!” 

“I won’t kill him, but I’ll let your brothers do it, and the longer we stay on call discussing it, the more likely they are to make the final blow without me present. Decide whether you care more about his life or playing poor girl with no family more.” 

When he puts it like that, you don’t have a choice. You know that your brothers won’t stop unless your father steps in and gives the order to pull back; an order he won’t give unless sparing Wonwoo benefits him directly.

You give in with a frustrated exclamation, “Fuck, fine! But make sure he doesn’t fucking die, or I’ll fucking kneecap them all,” you threaten; words you will hold to, brothers or not.

“That’s my girl.”

The next time you see Wonwoo, it’s late that night and not in person. You don’t dare risk getting close to him, even if he’s unconscious in a hospital bed. You send one of your father’s men, a man who is endlessly loyal to you specifically due to being in love with you since you were teens, to sneak into the hospital, dress up as staff, and make his way into Wonwoo’s private and very well guarded room to get you a proof of life video.

You hate the video; hate how you can barely recognise the bruised and swollen features of the man you’ve spent almost three months with and know it was done in your name. You truly hate it, yet you can’t stop watching the video; eyes glued to the gentle, regular rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, even if it’s assisted by the tube down his throat right now. But he’s alive; your father stopped your brothers in time, and Wonwoo is alive. That’s all that matters. 

“Can I have my phone back now, ma’am?” Jihoon asks, hovering awkwardly in the fancy hotel suite that your father is making you stay in; so that his men stationed around the building to guard your family, will alert him if you try to run off. 

Not that you will when you know your brothers and father would immediately go to that hospital room and finish the job if you go back on your word. Plus, you’re a woman of your word; you said you’d return to your hometown with them, and you intend to stick to that promise. You were raised with too much honour to ever go back on your word, especially when it’s so important, when the risk is far too high.

Jihoon’s gaze keeps flickering to the door, knowing that your father, his boss, will be pissed if he finds Jihoon in your suite, even if you’re both in the lounge and not the bedroom. But still, there are rules to working for your family, and one of those rules is ‘keep your hands off of the boss’ little girl.’ A few times, men less wise, men newer to the gang, haven’t heeded the warning and have tried to hit on you or put a suggestive hand on your body somewhere, only to lose the hand or tongue that tried to tempt you into their beds. But Jihoon is smarter, he knows better, and he’s never tried his luck with you, even if everyone knows how he feels about you. 

If any of the men are trusted with you as much as your family, it’s Jihoon. Your father always assigns Jihoon to accompany you when the need arises for someone to watch your back so closely. Your father knows that if anyone is as invested in your safety as the family is, it’s Jihoon. 

Yet still, even knowing he is trusted with your safety entirely, Jihoon knows that it’s the only way he’s trusted with your body, and he’s certainly not trusted with your heart. So, he knows that if he’s caught in your private room so late at night and alone without it being on your father’s strict orders, Jihoon will be in a lot of trouble.

“No, I’m watching,” you reply firmly, leaving no room for argument, so Jihoon just nods and stands in anxious wait. 

After a few more watches, you sigh and offer Jihoon his phone back. 

He quickly moves forward to accept it politely. “Thank you, ma’am. Do you need anything else from me tonight?”

“No. Thank you, Jihoon.” 

“Of course. I’d do anything for you,” he reminds simply. There’s a lot of weight to his words, technically, but he says them so effortlessly; like he isn’t promising you the world if you ask for it. He always makes it seem so easy to love you; like it makes all the sense in the world to devote himself to your safety and happiness and even risk his own safety by sneaking behind your father’s back to do things like this for you. 

Honestly, you think that at this point, your father and brothers must know that Jihoon has been in your house many times when only you’re home, at your request, despite the orders that none of the gang are allowed to do as much. But they know the man will never do a thing wrong to you; that he respects you too much to ever try to force himself on you or convince you to be with him in any way. He’s had over a decade to try and hasn’t done so once, even when you bluntly asked him what he expected his love for you to gain him. He had said, ‘Nothing, I expect nothing. I love you of my own choice, not yours; it’s not your problem.’ And it was left at that. 

But your family will never give him permission to be near you privately, except for jobs, because they don’t want him to potentially get ideas. They want to protect you in every way, including the way others perceive you. Knowing that you let a man below your status touch you intimately, let one of your father’s men touch you, it would bring shame on your name. If not for that, you know Jihoon would be allowed to be by your side as much as he wants, because you wouldn’t turn away his platonic company. Jihoon may be the closest thing you have to a friend, or at least, was.

Suddenly, you’re thinking about Sangmin and how, with Wonwoo in hospital unable to stick to his word to keep an eye on the man, and you in an entirely different city, there’s no one to look out for him. You can’t take him with you, you never want to bring the kind-hearted man into your world, so you need to come up with a plan to protect him.

“Actually, I have one more thing to ask of you tonight, Jihoon.”

“Anything,” he promises, and you know he means it.

In the morning, once you’re strapped into the back of the car, and Jihoon is driving the pair of you to your apartment, for you to clear everything out that is tied to you and end the lease, Jihoon hands a brand-new phone to you. He’s already charged it and set it up with a web page open on screen, showing an apartment. 

“That’s the best bet; it’s neutral territory, but the landlord has some shit in his records. That means it’ll be easy to twist his arm,” he informs as you look through the apartment listing, humming as he talks.

“Good work, Ji. Did you find him?”

“Of course I did,” he scoffs cockily, making you look up and smile as you look at the side of his face from your place behind the passenger seat. “Are you doubting my abilities to track people? Do you forget who taught you everything you know about tech?”

“I think there’s supposed to be a ‘ma’am’ in there somewhere,” you remind him teasingly.

“Do you forget who taught you everything you know about tech, ma’am?” he corrects without missing a beat, in a playful tone that he only brings out when it’s just the two of you, and he’s not worried about being caught with you when he’s not supposed to be. Today, he’s with you under your father’s orders directly, so Jihoon is relaxed and his usual, playful self. Your friend. 

“Like I could ever forget, my genius little tech nerd,” you coo and lean forward to pinch his cheek.

“Hey!” he complains, reaching back to nudge you away and also make you settle back in your place safely. Though, there’s a smile on his face, and you’re only now remembering how much you enjoy spending time with Jihoon. You’re only now realising that you missed him.

Knowing it will fluster him; you decide to tell him as much. “I missed you, Jihoonie.”

“Ah.” As expected, Jihoon’s ears and the back of his neck immediately darken, spreading a fierce blush over his cheek and even to his cheeks. “I missed you too,” he responds quietly, shy yet pleased with your confession. “I’m glad you’re back, ma’am.”

“I’ll cook dinner for us once we’re back home, and you can catch me up on everything that I’ve missed the past year, yeah?”

“That sounds really good; I’d like that a lot.”

As soon as Sangmin answers his motel door and finds you on the other side, he throws himself forward to pull you into a warm, tight hug. You wrap your arms around him and return the embrace, so glad to see him safe and sound after two months, while also not knowing when you will be able to see him in person again after today.

“Can we come in a minute?” you request.

“We?” Sangmin questions, pulling back to look over when you point to your right, where Jihoon is standing respectfully back to let you have this moment of reunion. “Oh, you’re not Wonwoo.” 

“No, Wonwoo is…you won’t be seeing him anymore,” you admit and tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “So, can we come in? I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, yes, of course, come in,” Sangmin consents and moves aside to motion you both in.

The room is pretty simple, but it’s clean, warm, and safe, with a little kitchenette and his own bathroom. 

You perch on one of the two rickety chairs at the tiny table as Jihoon casually wanders around the room, naturally doing a safety check to make sure there are no potential threats to you here.

“Who is he?” Sangmin whispers as he sits opposite you at the table and leans on his elbows, closer to you to keep his curious words between you.

“He’s a friend from childhood,” you answer, which isn’t a lie; Jihoon was your friend as a child, before he was sworn into the gang and had to give up the title, officially at least. It’s just not the full truth, but Sangmin doesn’t need to know the full truth. “How are you, are you doing okay?”

“I’m doing better than I have been in a long time; I have a job now!” he beams proudly. 

“Wonwoo told me. Congratulations, I’m really proud of you, Sangmin.”

“Thank you, I’m proud of me too.” He looks over as Jihoon returns from the bathroom and moves to stand by the motel room door, behind Sangmin. “So, you’re okay now? Wonwoo’s wife has given up on trying to hurt you?” He asks as he turns back around to look at you. 

“Well, not out of choice; she’s in no condition to hurt anyone,” you answer honestly as you think about the video Jihoon had recorded of Wonwoo’s wife, strapped up to so many machines in a private room and barely holding onto life. 

Your brothers really hadn’t gone easy on her; even your father had taken part in punishing her for having you abducted and hurt in the first place. The only reason they hadn’t beaten her to death was that Wonwoo had been brought to them and took their attention away. And honestly, you really couldn't care less about if the woman makes it or not. Jihoon had told you that, from what he could gather from the notes on her chart, the doctors don’t have high hopes that she’ll survive or even wake up. 

Part of you doesn’t want her to survive because then, if she’s gone for good, Wonwoo will be free of her and have a chance to be happy, even if it’s not with you. You want him to be happy in whatever way he can.

“So, you’ll be back at work, and I can walk you home again?” Sangmin asks with a bright smile, excited at the idea. “I made sure my schedule will align with yours for when you’re back.”

“About that.” You reach across the small table to take his hands into yours, heart aching as you watch his smile fall into a frown. “I’m going back to my hometown; I won’t be around anymore.”

“Oh.” He frowns and looks aside a little, thinking hard before nodding. “Okay, I can meet you there; I know there’s branches of the store all over the country, so there has to be one in your hometown. I’ll talk to my boss and get transferred,” he decides, looking so determined that it both warms and breaks your heart.

“Sangie…”

“Oh…you don’t want me going with you.”

“You’re my best friend, you know?”

“And you’re mine, even if I’m almost old enough to be your father.”

“It’s better for you to stay here. There’s stuff you don’t know, and I don’t want you to know about me, but please understand that it’s better for you to stay here, away from that side of me.” 

Sangmin stares at you for a long moment before sighing and nodding. “I know you’re gang affiliated in some way; you were too calm when you were kidnapped to not be, and you were never scared by any rough looking people we passed when I walked you home. I think, even without me there, you would’ve been fine. You can probably handle yourself better than I can.” 

“Probably,” you agree with a little chuckle. “I won’t deny all of that; I respect you far too much to lie to your face like that, but I don’t want you to know any more. You need to stay here to keep away from it all.”

“Okay, I understand. I wouldn’t survive in that world; I know I’m too soft.”

“You’re far too pure for it,” you agree. “I love your purity and heart, Sangmin, I never want to endanger it. I want you to keep seeing the world in hues of rose, not red like I used to before moving here; like I will again.”

“Why are you going back?” he asks, looking lost. “If you stay, you won’t have the red.”

“I can’t. I gave my word that I'd go back, and I need to stick to it.”

“I see.” He nods a little. “Will you visit?”

“I’ll try, but it may be some time; things need to cool off, but I really will try. But until then, we can text and call. Wonwoo said you have a phone now?”

“Oh! Yes!” Sangmin jumps up to grab his phone from the bedside table and bring it over. “I’m still trying to get used to the fancy new apps and emojis and things. Some of the kids at work have been teaching me, and we have a group chat. I really like the funny dog gifs.” 

“You can send me as many as you like,” you promise as you find your own contact in your phone so that you can copy your brand-new number into Sangmin’s contact list and save it and then save his number into yours in return. “There!” You hand his phone back and can’t help but smile at his genuinely joyed, bright grin when he spots your name in his contacts. 

“Thank you. My phone is even more precious to me now that I can use it to talk to you.” 

“Mine too.”

“Ma’am,” Jihoon prompts, after checking his watch, so you look at him. “We need to get going if we don’t want to cut it too close and make the others suspicious.”

“Of course,” you agree and look back at Sangmin. “So, I want to do something for you, something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but it wasn’t exactly realistic given the circumstances.”

“What is it?” Sangmin wonders.

“Give you a home, so I know that you will be safe and warm and can have the life you deserve.”

“I have a home now.” He motions to the room. “I don’t need any more than this.”

“I know you don’t, but I want you to. I want you to have your own apartment again, where you can make a home how you want it; you can decorate it however you want, sell the furniture, and buy stuff to your own tastes. It’s in a nice neighbourhood, not fancy but safe; no gang affiliations in the area or graffiti on the walls. Somewhere you can be proud of, I hope. I want that for you; you deserve that and a lot more, Sangmin.” You hold his hands firmly and settle your pleading gaze on him. “Please let me do this for you, so I know you’re safe and don’t have to worry about the roof over your head.”

The man stares at you consideringly for a long few moments. You know he’s not used to others doing things for him; even before he became homeless, he was always the one doing everything for others and getting nothing in return, so he doesn’t know how to accept help without guilt bubbling in his chest. 

“Okay,” he gives in, voice soft and still reluctant, but he can see how important this is to you. You had posed it as a favour to you on purpose, knowing it would make him agree even if he doesn’t want to; because it’s for you. “But I’m paying my own bills.”

“Utilities. I’ve had a year’s rent paid.” He lets out a disapproving exclamation of your name in response. “I had to secure it!” you defend, pouting at him. “It was the quickest method at the last minute. But if you prove yourself a good tenant, the landlord will renew your lease next year, and then it’s on you. You can take this year to save up for it and buy a car and get your license renewed now that you have a solid address.” 

“When you’re back next, I’m taking you out for dinner,” he promises determinedly.

“No,” you argue with a scoff, while straightening up before grinning at him. “Next time I’m back, I’m cooking for you.”

“Oh…okay, that sounds better,” he concedes easily. “I really miss your cooking.” 

“I’ll cook whatever you want, and you can supply the ingredients, how about that?”

“Deal.”

“Ma’am,” Jihoon says; a reminder in the single word that makes you nod.

“Alright. Okay, pack up, Sangmin, we’re taking you to your new home, and then we have to go.”

“I can make my own way-” he tries to assure but you shake your head, cutting him off.

“Nope, I want to see your reaction.”

“Okay.” He chuckles and gets up to start gathering his belongings.

It doesn’t take long at all, and then once Sangmin hands in his key to the landlord and insists that he doesn’t need the deposit back, the three of you get in Jihoon’s car and head to the apartment. 

Although Sangmin had been so hesitant to accept the gift, he looks so genuinely overjoyed as the pair of you wander around the comfortable, two-bedroom apartment, commenting on the furniture and making suggestions of how to make it more of a genuine home instead of a show home. It’s clear that he loves the apartment, and that makes you so happy and settled, knowing that he’ll be able to live somewhere he truly likes and is safe.

After promising to let him know when you’re home safe, you give Sangmin one last hug before leaving, heading with Jihoon back to the life you had hoped you’d left behind, but always knew it’s rooted too deeply within your blood to ever truly turn your back on.

Months pass. Months of falling right back into step with your father, taking up all of the jobs you pushed aside for a taste of normalcy. Not that it actually takes long for you to be back into your old routines. Barely two days after being back in your hometown, you’re splattered in blood with a maniacal glint in your eye that matches the one on your favourite blade. 

Back to your old haunts.

Back to your old habits.

Back to your role as your father’s daughter.

Although you’re not set to inherit the throne, so to speak, as the youngest child, your father has always preferred having you by his side at meetings than your quick to action brothers. At least the two younger ones. 

Your eldest brother, the one set to take over, is the most level-headed of them all, but he stopped attending meetings with your father years ago and instead heads his own meetings. The two of them tend to share the load, and that often means you being at your father’s side to give him a different perspective.

So, when after months, a meeting comes to be, to work on allying your father’s gang with the Ahns, you don’t hesitate in saying you want in. You know that Wonwoo will be there as the one set to inherit the gang, and you want to see the man with your own eyes after three months apart.

Of course, in those three months, you’ve kept your eye on Wonwoo. You know he’s healed fully now, if only for some lingering scars; including one across his left cheekbone from one of your brothers deciding to ‘ruin his pretty face’ with a too blunt knife, leaving a jagged scar a few inches long. You also know that his wife hasn’t healed. 

Ahn Yerim is still in that same hospital room, still hooked up to so many machines to keep her alive, still on life support that Wonwoo won’t give permission to shut off. You have no idea why he’s keeping her alive when this is the perfect chance to be free of her, and a very big part of you wants to know what the fuck he’s thinking keeping himself tied to the psycho. Maybe it’s because of his father-in-law; you hope it’s that and not some kind of loyalty to his wife to preserve her life for as long as possible. 

When you tell your father that you want to go with him, he’s hesitant at first, knowing that you want to check in on Wonwoo, but the man can be so soft on you at times that it only takes a pout from you, and he agrees. 

Three months after leaving, you’re back, if only for a week.

The very first time you meet Wonwoo after months apart, it’s in a fancy, private lounge of a bar that’s been closed this week for the meetings, where he stands in wait with his father-in-law for your father to arrive. 

Clearly, Wonwoo hadn’t expected you to be here, as his eyes widen fractionally when you enter the room at your father’s side, before turning neutral again as he collects himself.

The two older men greet each other familiarly, though there’s clearly more respect coming from Wonwoo’s boss towards your father than is reciprocated, but it’s to be expected when your family is much more powerful than the Ahns and have three times as much land under their thumb. 

“Ah, this must be your daughter,” Mr. Ahn says, turning to you and bowing respectfully, knowing that his own daughter had almost been killed because of her actions towards you. “I apologise for my daughter’s stupid actions all those months back, please forgive her.”

“No,” you reply simply and move to sit down, while your father smirks amusedly before sitting at your side. 

Wonwoo waits for his boss to sit before he does too, taking the space on the couch on the opposite side of the low table to you, allowing the two gang leaders to face each other directly.

“How can she earn your forgiveness?” Mr. Ahn continues, a hint of desperation in his eyes, knowing that if you turn to your father and tell him to tear apart the Ahns, he will, and there will be nothing that stops him until they’re all dead. 

“Dying would be a start,” you deadpan, and your father chuckles, patting a hand on your knee as Mr Ahn baulks at you in shock. 

“My daughter is the hardest to earn forgiveness out of all of my children; always so stubborn and hard to win over,” he muses, sounding proud of your tough shell. 

“You’re asking me to kill my daughter?” Mr. Ahn asks, shocked.

“No,” you respond and pointedly make eye contact with Wonwoo before looking away. “Let’s just discuss what we came here for,” you decide. “Our potential alliance.” 

“Good idea, Princess,” your father agrees and adjusts ever so slightly to get comfortable before the negotiations start and plans begin to get penned down, ready for the two powerful families to become allies and each become even stronger with the other backing them up.

When you get bored during the meeting and check your watch, you realise that Sangmin will be finishing work soon, so you decide that seeing him is much more important than sitting around for this.

“I have somewhere to be,” you declare and don’t wait for a response before getting to your feet, causing both Mr. Ahn and Wonwoo to get up respectfully. 

“Take Jihoon with you,” is all your father says, still reading through the paper in his hand detailing one of the neighbourhoods in the city that Mr. Ahn is offering to your family.

“Of course I’m taking Jihoon with me,” you scoff and look between Mr. Ahn and Wonwoo, eyes catching Wonwoo’s mouth twitching slightly as if he wants to say something but is stopping himself, knowing he can’t. Not here. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Do you need a guide, support while here?” Mr. Ahn offers.

“No,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and heading to the door. “Bye, daddy.”

“Bye, Princess; have fun with your boys.”

“Oh, I will.” 

Jihoon is waiting outside of the room and immediately follows you without you having to say a word. The two of you had already discussed this; visiting Sangmin, so he knew it would happen sooner or later. He also knows how easily you get bored during these meetings, so he had expected you to leave early, and he’s just been waiting for you to appear and want to visit your friend.

“Did you do it?” You ask as the two of you exit the building into the parking lot and head to his car.

“I’m pretty sure I got the right car,” he confirms. “They all look the fucking same, and none of them are registered, obviously, so I took a very educated guess.”

“You didn’t go to school; you’re uneducated.”

“More educated than you, ma’am.”

“Ha, yeah,” you agree with a snigger as he opens the back passenger door. You slide in and click your seatbelt into place as he closes the door, then jogs around to get into the driver’s seat and start the car up. “Did the connection work?” You ask after pulling out your phone to unlock and hand it over to him through the gap in the seats. 

Jihoon finds the app he installed on your phone, which will hack into other phones in close proximity and give you access to the devices. “Mm, there’s a bunch of new devices,” he confirms, after looking at the list. “You’ll have to go through them to find which one is his.” You groan. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to stalk him,” he reminds as he hands your phone back, so that he can strap himself in then pull out of the space and start the drive.

“Yeah, but how am I supposed to know which one is his?” You whine, clicking a random device number on the list to find the gallery and hope there’s something in there. Immediately, you find a bunch of nudes of a man and know it’s not the phone you want. “Ew, gross,” you mutter and delete the device from the list before going into the next. “I swear, if all of these assholes have dick pics in their galleries, I’m telling dad to pull out of the partnership.” 

“Stop looking, I’ll do it,” Jihoon immediately says in offer, though his words are firm enough that they could be classed as a demand, that is, if you didn’t know Jihoon well enough to know he’d never order you to do a damn thing, even if he could. 

“You’re driving.”

“I meant when you’re with Sangmin.”

“Then I won’t have my phone.”

“I don’t want you looking at random dudes’ dicks, ma’am.”

“Just yours?” you tease and grin to yourself as he blushes.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Jihoon blushes darker and grips the steering wheel with both hands firmly. “Please, let me do it,” he requests after a moment. 

“Do what, show me your dick? How much you packing? I think at least six inches.”

“Ohmygod,” he whispers, eyes wide and glued to the road in front. “P-please stop teasing me, ma’am.” 

You giggle and relent, not wanting him to have a breakdown behind the wheel and risk endangering you both. You’ll save your teasing for a time when neither of you can get hurt. “You can look through them for me, but you gotta be in the apartment until you find the right one and give me my phone back.”

“I’ll be in the hall outside.”

“No, that’ll look fucking weird; I don’t want to risk Sangmin’s neighbours asking him questions about the pink faced cherub in the hallway.” 

“Stop,” he complains, cheeks flaring again despite having just started to cool, thinking you were done with your teasing. “I’ll stay in another room; just stop.”

“Deal.” You giggle and lock your phone. 

When you arrive at Sangmin’s apartment, he’s only just arrived home from work moments before, so he’s still in his uniform, but he’s beaming excitedly, having taken your text yesterday that you’ll visit today seriously and has been waiting in anticipation all day for a further update. 

“You’re here!” he greets, pulling you into a warm hug; you giggle happily as you return in. “Come in, come in,” he ushers you both in once your embrace breaks. “Hello, Jihoon, it’s good to see you again.”

“Oh,” Jihoon responds, surprised that Sangmin is speaking to him and sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “Oh uh, you too, Sangmin. Is it alright if I sit in your spare room for a little while?” 

“Oh, you’re not joining us for dinner?” Sangmin asks with a confused frown.

“No…” Jihoon looks utterly bewildered at the thought that Sangmin thought he’s joining your dinner and hangout session. “I’m just here to keep her safe.”

“You can do that while joining us for dinner and to hang out. I bought enough groceries for us all! I figured you’d be by her side.” Sangmin heads to the kitchen, which you follow with a grin after you’ve removed your shoes and jacket. 

Jihoon follows a moment later, still looking bewildered yet hovering in uncertain acceptance of Sangmin’s extension of dinner invitation. He hasn’t been invited to anything by anyone outside of the gang in so long that he doesn’t really know how to navigate this, but he’s willing to try. He doesn’t expect to become friends with Sangmin, but he thinks it would be kinda nice to hang out with a normal person for once.

“Go get out of your uniform, Sangie,” you encourage as you hand Jihoon your locked phone, and he perches kind of awkwardly at the dinner table to begin looking through it, while you move to the sink to wash your hands.

“Ah, I’d be a bad host to leave you both,” Sangmin retorts.

“Don’t be silly; I’m going to get started on dinner prep, and Jihoon is busy looking at dicks; we’re entertained until you return.”

“Ma’am!” Jihoon sputters, looking at you with red features of embarrassment as Sangmin blinks in surprise at Jihoon.

“I don’t think it’s correct to out people,” Sangmin says to you gently after a second. 

“I’m not gay,” Jihoon corrects. “This is her phone.”

“Oh, you’ve moved on from Wonwoo?” Sangmin questions, accepting Jihoon’s response so easily, so trusting and looks at you curiously. Jihoon can’t help but stare at the man in wonder; it’s truly baffling to him that someone can be so trusting and accepting of others.

“No,” you scoff and wave a dismissive hand. “I’ll explain when you’re back from your shower; go wash the day’s work from yourself and get comfortable. We’ll be right here.”

“Are you really sure it’s okay?”

“Of course, wouldn’t say it otherwise,” you assure. Sangmin glances at Jihoon, who nods in agreement, before the older man lets out a breath and leaves the pair of you in the kitchen.

“Is it really okay that I stay, ma’am?” Jihoon asks softly, a few moments later, after just watching you get to work skilfully preparing ingredients for Sangmin’s favourite dishes. 

“Have I told you to leave?” you retort, looking at him without fully lifting your head. Jihoon shakes his head slightly. “There’s your answer, then. Just find me the correct dick pics, like a good cherub and stop questioning your place by my side.”

“It’s not me you want by your side,” he reminds, while obediently looking at your phone to go back to checking through the devices and deleting any that aren’t the one you want access to. 

“I want you by my side, not inside me. Though maybe if it wouldn’t hurt you. You’d probably be a good fuck,” you comment with a shrug as you focus on your task. You don’t need to be looking at Jihoon to know he’s turned a pretty pink, anyway, especially not when you can hear the choked sound he lets out before he pointedly stays quiet and pretends to be very invested in his own task.

The second day in the city goes pretty much the same as the first; a few hours sitting opposite Wonwoo while he pretends that he isn’t itching to talk to you, before you get bored and leave with Jihoon to meet Sangmin. 

This time, you go out for dinner; Sangmin pays at his own insistence, and Jihoon looks almost like he accepts that you both want him there and he’s not out of place at your side.

“When are you going to talk to him?” Sangmin wonders as he watches you check your phone every time there’s a ping from either of the apps you had Jihoon install for this trip. 

“Mm, tomorrow,” you decide, realising that the pings are the same as this time yesterday, and you can safely assume this is the daily routine. You don’t have to wait any longer before implementing your plan.

On the third day, when you leave the meeting, it isn’t as early as usual, but it is still earlier than the three men leave.

For the first time since arriving in the city, you drive yourself where you need to go, with only yourself for company. Jihoon knows where you are, of course, and you know that he has tracking apps on your phone that you’ll never find, so that he can be sure that you’re where you’re supposed to be, therefore safe. But he won’t interfere unless you deviate from your plan without warning or fail to answer if he calls. 

Being back is strange in a lot of ways, but in others, it isn’t. This place, it became your home, and even now, three months later, something in you settles in the familiarity of it.

It’s a few hours before the beep of the lock disengaging echoes around the apartment, only the sound of the radio playing gently in the background; a new addition but a welcome one. There still isn’t a modern TV on the wall or an internet modem, but that doesn’t surprise you. The more homely touches do, however; the random knick-knacks around, more signs that this is a home, not just an empty shell of an apartment. You hadn’t expected them, but they make you smile.

You’re just finishing setting up everything on the dining table when socked footsteps approach from behind, joining you in the kitchen area. 

Wordlessly, you both sit down in your seats, and just like he did in those first few weeks, Wonwoo shovels your cooking in his mouth as if he’s been starved for months. It makes you huff a short, amused laugh. He looks at you and can’t help but smile, yet neither of you say a word, not yet.

Despite there still being that familiar ease in the air between you, it’s laced amongst tension. You haven’t seen one another in months, haven’t talked in as long, and the last time you saw each other, things weren’t exactly normal between you. You had been desperate to leave, and Wonwoo had wanted nothing more than for you to stay, but he knew he couldn’t hold you here when you looked like you did. Of course, he soon found out why you wanted to leave so insistently, when your father and brothers beat the shit out of him and put him in hospital for a week, but still, he wished you never left. 

There’s clearly a lot that needs to be said, things to be discussed, yet neither of you know where to start exactly.

After almost ten minutes of silently eating, Wonwoo is the one who talks first, “have you memorised my schedule or something?” 

“I put a tracker on your car and hacked your phone,” you answer bluntly, making him look at you in dumb shock. 

“You did what?” he mutters disbelievingly.

“Mm, first day back in the city,” you confirm with a nod, picking up your glass of wine to take a few sips before placing it back down. “You live a boring life, you know. No life outside of what your dear father-in-law tells you what to do. And ya know, visiting your wife.” You pull a disapproving face at the routine you had seen Wonwoo follow the past three days, today included, thanks to the tracking apps. At least his boring routine means you easily figured out what time he’d be home.

He rolls his eyes. “Sorry I don’t live up to your expectations, Princess.” You ignore the jab at your position, the name your father calls you.

“You should be.” You reach under the table, to pick up the item on your lap that had been waiting on the chair until you sat. The hesitance on Wonwoo’s features is obvious to you as he pauses in his movements to watch you cautiously; you assume that he thinks you’re about to pull a weapon on him for some reason. Yet you think the expression that takes over his features tells you that he would’ve preferred a gun to the gift bag you place on the tabletop pointedly.

“Did you go through my fucking closet?” he hisses, knowing he had hidden that gift bag away months ago, when you still lived here.

“I spilled sauce on my shirt,” you reason, suddenly inadvertently drawing his attention to the shirt on your body. It’s too big for you really, too broad on your shoulders that are nowhere near as wide as his, and you have the sleeves rolled up to your forearms to account for his longer limbs.  

“Your clothes are still in your room,” he points out, eyes still on his shirt on your body as if he can’t make himself look away yet. It makes you feel smugly pleased that he so clearly likes that you’re wearing his clothes. 

“I noticed. But they’ve been sitting there for months, and this is freshly washed; it smells nice.” 

Finally, he drags his eyes up to meet your own and nods slightly, accepting your reasoning and honestly, not wanting to argue anymore and risk you going to change out of his clothes into your own. “Fine, but that bag wasn’t even with the fucking shirts.” 

“Okay, fine; I was bored and wanted to find something juicy,” you admit with a dramatic sigh. “I expected fluffy handcuffs, or a pocky pussy shaped like a monster vagina.” You pout; upset about the lack of filthy items you found while digging around Wonwoo’s bedroom earlier.

“I forgot how fucking weird you are,” he mutters, turning back to his meal. 

“How fucking rude! How dare you forget a single thing about me, Jeon Wonwoo!” you exclaim in offence, even if it’s mostly fake, just to wind him up. “I remember everything about you. Including that cute little mole on your right butt cheek.” 

He sputters and looks at you with widened eyes. “I don’t have a mole on my ass!” 

“Yes, you do. Get naked, and I’ll take a photo to show you.” He rolls his eyes and decides to eat instead of responding, knowing it’s for the best to just ignore you when you’re being ridiculous. “So, going to explain this?” you prompt, pointing to the bag. “You were supposed to return that.” He just shrugs, and you know that he’s too stubborn to be truthful right now, so you decide to give up on getting an answer and join him in returning to your dinner.

At least the atmosphere isn’t so tense now that you’ve had a conversation, even if no questions have been answered yet, or even really asked.

After you finish eating, and Wonwoo’s done cleaning up, just like he used to, he joins you on the couch and offers a fresh glass of wine. 

You shake your head in refusal. “Already had one, I need to drive to the hotel.” 

“I spent too fucking much on that fancy mattress you bugged me to buy you, for you to not sleep on it while here,” he scoffs and puts the glass in your hand before settling comfortably in his usual space.

“Are you asking me to stay for the rest of the week?” you tease.

“It’s quiet without you,” his answer is too honest, eyes too open on you, that you drop the attempt at being playful and decide to match his energy.

“Then go home.” 

“That place never felt like home,” he reasons with a displeased twist of his features. “That’s her house, and I have these apartments to get away from her.” 

“She’s not there anymore.” 

“Still her house to me. I never liked it, and I don’t need to show my face to an empty house to stop accusations about cheating,” he points out and swallows a mouthful of his wine. 

You give him a raised eyebrows look. “So, you’ve taken up living in the place you shared with another woman for almost three months.” 

“The closest thing to a home I’ve known in a long time.” 

“Are you drunk already, Jeon Wonwoo? One glass of red, and you get sappy.” 

He takes the glass from your hand and motions to the door broadly. “Fuck off if you’re going to be a bitch when I’m trying to be honest,” he grumbles, embarrassed and offended that he’s genuinely trying and you’re making jokes. 

“Give me back my wine, I need it for this,” you whine, making grabby hands towards him. With a sigh, he does as you ask, and you both take a few drinks. “So…” you start awkwardly, while staring down into your glass, not sure how to navigate this; being so serious, but you want to try. “This is the closest you’ve known to a home? What…” You lick your lips nervously and look at him. “Why is that?” 

“I’ve been in a gang for-” 

You cut him off while shaking your head, “I meant why this one. You said you have multiple apartments, why this one? I’m surprised you came back here after all that.” 

“You know why.” He looks at you as if you look into each other’s eyes intensely enough, everything will become clear. It doesn’t. “Same reason I didn’t return the fucking necklace.” 

“Let’s pretend I’m stupid for a minute,” you say, adjusting your position a little as your stomach flutters and heart heaves in your chest, anxiety rearing its inconsiderate head. “I know, it’s a tough ask because I’m clearly a genius, but just pretend I’m emotionally inept, and I have no idea what you mean.” 

“They keep asking me for an answer,” he says, utterly bewildering you.

“Okay, I must actually be stupid because I have no fucking idea how that answers my question at all,” you admit in a questioning mutter. 

“The doctors overseeing my wife,” he starts to explain. “I’m her next of kin; it’s my call entirely what happens to her. They told me from the start that she likely won’t wake, and even if she does, she won’t ever be the woman I married. I’d have to hire a team of nurses and shit and devote my life to wiping the fucking drool from her chin.” 

You make a noise of understanding and nod slowly as you absorb his words. “So, that rumour’s true; she’s brain dead. More than before my brothers got their hands on her, I mean.” 

“Yep,” he confirms simply before he finishes his glass and puts it on the coffee table. 

“And the doctors are basically asking if you want to pull the plug?” Wonwoo nods in confirmation. “And you haven’t answered.” 

“I’ve almost said yes so many times; just fucking wipe my hands of the bitch for good. I don’t want to have to look after her. I never even liked her, so I don’t want to be responsible for her.” 

“Then tell them to pull the plug. I don’t understand why you haven’t already. If you even liked her, not loved but just simply liked, I’d understand your hesitance, but you pretty much hate her. What’s stopping you? Is it her dad?” 

“No, he knows she’s never coming back, and he’s told me he won’t hold it against me if I tell them to do it. He said he’d rather she doesn’t wake and suffer for the rest of her life, and he knows she wouldn’t want to live like that either.”

“Then why haven’t you given consent yet?” 

“It’s the dumbest fucking thing; it doesn’t even make sense,” he mutters, looking at the space between you as if he wants to move over to cut it in half, or remove it entirely.  

“Tell me,” you insist, minutely shuffling closer encouragingly. 

“I just keeping thinking that…what if that was you? And in that split second where I imagine you laid there, I can’t do it,” he confesses, genuinely shocking you as your heart speeds up and even skips a few beats in excitement and what you’re certain is more than just hope at this point. 

“Oh… You’re right; that makes no sense.” 

Wonwoo huffs a laugh and looks up at you. “You really are emotionally inept, aren’t you?” 

“Says you.” 

“We’re as bad as each other, I guess.” 

“Mm, seems that way, Mr. Jeon.” 

The two of you look at one another for a minute, so much and nothing at all being said in the air between you, the way your eyes don’t waver from one another. 

Seemingly making a decision about whatever is on his mind, he nods determinedly and takes your glass to down the remainder, making you whine wordlessly and whack his leg in complaint. “I’m going to do it tomorrow,” he declares, putting the glass on the table beside his own. 

“What?” you ask confusedly after staring forlornly at your stolen glass for a second, then looking at him puzzled. 

“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to go to the hospital and sign the papers to end the life support,” he decides firmly. 

You raise a questioning eyebrow. “And what if your weird little mind imagines me laid on that bed again?” 

“Remember what you said you’d do with that necklace if I wasn’t married?” he prompts, making you nod in confirmation. “That is what I’m going to think about.”

Waking in your bed in the apartment feels both strange, and so normal that you momentarily forget that you’ve been gone for months. But it only lasts for a few seconds before you realise that your alarm is going off on the side table and you reach out to grab it and turn it off. 

It’s earlier than you’ve ever woken here; not even 8am yet, but you know you have a meeting to attend at 9:30am, so you need to at least get up and shower ready to leave. 

All of your toiletries are still in your ensuite. Actually, everything of yours that you left around the apartment is still where you last put it, so long as it’s not in the way. It makes your heart flutter every time you think of how Wonwoo hadn’t wanted to remove any trace of you, despite now living full time in the apartment.

Showering and getting ready doesn’t take that long; you’re wandering downstairs by 8:20 and realising that Wonwoo isn’t home. You know he’d be in the kitchen if he was. You both have to be at the same meeting, after all, and he’s always been awake before you. 

It feels like normal to check the whiteboard on the fridge for a message from Wonwoo. There’s a fresh one in place, just as you suspected; though it simply tells you to bring your belongings from your hotel room here, and that he’ll get takeout for dinner tonight, so you don’t need to bother cooking for either of you.

Though, there’s no information explaining where he’s gone so early, so, of course, you pull out your phone and pull up the tracking app for his phone. The moment you see that he’s at the hospital, you exit the app and try not to feel excited at the potential that Wonwoo is currently giving consent to have his wife’s life support turned off. 

It’s pretty twisted of you to wish for that, but you’ve never pretended that you’re not a twisted kind of person. Being raised as you have, surrounded by all the blood and mayhem your father didn’t try to hide from you once you became a teenager, well, that’s bound to twist a person’s mentality more than just a bit.

After texting Jihoon to tell him you’re heading back now, you leave the apartment to head to the hotel to meet everyone, ready to sit through another few hours of a boring meeting to discuss more details about the alliance.

As it turns out though, the meeting is cancelled for today, something you and your father are only told once you’re already at the bar. But there are plenty of Ahn’s men around that the two of you pass time talking to them to gain even more information on the gang; things that the boss himself won’t tell you, or perhaps even know about how his men work outside of his direct orders. 

It's very informative and much more interesting than the meeting would’ve been, so you stick around for as long as your father does before all heading back to the hotel.

“You’re really doing this?” Jihoon asks as he watches you zip up your case now that it’s packed back up and none of your belongings remain outside of your luggage. 

“Don’t sound so fucking dramatic, it’s like three days,” you scoff. “You know where I’ll be, you can track me and hack my phone; listen in and activate my camera when I’m in the shower, pervert.”

“I’ve never done that!” he sputters, blushing furiously. 

“Your loss, I look great naked and dripping wet.”

“I don’t doubt it; you’re always beautiful,” he responds honestly, making you look at him and smile softly at his heartfelt compliment. “He’s a lucky guy, to have your heart like this.”

“Well…I wouldn’t take it that far,” you reply, diverting your gaze as your cheeks pinken ever so slightly.

“You’re blushing,” he teases.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Is that an order, ma’am?” He’s smirking when you look at him.

“Only if you send me a picture of your eight-inch wonder wrapped in your pretty hands,” you purr, smirking salaciously and he immediately looks away, once again back to blushing. “Ah, you’re so easy, Jihoonie.”

“Only for you,” he mutters and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Be careful with him, ma’am. Smart.”

“I have condoms.”

“Okay, good. I don’t want people to look down on you for having a child out of wedlock, or risking catching something from him.” 

“Me either,” you agree. “Any other orders, cherub?”

“Yeah, stop calling me that.” He gives you an unimpressed look that makes you giggle, which in turn, makes his expression melt into something fond. “Call me whatever you want,” he decides. 

“Simp.”

“Only for you.” He shrugs and moves to open the suite door when you head towards it with your luggage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you there?”

“No, Jihoon. I can do it; I’m a big girl.”

“I know,” he chuckles. “I still worry, though.”

“Okay, daddy.” Jihoon short circuits, and you take the chance to leave, cackling to yourself at the dumbass, open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression he’s wearing.

When you enter the apartment, you immediately spot Wonwoo in the kitchen with his back to you as he leans on the island with both hands, attention on the paper atop the counter. He’s still wearing his leather jacket, and you assume he hasn’t been home long.

After removing your shoes and jacket, you leave your luggage in the entrance hall and walk over to peer around Wonwoo’s arm at the paper curiously. “Oh. Death certificate already? You don’t wait around, do you,” you muse, moving aside to lean back against the counter a little on his left. 

“It was already waiting, just needed the details. Everyone knew it was coming. Even my father- well, I guess my ex-father-in-law knew.” He huffs a short laugh that’s barely an exhale of a laugh before looking at you. “Said he knew it’d be this week too, once he saw the way I looked at you Monday morning.” 

You whistle impressed. “Damn, just say you’re in love with me, and get it over with.” 

He rolls his eyes and finally moves to tuck the certificate back in the envelope, tucking his wedding ring inside too. It makes your stomach twist excitedly. “Don’t take it too far, asshole.” 

“I’m very lovable,” you defend. 

“Prove it to me.” He turns to face you properly; you mirror his stance so you’re facing one another, perfectly in reach yet neither of you reach out.

“Prove it how exactly?” 

He opens his mouth without thought, then closes it before he can say the words, changing his mind as he shakes his head slightly. He takes a second before opening his mouth and saying something less impulsive, “Not now; I’ve literally just become a widower today, so I should at least respect my dead wife by not starting something with the woman who essentially killed her.” 

“Hey!” you exclaim and reach out to backhand his bicep, making his lips turn up at one side, smiling amusedly. “I take offense with that! If I was going to kill her, I would’ve done it ages ago! My brothers killed her because of her own dumbass decision to kidnap me. And, well, yours for holding me up so long. You had more part in her death than me.” 

“Okay, I can accept that,” he concedes easily, not even trying to deny it in any way. “Then I definitely can’t start anything with you; can’t let anyone know that I killed my wife for you.” 

“How romantic of you,” you coo sarcastically. 

“Very,” he grins, making you huff a laugh. 

“So, just to clarify; you are no longer married, but you want to wait?” 

“Yes.” 

You hum for a few seconds. “So, you don’t want me to go put on that necklace?” 

He stares at you dumbly for a moment as his mind whirls with the mental images your words spawn. “I didn’t say that,” he murmurs lowly, eyes darkening with lust as they focus back on you. 

“So, you do?” 

“Yes.” 

“Ask nicely.” 

He doesn’t hesitate to comply with a simple yet so honest and effective, “Please.” 

It’s you who stares dumbly for a few seconds this time. “Oh, that was easier than I thought,” you admit in a mutter before smirking at him amusedly. “You really are desperate for a fuck, huh?” 

“I can go without usually, but I’ve never wanted someone like I have you. So now I have the chance, yes, I want to take it,” he answers candidly, without any waver to his voice or lust heavy expression on you. “Never know what will happen in our line of work.” 

“Hmm, true.” You glance around the kitchen for the gift bag that you know was on the counter this morning when you left, then at him with a confused frown when you don’t find it. “Did you really put it back away?” 

“No. It’s on your bed waiting.” 

“Presumptuous.” 

“I just know neither of us would want to wait longer than necessary.” 

“True,” you agree with a nod, unable to even pretend to try and deny his words, before starting to back towards the stairs slowly. “I’m going to shower, and you should too. I don’t want you to touch me with dead wife hands.” 

“I didn’t even touch her,” he says.

You stop in your tracks and give him a flat, unimpressed look. “The air touched you both, Wonwoo.”

He rolls his eyes and then starts walking forward, towards you and the stairs while unzipping his jacket ready to remove it. “Whatever, just hurry the fuck up and get naked on my bed.” 

“Demanding.” 

He reaches out to grab the front of your shirt, technically another of his, once in front of you and stops you from backing up like you intend to. You glance down at his hand gripping the material then back up into his eyes with a raised eyebrow. “Before anything, I need to ask something.”

“No, I’m not going to call you daddy, no matter how much you beg,” you answer, tapping the tip of his nose once with your finger; he rolls his eyes and tugs you closer. “Okay, damn, I was joking, daddy.”

“Shut the fuck up, brat,” he retorts, though he’s clearly trying not to chuckle at your words. “And I know you call your dad that, so I definitely don’t want you calling me that. Keep your daddy issues out of our sex life.”

“Boring.” He gives you an unimpressed look. “Okay, fine, I’ll pretend I’m a serious person. What’s your question?”

“When did you get tested?”

“For what?”

“Anything you can pass on when you sit on my face.” 

“Oh.” Your eyes widen in clear interest. “Very recently; nothing to pass on. You?”

“Same.” 

“Great. Shower; go clean my throne thoroughly,” you say and pat his cheek, though hesitate when you see the scar on his cheek and cup his face so you can run your thumb over it. “What did they do to your pretty face, huh?” 

“Nothing your thighs can’t hide.”

“You know what? You’re so fucking right,” you agree then dart forward to press a far too quick kiss to his lips, then back up while he stares after you, in shock at first but then in challenge as you giggle. “Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” he confirms before you both rush upstairs to your ensuites to shower, more than just a little fucking excited to finally get to get your hands on each other.

Over the few days living back at the apartment, you and Wonwoo enthusiastically defile every inch of the apartment humanly possible, and then do it all over again, and again, and again. 

Honestly, you have no idea how you both seem to have endless stamina and arousal in your veins to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. All it takes is locking gaze and suddenly clothes are being thrown off, and you’re reaching for condoms, which the two of you had great fun hiding all over the apartment to find again like a horny Easter egg hunt.

It’s even more impressive because you both still have to attend meetings, and Wonwoo has to meet with various people to arrange the funeral properly. He also has to deal with his wife’s belongings; none of which he wants to keep and frankly doesn’t care what happens to it, but he has to keep up appearances at least a little bit.

But, those three days pass far too quickly for your liking, and before you know it, you’re saying goodbye to Wonwoo with his number in your phone and his marks covering your skin under your clothes.

Honestly, part of you thought that now that you and Wonwoo have fucked it out, a lot, and have the opportunity to text and call whenever you want, that whatever is between you might fizzle out over the following few months apart. You thought that maybe, the novelty of finally being able to fall together would’ve worn off, and things would change. But you were very wrong.

Well, partially, because things do change, but not in the way you expected.

Every single night, Wonwoo video calls you, so that you can eat your dinner together despite the distance, and then you spend hours on call. Sometimes you’re quiet, each doing your own thing but just enjoying having the other there. Sometimes there’s nonstop talking. And sometimes, there is, of course, a lot of phone sex. 

Even if the exact nature of the calls differ, he still calls and smiles at you so happily with a light in his eyes that you never saw in those months living together. But now, he looks like there’s no longer a weight dragging his heart down, and instead it’s allowed to flutter free, right into your waiting hands.

Wonwoo never hides it either, never tries to pretend that he doesn’t just sit and stare at you sometimes with a soft, content look on his face that always makes your heart flutter when you notice. He never hides how happy you make him, how much he adores talking to you, adores you. 

He texts you every morning and at random points in the day just to check in and keep each other updated. Or send photos and memes he thinks you’ll like.

He sends random gifts to your house; flowers, food, lingerie, random knick-knacks he saw and thought of you, and you always show them to him on the next video call after you’ve decided where to put them. He always looks so happy that you’ve accepted the items and allowed them to be a part of your daily life.

The first time you send Wonwoo a gift in return, a giant bouquet of flowers, he calls you the second it arrives and excitedly thanks you so profusely; saying that no one has ever bought him flowers before, and he doesn’t know how to look after them, but he’ll do research and treasure them. Which he does; those flowers last far longer than you expect, thanks to his careful attention, and you can’t help but send him endless gifts after. He’s always so adorably happy and enthusiastic about whatever you send him, just because you had taken the time to think of him. 

It’s honestly a side of him you really hadn’t known existed, a side so different to his usual persona that you feel like there’s something right in the depths of you both that ties you together and allows him to let himself be so free and honest with you. 

The more you think about it, the more you take moments to just look at him on your screen as he talks or does chores, oblivious to your admiring gaze, the more you think that you might finally understand how Jihoon can be so devoted to you and willing to do anything to make you happy, even though he knows it will never get him anywhere with you. 

You think you’d carve your heart from your chest and put it in Wonwoo’s hands if it would make him smile.

You think, that perhaps, he already has it.

Winter isn’t the best time to show off the private stretch of beach that your home overlooks, but it’s out of your control when Wonwoo turns up to deal with things on behalf of the Ahn gang in January. 

But really, you don’t mind it, not when it means he’s finally right back within arm’s reach, and you can kiss his stupidly pretty face whenever you want, even if it’s chilled from the sea air blowing in as you sit on the blanket on the sand to watch the sun set.

He’s already been here for a few days, staying in your beachside home with you and defiling every inch of it at every given chance, too. But, it hasn’t all been about sex. There have been a lot of times where you just lay side by side, hands trailing over one another with no intention but to touch, to admire, to silently worship the other in a way you hope you can spend the rest of your lives doing.

There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it anymore, no doubt left in your mind or heart as you see your heart split in half and at home in his chest with half of his own, the other part in your own chest. 

You thought having an incomplete heart was something bad, something to be feared and resent, but knowing Wonwoo has so willingly split his to complete yours and readily accepted yours as the other half of his, you think it’s the best thing a person could ever experience.

Even sitting here in the chill and talking about work, as you look at Wonwoo, all you feel is love.  Although neither of you have said the words, have even discussed what your relationship is, you’re confident that he feels it too.

“He’s giving me more and more responsibilities now, like he’s getting ready to step down,” he informs, playing with the hem of your jumper, where he’s shoved his hand up the front of your coat to be closer to your skin and leech your warmth. You’re doing the same thing to him though, so you can’t really call him out on it.

“Gang boss Wonwoo, how attractive of you,” you muse and kiss his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder, making him smile at the cute action. 

“Attractive enough to be Mrs gang boss Wonwoo?” Immediately, you straighten up to look at him in wide eyed shock at the abrupt question. Wonwoo removes his hands from you so that he can reach into one of his coat pockets and pull out a small, dark cube. A ring box.

“My dad will kill you if you propose to me without his blessing,” you mutter dumbly, eyes glued to the box as he shuffles to face you better.

“I know, so I asked him today.” 

Your head jerks up to look at him wide eyed. “And he said yes?!” 

“He doesn’t want his daughter being some asshole’s mistress, so he’d rather you just marry the asshole instead.” He chuckles. “It’d ally our gangs too.” 

“I wouldn’t be your mistress!” you baulk offendedly.

“I don’t want you to be,” he assures. “I want to do it right this time; marriage.” 

“What does ‘doing it right’ even mean, Wonwoo?” 

“Not for business.” 

“You just said it’d ally us,” you remind. 

“That’s not important to me. If you said you want to run away and leave all this shit behind, I’d agree.” 

You make an impressed sound similar to a whistle. “Damn. You’re whipped.” 

He laughs and nods a little, while opening the box to show you the silver, diamond studded ring within. It matches the necklace you haven’t removed once since putting it on four months ago; you only remove the earrings at night so that they don’t dig into your skull when you sleep. “I am. You proved to me how lovable you are the past months, to the degree that I never want to spend a day without you, Princess. I really have fallen for you, and whether you love me or not isn’t important, because I’m confident you’ll love me sooner or later.” 

“Definitely sooner,” you reply immediately, making his lips turn up into a smile. 

“Yeah?” 

“I won’t marry for a reason other than genuine love, Wonwoo.” 

“What does that mean?” 

You offer your left hand and wiggle your fingers impatiently. “Put the fucking ring on me, then let me ride my fiancé’s dick.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to pluck the ring from the cushion and slide it onto your finger, before pulling you onto his lap with a smile so bright it puts the setting sun to shame. “Whatever you want, Princess.” 

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Whatever You Want part two tag: @syluslittlecrows, @eisaspresso, @riseokau

Just like every night when you’re done closing up the restaurant, you see Sangmin waiting on the other side of the road, sitting patiently on the bench there, ready to walk you home. 

You wave at him as you near the edge of the path, one hand carefully holding the takeout container of a freshly made double serving of his favourite meal that you cook at the restaurant. Sangmin gets up from the bench with a bright smile, always so happy to see you, and waves, making you smile just as brightly, even if you’re exhausted from the long hours cooking away in the kitchen. But Sangmin always cheers you up. 

He’s such an upbeat guy despite his unfavourable circumstances, and you genuinely enjoy these walks home listening to him tell you about his day and telling him about yours in return. You can’t wait to hear if he made a new friend at the dog park today, where he likes to hang around and offer to play with the dogs of the elderly folk who can’t run or throw balls and sticks for their pets. Sometimes, the owners even give him some cash in return or buy him a coffee or ice cream from the stands, weather permitting. It’s a reminder that there is still good in this shitty world.

Just as you’re about to cross the street, a couple of cars get close enough that you remain in place to let them pass and intend to cross after they’re gone, when it’s safe.

The chance doesn’t come as both cars suddenly swerve to pull up in front of you, making you take a few steps back as you stare at the vehicles suspiciously. The engines don’t turn off, and the doors on the side closest to you open to allow masked, suited men to get out. 

“Shit,” you curse under your breath and hold your free hand up as they approach. “Wait, wait, wait!” You exclaim, kicking out as they reach out to you with clearly every intention of stealing you away. “I said wait!” You glance over to Sangmin as you hear him yelling your name, voice getting closer. “Stay there, Sangmin!” You warn loudly. “Stay out of this!” You crouch, still with your free hand up so that you can put the container on the floor. “Okay, I’ll go with you, just leave him alone,” you inform and let out a breath of relief when the bulky man directly in front of you stops trying to reach towards you and signals his men to wait. “Give me a sec, seriously, I’ll go,” you promise and shuffle aside to peer around to where Sangmin is being held back by a couple of the men. “It’ll be okay, Sangmin. Enjoy your dinner, okay. I’ll see you soon.” 

Sangmin murmurs your name brokenly, clearly not trusting these men to bring you safely back, and honestly, neither do you. But he stops struggling to get to you and stumbles back when the men let him go with a little shove to create more space. “Be safe,” he pleads as you follow the men to get into the closest car. 

“You too.” You give him a soft smile before you’re in the car between two burly men and the door is shut. You want to watch Sangmin as the car pulls away, want to see him pick up his meal so you know he will eat well, at least tonight, but you can’t. Just as you turn your head to watch through the rear window, something sharp jabs into your leg. You yelp, turning to look down at the culprit and find a needle stuck in your leg. “You asshole,” you mutter. 

Moments later, you’re unconscious.

Something about this woman is familiar to you, but you really can’t tell what it is. It doesn’t help that her cronies have given you one swollen eye, and the other eye’s vision is blurred with blood that trickles down from your split eyebrow. 

Whoever this woman is, though, she clearly doesn’t want to get her own hands dirty, even if she looks very pleased with the bruised and bleeding state of you.

“Okay, okay,” you groan once you’ve caught your breath from the round of beating you’ve just received. “I give. Who the fuck are you?” You question, peering at her.

Despite not being able to see her clearly, you can see the way her whole posture changes; from smug to dumb, offended shock. “Who am I?” 

“Yes; who are you?” You repeat, almost rolling your eyes. 

“How dare you?!” She stalks over and one of her men grabs a fistful of your hair from where he stands behind you, to make you look up at her as she leers over you. “I am the most powerful woman in this whole city!” 

“Pretty sure I’d know who you are if that’s true,” you retort and choke out a laugh when she finally hits you herself; an open-handed slap that drags the multiple rings on her fingers across your already bruised cheek, drawing shallow gouges in your skin. 

“How dare-!” She starts to screech, yet the door opening behind her cuts her off as she looks over. 

Curiously, you look over too, and the tall man who enters looks vaguely familiar to you too. At least, the leather jacket and glasses he’s wearing do because he’s too far away for you to make out clearly.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He demands. 

Ah, you recognise his deep voice and suddenly understand why he’s familiar to you. He’s a regular at the restaurant and favours the same dish as Sangmin, though this guy worked his way through the entire menu before settling on that particular one. 

You’ve only talked to him a few times, when it’s late enough that the wait staff have already been sent home, but the owners always stay open for this guy; meaning, if they’re busy, you have to deliver his meal to him. He always compliments your cooking and thanks you genuinely, but other than that, you’ve never said much to one another. Other than last Christmas when he asked if you would consider making him something special off menu and gave you a wad of cash to sweeten you up. 

Even before the suspicious stack of cash was handed to you, you just knew in your gut that this guy is in shady dealings and seeing him walk into this room and not even flinch at the battered condition of you, it only confirms it.

“Teaching your little whore a lesson,” the woman sneers and turns back to you. “She needs to learn that she can’t get away with touching what’s mine.”

“I still don’t know who the fuck you are,” you point out. 

Just as her hand is about to come down to connect with your cheek again, the newcomer grabs her wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns. “She’s not done shit wrong. I’ve told you before that I’ve never fucking cheated on you. She’s just a fucking cook.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Jeon Wonwoo,” she hisses.

“Don’t be fucking delusional, Ahn Yerim,” he retorts and looks at the man behind you. “Untie her.”

“Sir, Miss Ahn said-” the thug starts, yet shuts up and releases his grip on your hair when Wonwoo glares. The man behind you quickly moves to untie your arms and legs from the chair.

“You don’t listen to him! You listen to me! You both work for me!” Yerim exclaims.

“We work for your father, not you, sweetheart,” Wonwoo reminds and lets her go to approach you and carefully help you up. “Come on,” he encourages as he puts his arm around your waist to support you. 

“I am your wife! Treat me with the respect I deserve!” 

“I treat you with more than you deserve,” Wonwoo grumbles as he pretty much half carries you out of the room. You’re trying to walk, but they had tied your ankles to the chair legs so tightly that your feet are sparkling painfully with every dragging step as the blood rushes back in. “Did they break your legs?” He wonders concernedly as he stops and adjusts his left arm behind your back as you grip onto his shoulders for stability.

“No, extreme pins and needles.” He makes a noise of understanding and sweeps you up into his arms, hooking his right arm under your thighs to carry you.

“Do me a favour and shut your eyes; you shouldn’t see where we are.”

“Can’t see the gang HQ?” You muse, and snigger when he glances at you with a flat look. “Alright, whatever, Mr Jeon Wonwoo.” Obligingly, you shut your eyes and decide to lean your head against his broad shoulder and rest a little. 

“What’s your name?” He wonders. 

“Don’t even know the name of the woman your wife accused you of cheating with?” He sighs, making you snigger again before you tell him your name, which he only hums at. “Your wife is a real fucking bitch, you know?” 

The sigh he lets out sounds like he more than knows how true those words are.

Instead of taking you home, or back to the restaurant, or a hospital, or a random fucking street corner to leave you to figure out your way from there, Wonwoo drives to the outskirts of the city; to a building site that you know got abandoned after only one block of fancy apartments were built. The company, who still owns the land, had a lot of issues with permits and tried to sell the project on, yet no-one wanted to take over from their immense fuck up, so it’s been abandoned for at least a year now.

At least, you thought it was, but perhaps Wonwoo likes to take advantage of the lack of witnesses at the edge of the city and bury his victims here. It’d be a smart move. There doesn’t seem to be any security around; even the road leading to the site is far enough out of the way that there are no traffic cameras along the stretch. 

“I hope you don’t like burying your victims alive,” you murmur as you eye the abandoned building materials still piled up along the partially finished, dust covered road you’re travelling down.

“What?” Wonwoo glances over at you but you’re staring out of the window with a displeased pout. “I’m not going to fucking bury you alive.”

“Ah, good, I’m in the firm belief I would not enjoy that at all.” 

“You… No, I don’t think you would. I don’t think anyone would.”

“I dunno, some people are into some shit, Wonwoo. You’d be surprised.” You look over at him and notice a strange expression cross his features. It’s one you’re familiar with from other people and know it means they’re suddenly questioning their decision to be in close proximity to you.

After shaking his head slightly and letting out a strong exhale as he looks back to where he’s driving, Wonwoo speaks again. “Look, I didn’t bring you here to kill you, but to protect you.” 

“What?” 

“My wife is a fucking psycho. You saw that, and I know she’ll have people looking for you to steal you away again. So, I’m putting you in one of my safe houses so she can’t do that. Understand?”

“She doesn’t know about this safe house?”

Wonwoo scoffs and shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t know about any of them. Nobody does; just me. You’ll be safe here, trust me.”

“I really don’t think trust comes into this, more like I don’t have a fucking choice.”

“That too,” he confirms simply. 

There’s nothing more that can be said on the topic, so you both remain silent for the last short section of the drive. Even when Wonwoo parks up in the underground parking of the only complete building, then leads you into the lift up to an apartment on the sixth floor, neither of you say a word.

That changes when you step into the apartment and look at the sparse décor for the modern apartment. “Wow, a true minimalist, aren’t you?” You muse, glancing at the sofa you can see from the entrance hall, then over to the kitchen perfectly within view due to the open layout of the bottom floor of the apartment. There’s a glass staircase on the other side of the living area, with a short hallway behind it, but other than that, there truly is not much to look at.

“It’s just a safe house; it’s supposed to be functional, nothing more.” 

“How can you function in such a lifeless place?” 

Wonwoo sighs and nudges you from behind, so you’ll move out of the way and let him pad across the expensive marble-look flooring in his socks to the kitchen. “Just take your shoes off and get your ass over here.”

After putting his shoes neatly aside and putting your own next to them, you shuffle over to the kitchen and perch yourself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, where he’s rummaging through an extensive medical kit, which you hadn’t even seen him procure. 

“Got the good stuff?” You joke, leaning over to peer into the bag. “Wait, is that morphine?” You gasp, reaching for the packet of pills, but he slaps your hand away. 

“You don’t need morphine.”

“I’m in pain, Wonwoo,” you try, pouting at him, but he gives you a disbelieving look. “Ow.”

“You can have ibuprofen or paracetamol.”

“What kind of a gang member won’t give the good stuff?” You huff and turn away to peer at the kitchen. Honestly, you don’t even want morphine. You just wanted to see if he would give it to you, but you have your answer now and have no reason to push it. 

“Are you an addict?” 

“No, just bored.” 

“So, you want drugs?”

“No. Just seeing how you’d react.” 

“You’re very fucking weird, you know?” 

“Yes,” you confirm and look at him before pointing to the fridge. “I’m guessing that’s empty?” 

“Yeah, there’s long life stuff in the cupboards though, some military rations and instant ramen.” 

“Good ol’ instant ramen.” 

He just hums, then finally has everything he wants from the kit set up on the counter. “Alright, face me; let me get a look at the damage.” Obediently, you turn on the stool to face him as he moves closer while removing his jacket to toss onto the counter, leaving him a simple black t-shirt and jeans. 

“How come you’re not in a suit like those assholes?” 

“I’m off the clock.” 

“Then why did you turn up?” 

“My wife sent me a video of them beating you,” he informs, gently turning your head from side to side with one hand on your jaw delicately, to not aggravate the bruises on your skin. “Couldn’t let her do that to an innocent person.” 

“Aw, how noble of you, Mr. Thug.” 

“Not a thug.” 

“Mm, sure.” 

“I’m not.” 

“I’ve seen your bruised knuckles when you’ve come into the restaurant, Wonwoo, the split lips and bruised cheeks. Even seen the outline of your weapon under your clothes. By that, I mean your gun.” 

“What else could you mean?” You just giggle, and he sighs, understanding the euphemism, though he doesn’t grace you with a further reaction, not wanting to focus on that subject at all. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“No promises.” 

Despite his stern expression and stiff posture, Wonwoo is gentle as he tends to your wounds attentively; talking as softly in his low voice as he can to warn you when he’s about to do something that might sting or asking you to move in various ways to give him better access. 

“Alright, all done,” he declares sometime later when he straightens up and steps back from you, eyes still darting over your seated form for any wounds he’s missed.

“Thanks.”

“Mm, my fault anyway.”

“It is,” you agree, earning an unimpressed look from the man before he turns to start tidying up. “Is there anything to drink?” 

“The tap water is safe,” he informs before opening one of the cupboards to pull out two glasses, which he fills from the cold tap then puts one on the counter in front of you. “I’ll get groceries in tomorrow. Write a list of whatever you want or need for the next week.”

“I’ve got to stay here for a week? I have a job, you know,” you point out before gratefully picking up the glass to gulp down the contents as he finishes cleaning up, his own glass of water barely touched. 

“I know. Write a resignation and I’ll post it through the door tomorrow.” 

“I don’t want to resign! I like that job!”

“They won’t hold out until you’re back, and I don’t know when that will be yet. We need to wait it out until my wife has given up tormenting you.”

“How long will that be?” 

“No fucking clue, she’s been tormenting me for years.”

“I don’t understand why people stay with someone they don’t love anymore.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, and you think this is one of those circumstances where it’s really not your place to push, so you drop the topic.

Once Wonwoo is done cleaning up, including both of your drinking glasses, he leads you upstairs to one of the bedrooms. To your surprise, it looks fully furnished, even if there’s not any décor, but it’s more liveable than downstairs.

“Wow, a dresser and TV,” you whistle, eyeing the items as Wonwoo pulls the bedding off of the large bed. 

“It came partially furnished,” he explains. 

“There’s no TV in the living room.”

“I said partially.” 

“Weird they put a TV in the bedroom before the living room.” 

“The sockets are all there, they just didn’t get around to it. They were going to get custom TVs made for all the apartment living rooms, but didn’t get the chance before the project got shut down.” 

“I didn’t know anyone bought an apartment.” 

“Bought is a stretch,” he muses, piling the stale bedding by the door before grabbing another set from a drawer under the bed to sniff at, then shrugs and starts to make the bed.

“Is this technically squatting?”

“No.” He huffs a short laugh. “It’s my apartment, just more of a gift. The whole building is mine.”

“Ooh, check you out, Mr fancy property owner.” You move over to help fix the fitted sheet to the mattress, earning a grateful nod from the man. “What did you do to get this gift?”

“Let the CEO keep his life.”

“And he only gave you a single building in an unfinished building site? The audacity! If he values his life that much, he should’ve given you a lot more.”

“He offered me any building of his I wanted, he owns a lot in the city centre too, but I asked for this; I knew it’s out of the way. He promised to not try hard to get the site up and running again, so I’ll have privacy. Which, to me, is the most valuable thing anyway.”

“Mm, fair,” you concede and work alongside him to finish setting up the bed. 

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere. The front door is already locked, and you won’t be able to unlock it. You can’t leave, so don’t bother trying,” he warns seriously before turning and leaving the bedroom. 

With a sigh, you perch on the edge of the bed and wait, rubbing your feet over the fluffy rug below you, to twist your socks around and around your feet in boredom until he returns.

It’s almost ten minutes before he returns with a pile of fabrics in his arms and a basket of what looks like toiletries, with a toilet roll perched on top. 

“You look like a maid,” you comment amusedly. 

Wonwoo just sighs then puts the items on the bed. “Here, bathroom stuff. I’ll get you scents you like tomorrow, but you’ll have to use mine for now.” He hands you the basket, so you look at the toiletries curiously, popping the caps to sniff the contents and making pleased sounds.

“I like these.”

“Okay, saves me buying toiletries tomorrow.”

“I need sanitary items.” He looks at you. “My period is due soon.”

“Ah.” He blinks at you a few times dumbly before nodding. “Okay, just write down what you want, and I’ll get it.” 

“Sounds like a plan; you know, provided you give me something to do that with.” 

“Oh, right.” He chews on his lip thoughtfully before sighing and moving around to sit beside you as he pulls his phone from his pocket to unlock. “You’ll have to write it in a note on my phone, but I can’t let you use my phone blindly, so I’m going to watch.” 

“Understandable,” you agree, accepting the device once he has his notes app open on a blank note, so that you can start typing out a list of items for him to buy at the shop tomorrow. 

“Write your clothing sizes too. I have limited clothes myself here and just gave you one set to wear to bed. Oh, put detergent down, there isn’t any here. Put the brand if you’re particular about that stuff.”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever smells good and does the job,” you assure, while typing down ‘laundry detergent (nice smelling one)’. “Are there cleaning supplies?” 

“I’ll get more,” he promises then motions to the list, so you write it down.

Although it should not be this easy to sit side by side and make a grocery list together, it is. It’s domestic, even, in a very, very, very weird fucking way. The man’s wife is out for your blood, due to her own delusional accusations against the pair of you, yet you’re sitting here making a grocery list together as if you’re actually roommates who regularly do this. Very strange indeed. 

“Alright, that’s all I can think of,” you decide, after looking over the surprisingly extensive list one last time, before handing his phone back.  

“I’ll go shopping in the morning before work,” he declares as he gets up and tucks his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll let you get some sleep now; you must be tired after all this shit.” 

“Kinda pretty awake, actually. Does the TV work?”

“Should do, the one in my room works at least. There’s no Wi-Fi here though, so it’s just satellite channels.”

“If this one doesn’t work, we’re swapping rooms.”

“No,” he replies in a firm tone before exiting the room, pulling the door up behind him and leaving you in silence.

“Well, fuck you too,” you mutter and get up to use the bathroom.  You change into the sweatpants and t-shirt he left for you before climbing into the slightly dusty smelling bed to turn on the TV. 

Although you aren’t tired when you climb into bed, that quickly changes as you curl up under the covers with your eyes on the 90’s rom com playing on the TV, soon lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, or whatever time it is when you tiredly trudge downstairs, you discover that Wonwoo is a man of his word. 

There are various bags of shopping in the kitchen, all full of items from the shopping list. From clothes in the sizes that you wrote down, to perhaps far too many packets of sanitary towels; it seems that either Wonwoo has no idea how periods really work, or he intends to keep you for longer than just this cycle length. Either way, he listened and must’ve really tried hard to get everything on the list, with no regard to his financial state, as every piece of clothing has a brand name attached, not just cheap stuff from a superstore like you had expected him to buy. 

Although you genuinely would be okay with the cheap stuff, and never quite see the appeal in such expensive clothing for daily wear, you appreciate it and make a mental note to thank him when you next see him.

A few minutes later, when you’re done perusing the contents of the bags and have moved to the fridge, you finally notice the brand-new magnetic whiteboard on the front with a note scrawled in black ink from Wonwoo. 

It’s simple; just him telling you that he will be back in a few days to check on you, while also reminding you to not try to leave the apartment and also keep out of his room. You had no intention of going into Wonwoo's room, but now that he’s told you not to, you kind of want to.

For now, you just focus on making yourself something to eat before taking the shopping bags up to your room to make yourself at home for the foreseeable future.

It’s only been two days since Wonwoo left you all alone and you’re already so bored and restless that the moment you hear the beep of the lock disengaging on the front door, you’re rushing over from the kitchen to greet him like an excitable puppy. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He mutters with a bewildered frown as you crowd close and peer up at him. 

“I’m bored, Wonwoo,” you whine, eyes flickering over his tired features. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You finally back out of his personal space and take the bag from his hands as he works on removing his shoes and leather jacket, suit beneath today. The contents of the bag clinks as you take it, making you peer inside curiously. “Are you planning to mix wine and whiskey?” You wonder.

“No, just didn’t know what you’d prefer.”

“So, you bought wine for me?”

“No, that’s mine. I thought you’d be a whiskey girl, seem like the type to like the burn.” 

“Ha,” you snigger. “You got me, but I’ll drink anything.” You take the bag into the kitchen, where you had been starting to make yourself dinner. “Hungry?”

“Fucking starving,” he confirms when he follows you a moment later, unbuttoning his suit jacket to remove and toss onto the dining table carelessly, eyes on the ingredients you have laid out on the kitchen island. 

“Pour out,” you say, pointing to the wine bottle on the counter as you focus on getting extra ingredients out to cover Wonwoo’s portion too. He just hums and moves around to get out the wine glasses from the cupboard and corkscrew from the drawer.

As you cook, Wonwoo sits at the breakfast bar, head propped on his left fist and wine glass he’s slowly emptying, in his right. He hasn’t said a word since sitting down, just watches you work, and you’re honestly not even sure he’s entirely present. He looks like he could fall asleep any second, and you don’t think the wine he’s drinking is helping.

“Hey,” you call, tossing the cork, from where it lays on the counter, at him. He jerks back when it hits him on his forehead. He blinks at you dumbly, eyebrows furrowed in displeased surprise while you cackle at his expression. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep upright.”

“I’m fine,” he argues and drinks the last of the contents of his glass before reaching for the bottle to refill his glass, then your own, even if yours is still basically full. 

“Bullshit.”

“Just focus on the fucking food.”

“Mm, alright, but if you fall asleep, I’m eating your share too.”

“Do that, and I’ll take you right back to my wife and let her do whatever the fuck she wants with you,” he warns, entirely serious. 

“Wow,” you mutter, eyebrows raising as you take in the dangerous tint in his eyes. “You’re serious about your food, huh?”

“Only when it’s your cooking.” 

“Damn, you must be sleep deprived to say shit like that.” 

He sighs and slumps a little in his seat as he realises that you’re right. “It’s why she thinks I’m fucking you.” 

“What?”

“Because I eat your cooking, go out of my way to eat it, and I never eat hers.”

“Ah, yes,” you hum, a sarcastic edge to your voice. “That age old saying; the way to man’s bed is through his stomach.” 

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle and leans back on his fist as his eyes tiredly track your movements. “Knowing her dumbass, she actually thinks that’s right.” 

“It obviously wasn’t her method.”

“She can’t cook for shit. It’s no wonder I don’t eat it.” His expression turns disgusted. “Even I cook better than her, and I can’t cook shit either.”

“That’s fucked up man; everyone should be able to cook at least two decent meals.” 

“Never needed to and don’t exactly have the chance to learn how. She thinks she’s some kind of trophy wife and won’t let me in the kitchen to try.” He sighs and lets go of his glass to free his right hand so that he can rub at his eyes under his glasses. “She knows I’m hiding you, won’t stop fucking bugging me. Can’t get a minute’s fucking peace in that house at the moment.”

“Ah, that’s why you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“She doesn’t shut the fuck up when I’m there, so I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible. But at the end of the day, she’s my wife, so I can only avoid her so much.”

“Wild thought right here, but have you considered a divorce?” You muse and point to the plate cupboard, prompting him to get up and reach down two dinner plates to place on the side near you. 

Instead of sitting back down, he starts to load up the dishwasher with the dishes, which you’ve been putting in the sink to deal with after dinner once you’ve finished using them. “Not as simple as that,” he mutters. 

“Why not?” 

“Just isn’t, and it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Thanks to you and your delusional wife, I have no business of my own anymore, so I have to be up in yours.” 

“Well, don’t.” 

“I’m fucking bored, Wonwoo.” 

“Read a fucking book.”

“Nerd.” You don’t even look at him, but you don’t need to in order to know that he’s giving you a very unimpressed look; you can practically feel his gaze burning into the side of your face from over your left shoulder. “Either you give me all the gossip every time you visit, or you get me something to entertain me.”

“Like what?” 

For a second, you almost say a sex toy or twelve, but you think he really would stop talking to you then, and he’s your only method of socialisation, so you hum thoughtfully instead. “I guess seeing as there’s no internet, and you wouldn’t trust me with access to the outside world even if there was, a games console with a bunch of games on disc to play will do.”

“You like video games?”

“Not really.” You shrug and finish plating up dinner. “I’ve been intrigued, but I’ve always been more into cooking and baking. That’s just not as fun when I’ve got no-one to share it with. I can game on my own, at least.”

“You like to bake too?” You hum in confirmation. “I didn’t know that.”

You can’t help but laugh shortly as you look at him incredulously. “Why would you know that? We don’t know shit about each other, Wonwoo,” you remind him.

“Ah, right.” He nods and takes the last pan to rinse then put in the dishwasher, while you take your plates to the table to set down. Wonwoo follows moments later with the wine and sits down opposite you. “This looks amazing, thank you.” 

“Mm, of course. Not going to let the only person who can entertain me starve, am I?” 

“Guess not,” he huffs a quick laugh and picks up his fork. “What kind of games do you want?”

“I don’t really know; a variety, maybe, so I can try different types.” 

He makes a noise of understanding. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“You’re the best.” He gives you a raised eyebrow look. “At least the best I can do with no other option.” He scoffs a laugh, lips turning into a more genuinely amused smile as he turns back to his food yet says nothing and eats, so you do the same.

A few days later, Wonwoo is back just in time for dinner with his hands empty, making you squint at him sulkily as he nears where you’re setting the dishes on the table. 

Last time when he left, it was the morning, and you were asleep in your room, so he had written another note on the whiteboard telling you when he’d be back; so today, you had made his favourite meal and sides from the restaurant. You had planned the timing for when he said he would be back, and thankfully, he is still a man of his word and arrived perfectly on time.

At least, with this, he is a man of his word, because he had said he’d bring you a games console and games, yet here he is, empty handed.

“What? I’m on time,” he defends as he sits down. He’s not in a suit today, but jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It must be nice to be so unfairly attractive that even such a simple outfit looks effortlessly incredible. 

“And empty handed,” you mutter sulkily and drop down into your seat.

“It’s in the car,” he informs, rolling his eyes a little as he grabs his cutlery and immediately scoops a mouthful of food into his mouth. 

You watch as he makes strange sounds as he tries to exhale the heat from his mouth while still chewing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You wonder, prompting him to look at you. “There is literally steam, of course it’s hot.”

“I’m starving,” he replies, only just managing to cover his mouth as he talks, so that you don’t see his partially chewed food. “Barely eaten since last time.”

“What the fuck? Why?” You gawp.

“Told you; she won’t let me in the kitchen, and I refuse to eat her cooking.”

“There are plenty of restaurants, even fucking convenience stores to get a sandwich or instant ramen!” 

“Can’t eat that shit after having your cooking.” He shrugs. As if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t just essentially admitted he’d rather go hungry than eat food that you haven’t made. 

Perhaps to him it’s nothing, but no one has ever sounded so committed to any aspect of you before, even if it’s a byproduct of you, not actually a part of you. But it still hits you right in the chest and makes you unable to do anything but stare at him dumbly as he continues to shove too much food in his mouth before it’s cool enough to be practical.

“I’ll bring it up after dinner,” he declares a few moments later, snapping you back to reality without looking up at you, still too focused on his food.

“What?”

“The shit in the car.” 

“Oh, why didn’t you just bring it up with you?” You wonder as you pick up your cutlery to get started on eating your own serving.

“There’s too much shit for one trip, and I wanted to eat.”

“Too much shit?” You give him a questioning look when he glances at you. “How much did you buy, Wonwoo?”

“It’s not that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll understand later.”

After dinner, once he’s finished cleaning up, and while you sprawl over the still far too big couch in wait, Wonwoo goes down to the car and returns with a hand truck hauling multiple cardboard boxes. He unloads them into the lounge then leaves, after telling you to wait for him to be back. He locks you in the apartment once again before making another trip down to his car and returning without the hand truck, but now he has a suitcase that you recognise and a duffle bag you do not.

“Hold, did you break into my fucking apartment?!” you gawp as you sit up, pointing accusingly at the man. 

“No. I have your keys.” He pulls your keys from his jacket pocket then tosses them onto the side console with his own as he removes his shoes. 

“What the fuck, how?” 

“My wife had them, remember?” 

“Oh…” You nod a little in understanding. “I assume you will not be returning my phone to me.” 

“No. It’s off and somewhere else. Can’t risk you turning it on and getting tracked,” he answers simply before walking over to start opening the biggest of the boxes, while you pout at his back.

It’s only when he pulls an old, boxy TV from the box, spilling packing foam everywhere, that your interest is pulled away from grieving the, hopefully temporary, loss of your phone. 

“The fuck?” you mutter, rolling off of the couch to shuffle across the rug on your knees until you’re peering over his shoulder as he sets the TV up on the unit. “Excuse you, sir, but we are in the modern age.”

“Shut up, the console doesn’t work with our TVs,” he retorts.

“What console did you even buy?” 

“I didn’t buy it. It’s one I’ve had since I was a kid, so you better fucking look after it,” he warns, giving you a stern look. 

“I can respect other’s property, unlike you.” He gives you a bewildered look. “You broke into my apartment.”

“I had your fucking keys,” he reminds with a roll of his eyes before turning back around to return to setting up the outdated TV before pulling over another box to open. 

“I didn’t give you permission to go there; you broke in.” 

“I thought you’d want some of your own shit. Last time I try and do something fucking nice for your ungrateful ass.” You stare at him for a moment before shuffling closer to abruptly hug him from behind, making him jolt then tense up. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Being appreciative.”

“Well stop it; it’s fucking weird. Just go back to being an ungrateful shit.” 

“No. You smell really nice, what cologne do you use? I want some.”

“I brought your perfume from your apartment, wear your own shit.”

“No, I like yours. Let’s swap.”

“Fuck off.” He shakes you off of him, making you snigger before you move over to open the last box, which looks brand new, to peer inside and notice random items from your apartment inside. 

You don’t know why Wonwoo thought you’d want the novelty beer mat, which you stole from a bar, that you kept on your coffee table, but it’s in the box and makes you giggle when you see it. All the other items are much more understandable; your jewellery box, makeup bag, perfume, the blanket from your couch, and the teddy bear that sleeps with you. 

“You got a boyfriend you didn’t mention?” He wonders, when he glances over and spots you holding the teddy and brushing your fingers over the soft fur. His eyes land on the love heart pattern of its t-shirt then he turns away.

“No.”

“Caught up on an ex?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering, damn.” 

“Oh, so you get to dig into my love life, but I can’t yours?”

“Never fucking mind,” he grunts, all but glaring at the console as he sets it up. 

You peer at him and sigh. “Fucking idiot man.” He turns his head to shoot you a warning look over his shoulder. “What? You are!”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“No.” You raise a challenging eyebrow when he turns further towards you; a clear attempt to silently intimidate you. “I know you’re not going to hurt me. If you were willing to let me get hurt, I wouldn’t still be here,” you reason logically.

Wonwoo continues to glare at you for a moment before he turns away with a grunted curse, making you snigger. “Stop being a brat, or I won’t be so nice from here on out.” 

“Kinda sounds like a challenge to me, if I’m honest.” Your words make Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to sigh heavily, eyes closing as he takes a moment to gather himself. Deciding to leave Wonwoo alone, lest you actually make him lose his temper with you, you turn and look at the bear in your hands. 

A bittersweet little smile lifts your lips as you think about Sangmin. He had gifted you the bear on Valentine’s day; he wasn’t hitting on you and made a big effort to let you know that. He had simply seen the bear and decided to use all the change he had in his pocket to buy it for you, as the most heartfelt thank you and sign of his appreciation for all the meals you make for him.

At this point, Sangmin really is your best friend, perhaps your only friend. You value him so greatly and constantly find yourself wondering and worrying over the man since Wonwoo’s wife kidnapped you a week ago. You’ve been his only source of stable sustenance for months now; you dread to think of how much he’s struggling to feed himself without you handing him a hot meal every night.

“Hey, uhm Wonwoo?” You call, tone quieter and uncertain. It makes Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to look over at you, but you’re still looking at that bear and don’t notice. 

Wonwoo stares at you contemplatively for a moment; takes in the concerned furrow of your eyebrows and the tender way you handle the bear. “What is it?” He asks, his own tone softer now, noticing that whatever is on your mind is serious for you. He wasn’t aware you even know how to be genuinely serious like this. Even when you were tied to a chair by thugs getting bruised and battered, you didn’t seem like you were taking the situation all that seriously. 

“Will you do me a big favour?” 

“Depends.” 

You sigh softly and look at him. “There’s a homeless man who I feed every night after work. He meets me outside of the restaurant and walks me home. He’s… I’m the only stable source of food he has. Will you check on him, buy him a meal? And assure him that I’m okay. He was there when those assholes took me.”

“Oh.” He silently watches you for a moment longer, in surprise at your genuine, selfless request, while you keep your sincere gaze glued to him. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s my only friend, all I have here. He’s really a good guy; he’s got a giant heart and will always put others first. It’s how he lost everything; ran himself thin and got his kind nature taken advantage of. I need to know that he’s okay and will continue to be until I can go back and look after him.”

“Okay,” he agrees softly with a nod. “I’ll look out for him until it’s safe for you to leave.” 

“Thank you.” You relax a little as you give him a grateful smile. 

“You’re welcome.”

Although it’s usually a few days before you see Wonwoo, he turns up the day after you ask him to check on Sangmin. 

When he enters the apartment, you’re sitting on the floor close to the boxy TV in the lounge, playing one of the games on his childhood game console. 

“Oh, didn’t expect you today, would’ve started dinner if I knew you’d be here,” you comment, after flickering your gaze over to him, then focus back on the screen.

“Why does that sound like you won’t eat dinner if I don’t turn up?” he accuses, approaching, sans shoes, to sit on your left, grab the other controller from in front of the console, and immediately jumps into the game with you. 

“When I get hungry, I’ll eat. I don’t have any kind of schedule to keep, you do.” Wonwoo makes a noise of understanding in response yet says nothing more.

Until the end of the level, you’re both focused entirely on the game and only talk when Wonwoo gives you tips and guidance. He played this game many times in his youth, so he knows it far better than you, even if it’s been some years since he last played it.

“What’s for dinner then?” Wonwoo prompts, plucking the controller from your hand to place down as the level ends. 

“Uhh, fuck knows,” you answer with a shrug before getting up and shuffling to the kitchen. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“In case you forgot; it’s my fucking apartment,” he scoffs, turning off the TV, after saving the game properly. Once the console and TV are both turned off, Wonwoo saunters over to the kitchen to lean on the island at the opposite side to you, with his forearms laid flat on the granite surface and fingers casually laced together. 

“You got a thing for cooking, or something?” You wonder upon realising that he’s watching you with the same interest he always does when you’re cooking. Then again, maybe he’s just making sure you don’t slip poison into his portion. It’s only been just over a week since you met, so you wouldn’t blame him for being cautious.

“Just curious. I told you; I can’t cook for shit.”

“Then wash your hands and get around here,” you demand. “No better way to learn than by doing.”

“You serious?” he mumbles as he straightens up. You just hum. Wonwoo stares at you for a moment before moving to roll up his shirt sleeves, wash his hands and then join you for his first ever cooking lesson.

It’s hours after Wonwoo arrives that you find out why he broke what you thought was going to be the schedule for his visits. 

Cooking dinner takes almost three times as long as normal with him at your side; for a gang member he’s ridiculously cautious with the kitchen knife you instruct him to use. Then, the two of you get distracted talking about the video games you’ve tried, so eating dinner takes longer than normal too.

So, here you are, four hours after he arrived, returning to the lounge to relax on the couch. You’re both very glad to have a comfortable seat after the past four hours of sitting on the hard floor, standing to cook and clean, and barely cushioned dining chairs. 

“Oh, I went to the restaurant while I was in the area today,” he informs, drawing your attention to him, instead of staring at the little spread of video games on the floor by the TV unit as you try to decide what to play next. Wonwoo is already looking at you and when you look at him, he continues talking, knowing that you’re now paying attention. “Met Sangmin.” You straighten up a little, eyes widening slightly in silent question, silent concern for your friend. “He…well, I won’t lie; he looks like shit.”

“How bad?”

“He’s barely eaten or slept since you were taken,” he answers. “He’s been looking for you, asking around where he can and got into some trouble a couple days ago; so, he looked fucked up too.” 

“Fuck.”

“Mm.”

“You gotta let me go see him.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Wonwoo scoffs and shuffles to slouch down and let his head rest on the back of the couch as he turns his face skywards, looking at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “My wife is still after you; you’re staying right fucking here.”

“I can’t let him suffer!”

“I know,” he rolls his eyes before tilting his head just enough to peer at you lazily from the edge of his vision. “I told you that I’d look out for him until you can do it, and I’m a man of my word.”

“What did you do?” You ask softly, your worry starting to melt away. Something about Wonwoo really does make you believe him, at least about this; that he’s a man of his word. You trust him about this, as crazy as it is to trust the husband of the woman who fucking kidnapped you and had her minions beat you up because of her delusions.

“Put him up in a motel and gave him some cash for food. It should last him a couple weeks, provided he doesn’t fucking waste it.” He turns his face to the ceiling again, no longer looking at you as he yawns. “I’ll check on him in a few days and keep you updated.”

“Ah.” Your head bobs a little in approval as relief swims through your veins and warms your chest. “Thank you, Wonwoo, seriously.”

“Mm, I’m counting this as it makes us even for my fucking psychotic bitch of a wife kidnapping and beating the shit out of you.” 

“She didn’t beat the shit out of me. That would’ve been entertaining. Does she even know how to fight?” Wonwoo’s scoff is answer enough that no, his wife doesn’t know the first thing about fighting. “She would’ve broken her hand trying to break my face or something.”

“Doesn’t do shit with her hands, anyway, wouldn’t make a fucking difference if she broke them.” 

“Oh?” You grin slyly at him, even if he isn’t looking at you. “She’s more of a mouth kinda girl, huh?” Now Wonwoo looks at you, utterly unimpressed and borderline glaring, making you giggle. “What?” 

“My sex life is none of your fucking business.”

“Never mentioned you,” you muse with a shrug. “A lot of people who accuse others of cheating tend to be projecting their own misdeeds.”

“Know from experience?”

“Mm, yeah, been accused of cheating many times. I guess we’re similar in that regard; loyal to our partners even if they don’t believe it.” You shrug and get up to turn the TV on, then sit in front of the console to eject the cartridge to put away in the correct case.

“Not playing that one anymore?” he murmurs, rolling his head to watch you peruse the selection of games. 

“How tired are you? You’ve yawned like three times since sitting down.”

“I can go a few rounds, if you’re asking.” You immediately smirk over your shoulder at him. “Keep it in your fucking pants, pervert.”

“I respect the sanctity of marriage, even if it’s a loveless one,” you assure and turn back to the games, to select one to put into the slot and boot up the console. “I tried to play this earlier, but I kept dying, and it pissed me off. I think it’ll be easier in multiplayer though.”

“Mm, it is,” he confirms and stretches noisily before joining you on the floor, handing you a pillow to sit on while sitting on one himself, and accepts the controller you give him. As the game loads up and the start credits play, Wonwoo explains the basic idea of the game to you in a low voice, adding little tips about the controls and secret moves that will help you survive the beasts and tricks designed to overwhelm single players.

With Wonwoo at your side, the game is so much easier, and you enjoy yourself so much that you don’t realise the time pass, until Wonwoo declares that it’s close to sunrise, and he needs to get at least a couple hours of sleep before work. He leaves you to try some bonus levels that you unlocked together, but it’s not as fun alone, so you give up and go to bed as the sun rises, while silently looking forward to Wonwoo’s next visit.

Even though, most of the time, the apartment is pretty boring alone, you manage to keep yourself busy gaming, cooking, and cleaning every inch of the apartment repeatedly. Sometimes, it feels like time drags, yet it also feels like you merely blink, and it’s been over a month since Wonwoo locked you up here. You can’t tell exactly how long it’s been with your lack of sleeping schedule without the man around, but an educated guess puts it at, roughly, almost five weeks.

At first, every time you see Wonwoo, you ask if his wife has stopped being a psycho yet and if you can go home. You’re never surprised when he says no, to both questions, and tells you that you need to stay a while longer. 

Then, the man’s visits change, and it’s not three days between visits; sometimes it is, but sometimes it’s less. Though soon enough, Wonwoo is at the apartment every single day. If not to stay the night in his bed and take advantage of not having to share a bed with his wife, then to simply spend a few hours with you to eat and game. 

Though sometimes, he turns up and just lays on the couch to nap for no more than an hour before he leaves without a word. He always looks utterly exhausted on those days. You can’t help but wonder if this apartment is the most practical place for him to crash when he needs a nap during the day. Surely, the man has safe houses closer into the city centre; ones easier to get to and that don’t take as much of his time with travel. But you never bring it up; honestly, you’re just glad for the company, however wordless it is.

For a little while, you stop asking him when you can leave. It clearly annoyed him that you asked every time he visited, but it also frustrated you to never have an actual answer as to when you can go home. There’s only so long you can live in this apartment before you lose a grip on yourself and get reckless.

It’s probably been almost two weeks since you last asked, so you think it’s about time you bring it back up again, even if it’s 3pm and Wonwoo has clearly arrived with the intention of napping. 

You’re in the process of making yourself lunch when he enters the apartment, so he’s drawn to the kitchen after removing his shoes and jacket, where he slouches at the island and gratefully starts to eat the sandwich you place in front of him. It was supposed to be yours, but you can make another, he looks like he needs it.

“When can I go home?” You ask bluntly, causing Wonwoo to stop chewing mid bite and look over at you, but you’re focused on your task and don’t notice, until you flick your gaze up at his silence. “Well?”

Wonwoo lets out a heavy breath through his nose and gets back to chewing. Once he’s swallowed, he answers in a way you hadn’t expected. Usually, he always says either ‘not yet’ or a flat ‘no’. Yet today, he finally gives you a more solid answer, “depends.”

It’s just one word, but it makes hope start to flutter in your chest.

“On?” you ask, with your full attention on him, suddenly not all that hungry when faced with the potential sweetness of freedom just around the corner.

“If you’re willing to learn how to use a gun and carry one on you at all times.”

Just like that, the fluttering in your chest ceases and the excitement that had started to warm your veins is sucked away as if it had never known a home in you in the first place. “You’re insane, aren’t you?” you accuse with a scoff and turn back to making your lunch.

“I can’t let you leave if you can’t defend yourself; I’ll end up following you all the fucking time to make sure you’re safe,” he reasons, waving a hand vaguely before taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“It’s not really any of your business,” you point out while looking at him. “I appreciate that you protected me in the first place, but you’ve done the noble thing; you don’t have to do anything else.” 

Wonwoo looks up at you as if you’re stupid. “I do if I want you to be safe.” 

“As long as she’s alive, I won’t be safe, not really.” 

“Are you suggesting I kill my wife?” he baulks in disbelief at the potential insinuation within your words.

You shake your head and pull a face as if he’s the stupid one this time. “No…” your expression morphs into something considering as your head tilts slightly, while pondering his words. “Though, it would be a two birds one stone situation.” 

Wonwoo’s whole expression furrows. “Fucking hell, all this time locked up with only an asshole like me for company has warped your mind. You’ve gone fucking insane.” 

“Always been there.” You shrug casually. “I don’t think a man who goes against his wife to protect another is an asshole, anyway.” 

“I’m literally in a gang,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, and?” You give him an unwavering look. “I’ve met much worse people than you in my life, Wonwoo, and I will again. You’re sweet in comparison.” 

“I’ve really fucked your head up, haven’t I?” 

“Told you, I’ve always been like this”. 

“Calling gang members sweet?” 

“Once or twice.” 

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow as if he isn’t even sure if he heard you correctly. “What?” 

“Look, let’s not get off track,” you decide, while waving a hand dismissively. Wonwoo eyes the knife that you wave around vaguely but you don’t pay his borderline concerned expression any attention. “I want to go home. I have people waiting for me, and there’s only so long until they come looking, so, I’d like to go before that happens.” 

“You live alone; I’ve seen your apartment, it’s barely big enough for you. And your neighbours definitely wouldn’t notice if you don’t return; they say you’re never home,” he points out. 

“Stalker. Maybe your wife did have reason to worry, huh?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start that shit; you know we never had an affair because we had never even fucking met properly until she kidnapped you!” 

“Defensive,” you tease. 

“You’ve really fucking lost it,” he declares flatly.

“Then let me fucking leave, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore!” you exclaim frustratedly. 

“I want to deal with you!” he returns immediately, before you both fall silent and stare at one another. You’re both surprised by the sheer honesty in his words, that they even fell from his lips in the first place.

You gather yourself and manage to speak first, deciding to make a joke to try and break the strange tension that’s appeared in the air between you. “Better not let your wife hear that; she’ll jump to conclusions. Unless you mean the permanent ‘sleep with the fishes’ kind of ‘deal with’, then she’ll probably suck your dick in joy.” 

Just as Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond, eyes intense on you, his phone starts to ring in his inside blazer pocket. He sighs heavily before pulling it out and walking down the hall to talk privately in one of the empty rooms.

When he returns, you’re sitting at the table eating your lunch and have packed up the rest of his into a container, already knowing that he’s being called into work.

“We’ll finish that talk later,” he declares as he grabs the container from the island behind you.

You don’t even look over at him as you respond, “pointless circles don’t end, Wonwoo.”

You don’t see him leave, or hear his socked footsteps walk away, but a few moments later, you hear the front door open and close before the lock engages, and you’re left alone wondering just what the fuck your life has come to. 

You just hope that he gives you control of your life back soon; before things get even more fucked up.

Never would you have thought Wonwoo to be the type of person to avoid difficult situations or topics; you thought he’s far too straightforward to ever do such a thing. But when he doesn’t turn up the day after your interrupted discussion in the kitchen, you start to wonder if you got him wrong.

Then he doesn’t turn up the next day either, and you really think that’s being a little bitch and avoiding returning so that he doesn’t have to pick up that conversation with you.

Yet, on the third day, you recall that he was the one who had said you’ll finish the talk another day and as he’s proven; Jeon Wonwoo is a man of his word. You believe him, and suddenly, you don’t think he’s avoiding you but has likely grown very busy with work or his psychotic wife. 

However, when day four rolls around, you start to get worried that something has happened. Admittedly, you’ve grown fond of Wonwoo over the past weeks; his stupid smug smirk when he beats you at a game, his proud little shy smile when you praise his very gradually improving cooking skills, his soft snoring when he naps on the couch in the middle of the day. 

Sometimes, you truly do wonder if this is what Stockholm syndrome is: growing to actually like the person who has locked you up and genuinely wanting to spend time with them. You think others would probably say it is and that you shouldn’t care for the man. But he makes it easy, as much as you don’t want to have this attraction for him. You think that if you had got to know him under different circumstances, you’d probably feel the same way, anyway.

Regardless of if the man is technically holding you hostage or not, he’s married, and you respect that commitment and vow too much to ever want to have feelings for a married man. 

Still, you can’t help how you feel, and you worry when it’s past dinner time on the fourth day, yet Wonwoo still hasn’t shown his face. 

Now that you’re worried about Wonwoo, you can’t face gaming because it makes you think of him. So, you spend most of the day scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom, until everything that can sparkle, does. You even clean the rooms neither of you use.

You’re in the middle of putting the freshly washed and dried pillow covers back on the couch pillows when the sudden sound of the front door lock disengaging pings through the quiet apartment. 

Immediately, you look over, and your eyebrows lift as Wonwoo shuffles into the apartment, covered in blood. He doesn’t notice you at first as he locks the apartment back up one handed. His right hand is shoved into his trouser pocket suspiciously, like he’s trying to not move it, or perhaps not let you see it. 

“What the fuck?” You speak, making Wonwoo’s head lift quickly. 

Worry floods into his eyes, and he lifts his left hand placatingly towards you, after tossing his blood smeared car keys onto the side unit. “It-” he cuts off when you point firmly at his feet as soon as he takes a step forward, making him fall still in confusion.

“Stay there,” you order before turning and walking off, leaving Wonwoo staring after you puzzled.

You go to the laundry room to grab the stack of spare, dark grey towels, then go to the kitchen to get the roll of bin bags, before returning to the entrance hall. Thankfully, Wonwoo is still standing where you left him, though he’s removed his shoes now, and they’re haphazardly shoved aside. 

“Strip,” you demand, while dropping the towels onto the floor so that you can pull a bag from the roll and shake it open.

 “What?” he mumbles.

“You’re covered in blood, and I spent three hours scrubbing these fancy ass floors of yours today; you’re not getting blood on them,” you warn, giving him a stern look. 

He scoffs but obediently starts to do as told and moves both of his hands to his belt to start working it open. His right hand is bloodied, but it doesn’t look that much worse than his left hand, so you assume he wasn’t hiding it from you. “May as well be your floors, you’ve lived here more than me,” he mumbles as he works with a tense expression on his face, which tightens every time he moves his right arm even minutely. 

“Well then, I’m definitely not letting you fuck up my floors with your blood. Don’t be rude and bleed on my fancy ass floors.” 

Once Wonwoo’s belt is open, along with the button and zipper of his trousers, he starts to try and push them down his legs, but the blood oozing from the stab wound on his left thigh is making the material stick to his thighs. Plus, now that he’s moving it more, you can see that there is definitely something wrong with his right arm, as he can barely move it. In fact, he’s only moving the lower part of his arm, but even that is limited.

Realising that you’ll be here all night, if not longer, if you leave Wonwoo to strip himself, you sigh and put the bin bag down to get to your knees in front of him, so that you can peel his trousers down his legs for him. Wonwoo says nothing, but he lets out a relieved little breath, clearly glad for your help, and steps out of his trouser legs in turn as you hold them open. Once they’re entirely off, you make sure the pockets are empty before tossing them, including the belt, into the bin bag. 

Silently, you work to remove Wonwoo’s socks, then get up to get him out of his blazer and previously white, now half blood-red shirt; all of the clothing you throw into the bag to throw out and put everything from his pockets on the side unit.

As Wonwoo stands in front of you in his black boxers and previously white vest, you can see the strange shape of his right shoulder. It’s very clear to you what’s wrong with it. 

“It’s dislocated, isn’t it?” you question; Wonwoo wordlessly hums and nods in confirmation. “Alright, I’ll cut your vest off,” you decide, knowing that getting Wonwoo to lift his arms up is very impractical. You move over to the side table to grab the knife, which you had removed from a hidden inside pocket in Wonwoo’s blazer, and remove the little leather sheath from the blade, before turning to approach him with the knife.

Wonwoo steps back slightly, holding his left hand up between you with slightly alarmed eyes. “Whoa, what the fuck? You can’t just approach a man with a knife like that.”

You can’t help but scoff at his obvious hesitance and concern about you holding a knife only half an arm’s length away from him. “Don’t be a wimp. You’ve clearly been stabbed already tonight; what’s another flesh wound?” 

“You’re more psychotic than my wife,” he deadpans, left arm lowering to his side, deciding that you’re no threat now that the immediate worry has left. You’re right; he’s definitely already faced much bigger threats to his safety than you tonight.

“Careful, sweetheart,” you coo and tap the tip of the knife against the centre of his chest. You can’t help but notice the way he swallows thickly at your action and his eyes darken a little with interest. “Insult me again like that and my hand might slip.” You abruptly lower the knife to the hem of his vest and use it to ping the elastic of his boxers. His eyes darken further, and you smirk amusedly. “That’s an interesting reaction to having a knife aimed at your dick.” 

“That’s not my dick,” he murmurs, voice a little lower than usual.

“Huh, right.” You look down as you drag the knife down to touch the tip to where his dick is obviously sitting snug in his boxers, before looking back up at him. “Better?” 

He takes a moment before responding, eyeing you intently; you can practically see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, “you’re not the woman I thought you are, are you?” 

You shrug. “Depends who you thought I am.” 

“A sweet, innocent cook, who makes the best food I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Well, some of that is true,” you giggle before lifting the knife to cut down the centre of his vest. Now that it’s served its purpose, you toss the knife onto the side table and remove the stained and ruined material from his body to put in the bin bag. “Alright, let’s get a look at you,” you say, before walking around him in a slow circle to carefully inspect his injuries, and silently appreciate his well looked after body while you’re at it. “Let’s put your shoulder back in place, get you cleaned up, and then I’ll patch you up,” you announce once you’re back in front of him.

Wonwoo raises a questioning eyebrow. “You know how to do all that?” 

“Yep,” you answer simply without a single slither of hesitation. It’s enough that Wonwoo doesn’t question you at all and just nods in agreement. 

Honestly, it’s not the first shoulder you’ve put back into place, or joint in general, so even though it’s not the most pleasant sensation in any way, you easily make short work of the task. 

While Wonwoo catches his breath back and gathers himself, you lay a towel on the ground in front of him, to minimise the amount of blood that ruins your hours of hard work cleaning the floor. 

Once he’s ready, Wonwoo doesn’t have to be prompted to step onto the towels. He does so quietly and then looks at you in wait. 

“What?” you ask.

“How the fuck am I supposed to move from here if you don’t move the towels? Unless you want blood on your floors?” he reasons, raising a blood smeared eyebrow at you.

“Oh, honey, there’s only one reason I get on my knees in front of a man, and that’s not gonna happen,” you point out with a scoff. “Shuffle.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Either stand there until you’re entirely dry and won’t get my floors dirty, or you can shuffle.” You shrug carelessly and pick up the rest of the towels to take to the stairs, so that you can lay the material out over the steps protectively. 

When you turn around on the stairs, once all of the towels are laid in place, you spot Wonwoo awkwardly shuffling along the floor in a way to keep the towel under his feet. You can’t help but crack up laughing at the sight of this tough, blood covered and injured, high-ranking gang member dragging his feet across the floor; silently obeying your demands to keep the floor clean. And you hadn’t even had to threaten to make him clean any mess he creates with his own toothbrush in the morning; though that definitely would’ve been the next step if he had been a stubborn ass. 

Wonwoo hears your laughter and glares over at you shortly before looking back down to focus on his efforts to get to the staircase. It only makes you laugh even harder, hard enough that you have to sit down so you don’t fall down the stairs.

A handful of moments later, when he passes you on the stairs, he flicks your head. You just giggle then get up to follow behind him up the rest of the steps. There’s already a towel waiting on the floor at the top, so Wonwoo, once again, shuffles across the shiny floor on a dark towel to get to his destination.

Even once in his bathroom, Wonwoo remains on the towel and follows you to the shower, which you turn on, on his behalf.

Once you’ve made sure he has everything he needs close to hand and a clean pair of boxers waiting for him on the counter, you turn to look at him with a teasing grin. “Can I trust you to shower on your own, or are you going to pass out from blood loss?” 

“I haven’t lost that much blood,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. 

You giggle and nod, backing up to the door. “Alright, I’ll wait outside, though.” Wonwoo just nods in understanding, so you step out of the bathroom and pull the door up most of the way just in case he needs you.

Leaving the door open seems to have been a very smart move, because not long later, you hear Wonwoo call your name awkwardly. You can only just hear him over the water, so you know that if the door was shut, there would not have been a chance you’d be able to hear him.

“Yeah?” You ask, sticking your head into the room to find him standing out of the stream of water, with his still bloody back mostly to the door, and his hands holding a small towel in front of his crotch, even if you can’t see anything from this angle regardless of the cover. 

“I can’t reach my back well enough with my arm like this,” he admits, making short eye contact with you as he indirectly asks for your help. 

Without a word, you enter the room and grab the soapy washcloth he offers, so that you can diligently scrub all of the blood from his back, then notice he’s missed patches on his left upper arm, so you clean there too.

“Alright, inspection time,” you declare before looking over the back of him from head to toe and back again, to thoroughly check for injuries that need to be dealt with and any blood he missed. “Turn,” you demand once satisfied with his backside, and also taking a moment to appreciate his backside. 

Obligingly, Wonwoo turns to face you and watches you as your gaze travels over his body from this angle, stepping closer to get a better look at certain injuries or run the cloth over his skin diligently. 

When you’re done with all of the exposed skin, your attention moves to the towel he’s clutching over his crotch before you grin amusedly and meet his dark gaze. “What if you’re injured there, Wonwoo?” you tease with a dramatic gasp. 

“Don’t,” he warns. “I’m not giving any truth to my wife’s delusions about us, so don’t…don’t say and do stuff like that when I’m in no position to handle it.” 

“I’m curious what exactly that means,” you admit. 

“Then be curious, I’m not elaborating.” 

You stare at him curiously for a moment before nodding. “Finish up and get those on.” You point to the clean boxers on the counter as you head to the door. “I’ll be back with the medical kit.” 

It only takes you a few minutes to go to the kitchen and get the very extensive medical kit from the secret compartment hidden in the kitchen island, plus a bottle of water and an apple. 

Deciding to be kind to Wonwoo’s currently somewhat limited movements, you clean up the dirty towels from the stairs, putting them all in the bin bag, plus Wonwoo’s shoes, before tying it off and leaving it near the front door for Wonwoo to take out tomorrow. 

Figuring that Wonwoo must be in a decent state by now, you wander upstairs with the necessary items and enter the bathroom, to find him leaning against the counter with his boxers on and a small towel in his left hand as he rubs his hair.

He pauses when he notices the bag slung on your left shoulder. “The fuck did you get that?”

“Did you forget where you left it?” You tease, putting the items on the counter beside him.

“I know where I hid that. How the fuck did you find it?”

“I know every inch of this apartment, Wonwoo; I’ve cleaned it enough the past month.” You scoff then take the towel to toss aside so that you can hand him the apple. “Eat that.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“I don’t give a fuck; eat that and drink the water,” you demand, already rummaging in the bag to take out everything you need to play doctor.

Wonwoo stares at you for a few seconds, then looks between the items you’re setting up and your at ease yet confident expression, a few times before giving in with a soft sigh and taking a bite of the apple.

The first wound to deal with is the stab wound on his left thigh; there’s still a little blood trickling from it, but it doesn’t run past his knee, so you know he’s clotting well, and there isn’t any worry really. Still, it’s the biggest of his injuries, so you handle it first. 

As soon as you get on your knees in front of him, Wonwoo makes a comment, “thought you only get on your knees for one reason?” he teases with a little smirk, which quickly leaves when you slap his leg right beside the wound, making him hiss. “Fuck you.” 

You only smile too sweetly at him before getting to work sewing up the wound as quickly yet efficiently as you can. There’s anaesthetic in the medical kit, but Wonwoo insists he can handle getting stitches without it. Still, being repeatedly stabbed with a needle and having the thread pulled through skin is not a nice or pain free sensation for anyone, so you want to get it over with as quickly as possible. 

After cleaning up the blood and covering his thigh, you get up to work on disinfecting and covering all of his other wounds. Most of them are small, and many don’t even require plasters, but there’s a cut across his chest; slicing thinly over his left pec with a starting point over his heart, where the wound is slightly deeper. You’re pretty sure that whoever inflicted this wound had tried to stab him in the heart and kill him, but either Wonwoo or someone else stopped them before they could succeed. 

You don’t linger on it, but it does hurt your heart to see, far more than the wound on his thigh, despite that one requiring stitches, and this one only some gauze to prevent infection. At least the thigh wound wasn’t an attempt on Wonwoo’s life.

Once all of the open wounds are dealt with, all you have to do is wrap his right shoulder to support the joint as it recovers from being dislocated, and then you’re all done.

“You’re really fucking good at this; are you trained or something?” Wonwoo comments as you wash your hands and he’s eyeing your handiwork impressed.

“Or something,” is your dismissive response.

He scoffs and looks over at you. “Now who’s evading questions.” 

“Don’t owe you shit,” you point out and move to dry your hands.

“I saved your life.” 

“Because your delusional wife put it in danger in the first place. That’s not on me.” 

“Not on me either.” 

It’s you who scoffs this time as you think about the tension that keeps appearing between the two of you lately and how he didn’t even try to hide how holding his knife to him earlier had turned him on. It all seems so natural for him; being this way with you. “You can’t expect me to believe she’s accusing you of cheating for no reason.” 

He frowns at you offendedly, and you’re not surprised; you’ve kind of had this conversation before. “Yeah, she’s fucking crazy and projecting her own failings on me. I have never been unfaithful to her or anyone. Never will be either.” 

For a few tense moments, the pair of you just stare at each other and the whole time, Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change; the burning sincerity in his eyes doesn’t waver. You think maybe you might trust this man too much, because it makes all of your doubts about his relationship morals leave. “Huh, okay,” you respond simply with a nod and move to zip up the medical bag. 

“You don’t believe me, do you?” his voice is a little quieter now, a hint of hurt at your doubt of him showing. 

“No, I do, which is why I’m surprised,” you assure and turn to lean against the counter and look at him, so that he can see the honesty in your own eyes. It’s only fair, after all. “Gang member with morals; kinda not the norm.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t see the point in it. If I wanted to fuck other people, I wouldn’t be committed to someone.” 

“Even if it’s someone you don’t want to be with in the first place? Obviously, there’s no love lost in you for her, no love in the first place,” you comment. 

“That’s not your place,” he reminds firmly. 

“Just following the conversation. Your pathetic excuse of a marriage isn’t of any concern of mine.” You shrug and push off of the counter to head towards the door.

“Don’t insult the man in charge of your freedom,” he warns lowly, making you turn to look at him with a scoffed laugh. 

“Why? What else are you going to do, Wonwoo? Send me back to her and let her have her fun?” 

Wonwoo’s expression softens slightly, and he shakes his head a little. “No. Never that,” he responds without a hint of hesitation or doubt in his tone. It sounds something like a promise.

“Then are you going to keep me and have your own fun?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“I told you not to say things like that,” he rushes, gaze turning intense as he eyes you where you stand in the open doorway. His eyes flicker downwards; a quick drag of attention over your entire form, and his tongue darts out to lick his split lip mindlessly.

You can’t help but laugh. “Look whose mind is in the gutter,” you taunt. “I meant fuck me up yourself, not fuck me.” You back out into the hallway slowly, while giving him a significant look. “Think you need to remind yourself of your loyalty moral, Wonwoo. A lot of people consider looking or thinking bad enough to be cheating. If you don’t want your darling wife to be right, you should get a handle on that.” Your gaze flickers over the bathroom quickly before landing back on him. “Oh, and clean the bathroom before you go to bed; I won’t cook for you tomorrow if I see a single drop or smear of blood in here tomorrow.”

With that, you leave Wonwoo watching you leave him all alone with his mind whirling and a growing ache in his chest that he doesn’t think is entirely from the wound you so tenderly cared for. 

The very next day when you wander downstairs, it’s gone midday, and to your surprise, Wonwoo is in the kitchen, serving up take out onto two plates. 

“Oh, you’re up, good,” he comments when he hears the rustle of your clothes as you get closer. He glances over at you, gaze flickering over you quickly before focusing back on his task. “I was about to come and wake you.”

“You picked up lunch on your way over?” you mutter confusedly, Wonwoo never brings food when he visits, except groceries after picking up a list from you the day before. 

“No, I went and got lunch when I realised you’re not going to come down, and I’m too fucking hungry to wait any more.” 

“That sounds like you didn’t go to work today.”

“Called off for a few days to recover,” he informs and takes the plates over to the table. “Sit,” he says while pointing to your seat, before moving to get you both cutlery and drinks.

Not one to refuse free food, you sit down, and thank him when he hands you your cutlery before digging in; he quickly joins in.

“So,” Wonwoo starts after a little while of the usual comfortable quiet that falls between you if neither of you are talking. It’s strange how easy the silences between you have always been; even before you became whatever kind of vague friends you currently are. 

“Mm?” you respond with your mouth closed as you chew, looking up at him curiously.

“I was thinking that as I’m going to be off work for a few days, you can give me more cooking lessons.”

You straighten up to look at him in questioning surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why are you surprised? You know I want to learn.”

“Yeah, but that sounds like you intend on spending your days off here instead of at home.”

“She’s there,” he responds as if it’s the obvious answer, while pulling a displeased face.

You snort an amused laugh at his expression. “Good point. Alright, sure, I’ll teach you, but you gotta call me Chef.”

“What?” 

“Chef.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Oh, looks like you’re going to forever burn eggs, Wonwoo,” you sing.

“Alright, fine, I’ll fucking call you Chef, but only while we’re cooking, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He gives you a flat look that makes you giggle. You turn back to your food and ignore the flash of interest in his gaze.

Over the following days, Wonwoo is always up before you and quickly realises that you need to be woken up if he wants something other than takeout or a sandwich for lunch. 

A routine of sorts quickly gets established; Wonwoo wakes you before lunch, so that you can cook together, then he cleans up, at his own insistence, while you get the medical kit ready in the lounge to check and redress his wounds once he joins you. The afternoon consists of a mix of chores and gaming. In the evening, it’s time for another cooking session for dinner before he once again cleans up. Then, the two of you sit in the lounge to game or watch the videos on the video player, which he brought back on his first day off; another one of his childhood items he’s had safely stored away.

It all falls into place so seamlessly that it’s like the two of you have always existed like this, even if the seemingly endless personal questions that Wonwoo likes to randomly bring up prove otherwise.

Sometimes, you answer honestly, but others you don’t, and it’s endlessly entertaining watching Wonwoo try to decipher if you’re being honest or just fucking with him. 

It starts with the very first question on the very first day he’s off work, when you’re expertly handling his wounds and the medical supplies. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

“What’s it to ya?” you tease.

“Just curious about you.”

“Why?” 

“Because I’ve known you over a month, and I don’t know shit about you, despite you living in my apartment, and that shit’s going to keep up for the foreseeable future. So, it’d be nice to know some shit,” he huffs.

You hum consideringly as you ponder his words, before answering while continuing to clean and redress his thigh wound. “When I was fifteen, I was out with my sister, and we got caught in the middle of some gang shit. She got hurt bad, really bad, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I couldn’t save her; I didn’t know how. She bled out in my arms, and I decided then that I wasn’t going to be so useless again. I learned how to handle most wounds with both real medical supplies, and whatever is to hand in case of an emergency.”

“Oh…” 

“If I was home, I would’ve put on my latex nurse’s outfit too,” you add as you look up at him and spot the softness around his eyes; the sympathy and understanding pain. 

It abruptly leaves at your words, and he lets out a frustrated, disbelieving sound. “You fucking asshole; I actually believed you,” he grunts disapprovingly, and you just snigger, returning back to your task.

Despite knowing that you’re actively messing with him, Wonwoo still insists on asking you personal questions to try and get a clearer image of you and your story. It’s a great source of entertainment for you, personally, so you don’t mind. Plus, he’s always so helpful; offering his assistance and cleaning dishes before you can even think about it, that you think he deserves the chance to poke around a little.

On the fourth day of Wonwoo being off work, you wake when Wonwoo knocks on your bedroom door then lets himself in. You eye him blearily as you shuffle up to sit against the headboard, while he walks further into the room.

“Are you ever going home?” you mumble, while rubbing at your eyes. When you lower your hands, he’s placing a tray, which you somehow didn’t even notice him holding, on the duvet at your side and sitting on the other side. You notice the plate piled with steaming food, two mugs and two sets of cutlery on top “Oh, breakfast in bed?” you tease with a grin as he hands you a set of cutlery and holds the other, while he picks up his usual mug to sip at his steaming coffee.

He rolls his eyes before answering as you start to eat, “don’t say something weird; I just know you won’t come down to eat it. So, unless I want my hard work going to waste, I need to bring it to you. I’ve had enough of you digging your fucking fingers into my wounds when I try to pick you up to move you when you’re being a stubborn asshole.” 

You ignore his comments about your stubborn streak and your habit of playing dirty and using his healing injuries against him. “How lucky am I?” you coo, entirely ignoring his warning to not say something weird. Teasing him is just too much fun. “Well, I imagine your wife is luckier. You seem like the type of man to go all out on your lucky lady’s birthday; fancy breakfast in bed, whatever gifts she wants, romantic dinner at her favourite restaurant and a day being spoiled.” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, just keeps his gaze on the tray between you as he works on eating his share of the breakfast that he so carefully cooked for you both. “Well shit, you’ve never done that for her?” you baulk surprised. He truly does seem like the doting, romantic type. 

Even this; bringing breakfast to you so that you’ll eat the food he obviously tried very hard to cook, as he hadn’t burned any of it this time, even if it’s pretty bland and under seasoned, just proves that he’s a very doting man when he wants to be. Plus, he waited for you to take a bite first before making any attempt himself. It makes you realise that he always makes sure you go first with everything and quietly goes along with whatever you want; the game you want to play, the food you want to cook, the video you want to watch, he never complains.

It seems crazy to you that Wonwoo has never gone all out for his wife; the woman he promised forever to.

He scoffs. “Why should I? I tried to do nice things at first, but she was always expecting more and bitched.” 

“Has she ever done anything for you?” 

“Other than be a pain in my ass? No.” 

You pull a disgusted yet puzzled face. “Why the fuck did you marry her?” 

“Took one for the team,” he answers honestly for the first time, paired with a casual shrug. Before now, every time you’ve asked about his relationship, Wonwoo has always told you it’s not your business or avoided answering by changing the topic or simply stayed silent.

“What does that even mean?” you wonder, giving him a curious look as he lifts his gaze to look at you.

“Means that she’s the oldest kid, but as she’s a woman, she can’t take over the gang when her dad dies; so, it would go to her brother, who is even more fucking useless and entitled than she is.” The repulsed twist of Wonwoo’s expression gives away his clear disdain for his brother-in-law. “He’d fucking destroy the gang and everything we’ve put so much blood into creating. But the boss will give his son-in-law the position if he’s proven himself, and well, I’ve been in the gang since I was fourteen, so I’ve definitely proven myself after 20 fucking years.” 

“Well…shit,” you mumble, eyes wide as you absorb his unexpected words; unexpected for more than one reason.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement as he chews on another mouthful.

“I did not realise you’re so old!” you gawp, making him look at you with a miniature version of your shocked expression.

He quickly finishes chewing and swallows the food in his mouth so that he can talk. “Seriously? That’s what you took from that, my fucking age?” 

“What?” You shrug defensively. “I thought you’re my age, not eight years older.” 

Wonwoo stares at you dumbly for a few long seconds before he mumbles, “you’re 26?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” He licks his lips a little awkwardly. “I didn’t realise.” 

“Are you saying I look old?!” you sputter in offense.

He quickly shakes his head and holds up his hands placatingly. “No. Just, I guess I’m more used to women like my wife. All her friends are immature as fuck, all spoiled little princesses. She’s older than me, you know? By three years, yet you’re more mature than her. So, I thought based on that, you’re closer to my age at least,” he reasons. It’s a very understandable thought process and assumption, so your posture relaxes again.

“Huh, okay, I’ll accept that, but don’t disrespect princesses like that,” you warn. 

“Should I call them spoiled little daddy’s girls then?” he jokes.

“No.” You pout. “Don’t lump me with them.” 

“You’re a daddy’s girl?” he baulks in genuine shock.

“Yeah.” 

“Didn’t even know you have family, honestly,” Wonwoo admits, making you look at him as if he’s the dumbest person you’ve ever met.

“Did you think I grew out of the fucking ground?” you deadpan.

“Obviously not; I know how human biology works, brat.” He rolls his eyes. “Just…there’s no sign of family in your apartment; not a single photo or anything that could be deemed a family heirloom.” 

You shrug and pick up your mug. “I don’t need those things to remember; I have plenty of reminders on me at all times to remind me of family.” 

“Like what? That necklace you wear?” He points to the chain of the necklace you never take off, where it’s just about poking out from the collar of your pyjama t-shirt.

“No, this is just a cheap thing I got to replace another cheap one and so on and so forth because I just hate not wearing a necklace.” 

“I don’t see you in any other jewellery.” 

“Don’t own any.” 

“Really?” he asks surprised, slightly raising his eyebrows curiously. “Not a single thing?” 

“No. I used to have earrings, but I lost the back of one, so I stopped wearing them and just never got around to replacing them.” 

“Then what do you mean you have reminders on you all the time, if not jewellery?” he sounds genuinely confused and very curious as his attention remains solely on you. 

You motion to the plate as you lean back towards it yourself, dismissing the topic with a simple, slightly firm, “breakfast is getting cold.” 

Wonwoo gets the hint and doesn’t try to push you anymore, just leans in and gets back to eating.

The very next morning after Wonwoo brings you breakfast in bed, he doesn’t wake you with another tray, nor does he wake you to make lunch with him. You get up feeling very off kilter at waking naturally without him being the first thing you see once the sleep leaves your eyes. 

It only gets worse when you go downstairs, and he’s nowhere to be found. 

Bewilderedly, you waddle to the fridge to get the juice and notice a new note on the whiteboard from Wonwoo. It’s a short note, like always, and says that he’s gone back to work and won’t be back tonight, so don’t worry about cooking dinner for him. 

All day, you move around the apartment feeling oddly lost. 

Wonwoo was only home for four days, yet it already feels so strange not having him following you around to ask questions as you complete chores together or peering over your shoulder to learn how to cook or playfully shoving you when you’re playing against each other in a game instead of as a team. You don’t really know what to do without him.

When it comes to dinner, you don’t think before cooking and only realise that you’ve naturally made enough for Wonwoo too when you’re putting a plate in his usual seat and remember that he won’t be here to eat it. 

It feels pathetic to sit staring at an empty seat with a full plate on the placemat in front of it opposite you, as you eat your dinner, but there’s something in you that refuses to let you take his plate away, even knowing his note says he won’t be home tonight.

Only when you can’t handle being in the lounge as it feels so empty without him, do you remove his covered plate from the dining table to box up the leftovers to put in the fridge and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

It’s only 9pm when you crawl into bed freshly showered and turn on your TV to watch something, hoping to distract yourself from the hollow feeling in your chest.

Although you were in bed early last night, you didn’t manage to fall asleep until your usual time, so you’re up after midday again. 

Today when you wander downstairs, you don’t expect to see Wonwoo, as his note said he’ll be back this evening, but clearly, he had already returned and left again. When you enter the kitchen, you spot a little gift bag on the island. 

Curiously, you approach and inspect the bag, trying to find a logo on the packaging, but there isn’t one, though you do find your name on the tag in Wonwoo’s surprisingly pretty handwriting. He doesn’t usually write so neatly; it seems as if he focused on writing your name in a visibly appealing way, instead of the usual scrawls he puts on the whiteboard.

Now that you know that it’s for you, you open the bag, and after moving aside the neatly packed dark blue tissue paper, you spot a black jewellery box. You hesitate before reaching out to pick out the box and open it. 

Immediately, your breath catches, and your heart skips a beat.

Within the jewellery box, seated neatly on a cushioned display covered in dark silk, is a truly stunning necklace and earring set. They sparkle in the light; silver chain and clear jewels polished to perfection as they stare up at you tauntingly. You know they’re diamonds; you just know with everything in you that Wonwoo had purposely gone out and bought you an expensive, extremely high-quality necklace and earrings set to replace your own. And it hurts.  

There is no way that this is nothing; that Wonwoo would go out of his way to pick such a beautifully crafted set for any other friend. You’re pretty positive that he wouldn’t even pick such a nice set for his wife. It feels like he’s putting you higher than her, ranking you as more important, more meaningful to him than the woman he is lawfully devoted to, and that hurts.

It's all too much. You close the box and place it back in the bag, cover it with the tissue paper and leave it there.

As you reheat the leftovers from last night for your lunch, your gaze keeps returning to the gift. Even with your back to the island as you sit at the table to eat, your mind keeps reminding you that it’s there; keeps shouting at you to pay attention to it.

Unable to handle it, as soon as you’ve cleaned up after lunch, you go up to your room to spend the rest of the say sitting on your bed watching TV and pretending that Wonwoo hasn’t royally fucked with your head and implied far too much without saying a word.

When Wonwoo returns, you’re still sitting on your bed watching TV, or at least pretending to. You’ve been restless for the past half an hour, knowing that he’ll be home at any moment and there will have to be a conversation to be had; about the necklace, about him, about you.

Only a handful of minutes after hearing Wonwoo enter the apartment, he wanders into your room through the open door, holding the gift bag in one hand with a genuine frown on his features. He looks both confused and a little upset. “Haven’t you been in the kitchen today?” 

“Of course I have, you think I like starving myself? I enjoy food too much,” you answer without looking away from the TV, even if your full attention has been on him since before he entered the room, before he even entered the apartment.

“Okay, then why aren’t you wearing this?” He lifts the bag slightly.

You hesitate before letting out a defeated sigh and looking at him. “Why did you buy that for me, Wonwoo?” 

“Because you never replaced your earrings and wear a cheap necklace that will break easily and make you buy another. This one will last a long time and has a lifetime guarantee, so you can get it replaced if it does break, but it shouldn’t.” It all sounds so logical, so reasonable, but you know it isn’t. Wonwoo is far too smart of a man to be that dense. 

“Take it back,” you order. 

“You don’t like it? Tell me what you like and I’ll-” 

“You’re a married man, Wonwoo; you can’t buy another woman jewellery.” 

“It’s just jewellery,” he mutters, a hint of defensiveness to his tone. 

“No, it’s not, and you know it.” 

He stares at the bag for a few moments then nods slowly in agreement; admittance to knowing exactly what you’re saying, what he said by buying the jewellery in the first place. “I’ll return it tomorrow.” 

“Thank you.” You relax a little, relieved that he’s agreed to return the gift.

“I didn’t mean to overstep or make things uncomfortable between us; I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, talking softer than you’ve heard him before. It makes it hurt even more; the honesty in his voice, the truth to the depths of his care for you. It needs to stop before it burrows deeper in either of you.

“Well, you shouldn’t. I’m just your hostage. We’re not friends, Wonwoo,” you say, in reminder, even if it hurts you as much to say it as it clearly hurts him to hear it. You can see it in his eyes. But you have to say it; to remind the both of you of the boundaries and moral obligations in place. The reasons why you can’t be anything more than how this all started. 

“Right, yeah, just my hostage,” he scoffs and looks at you, eyes harsh and jaw tense. “Maybe I should treat you that way, huh? It’d make things easier.”

“I think this is way past the point that you could treat me that badly, Wonwoo,” you point out. “You bought me diamonds; that clearly isn’t the type of thing a man capable of doing bad things to me would do.” 

“Would if I’m trying to get my way with you. Buy you pretty things to sweeten you up and make you crawl willingly into my bed,” he reasons and lets his gaze drag over you as if he’s making his point that it’s a very real possibility. Even if you both know that Wonwoo is not that kind of man, despite his status and how easy it would be to get his way with whatever woman he wants if he was cruel in that way.

“You could buy me all the pretty things in the world, and I wouldn’t do that,” you inform firmly.

“Don’t act like you haven’t checked me out; you’ve even said I’m attractive,” he reminds, letting his intense eyes lock with yours.

“And married; I’m not a homewrecker, Wonwoo,” you scoff. “If she wasn’t an issue, I think we both know things would be very different right now.” 

“Would you be wearing the necklace?” 

You hesitate before answering, not wanting to lie but knowing what you’re clearly admitting to otherwise and knowing that it’s not something you ever thought you’d say to a married man. Still, you do. You can’t help but be honest with Wonwoo about this; about the two of you. “Yeah, and not much else.” 

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There’s no way you can be considered anything close to pure hearted and you aren’t delusional about it; you know you can be a cold-hearted bastard when it comes down to it, and that’s why you’re one of top ranked members of Kang’s Hellhounds, despite your obvious differences to the rest of the inner circle.

You’ve killed, you’ve tortured, you’ve stolen and claimed, and a whole list of other depraved things too.

So, you’re not a good person at your root, and you’re never going to deny that.

But what you also know about yourself is that you don’t approve of this shit.

As much as you wish you never have to attend these vile displays and biddings, you don’t have a choice when the big boss demands your presence at his side. You’ve avoided being dragged along for the past few years, blissfully always caught up with more important manners than helping the boss pick out his next fancy.

Yet tonight, lady luck decided to spit in your face after already fucking you over this morning by getting you shot in the shoulder and banned from your usual work for the next few weeks. On bed rest, so to say.

If bed rest means being forced to attend a fucking hybrid auction, that is.

Technically, hybrids can be their own people; they can legally get jobs, own houses, have their own families and nobody can stop them, provided their owner grants them their freedom. Something like a sock in a book, but more watertight.

But with how fucked up humanity as race is in general, it’s no surprise that it’s uncommon to see an uncollared hybrid wandering around without being a runaway from one of these depraved auction homes, or an equally as depraved human who wants to fulfil their sick perversions with a hybrid sex slave.

So, if it were down to you, you’d be at home cursing the asshole who shot you and got you off the work rota for the following weeks until the gang physician deems you fit enough to go back to breaking bones and collecting money.

Yet here you are, almost shoulder to shoulder with the boss man on the fancy leather couch as you both watch hybrid after hybrid getting walked around the room on collared shock leashes, wearing nothing more than skimpy little lingerie to show off their too-weak-to-fight-back bodies. Just how these sick fucks like ‘em.

“What about that one?” Mr Kang asks, motioning to a female hybrid with a bushy tail and big ears atop her head, wide eyes downturned to the floor in submissive fear as she’s strutted past the VIP booth you’re located in; one of the perks of Mr Kang being one of the biggest supporters of this particular establishment.

You have to admit, it’s not as bad as you thought; the place is clean, smells fresh without being overpowered by artificial fragrances clearly hiding something festering behind the scenes. The staff are friendly without being in your face and loathe to admit it, the hybrids are impeccably clean.

It’s just a shame the whole business is a fucking shit show of human morality, even for a bloodthirsty thug like you, it’d be quite the investment opportunity otherwise. They clearly know how to run a successful business.

“Too timid,” you reply after making eye contact with the female for barely a split second before she squeaks at your harsh stare and looks away. “You need more fight; I know what you’re like, dirty old bastard.”

Mr Kang guffaws and slaps a hand on your thigh with his laughter. He naturally moves it away quickly though and that’s at least one thing you can say for the dirty old bastard; he learns his lessons and has never held the vicious, misshapen scar and half missing finger on his right hand against you.

If anything, you think getting stabbed by your hidden knife had only made him like you more. At least it’s more in a professional, borderline friendly way.

“You’re right, you’re right. I like ‘em feisty. Submissive is boring, huh?” He nudges you playfully. “You know what I mean; I’ve heard enough about your own bedroom habits to know we’re similar in more than just our work ethic, kid.”

“Weird you say you know my sex life then call me kid in the same breath,” you point out. He just laughs, already focused on the next hybrid being trotted past like a show pony.

Actually, this one might be part pony based on the ears and tail.

Nevertheless, they’re not what your boss wants so the lack of interest has the pony hybrid moved along quicker.

There’s a little commotion a few booths away all of a sudden, causing you to get to your feet and move ready to protect Mr Kang, if need be, it’s your purpose for being by his side, after all.

No personal guards are allowed at the auction house, only a single pre-approved plus one, and you had been approved long before you even knew of the place, or your bosses want to have you attend with him.

You still don’t know why exactly he wants you of all people here so much when he knows you don’t like beings having no right to their own freedom, such as these hybrid slaves, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds and all that.

Mr Kang respects you and it’s definitely mutual for the most part, you don’t always agree on matters, but he never pushes too hard, and he trusts your advice in a range of subjects; he’s good to you, for a violent gang boss, so you’re loyal to him. Will do almost anything he asks of you without question. Doesn’t mean you like it though.

“What’s going on?” You ask a staff member walking past with another hybrid, this one a young thing, maybe barely legal and you stand in the path of your boss’ vision, so he doesn’t see the defiant glint in the hybrid’s eyes.

You know Mr Kang would love this one, but he really does look far too young; you can’t face seeing his bruised body limping around the Kang house for the whole gang to leer at and claim once the boss is bored of him.

“I’m not sure,” the staff replies respectfully and glances over to where another staff member is standing with their leash let off further to allow the people in the booth to pull the hybrid closer to inspect. “I think they like the hybrid.”

“Sounds violent for like.”

“Many showed interest in that particular hybrid in the preshow.”

You nod in understanding and make a motion for them to hurry on past. Once the staff has politely and obediently bowed a little, they quickly move along with the hybrid before Mr Kang truly gets more than a glance at the boy’s side profile.

“He looked pretty,” he comments, silently questioning why you motioned them on.

“He wouldn’t last,” you reply, even if you have no idea if the boy would’ve lasted long in the hands of Mr Kang, but you really don’t want to find out.

“Ah, getting me more bang for my buck, huh?” He jokes, making you look at him with a flat expression. Though his dumbass grin makes you break and let out a short laugh at his joke before you turn back around as you hear steps nearing.

Your heart breaks a little at the sight of the terrifyingly skinny male being walked in your direction, tiny boxers wonky and his hair a mess with red lines over his pale bare skin. Clearly the booth down the way had really been handsy with him and you struggle to try and recall if that’s against the rules.

Before you know it, the staff and the hybrid are starting to walk past you.

The hybrid glances up, noticing someone standing by the edge and you notice his broad shoulders tense, hands balling into tight fists ready to be assaulted again. Dark, bloodshot eyes meet your gaze and something about them, something about this hybrid really pulls on your heartstrings, maybe it’s because he looks so fucking pathetic compared to the others.

Sure, none of the hybrids are strong or fed more than necessary, none of them do more than pass the bottom level of health checks, yet this one, he looks like he’d lose a fight with a feather pillow, fuck that, a lone feather. You have no idea how he’s even upright right now.

Silently, you hold up your hand, signalling the staff to stop and they do, tugging on the leash to pull the hybrid back. He chokes a little and you wince slightly as he flails to fall into obedient place before you.

“This is the one causing the commotion?” You ask, eyeing the hybrid; the rounded tips of dark backed ears sticking out from his messy hair atop his hair, the long tail mostly wrapped around his own waist to keep it out of the way, and perhaps out of reach of grabby potential buyers. You know hybrids’ tails are very sensitive, just like their ears, so you don’t blame this pretty man for protecting himself where he can.

It’s clear to see why there’s been commotion about him, because although his bones protrude and his skin is borderline sickly in the low lighting, he’s fucking beautiful.

Though you know his almost skeletal figure will be a selling point to many; too frail to defend himself.

“We’ve had much interest already in this hybrid,” the man behind the hybrid states.

“I see why,” you hum and tense almost imperceptibly when Mr Kang’s curiosity wins out and he approaches to stand at your shoulder and peer at the hybrid.

“Oh, have you picked my prize?” He chortles, patting a hand on your shoulder, approval.

“No,” you reply and before you can logically think about it, you carry on, saying the only thing you think will stop your boss from claiming this runt of a hybrid for himself. “This one’s mine.”

It’s not until you’re in your apartment an hour later, slouched defeatedly on your couch with the hybrid standing awkwardly off to the side and watching you through his lashes in fear of what is coming next, that you talk to him for the first time.

“I know you expect something here, but it’s not going to happen. I have no interest in fucking owning another living being, I don’t even want an animal for a pet.” You look at the hybrid and you’re not at all surprised to find his expression twisted in confusion, at least, what you can see of it with his head angled mostly downwards. “You don’t have to do that shit either, I’m not your superior, we’re just…roommates.”

“What?” It’s the first thing he’s said, and you’re thrown off by how deep his voice is. It’s rough too, from disuse or maybe his poor health. You have no fucking idea how biology works, human or animal, you just know how to use it to your advantage and other’s disadvantage. And this, this doesn’t fit into either of those categories.

You have no idea what category spontaneously buying a hybrid to prevent some sick fuck buying and breaking him like a cheap toy, fits into.

Not that this hybrid was cheap at all, apparently, he’s some kind of rare hybrid type so you had to fork out a big chunk of money on buying the bastard. And you know he’s only going to cost you a shit ton more for the foreseeable future, at least until he’s in a good enough condition that you feel you can give him freedom and you won’t see him keeled over in the closest alleyway come morning.

“What?” You return.

“R-roommates?”

“Yeah, not literally, you can have the…shit which one is clean?” You mutter, glancing over to the hallway. “I don’t know, but one of the guest rooms I cleaned somewhat recently so you can have that one. I think it’s the closest one.”

“My own room?”

“Yep,” you look at him and now you are surprised because he’s looking at you head on with wide eyes of disbelief, yet there’s something starting to shine there. It’s pretty. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything suited to you, nothing with holes for your tail or special soaps or combs or any of that shit, I don’t even know if the guest clothes are even in there anymore, but we can handle that tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to take some drugs and go the fuck to bed.”

“Drugs?” He winces a little and looks down, fingers fiddling with the fur of his long tail. Only now that you’re home in decent lighting and paying proper attention to the still scantily clad man can you notice the oddly shaped blotches on his tail in shades of yellowish brown and slightly faded black, like his ears.

“Hey, what kind of hybrid are you again?” You wonder suddenly.

“I-I’m a clouded l-leopard.”

“Huh, I’ll have to research that I guess.” You get to your feet and motion for him to follow you to the kitchen. “Do you cook?”

“N-no. Nobody taught me.”

“Well, shit, I don’t know either. Do you want to learn? One of my friends owns a café; he hires hybrids. It’s kind of like a fetish thing, I won’t lie, but not necessarily because it’s hybrids because there’s humans too, all serving wearing those like anime maid outfits. Basically, my friend and his hybrid are freaks, but they’re good guys and are fucking incredible cooks. When you’re less likely to keel over from lifting a pan, I’ll ask them to teach you if you want to learn?”

The hybrid just stares dumbly at you; something you don’t even realise he’s doing until you look up from pulling the medicine box out of the cupboard.

“What?”

“Your friend hires hybrids?” You nod. “And…his hybrid cooks?”

“I say his hybrid but he’s his own man, got his freedom like two years ago but they’re grossly in love so they’re each other’s and I’m happy for them, just wish they’d stop calling me mid sex because they get off of being yelled at.”

“Maybe stop yelling at them?” He suggests awkwardly.

“It’s just easier to go along with it at this point, they’re relentless bastards. And they supply most of my meals so calling them pathetic and swearing at them while they get off for a few moments isn’t the worst. At least they don’t video call anymore. That shit’s traumatic, I can tell you that much.”

“Right.”

“Mm.”

He watches as you take a few painkillers with almost a whole pint of water before putting everything away neatly.

“Is-is that the drugs you meant?” He asks when you’re facing him again.

“I got shot this morning; I won’t be able to sleep without the painkillers.”

“You got shot?!” He sputters with wide eyes. “How?”

“Do you actually want to know how?” You give him a raised eyebrow look, silently telling him that it isn’t a simple, innocent tale with the serious set of your features. He blinks at you a few times then shakes his head. “Thought not. You thought I meant illegal drugs, I take it?”

“Uhm, yeah. I just…people usually say medicine for legal kind, or-or painkillers.”

“Ah, okay, valid, I get it, but I call pretty much all of it drugs. If it’s designed to do something to your body, it’s a drug.”

“Vitamins?”

“Okay, once again, valid. Not those. But speaking of, we’re gonna have to get you on a shit load of those. Do you even eat?”

“Uhm…yeah.”

“Bullshit. You look like you’d be scared by a full meal. We’ll work you up to it. When you’re healthy and ready, I’ll give you your freedom and you can-”

“What?!” He gasps, almost choking on his own limited saliva as he baulks at you with eyes bulging so big you think it must hurt. “My-my freedom?” You nod. “You bought me jus-just to give me freedom?”

“I don’t want you.”

“But you bought me!”

“Yeah, so some other sick fuck didn’t. Look at you, they’d break you and get off on it.”

“You bought me to protect me?” The expression on his face changes, from disbelief to something that’s starting to look too awed to be good for your poor, twisted, lonely soul.

“Shut up,” you warn, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t get it fucked, buddy, you’re pathetic, okay, I see you like an abused, caged animal that needs rehabilitation before being sent into the wild with the hope it won’t die in days. We’re not friends and you don’t owe me shit either. We’re just two people sharing a spare until one gets better and leaves. Think of this as a halfway home to the rest of your life, okay?”

“I-”

“Okay?” You reiterate firmly, he closes his mouth and slowly nods his head in understanding and agreement. “Great, wonderful, now follow me so I can show you to your room and then you can do whatever the fuck you want until I’m up; sleep, eat, bathe, watch TV, I don’t fucking care, just don’t break shit or wake me up unless it’s an emergency, understand?” He nods again. “Great.”

Once you’ve shown the man to the guest bedroom that you think you recently cleaned, it smells clean enough at least, and shown him how the shower in his ensuite works, you leave him to it to go to your own bedroom, shower, then promptly pass the fuck out on top of your sheets.

When you wake, you’ve forgotten all about going to the hybrid auction and bringing one back home with you; all you can focus on is the intense pain in your left shoulder and the need to remedy that as soon as fucking possible.

“What the fuck?” You mutter when you walk into your kitchen and notice a plate of almost burnt bacon on the counter with a man desperately trying to waft the smoke out of the open window.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims and quickly drops to his knees where he lowers his forehead head directly to the tiles.

“What the fuck? I don’t know when these floors were last washed, get the fuck up!”

He scrambles to lift onto his hands, but he doesn’t get up, legs still tucked under him and dressed in clothes that hang loosely off his body, almost slipping off his bony frame if not for his broad shoulders keeping the shirt over his torso.

It’s only now as you fully register the ears poking out of his hair that it all comes back to you at once.

“Oh, shit, I bought you last night,” you mutter, eyes growing wide. He peers at you from under his lashes and nods timidly. “I completely forgot,” you admit and walk over to tug him up to his feet with your good arm so that you can step past him and flick the switch to activate the fan to suction the slightly smoky air out. “I guess I forgot to get the smoke detector fixed too.”

“It went off,” he admits, watching incredulously as you ignore his mistake and instead focus on dosing yourself with the strongest painkillers in your collection.

You make a mental note to get more of the not exactly over the counter painkillers. So maybe you had lied to the hybrid last night about the exact legalities of your painkillers, they’re not illegal per se, they just aren’t exactly on your prescription either.

“I turned it off, so it didn’t wake you…it…I didn’t wake you, did I? I know you said not to!”

“No, my arm did,” you motion to your left shoulder vaguely. “Hey, do you know anything about wounds?”

“Uhm, a little, why?”

“Can you change dressing? I can’t reach the back one well and I should’ve really done it last night.”

“I can do it!” He assures and scrambles over with wide eyes, ready to help.

“Are you always this plucky first thing in the morning?”

“I’m naturally nocturnal, I haven’t slept yet.”

“Oh.”

“Is…is that a problem? I can change my schedule and sleep at the same time as you!” He promises eagerly. “I can do whatever you need me to!”

“What the fuck? No, just be yourself, I don’t need you to be anyone but you, whoever that is.” You wave a dismissive hand before using it to pull out different items from the medical supply bag always stored right beside the medicine box. “That reminds me, who the fuck are you?” You look at him.

“Uhm…you bought me last night-” he reminds with a puzzled yet concerned look on his face, as if he thinks you have some kind of brain trauma going on preventing you from developing short term memories, or making you lose them.

“No, I know that. I meant your name.”

“You don’t know my name?” He whispers.

“No.”

“But you signed the papers, you have my legal documents.”

“I was just interested in getting you out of there, I figured the details can come later.”

“I think my name is a bit more than just a detail,” as if you prove his point, he emphasises your name when he says it at the end of his sentence and moves closer to carefully help you pull your pyjama shirt sleeve from your bandaged shoulder once you’ve opened enough of the buttons.

You notice that he keeps his eyes on the bandages and not your almost exposed chest. It’s kinda cute; the clear effort he’s making to not look at your uncovered skin.

You huff a laugh, both at his sassy response and his extreme focus. “Alright, then you better tell me before I introduce you to my friends as the pretty clouded leopard hybrid.”

The way his cheek’s flush shyly is impossible to hide, it’s such a rush of red over pale skin that even as he turns to wash his hands at the skin, you can see the colour creeping around the back of his neck. “W-Wonwoo.”

“Mm, what’s that, pretty?”

“My name’s Wonwoo!” He squeaks and you somehow prevent your amused snicker from becoming audible, even if you’re still smirking when he turns to you almost a full minute later after he’s done scrubbing his hands and drying them thoroughly.

“Alright, Wonwoo, let’s see if you make a good nurse or not,” you muse and motion to your shoulder in invitation as you lean your right hip against the counter.

He takes a moment to breathe, then determinedly moves forward to get to work carefully picking at the edges of tape holding bloodied gauze down to your skin.

As you silently watch Wonwoo’s delicate features scrunch with concentration, and perhaps a bit of a shortsighted squint, you think that although you’ve always sworn that you’ll never buy a hybrid, there’s always an exception to the rule and you might be soon glad that this pretty clouded leopard hybrid is yours.

At least, you’re willing to give yourself the chance to find out.

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