Seungcheol asks this while hugging you from behind, his palms sliding under your round stomach, and automatically picking up the extra weight without a second thought.

Your dull ache minimizes, and so do your negative feelings, your body naturally relaxing into your husband's. "It'd be better if you order dessert to our house in the next twenty minutes."

Your husband laughs, his kiss sweet against your shoulder as he nods his head in agreement.

Whatever you want, he's happy to provide, but he's going to hold you the whole time.

JEONGHAN - Jeonghan is staring at you, but that's pretty normal.

He always seemed to stare at you even back when you two were just dating, but now that you're pregnant with his kid?

"You could take a picture, y'know?" You teased. You had just stepped out of the shower, still naked, as you met Jeonghan's eyes through the mirror.

He was looking at you with soft eyes, a little smile playing on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe that led to your shared bedroom.

"And who said I haven't?" Jeonghan mused, earning an affectionate eyeroll from you. You felt normal, just bigger, rounder - especially in the stomach and breasts, but that was a given. Your body was changing, growing, and it made sense why your husband would stare lovingly.

He always told you that you were glowing, but you're pretty sure it's just him developing dad-brain. So, you shake your head, continuing your after-shower routine as your husband watched.

But it wasn't long before his self-control waned and he came up closer, grabbing your full hips as you combed your hair. His hands rubbed, massaging your hips, your waist, up to your breasts - giving them a squeeze. "So pretty," he praised, and your cheeks flushed as he dipped lower towards your round stomach.

When he lifted your belly softly, his arms flexed, holding the weight you carried daily now as his kid grew and his eyes softened even more.

"I love you."

JOSHUA - Ever since you got pregnant, you couldn't get your husband's hands off of you. He had become glued to you like your own personal bodyguard who had to have his hand on you somewhere, anywhere, at all times.

You wanted to go grocery shopping? Joshua had his large hand on your lower back, slowing his steps to your adorable waddle as you insisted on pushing the cart yourself.

You were washing dishes after a lovely dinner for the two of you? He's drying the clean dishes right next to you, his biceps brushing your shoulder every few seconds like your personal bubble was his.

He'd always accompany each touch with a compliment, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you. It had seemed your pregnancy had only made him more smitten as time went on, and you were definitely not complaining. Especially when he'd twirl you around in his arms, his hands coming down to your stomach to caress as he pointed his next compliments to his child with soft eyes.

He'd tease your kid that they needed to be nice to you while you carried them, and like your kid could hear their dad, you felt your baby stretch into your ribs. "Oh, already doing the complete opposite, they must be yours." You teased, and Joshua rolled his eyes with a happy grin.

"More like they're like their mama, stubborn." He bantered, and his hands lowered, lifting your growing stomach with ease. His forearms flexed, and the weight on your hips eased, letting you melt back into your husband's chest with a happy noise.

"If I recall correctly, I'm pretty sure you told me you liked my stubbornness." You mused, and Joshua's little scoff of laughter tickled your neck before he gave the curve of your ear a soft peck.

"Yeah, and I will be lucky if my kid inherits anything of yours. Whether it's stubbornness or just your love, I'll love you both with all my heart."

JUN - Jun's love language had always been acts of service.

It didn't matter if he came home from a long, exhausting day at work; the moment he saw you, he'd drag you onto the couch with him, your feet pulled onto his lap, and ask you to tell him about your day as he started to massage the curve in your foot.

That was just who your husband was. Caring to a default, and he'd become even more doting when you two had found out you were pregnant.

Suddenly, it went from foot massages to him insisting he could take care of the chores. He'd already taken out the trash, you had deemed that a "boy job", and as you moved into your third trimester, he had become more stubborn in taking on your chores too.

It was like you were some delicate flower when you only felt like an elephant with how much your body changed as your baby grew, and Jun was nothing but loving every step of the way.

He never complained when you stole his pillow to use under your back when you two slept; he never said anything when you woke him up at three am, craving something that brought you out of your sleep and close to tears until he gave you a soft kiss, letting you know he'd get it for you, no matter what time it was and how much sleep he had.

He'd do anything for you, so when he notices that you hold your stomach every now and then, a little discomfort displaying on your face, he turns to the internet to figure out what's going on.

He finds his answer in the first link he's shown, and his eyes soften as he realizes just how much you had to deal with, even when he tried to make everything easier for you.

So, he does his best to help more.

It becomes routine for him to seek you out whenever you two are home, or even when you two are out and about - he'd simply bring you close, kissing your shoulder briefly before he picked up the extra weight in your stomach with his two hands.

It never failed to make him grin as you melted in his arms, sighing in relief as he held you, and he would stay like that for as long as you'd let him before you two continued with whatever you had been doing prior, but not before you gave him another kiss as a thank you.

HOSHI - "Just five more minutes," you sighed. Your eyes were closed as you spoke the words, your body tilting more into Hoshi's as you held onto his forearms. You could feel the veins that ran down to his wrists, and the way his forearms flexed along with his biceps as he held you close.

You could probably fall asleep just like this, standing up, with Hoshi holding your stomach. It's a relief you didn't know you needed during your pregnancy until your husband was telling you he wanted to try something out.

Supposedly, one of his friends mentioned this trend for pregnant women, and Hoshi all but perked up like a dog hearing their favorite words.

If there was anything, anything at all, to help you during your pregnancy, he was going to do it. He'd scoured the internet for tips for new parents, he read baby books in between work, and when he was home, he cornered you like you were going to run from him as he gave you a look that made you raise your eyebrows sceptically.

But as soon as his strong arms wrapped around you, holding your stomach, and letting the dull ache from your lower back disappear? You were putty in his hands.

"We could do more than five minutes, my love," Hoshi said softly, right by your ear, and a shiver ran up your spine as you felt his fingers flex, squeezing you affectionately. "I can do this all night, I mean- you've been doing this every day for the last six months. Let me take over for you."

WONWOO - When you approach your husband, Wonwoo's entire attention reverts to you. His eyes soften, taking in your lovely smile, the glow that he liked to claim was there way before you ever got pregnant, and then finally to your growing stomach.

His heart skips a beat, fluttering in his chest with a warmth that leaves him lost for words, before his eyes flicker back up to yours. "Hello, my love," He hums, and you get a kiss before you can greet him back. "What can I do for you?"

Ever since you got pregnant, Wonwoo had been adamant about providing for your needs even more than he already did. He was the one to go out at any time of the day for whatever your pregnancy craved. He was the one to bring your legs up to his lap, massaging your muscles until you were putty in his hands. He was the one he wanted you to turn to for anything, regardless of whether you were pregnant or not.

So, when you ask him to hold you with flushed cheeks, he can't help but smirk at such an easy request.

"Of course, my love." But before he gets the chance to reach for you, you're shaking your head, a giggle escaping as you move his hands lower.

"No, hold me here, my love."

And then it clicked, and his smile grew as he stepped closer to you.

"Oh?" He hummed, and his hands caressed your growing stomach with soft rubs, lowering until he could lift the extra weight with ease, and the relief was immediate for you. Your lips parted with a cute little "oh!" and your gasp came out before you could stop it.

His large hands barely had to flex to hold your stomach, and he watched with an amused grin as your shoulders sagged in happiness, your hands resting on his chest as you shuffled closer to your husband.

"Just for a few minutes, please." You were so cute asking him with wide blinks, and he couldn't help but lean down, kissing you with a slow kiss that had you melting even further into him.

"Anything for you, my love. I can do this all day."

WOOZI - Woozi was hovering. He was always hovering around you ever since the two of you found out you were expecting. It was like he was in fight or flight mode, trying to be there for you as a partner, but not sure how he could help you the best.

He seemed to have a permanent furrowed brow, his lips set in determination for something you weren’t entirely sure of. It was like he waiting for something, anything, with a tense body that actually distracted you from the way the baby inside your stomach was stretching its little limbs against your rib cage.

Motherhood, how magical.

Seven months along, and you felt like a whale. Your breasts were fuller, your stomach was rounder, your hips ached with your lower back - and there was your husband, hovering like you might let out a warrior cry before running away to leave him dazed and confused. It made you snort, rolling your eyes affectionately as you folded the clean laundry.

“If you’re going to be a helpful baby daddy, at least make yourself useful.” You teased, and your lover blinked, staring at you, dumbfounded for a moment.

“Huh?”

“Come here, make your hands useful for me.” You nodded your head in one direction, beckoning him closer as you folded a towel. You figured he’d either help you fold or help you put away the folded laundry. What you didn’t expect was for him to stand behind you and easily lift your stomach, instantly relieving you of the weight you carried every day now. “Oh!”

“Does this help? I saw it somewhere.”

Your head tilted back, your body naturally leaning back towards him. “Oh my god, never let me go.”

“Never dreamt of it.”

MINGHAO - You were grumpy, and you honestly didn't even mean to be. It was just everything.

You felt bloated, a little hot, a little overstimulated, a little tired, and a lot hungry. Pregnancy had been smooth sailing until you reached your third trimester, but after that, you felt a little crazy. You were ready to get a full night's sleep without a mountain of pillows to assist. Or better yet, if you didn't have to waddle everywhere. You felt like a penguin about to go exploring just to make it to your kitchen.

And you had decided no one could ever complain about back pain other than you. Your child was something you truly felt was testing your body as its own personal martial arts studio, or gymnasium, and you were ready for it all to be done.

The little app you had for your pregnancy said it was the size of a large cantaloupe, and you could feel it. Your hips and lower back ached, and that was just from standing still. So, yeah, you were grumpy, and your husband seemed to be getting the brunt of your sassiness as he greeted you with a smile.

"How are my beautiful loves?" He hummed, stepping into the kitchen to get closer to you.

Normally, you'd match his grin, give him a kiss, but all you could do was pout, stopping him in his tracks as you gave him a pointed look. "Don't even play with me right now."

Your husband was lucky you had missed the way he bit his lip to hold in his laugh, or you'd surely explode in your feelings.

Pregnancy, in his eyes, had made you even cuter than before, but he might be biased since it was his kid you were carrying. "Tell me what you need, let me take care of you." Hao mused, and you couldn't help but melt a little at his words, even if your pout remained the same.

"If you could carry your kid the rest of the way, I'd appreciate it." You didn't mean to be sarcastic, but your emotions had been a whirlwind since you woke up, and it came out before you could stop it.

Luckily for you, Minghao was your husband, and his smile only grew fonder as he moved closer. He took your words literally, and his hands wrapped under your stomach, easily lifting it, and relieving your little aches as he gave a little laugh. "Always. You just need to ask, my love, and I'll do anything for you."

Only your husband could turn your mood around in less than three minutes.

MINGYU - It has become somewhat of a routine between you and Mingyu when it was time for you to get up from wherever you may have been sitting previously.

Whether you were relaxing on the couch in the living room or simply getting out of the car, it had become increasingly more difficult now that you were pregnant. You felt bloated more towards your third trimester, and it took a lot of energy to move if you didn't get some kind of assistance.

It wasn't that you were unable to do things on your own; it was more that your face would pinch into a little wince whenever you did. The weight of your kid pressing into your ribs or back is enough to make you suck in a sharp breath and for your husband to almost insist you spend the rest of your pregnancy bedridden.

Which, if anyone knew you, that would be ridiculous - so you came up with a compromise.

Your husband, Mingyu, would become your anchor. He was always hovering around you anyway, mumbling about "need to protect both my loves." So, it became instinctive to reach for your husband's hand when getting around.

You still waddled and still insisted you could do it yourself, but nevertheless, your hand would go to his, and you were rewarded with kisses to your temple once you were standing on your own two feet.

"I know you can, but let me take care of you anyway," Mingyu murmured, and before you could rebut, his warm hands slid around your waist and underneath your stomach, lifting the weight from your hips and giving you further relief.

All sass left your body as you sighed, relaxing into your man's strong arms with a dreamy smile that matched his. "Fine, but don't let me go then."

"I wasn't planning to."

DK - Computer? How do I get my very pregnant wife out of the bathtub? She won't leave.

DK was kneeling on the right side of the bathtub, eyebrows furrowed with slight worry as he watched you. You had been in this tub of water for an hour, and you were pruning. "C'mon, Baby, get out, and I'll dry you off. Any longer, our baby is going to turn into a mermaid."

This made you snort, your lips curving up as your eyes flickered to the swell of your stomach poking out of the water. You were eight months pregnant and bath time was the only time the small ache of carrying his kid was relieved off your back and hips.

You waddled, you slept with eight pillows, and you were tired. You honestly weren't sure if you could lift yourself up, which made another round of sleepy giggles erupt from you as you stared at your husband with love. "Baby, I might just sleep here."

You watched with amusement as Seokmin brought his phone out, typing into the little screen with another furrow of his eyebrows, and you snorted at his search.

"Help me?" You asked with a grin, and Dokyeom was already snaking his hands around your hips, using a firm but gentle touch to help you. He didn't care if his clothes got wet; he was always happy to be your anchor as you leaned on him.

When you stood up, his hands naturally caressed your tummy, still in awe at how strong you were to carry his kid. And when he lifted your tummy a little, carrying the extra weight, your lips parted.

"Oh!" Dokyeom found a new favorite pastime for you, other than bath time, and he was perfectly happy with it - he wanted the extra practice before he carried his kid everywhere anyway.

SEUNGKWAN - It was no surprise that the moment your husband came home and saw you, he'd launch into a rant about his day like he'd been dying to since the moment he had to leave your side. You and he were truly best friends and lovers all wrapped up in one. You were the first person he wanted to tell anything to, and you felt the same.

It was a routine at this point that if one of you came home, you'd drag the other onto the sofa, giving a play-by-play of the day with the utmost seriousness. You got the gossip, the missed funny moments, everything - and when you became pregnant? Well, now it was a party of three.

But instead of your husband leading you to the couch like normal, he'd simply drop everything as soon as he crossed through the door and dropped to his knees before you. It had progressed to you barely getting a kiss in greeting before your baby, who snuggled into your ribs with a little annoyance for your comfort.

Seungkwan would simply kiss your growing stomach, his eyes sparkling as he flickered from your tummy to you, then back to your fuller stomach. "Have you been being nice to your mom while I was away?" He would hum, and your eyes rolled affectionately as you fought to keep your smile at bay.

"No, your little tangerine actually has been tiresome since you left - I think they know you're gone, they get restless." You teased, and Seungkwan's eyes sparkled brighter, his lips pressing another kiss to your tummy as he shook his head.

"Well, we can't have any of that." His hands move under your stomach, lifting the extra weight and relieving your hips of the little ache you got from carrying his child throughout the day. You sighed happily, and Seungkwan grinned up at you. He was still on his knees, carrying your stomach gently, and his hum was soft as he launched into his day.

He told his growing family all about his workday right in the middle of the entrance way, never once letting go of your stomach as he talked more to your belly than to you.

Eventually, you three would make it to the sofa, but for now, if he could hold you both, he didn't mind the bite in his knees as he kneeled on the wooden floors, his heart full and warmed with love.

VERNON - You don't even realize Vernon is watching you until he's suddenly right behind you.

You're seven months pregnant with his child, and it's beginning to take a toll. Mornings have become more difficult to roll out of bed. You've got at least six pillows tucked into you to try and ease the discomfort your lower back pings to you, but it's still there. It's become this little ache that accompanies you even when you waddle throughout the house.

Yes, waddle. Vernon says you don't waddle, but his opinion is now irrelevant while you carry his kid.

That's why you don't even notice him step behind you as you clean off the table. Dinner was done, and Vernon had insisted you rest while he cleaned up everything, but old habits die hard, and you're a little winded after a few swipes of the table.

"I told you to rest," Vernon murmurs softly and gently, and you're about to retort back before his hands slide around your round stomach, lifting the weight and immediately rendering you speechless.

"Oh!" You're mouth drops, and the back ache is momentarily gone as your husband holds you up.

It makes Vernon grin to see you like this, and he kisses your shoulder as you melt back into his body. "That's it, let me take care of you, Mamas."

DINO - Ever since you got pregnant, your husband has been online more than usual.

It's usually accompanied by a furrowed brow and multiple looks in your direction, but you figured he was trying to learn as much as he could about being a first-time parent. All you cared about were the actual doctor visits and the little app on your phone that told you your baby was the size of a mango today.

The thought was hard to process, but it made you motivated to eat fruit when you saw the message, so you found yourself pacing through your kitchen. You brought out fruit, the cutting board, your favorite knife, which you believed could probably cut through anything, and got to work making two bowls.

And it wasn't because you were eating for two. You rolled your eyes at the silly thought, your lips curving into a grin before you flickered your eyes to your left, where your husband had followed you.

That was the other thing: if your husband wasn't at work, he seemed to be your personal shadow, following you into each room, regardless of whether he had been in the middle of doing something.

You could feel him approach quietly, and you hummed as you put the same fruit equally between the two bowls. "I'm making you one, too."

You can hear him set his phone on the counter, his body coming closer from behind, before you feel his lips brush the back of your neck. "I saw something online-" and just as you go to ask him for more details, his large hands slide under your stomach, lifting the extra weight with ease.

The relief to your lower back is instant, and the knife falls onto the cutting board as you gasp. You can feel yourself melt in relief, leaning more into your husband as Dino grins against your shoulder.

"Does that feel good?"

Your little happy noise you make with an eager nod makes him hold you closer, his smile growing fonder by each second that passes.

대박 - you made it to the end!

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Neither of you say anything for a few seconds, you don’t know what to say. You’re pissed off he’s made you wait. But can you really be mad at a man that looks like that? Because he’s big, bigger than you even imagined. Not that you’ve spent much time thinking about the body of the drummer of your favourite band. You’ve definitely not searched Choi Seungcheol arms over a hundred times on pinterest. Absolutely not. 

“You’re not Woozi ,” He smirks, his gaze assessing you from head to toe as he leans on the door frame with his big, muscley, perfect, biteable arms folded. Fuck you need to stop looking at them, but they’re just so big.

“N-no,” Damn, his smirk only grows because of your stuttering. “You need to sign this.” 

“There’s no fans allowed into the hotel.”

“I’m not a fan.” 

“Sure you’re not. Listen, unless you want to join us, or wait for her to leave and then come in and get a taste of this," he gestures at his body, "I suggest you fuck off and crawl back under whatever weird little rock you came from. Breaking into a hotel is stalker behaviour." His smile is one of sarcasm and it’s at that moment you suddenly realise that the drummer from your favourite band is a fucking asshole. 

“I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.” You smile back, enjoying seeing him falter a little, “You or rather your friend needs to sign this. I’m Woozi’s new assistant. I’d ask if you could shout your friend out here for me but I presume you don’t know her name, so can I come in?” 

You don’t wait for an answer. Just push past him, ignoring how his skin seems to be as soft as a baby's, and storm into the room to find the poor girl who needs to sign the NDA in your hand. 

“Hi,” 

“Who’s she?”

“He doesn’t know my name, just like he probably doesn’t know yours. And honestly you seem much too pretty a girl to be treated that way.” 

They both look at you a little shocked but you don’t care. 

You scan around the room, noting how they’ve clearly had quite the night if the various pieces of clothing around multiple surfaces are anything to go by. You can’t help scrunch your nose a little in disgust when you see three used condoms thrown messily near the bin. You suppose you should be thankful for small mercies, at least he’s not riddling the poor women with diseases and he’s saved an unsuspecting cleaner the trouble of cleaning cum stains off the floor because the idiot has tied a knot in them. 

Woozi said he hated having to ask you to do this but there’d been an emergency with the guys taking the stage down in Osaka, ready for you all to move onto Tokyo, and he needed to rush off. You get why he hates it, it’s like making sex a business transaction and you’re the one who’s having to facilitate it. But if you didn’t, you risk the band’s secrets being spilled and then every fan in the world would have the same realisation as you. That Seungcheol is a prick. 

“He knows my name,” She narrows her eyes at you but you’re just trying to ignore the little marks Seungcheol has left behind on her neck and breasts. Her only being in her underwear makes it easier to see them and the sight leaves a weird feeling in your stomach even though you’ve just recently decided you hate him. 

She turns to Seungcheol, waiting for him to say that he obviously knows the name of the woman he’s spent the night with. 

You wish you had her blind optimism. 

“S-sure! It’s er…….well it’s er………J….” His “friend's” eyes get wider as he tries to ask if it starts with a J and your heart sinks for her. 

You’re all for one night stands. Or not having one night stands. It’s up to whoever it is. But you know if any of the people you’d slept with did what he’s doing right now, you’d feel fucking horrible. 

“Could you just sign this please?” You say softly, trying to ignore the clear awkwardness you’ve helped contribute to. Fuck you shouldn’t have said that about names, you were just pissed at him being an asshole by the door. 

“No. He can tell me my name.” 

You inwardly grown. You love that she’s standing up for herself but you’d rather be back in the hallway whilst she did it. 

“Baby,” He smiles, moving towards her, “we just met last night!” 

“And yet I’ve had your dick in my mouth. I tend to like to know the names of people whose dick I’ve had in my mouth. And as your tongue has been in my ass hole, I presumed you’d know mine” 

Well shit. 

You decide to appraise a very odd looking stain on the ceiling and ignore whatever is unfolding in front of you. 

“I didn’t……..Did I?......Oh shit, yeah I remember…….NO!” He rushes but it’s too late. 

“You’ve already forgotten what happened between us?!!! You literally had your tongue down my throat a minute before she came in here.” 

Is there anywhere in this poor woman Seungcheol hasn’t had his tongue?!

You resist giving her a piece of your mind for the way she said “she” and continue assessing what you think might be a wine stain on the ceiling, though how it got there you don’t know. 

“Tell me my name and I’ll sign it.” 

You glance at Seungcheol, you can tell he’s panicking but you’ve never met either of them until about three minutes ago, so it’s not like you could help even if you wanted to. 

When you move over to the desk to get a pen, hoping Seunghceol may somehow remember this woman’s name in this lifetime, you spot her small card holder by her phone. A small card holder holding her drivers license. You hate having to help him, you’d much rather see him suffer but you do technically now have to have his best interests at heart. You don’t suppose your job with Woozi will last very long if you allow this woman to decimate the character of one of the band members. 

You glance round, noting she hasn’t moved and does still have her back to you, just as Seungcheol’s panicked eyes find you and he realises what you’re doing. 

Slowly, you pick up her wallet and move the license up a little. It feels less like a complete disregard for her privacy and not so big a break in girl code to not fully take it out of the card holder. 

“SORA” You mouth dramatically to Seungcheol whilst he tries to act natural. But him fucking squinting like he doesn’t understand isn’t helping. 

“SAW,” You mouth, mimicking sawing something in half, “RAAAAA.” 

This is fucking stupid and more than a little demeaning. But the big idiot still doesn’t get it. 

“SAAAAAAAAW,” You try to act out seeing something in the distance but she turns around and you have to suddenly act natural, holding her card holder behind your back. 

“Well?! MY NAME SEUNGCHEOL?!” She whips round back to him. 

“SORA.” You mouth in the biggest way you can. 

“So…..” You put your thumbs up and mouth it again, “So…ra…..Sora! You’re Sora! See! I never forget a name.” He grins.

You roll your eyes and quickly throw the card holder back just before she turns to check you’ve not helped him in some way. 

Fucking moran. He behaves like a chauvinistic pig and yet still somehow gets away with it. 

“Could you sign this?” You pear round her with the paper and pen in your hand. 

“Like I’d want to tell anyone about being anywhere near him.” She snarls, much to Seungcheol’s shock. 

He can’t honestly think she believes he remembered her name? He cannot be that arrogant to think she’d let what just happened slide and continue fawning over him like she no doubt was last night. 

She snatches the paper and pen from your hand and marches over to the desk to fill out her name and sign it. You follow Seungcheol’s gaze and note he’s not got a care in the world that he’s probably ruined poor Sora’s whole week. He’s too busy eyeing her ass hungrily, his busy tongue licking his lips like she's lunch. 

What. An. Asshole. 

“Here.” She slams the paper into your chest and throws the pen at your head. 

There is no need for that. And you’re ready to tell her so before Seungcheol pipes up. 

“Hey, leave your number. We come back to Osaka every tour y’know.” He leers at her as she quickly gets dressed. 

“Get fucked.” 

And with that she’s gone in a waft of floral perfume and anger. 

“Oh and!” She shouts from the doorway, “Your dick isn’t as big as you say it is!”

The door slams behind her and you both just stand in silence. 

“That is not true and the way she was waddling proves it.” 

“You’re disgusting.” You glare at him. 

“You shouldn’t speak to your boss like that,” he smirks, clearly not affected by a thing that's just happened. 

“You’re not my boss. Woozi is.” 

“He works for us.” He scoffs. 

“You’re signed to his and Jeonghan’s company. They own the company. My contract is with him specifically. I have nothing to do with you.” 

“I always like a hot nerd.” He creeps closer. 

“Well. I imagine most of the world’s population could be classed as a nerd if they’re comparing themselves to your intelligence.” 

You march out of the room. You don’t need a response from him, you’ve already made your mind up about him. Choi Seungcheol is a womanising lowlife who you never want to speak to again. You will never let him anywhere near you, not even if he was the last man on earth.

Tokyo 

“Did something happen between you and Seungcheol?” Woozi asks, somewhat apprehensively. 

You’re sitting in his suite with him and Jeonghan, all three of you with laptops out, trying to plan schedules for recording the new album and deciding which brand deals, out of the influx of offers that have come in recently, any of the guys should do. 

It’s only been five days since you started working for Woozi but you’ve found him to be the complete opposite of Seungcheol. In fact you’ve found that almost everyone on the staff is the opposite of Seungcheol. Every single person, including the other band members, have made you feel nothing but welcome, each of them coming over to introduce themselves and offer help if you need it. 

The same cannot be said for Seungcheol. 

He has been the most petulant idiot you’ve ever met. 

He purposefully asked you where a man called Jihoon was in front of everyone, having not uttered a word to you since the little debacle in his suite. When you told him you didn’t know who Jihoon was, he humiliated you in front of the whole band and the stylists by replying “oh right yeah, I forgot Woozi only tells people he likes his real name.”. Nobody laughed, they all just looked perplexed at what the hell was going on as you both glared at each other. They didn’t even realise you’d been introduced, let alone already seemingly enemies. 

You got him back though. Sort of. 

You’d had to travel between Osaka and Tokyo with Seungcheol and Woozi because Seungcheol was designing new bass drum skins and you’d be the one putting the order in. As Hoshi had already gone ahead for an event and the two other members tended to like to travel with their girlfriends, you’d ended up with the king of the boneheads. 

Just as you saw him taking a gulp of his drink out of the corner of your eye (and checked there were no cars behind you), you shouted out that there was a cat in the road. The driver slammed on and poor old Seungcheol ended up covered in coffee. 

It did somewhat backfire on you though. He had sent his bags in one of the other cars and because his sweater was covered in coffee, he decided it was probably best that he just not wear anything at all and opted to discard his sweater completely. You tried your best not to look at him, really you did, but you couldn’t help glancing at him. His knowing smirks and the constant need to catch yourself before you looked at him again, made that seven hour car journey feel like days. 

“No.” You glance at him before going back to your laptop, “Why?” 

“He’s just being……odd.” 

“Is he not odd all the time?” Jeonghan snorts at that and you feel a weird sense of pride that you’ve managed to fit in with them so quickly. 

“She’s got a point there.” 

“I guess. He just seems different.” 

You feel a weird twinge in your stomach at that, a slight panic that there’s something wrong or going on with him. Though you’re not sure why you care, he’s nothing but an ass to you. 

Maybe it’s because of what happened in his suite that first morning? He doesn’t like that you saw him being humiliated and now he’s being weird because of it. But he didn’t seem bothered by it at the time so why would he care after the fact. 

“There was a girl in his suite when you got me to take the NDA to him, maybe it’s that.” 

“_____,” Jeonghan smiles knowingly, “I’d be more surprised if there wasn’t. I don’t think he’s ever been alone in a hotel room in all the years we’ve been doing this.” 

That leaves a sour taste on your tongue but you know it has no right to be there. 

“She wasn’t exactly…..kind….to him when she left. He’d forgotten her name and she didn’t really like that,” 

“Ugh Seungcheol,” Woozi leans back in his seat, wiping his face with his hands, “when will he grow out of all this bullshit!” 

“I agree with you but that doesn’t explain what’s going on with those two,” Jeonghan points at you. 

“Well. Well. I might’ve called him disgusting?.” Your cheeks heat when neither of them give any sort of reaction. 

You jump slightly when laughter ripples through the air and they both beam at you. 

“I think you’ll fit in well here ______.” Woozi smiles whilst Jeonghan nods along. 

You smile and sheepishly say thank you but you can’t help feeling weird. Something isn’t sitting right with you at all and you’re certain it’s down to Seungcheol. It’s probably hatred and the fact his voice sounds like nails down a chalk board. Yeah…… That’ll be it. It’s definitely nothing else. 

One of the main reasons you were excited for this job was because you genuinely loved the band. You were a fan of their music, I fan of their style, you just loved everything about them. You didn’t even really have a favourite, they just all seemed like great guys who made amazing music and that was it. You’d told Woozi you liked the band during your interview and he said it was a good thing, it meant you’d care about your work and so far, that is proving to be true. 

You’re standing at the side of the stage watching as thousands of screaming fans sing every word back to Shadow as they perform. That would've been you, in total awe of them as they rocked out in front of tens of thousands of fans. 

But instead. You're standing glaring at the drummer whose arms glisten with sweat every time he strikes a cymbal and who you're desperately trying not to look at. But you can't help. He's gone too far. 

About twenty minutes before they were due to go on stage, the whole crew was gathering for a team talk. It was everyone. Stylists, security, fuck you're certain even the guys that print the lanyards were there. 

But one person that wasn't, was you. 

He was holding the door open for one of the makeup artists to go into the large shared dressing room. You knew he was going to do something, he'd seen you walking towards him. You know he had because he'd made a point of checking out the makeup artist's ass and then directly looked at you with a smarmy smile. 

You braced yourself for the door closing on you or him sticking out his foot to trip you up. But he took it a step further, a step too far. 

“Where are you going?" Seungcheol blocks off the doorway as he leans on it. 

"To the team meeting,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. Surely it's fucking obvious where you're going. 

"Why?” 

"Because it's a whole team meeting. Move out of the way please.” Adding the please is done begrudgingly but he is still a member of the band and so you can't just tell him to fuck off and kick him in the balls how you'd like to. 

"But you're not part of the team.” 

"What?” You frown, "Move please, I don't want to be late.” 

"You can't be late for something you're not invited to. You told me yourself, you work for Woozi. Everyone in here is part of team Shadow,” he declares like it's obvious, "guess you're not part of any team.” He sighs. 

Embarrassment creeps up your spine. You're certain Woozi would be expecting you to be there but short of pushing past him and making a scene, you're not entirely sure how to get round this. 

“You've had your joke," you mumble, “come on move, we'll be late." 

“I will be late, you mean. You're probably early to whatever plans you have for the evening. There's probably some private moment going on that you can shoe horn your way into and make ten times worse.” 

You stare at him. Both of you almost challenging the other to look away but the difference? He holds all the cards and he knows it. You don't win in this situation. If you tell him to fuck off, he'll say you've been unprofessional and no doubt tell Woozi and you lose the best job you've ever had. Or you don't tell him to fuck off and you have to walk away in embarrassment. 

"Is Woozi in there?” 

"I mean yeah, we're all one big family really.” He shrugs, “It'd be weird if he wasn't there.” He insisted, his smirk only getting more annoying. 

Part of you wants to punch him, to put this arrogant rock star in his place. But there's a weird feeling in your chest too, that you can't quite figure out what it means. 

He doesn't stop looking at you, his smirk never faltering. But you just pull your sweater over your hands and avert your eyes, pretending to look past him and like this isn't making you want to cry. 

“Bye then." You say quietly, sending him a false smile but still not looking him in the eye. 

You wander down the corridor to the side of the stage and hope you find something there that'll occupy you when the “one big family" all turn up to start the concert. At least then if Woozi asks where you were you can say you were caught up with something. 

Seungcheol watches you leave pretty pleased that he's got the upper hand. He'd been enjoying the little back and forth you guys had been having the past few days. And if he's honest, he wants to get you back for the other morning. You were fucking annoying and ever since he's had this need to get a rise out of you. 

But as he watches you walk off, he gets a weird feeling in his chest that unsettles him. His smirk leaves and his eyebrows inadvertently knit together. He got this feeling when you called him disgusting too, though he ignored it then and tried to put it down to his hangover. Add that to the leaping feeling he had in his stomach when something the driver said made you laugh, he's starting to get a little worried about all these unknown feelings he's having. 

This must be what hatred feels like. The sound of your laugh must physically cause him pain and the feelings in his chest are just pure annoyance when you're around. Yeah. That’ll be it. It's the only logical explanation. 

“You know we don't object to workplace relationships,” You jump a little, you hadn't realised Jeonghan was so close to you. 

"What do you mean?” You avert your eyes to him but quickly refocus on the band. 

"You and Cheol, you keep staring at each other and I think even Woozi's realised there's a tension there and he's normally so lost in schedules and shit, he doesn't realise anything.” 

"I don't stare.” You snap. 

"Whatever you say,” Jeonghan smirks, "I know he's got a reputation but he's one of the kindest guys you'll ever meet under all that swagger.” 

You wonder how much Seungcheol pays people to lie for him. You've got proof he's not a kind person, and you do not believe that he doesn't live up to that "reputation” Jeonghan is referring to. Both you and Sora can attest to that. 

"There's no tension. I'm just trying to do my job.” 

"Okie dokie.” Jeonghan smiles though you can tell he’s not convinced at all. "Oh! And we missed you at the staff meeting! You don't have to work so hard!.” 

You watch as Jeonghan glides away. It relieves a few of the worries you'd had about not being missed at the meeting, at least there seems to be people who are genuinely looking out for you. But it just makes you more pissed at the drummer who adverts his eyes the second you look back over to him. 

This can't all be because of that first day. He's taken an instant dislike to you and, to be honest, you feel exactly the same way. 

One thing is for sure. You won't let him win.

Bangkok 

And so for the next three weeks of the Asia leg of the tour, a battle ensues. You both happen to be at breakfast at the same time? You’re making sure that you take the last of the muesli he likes. He notices that you’re carrying a heavy bag? He’ll purposefully pick out another member of staff who is also carrying something and make a grand gesture of asking if they need help, right in front of your face. 

Everyone knew what was going on. It was like the both of you couldn’t hear a conversation going on with the other without passive aggressively butting in. 

“Do you want to try this hat for the magazine cover?” 

“Are you sure that would fit over his enormously oversized head?” You’d chide as the room erupted in laughter and Seungcheol glared at you through the mirror. 

Or. 

“______ seriously you’ve got me so organised I’m running out of things to worry about.” Woozi beamed at you. 

“Pretty easy to be so anal about shit when she’s got a permanent stick up her ass.” 

It was just an everyday part of your life now. Wake up, make sure Woozi has everything he needs and then go out of your way to piss off Seungcheol. His schedule seemed pretty much the same except where you organised Woozi, he played for thousands of fans and partied until the early hours. 

And it’s his partying, or rather the whole group partying, which is putting you in a situation you didn’t really want to be in right now. 

Seungcheol had used your dislike for partying when he was trying his best to embarrass you in front of everyone. The trouble for him was that you didn’t care what he thought about you in that respect. You’d never been one for huge crowds of drunk people, it just wasn’t for you. You loved socialising, you loved going out with friends for drinks or good food but being in a confined space with a bunch of sweaty drunk people? You’d really rather sit in a bath of ice. 

But this was the last night of the Asia tour. It was a big deal and even though you’d told Seungcheol to get fucked when he’d called you boring for not going, it turned out you weren’t going to get away with it so easily. Woozi made you promise you’d join them all for one drink at least and your best friend at home had made you promise you’d put yourself out there more just before you started this job. You didn’t need to make sure everything is ready for the next day or spend your time writing in your diary, or any of the other one hundred things you could think of doing to avoid situations you felt uncomfortable in. You just needed to be brave enough to actually go.

So with Woozi’s promise that you only had to stay for one drink and your best friend’s words whirring round your mind, you find yourself standing in front of the mirror in your room, not knowing whether you’re even dressed right. You know you can’t wear your usual sweaters or jeans but you didn’t want to seem too over dressed, too out of your comfort zone. 

You’d gone with a leather mini skirt which you didn’t even realise you’d packed, your good old bestie still looking out for you even when she’s not with you, and a tank top that felt too tight but you could work with it and it made your tits look great even if you do say so yourself. You hadn’t brought heels so your trusty doc martens would have to do. It isn’t something you’d wear to a club you suppose but drinking with a rock band? It works. Sort of. You think? 

“Fuck this get a grip _____. No one will even notice you’re there, one drink and then you can come back and pack.” You mumble to yourself as you fix your eyeliner in the mirror. “You’ve got this.” You fake a smile to yourself before you take a deep breath, grab your phone and head to the rooftop bar of the hotel. 

It wasn’t as bad as you thought, you’d had a drink with Dino’s girlfriend who has become a good friend in the month you’ve been on tour with them. And Woozi had made you join him in a dance but it felt very much like dancing with your dad and so you’d spent most of your time laughing with him whilst he showed you how to do the robot. 

You didn’t see Seungcheol. You’re not even sure why you were thinking of him. He was probably with some woman by now already and he wouldn’t want to see you anyway. You tell yourself your eyes scan the room every three minutes because you want to prove a point to him. You want to show him that you’re not as boring as he says you are. But why should you even care what he thinks? It’s probably just because your competitiveness has peaked in this month-long battle with Seungcheol, you just want to show that you won this little challenge. It’s not even really about proving a point to him. It’s about winning. 

You bid your goodbyes to Dino and his girlfriend as they run off giggling after informing you they’re going for a late night swim, and you head towards the elevator. 

“Hold the door please!” You run towards the closing door as a hand stops it and you throw yourself in. 

“Thank you,” you sigh before you realise who it is, “oh.” 

“_____?” Seungcheol saying your name makes you feel weird but it’s probably irritation. That’s the only thing that would explain the goosebumps that’ve erupted all over your body. 

Your eyes drift to the woman in his arm, one of her hands under his shirt, tickling his skin. You get the sudden urge to scratch this woman’s eyes out, a feeling of utter rage coming over you like a dark cloud but you bat it away. You don’t care who touches him. 

His eyes drift over you, his eyebrows knitting together but he snaps back to himself and holds his girl a little closer. 

“Does she work for you?” 

“Nah, she works for Woozi. A professional busy body.” 

You know he’s waiting for your reply but the sight of the woman still touching his skin has you mute. What the fuck is happening and why does it feel like those words he just uttered actually hurt? You’d been tearing shreds off each other for weeks and it hadn’t bothered you. The last time you’d truly felt upset by something he’d done was the staff meeting but you were over that. Now though it just felt like he was being mean for the sake of it and you were so confused by what you were feeling towards him and his “friend” that you can’t even muster a response. 

“You came then?” He smirks when he doesn’t get a response. 

“Oh you’ve been to the party? You didn’t feel like dressing up?” She says in the most sickly sweet way she can. 

Fuck you feel like you’re in school, the resident school bully deciding it’s your turn to feel their nastiness. 

You just glance at both of them and then look forward, willing the elevator to move quicker. 

“It’s no wonder she’s going back to her room alone,” you hear her whisper to Seungcheol, although you’re fairly certain she intended you to hear it. 

Sure you weren’t overly confident in your outfit but the longer the night went on, the more you felt happy in your own skin. Others at the party were dressed like you, you didn’t stand out. If anything it’s her that looks out of place, a sequin dress and sky high slingbacks making her look like a christmas tree. And yet her words are cutting as deep as a knife. 

Your bottom lip threatens to wobble but you stay strong. You won’t break in front of either of them. 

The elevator rings, your floor finally arriving and you rush out without sparing them another glance. 

You don’t see how Seungcheol moves like he wants to say something to you or how once you’re out of the elevator he suddenly distances himself from the woman he was with, much to her confusion. 

You just rush to your room, rub the makeup off your face in a shower that’s so hot it’s only a few degrees below actually burning your skin and spend an hour making sure you’ve packed everything you came with. Making sure the leather skirt is right at the bottom of the pile. Just the sight of it makes you want to melt away in a puddle of embarrassment. 

You’ve so many feelings fighting for supremacy that you don’t know which to focus on most. Sure you’re embarrassed but the thing that’s annoying you is why you hated that woman before she’d even insulted you. You had every reason to loathe her now she’d made you feel like the ugliest runt in the litter but before that you wanted to end her. The second you saw her hands on Seungcheol’s skin you wanted something horrible to happen to her and you can’t explain why. 

You don’t get much sleep after all that. Just toss and turn with her words ringing in your ears as images of her and Seungcheol laughing about how pathetic you are, as they fuck each other race through your mind. 

And what’s even worse. Things are going to get a whole lot more uncomfortable.

Hua Hin- Thailand 

“Ok what's wrong?" 

All four members of Shadow take up a table and four seats on the coach taking them to the Thai resort they'll spend a few days at before the South American leg of the tour begins. It wasn't the whole crew, just the members, girlfriends and managers. And you. At everyone's insistence other than, of course, Seungcheol. 

The four of them had been having a little song writing session as the coach would take four- five hours. But Seungcheol hadn't joined in with any of it, not even when they'd purposely rhymed the same word twice just to annoy him, knowing he hates repeating words when they can't think of a proper rhyming couplet. 

“Nothing." 

“She was that bad?" 

“Who?" 

“Whoever you took back to your room." 

“Oh." He wriggles in his seat, “nothing happened. I asked her to leave, I wasn't in the mood." 

His three friends stare at each other wide eyed. 

“You weren't in the mood?" Dino clarifies. 

“Are you not well?" Hoshi asks. 

“I'm fine! Can't a man just not be in the mood?" His eyes flick up the bus but then back down at the wordless notebook. 

They all turn to look where he just has, knowing looks on their faces when they face each other again. Because it's you. You're who Seungcheol has just glanced at unknowingly and it's you who's been the only woman they've ever seen get under Seungcheol's skin. 

They've seen it happening right in front of their own eyes. How both of you proclaim to hate each other and yet you both search for each other in every room you go in. You both spend each day seeking each other out even if it is to be complete idiots. 

"How do you know when you've gone too far?” 

"What do you mean?” 

"Like when banter becomes bullying?” 

The three exchange looks and Dino kicks Mingyu under the table, silently telling him to take the lead. 

“What makes you ask that?" 

Seungcheol doesn't look up from the paper, instead he decides to just draw little flowers on the pages. But he needs to figure out what's going on, he can't keep feeling all these feelings every day. 

“Last night," he sighs, “that girl, she was really mean to _____. Basically called her ugly." 

“That's fucked up." 

“But…..is it…..is it fucked up that I didn't stick up for her?" 

“Yeah." 

“Dude what the fuck!" Hoshi kicks Dino. 

“What?! I'm just saying if you hear someone say that to anyone unprovoked then you should stick up for them. Unless it's some like seven foot dude with an axe." 

“Why are you and _____ the way you are?" 

“What?" Seungcheol’s eyes snap to Mingyu. 

“She's kind, she's funny, she's a bit shy, sure but she's part of the team. Why are you two the way you are?" 

“We're not like anything. Just normal." 

“We all know that's not true Cheol. There's something about her. And you know it." 

“I can't stand her." 

“Cheol, you look for her in every room apart from when you're partying because you know she's not there." 

“That's because I know she's going to pull some bullshit!" He shouts but lowers his voice when Woozi and Jeonghan turn around, luckily you have your headphones on and are deep in some game on your switch. 

"You've been turning up early to soundcheck then you know you can speak to her or annoy her at least.” 

"I've decided to be more professional,” he shrugs. 

"You're drawing the exact flower she has on her necklace.” 

All four of them look down at the piece of paper. Shit. It is the same flower that you have on a gold chain. You wear it every day, a small golden charm on the necklace, it was a gift from your parents when you graduated. Seungcheol knows that because he heard you tell Jeonghan when he asked about it, he remembers wanting to punch Jeonghan on the nose for daring to take an interest in you. He wanted to ask about it. Not Jeonghan. 

"That's not……I'm not…. Fuck I don't know what to do! I feel weird whenever she's around and I spend most of my time counting down the hours until it's time to meet up with everyone because I want to see her. And taunting her is the only way I think she'll talk to me. Because someone like her isn't going to be interested in me! Fuck the first day we met was because she came to my room and saw exactly how I behave! And I feel like my heart is physically breaking whenever she laughs and jokes with someone else because I want to do that. I want to make her laugh. And she looked so fucking pretty last night but I didn't think she’d come to the party! And I didn't know that woman would be such a bitch to her! And she looked so fucking sad and I did nothing. I'm having all these feelings and I don't know what they are or how to deal with them! I don't even like partying anymore! You know, the other day all I could think about was how much I wanted to just sit with her and hold her and talk to her! I've never just wanted to sit and talk to a woman!”  

He's gasping for breath by the time he's finished. All of them including Woozi and Jeonghan and Dino and Mingyu's girlfriends are looking at him in shock. Thankfully you're still blissfully unaware of the mini breakdown Seungcheol has just had at the back of the coach.  

"You need to tell her.” Dino's girlfriend chimes in kindly. "Not telling her will just make a huge mess.” She looks knowingly at Dino who just sends everyone an embarrassed smile. Everyone knows the chaos that went on between them on the last tour. 

"It's gone too far. Even if it hadn't, it definitely has now. She looked so fucking sad when she left the elevator last night. She isn't going to trust my intentions is she?!” 

"She will.” Mingyu nods. 

"Would you?” Seungcheol asks their girlfriends who are on the table next to them. 

"Well,” they look at each other. "Probably not? But!” Mingyu's girlfriend rushes to say, "I think you need to show her who you really are. Don't just go in with some big confession. She needs to know the real you, the one we all know. Not this idiot who knocked a drink all over her." 

“She did that to me first!" 

“Grow up." She deadpans as Mingyu giggles behind him. 

“How do I show her! I doubt she'll even talk to me." 

"You'll think of something.” 

"Yeah I doubt it," Seungcheol pouts, slamming his pen on the notebook. “I even downloaded a list of the best pickup lines last week when I'd convinced myself to do something. But I'm not gonna be one of those sad acts that creep up on women at bars with some awful line to be laughed at." 

“We're here!" Your voice breaks through the tension as you excitedly look through the windscreen and throw your headphones off your head. 

“Fucking great." Seungcheol grabs his bag and storms up the coach. 

“He’ll sort this out, won't he?" 

“I hope so. They’d make a cute couple and I'm never wrong, am I baby?" Mingyu's girlfriend taps his chest to back her up. 

“Never. She clocked you two the day you met." He smiles at Dino. 

“We weren't obvious!" 

“Whatever you say dude."

They all hurl themselves off the coach, not even noticing just how beautiful the resort is that Jeonghan found because they're all so lost in watching the way you try to avoid Seungcheol and how he can't seem to keep his eyes off you. That is apart from Mingyu who is happily accepting the snacks being offered by the resort staff as they all enter the main building.

“_____! We thought you'd gotten lost!" 

You smile at them as you sit down but in reality you're questioning everything. You didn't plan for this break and yes you've got summer clothes with you and bikinis, but you didn't really plan to be at a five star Thai resort. And after last night your usually high confidence was wavering. 

"I love your dress,” Mingyu's girlfriend says to you quietly as you sit between her and, sadly, Seungcheol, at the long ornately decorated table that's been set up by the golden beach. 

"Thank you. I didn't know we'd be coming somewhere like this. I think I'll need to check out the stores in the village tomorrow.” 

"Let me know when you go! We could go, all the girls together.” 

"I'd like that,” you smile. And for the first time today, it's a genuine one. 

She goes back to talking to Woozi about something and everyone else seems to be preoccupied too, so that just leaves you and Seungcheol. You fiddle with your thumbs before your eyes land on the wine bottle. But before you can even reach for it, Seungcheol grabs it. Does he have to do this? Does he have to carry it on even…..now…. What? 

“Why have you done that?" 

“You didn't have a drink." 

“But I could pour one for myself." 

“Well I needed a top up so I thought I'd do yours too." 

“Why?" 

“Why not?" 

You don't answer, just watch him and wait for him to take a sip of his wine. 

“What are you looking at?" 

“I want to see you drink it first. Make sure it's not poisoned or some shit." 

“You know what?" He turns to you like he's going to fire something back, “n-never mind." He takes a sip of his wine and goes back to staring into the distance. 

Well. That's new. Very new. Perhaps he's worn out from all the fucking last night and can't be bothered with you anymore. But the idea of him not even bothering with your usual banter leaves you feeling hollow. 

The meal passes in a cloud of laughter but you can't help feeling weird. Seungcheol doesn't say any shitty comments, he doesn't purposefully knock your food off the table, it's all very…..cordial? It's unsettling if anything. 

“Enjoy your bats!" Woozi laughs as he waves you off. 

“You can still always come with me? It's famous y’know!" 

“Sure it is," he beams at you, “I think I'll spend the whole evening by the pool." 

“Fair enough," you giggle as you walk back to your room. 

The second you found out where you were going, you were online looking for things to do. You loved making sure you'd seen the sights, the pool is great and everything but what if you never come here again? Every pool more or less looks the same, the sights don't. 

And it would work two fold, if they all broke off into couples or little groups, you had things to do so you wouldn't feel lonely. 

Amazingly, none of them felt like coming to see the bats of Na Yang cave leave for hunting this evening. But according to Trip Adviser it was well worth seeing. Each night thousands of bats leave the cave and even though you don't like bats in the slightest, it sounds like quite the sight to behold. 

You quickly change into shorts, t-shirt and sneakers, grab your camera that you knew would come in handy at some point and rush off to the main hotel building, where apparently a mini bus will pick you up to take you to the bats. 

Just as you're settling into your seat, the mini bus being a lot more packed than you thought it would be, the driver stops. 

“Sorry! Sorry! Thanks for waiting!" 

"No problem,” the driver says kindly. 

What the fuck is he doing here? You presumed he'd be heading out to find some bar or club later tonight. Does he want to upset you that much that he's willing to even ruin your excursion? 

"There's one seat left, you're lucky!” 

Well. That's where the driver is wrong. There's nothing lucky about the last seat available being next to you. You try not to look at his thighs as he sits down next to you. You try not to look at him at all. But his thighs touch yours on the crowded mini bus and you feel like you've been electrocuted. 

"Do you like bats?” He says after about twenty minutes of silence. 

"Not really.” 

"Then why are you going?” He frowns. 

“Because it's a once in a lifetime thing and you don't know if you'll ever come back here again." 

He just nods and you go back to sitting in silence, though neither of you move your thighs away from each other. 

“Just a few more minutes!” 

Thank god for that. The almost 45 minute drive had felt like a decade of your life had been taken away from you. 

“So is it like a couple of thousand bats?" 

“You don't know?" 

“No," he looks confused, “why should I know?" 

“Well surely this is something you wanted to see. If not, why are you here? I doubt there's many suitors at a bat cave." 

“Suitors," he grins, “damn you're right grandma, there probably isn't." 

You fight off a smile. This is just him being his usual annoying self, he was bound to stumble on a funny comeback eventually. 

“There's two million bats." You shew him off the bus now you've finally parked up. 

“TWO MILLION?!" He spins round and bangs into you, he's so close to you that you can smell his minty breath. He brushed his teeth for the bats? "I-I mean I knew that. It's just when you actually hear it that it shocks you all over again.” 

"Ok?” You say slowly. 

Neither of you move. Has he always had such pretty eyes? You knew he had pretty lips, you'd thought about his pretty lips a lot. They usually came up as a suggestion after you'd searched for his big, strong, meaty……fuck you need to stop thinking about his arms. It's a gateway drug to fantasising about him like you used to before you knew he was a giant dickhead. 

“Come on lover birds! The bats won't wait for romance!" 

You both jump away from each other, both clearly embarrassed at what the driver has just said. 

“The bats," you point and set off for the cave, following the other bat fanatics. 

“Woah," Seungcheol says as he looks up at the mountain. "The caves at the top?” 

"Yeah, they fly out each night. Why are you here if you don't know this?” 

"I was talking to the girl at reception and she suggested it.” 

"Oh.” Of course it's to do with a girl.

Seungcheol cringes to himself, he didn't mean that. He just panicked and needed a plausible reason for why he's suddenly turned up here. Truthfully he's only here because he heard you telling Woozi about it. He thought it'd be a way to start afresh, to show you he's not what you think he is. Or he doesn't want to be like that anymore at least. But he's already fucked it up. 

“Not long now! It can look a bit daunting but it's such a sight to behold!" 

You quickly get your camera ready with all the other tourists. 

“Do you want me to take it?" 

“Why?" 

“Then you can see it with your own eyes?" 

Why is he being so nice? 

“O-ok. Thank you,” you take the camera strap off from over your head and hand him your camera, “it's just that button, I've already set it up before the mini bus came." 

“Cool." He nods as his fingers graze yours. 

“Yeah." 

“Here they come everyone!!" 

You both turn to face the cave just as the biggest swarm of something you've ever seen in your life leaves the cave. It's like a never ending line. You knew two million bats would be a lot but this is like something from another world. Like how the world looked before humans ruined it and animals could just do as they pleased. 

"Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself as you watch the bats in awe. 

Seungcheol isn't watching the bats. He doesn't give a fuck about the bats. He got the photo straight away and then a far better sight caught his eye. Your whole face lit up in wonder as you stared at the sky in astonishment. He doesn't even realise he's doing it, he just moves on autopilot and turns the camera to you. You're meant to savour the most beautiful views and in his opinion, the sight in front of him is one of the most stunning he's seen. 

"So they'll hunt now until 6am tomorrow morning! Unless you've all brought your tents, I'll give you some time to explore the area and then we'll meet back at the bus? Say in twenty minutes?" 

“Can I have that?" 

“Oh!" Seungcheol hands you your camera, “sorry, didn't realise I still had it." 

“Did you get the picture?" 

He panics. He can't let you see the photo he's taken of you. Not whilst he's still here anyway. 

“I did!" 

“Great," you take his word for it and put the camera back down against your chest now the strap is back round your neck. 

“What do we do now?" 

“I was just going to grab a coffee from the stall and take in the view.” You start walking, presuming he'll want to do his own thing. 

"Cool.” He follows you. 

Why is he following you? Surely he doesn't want to spend time with you? 

When he pays for your coffee before you can get your card out, you start to feel like something truly odd is going on. He hasn't said a bad word to you, other than the grandma comment, and he's being weirdly timid. 

"They should have souvenirs." You grumble more to yourself than Seungcheol as you wait for everyone to get back to the minibus. 

“Yeah you'd think they'd sell little bat toys." 

“Are you making fun of me?" You'd been waiting for this, you knew he couldn't last this long without being an ass. 

“No! My mom likes trinkets and shit, I like getting her something from everywhere we've been. It's normally just a magnet from the stadium or something. I don't really visit places when we have breaks.” 

"I can imagine.” You know what he's implying. You know how he spends his time normally. 

"I’m pleased we saw this. It's been cool.” You hate how your heart leaps when he says “we". He'd planned this because some girl told him to, he's probably only done it then he thinks he gets her as a reward. It's got nothing to do with you at all. 

“Hey you could always have a copy of the picture if you'd like, get a frame or something from the market and put it in there. Like a homemade souvenir." 

“I'd like that." His eyes find yours again and once again you can't look away. “She'd like it too." He smiles and you're certain your heart has fully stopped working.

He's never smiled at you. He's smirked, he's sent you his evil grin, but never the smile he normally reserves for everyone but you. 

“No problem." You smile back, trying to look anywhere but at him then you don't start giggling. 

You don't speak much on the way back to the hotel, he heads off to find Hoshi at the bar and you head back to your room. 

Once you're washed and ready for bed, you make sure you transfer the photos from your camera. One trip to Greece where you didn't back it up once and lost everything, was enough to make sure you never made that mistake again. 

Seungcheol only managed to take two photos but as long as there's one there, you can keep your promise to help him with the souvenir for his mom. 

You check them both, the first one is amazing, exactly the right shot to show what an insane sight it was to witness. But the second one stops you in your tracks. He took this? He took this of you? The setting sun illuminates your face better than any highlighter ever has and the look on your face……well in the words of Keira Knightly, “I look quite pretty.". 

Something about him taking that photo makes you almost giddy. But you shouldn't read into you, he's just taken it by mistake probably. You cannot let yourself think this means something. He's Seungcheol. He hates you. And you hate him. 

"Does that pool have a massive floaty in it?” 

“It's probably for kids." Woozi dismisses you. 

“But do we know if it's for kids?" 

“Why?" He smirks at you over his fruit. 

It's just a few of you this morning. The two couples have gone on a day trip and you don't really have plans until the night market you want to check out later. And the huge inflatable assault course is looking more than appealing. 

“I'm just asking." You shrug. 

“They've got a climbing wall you know, that you can jump off into the pool." Seungcheol adds in. 

“REALLY? I mean…….really?" You say a bit more quietly, your cheeks heating. 

"We should go on them. Jeonghan booked out this whole resort so there's no kids here or anything.”  

You didn't know that. That changes things a whole lot more. You won't have to swat children into the pool when they get in your way on the climbing wall. 

"Do we really have to do that? It's meant to be relaxing?” Jeonghan sighs, fanning himself in the largest sunglasses you've ever seen. 

"When else do you get a whole water bouncy castle for yourself?” Seungcheol adds in. 

Fuck you wish he'd go and sit at another table. 

It's not even because he's annoying for once. 

You've never seen someone eat papaya the way he's doing. He's fucking devouring it and you've been trying your best to not just sit and watch. It's bordering on obscene as he licks and eats half a papaya in front of you all and you try your best to focus on the inflatables and not clenching your thighs together. 

The rest of them don't seem to care but you can't help letting your mind wander. His tongue looks like it knows exactly what it's doing and the juice that trickles down his chin could only be improved if it was your juice dribbling down his chin. 

"I thought you were coming to the spa with me?” 

You drag your eyes away from Seungcheol eating out the papaya and will yourself to stop imagining how much you'd enjoy him eating you out. 

“Jeonghan, we might not come here again. It's an empty resort with a fucking sick pool and shit. You go to the spa," 

Did he? He can't have just said that because that would insinuate that he actually listened to you when you said the bat cave was a once in a lifetime opportunity. That you should make the most of things whilst you're here. 

“I'll come to the spa with you. They can act like children in the pool." Woozi pulls his newspaper down like a dad deciding his kids’ itineraries. 

“Great!" Hoshi grins at you all. 

“There's even this bubble pool apparently, I don't know what it does but there's a water slide with a trampoline in the pool." You excitedly tell Seungcheol, somehow not remembering he's your sworn mortal enemy. 

Hoshi, Jeonghan and Woozi share knowing looks when Seungcheol says how cool it sounds and for the first time, they see you having a normal conversation. 

“I'm going to go get changed," you finish your orange juice and rush from the table, “I'll be back! Don't bounce without me!!" 

“It's going well then?" 

“What is?" Seungcheol frowns as he finishes his breakfast. 

“That was almost pleasant," Woozi chimes. 

“She's just excited about the water trampoline thing. I've told you, I've lost any chance I had.” 

"Where did you go last night?” Jeonghan changes the subject. 

"Oh…….nowhere,” Seungcheol dismisses them. 

"He followed _____ to the bats. Grinning like a mad man when he found me in the bar and didn't even stare at the woman behind the bar's ass.” 

“Fuck me." Woozi puts down his paper looking shocked. 

“Shut up. I'm going to change." 

He struts off, mentally deciding which of his swim shorts might make you forget all of his past behaviour and jump into his waiting arms. 

"I'm going to be the best man when they get married.” 

"Soonyoung. You've said that about all three of them. You can't be the best man for all three. You'll all need to rotate it." 

“Whatever." 

Ten minutes later and you're rushing to the pool, nothing but a baggy t-shirt covering your bikini clad body, your sandals in your hands and your hair tied up in a high pony tail. You didn't even have time to question whether it'd be awkward to be around Seungcheol, you just wanted to have fun, to forget any worries you had before today and take advantage of the insane surroundings you find yourself in. 

You don't think twice, just rush to the pool, leave your phone on the pool chair, take your t-shirt off and do a pretty impressive, olympic level dive bomb into the pool. 

Sure you're having a great time. But did you have any concern for Seungcheol's poor nerves? He hadn't even had a chance to make it to the pool and let you know he's there, before you did some sort of Baywatch shit and whipped your clothes off. He doesn't know whether to be endeared by how excited you are at the prospect of inflatable assault courses or rush off to the bathroom before you spot him, to sort out the slight situation that’s stirring in his pants. 

“I'd sort that out dude before you speak to her." Soonyoung pats his shoulder as he struts towards the pool.

“I think you've just done that creeping up on people. Don't be fucking weird." He catches Soonyoung up. 

“_____! You could've waited!" Soonyoung jokes. 

“Sorry! Get it in Hoshi! The water is literally so perfect!" You paddle backwards and beam at them both. 

“I've told you, call me Soonyoung." 

“You've literally never said that to me." You giggle, making Seungcheol's heart flutter and he suddenly gets the urge to headbutt Soonyoung. 

“Well I am now. Once you've been on a trampoline in a pool together, you're friends for life." 

“Fair enough," you turn away and start swimming whilst you wait for them. 

“Sorry." 

“What for?" Seungcheol asks as he gets in the pool, opting for the steps instead of your dive bomb method. 

“You looked like you wanted to slap me when she giggled. I promise to only make her miserable from now on." 

“I think I've made that my job," Seungcheol watches as you check out the inflatable as you swim past it, “and it was a headbutt." 

You can't remember when you last laughed so much. You've done the assault course five times, climbed the climbing wall and thrown yourself into the pool more times than you can count and the trampoline was a revelation. 

"This isn't what I thought a bubble pool would be.” 

"What were you expecting?” 

"Well not one big bubble. I thought it'd be lots of little bubbles.” You look around with your hands on your hips as you stare at the water spraying out of the top of the large mountain you find yourself atop of. 

“That's a jacuzzi." Seungcheol dead pans. 

“Oh yeah," you chuckle. “Do we just throw ourselves off it?" 

“Well we've thrown ourselves off everything else." 

"Come on then,” 

"Hey _____?” He asks but you've just bent your legs to throw yourself down the huge bubble and sort of wobble onto your ass. "Be careful!” 

He grabs you but any worry he had disappears when you fall on him in a fit of laughter at the way you've nearly bounced down the bubble. 

"L-lucky this is bouncy,” you giggle as you sit up between his legs, his arms still around you. "Oh! Sorry!”

You try to move back but he keeps you there. 

"Wait. I wanted to say something to you if that's ok?" 

“Er…..sure?" You glance at his hands on your waist and he pulls them away instantly. 

“Ok so I don't know how to say this." He scratches his neck, looking more than a little nervous, “can we start again?" 

“We've not bounced off the bubble yet, we can't do it again if we've not done it." 

“Not the bubble," he frowns, “us. I-I mean can we drop whatever we had going on and start again? I'm not normally a complete asshole to people, I know I can be arrogant and shit but I'm not normally like this with staff or anyone in general. And…..I've really enjoyed spending time with you, I'd like to spend more time with you I think." 

You feel like someones just burst the fucking bubble you're so shocked. 

"But you hate me.” 

"I don't hate you. I know you hate me but…..” 

"I don't hate you.” You interrupt.

You both sit still for a while just gazing at each other, the water fountain at the top of the bubble landing just past you and making it seem like you two are in your own little bubble on top of the actual bubble. 

"Soooo you think we could start again?” 

You wait an appropriate amount of time because you don't want to come off as desperate and say it straight away. But you'd be lying if you said you're not absolutely thrilled by this little development. This whole day has been insanely fun and you've spent the entire time with Seungcheol, joking and talking about water parks you'd been to as kids. It felt natural, you seemed to have so much in common that you didn't realise and you'd barely even had the chance to drool over his abs and back because everything was so exciting. 

"I think so.” You nod, smiling from ear to ear but trying to keep it cool. 

"I'm sorry for how I acted.” 

"No I'm sorry, I was no better,”

"Yeah but….” 

"Seungcheol,” you saying his name shuts him up straight away, "we said we'd start again. Let's just agree we're sorry and move on.” 

"You're sure?" 

“Mm-mm," you hum. 

“Come on, Soonyoung will be wondering…..wait where is Soonyoung?" 

“I haven't seen him since the third time we did the assault course," you look out onto the nearby pool that is adjacent to your huge bubble. “Wait," you snort, “he's asleep on that pool chair." 

“Thank fuck we've not actually lost him, I didn't even realise he'd gone.” 

"Me neither,"

You're drawn to his eyes again, both of you perched on the bubble, you still sitting between his legs and the warm afternoon sun shining down on you. 

"Did you say at breakfast you were going to the night market?” Seungcheol asks when a bang in the distance breaks the moment yet amazingly doesn't wake Soonyoung.

He stands up and then helps you up. Although you'd very much like to stay between his legs for the rest of the day in all honesty. 

"Yeah, they have all sorts of local food vendors and things apparently and all of the seafood you can imagine. Mingyu said they were going and he knew I wanted to go too, so we're all going together. You should come.” 

Shit. Is that too forward? He said he wanted to start again, he didn't say he wanted to spend this whole break with you. Which so far is what's happened. 

"I love seafood.” 

"Is that a yes?” You squint at him, trying not to smile. 

"Yeah, I'd like to go with you….I-I mean with you all," 

“Great," you smile, “now. Are we ready to bounce?" 

“Well I'm not sure, do you bounce down it in little bounces or one big bounce?" You both stare down the huge bubbly lump as water lands on your heads. 

“I don't really know bubble pool etiquette. Let's just jump and see what happens?" You hold your hand out for his. 

He stares for a second and then takes your hand, your fingers intertwined and both of your hearts hammering in your throats. 

“Ready?" 

“Absolutely." He squeezes your hand. 

“You look nice." 

You glance behind you, presuming Seungcheol is talking to someone else. 

“Me?" You point to yourself, you're just in a little sundress and Birkenstocks. 

“Who else would I be talking to, I'm walking with you." 

“You could've been talking to Mingyu," you shrug. 

“I told him he looked nice before we left the resort." 

“He always struck me as needy." You joke, enjoying that smile again you hadn't really seen before yesterday. 

You're all walking to the night market, it isn't a particularly long walk and it seemed pointless to get a taxi. As you're with the two couples, you've ended up walking with Seungcheol at the back of the group. 

"I’m sorry about what that girl said to you.” 

Your body tenses as you stop walking. 

"What?” 

"I'm sorry about what she said to you. I should've said something in the elevator, it was cruel and entirely uncalled for. I think you looked really good, better than good, sex….. really great!” 

"You don't have to apologise for your one night stands.” You start walking, not really wanting to talk about one of his many women. 

"I didn't sleep with her!” 

You all stop walking now, you're certain he didn't mean to say it that loud but to their credit, the others all keep walking and ignore what they just heard. 

“You didn't?" 

“No. I told her to leave before we got out of the elevator." 

Something about that makes you hope a little more than you had been doing. You can't be certain he didn't sleep with her because of you but it certainly seems that way. 

"Thanks for telling me? I guess," 

“I just wanted you to know, not that you should care if I think you look good. But you were upset and I wanted you to know," 

“Thank you," you walk a little closer, your arms occasionally brushing as you navigate the tiny streets to the night market. 

The night market, when you get to it, is packed. Somehow you'd manage to forget you're with the world's biggest rock band but now every so often, people do a double take. To their credit they keep their distance and leave you all to enjoy yourselves but more than once you see women checking Seungcheol out. They're probably looking at the Dino and Mingyu too but you couldn't give a fuck about that. 

Every one of these women is the enemy. Every one of them could end between the legs you were between a couple of hours ago. Fuck what the hell is wrong with you? He asked to start fresh and not take chunks out of each other, that's it, nothing more. You don't have a claim over him. 

“What do you want to try first?" 

“Oh well….." 

“SHRIMP!" Mingyu marches off. 

“What happened to democracy?" His girlfriend watches him disappear. 

“I could eat shrimp." 

“Me too!"

“Cheol you don't like…..” 

"I love shrimp! Come on before he eats it all.” 

You wander off after him, feeling a thrill when you note he's waited for you before he followed Mingyu. He didn't wait for the others, just you. Jesus get a grip woman!

"He's so embarrassing when he's down bad.” Dino laughs. 

"What would you class as down bad Chan? Stealing hotel room service carts?” Mingyu's girlfriend snickers as she walks off. 

"I didn't steal them!” He corrects her. 

"They know you didn't baby,” his girlfriend soothes, "but you did pay someone so you could use it, so it is possibly worse.” 

"It worked didn't it!” 

"And sadly I think that makes me as weird as you.” 

"Oh my god, that's insane,” you stare at the dish in front of you. 

"It's good right! We had it last time we were in Thailand,” 

You're sharing mango sticky rice with Seungcheol having stuffed your face with so much seafood you're surprised you could then fit in the massaman curry or the pad kra pao. 

"I can't believe they're sold out of rice balls, they're like sweet they're so fucking good.” 

You've had a drink and you're so full of food that all you've really focused on in that sentence are sweet and balls. Fuck what you wouldn't give to suck on…….

“______?" You snap your eyes to him, “did you want to try the mangosteen?" 

"Oh! No, I think I'll stick with my sticky balls…..I-I mean your sticky balls…..I MEAN the mango sticky rice.” 

You don't look at him, just stick your spoon in the rice and shove a load in your mouth, hoping he'll forget your little slip up. 

"_____, there's some stalls over there and these boring fucks don't want to come with me. Will you?” 

"Fucking rude,” 

"Don't be brat Mingyu.” His girlfriend reprimands him. 

His ears go pink but you're certain Mingyu likes being told off, he keeps going out of his way to piss her off like he's banking on something when they get back to the resort. 

“I'll come with you!" You smile, you did want to check out the souvenirs and local crafts. 

“I knew you wouldn't let me down." 

You both walk through the stalls taking in all the handmade crafts and little sweet treats but there's one specific thing you're looking for. You talk each other into buying things that remind you of the trip and out of shit you'd never use. Giggle about little things the guys have done and joke that Chan’s girlfriend will be going insane stuck with the three of them. And that's when you spot it, what you've been looking for, whilst you're in a huge queue for a necklace for Mingyu. 

“Hey I'll be back in a sec, I just want to buy something." 

“Sure, it's not like I'm moving very fast," 

“How much for the photo frame?" You ask the old lady on the stall that caught your eye.  

"2000.” 

Shit. You know that's not really that much, they just use large numbers in baht but it is still a little more than you were expecting. 

“1800?" 

“2100." You frown at the woman. What a crafty business woman you've stumbled on. 

“1900?" 

“2000." 

Well. You've got her down from 2100 you suppose. 

“Deal." 

She doesn't offer to wrap it, just shoves the simple bamboo frame in a plastic bag which you're certain has been used one hundred times already and launches it at you. 

“Thanks then." You glare at her. 

You stop in your tracks as you turn round to head back to the queue. That same feeling of wanting to scratch someone's eyes out rearing its ugly head because it's him. Seungcheol. With a woman in his arms just by the table you were all just sitting at. 

Why did you think it meant something more than just not being awful to each other? Of course he doesn't like you, he just told you that you looked nice because he felt bad about the other night. He doesn't want you, he doesn't think about you that way, you can tell that much by the way his hands are on the woman's waist, much like they were on yours earlier. 

Embarrassment floods you again, a feeling pretty similar to how you felt in the elevator but this time it's entirely your own fault. You're the idiot that got your hopes up. You're the idiot that had started to wonder if there was something there. You're the idiot who more or less told him you wanted to suck his balls. Christ you want the ground to swallow you up. He must be regretting ever offering to call a truce. He’ll probably have Woozi fire you for sexual harassment. 

You can't face him. You won't. 

“I'm going to head back," you rush once you're back at the queue. 

“Why? Is everything ok?" 

“Yeah, just feeling a bit sick. A few too many shrimp I think, or too much spicy food." 

“I'll get one of the guys to walk you back! Just let me get this necklace." 

“No, it's fine. Seriously, it's totally ok. I'm just going to get a taxi and head to bed." 

“Are you sure?" She asks, nothing but concern in her voice. 

“Yeah, probably shouldn't have done all that jumping off water bubbles before all that food!" You joke as you walk off, though it's entirely fake. 

"Message me when you're back at the hotel!” She calls after you but you just give her a thumbs up and rush to find a taxi. 

Maybe you could book a flight and be gone by the morning. Anything is better than dealing with the horrifying amount of feelings currently weighing you down.

Seungcheol is pissed. In every sense of the world. 

You left. You just upped and left and didn't even bother saying goodbye. He believed the whole "she's not feeling well and she's just going to bed” bullshit when he was only six beers into the evening. But now he's considerably past that and he doesn't believe a single word of it. You'd come and tell everyone surely, you wouldn't just leave. 

He wanted to woo you. He wanted to make sure you knew he was sorry. He wanted to tell you that he loved you more than anything and everything in this world. 

Well. 

Maybe not that last one but he definitely does like you. He was sure of that on the big bubble. The fact he only looked at your tits bouncing on the bubble once only proved that point further. He's down bad and you've just sauntered off into the sunset with his heart in your evil hold. 

So he's decided he's going to tell you. Just as soon as he gets back to his room and throws up. He's going to put you in your place and tell you just what you're missing out on. He's Choi Seungcheol for fucks sake, women throw their panties at him at every concert. He won't be ignored by a woman who’s lured him in with her bouncing bubble and then dropped him like he was shit on her shoe. 

He'd hammered on Woozi's door, demanding he give Seungcheol your number. Woozi didn't question it, he doesn't want to get involved in whatever the hell is happening and the sooner he could get back to bed, the better. 

So Seungcheol lies on his bed, his phone to his ear and ready to give you a piece of his mind. 

You don't answer though. 

Who doesn't answer the phone at 4am?! He could be dying. He could be already dead. Fuck, you really don't care about him at all do you? 

He hears the bleep ready to leave a message and suddenly he's lost all concept of what to say. 

“Hello? ______ it's me. It's Cheol. I mean Seungcheol. It's me, Choi Seungcheol of the band Shadow," this isn't fucking MTV, he cringes to himself, “I want a word with you young lady!!" Well now he just sounds like his dad. 

He hangs up. Starts anew on the beep. 

“Hello ______, it's me Seungcheol. You've…….you've…….b-broken my heart,” he sobs. 

And sobs. And sobs. Until eventually the phone falls from his hand and he somehow manages to hang up. 

Twenty minutes later and he's pissed again. 

He dials your number and waits for the beep. 

“You've got some nerve, you know that _____. You lure men in and then break their hearts! It's wicked! You harlot! You floosy! You crone! You….you……I'm gonna be sick again.” He hangs up and runs to the bathroom. 

Right, he stretches his neck and gears up to call again. 

He hears the beep and it's like his world stops on its axis. 

“I think I really liked you _____. Or like you. I don't know. You barged your way into my room that day and made a fool of me and ever since I've needed all of your attention," he burps down the phone, the beer still very much making itself known, “I know I'm a man whore. I know I'm arrogant. But I love my mom y’know? I love my parents. And I love my friends. And I give money to baby elephants, they need our help _____ and I'm doing my best for them I swear. I will save every last baby elephant if I can! They can all come stay at my place!" 

He holds back another sob at the thought of the tiny baby elephants. 

“But I can be better. That skirt looked so good on you and that elephant. What? No. Not the elephant, that woman had no right saying what she did. Such a fucking nice little leather skirt, I could really just……” his voice trails off as he thinks about how pretty the skirt would look around your waist with the added feature of his head between your thighs. 

"But you don't like me. Not how I like you. I've been too mean. But in my defense,” he leans to the side, "argh! Sorry! Nearly fell off the bed. In my defense you were too. You called me disgusting and my tummy felt all weird. Feels weird now to be honest…..” 

He hangs up again and rushes off to be sick. 

Comes back and waits for the beep. 

"It's me again. Seungcheol. You know how I know I like you? I don't even like shrimp," he burps again and grimaces at the idea of eating shrimp. “And some girl fell on me earlier and I didn't even want to fuck her. Just made sure she was ok and sent her on her way. I don't think she really fell," he whispers down the phone, like he's telling you a secret, “I think she wanted me. But I just want you. But I can't have you. And I respect that. So this is goodbye. Please try not to cry. But together we could fly?" He knits his brows together, is that a song or does he just rhyme when he's sad? “Bye then." 

He's ready to call it a night but then why should he? If you're saying no he's going to make damn sure he's done everything he can. He pulls up his notes app and dials your number again. 

"It's me.” He says sternly. "I did research, you know?! That's how desperate I've been this past few weeks. Now these are the best the internet has to offer, so if you still say no after all these, it's you that's the problem.” 

He coughs to clear his throat, holding his phone like a Shakespearean actor about to make his debut at The Globe, and starts reading. 

"Are you a parking ticket? Because you've got fine written allllll over you. Errrrr oh! Somebody calls the cops! Because it HAS GOT to be illegal to look that good," he's silent whilst he thinks about what he's just said. “That's what I should've said to her. Then you wouldn't have decided to hate me more than anyone in this world." 

He hangs up the phone and sobs again, remembering how sad you looked as you left the elevator. 

He dials and waits for the beep. 

“I'm back, sorry I got a little sad because the girl I Iike left the elevator looking like a sad puppy. Back to my list," he gets himself comfortable with his notes app open, “have you ever been in a car accident? Because I'd like to rear end you!" He throws his head back laughing, “I like that one. It'd work on me I think. But you could read me the obituary and it would work on me," he stares at the wall before he remembers his mission, “ARE YOU A BIRD ENTHUSIAST? Because you look like you've seen a cock or two!” 

He looks in horror at his phone before hangs up and throws it to the end of his bed. 

"What have you done Seungcheol?!” He paces around the room with his head in his hands, "ring her back. Find a nice one and ring her back. She'll like that.” 

He rushes for his phone and dials your number again. He knows just the thing to rectify this. 

"_____?” He says softly. "I didn't mean that one. I've got one I do mean." He takes a deep breath, “they say you are what you eat and I’d like to be you?” He mumbles, "NO that isn't it. Wait! Just wait one second!” He thumbs the screen and finds the actual line he wanted, "Ok, I got it," he takes a deep breath, “I'm lost, can you give me directions to your heart?"

He sniffles, tears falling down his cheeks and silently hangs up the phone. He won't be able to sleep, he knows he won't. So he opts for a shower and makes himself a coffee to sober up a bit. 

What a fucking mess. He just hopes you don't quit because of him. Everyone loves you, Woozi would be lost without you and, even if he can't have you, he can't not see you. That would ruin him. 

You woke up a little before six, not that you'd really been asleep that long. When you got back to your room you tried your best but sleep just wouldn't come. 

The sun was bright and the blue skies looked more than inviting as you reached over to check your phone. You didn't think much of the amount of messages. There was a time difference and you were always getting calls from different people for Woozi. Though he'd told you to leave getting back to them until after your little break, unless it was really urgent. 

None of the messages you've ever had before in your life though have ever sent you on the emotional rollercoaster that the ones this morning did. 

You listened to them all. Three times in fact. Your smile growing each time you listened now you knew how they ended. 

What you saw last night wasn't what you thought was happening. You just presumed it was because it's him, flirting with women is what he does. 

And the pickup lines, though cheesy, boarding on offensive at times, only made your smile wider. 

You needed to fix this, you needed to find him and one, check he doesn't have alcohol poisoning and two, tell him that you feel exactly the same way he does. 

The man at the reception desk wasn't thrilled when ran to the desk at 6:15 and demanded use of their printer. You're fairly certain he only agreed because you scared him a little bit. But he let you and you managed to print out the picture of the bats. It wasn't the best quality paper, you'd have preferred a proper photo paper option but it was the best you could do at short notice. 

So with the photo in the frame and the frame in a much nicer bag you'd managed to “borrow" from the giftshop when the man at reception wasn't looking, you headed to his room. 

Yes, it's early, but if you don't do this now, you never will.

This is like history repeating itself. You knocking on his door and him blatantly ignoring you. Thankfully there's no noise you'd rather not hear this time. But he's still ignoring you. 

Why did you think he'd answer? He's clearly pissed at you and he's clearly not been asleep for very long judging by the time on those messages. If anything, you've probably fucked him off more by hammering on his door.  

You take a deep breath and turn around. He isn't going to talk to you. You just need to deal with that. 

Deciding you need fresh air, you head to the beach. You hadn't been down there yet and by all accounts it was one of the most pristine golden beaches in the country. 

As you walk down the path to the beach, shoulders you recognise come into view. He's here? He's not going to throw himself in the ocean surely? You can't have driven him to that frame of mind. You'll never get over it and you probably won't have to. By the time Shadow fans hear about it, you'll be skinned alive. 

“Seungcheol?" You say quietly as you come to stand by him. 

His head whips up to you and the sight of him wiping tears from his eyes breaks your heart. 

“What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Why are you awake?" 

“I could say the same to you." You smile softly, “it's barely been two hours since your phone calls." 

“I haven't been to bed yet," he sniffs and looks back at the ocean, “just showered and came here. I needed to clear my head." 

You just hum and follow his eyes to the ocean. 

“Can I sit with you?" 

“I can't really stop you." He shrugs, still looking at the gentle waves.

"You can tell me not to.” 

You wait for a moment but he doesn't say anything and so you take that as you sign to sit next to him. 

“I lied." 

“What?" He looks at you confused. 

“I lied." You sigh. “I didn't feel ill. Well, I sort of did. I'd just bought you something from one of the little stalls and I looked up and you had that girl in your arms. I just saw red, every woman I've ever seen you with has made me see red. Though it's only these past few days I've admitted that to myself.” 

"But why?” 

"Because I like you. And I thought you liked me, I thought this truce was your way of starting something with me. And so when I looked up and saw what I did, I just felt so stupid. And I'd had a drink and said that about the balls, I couldn't face you. Or her.” 

"She fell……..” 

"I know, I listened to the messages.” you stop him. 

"All of them?” He winces. 

"All of them.” You smile. 

“I’ve liked you for weeks." He draws absent mindedly in the sand but seeing no reason to not be honest, “I just didn't know I did. This back and forth we had going on that first day, it became routine. I wanted your attention, I wanted to be around you all the time. But I've never felt like that. I've never felt like this. And so I thought I don't need to figure out my feelings as long as I can still be near you and we could still argue. My head has been so messed up, I've never had these feelings before. I haven't even fucked anyone since that time we met." 

“You still don't know her name," you narrow your eyes at him. 

“I do!! It's….well it's……..I don't actually remember her name because the only woman I care about is you.” 

"Nice save,” you grin even though your heart is doing somersaults. 

"Thanks,” he smiles sadly. "And then I decide fuck it, nothing is ever going to happen, and I pounched on the first poor woman I saw.” 

"The one in the elevator?” 

"Hm-mm,” his eyes darken, "and then I let her do what she did and I hated myself. I knew I'd gone too far, I knew I finally had to do something. And so I do and then….” 

"And then I ruin it.” You finish his sentence. 

"Well I was going to say the girl who pretended to fall.” 

"It was me. We both know it.” 

Silence descends, the sound of waves rippling onto the shore being the only thing that breaks it. It isn't tense or filled with hatred, it's a weirdly content silence.

"I got you something.” 

He just looks at you, obviously not really knowing what to say. 

"Well it's more for your mom.” You hand him the bag. 

"Can I open it then? Or should I wait?” 

"No, open it, please. There's a note in there too, but that's for you not your mom.” 

He frowns a little, not really sure why you've put a note in when you're talking to him, but he opens it anyway. 

The frame is first, his eyes softening when he pulls it out of the bag and sees that you've kept your promise on helping him with a souvenir for his mom. 

"She'll love it,” he beams at the photo. 

"I really liked the photo you took. I really liked both of the photos you took." 

His bright eyes find yours and you're relieved to see that the tears that fall now aren't quite as sad as the ones that fell when you arrived. 

“I read you should always take photos of the beautiful things, to remember them. So that's what I did." 

Your whole heart feels like it might explode. You're not worried about feeling like an idiot anymore. You've made big enough idiots of yourselves. All you feel now is thankful that you decided to get some air, that you found him here and now you hear words like that coming from his perfect lips. 

"There's a note in there too,” 

Seungcheol takes it out and as his cheeks turn pink, the most glorious laugh you've ever heard echoes around the empty beach. 

Seungcheol, 

I was wondering if you had an extra heart? Mine was just stolen. 

“That," he laughs, wiping his cheeks, “is far cheesier than any of mine." 

“Maybe," you giggle, “but at least it's not offensive." You try to speak very seriously. 

"I really didn't mean the cock or two one,” 

"Oh but you did mean the one about rear ending and that you are what you eat?” You challenge. 

"I mean, that depends.” 

"On what?” 

"On whether you'll be my girlfriend?” He says awkwardly, "I've never done it before. A relationship I mean and I can't promise I'll be great at it. But all I know is I want to be near you, I want to be the one who makes you smile. If you'll let me.” 

You search his eyes, they're different from the ones that looked back at you when he first opened his hotel room door. Just as beautiful but now there's something more in them, an honesty that tells you he's telling the truth. And that he does care and he does want to try this with you. 

“I don't use my best pickup lines on just anyone you know," you say as loftily as you can, “I only keep those for the men I want to be my boyfriend." 

His whole face brightens, any little worries he had that you'd still say no evaporating on the spot. 

“Can I kiss you?" He edges closer, looking at your lips. 

“That depends." 

“On what?" he frowns. 

“Please tell me you brushed your teeth after you showered. For one of those messages you hadn't actually put the phone down properly until after you'd been sick. The breath must've been….." 

“Hey," he takes your cheek in his hand and shuts you up, “I'm not an animal," 

“I was just checking," you mumble, transfixed by his lips and the way your cheek seems to fit perfectly in his hand. 

“You're so annoying." He whispers, so close to your lips that you can taste his minty breath. 

His lips touch yours for the first time in the softest kiss you've ever received. It's barely there and yet the weight of the meaning behind it fills your heart. 

It's like that first touch was a test, to check you wanted this and didn't run away from him. Because he pulls back for a second, stares down at your lips and closes the space between you again. One hand on your waist and the other still cupping your cheek but this time it’s frantic. Like he wants to make sure that this kiss makes up for those weeks of fighting and trying to hurt each other. 

He pushes you back onto the sand and takes your gasp in shock as the perfect opportunity to let his tongue dance with yours. His hand that was on your cheek now rests just beside your head on the sand, the big arms you admired for so long caging you in. You've wanted to feel them for so long, so you don't think twice. Your hands grip his biceps as the kiss turns sloppy. Both of you wanting to show the other his serious you, how much you both want this. 

It's only when you moan at the feel of his hardening dick through his shorts that Seungcheol seems to snap out of his need to swallow all of your gasps. 

“We should stop." He says softly, though doesn't pull away. 

“Why? There's nobody here." 

“I don't want to, you know, have sex. I want to do this properly, not that I really know what properly is. But I want to take you out, make sure you know I'm serious." 

“I know you're serious," you point out, gazing up at him and moving his hair off his face, “but I get it. I don't want to have sex yet either. But I don't see any reason we can't carry on the kissing." 

"Is that right?” 

"Hm-mm. But could we do it somewhere else? I'm sure a tiny crab just crawled up my shorts.”

"Oh shit!” He helps you to your feet as you stomp around trying to excavate the crab before it reaches your ass. 

"Get out, get out, get out!” You flap until eventually you see a tiny crab fall from your shorts. "Oh thank fuck for that!” 

“Better?" 

“Much. Imagine having to tell the guys your girlfriend's got crabs." 

“Oh god," he groans as he pulls a cackling you towards him and holds you close, “that's a fucking terrible joke." 

“Well you need to laugh! It's what boyfriends do!" 

“Why do I feel like that's going to be said a lot to make me do things I don't want to do." 

“Because it is," you kiss him, “and I do have something I want you to do." 

“Oh yeah?" He smirks. 

“Not that? Although we do need to talk about the way you ate out that papaya, it was like something off pornhub." 

“Why are you watching pornhub?" He grins. 

“I’m not, I only consume ethical pornogrpahy." 

“You read Game of Thrones smut." 

“I do n…how do you know that?!” 

"I read it over your shoulder once.” 

"What a pervert!” 

"I'm not the one reading Stark smut!” 

"Well that's only because I don't sleep with people who I don't even know the name of!” 

"Are you slut shaming me?” 

"Yes!” 

"Well,” he huffs, "my own girlfriend,” your heart flutters at the word, "betraying me. Lucky I've only got eyes for one woman now.” 

"Is she hot?” 

"The hottest.” He smirks. "Come on, let's get breakfast. You can watch me eat papaya and tell me all the dirty things you want me to do to it.” He grins as he pulls you along, not forgetting the bag with his mom's photo and the note he'll treasure forever. 

"What did you want me to do then?” 

"That bag,” you walk hand in hand off the beach and back towards the outside tables of the restaurant, "I technically stole it?” 

He stops and looks at you in horror. 

"It wasn't my fault! The old lady, who by the way is a terrifyingly good business woman, put it in a bag which I'm certain was first used in the eighties! And the shop wasn't technically open and I couldn’t not put it in a bag. So I stole it? Well, I borrowed it. If I give you the money, could you give it to them please?" 

“It's one bag. It barely costs anything. Just leave it." 

“No! Please! I'll do whatever you want.” 

"Whatever I want?” He quirks his brow at you and you feel your heart and pussy tingle. 

"Within reason.” 

"I'll do it,” you both set off walking again, "so long as you wear that leather skirt again on our first date.” 

"Deal.” You grin, kissing his cheek and happily gliding towards the hotel. 

"I've got plans for that leather skirt.” 

"I know you do. You didn't say it in your head about the added feature you'd like to make, you said it out loud. I heard it all. Lucky for you, I've thought a lot about where I'd like your head.” 

He drops your hands and watches open mouthed as you keep walking towards the hotel, making an extra effort to sway your hips. 

“Well come on then! I thought you'd promised me a show!" 

“Fucking hell." He whispers, almost in awe. 

“I think they're actually being more competitive now." Soonyoung complains as he looks over his sunglasses. 

“You'd think they'd be nicer to each other, ______ just nearly took him out with that inflatable ball." 

They're all watching in horror as you and Seungcheol take on the inflatable assault course again in the pool. 

“I don't think you'll need to worry about being the best man at the wedding Soonyoung. They'll have killed each other before then," they all wince and sit back in their seats as they see you hit the deck and land on your ass because of Seungcheol. 

"Please, can we all agree that we will never play board games or computer games with them.” Mingyu jumps as you dive into the pool with a shriek, "I think they'd both cause serious bodily harm if they lost monopoly. 

“Imagine Mario Kart." 

“Blood bath." Woozi and Jeonghan speak in unison, shaking their heads. 

"OH FOR GOD'S SAKE! DO THEY HAVE TO KEEP DOING THAT?! MY EYES!” 

"It's ok honey, I'll tell you when it's stopped,” Mingyu's girlfriend covers his eyes as she looks fondly at you and Seungcheol in the pool. 

She's never wrong about these things, she told them all that. 

And from the way you're currently so lost in each other, you're more or less dry humping in the pool as you steal each other's oxygen. She's still got that winning streak. 

She knew one day someone would come along who would drag Seungcheol out of his predictable rock star ways. She just thanks the universe that it's you. Someone who's come to mean so much to all of them, but everything to Seungcheol.

🏷️ @rutheaflowers @bramos91 @fzenn @blueyedqtpie1186 @coupsv @vwintershire @toohyperactiveforyou12 @cheolwoo @jaja-salute @sejeonggggg @epelletart @wonwooslefttiddie @fwairychlo3 @joongtime @4kwp @ninigyuuu @sami4jeonghani @ashlinxloves @cardi-bre91 @adoreuzi

Relax. Easy for him to say. He’s spent years navigating red carpets and camera flashes and thousands of strangers screaming his name. You’ve spent your career navigating finger paints and nap-time negotiations.

But you nod anyway, because his hand is warm and his eyes are steady, and when he leans down to kiss you—slow, unrushed, the kind of kiss that says we have time—you let yourself believe him.

The morning passes in a blur of small, necessary tasks. You help Wonwoo pack Miguel’s overnight bag while the boy himself ricochets around the living room, far too excited about his impending sleepover to stand still long enough for socks. Wonwoo’s aunt arrives just before eleven, let in by a key she’s clearly had for years, and the moment she steps through the door you understand where Wonwoo gets his gentleness.

She’s a soft woman with rounded cheeks and a smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Her movements are unhurried, her voice a low, melodic hum as she kneels to greet Miguel at his level. When Wonwoo tells her that you are now his girlfriend, she takes your hand in both of hers and squeezes.

“I'm so happy you’re the one,” she says, and there’s no judgment in it, only warmth, only welcome. “He’s been smiling more lately. I wondered what changed.”

You blush. Wonwoo looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“We should go,” he says, which is the closest thing to I’m embarrassed and I love it that you’ve ever heard from him.

Miguel wraps his arms around your legs in a fierce goodbye hug, then launches himself at his father. The aunt shoos you both toward the door with laughing reassurances—she’s got this, she’ll call if anything happens, go, go, go—and then you’re in the car, and the house is shrinking in the rearview mirror, and the road to the city stretches ahead like a ribbon of possibility.

The drive takes two hours. Wonwoo handles the wheel with that same quiet mastery he applies to everything, one hand resting on your thigh while the other guides the car through highway traffic. You watch the suburbs bleed into industrial parks, then into the sharp, glittering skyline of downtown. Your anxiety spikes with every mile.

“Babe.”

“Hm?”

“Just a reminder I need to stop somewhere. A mall. A boutique. Something.” You twist your fingers in your lap. “I still don’t actually have anything to wear tonight.”

He glances at you, and a slow smile spreads across his face, the kind of smile that suggests he knows something you don’t. His hand squeezes your thigh once, reassuring. “It’s handled.”

“Handled how?”

“I have entirely everything sorted out.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, his tone rich with quiet amusement, “that you should trust me.”

You want to press further, but something in his expression, the calm certainty of it, the way he’s already thought of everything. It makes you close your mouth. Outside the window, the city rises up to meet you. Towers of glass and steel. Billboards flashing advertisements for movies you’ve never heard of. Somewhere in the distance, the theater marquee is probably already lit.

Wonwoo pulls into the underground parking garage of a hotel so elegant that you feel underdressed just looking at it. The valet greets him by name. The concierge hands over a key card with both hands and a slight bow. You’re whisked through a marble lobby, into an elevator paneled in dark wood, and deposited on the thirty-second floor before you can fully process any of it.

The suite is enormous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city skyline, skyscrapers glittering in the afternoon sun, the distant curve of the river, a sky so blue it hurts to look at. The bed is king-sized, draped in white linen, and the bathroom is entirely marble with a soaking tub big enough for two.

“You did all this?” you ask, turning in a slow circle.

“I made a few calls.” Wonwoo sets your bag down by the closet. He’s watching you with a quiet, private satisfaction, the way someone might watch a person open a gift they spent weeks choosing. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” You flop backward onto the bed, arms outstretched, and stare up at the ceiling. The mattress is absurdly comfortable. “I’m never leaving.”

He laughs—a genuine, surprised sound that makes your chest tighten—and then he’s climbing onto the bed beside you, settling against the pillows with a contented sigh. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, pulling you close until your head rests against his chest.

You lie like that for a long while. Room service arrives with lunch—fresh salads, delicate sandwiches, a plate of fruit arranged like art. You eat cross-legged on the bed, trading bites, talking about nothing important. Miguel’s latest obsession with sea creatures. The way the stylist you haven’t met yet apparently once made Wonwoo wear a suit entirely covered in sequins for a music video. He tells the story with such dry, self-deprecating humor that you nearly choke on a strawberry.

It’s easy. It’s so easy with him.

The afternoon sun shifts, gilding the skyline in amber, and you feel the hours slipping toward the thing you’ve been trying not to think about.

Then the knock comes.

Three people sweep into the suite like a warm front. A woman with razor-sharp cheekbones and pink-streaked hair, and two men who move with the effortless elegance of people who have spent decades making other people beautiful. They are Wonwoo’s old industry stylists, and the moment they see him, they descend.

“Look at you!” The woman, Jiah, pulls Wonwoo into a tight hug, her laughter bright and genuine. “Hiding away in the suburbs, growing out your hair, looking like a professor. We missed you.”

“We absolutely did not,” says one of the men, but he’s grinning as he claps Wonwoo on the shoulder. “The drama. The stress. The late nights. My blood pressure is so much better now.”

“Your blood pressure is terrible because you drink too much coffee,” Jiah fires back. She turns to you, her sharp eyes softening. “And you must be the plus-one.”

Wonwoo’s arm slides around your waist. “My girlfriend,” he corrects, and his voice is steady and proud and leaves absolutely no room for doubt.

The word lands in the center of the room like a stone dropped into still water. The stylists exchange glances—quick, meaningful, the kind that speak volumes—and then they’re beaming at you, all three of them, their welcome so warm you feel heat flooding your cheeks.

“Well,” Jiah says. “Let’s get started.”

They set up by the window, taking advantage of the natural light. You’re guided into a chair, and Jiah’s hands are immediately in your hair, combing, twisting, murmuring to herself about texture and hold and the exact shade of your complexion. The makeup artist, one of the men, unpacks an arsenal of brushes and palettes, his expression intensely focused.

“You have incredible bone structure,” he tells you, tilting your chin toward the light. “Don’t move.”

You don’t move.

For an hour, you sit in a haze of powder and pigment, of cool brushes against your eyelids and warm fingers working magic through your hair. Somewhere behind you, Wonwoo undergoes his own transformation—quicker, lighter, just a touch-up to sharpen features that were already devastating to begin with. You catch glimpses of him in the mirror: the crisp line of his jaw being dusted with powder, the way he closes his eyes when they brush something across his brow, the quiet patience in his posture.

When Jiah finally steps back and says, “Done,” you barely recognize yourself.

The woman in the mirror has sleek, soft waves cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes are luminous, her lips a subtle rose, her skin glowing like she’s been lit from within. You blink, and she blinks back.

“Stunning,” Jiah breathes. “Absolutely stunning. Now—the dress.”

One of the men—the one whose name you didn’t catch, the quieter one—gestures toward the bathroom. A garment bag hangs from the doorframe, sleek and black and promising. He guides you inside with a gentle hand on your elbow.

The bathroom is all white marble and warm lighting. The stylist unzips the garment bag with a flourish, and your breath catches.

The dress is pastel yellow. Delicate. Form-fitting, with a high neckline and a skirt that pools just above the floor. The fabric is covered in the faintest shimmer—not gaudy, not loud, just a whisper of sparkle that catches the light when you move. And the back.

The back is open. Low. Dangerously, breathtakingly low.

“He picked it himself,” the stylist says as he helps you step into it. His voice is soft, almost reverent. “Wonwoo-ssi. He looked at dozens of options, and the moment he saw this one, he said—’That’s the one. That’s hers.’”

Your throat tightens. You can’t speak.

The dress slides up your body, the fabric cool and impossibly smooth. The stylist zips you with careful, precise movements, then steps back to examine his work.

“Perfect,” he declares. “Go. He’s waiting.”

You step out of the bathroom, and the world stops.

Wonwoo stands by the window, his back to you, silhouetted against the blazing orange sunset. He’s in a black suit that fits him like it was stitched directly onto his body. Sharp shoulders, narrow waist, long, elegant lines. His hair is swept back from his forehead, and without his glasses, his features are striking in a way that makes your knees feel unreliable.

He turns.

His eyes find you.

And for a long, suspended moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His gaze travels down the length of your body, the shimmer of the fabric, the bare expanse of your back visible in the mirror behind you, and something in his expression fractures and reforms into something raw.

“Baby.” Spoken like a prayer.

You manage a shaky smile. “Hi.”

He crosses the room in three strides. His hands find your waist, spanning the curve of it, his thumbs pressing into the fabric like he’s afraid you might dissolve. Then his gaze drops—to his own chest, to his tie.

Pastel yellow. The exact same shade as your dress.

“You matched me,” you whisper.

“I’m not hiding tonight.” His voice is low, fierce, certain. “Not you. Not us. Not anymore.”

The stylists pack up and leave in a flurry of final adjustments and breathless compliments. The door clicks shut behind them, and suddenly the suite is very quiet and very still.

You find yourself standing before the floor-length mirror, staring at the stranger in the yellow dress. She looks like someone who belongs at a premiere. She looks like someone who knows what she’s doing. She looks nothing like the daycare teacher who spends her days covered in paint and glitter glue.

Your hands tremble.

Wonwoo appears behind you. His reflection slots into place beside yours. Dark suit, sharp jaw, steady eyes and his large hands settle on your waist with a weight that grounds you.

You meet his gaze in the mirror and the truth spills out before you can stop it. “My heart's beating so fast. I'm nervous.”

His chin drops to your shoulder. His breath is warm against your bare skin. “I know.”

“What if I trip? What if I say something stupid? What if they look at me and think I don’t belong there?”

His hands tighten on your waist. “You belong everywhere I am.”

He presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, a soft peck, a whisper of reassurance.

And then his voice drops, darker, lower. “If it’s too much... if you want to stay here, just the two of us, no cameras, no noise, say the word. We don’t have to go. I’ll call Mingyu. He’ll understand.”

The offer hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. The suite. The bed. The city glittering below. Him. You. Hours of uninterrupted quiet.

It’s tempting. God, it’s tempting.

But you think of Mingyu, his boisterous laugh, his easy charm, the way he’d looked at Wonwoo when he handed over that black envelope. His big night.

You turn within the circle of Wonwoo’s arms, your bare back brushing the mirror, and press your palms flat against his chest. The fabric of his suit is cool beneath your fingers. His heartbeat thrums steady and strong.

You rise on your toes and kiss him firm, lingering, a promise.

“Mingyu is expecting you,” you murmur against his lips. “We can’t bail on him.”

And also you don’t say this part, but you feel it, you don’t want to hide. Not anymore. Not when he’s standing here in a suit that matches your dress, looking at you like you hung the moon.

Wonwoo exhales slowly. His forehead drops to yours. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He kisses you once more, shorter this time, sweeter. And then he straightens, offers you his arm, and guides you toward the door.

The car is sleek and black and smells of leather and something faintly floral. The event provided it, part of the VIP package, and the driver navigates the evening traffic with practiced ease. The theater is only ten minutes away. Ten minutes of your heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your temples. Ten minutes of Wonwoo’s hand covering yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles.

And then the car stops.

The door opens.

The noise hits you like a physical force.

Blinding camera flashes. Roaring screams. Thousands of voices chanting his name—Wonwoo! Wonwoo! Jeon Wonwoo!—in a wave of sound so overwhelming it vibrates in your chest. The red carpet stretches ahead like a river of crimson, lined on both sides by photographers and fans and security guards in black suits.

You step out, and the world explodes.

Cameras swing toward you. The paparazzi are shouting, their voices overlapping into an incomprehensible din, but one question cuts through with startling clarity.

“Who’s the lady?”

Another voice: “Is that his date?”

Another: “Who is she?”

You freeze.

Wonwoo is beside you in an instant. His hand finds yours and doesn’t let go. He tugs you gently, firmly, until you’re pressed against his side—no distance, no ambiguity, no room for speculation.

And then you’re moving down the carpet together, his arm a solid anchor at your waist, his body angled slightly toward yours like a shield. The cameras keep flashing. The fans keep screaming. But the chaos feels muted now, filtered through the steady rhythm of his steps beside yours.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. “Should I tell them exactly who you are?”

You look up at him, at the sharp line of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his dark eyes. And a wild, reckless thrill surges through your chest. A camera flashes directly in your face. You smile, bright and unguarded, and whisper back.

“Keep them wondering.”

He laughs, a low private sound that no one else can hear over the roar. He squeezes your hand. You pose together, his thumb stroking the curve of your hip, his expression serene and faintly smug. For the first time in years, Jeon Wonwoo is being photographed. And he is not hiding.

The cinema swallows you into cool darkness. Heavy velvet doors swing shut behind you, muffling the chaos into a distant hum. The theater is opulent—red velvet seats, gilded balconies, a ceiling painted with constellations. Ushers guide you to your seats near the front, and you sink into the plush cushion with a shaky exhale.

Wonwoo’s fingers lace through yours on the armrest.

The lights dim.

The screen flares to life.

And Mingyu appears, larger than life, commanding the screen with an intensity that makes your breath catch. He is good. Genuinely, astonishingly good—not riding on charm or looks alone, but inhabiting his character with a depth that draws you in and refuses to let go. You watch him move through scenes of heartbreak and humor, of quiet vulnerability and explosive rage, and you understand why he’s here. Why this premiere matters. Why Wonwoo had to be in this seat tonight.

When the credits roll, you’re wiping your eyes.

Wonwoo glances at you. Says nothing. Just squeezes your hand.

The VIP crowd is flooded of designer gowns and champagne flutes. You navigate it with Wonwoo’s hand steady on your lower back, his presence parting the sea of industry professionals and celebrities with an almost gravitational force. People stare. People whisper. No one dares to approach—not yet.

Mingyu is surrounded by a cluster of well-wishers near the exit, his exhaustion visible even through his radiant smile. When he sees you and Wonwoo approaching, the weariness lifts. His face breaks open into pure, unguarded delight.

“You came,” he says, pulling Wonwoo into a hard embrace. “Both of you. You actually came.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Wonwoo murmurs, and there’s a thickness in his voice you’ve only heard once before—when he told you about the night Mingyu sat with him until dawn.

Mingyu pulls back, blinking rapidly. He turns to you, and his grin is wide and wet. “And you. Stunning. Absolutely stunning. What are you doing with this old man?”

“Old man?” Wonwoo arches an eyebrow.

“You’re almost forty, hyung. That’s ancient.”

“I’m not ancient.”

“Ancient.”

Before Wonwoo can retort, the photographers descend. They swarm around the two men—the best friends, the legends—cameras clicking in a frenzy. You step back to give them space, but Wonwoo’s hand snags your wrist and pulls you right back in. You stand at his side, his arm around your waist, as the shutters fire and the questions fly.

This is the photo that will run tomorrow. The one they’ll use. The one that says, Jeon Wonwoo is back. Jeon Wonwoo is here. And he is not alone.

You skip the afterparty.

Instead, you end up in the hotel’s upscale restaurant on the ground floor, still fully dressed in your premiere attire, ordering late-night pasta and a bottle of wine you can barely pronounce. The dining room is elegant and dimly lit, all candle glow and white tablecloths, and the moment you walk in, the hum of conversation drops by several decibels.

Every eye turns.

You feel the weight of their stares. Curious, assessing, hungry. Whispers ripple through the room like wind through grass. Wonwoo guides you to a corner table with absolute composure, his expression serene, his posture relaxed. He holds your chair for you. Pours your wine. Touches your hand across the table as if no one else exists.

“Does the attention bother you?” you ask quietly.

“I stopped noticing it years ago,” he says. “But I notice you. That’s enough.”

The heavy hotel room door clicks shut.

For a heartbeat, there is only silence. The soft glow of the city through the windows. The distant hum of the air conditioning. The faint, lingering scent of your perfume woven into the fabric of your dress.

Then Wonwoo moves.

His hands find his pastel yellow tie that matches your dress, a deliberate declaration. He yanks it loose in one sharp motion. The silk whispers through his collar and drops to the floor. His jacket follows, discarded over the armchair. His gaze never leaves you.

“Do you know,” he says, his voice low and rough, “what it was like? Watching you on that carpet? Under those lights? Everyone looking at you?”

You swallow. Your back meets the door.

He advances slowly, predatory, deliberate, his eyes dark with an intensity that makes your breath catch. His fingers find the zipper of your gown, hidden along the side seam, and tug it down with excruciating slowness. The fabric loosens. Cool air kisses your spine.

“I had to stand there,” he continues, “and smile for the cameras. While you—” The dress falls. Pools at your feet in a shimmering puddle of yellow. “—were the most beautiful thing in the room. And I couldn’t touch you. Couldn’t kiss you. Couldn’t do this.”

His mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss is desperate, consuming. Nothing like the gentle reassurances from earlier. This is hunger. This is hours of restraint finally snapping. His hands are everywhere: cupping your face, sliding down your neck, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against the hard plane of his chest. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and you taste the wine from dinner, the familiar warmth of him.

He walks you backward toward the bed, his lips never leaving yours. When your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you fall together onto the sheets—lush and white and impossibly soft.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to stare down at you. His tie is gone. His shirt is untucked. His expression is utterly wrecked.

“All night,” he rasps. “All night I forced myself not to touch you. And now—”

His mouth trails down your throat. Across your collarbone. Lower. His hands shape your breasts, his thumbs stroking slow, maddening circles that make your back arch. He kisses the hollow between your ribs. The dip of your waist. The curve of your hip.

“Now,” he murmurs against your skin, “I’m going to take my time.”

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your legs with deliberate patience. The cool air of the room meets your bare skin, and then his mouth is on you—hot, hungry, reverent—tracing a path down your stomach, across your inner thigh.

You gasp. Your hands fist in his hair.

“Wonwoo—”

He looks up at you, his dark eyes blazing. “Dessert,” he says, the word a growl against your most intimate flesh. “You were the main course all night. This is mine.”

And then he feasts.

The world narrows to sensation: his tongue, his lips, the scrape of his stubble against your thighs, the sounds he makes—low and greedy and utterly undone. Your back bows off the mattress. Your fingers twist in the sheets. Time dissolves into a long, aching stretch of pleasure, building and building until you shatter against his mouth with a cry that echoes off the hotel walls.

He doesn’t stop. He works you through it, gentler now, until your trembling subsides. Then he’s crawling up your body, his weight settling over you, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you,” he breathes. The words are raw, unpolished, falling from his lips like something he’s been holding for a very long time. “I should have said it before. I should have—”

You kiss him. Pour every unspoken word into the press of your lips.

“I love you too,” you whisper against his mouth. “Now show me.”

He entered you with deep, hungry strokes, driving into you with a raw intensity that left you gasping for air. His large hands gripped your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged and hot against your skin.

He never stopped until both of you came and are panting, gasping for air.

Later—much later—you lie tangled together in the afterglow. The sheets are a wreck. The city glitters beyond the window. Your body hums with the kind of deep, bone-deep satisfaction that makes everything feel soft and distant and perfectly still.

Wonwoo’s arm is draped across your stomach, his breathing slow and even. You think he might be asleep.

Then your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You fumble for it, squinting at the screen. A text from a close friend. The preview makes your stomach clench.

GUUUURL! You are trending number one oh my god are you okay???

Ice floods your veins.

You sit up, the sheet pooling around your waist. Wonwoo stirs beside you, his hand finding your thigh.

“What is it?”

“I’m... apparently, trending???”

He groans, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Don’t look. Never look.”

But curiosity is a sharp, insistent thing. You open the forums with trembling fingers, bracing for the worst—the insults, the comparisons, the inevitable cruelty of strangers who think they know something about your life.

Instead, you find this:

Who is the mystery woman? She’s gorgeous. They look incredible together.

I’ve been a CARAT for twelve years and I have never seen him smile like that. Ever.

I don’t care who she is. He’s happy. He finally looks happy.

She makes him want to be seen again. That’s everything.

The comments scroll on and on—curiosity, admiration, celebration. Longtime fans posting old photos of Wonwoo from his idol days, side by side with tonight’s red carpet shots, marveling at the transformation. At the way he’s holding you. At the way he’s looking at the camera like he’s no longer afraid of it.

Your eyes sting.

Wonwoo plucks the phone from your hand. He skims the screen silently, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. Small at first, then wider. Delighted. Thoroughly, deeply satisfied.

“They know,” he murmurs. “The world finally knows.”

He sets the phone aside and pulls you back down into his arms. His lips press against your hair, and you feel his smile against your skin.

“Mine,” he says, and the word is no longer a question. It’s a fact. A declaration. A headline written in every corner of the internet.

There it was. The mischievous grin yet the gaze of adoration as he gazed down at you.

Your cheeks flushed slightly. A beat passed before both of you released into giggles, your face falling onto his chest. His firm chest. Your hands grazed down to plant against his pecs, “Mhm, someone got jacked up.” You say in a teasing voice while his hands— oh his pretty veiny hands— come down to wrap around your wrists.

“I didn't get jacked up, I fit into the same suit from two years ago.”

“Well no, two years ago, your biceps weren't about to rip your sleeves. Admit it, Hannie, you wore this just to tempt me.”

Jeonghan’s lips curled slightly while his eyebrows quirked up. “And if I did, will you beg me to fuck you against the wall, baby?”

“Maybe,” You whisper sultry against his lips, before pulling apart with a chuckle.

Ahem!

The sudden sound of someone clearing their throat had the both of you turning your heads in the direction. “Mr. And Mrs.Yoon, your reservation is ready.” You give Jeonghan a look before letting him wrap his arm around your waist as you follow the manager.

Your table was placed near the corner, a few feet away from the open balcony. Which allowed cool air to blow against the both of you insistingly, yet not unbearably. You take a calming inhale, enjoying the quaint moment you shared with Jeonghan after a while. The conversation between the both of you was lively, catching each other up on different instances which you weren't able to mention the last time you saw him.

“I never knew Mingyu would actually keep his word,”

“He told you he would cook breakfast for me, beforehand? Why didn't you tell me? Do you know how shocked I was to wake up and find a 6 feet man in our kitchen, I was about to knock him out, Hannie!”

Jeonghan barely held in his giggles, “well atleast his food was delicious wasn't it.”

“Obviously, although I did feel bad after a week of eating his cooking,” “Don't be, I owe his wife a few dinners and babysitting hours.”

“I honestly don't get your deals, but moving on, how were the dorms there?”

And just like that, the two of you barely noticed your meal was done until the waiter placed the bill along with the desserts on the table. The drive back felt homely, soft music hummed along the bristling air as both of you sang to the soft beat.

Finally stepping inside your home, Jeonghan set your coats on the hanger while you grabbed the wine bottle you had saved for the night.

But you could barely get to the shelf before Jeonghan wrapped his arms around your frame, pulling you in for the second breathtaking kiss of your night.

“I prefer continuing where we left off, pretty,”

You place the bottle on the table before it could slip from your hands. “Gosh, I missed you, Hannie,” a sniffle intertwines with your words, your eyes finally welling up slightly as you rested your head against his shoulder. Jeonghan cooed slightly as he leaned down to press soft kisses on the crown of your head.

His hand inches to twirl the ends of your hair as his kisses reach down to your neck. When the fragrance of your perfume tingled his senses, Jeonghan found himself panting slightly.

Gosh, the both of you were so fucking needy.

Whimpers escape you as you let yourself enjoy Jeonghan's undivided attention over re-exploring your body, your sensitivity.

Your hands tugged at the ends of his hair, his face pressing against the plump of your boobs. Leaving traces of his lip balm over your cleavage. But before his hands could reach up to tug your dress lower, your hand travels up to push his head down, clearly signalling him to go down on his knees. And Jeonghan follows obediently.

Your red lips stretch into a satisfied grin and you pull him by his tie as you move to the table near you.

“Cmon pretty, let me have a taste or are you going to make me beg for it?”

“Mhm not quite, after all, How could I be so mean, Hannie?” Sarcasm drips through your tone as you lean back. Jeonghan stared up at you, his eyes already containing a silent plea. You weren't exactly planning to edge the man, yet you definitely wanted to have your kind of fun before being fucked senseless.

You slip your dress off easily, “Hands behind your back, Jeonghan.” Neither the words or the tone held any authority, yet coming across as an order Jeonghan wouldn't want to disobey.

His eyes gazed over your lingerie set, it wasn't anything he'd seen before. “Been shopping for new designs, do you like it?” You ask as you lean down enough to have his face pressed against your boobs. The laced flowers brush against his cheeks but his eyes barely stray from yours.

“I fucking love it baby,” His teeth nibbles against your skin following his response.

You pull away with a satisfied expression before slipping your panties off. “Wanna guess what I'll do with this?” You ask as you dangle the cloth in front of his face.

Jeonghan knew he couldn't underestimate whatever ran inside your head, it was part of why he was so smitten with you.

So when he heard the words, “Open your mouth,” leave your mouth, blood surged to his half-hard cock.

Jeonghan followed. His lips parted as he awaited your next move. While he half expected to be gagged with your wet panties, he didn't exactly mind it when you slipped two fingers inside his mouth. Two wet-slicked fingers.

He closed around your fingers, inhaling sharply as his tongue swirled around them greedily.

The man was so lost in the pleasure of finally having a taste of you on his tongue, he could barely react to your hands fumbling with his belt. “You look so pent up, Hannie, Seems like I barely need to jerk you off.” Jeonghan barely acknowledges your words when your hand wraps around his thick base.

“Fuck-” Jeonghan’s curses, his hand moving to clutch your hand. “I need you, baby. I need to feel you around me.” He mutters.

The hazy look over his face could be mistaken for the result of an aphrodisiac, and the same look had your breath shuddering.

Your arms wrap around Jeonghan’s shoulders as you pull him into a kiss, as if in a silent agreement to let him carry the both of you to the room.

“Nhngg, fuck— Hannie,” “Yes, angel?” “Fuck me against the wall, pretty please?”

Your sweet voice rings out in the hallway, Jeonghan sets you down on your legs, pinning you against the wall. “Well, as you wish, angel.”

You hastily pry open his shirt buttons, casting it off on the floor, while Jeonghan slips his hand in between your legs. His fingers rubbing your folds gently before pinching your clit. A whine slips from you, along with a whisper of “Hannie,”

“Shh, let me take care of you, baby.”

He lands a sharp slap against your thighs, making you instantly wrap your legs around him again. Jeonghan’s mind reeled from hearing your moans, his dick throbbed harder with each whimper that spilled from you.

“Hang on tight, angel,” Jeonghan mutters, before slipping his fingers out and grasping your hips tightly. You smile lightly, getting reminded of the day Jeonghan whispered the same words against your ear before pressing a soft peck to your lips and leaving, exactly two years ago. Your hands move down to his muscles, nails digging as his dick rubbed between your folds. Squelching noises of your slick resonated through the room, mingling with your whines.

“Hannie, put it in!” You snark slightly only for it to come out like a desperate plea.

“So bossy.” Jeonghan mutters sarcastically, before slamming his length inside your fluttering hole, instantly knocking the air out of your system. Your toes curl, hard. “HNGNNG- fuck- Jeonghan, ‘s too b-big,” Mumbles spill amidst your yelps of pleasure, as your head rolls back. Yet you don't collide with the hard surface of the wall, instead meeting with Jeonghan’s palm.

“But it looks like you love being stretched dumb, angel,” His hand which was supporting your waist, moved to grasp your ass harshly. “Now how about you quit whining or I gag you with your panties?”

You shake your head instantly, almost ready to burst into a mess of pleas, Jeonghan’s hips move ever so slightly, picking up the pace with each thrust. Your warm walls spluttered to swallow his length inside greedily, slick leaking down both of your thighs in copious amounts, easily making his dick slip deeper inside.

Jeonghan. The need to be filled up by Jeonghan.

The only coherent thought to run inside your brain as his thrusts turned sloppy and faster.

Just when you thought your guts were about to completely rearrange, Jeonghan moves his arms under your thighs. “Sorry about this angel,” and that's all the warning you get before he hoists your thighs over his shoulders, his hips slamming against the plumps of your ass.

“F-fuckk, wanna come, hannie— hnghah!”

“Together, baby,” Jeonghan whispers, knowing the two of you would reach your high rather sooner, considering how pent up you were.

Just as his dick throbbed against your walls, your hole clenched around his base. “Shit- Going down, baby,”

Jeonghan lowers the both of you to the floor as his orgasm high surges through his body. Your legs limply lay on the side, your back resting against the cold wall. “Gosh— how I fucking missed this!”

Jeonghan mutters, letting his placid dick slip out of you. Followed by thick ropes of cum leaking down to your ass from your gaping hole. You slide your hand down between your legs, letting your fingers spread your folds seductively. “Aww look at that, looks like you have to fill me up again, Hannie.”

By the first week, the distance started to be annoying. Despite texting you and calling for at least a few minutes every day, it doesn't compare to being beside you and getting to hold you in the slightest. Seungcheol and Joshua both noticed how tense he got with each passing day, trying to make him more busy so he wouldn't be constantly thinking about how much he misses you.

The second week was terrible. Not only were you not answering his calls because your work kept you busy, but he also had to watch Seungcheol find a girl at the beach and make out with her every second of the day. Normally, he wouldn't care. If anything, he would cheer for his friends. But having to watch other people have what he misses so much was not doing anything good to him.

It got unbearable by the third week. Hearing your voice on the phone made his head spin and his cock throb. But his hand didn't feel as good as it once did. Not having you here was a terrible punishment he couldn't believe he willingly put himself through. Not only were you unable to help him, but once he thought he was finally going to reach his release, you made an absurd excuse and hung up on him. His orgasm was lost so quickly he couldn't do anything but groan in annoyance.

He is certain the guys hated him by the last week. He kept being in a bad mood, annoyed with anything and everyone. It wasn't even your fault, he knows it. He was just mad at the whole situation. He never thought he'd be one of those clingy boyfriends who can't seem to do anything without their girlfriend but now that he's experienced being away from you, it's safe to say he doesn't plan any other trips like this one. For his own as well as everyone else's good.

"I'm taking it as we shouldn't call you for at least a week?" Seungcheol watches Jeonghan step out of the car with his suitcase, causing the younger man to scoff.

"Give it a month before you ask me to hang out with you again."

Cheol laughs, shaking his head. "Have fun with your girlfriend," he waves him off. "And use protection!"

"Or don't!" Joshua laughs, waving to his friend as well.

Jeonghan shakes his head at them, stepping off the road and heading to the place he's been mourning all month—home.

Opening the door of your apartment with his spare key, he calls out to you as soon as he steps inside. Nothing comes back and it makes him frown. Are you not at home? You should have been done with work two hours ago and from what he remembers, you didn't tell him you would be up to anything else after. Sighing, he leaves his suitcase at the side, walking through the hallway to check if you maybe just didn't hear him.

It takes him no time to check the entire apartment, coming up with nothing. You are nowhere to be seen. There goes his wish of embracing you in a hug as soon as he's home.

Running his fingers through his black hair, he heads back for the shower, deciding to make the time he has before come back home useful.

It takes another hour for your number to flash on his screen. He doesn't waste any time, picking up instantly. Relief washes over him as the call goes through, his previous worries slowly disappearing. "Baby! You're home!" You sound as excited as he hoped you would be, smile spreading on his lips.

"I'm home," he nods. "Where are you? I've been worried."

Before you get a chance to answer, he catches the sound of music playing in the background and a distance conversation, his confusion growing. He's been pacing the apartment for the last hour, texting you with no answer back, scared that something happened to you on your way from work, only to find out you're at a party?

He knows he is overreacting right now but it's been so long since he last seen you and he would have appreciated a heads up. At the very least, he would have saved a lot of worst case scenarios that his head created.

"I'm sorry, Hao took me out to celebrate his promotion. I thought I would be back before you came home but we drank some more and I completely lost track of time."

"I see," Jeonghan blinks, unsure how to feel. Confusion and anger are fighting deep in his heart with the pure happiness of knowing you're okay. But confusion and anger win after all, because who the fuck is Hao?

"I can't drive so I'm waiting for this girl who offered to drop me off to get back. She disappeared somewhere with Mingyu a while back though so I'm not sure when she'll be back," your voice grows quieter as you think about when they left, realizing that the fact she still isn't back probably means she won't be for a while longer. "I'm so so sorry, Hannie. I'll be home as soon as I can and we'll make it up to each other."

Unlike this Hao dude that apparently took you out, he knows Mingyu. He's met him at some of your work events before and they hit it off, becoming quick friends. If the girl who is supposed to drive you home is who he thinks she is, you probably won't get back to him for another hour at least. He knows Mingyu well enough to understand that his clinginess only grows when he is drunk and he won't let his girl escape from his hold that easily.

"Send me your address, I'll come for you."

You perk up at that immediately. "Will you?"

"Of course," he grabs his car keys and wallet, already heading out. "Did you forget all about me while I was gone? When have I ever not came for you?" It's not supposed to be accusing. It was only meant to be a little tease. But as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he realizes they sound exactly how he feels. Did you forget about him? The question repeats in the back of his head. It's been for a while now, but he refused to listen to it until now.

But wouldn't that make sense? All the missed calls during his trip, all the excuses on why you couldn't talk to him even for a few minutes, the fact you forgot about him even today—isn't this all a sign he should pay attention to? He doesn't want to. God, he doesn't want to. But the fear is loud, his head spinning with all kinds of worst case scenarios that all end with you breaking up with him because during your time apart you realized he isn't as great as you thought he was at first.

The way to the car feels suffocating, but the time he spends driving is even worse. Sitting alone in the silence gives his thoughts so much more space to make him doubt himself. This can't be healthy.

He tries his best focusing on other things. He even turns the radio on and turns the volume up, but nothing seems to be helping. He spends the entire drive to the bar wondering if anything has changed between the two of you while he was gone.

Parking his car at the front of the bar, he allows himself to sit there for a minute longer. He feels sick. He hasn't even seen you yet and his head won't stop telling him everything is extremely wrong. He needs to get to you as soon as possible, wrap his arms around you and assure himself nothing has changed. But his feet won't move. Because as much as he needs to be with you, the sooner he gets to you the sooner he can give you a reason to break up with him. What if the moment you see him again you decide it's the end? What if he drives you back home just to pack all his stuff again and leave completely?

Even death would have been easier than that.

Still, he shuts his brain off and forces himself out of the car, dialing your number again to tell you he's here. You pick up this time, but the music is so loud he can't hear a word you're saying. Sighing, he pushes past a group of drunk friends outside and heads inside to find you.

It takes him a moment to spot you in the crowd, and when he does, you're shaking your head as some dude tries to talk to you. The need to get to you only grows, the feeling of that interaction being wrong much louder than the part of his brain worried you don't like him anymore.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, he pulls you into him while his eyes stay on the guy in front of you. You look up at him immediately, melting into his hold as soon as you realize who is by your side. You hug him tightly, your body flush against his as you greet him with a huge grin on your lips.

It's only then that he averts his eyes from the stranger, his lips curving into a similar smile you wear when he sees you. It's been so long. Too long. Moving his hands to cup your cheeks, he pulls you into a kiss. You taste like all the alcohol you had tonight but he doesn't care. It's still the same lips he loves so much and he'd be a fool to not see that just because you had a few drinks.

You let out a low moan into the kiss, your hands moving up to wrap around his neck. As much as he missed you while he was gone, it's only now that you're touching him again that he really feels it. Oh how he wishes you were alone at the comfort of your apartment. His right hand slides down your body again, hungry as he grips your waist.

It's only when the stranger clears his throat behind you that the two of you pull away again, Jeonghan's annoyance back. He keeps his hands on you, keeping you in his proximity. "Hannie, this is Hao. Minghao," you correct yourself, giving your boyfriend a gentle smile before taking a step away from him so you can look at both men. "Hao, you heard about Jeonghan."

"That I did," Minghao nods, extending his hand in a greeting. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Jeonghan hums, his eyes falling to the hand offered to him. He hesitates for a brief second before shaking his hand, forcing a smile on his face. He can't say he'd feel the same way about meeting him, though.

"He's the colleague I told you about," you explain, leaning into his side happily. "He got transferred to us from another department. He's amazing at what he does, the swift promotion speaks enough for it," you nudge your friend playfully, Jeonghan's eyes following every movement.

"Congrats," he mutters out, making Minghao chuckle awkwardly. It's probably clear how uninterested Jeonghan is in this man but he doesn't care. all he cares about right now is you.

"Well," Minghao smiles again, his eyes lingering on you a little too long for Jeonghan's liking. "I'm glad you could come out with me today. I won't keep you any longer. We can talk later."

You nod, escaping from your boyfriend's hold to hug Minghao goodbye. "I'll text you. Don't get too wasted while I'm gone," you giggle, patting his shoulder before turning to your boyfriend. "Let's go?" You smile, a look so innocent and clueless Jeonghan debates if you even realize what you're doing to him and his thoughts.

Taking your hand in his, he leads you out of the bar, not bothering to give his goodbyes to anyone. Definitely not to Minghao. He's only just met him but he already hates him. Who cares if he's the greatest worker your company has ever seen, is he really that great for your attention to be on him so much? He doesn't think so.

Jeonghan opens the passenger door for you but you don't climb in right away, pushing yourself up to your tip toes and pressing your lips to his once again now that the two of you are alone. He hums at the feeling, brushing your hair behind your ear. "I missed you," you whisper, your lips pouty as you look at him.

He sighs, an exhale that conveys everything he is feeling at the moment—from exhausting to the overbearing love. "I missed you more," he kisses you back, squeezing your hand tighter in his. "Let's go home, hm?"

"Let's go home," you agree.

♡⸝⸝♡⸝⸝

Everything is happening so quick. One second he's unlocking the front door of your apartment, and the next you're pressed against said door, with his hands resting on your waist, holding you in place as he captures your lips in his and presses his crotch to you. A moan leaves your lips at the sudden contact, chasing after him eagerly.

"Wait—" you gasp but you're not even sure what you're trying to tell him. You want the opposite of him waiting. It's been so long, you're just as needy as he is.

"Who was that guy?" He asks as he trails his lips down your jaw. You tilt your head, rolling your hips forward at the sensation.

"What guy?"

"Hao," he rolls his eyes at the mention of his name, his eyes flickering up to meet yours.

"What?" Your breathe shakes as he leaves wet kisses on your skin, realizing just how much you missed him while he was gone. "What about him?"

"I don't like him," he admits, straightening his back so he can look at you properly. You swallow as you meet his eyes, blinking confusedly. "He is into you. I don't like him."

"What?" You repeat, a disbelieving laugh escaping your lips. The look in his eyes tells you he isn't joking, though. "Hao doesn't like me," you shake your head.

Jeonghan's smile falls as he slowly takes a step back. "What does he have that I don't?"

Your eyes widen instantly. What the heck? "What? Nothing," you shake your head quickly, taking a step forward to get to him again. The hurt is written all over his eyes and you're not sure what to do with it. "Hannie, I don't care about Hao like that," you assure him, holding his hand in yours. "Do you know how much I missed you while you were gone?"

"It didn't look like it." Jeonghan hates how his first instinct after getting hurt is to hurt back. Deep down, he doesn't want to argue with you. He doesn't want to question your motives or press you for an explanation, but his mouth moves faster than his brain does. "It looked like you never had time for me anymore and were glad I was gone."

"Hannie," you shake your head, doing your best to not let his words get to you. "You know that's not true. Why would I be glad you were gone? I missed you like crazy."

"Then why did you want me to go on the trip so bad? Why did you barely call me when I was gone? Why was I the only one desperate to have you by my side again?"

Constantly shaking your head, you close the space between the two of you completely, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing tight. He doesn't move for a second, hesitating before his arms wrap around you as well. "There wasn't a day in which I wouldn't be thinking about you, love. I missed you so bad, only getting to call you started to feel worse than not communicating at all. I'm sorry I made you think I wasn't missing you all the time."

Resting his head on top of yours, a heavy sigh escapes his lips. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispers into your hair, tightening his grip around you. "I was just—"

"I get it," you assure him, nuzzling into his chest. "You were worried because we haven't been together for so long. There is nothing going on, though," you promise him. "I love you, Hannie."

Before either of you can say anything, your hands are sliding under his shirt and lifting it up. He helps you with it, dropping the fabric to the floor. Meeting your eyes again, he wears an apology all over his face. You simply shake your head again, taking his hand and tugging him towards the bedroom. It might be your apartment, but with the amount of time the two of you spend here together and all the memories you made, every inch of the building feels like your shared home. You wouldn't change it for anything.

Your hands are wrapped behind his neck as you kiss him, both of you so in love it hurts to pull away. Jeonghan is settled between your legs, both of you long naked by now. But you don't do anything just yet, simply enjoying the presence of one another. Every touch of his sends a shiver up your spine and makes you moan—a sound he is obsessed with.

Rolling his hips against yours, another loud moan leaves your lips. He smiles into the kiss, pulling back for the first time so he can look at you properly. "I love you."

You smile back at him, spreading your legs a little wider for him. "I love you too," you tell him, pulling him back down to you.

Giggling as you kiss each other, you rock your hips against him as his cock slides between your folds, every inch of your skin burning with anticipation. You're soaking, you have been ever since he pinned you to the door when you two came in. God, did you miss him.

His tip nudges your entrance, his groan filling the room as he slowly slides himself in. The warm feeling of your pussy wrapping around his length is better than ever before, his cock twitching inside you. He doesn't think he'll last long tonight. Honestly, he'll be lucky to get a few thrusts in before he bottoms out in you.

With one of his hands on your waist, he uses the other to squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple between two of his fingers. If he can't last long, at least he can make sure you come early as well. Thrusting into you slowly, he takes all the time he can.

Your own hands move down to grab onto his ass, keeping him as close as you can. He feels so good, you need to tell him. But all you manage are begs of his name, the moans you leave out too loud.

Sweat covers your forehead as he begins to move faster, but he has no doubt he is the same. You bend your knees and pull them closer to yourself, the whine that leaves his lips at the sight a pleasure to your ears. He grips both of your legs, pinning them to your chest and keeping you in place as he moves his hips.

"It's only me, right?" He asks between grunts.

"Only you," you moan immediately, nodding eagerly.

"No one else gets you like this," a curse slips past his lips as he feels himself already getting close to his release. You do this to him. You're the only one that gets him like this—desperate and needy.

A lewd whine leaves his lips as your pussy clenches around his length, the grip he has on your legs definitely leaving a mark behind. But neither of you care, too in the moment to do anything about it. If anything, Jeonghan likes the idea of his marks being left on your skin.

Leaning down, he decides to create another art work on your shoulder and one more on your neck, a place visible enough that everyone will know you're taken.

It doesn't take much for Jeonghan to reach his orgasm, your own following right after. Pulling out with a groan, he pulls back to look at the work he left behind. A smirk tugs at his lips before he lies down again, wrapping himself around you like a blanket. You hug him without hesitation, melting into the mattress as he surrounds you.

"Let's never do trips like this without each other again," he mumbles into your skin before planting another kiss to the same place.

You hum, nodding. "Please."

DAY ONE

"AND THIS WILL BE YOUR LIVING QUARTERS. DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS?"

You stare up at the man, baffled. The stranger who was waiting for you in your living room when you drunkenly stumbled home could not look any less bothered if he tried. He had been seated in the secondhand armchair you bought off Facebook Marketplace, and he looked way too expensive to have his ass touching something you kept telling yourself had no business being resold to you. He was dressed head to toe in black—all impressively the same exact shade of black, a feat you had yet to master—looking like he had stepped right off a runway and into your dingy apartment, which was probably the only reason you hadn't immediately screamed.

His eyes flicked over to you lazily as your door slammed shut behind you and you tripped over your heels, catching yourself on the corner of your kitchen island before realizing you weren't alone. He had one leg crossed over the other and one hand shoved into your last bag of ghost pepper chips as he stared at you like you were intruding on his space. Then, he withdrew his hand, shoved his pepper dusted fingers into his mouth, sucked briefly, wiped his fingers onto your armchair, then snapped. Your bag of chips promptly disappeared and he stood up. It wasn't even his presence or the chips disappearing without an explanation. It was his height that startled you back to your senses.

You weren't short by any means, but the man towered over you anyway, and you came to the sobering realization that being trapped in a space with a man that size would lead to very horrible things. Well, you were correct. Because before you could even finish inhaling to let out the loudest scream you were capable of, he was in front of you, huge hand clamping over your mouth and squeezing your cheeks together. What you were sure was a Guinness World Record-worthy scream became a pathetic squeak.

The sound, infuriatingly, made the man smirk, your eyes coming down to the small mole right above his lip. He raised a single eyebrow at you before stating your full government name. "That you?"

Your wide eyes must have answered the question for you because he didn't wait for verbal confirmation.

"Lovely." And then somehow, you were here. Wherever the fuck here is. Maybe you blacked out on the way. Maybe you're too drunk to remember how you got here. Either way, here is where you are now.

"Do I have any questions?" you shriek, stomping a foot. Your heel clacks against the pretentious black marble flooring, and you have half a mind to kick them off and throw both at the man's head. "You not only kidnapped me, but you kidnapped me while in my clubbing clothes, bro."

You look down at yourself, disheveled from a night out trying desperately to be sober enough to wrangle other, drunker friends to stay together. Your dress is no longer hugging you in places it was at the beginning of the night, your knees are scraped from where you ate shit trying to chase a friend down the street, and you're sure your hair is trying its best to become a suitable bird's nest.

"Jasmine threw up on me tonight," you inform him, mouth twisting in disgust at the small darkened spot on the edge of your dress where the birthday girl had missed the toilet by a mere inch. "You couldn't have let me change first?"

You startle when he snaps and you feel silk against your skin. You look down to find yourself in a black pajama set, perfectly fitted to you, the bottoms falling just shy of the floor and the sleeves just long enough to make sweater paws if you want them but short enough that they aren't a hindrance.

"Ew," you mutter. "I didn't even shower."

"Luckily for you, you have an en suite," he points out, nodding at the door across the massive bedroom.

"I don't have toiletries."

"You'll find it appropriately stocked."

"But what about my skincare?"

"Again. Appropriately stocked."

"You don't even know my skin concerns."

"Oily on the chin and T-zone, dry everywhere else. Terrible hormonal acne during your period or when you're stressed," he recites like he studied this information. Your mouth pops open in either awe or humiliation—you're not even sure. "You struggle with water intake throughout the day so you'll find a litany of moisturizing products in there. Also, maybe you should start using retinoids." His eyes go to your forehead. "You crinkle your eyebrows a lot. You'll get fine lines soon."

You gasp, slapping a hand over your forehead. "You asshole."

"I'm the asshole giving you all the skincare you could possibly ever want."

"You're the asshole kidnapping me!" you scream the last two words, finally losing your patience.

You thought your best bet would be finding a way to escape wherever you are once the man left you alone, but the mere mention of fine lines kicks you into fight or flight. You swing your tiny shoulder purse at his stomach as hard as you can, satisfied when you hear a soft oof from his lips. You shove past him, your new bunny slippers slowing you down considerably as you stumble down the pristine hallway. You only get to the corner before you slam into what feels like a wall, eating shit for the second time tonight.

"Ugh," you grunt as your ass meets the floor and you're laid out flat on your back. "Ow." You groan, hand coming to your ass while the other attempts to prop you up. You open your eyes to find the stranger crouching down in front of you, amused at your weak attempt at freedom. You glower at him as you massage your butt. "I hate you."

"And you're only going to hate me more," he mutters. The words give you pause. "You have free reign in my home." He stands now, tucking his large hands into the pockets of his slacks. "You can try to run but you'll find you can't. So you might as well get comfortable, and when you've finally come to terms with your circumstances… we'll talk."

Without another word, he disappears right before your very eyes.

DAY FOUR

For three days, you tried everything you could to escape.

You found your phone in your purse and tried calling your friends. They answered and you could talk, but as soon as you tried to tell them you'd been kidnapped, your mouth would suddenly be incapable of moving—like your lips had been glued shut. Terrifyingly enough, on your third call, you walked to the vanity in your room and found your mouth just gone any time you tried to say anything that had to do with the stranger and his house of horrors.

The most horrific thing being that it has no windows or exits. Every single door you've found and tried in this laughably huge house has led to a bedroom, a study, a library, a home theater, a gym, or a space that made no sense to you—one with nothing but racks and racks of clothes and shoes from what looked like every, single period of time in history, ever. Another stuffed to the brim with huge stacks of papers that reached the ceiling. Another with A/C blasting hard, presumably to keep the furniture completely crafted from ice inside rock solid.

The house made no sense, but in that way, it made perfect sense that it belonged to the weirdo that kidnapped you. Now, it's day four, you know the house like the back of your hand, and all your phone calls are spent pretending like you're fine while Stella tells you about her piece of shit boyfriend and begs you not to tell Marisol so she won't hate him any more than she already does. Please. If you're going to tell Marisol anything, it's going to be about your piece of shit kidnapper.

But beyond calling for help and finding an escape, you find that you're fresh out of ideas to find your way out. And sensing that, the stranger appears at your bedroom door first thing when you wake up, a small smirk on those pink lips as he leans against the doorframe, long, lean and dressed in a different variation of the same, black outfit. This time, with a winter coat that comes down to his ankles dramatically.

"Good morning. Kind of."

You scoff, pulling your eye mask back down over your eyes. "It's the middle of summer, you psycho."

"Had some business in Australia."

You freeze for a moment before shoving up one side of your eye mask and peeking at him. "Australia."

He nods. "Yup. Heard of it? Odd place with huge spiders and opposite seasons. Quite cold there right now." He pushes himself off the frame and walks to the foot of your massive California king-sized bed, where he sheds his coat and carelessly throws it on the bench.

You'll give it to him. You've been living like a queen while here. You hate to admit that if he had simply asked nicely, you probably would love to live here with him despite knowing nothing about him—you're not known for your logical or sound thinking. You simply survive the day, and surviving here would be nice. But the sheer audacity of forcing you to be here without your consent drives you to unprecedented levels of stubbornness. Levels of stubbornness that convince you it would be much better living in your tiny, sad apartment in your seedy neighborhood than here, in this mansion, with products that have your skin glowing like it never has before.

When you don't respond to his rhetorical question, he asks something more serious. "Are you ready to have a proper conversation now?"

You blow a raspberry and laugh, making a show of pulling your mask back down and snuggling deeper into your 1,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

"Perfect, I am too," he says sarcastically, the duvet ripped off you violently within the same breath. You shriek at the sudden cold. The psycho keeps his house freezing at all times, which means when you're not looking for the emergency exit, you're either always buried under several blankets or in the sauna down the hall. You hear the snap of his fingers and your eye mask disappears.

You gasp. "What is wrong with you?"

"Everything here is mine," he reminds you. "Or have you gotten so comfortable, you've forgotten you've been kidnapped?" He snorts at the word like it's a ridiculous thought even though that's literally what he did. He seats himself on the edge of your bed, crossing his legs and holding his hand out. As soon as he does, your bag of ghost pepper chips materialize in it.

"Hey!" you lean over to grab them, unperturbed by the way things just appear and disappear at his whim. He quickly holds them out of your reach, his expression bored as your face stops just shy of his. You glare at him. "Those are mine."

Though his expression doesn't change, his dark eyes suddenly flash a bright, angry red, and you struggle to refrain from flinching.

"Hm," he hums, smirking as you slowly lean away and he brings the bag back down to his lap. He smugly throws a chip into his mouth, crunching slowly before swallowing. Your eyes come down to the insane Adam's apple of his bobbing at the motion. You purse your lips and look back up. "It doesn't surprise me that those heinous parents of yours never taught you how to share."

The words pull all the fight and anger out of you immediately. Your shoulders deflate and you look at him with wide eyes. "My… what? You knew my parents?"

The man nods once. "Unfortunately. Really vile duo, weren't they?"

It's an understatement. Your parents should've never had a child to begin with, but your mother thought doing so would keep your father interested—a fact she never failed to remind you of. She never wanted you, never wanted to be a mother, never wanted someone to raise. All she ever wanted was to keep your father's attention, and you did, for a few years at least. Then, you turned four, and his fascination with being a parent waned, and the two of them deemed you old enough to fend for yourself while they carried on with their lives like they never even had you. You were left at home for hours at a time, teaching yourself to make cheese sandwiches with the microwave, and self-soothing with the TV when it would get dark and you were scared to be alone.

When they were home, you were a pseudo-maid, cleaning up after your mother and bringing your father beer after beer as he demanded them. You knew the brands and how to use a bottle opener before you even knew how to read. Sometimes, you caught yourself enjoying the time they were away more than when they were back, but then the sun would set, and you wouldn't be scared anymore or crying yourself to sleep, and you'd decide it was better than having to be alone.

It wasn't until they hadn't returned for almost a week, leaving you near-starved and dehydrated, that you finally went to the neighbor for help. You were in the foster system the next day, and you never saw your parents ever again. You've been without them far longer than you were ever with them, and still, their fingerprints are all over your life: your stunted education, your desperate need to be around your friends, your avoidance of an empty apartment, apparently this guy. Really, his house of horrors was a reminder of how much you despised being left to your own devices. Maybe that's why you were constantly on the phone even if it meant you couldn't ask for help.

"Um… how?" you ask, dumbfounded.

"They called to me one night," the stranger confides in you between bites of your own chips. Even as he talks with a full mouth, he manages to look just as regal. "Begged for a better life—all the money they could dream of in a land far from where they were, away from everything and everyone they've ever known."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's talking about you.

"They didn't have anything to offer in exchange," he tells you, not bothering to explain why they would be asking him for anything at all. "They wanted to sell their souls, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with something so… ugly…?"

The word comes out of his mouth with a sneer, and you nod like you understand. You kind of do. Everything about the man is very pretty, down to his nail beds and his shined shoes. What would he need from two deadbeats like your parents?

Wait. Their souls?

"So they offered me something more pure," he says, the bag of chips disappearing once more. He plunges his thumb into his mouth to suck the ghost pepper dust off, and you find yourself a little entranced as it pops back out and he does the same with his index finger. You sigh as you turn toward your nightstand and pluck a tissue from the box and hand it to him. He frowns. "Uh, thanks."

"And what was that?" you ask as he wipes his saliva off on the tissue instead of whatever furniture is available to him (in this case, your 1,000-thread-count sheets).

"Their daughter."

You were expecting it. You hadn't been sure what to make of all this; half of you was convinced you were still blackout drunk, passed out somewhere in a bathroom stall while Jasmine puked her guts out. Maybe you were having a very elaborate dream. Or nightmare. But hearing him speak now, you believe it. You wouldn't put those two idiots above summoning some kind of demon to get them out of their gambling debts and make them rich—allow them a life among the elite. And you wouldn't put it past them to trade you for it.

You were expecting it. But still, it feels like another knife through your heart when he confirms it.

"I'm not a fucking monster, though," he says, snorting. You raise an eyebrow at him.

"But… I'm here…"

He nods. "I told them they can't just sell their child to the Devil. So—"

"The Devil?!"

"—I settled on servitude. I would just enslave them at the end of their contract for the rest of eternity."

You balk at him—the Devil. The Devil likes black oxfords and ghost pepper chips.

"But then…" he sighs, inconvenienced. "They died."

"They're dead," you repeat, the words coming out more like a statement than the question you meant for them to be. You find that you don't feel anything about that. You never even got a chance to love your parents. It doesn't feel like you've lost anything. You were always alone; still, the confirmation that you truly are now is odd.

"Mhm," he confirms, the tissue disappearing into thin air as he leans back on his hands. "Can you believe I made those two rich beyond their wildest dreams and they somehow still got into trouble with loan sharks?" His head lolls to the side to look at you. "Unlike you, they were actually kidnapped." He shrugs before adding an important detail. "And murdered."

"Oh," you breathe.

"Yes. Oh. But I still needed to collect payment. And unfortunately…"

He lets you connect the dots on your own. "I'm their only next of kin."

"Precisely," he nods once. "You've inherited their debt."

"So… you're… enslaving me?"

He looks at you with disgust. "What? No. I said I'm not a fucking monster."

"But you kidnapped me."

"I did not."

"You did."

"Let's not get into the semantics of it all," he says, waving a hand dismissively as his eyebrow twitches with irritation. "I am not enslaving you. I am here to offer you a contract."

"A contract."

"A contract." A piece of paper—sheer and made up of glittery red particles—materializes between the two of you, hundreds of lines of red print appearing one by one before you as he speaks. "You may serve your parents' sentence—"

"Enslavement."

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Yes, enslavement—though I am giving you a choice!"

"Wow, what a gentleman."

"Or," he raises his voice slightly to get you back on track, "you can make your own contract." He nods at the piece of paper. You frown.

"But I didn't ask you for anything."

"Yes, but it will release you from your parents' debt."

"By putting me into my own pile of shit?"

He smirks. "Oh c'mon. I think I deserve more credit than that. Have I not been an incredibly generous host to you thus far?" He spreads one, long arm out to gesture to your bedroom—more like a large apartment in the corner of his mansion.

"A generous host during my stay in your prison?" you ask, snorting. "Sure." His face falls into a flat expression that you ignore as you lean forward to read the beginnings of your contract.

INFERNAL SUCCESSION OF DEBT

Contract ID 666-4 This Agreement is entered into between:

THE DEVIL, King of the Infernal Realms, Lord of Temptation, Prince of Darkness, Keeper of Eternal Contracts, Hereinafter referred to as "Employer," "His Infernal Majesty," or "Boss";

and

Y/N L/N, Sole Living Descendant and Responsible Party, Hereinafter referred to as "Employee".

PREAMBLE

WHEREAS, Employee's parents entered into a legally binding contract with Employer in exchange for wealth, prosperity, favorable stock performance, and several luxury vehicles;

WHEREAS, said parents were obligated to surrender themselves for eternal servitude upon collection;

WHEREAS, said parents have inconveniently perished before collection could be completed;

WHEREAS, Hell's Collections Department has determined Employee to be the sole inheritor of all outstanding debts, obligations, curses, liens, penalties, and miscellaneous infernal paperwork;

THEREFORE, Employer has graciously offered Employee the following alternatives:

OPTION A: In fulfillment of the obligations incurred by Employee's deceased parents, Employee shall enter the service of the Infernal Realm for all eternity.

Duties shall include, but are not limited to:

Processing approximately 4.8 million forms per day

Responding to customer complaints from damned souls

Sharpening ceremonial pitchforks

Serving as a chew toy for baby hellhounds during training exercises

Untangling chains in the Pit of Eternal Knots

Operating the Soul Intake Window during holiday rushes

Rewriting contracts damaged by hellfire

Cleaning the Room of Despair every third Tuesday

Escorting lost souls to the appropriate department

Conducting annual inventories of screams

Working closely with Minghao from Accounting

Employee acknowledges that eternity is a super long time and that the above list is not-at-all exhaustive.

OPTION B: Accept employment under Employer for the duration of Employee's natural mortal lifespan, after which Employee shall receive a permanent position with benefits.

You look back up at the Devil. He watches you with an unreadable expression.

"What's the catch?"

"You'd have to read all 666 pages of your contract to find it."

You narrow your eyes at him. "You don't think I'll do it." He neither confirms or denies. "I will. I will read all 666 pages."

"Fine by me," he says, shrugging one shoulder and standing. "But after you read them and decide on either option A or B, you'll have another contract to sign for terms of your servitude or your employment. I'm sure you can guess how many pages each are."

You feel the ambition leave your soul. You roll your eyes and shake your head. "Sit your ass down."

He smirks and follows directions.

"I assume they went to Hell, no?" He nods. "Why can't you just go find their souls and make them serve their sentence?"

"Debt must be collected before death and the souls are admitted into Hell and sorted into the proper circles of punishment, where they'll be doing something very different for all of eternity." He shakes his head regretfully. "Your parents are currently being fried in vats of oil over and over again. If they had survived until debt collection, they would've remained human for eternity, serving me even as their increasingly brittle bones repeatedly broke under the weight of their chores."

He smiles wistfully at what could have been, and you wince. "Um. Okay... well, what would my duties be for option B?"

The Devil nods to the space next to the contract, where an employment agreement appears, lines appearing one after the other just like the original contract. You groan.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why is Hell a corporation?"

His eyebrows rise. "What else would Hell be?"

You pause, ruminating on the thought. "Okay, good point."

You sigh and skim the employment agreement.

POSITION

Employee shall serve as: Executive Assistant to His Infernal Majesty

Responsibilities include, but are not limited to:

Maintaining Employer's schedule

Screening calls

Organizing contracts

Overseeing scheduled plagues, wars, famines, etc.

Managing infernal correspondence

Other duties as assigned

Employee shall reside in Employer's primary estate for the duration of employment. Position will require 30% travel.

COMPENSATION

During mortal employment, Employee shall receive:

Free housing

Free meals

Free skincare

Access to infernal healthcare

Unlimited coffee

Following Employee's natural death, Employee shall receive:

Permanent demon status

Comfortable accommodations

Full retirement benefits

Choice of station

WORKPLACE CONDUCT

Employer shall not:

Steal Employee's soul

Curse Employee without written notice

Sell Employee to rival supernatural entities (or anyone else)

Employee shall not:

Summon competitors

Sign contracts on Employer's behalf

Open portals without supervision

Feed eldritch horrors after midnight

TERMINATION

This Agreement may only be terminated by:

Employee's natural death

The collapse of reality

Mutual agreement

A successful legal challenge upheld by three (3) cosmic authorities and at least one (1) archangel

INHERITED DEBT RESOLUTION

Upon execution of this Agreement:

Employee shall be considered to have satisfied all obligations inherited from their parents

Employer shall permanently cease collection efforts

Employee's parents shall remain classified as "Paid In Full"

The rest of your mortal life is a long time. You know very well that by agreeing to this, you're literally signing a deal with the Devil. It's sad and pathetic to acknowledge, but if this new life is anything like the last three days have been, it's already a huge upgrade from how you were living prior to your home invasion.

You lean away from the contracts and take a deep breath before nodding once. You can make it an even bigger upgrade.

"I want an unlimited budget for interior decorating of my living quarters," you start. His eyebrows rise to meet his hairline.

"You're negotiating with the Devil?" he asks, clarifying that he understands your intentions.

"Sure am," you confirm before shooting off your demands one after the other. "I want my apartment kept and paid for as a place to unwind when needed, and I want unlimited visiting rights to Earth. I want all my bills paid for and the newest Samsung any time I want to upgrade my phone. I want backstage passes to any K-Pop group of my choice at any concert I want. I want an expense account and a black credit card to match."

"We—"

"And I don't care if you don't use credit cards in Hell. I want a black credit card. And I want it to be metal and heavy. The fancy one."

He clamps his mouth back shut and nods for you to keep going.

"I want full autonomy over my soul while mortal and after death," you emphasize. "My employment does not mean you own me."

"How many times do you want me to remind you I am not a monster?"

"You're the literal Devil."

"Yes, exactly!" he agrees. "Not a monster!"

You scoff, unsure of how to even respond to that. "You don't own me!" you repeat.

"Yes! Of course! I do not own you! Obviously!" he says, appeasing you. "Go on."

"I also want protection from… whoever your enemies are."

He raises an eyebrow at you. "My enemies?"

You shrug. "Like… God or whatever."

He grins—a genuinely amused one. It's heart-shaped and wide and it's not befitting for the Devil. He looks like someone you could cuddle, not someone who could eat your soul for dinner after finishing your ghost pepper chips. "You, humans, have a very ill-conceived idea of Heaven and Hell. God is not my enemy. She is my colleague."

The smile that envelopes your face is uncontrollable. "She?! God is a woman?! I fucking knew it!"

"Of course she is," the Devil scoffs. "Why would a man be kept in charge of Heaven? That's absurd."

"Hm. Agreed," you say, a little suspicious of having something you both agree upon. "Okay, so no enemies…"

"None," he says, yawning. "Unless you consider damned souls enemies."

"Well, I want protection from anything that can hurt me."

He looks at you like you're dumb. "You'll be living with the Devil. You will be at my side at almost all times of the day. I am the protection."

"What if you hurt me?" you point out.

He rolls his eyes. "It would be counterproductive to hurt my own employee. If you haven't yet wandered into my contracts room, go find it later and you'll see how badly I need an assistant."

You try not to choke on your own spit as you think about the weird room stuffed full of paper. Does he expect you to do something with that…?

"Anything else?" he asks. "You've been so frugal with your demands. Are you sure you don't want to be a billionaire? The ruler of the free world?"

You ignore his sarcasm and shrug. "Is that possible?" He glares at you. "Okay, then no. I don't want those things. But I do have one more demand."

"Oh, goodie," he sighs. "What?"

"On the point of employment until death…"

The Devil laughs, the sound mocking. "That one is not negotiable, darling. It's either eternal servitude or employment until your mortal death—which is what you would be doing anyway if it weren't for your scumbag parents. One is definitely better than the other."

You glare at him. "I'm not going to play Devil's maid until I'm 100 and you're laughing at me as my bones are turning to dust."

"Per your employee agreement, you will have access to infernal healthcare, a perk that would not have been offered to your parents," he points out. "It might surprise you to know it's much more generous than whatever the hell you humans are offering these days. I assure you, your bones will never turn to dust."

"I want to remain as I am," you inform him, not taking no for an answer. "I will work for you until death, but I will remain as I am. No growing pains, no aches, completely healthy in the body and mind I'm in now until I die."

He fixes you with a hard stare for several moments, but you're determined to get your way. You don't avert your gaze and you don't give in. He sighs deeply through his nose. "Fine. Accepted."

The employment agreement changes before your very eyes, reflecting your negotiations, and you're pleased to see every point you argued written onto the paper in glittery red.

"Oh! And I refuse to call you Your Infernal Majesty."

He shrugs. "Okay."

"Okay…"

"What?"

"What do I call you?"

"Oh. Jun. You can call me Jun."

"Okay. I guess you have yourself an assistant, Jun."

He smirks, raising an open hand to you. You take a breath before you slip your hand into his, his slender fingers closing around you and shaking. On the final shake, he squeezes and you feel a just barely tolerable heat bind the two of you together for several seconds. Bursts of bright red lines glow around your joined hands, frantically circling them before they escape to the pieces of paper between you. Jun releases you just as you realize the lines have become both of your signatures on the contracts.

"It's done," he says, eyes flashing red again. "You, Y/N, have just signed a deal with the Devil."

And because you're not one to let a man intimidate you—Devil or not—you smile right back, lean in, and remind him in a theatrical whisper, "You're as stuck in here with me as I am with you."

When the arrogance painted all over his face falters the tiniest bit, you wink and throw yourself off your bed, finally ready to start your day at a bright and early 2 p.m.

"Don't you go regretting this now, Junnie!"

DAY TEN

Hell is exactly what you expected it to be after seeing Jun's contracts: a corporate abyss. It's an open floor plan with unassigned desks, harsh overhead lighting, and a water cooler where a demon is stationed, their only task to make awkward small talk with the parched, tortured soul that comes up to it hoping for a cup. The demons, of course, have the time of their lives, scheduling meetings that could have been emails, demanding overtime of salaried souls, asking for things that were already given to them several days ago and promptly lost upon receipt.

You don't fully understand it. Before you were taken away from Earth, you were working as a full-time bartender. In fact, the only reason you and your friends hadn't gotten kicked out that night for being belligerently drunk was because you were being belligerently drunk at the club you worked at. Before that, your only foray into corporate life was as a customer service representative answering phones and talking to angry people who had nothing but free time to scream at you. You lasted exactly one week, and that's all you need to at least appreciate why it's the model for Hell.

And for the last few days, you've been following Jun around it, soaking in all the information you need. For example, Jun is in "the office" during most "daylight" hours (Hell doesn't have windows so how are you supposed to know when daylight is?), and usually brings his work back to the home you now share. Unclear if he sleeps at all.

He doesn't spend time around the damned souls—not that they even realize who he is as he walks by. He pays them no mind, letting his demon subordinates take care of tormenting them. Instead, his time in the office is spent attending meetings with high-ranking demons, archangels, and occasionally, God herself. If he's not in the office or at home, he'll be traveling. Unclear what he'll do on his trips, but you assume it's something akin to what he did for your parents. He assures you each trip will only be a few hours and that he'll call if that changes. You assure him you don't care.

Today is the first time you won't be shadowing him. Jun unceremoniously dropped you off at the mail room without so much as a goodbye, muttering something about picking you up at the end of the day. You didn't have time to point out that you have no idea when that is. And hours later, it seems that it still isn't the end of the day.

"So… who are you…?"

You look up from the mountain of envelopes you've been tasked with going through. Apparently, the Devil receives a lot of mail, and apparently, Jun is above simply throwing all of them into an incinerator. It turns out when people can't get a hold of God, they turn to the next best thing. And the next best thing insists that you read every last letter and decide whether it's worth responding to.

The demon talking to you entered the room just a minute or so ago. He's a man who looks to be about your age, though you're under no delusions that he actually is. For all you know, he's millions of years old. His spiky blonde hair is currently pointed to your right as he tilts his head at you curiously. "Actually, what are you…?"

You squint at him. "I'm human…" you gesture down at your lack of black leather, dressed like the pink Care Bear threw up on you as a quiet form of protest against the dreadfully drab aesthetic Hell insists on. "Obviously."

He nods. "Right… but… you're not dead."

"No," you say, using more force than needed to slice through the next envelope with the letter opener you were given—a knife with a handle shaped like a devil's tail. A tail you noticed Jun does not have.

The demon winces and you're glad for it. Just because Jun is convinced you're safe doesn't mean you are; the more of them who believe you'll shank them with a letter opener for breathing funny, the better.

"I am not dead."

"What's your—"

"I'm working," you cut him off icily, making a show of stabbing the letter opener into the wooden table and straightening the paper in front of your face. The man next to him snorts but says nothing, simply grabbing the mail he came in for and leaving.

"So you work in the mail room? Do we hire humans to do that now?"

You roll your eyes behind the piece of paper. You don't answer.

"Do you know whose mail you're going through…? Because it's His—"

"Jun's," you sigh, slamming the piece of paper down and shoving it toward your throw pile. "I am reading Jun's mail." You fold your hands in front of you on the table and lean forward to give him all the attention he obviously wants. The demon's eyes widen, leaning back the tiniest bit.

"Y-you can't just… say his name like that," he whispers to you, eyes sliding back and forth. The mail room is full of demons, and it isn't until he looks around that you realize all of them have frozen in place. You frown as you follow his gaze.

"Jun?" you repeat loudly, resisting the urge to smirk when more of them gasp.

"Stop!"

"Why?" you ask, snickering as you reach for the next envelope and rip it open without the help of the letter opener. Dear Satan, you read. "Is it like Voldemort here? Scared to say your own boss's name?"

"Pfft, no one here is scared to say 'Voldemort,'" he says, rolling his own eyes. "Rowling will be here as soon as God decides it's time for her to retire from Twitter. And life."

You hum in approval. "Good to hear."

"It's just wise to be a little more respectful when referring to His Infernal Majesty."

You smile. "Yeah, I'm not calling him that."

"Your funeral."

"Or yours," you say, pointedly looking at the letter opener stabbed into the surface right now. You look back at him and his eyes are on the tool too. "Think Jun would be happy about you distracting his personal assistant from very important work?"

The demon balks at you, but you return your attention to the letter. Dear Satan. "You're his assistant?" You hum in confirmation. "Oh wow. That's… wow. Um, I'm Soonyoung."

"I didn't ask."

"Are you sure you aren't a demon?"

You look up at him without putting your letter down. "I'm sure, Soonyoung." Your eyes flick back down to the letter. Dear Satan, you read for the third time.

"Well, you would make a really good one," he tells you. Your fingers crinkle the letter, twitching in as they try to keep from completely crumpling it in frustration. "Is that why His Infernal Majesty hired you? How did you two meet?"

"Soonyoung." It seems like the entire room freezes and the demon's eyes widen at something behind you. You look over your shoulder to find Jun standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and his brows pulled down. The other demons not named Soonyoung immediately flee the room. "Are you bothering Y/N?"

You huff. "Sure. You can give him my name."

Your boss smirks but ignores you. "Leave her alone. If I hear my name one more time, I'll make you work a shift in Accounting." You raise your eyebrows. No wonder they're so afraid to say his name. It literally summons him.

Soonyoung pushes himself off where he'd been leaning on the table across from you, immediately leaving the room and bowing to your boss and muttering apologies as he goes. You snort, turning back around and reading your letter in full for the first time.

Dear Satan,

If you're real, prove it.

You nod, taking a piece of paper out to write your response. Just as you finish, you hear Jun's voice—much closer this time—and you startle.

"Interesting."

"Holy shit," you breathe, leaning back to look at him reading over your shoulder. "I thought you left."

He reaches past you, allowing you to get a whiff of his cologne. Something that smells woodsy and spicy. He takes your pile of letters and responses and reads them aloud.

"'Dear Satan, if you're real, prove it,'" he reads. His eyes go to the piece of paper with your response. "'No.'"

He stares at you but reveals no indication of whether or not he approves. He puts the two pieces of paper down on the table next to you and moves on.

"'Dear Devil, did the dinosaurs go to Heaven or Hell?' 'They went to Heaven. What kind of fucking question is this?'" Papers down.

You think the twitch of his lips is a smile threatening to break through. He succeeds in hiding it if it is, and he just keeps going.

Dear Satan, should I text my ex?

I am the #1 advocate of free will. But know that if you do, I will haunt you for the rest of your mortal life and you will never find love. Ever.

Dear Satan, if you help me pass my AP Chem test, I will owe you my life. P.S. For my records, does this count as a legally binding contract?

No, it does not. Go study and never write here ever again.

Dear Satan, does my cat work for you? I love her, but sometimes, she does things that make me wonder. I don't think she sleeps. She just watches me. All the time. I also feel like she can maybe talk and is hiding it. Is she secretly a demon?

Jun pauses, eyes sliding to you, though you're unsure why. You hold his stare, but he just redirects his attention back to your response.

Probably. What's her name?

He seems to decide that's enough, calmly putting the pile of papers down with the others. "Hm." You don't know what it means and he doesn't clarify. Instead, he asks, "Hungry?"

You gasp, your work immediately forgotten. "Yes! Does Hell have sushi?"

"No. We only have the blood and organs of sinners here." You crinkle your nose but he doesn't say that he's joking, and it makes your stomach turn. "But Earth does. And I believe you negotiated unlimited visitation rights." You nod. You did. You absolutely did. "Come on. My treat for a good first day spent on your own."

"It's your treat no matter what," you mutter, standing up and leading the way out of the mail room, trusting your responses will be sent out by someone who isn't busy stuffing their face with sushi. "I literally have free food written into my employment agreement."

"You can never just let me have the last word, can you?"

"Nope. Get used to it."

DAY SIXTEEN

Your adrenaline spikes when the phone on your desk, right outside Jun's corner office (the only place with windows and a killer view of racists burning alive at all hours of the day), rings. You squeak with excitement as you answer it.

This should be nerve-wracking for you; your one week in customer service scarred you enough that the sheer sound of phones ringing sent anxiety crawling up your spine. But here, answering the phone meant all kinds of fun possibilities.

It could be a teenager calling via Ouija Board. It could be someone summoning Jun to sell their soul. It could be a demon needing help as a priest exorcises them from a possession. It could be God.

"You've reached Jun's desk. How may I help you?"

"Wrong." Your joy flatlines at your boss's voice. "I told you, you can't use my name when answering the phone."

"I'm not calling you whatever silly title everyone else here insists on calling you," you grumble.

"That's fine. I don't give a shit. Just don't use my name," he says. "I already hear everyone on Earth muttering about Satan. We don't need to add my Hell-given name to the mix."

You sigh. "Fine. What do you need? I've already taken care of your mail and schedule for the rest of the week, I have your requested reports from Accounting, and the Hellhounds have been caught. They're eating their midday snacks now."

"What snacks? You know that cannibals upset their stomachs. If they throw up, you will be cleaning it up."

"First of all, no. I won't." You've already seen the messes the Hellhounds are capable of, and you'd rather Jun eat your soul than have to clean up after one. "Second of all, I know. I gave them some family annihilators."

"Perfect. Thanks. Tell Soonyoung if he loses them one more time, he'll be fed to them next."

"Got it," you say, taking mental note to threaten the demon next time he comes around to annoy you. "So why are you calling? Did you forget whose debt you're collecting today? It's—"

"I know," he cuts you off. "Just checking to see how it's going since this is your first full day without me in Hell."

You frown at nothing in particular. "The Devil does check-in calls…? Oddly considerate."

You can practically hear Jun's glare through the phone. "No. The Devil is making sure you haven't completely run his empire into the ground."

"I am but a measly human," you sigh dramatically. "If I have the power to run a supernatural empire that predates time itself into the ground, it's probably a really bad empire."

"Hm." He clearly refuses to tell you that you have a good point. "I also called to let you know I'll be late tonight so you don't have to worry about working after you leave the office. I'll see you at breakfast."

You told him you didn't care if his trips made him late or if he even wanted to go out and do his own thing after; you aren't his mother or his wife, and you can probably discern this information from his calendar without him calling. But now that it's actually happening, you realize you care a tiny bit. Mostly because in the last two weeks, the two of you have gotten into a routine of sorts.

You woke up, usually from your duvet being ripped off and your eye mask being sent into whatever other dimension Jun sent things to, and you'd sit down for breakfast, going through everything your boss was doing for the day. Jun didn't need to eat, but he joined you anyway, occasionally having a bowl of cereal since you made it clear you never want to see him eating the blood and organs of sinners in the house. Then, he'd take the both of you to work, where you would do whatever it is the day demanded of you, before heading home and having dinner. If he had a trip that day, he still made it home in time to sit with you, eating whatever it is you made in the generously stocked kitchen.

You'd kind of forgotten to be afraid of being alone because you never were anymore. Jun was always there, and if he wasn't, you were either busy working or asleep. The thought of coming back to the house without him, having to eat dinner by yourself, and not having anyone to talk to gets your heart racing faster than usual.

"Hello?"

"Okay," you say, nodding even though he can't see you. Maybe if you force your body to agree to it, your mind will follow suit. "Have fun collecting those souls."

"Thanks," he says slowly.

"Is that all?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Okay then. Bye."

You don't wait for him to respond, hanging up and immediately standing to make your way back to the house while the clock tells you it's still daytime. Maybe if you fall asleep earlier than usual, you'll bypass the terror you already feel creeping in.

DAY TWENTY-THREE

"Junnie!" you call without turning over your shoulder.

You have to keep working on securing catering for the 1,700 demons who will be gathering for an "Innovation & Disruption: Bringing Medieval-Style Torture to the Modern Age" seminar in a few days. You don't even know how to get blood and organs catered. And never mind having to arrange accommodations for the demons that insist on bringing their eldritch horrors with them.

You hear your boss's usual grunt of acknowledgment. "Time to get going to that cult summoning if you want to make it on time!" You glance at the CCTV feed in the corner of your screen. "They're almost done drawing the pentagram!"

He groans but you hear the unmistakable sound of his chair rolling away from his desk and creaking as he stands anyway. A few moments later, he's standing next to you. You pause your catering research to look up at him.

"I don't assume the demons would want to have Subway or something at this seminar?" you ask.

"No." Jun's mouth curves into a small smile. "No, they probably do not want Subway."

"Shame." You shrug and turn back to your computer. "Well, have fun with the nut jobs! Remember, Risk & Assessment flagged the cult leader for us; his possession score is very high, so if you find him insufferable—and I'm sure that with your patience, you will—feel free to ring me and I'll send you a demon to torment him a bit."

"Noted," he says, chuckling a little. "And just so you know, I'll probably be late again."

You deflate a little. It's been a week since the last time Jun came home late from work, and you're still working out the stress knots it put into your shoulders.

"Oh." You try to think of what you'll do to stave off the panic this time since sleeping early didn't do it for you. When you realize your boss is standing there, scrutinizing you and waiting for a proper response, you say a pathetic "sounds good."

"Hm. I was actually thinking you may be more help coming with me tonight than staying here," he says suddenly. "Or at home."

You straighten up and try not to look too eager at the invitation. "Wait. I can come to the summoning?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Is that allowed?"

He stares at you blankly. "I'm the King of Hell."

You roll your eyes, your heart rate slowing down as your anxieties subside. "A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."

The second you and Jun make landfall in the middle of the cult's pentagram, there are fanatic screams and people in ridiculous cloaks falling to their knees and sobbing. You don't try to hide the revulsion on your face, flinching away when a follower crawls to you on their hands and knees, wailing and reaching for you. You inadvertently curl into your boss's side. You mutter a quiet apology when you realize you're touching him, but he ignores it, stepping between you and the enthusiastic follower.

"Hands to yourself," Jun hisses at the person, who immediately backs away.

The space becomes significantly warmer at that, and it only dawns on you now why your home is kept so cold. It never occurred to you that of course the Devil will run hot, and you feel that heat radiating from him now with nothing to quell it. The cult members must feel it too because aside from the overenthusiastic one, they give the two of you a wide berth.

Once you acclimate to the audience, you notice you're suddenly in a cloak reminiscent of the grim reaper's.

"What the hell is this?" you ask, lifting an arm and looking at the way the cloth drapes off of it.

"Summoning uniform."

"Then why don't you have one?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at Jun's all-black get-up: a crisp button-down, slim-fit slacks, and a jacket with shoulders adorned with a smattering of crystals, making it look like he's wearing the sky itself.

"I'm the Devil." Which seems to be his answer for everything. Your next complaint is drowned out by the deep and bizarre bellowing of a man on a tiny stage that quakes under his weight.

"Welcome, Our Unholiness!" You assume the man shouting is the cult leader. He wears a goat head that looks so realistic, you sorely hope it's just a mask and that the man is not wearing an animal corpse right now.

"Wrong!" you immediately call, making Jun frown at you as you step back around him, tripping a little when your foot catches on your cloak. "Fuck, ow." You yank at it violently before standing straight and addressing the man. "Accepted titles include King of Hell, King of the Infernal Realms, Lord of Temptation, Prince of Darkness, His Infernal Majesty, or The Big Bad Lord of Doom and Gloom."

"No, nope. Not that last one." You smile at him when he narrows his eyes at you. If you get the cloak, he gets the silly title.

"O-oh. Uh. Everyone, let's welcome… His Maj—"

"Infernal Majesty."

"His Infernal Majesty!" he shouts.

The crowd around you erupts into cheers, and you take the moment to look around. Your boss has been summoned to what looks like a remote compound in the middle of the desert with small concrete buildings scattered around you. The people around you look starved, dehydrated, and unclean. No wonder the Devil has been summoned; this is not a cult leader that leads very well.

"Enough," Jun says, his voice barely rising over the cheers but reverberating through the crowd anyway. It falls silent laughably fast, forcing you to stifle a giggle. "Why have you summoned me?"

"Satan, we—may I call you Satan…?" the goat head tilts toward you like he's asking you for permission. You nod and he turns back to your boss. "Satan, we have summoned you here today in the hopes that you will lend your devoted children a hand."

"I am nothing if not a provider," Jun says in a bored voice. You tilt your head and shrug before nodding as you ponder that statement. You suppose it's true. You have been living a very luxurious life since you moved to Hell.

"Oh, thank you, Satan," he sighs in relief, bowing his head and stumbling a little when the weight of the goat head makes him wobble. "We request a great boon of you."

"A boon," you echo in a whisper, mostly to yourself.

"Our tithes are declining."

"Tithes." Words you will have to Google upon returning home.

Jun's eyes flick down to you briefly before he responds. "Get on with it."

The abruptness throws the leader off, causing him to stutter. You buy him more time by stating, "As you can imagine, Ju—Satan! Satan is incredibly busy. Many summonings to tend to. Many plagues to schedule. Many damned souls to devour whole. Many—"

"He gets it," Jun cuts in.

"Right, of course!" the leader agrees. "Apologies! We would like to request monetary support."

"In exchange for?" the Devil asks, an eyebrow cocked at the man.

"For…?"

Jun glances at you and you nod, frowning when you realize for the first time that you are no longer holding your tablet. You gasp, patting your entire body before you find the needlessly deep inner pocket of your cloak. So deep, your tablet basically rests at your ankle.

"This is deeply humiliating," you mutter at your boss as you bend over to scoop it out. "Who was this made for—Shaquille O'Neal?"

"No," Jun answers, more amused than you've ever heard him. "It's mine."

You pause in your bend, cranking your neck to look at him upside down. "This is your grim reaper cloak?"

He nods, clearly suppressing a laugh. You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you continue digging your device out of the infinite pocket. You straighten back up when it's finally in your grip.

You quickly tap through for the handbook you haven't needed until now.

"Where deals with the Devil are concerned," you read aloud, projecting your voice so everyone can hear clearly, "the Devil accepts servitude of his chosen length, negotiable; a percentage of all future profits no less than 20 percent, negotiable; your luck for an amount of time of his choice, negotiable; the feeling you get when a song gives you chills, non-negotiable; your first-born child to be collected upon their 30th birthday, non—hey!"

You frown at that point and turn to your boss, your back to the cult leader. "What?"

"What the hell do you need a first-born child for?" you hiss in a whisper only he can hear because above all else, you are still very professional. "Your assistant position is already filled. You already have a first-born child that you have collected!"

Your boss's mouth curves into an arrogant smirk that you want to rip off his mouth. "First-born children are a hot commodity in Hell."

"Oh, are they?" you laugh humorlessly. "So where are they?"

"Where are they?"

"Yeah! Where are they?" you ask, unsure what you'll even do when you find out. Now that you've been in your position long enough to really appreciate its perks, the thought of being kicked to the curb fills you with a fight instinct so strong, you could choke on it. "Hiding them in the attic? Basement? In a closet I haven't found yet? Or did you build them a separate house? You have multiple offices? Multiple assistants?"

"Um, can we get back to the—"

"One minute!" you shout without turning back to the cult leader.

"Are you jealous?" Jun asks, his voice equal parts confusion and cocky. When your only answer to that is a glare, he exhales a breathy laugh and shakes his head. "The document you're reading from was last updated decades ago, darling. I assure you I have no other assistants and am not looking for any more—at least not until your contract with me is over."

"I want that added as an amendment to my agreement," you say through gritted teeth, noting to yourself to reach out to Demon Resources when you get back.

"Unnecessary, but we'll—"

"The Devil will not be accepting a first-born child!" you announce, three times as loud as you were before as you spin back around, kicking when your cloak tangles around your legs. "Keep your useless children to yourselves!"

"No children, got it," the cult leader nods. "Well… you see, we were not prepared for a proper offering tonight, as we assumed that as children of the Dark Lord—"

"Lord of Temptation or Prince of Darkness," you correct him, shaking your head.

"Er, yes. As children of the Prince of Darkness… we assumed we would just… um, receive? A gift? As loyal followers?"

Both you and Jun remain still, falling quiet at the assumption—you because you're unsure if your boss wants you to correct him, Jun because you assume he's debating whether he should kill someone or laugh. The leader laughs a little nervously, swaying back and forth and wringing his hands. It's a hilariously silly picture with his goat head still on.

"Correct this idiot before I summon a Hellhound," Jun mutters to you, turning away from the leader and taking a seat. A comically large throne appears under his ass at the perfect moment. He props his head in his hand in immense disinterest.

"You summoned the Devil," you point out the obvious. "If you were looking for handouts based on loyalty, you probably should have thrown your allegiance behind God—which by the way, did you know she's a woman?"

"Oh. Uh, that's… yeah, that makes sense."

"Right? We thought so too," you say, nodding and glancing at Jun briefly over your shoulder. He nods once, blinking slowly in the way he only does when he's finally starting to tire and needs to rest. You turn back to the leader. "If you would like Satan's financial support, he will need more than the promise that you'll continue to live in the desert, starving and unbathed. He will need something he can actually use." You point at his mask. "By the way, the goat head does nothing. He does not like that."

Jun speaks behind you, confirming. "I do not. I hate it."

The leader immediately rips the head off, chucking it away from him with so much force, it bounces several times and disappears into the darkness not lit by the torches that surround the pentagram. He's younger than you assumed he'd be, and he's sweaty and red from staying in the goat head.

"What will you be offering the Devil tonight?" you ask. "Would you like more examples of gifts he will accept?"

"Um, no, I think… I think we can offer, uh, servitude?" his followers groan, but he doesn't change his answer.

"Wonderful," you nod, making note of it in your tablet. One of Jun's famous contracts materializes in front of the sweaty man, the glow of it painting him even redder. "The Devil will award you with just enough money to keep this Burning Man-inspired cult thriving as long as at least one member present here tonight is alive. In exchange, His Infernal Majesty will collect their souls for eternal servitude at the end of their natural-born lives."

There's an uproar of protests as you finish reading the terms.

"Well, wait, hold on! You said this was negotiable."

"Indeed."

"Okay, so let's negotiate!" You watch him expectantly, waiting for said negotiation. "Right, um, yeah. So. Uh. If servitude is eternal… maybe our financial support should also be of unlimited nature?"

"'Maybe'?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"It should! It should!" he corrects himself. "Limitless money forever, regardless of whether or not the members here tonight are still alive, in exchange for our eternal servitude upon the end of life."

You watch as Jun's signature starts to scribble on the contract, signaling his acceptance of the agreement. You frown and shake your head. "Denied!"

Jun makes a sound of surprise as his signature stops mid-air.

"Limitless money forever, independent of tonight's members, in exchange for your current and future members' eternal servitude upon end of life—regardless of length of cult membership."

The silence that follows is tense, the cult leader chewing his lower lip as he thinks it through and his followers clearly ruminating on what limitless money can do for them.

"The Big Bad Lord is due for another engagement shortly," you inform him, earning you an annoyed grunt from your boss. "Please make your mind up quickly."

"Deal," he answers, nodding confidently. "Deal!"

You smile as you watch Jun sign on his dotted line. Your boss suddenly appears before the leader, outside the pentagram meant to keep you both contained and the summoners safe from you—obviously a myth. Once summoned, Jun is free to do as he pleases wherever he pleases. Everyone gasps at his reappearance, the leader flinching violently. Your boss extends his hand just as he did to you a month ago. When the man shakes it, the same red lines bind the agreement, and the cult leader's name and signature appear on the contract.

"Enjoy your boon, Lee Seokmin," Jun says, voice low and dangerous. "Don't go dying too soon. I'll be back to collect."

The Devil doesn't waste any more time on the cult, whisking the two of you away and back to your shared home.

"That was fun!" you exclaim, clapping your hands and giggling. "Much more fun than staying at home alone."

Jun snorts but keeps his face carefully blank as he goes to the pantry and grabs a bag of ghost pepper chips. "Yeah?"

"Definitely. Thanks for inviting me."

"I was right."

"Hm?"

"You were a lot more helpful going with me than staying back here," he clarifies, opening the bag and chomping on the snack, which he now keeps an unlimited stock of for both of you. "I should've known you'd be good at negotiating." He throws you a look of fake contempt. You smirk. "I think you should come with me to all my summonings."

You shrug, trying not to reveal how relieved you are about late nights alone not having to be a worry for you anymore. "Sure. I will make myself available."

"So generous…" Jun comments, mouth slanting in amusement. "I'm going to turn in. You good?"

You frown. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

He watches you for a moment more before shaking his head. "No reason." He looks down at your cloak and nods. "Keep it for the next summoning. Night." He turns and lazily stalks off toward his suite on the other side of the house from yours.

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

You're getting the hang of Jun in a way you never really understood any of your previous bosses. Before, your managers were people who just told you what to do and gave you minuscule raises once in a while, but being the Devil's assistant demanded knowing him on a level more intimate than you were expecting.

Because why do you know that eating too much human food will have him in the bathroom for ungodly amounts of time? It turned out that your restriction of blood in the house was actually ruining his digestive track. You're not totally uncaring, though; you now allow the Devil his blood consumption—strictly from opaque bottles. Organs, on the other hand, will never be negotiable.

You know that his favorite thing to listen to to relax after a long, stressful day is the tortured screams of damned souls drowning in the river of boiling blood. He likes falling asleep to the screams of damned souls being quartered. If he needs to hunker down and really concentrate on work, the screams of the racists burning alive right outside his window are his preferred background noise, which is probably why his office is where it is.

Jun actually hates having to negotiate. It took that first trip and a handful more to realize that he's fairly quick to accept the first offer he's given unless it's a particularly nasty human being. Since you've started accompanying him, though, you've been getting him a lot more promised benefits than before. So far, you're most proud of convincing a human to sign over her whimsy once 10 years passes. You think it will really brighten up the place once Hell receives it.

There are a lot of devilish stereotypes you've also debunked during your time with him. He has no horns or tail or wings that he's hiding. Everything you see seems to be all of it. His skin has never been red or any other color aside from the golden tan it is now. The Devil does not have an advocate, as he finds people who relentlessly challenge ideas simply for the sake of it exhausting (though, as the ruler of Hell, he does have the privilege of everyone being too scared to challenge anything he thinks or says anyway). He doesn't rely on the worship of anybody on Earth, and he doesn't care to lure pure souls to Hell; he only makes deals with the people he knows belong with him. That inspired an hours-long conversation in which you demanded he assure you your deal was the exception and you do not belong here in Hell with him.

Why? Don't you feel like you belong here? he asked, smirking. You fit right in, darling.

That might be true, but I don't belong here, right? Like, I'm not an evil person. I would've gone to Heaven if not for my terrible parents. Right?

Will you leave me alone if I agree?

JUN.

One thing you're learning now is that your boss tends to be perceived very differently by his demon subordinates. Where you see a particular and sometimes bratty individual, others see a man they need to appease lest they get their heads cut off. Where you see a softie who cuddles with his pets upon returning home, others see a king with an army of Hellhounds starving for the chance to tear them to pieces. Where you see someone who has become your own personal barista in the mornings, others see someone they're too afraid to ask even the smallest of favors from.

Exhibit A: Soonyoung.

Who is currently hissing at you to come meet him around the corner, away from your desk and away from your boss's door. You look over your shoulder quickly to find Jun deep in reviewing the piles of contracts you left for him this morning. You roll your eyes as you stand, dragging your feet lazily as you shuffle over to where Soonyoung is practically crouching to keep from being seen.

"What is it, Soonyoung?" you sigh. He waves for you to bend down and you ignore him, not bothering to crouch to match his height. "You have one minute. The purgatory's auditorium was double booked for the new hire orientation and the monthly angel-demon networking mixer, and I have to find a solution that will not only please Jun but God. I'm this close to suggesting we go to Earth and book a Chili's."

The demon doesn't even pretend to listen to your mini rant, practically speaking over your last few words. "Do you think you can ask His Infernal Majesty if I can have the next full moon off?"

You cock an eyebrow at him. "Why would I do that?"

He looks around nervously. "Um. Because you're pure of heart and soul? And you like me?"

"First of all, only one of those two statements is true," you inform him, enjoying the way he frowns as he tries to figure out which it is, "and second of all, I meant why would I need to do that?" He stares blankly at you. "Ask him yourself."

He scoffs. "Are you crazy?"

"Yes. Next question."

The answer clearly catches him off-guard, and he stammers over several syllables before standing straight and shaking his head. "I can't ask him myself."

"Why not?"

He opens and closes his mouth several times but offers you no valid reasons. He shrugs pathetically before finally admitting. "Because he scares me!"

You look at him incredulously. "Jun… scares you."

"Don't say his name!" he shriek-whispers, frantically grabbing your wrist and pulling you even further down the hall and away from your desk. He stops just outside the copy room, where a damned soul is slapping the broken copy machine. "Of course he scares me."

"The man who needs to be reminded to eat lunch and take his vitamins despite being older than the world itself scares you."

"Yes."

"The guy who gets ghost pepper chip dust all over his fingers and wipes them on whatever surface is closest to him scares you."

Soonyoung doesn't seem to find an issue with that the way you do but he still nods. "Yes."

"The dude—"

"Yes!" he nearly shouts. "Yes! No amount of ridiculous things you say right now are going to convince me to not be scared of him! I am scared of him!"

The soul at the copy machine finally gets fed up and walks out of the copy room, screaming and nearly falling over, their papers flying every direction, when Soonyoung instinctively bares his teeth and growls. They run the rest of the way back to their desk, abandoning the papers they dropped.

You bend down to start collecting them and snort when you find meaningless doodles done by one of the executives whose office is on this floor.

"You see a very different, non-scary version of him, okay?" Soonyoung continues like he didn't just scare the shit out of someone himself. "You're not scared because you don't have to see him when Hell is down on damned souls for the quarter, or when I breathe wrong around him."

You raise your eyebrows. "And this is my problem, why…?"

"It's not a problem," he says, grinning mischievously. He squats down to help you pick up the papers. "It's an advantage! You're his favorite employee! If you ask him if I can have the day off, he'll say yes!"

You pause, looking up at him and laughing. "Me. His favorite employee. After one month."

"Yeah, don't rub it in, new kid," the demon grunts, rolling his eyes. "Some of us have been kissing his ass for centuries, and you walk in and suddenly own the place. But worry not. I'm choosing to view this as a beautiful opportunity, rather than something to be jealous of."

"Sure," you follow, nodding as you continue to gather the drawings that never saw the copy machine. "You still haven't given me a good reason why you can't do it, though. Your fear is not a good reason."

He groans. "Yes it is!"

"It isn't."

"Okay, I mean. On top of that, he'll just say no."

"Why do you think that?"

He stares at you blankly. When he realizes it's a sincere question, he licks his lips and sighs. "Dude. It's been a month. You haven't had a single day off and you haven't noticed?"

You frown as you pick up the last piece of paper. You stand and think about it. "Oh my god…"

"I thought about asking God a few centuries ago too," he says, misunderstanding you. He stands and takes the pile of papers from you. "Didn't work out. Turns out they have no say in each other's teams, and His Infernal Majesty doesn't like it when demons go over his head."

"Naturally," you mutter. "Not what I meant, though. I just didn't realize I'd been working so much."

"Yeah, yeah, time flies when you're having fun," he says, waving a hand. "Anyway, I really need the day off to go to Earth."

"And do what?"

His face lights up now. "I was summoned by a hot witch the other day, and I want to pay her a visit during the full moon."

"Ooooh, a date!" You lean in, actually interested in where the conversation is going now. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know about a date," he says bashfully, cheeks turning pink. "I just want to see—"

"Soonyoung. How many times do you want me to threaten your life for distracting my assistant?"

The demon squeals, all the papers the two of you picked up exploding into confetti as they rain down around you again. You sigh, staring as they fall to the ground, deciding immediately you will not be gathering them a second time. You look to your left to find Jun suddenly standing next to you, hands in his pockets as he stares daggers at the demon. You narrow your eyes at your boss and think, yes. Yes, you would probably be scared to be on the receiving end of that look.

But you're not so you aren't. You smile.

"Hi Junnie," you greet him. His eyes flick down to you and he shoots you a flat expression at your usage of the juvenile nickname in front of his demon. "Soonyoung has a favor to ask you."

The man in question shoots you a panicked and betrayed look before grinning nervously at his boss, who turns his attention to him now. He continues giving him that stupid grin for several seconds, failing to say anything until Jun raises one eyebrow.

"Well?"

"Oh! I, um. I was wondering if—if I could have, uh—"

"Spit it out."

"If I—um, couldhavethenextfullmoonoff." He swallows nothing. "Please."

You roll your eyes at the anxiety-riddled request.

"Absolutely not," Jun says immediately, inspiring a small, stunned gasp from you. You don't think you've ever heard him deny someone of something. But then again, you've never heard anyone ask anything of him. "You know how busy full moons are."

"No, yeah, for sure, I'm so sorry," he rambles, bowing his head a few times before giggling nervously and waving a hand. "That was so silly. Yeah. Dumb of me. I was actually just kidding. Got you! So silly. Ha…"

"Oh, come on!" you whine on behalf of Soonyoung, who looks at you with wide eyes and shakes his head quickly, silently begging you to shut up. Jun looks down at you, turning to face you completely. "That's so mean! He asked nicely!" You pause, shrugging. "Nicely enough. Why can't he have the day off?"

"Because it's the full moon."

"Okay…" you elongate the word. "And there will be many more full moons. This is just one, and you have thousands of demons. When was the last time Soonyoung had a day off?"

Jun suddenly averts his eyes, clearing his throat uncomfortably. You turn to Soonyoung, who refuses to answer. You frown at your boss.

"He's… he's never had a day off…?" you ask, making it clear how appalled you are at the idea. Your lip curls up in disgust and you look him up and down judgmentally. "What kind of boss are you?"

You gawk at him as his cheeks begin to turn red.

"You don't give your employees days off? Ever? How old are you, Soonyoung? Like a million years old?"

"Okay, relax," he mutters.

"A million years, and no days off? That's really horrible, Junnie. You should be embarrassed. I am very disappoi—"

"Soonyoung, go ahead and take the full moon off ," Jun practically barks at him, taking your arm in his grip at the same time. "Enjoy your day off, and stop talking to my fucking assistant or I'll have you as a midday snack."

The last thing you see before Jun turns you around and guides you back down the hall and away from Soonyoung is the huge, grateful, and excited smile on his face. You giggle, the sound cut off by a startled squeak when you hear the demon bellow at a damned soul.

"What the hell are you looking at?! Pick these papers up and make me a thousand copies!"

When your boss releases you back at your desk, you sit down, already back to figuring out the purgatory auditorium issue. It takes a few seconds for you to realize Jun isn't going anywhere, though. You pause, looking up at him and tilting your head.

"What is it?" you ask.

"I am a great boss."

"Uh," you exhale in a laugh. "Yeah. I know."

"Do you? Because you—"

"Oh, Junnie," you sigh, rolling your eyes as you return your attention to your computer. "Soonyoung just deserves a day off." You're not sure that statement is true, but you'll be damned if anything stops you from getting the first date gossip you're guaranteed now. "I know you're a good boss."

"Hm."

"Hm," you mimic him, smiling a little. When you look back at him, his eyes are narrowed like he's not sure you're telling the truth. "I wouldn't be willingly working seven days a week if you weren't a good boss, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Alright."

"Mhm."

"I'm just gonna—" he points at his desk, not bothering to finish his sentence as he disappears back into his office.

DAY THIRTY

You know something is wrong when you wake up on your own naturally, something you haven't done since you accepted the position with Jun. You frown from under your eye mask, hand coming up to rip it off your face. You slowly sit up, finding every single blanket and the duvet still atop you, and your eyes find the clock on the wall, finding that it's almost a full hour after your usual wake-up time.

"My alarm didn't go off," you mutter.

Jun is your alarm. Jun didn't go off. You shove the blankets off you, shivering a little as you slip off the bed and tuck your feet into your bunny slippers. You shuffle out of your bedroom, poking your head into the hall to find it barren and silent.

"Jun?" you call quietly, knowing he'll hear it regardless. He doesn't answer. You walk further out into the hall, going to the kitchen to find it empty. The coffee machine wasn't touched either, even though it's always on and ready in the morning.

Your anxiety spikes as you start to wonder if he left in the middle of the night without letting you know. You scramble back to your room for your tablet, pulling his calendar up and staring at it in confusion when you find nothing different than when you left it last night.

Meeting with Archangel Joshua Marketing Team pitch Block for contracts Block for collection Monthly Satan/God touchbase (leave 30m for travel to Purgatory) Hellhound training check-in Block for contracts 1:1 with Chief Torment Officer

His meeting with Joshua would've started five minutes ago, so maybe he was just running late and needed to go without you? When has he ever run late? You're not even sure he slept. He's had meetings much earlier than that and he never failed to wake you up and sit down for breakfast. You decide the only way you'll find out is if you head to the office and see if he's there. You're one leg into your pants when your phone starts ringing.

"Thanks for calling Hell. You've reached the Devil's office. How can I help you?" you half-grunt with your phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you pull your pants on.

"Do you have any idea how busy archangels are?"

"Joshua!" you gasp, immediately forgetting your pants and leaving them unbuttoned as you take your phone into your hand. "Is Jun with you?"

"Funny," he says in a way that suggests he doesn't find that funny at all. You get the feeling you won't find what he says next humorous either. "I was about to ask you the same thing. He hasn't shown for our meeting, and while he's the most vexing person I've ever met, he's also never been late. I can only really wait ten more minutes before I have to go appear as a hallucination to some humans and ask them to build a home for the less fortunate."

You groan, free hand applying pressure to your temple and eyes squeezing shut. "You know what, just… go do that. I'm sorry about this. I accidentally double-booked him. Totally my fault. I'll work with your admin to reschedule. Sorry again." You figure you'll take the fall to keep Jun away from scrutiny until you can find out where the fuck he is.

"'Kay. Don't let it happen again," he sighs dramatically.

"Okay, relax, you glorified gnat with feathers," you scoff, continuing to get dressed. "I said sorry. Y'know what? Don't call me for these things in the future! Have Seungkwan do it next time. I don't want to be subjected to your whiny, little rants."

Joshua makes a noise of disbelief before laughing. "Wow, you're the perfect assistant for Satan. For the record, I was totally kidding. I got to sit here and do nothing but doom scroll, so I don't mind. But I will have my assistant call next time. Sorry for bothering you."

"Good. Don't let it happen again." You don't allow him a response, hanging up and gathering your things as you hurry to leave for the office.

But as you exit your room, you hear your name, called so softly, you would have missed it if you hadn't paused to make sure your tablet was on you. You freeze, frowning in the direction of the sound.

"Jun?" you call, mindlessly setting your bag down in the kitchen as you walk toward your boss's suite. You find his door at the end of the hall, a deep, dark blood red, open just a crack. You knock lightly, and when you don't hear anything, you poke your head through.

And there he is, your missing boss, still cocooned in his bed, his favorite Hellcat and Hellhound sleeping at his feet, the former passed out atop the latter.

"Junnie?" you call again. He groans this time.

"Y/N…" he murmurs, not moving an inch or opening his eyes.

You tiptoe into the room, making a kissy face at Key when the hound's tail starts wagging at the sight of you. The movement makes Lock slide off the dog, meowing helplessly as she does. You get to Jun's bedside and wince when you realize how sick he looks.

The Devil is pale, sweating with a sickly sheen, and looking so weak, it's the first time you've thought he could believably pass as human. You reach out to press the back of your hand to his forehead, but he swats it away.

"Hey!"

"Don't," he whispers, voice hoarse with fatigue. "Fever. I'll burn your skin off."

"Oh," you mutter, immediately taking your hand back. "You're sick. I didn't know the Devil could get sick."

"Demon Flu," he says, eyes fluttering open just enough to peek at you. "Soonyoung sneezed in my face the other day."

"Oh!" you blink at him in surprise. "Ew! Good to know! I will make a note to send him to the Hellhounds to serve as a chew toy for the day."

"Week."

"Got it," you say, nodding. You fidget a little, looking down at your boss with pity. He looks so helpless and sad and cute. You fight the urge to run your fingers through his damp hair. "What do you need? What can I do for you?"

"Nothing. I'll be down until 3:33 a.m. tomorrow," he informs you.

"Specific."

"Just… do… assistant things," he says pathetically, fingers twitching when he tries to wave his hand dismissively.

You can do that. Your first order of business is getting him a tall glass of water and force-feeding it to him until he has rivulets of water very distractingly dribbling down his chin, neck, and between his pecs, where it disappears under the covers.

Then, you get him a cold compress, screeching in surprise when the towel crackles and steams upon contact with his forehead. When that warms up within a minute, you try getting him an actual ice block, chipped straight off the furniture of his weird ice room. You take his moan of relief as a good thing and quickly get to work butchering the ice room until you have an endless supply of blocks for Jun's sizzling forehead.

When you're done with that, you make him the hot pot you made yourself one night and noticed he had several helpings of, spoon feeding it to him despite his several protests. After two slurps, though, there isn't much of a fight, with Jun relaxing back into his pillows and happily allowing you to feed him as he lets his eyes close. You pause, wondering if he fell asleep, but he immediately whines for his next spoonful.

"You're a baby when you're sick."

"I could die."

"You literally couldn't."

He slurps his latest spoonful of broth. "Feels like it."

"Mmm," you hum, smiling at how endearing he is when he doesn't have the energy to put up his big, bad act.

"Y'know…" he rasps, "when I said do assistant things, I meant at work."

"My work is making your life easier, no?" you counter, letting go of the spoon to pick up the chopsticks and pluck meat out of the broth for Jun to eat. He practically purrs when his mouth closes around the chopsticks, and you struggle not to watch his Adam's apple as he swallows. "So I am doing assistant things at work."

Jun opens his eyes, able to open them wider than he was when you first found him. "Just work, hm?"

You set the chopsticks down and pick up the spoon to chase his bite down with broth, but his fingers circle around your wrist, stopping before the spoon can touch his lips. His grip is hot but it doesn't hurt—not how you imagine his face would. "You're full?"

"Why are you feeding me?"

You raise your eyebrows at him. "Because you're sick and need to eat…?"

Jun's eyes narrow infinitesimally, but he releases your wrist, allowing you to feed him more broth.

"Not used to being cared for, are you?" you observe, chuckling. "Big, bad Devil has never been spoonfed?" Your boss rolls his eyes but doesn't entertain you by acknowledging your question.

After a few more bites, his long, slender fingers gently push the bowl away, and he shakes his head, muttering a quiet thank you as you set the food aside on his nightstand. You stand, pulling his blankets up even higher when you see him shiver.

"You don't have to do all this," he sighs as you shove your fingers under his back and legs, tucking his blankets in along his entire body until he looks like an oversized, swaddled baby. "It's not in your employment agreement. Go work."

"I will," you say, rolling your eyes at his stubbornness. "And you realize I can help you without being contractually obligated to, right?" you ask, laughing and collecting all the dishes you need to bring back to the kitchen. "You don't need to have me sign my soul away to get me to care, Junnie. I know I don't need to do any of this. Consider it a friend-slash-roommate helping you."

You finish cleaning up and don't allow him the chance to retort or protest, immediately turning away and calling Lock and Key to follow you out of the room.

"Come on, kiddies," you coo as his pets exit. "Your daddy needs to rest." You glance back up at Jun, who stares at you hard with a deep frown on his face. "Call if you need anything. I'll stay nearby and check on you in an hour!"

DAY THIRTY-SIX

Jun has been weird around you for the last week. It's like that dumb flu of his altered his brain chemistry and made him cold and detached.

There was no more going into your room to wake you up; now he has a shrill alarm clock appear to scream in your ear like a demented banshee, disappearing every time you try to smack wherever its snooze button is. He no longer sits for breakfast with you; now, he tells you he needs to be at the office ahead of you and will simply meet you there. Thankfully, he allows you to continue accompanying him to his summonings, but with how weird he's acting, you wonder if it would be better to just face your fears and be alone.

You attempted to talk to him throughout the week, trying not to take it personally when all you got were one-worded responses or grunts or blank stares.

Three days in, you started slacking a little to force him to say more than one word to you. You scheduled meetings so he'd show up ten minutes late. You sent a Hell-wide email promising everyone a four-day work week if quotas were met. You even threatened to release the lower-level sinners from their torture chambers to cause trouble for the archangels. All that got you was a severe glare, and a notice from Demon Resources that one more mistake would get you on a performance improvement plan, which you were informed would involve giving the Hellhounds baths alongside the damned souls in charge of that.

It's clear that Jun is in a mood—probably the aftereffects of the mysterious Demon Flu you can't catch. You've resigned yourself to riding it out, accepting that even the Devil is prone to tantrums and mood swings.

The phone on your desk rings, and you heave a tired sigh before answering.

"Hi. You've reached the desk of The Supreme Lord of Sulkiness," you greet loudly, ignoring the series of choked coughs that erupt from your boss's office behind you. "How may I help you?"

"Oh, uh…" the voice pauses like they're checking something. "This is His Infernal Majesty's desk, correct?"

"Yep, that's what I just saaaaid," you sing-song. "Now how can I help you?"

"This is the front desk. We have an archangel on the line that insists on speaking with His Infernal Majesty."

You roll your eyes. "Who is it?"

"Archangel Brayden…?"

The idiot is the biggest pain in your ass. You're not even sure why he constantly asks after Jun when Joshua is the archangel appointed with all relations having to do with Hell. It's probably a weird power play in Heaven that you're not privy to, but you've been dodging him for days now.

"Tell him he's not available."

"He is threatening to visit for the third time this week."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter.

"You want me to transfer him to Christ?"

You frown deeply at that. "What? We can transfer him to—wait, what?"

"You said—"

"Never mind, just—ugh," you groan in frustration, resting your elbows on the desk and cradling your head in your free hand. "Put him through."

"Will do." The line cuts to the agonized screams of damned souls as you wait for her to transfer him to you.

"Hello?" his dumb voice drifts through the receiver.

"Hi. You've reached the desk of—"

"Who am I speaking to?"

You clamp your mouth shut, rolling your lips between your teeth to keep from immediately snapping at him. When you're sure you won't, you state your name.

He still manages to say it wrong, but you don't bother correcting him. "I need a meeting with Satan."

"And why is that?"

He laughs arrogantly. "That's between me and him."

"Well, he's busy."

"I haven't even given you my availability."

"Don't need yours. I have his, and he's busy." You tack on "for the rest of time" for good measure.

There's a loaded silence long enough that you wonder if you've effectively driven him into hanging up. Of course, that would be too easy. "You really don't want to mouth off with me."

"Excuse me?" You huff a laugh of disbelief. You swear some of these angels are bigger assholes than the demons crawling around here.

"You heard me," he seethes. You feel your self-control dissolving by the second. "Now you can either transfer me to your boss like a good, little demon slave—"

"I am literally none of those four things."

"—or," he near-shouts over you, "you can put me in his books. This is a very important meeting, and I'd hate for you to have your soul ripped apart for failing to schedule it."

"Listen here," you hiss, "you repulsive, pretentious, foul excuse for an—"

"Brayden."

You freeze as Jun's voice cuts into the call. You turn toward his office to find him leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest and legs crossed at the ankles. His eyes slide over to you and he lazily lifts a hand and beckons you over with two fingers. You quickly hang the phone up and stand, entering Jun's office in time to catch the archangel bumbling nonsensically on speakerphone.

He nods at the seats in front of him and you take one, slowly lowering yourself as he speaks.

"I don't believe we've met," Jun says, interrupting his stuttering.

"Um, no, we haven't! I just wanted to schedule a coffee chat to introduce myself!" You glare at the phone. A coffee chat is his very important meeting?

"What a fucking tool," you murmur.

"A coffee chat," the Devil repeats.

"Yes. I figured Hell is a huge place. Maybe you need two archangels to serve as point. I'd love to put my name in the ring—"

"And you thought threatening my assistant was the best way to do it?" Jun asks, face blank as he stares at you.

"Oh, no," he says, laughing like it's a joke, "No, no, definitely not. I was not threatening her."

"Hm."

You've grown accustomed to Jun's many variations of hm. There's his thoughtful hm. The hm when he's trying not to smile or laugh. His angry hm. The that-is-the-dumbest-thing-I've-ever-fucking-heard hm. A hm reserved especially for when Soonyoung annoys him. This one isn't one you're familiar with.

"What was it you were saying about her soul being torn apart?" Saying the words again makes Jun's eyes turn a deep red. His hands turn into fists, making the veins running up his forearm pop.

"I was joking!" Brayden insists. "I was totally joking. She and I joke like that! We—"

"Lie to me one more time and I'll have God cast you out of Heaven so fast, you won't know how you ended up in my Hellhound's digestive system."

The line falls silent, and your body does interesting things in reaction to the words—the most obvious one being the odd ache between your legs. You fidget a little, finger slipping into your collar and pulling a little as you begin to feel warm.

"How long have you been an archangel, Brayden?"

"Uh, well, heh," he laughs nervously. "So, I'm not quite an archangel yet. I'm—"

Jun cuts him off with a sharp, terrifying laugh. "And now you never will be," he informs him. "I'm sure both Archangel Joshua and God will agree that you aren't fit for that role."

He squeaks in protest. "I—"

"Wow, how productive!" Jun says with feigned glee. "Look at us, we had a great chat and we didn't even need to waste time breathing each other's air or ruining the joys of drinking caffeine."

"Uh, I, um, sir—"

"Have any other demands you'd like to make?"

"No," he answers immediately. "No, I… I don't. I'm sorry. I—"

"Perfect," he says. "Now if you'll apologize to my assistant, we can get on with our lives. And make it good, Brayden. I don't like to repeat orders."

"I'm so sorry," Brayden grovels, sounding like he's on the verge of tears, if not fully crying already. He sniffles and his voice cracks on his next words. "I don't know why I was acting like such an asshole and bothering all of you when I had no business going over Archangel Joshua's head like that. I'm sorry, Satan."

Jun narrows his eyes. "I don't want your apologies."

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"Hm," he accepts it. "Then I think our business is done. And Brayden?"

"Yes?" his voice trembles.

"If I hear that you called anyone here in Hell again, let alone my assistant," he starts, eyes flashing a bright and violent scarlet now, "I will personally come up there, pluck you right out of the fucking sky, and take my sweet, sweet time flaying you with a dull butter knife—wings and all—before I tear your soul apart, piece by agonizing piece myself."

There's a loud sniffle followed by a whimper on the line, but the ache inside you is so strong now, you can't even enjoy the sound.

"And if you think my friendships with your superiors will stop me, you are so sorely mistaken." His pause is pregnant with tension, his eyes boring into you as he lands his final threat. "I have absolutely no problem with starting a war over you."

The words send a chill down your spine, and you cross your legs tightly to keep from twitching at the sensation. You grip the arms of your chair and avert your eyes from your boss, trying to understand what the fuck is happening to your body right now. You quietly blow a breath out through your mouth when the sensation doesn't let up.

As expected, the angel doesn't have a proper response to that.

"Good talk, Brayden," Jun says sardonically. "Don't let me hear your voice ever again."

He reaches over and presses a button on his phone, ending the call. He looks back to you, his eyes finally fading back to that deep, comforting brown. He sighs, seeming suddenly and significantly less sure of himself than he was on the phone.

"Um," he clears his throat, coughing a little as he grips the edge of his desk with both hands. He looks down at his lap and inhales deeply. His breath is spicy with the smell of your chips on his exhale, blowing strands of your hair away from your face. "Sorry."

"Why?" you laugh in disbelief. The sound must unwind something in him because his posture relaxes and he looks back up at you. "That was amazing!"

He snorts, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, well. It's going to result in a lot of discussions with God and Joshua, so… please find something on their calendars."

"Got it, boss," you say, standing to return to your own desk.

Before you get far, though, Jun calls your name, the syllables sounding weird from him—much softer and gentler than you've ever heard him be. It almost triggers your fight or flight for some reason.

"Yeah?" you ask slowly, eyes flitting about the room nervously.

"You don't have to stay on calls like that for my sake," he tells you, crossing his arms again, this time like he's almost trying to protect himself from you. "I know you took the blame for me missing all my meetings while sick, and I know you try to deal with all kinds of bullshit because you don't want people to think the Devil hired someone without a backbone."

The words strike a chord with you that you didn't realize even existed. Did you do that? If you think about it, you can see why your boss would think so. Day in and day out, no matter how much attitude you gave to whoever you were talking to, you still stayed and dealt with the problem so that the others would find you reliable—so that they wouldn't have to bring it to Jun.

You also took the blame for the missed meetings because Jun's health wasn't anyone's business, not until he made it clear it was okay to share with others, anyway. No one needed to know he missed a few meetings without notice.

"So… don't do that," Jun says, sighing. "Assholes—whether in Heaven or Hell—they're always going to try and give you a hard time because they're too scared to say it to my face. And I know without a doubt that you can handle it, but… you're not my shield, okay?"

"Okay."

"I know you were about to rip that prick a new asshole," he continues, making you smile, "but I want you to feel like you can do that from the jump if you need to. Next time, just tell him to fuck off. Or hang up. Or bring me in. Whatever. If anyone has an issue with the way you work, they can talk to me. Just… don't sit there and take it."

You nod slowly. "Alright, I won't… thanks."

"Mhm."

"Hey, Junnie," you say suddenly, taking advantage of his sudden willingness to talk to you now. He hums again, nodding for you to go on, his eyes skimming every surface of your face. It isn't until this moment that you realize he hasn't properly looked at you in a week. "Um. Are we good?"

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You've just been…" you trail off, shrugging. "I don't know, a little cold lately?" You hate how pathetic and whiny it makes you sound. "And if it's because I did something wrong, well, I would just like to remind you that our agreement can only be terminated by my death, the collapse of reality, or mutual agreement."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward, but his expression stays serious and he keeps taking his time watching you. So much time, you start to wring your hands nervously. Finally, when he seems to be finished with studying every last millimeter of your face, he shakes his head.

"You haven't done anything wrong," he assures you, sounding tired. "I was just feeling weird. I'm okay, though. We're okay. You don't have to worry about termination. You've made it clear I'm stuck with you."

You grin, nodding. "Good. Because I have grown very accustomed to my unlimited interior design budget and my 1,000-thread-count sheets."

He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you have. Now go schedule me a coffee chat with God and Joshua for tomorrow, please. Move things around if you must. I'm sure Brayden has gone crying about it to Mommy by now."

You laugh. "Will do."

You leave his office feeling lighter than you have all week.

DAY THIRTY-SEVEN

Jun: where tf r u Me: have a dr appt!!! Jun: what why r u ok Jun: i'll come over Me: no it's ok it's just a check-up Jun: liar we don't do check-ups in hell Me: yeah well i am human and i need a check-up Jun: u sure ur ok? Me: yes! i'll be in the office soon. Jun: fine… if a few hellhounds find u just send them back Me: bruh Me: did you give the dogs my scent to find me??? Jun: u never wake up before me let alone leave the house before me Me: you could have just called Jun: k wtvr noted Me: 23 HELLHOUNDS IS NOT A FEW JUNNIE WTF Jun: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP JUST SEND THEM BACK

"His Infernal Majesty seems to be very… protective over you," the doctor observes, still clearly annoyed with having 23 fire-breathing Hellhounds at her door.

You wave a hand and laugh uncomfortably. "Oh, he's just a very concerned and, uh, considerate person."

The doctor just stares. "The Devil. Considerate. Right."

"Um. So anyway," you clear your throat, desperate to change the subject. "Do you have experience with humans?"

"No, but I will do everything I can to ensure you leave healthy." Her voice is stern and uncompromising, and you suddenly feel like you're in a principal's office rather than a doctor's. She sits down on a rolling stool, scoots closer to the table you're perched on, and mutters, "Wouldn't want more Hellhounds plowing my door down, ready to melt my face off because the Devil's charge was unhappy."

You shift on the table a bit uncomfortably but smile. It's clear that she will not be forgetting about the 23 Hellhounds sent to her office just because a human wasn't in bed when the Devil woke up anytime soon. Not while you're still in her office, at least.

Jun wouldn't do anything to her anyway. You'd probably just go to a doctor on Earth next time if Hell's medical services weren't sufficient.

"So what brings you in today?" she sighs, crossing her legs and folding her hands over her knees.

"Right, so I experienced something weird yesterday," you start. "I had a stressful workplace issue and my body reacted very unexpectedly, and I now require medical attention."

The doctor frowns, rolling closer to you on her stool. "Okay, if you're comfortable, can you describe the stressful event and how your body reacted?"

"Well, an angel was harassing the front desk so they had him talk to me, and then he started saying all this foul shit—"

"Brayden."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Yes! How did you know?"

"He's called every department of this Devil-forsaken hellscape," she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "How is a demon doctor supposed to get an archangel a meeting with the Devil?"

You scoff. "Well, he's not an archangel, and it was just a coffee chat."

The doctor snorts, and as you watch her terse personality start to melt, you deem it safe to dive into the full story. By the end of it, she's clapping and giggling, a massive difference from when she was forced to face 23 Hellhounds.

"Wow, that's very attractive of His Infernal Majesty."

You frown. "What?"

She raises an eyebrow at you. "You don't think so?"

"Uh…" You're stumped.

It's not that you've never found anyone attractive… actually, it absolutely is that you've never found anyone attractive.

You tried dating but stopped years ago when you recognized that you were doing it because you felt an obligation to. All your friends were dating or in long-term committed relationships—or at the very least, sleeping around. Dating apps seemed like something you were supposed to do. You quickly shut that idea down. Romance wasn't a hole you've felt in your life so it's not one you lingered on or thought about often. Sure, you knew when people were beautiful or handsome or hot or cute—you know without a doubt that Jun is all of the above. But attraction is harder. You're not sure you've ever felt it.

"You've never felt attraction." Your eyes widen at the demon physician.

"Can you read minds?"

She snorts. "No. I can read your face." She narrows her eyes at you and nods. "And I think I know what happened to you."

"But I haven't given you my symptoms."

"Let me guess," she says, crossing her arms and scooting her stool back so she can lean against the counter behind her. "Elevated heart rate, flushing, perspiration… maybe some pain in the abdominal area or… lower."

You stare at her. "Are you sure you can't read my mind?"

She smirks. "I'm sure, human." She sighs. "You're going to be perfectly fine. Though I do recommend you explore options for therapy."

You startle. "What? Why?"

"Because what you felt was arousal," she reveals, "and I'm guessing you might need someone to process those thoughts about your boss with and it will not be me."

You choke on nothing, triggering a coughing attack that lasts embarrassingly long. When you finally stop, your chest is heaving and the doctor is staring at you blankly.

"Are you done?"

"Coughing? Yes. With you? Absolutely not," you inform her, ignoring the way she sighs like this is an inconvenience. "What do you mean arousal?"

"I mean, you found His Infernal Majesty's defense of you attractive and your body responded accordingly. Very strongly—much more strongly than anyone else probably would—but accordingly."

Your face turns Hellfire hot, and you wish the dogs had barbecued you while they were here.

"You have nothing to worry about as far as your health is concerned. These feelings are very natural." She thinks for a moment before adding: "For humans. Demons are better at discretion."

"But… he was just being nice… why would that be attractive?"

She shrugs. "The bar is in Hell, literally."

"Oh god…" you murmur. Is this what happened to your friends when they insisted that a man paying half the bill after ordering several cocktails to their one water was modern day romance?

"I will say…" she starts, looking a little hesitant as she does.

"You can say it," you encourage her. "I won't tell anyone. HIPAA, right?"

"One, that's an American thing, and two, that's meant to protect the patient's privacy, not the other way around."

"Whatever," you sigh. "You get it."

"Between us girls," she says, even though you two aren't even of the same species. It makes you smile. "I understand why your body would react the way it did. It is quite nice to feel protected and safe."

"Protected and safe," you echo quietly.

"Mhm. Has anyone ever made you feel that?"

The answer comes to you fast. No. No one has ever made you feel protected or safe. That has been your own responsibility since you were four. Still, it takes you a moment to answer because you realize that although that would've been the answer a few months ago, it's more complicated now.

Now, the answer is: no. No one has ever made you feel that way. Not until Jun.

"Can I have a referral to that therapist?"

She smiles. "I'll give you a list of recs, but this isn't that putrid Hell hole you call Earth; you don't need a referral to seek healthcare."

"Right."

When you get into the office and Jun apologizes for the Hellhounds and asks if everything was fine at the doctor's (and if he needs to throw anyone into a vat of boiling oil), you feel your symptoms again. And you know Hell's doctor is right.

DAY FORTY-TWO

Hell is closed tomorrow, and it's all thanks to you. You hope that you'll be included in some sort of history book for this. Every demon you've come across has made it clear that you deserve to be anyway. Because after the debacle with Soonyoung's day off and a single complaint you made to Jun about how Hell doesn't have enough paid holidays, the underworld now has Demon Appreciation Day (DAD!), an unprecedented day off for all of Hell's employees as a thank you for their hard work terrorizing humans.

Unfortunately, it also means the damned souls get a break from torment, but Jeonghan, Chief Torment and Innovation Officer, has assured Jun he's already on it, figuring out ways to automate torture for one day so that the worst human beings in history do not get a break ever again.

"What are you going to do for DAD?" Soonyoung asks the current watercooler demon on shift as soon as she's done small talking a damned soul to tears.

"I'm going to abstain from speaking to anyone." You smile at the answer as you get your own cup of water.

"Oh," Soonyoung chirps, nodding slowly. She glares at him and he immediately walks away, beckoning you to hurry. "We don't want to mess with Jeongyeon when her social battery is dead." You wave bye to her and she winks at you. You know very well her social battery is always dead around Soonyoung no matter what. "Anyway, what are you, our amazing Queen of DAD, going to do on your day off?"

"Queen is a little excessive," you say, not very keen on taking a title that would encroach on any of Jun's millions, even as a joke. "Maybe mayor."

Soonyoung clearly doesn't like the suggested edit, scoffing. "No. Queen is fitting."

You roll your eyes. "Sure."

"What? It is! You're the reason we have our first mandated day off ever!" the demon reminds you. His mouth twists into a mischievous smirk now. "Plus, with all the rumors going 'round, 'queen' is perfect for our king."

You stop in your tracks. "What?"

He giggles so obnoxiously, you slap his arm more out of reflex than anything else. He gasps, rubbing the spot dramatically. "What?! I'm just the messenger! Everyone is talking about it."

"About what?"

"About how His Infernal Majesty must be in love with you if he's willing to create an entire day off just for you."

The words make your stomach jump into your throat. Ever since your appointment, you've been paying extra attention to your feelings, and you're convinced you actually have no idea what anything feels like. Have you ever properly known what you were feeling? What is a feeling anyway?

When Jun ripped the blankets off you in the morning, did you feel annoyed, furious, or helpless?

When Jun wordlessly handed you your coffee, did you feel grateful, enamored, or nothing at all because you were still half asleep?

When he wrapped his long ass fingers around your wrist to travel to Earth for summonings, did you feel giddy, excited, or grateful that you wouldn't be alone at home?

When Soonyoung says that there are rumors that Jun is in love with you, do you feel confused, anxious, or endlessly irritated with the demon?

Since you haven't had a chance to see a therapist, you pick the last one.

You scoff. "It isn't for me, you idiot. I just floated the idea by him."

"And any idea you float by him becomes a fully fleshed out thing by the end of the day."

"Okay, so he's a good and receptive boss."

His eyebrows rise at that. "He's the Devil."

Touché. "It's ridiculous."

"That he loves you to the point of invention? No, I d—"

You shove him into the wall, effectively making him spill his water all over himself. "Hey! You can't just go hitting people f—"

"Actually, I can!" you correct him, walking away. "Jun explicitly gave me permission to do whatever the fuck I want! So take it up with him!"

What a ridiculous rumor from an even more ridiculous demon.

Of all the much cooler rumors that could've been made, that one is the one they settled on? If you knew that's the news that would be spreading, you would've started your own rumors about yourself. Like you're actually God's super cool daughter and this is just a nepotism internship before you become the heiress of Heaven. Or that Hell is just a simulation being run by a crazy scientist named Jun and your arrival marks the imminent end of the experiment—an antichrist of sorts. Kind of poetic.

But the Devil being in love with his assistant? Both impossible and cliche and scary to think about because you don't think you'd be able to pick up on it even if it were possible.

When you return home, you're debating telling Jun about this rumor just to watch him stutter and squirm and turn red (and maybe make plans to disembowel a demon or two), but that's all forgotten when you find your boss back early from a meeting with God he took in purgatory. And endearingly enough, he's sprawled across the couch with both Lock and Key on his stomach and leg respectively, all three of them fast asleep.

You grin, taking several photos before you pocket your phone and watch his chest rise and fall, slowly coming to the realization that Jun needed this break too. You've never seen the man nap, and up until the day he got sick, you were still convinced he never even slept at all. If he's taking a nap, you know it's because he badly needs it. You're determined to leave him be, but you hear your name just as you're about to leave the living room.

"Hey," you greet him, smiling at how confused and sleepy he looks as he lifts his head and stares at his pets. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

He shakes his head, letting it plop back onto the couch when it's clear Lock and Key have no intention of moving. "No, I've been napping long enough," he says, his voice deep and gravely with sleep. You shift your weight from foot to foot as he continues speaking, settling for squeezing your thighs together when your sudden discomfort isn't alleviated. Oh god. Is this arousal again? "God cancelled last minute." He yawns, mouth opening comically wide. "Something about a miracle gone wrong."

"Ah," you nod, walking over to the three of them and taking the empty sectional by his head while you try to get yours to shut up. "What are your plans for this rare afternoon off then?" you ask. "And for DAD?"

Jun tilts his head up to look at you. "Stop calling it that," he deadpans.

"No," you say simply. "It's my holiday and I will call it what I want."

You expect him to point out it isn't your holiday; after all, you aren't even a demon. You're just the catalyst behind something that was a long time coming. But the argument doesn't come. Instead, your boss sighs and straightens his head again, staring at the ceiling.

"Fair enough, I suppose."

You raise your eyebrows, smiling. You're about to point out he basically just agreed that it's your holiday when you hear Soonyoung's stupid voice in the back of your mind. He created a holiday for you. Is that not a man who loves you?

You shudder, shaking a little like that will exorcise the demon from your subconscious.

"You okay?" Jun asks, looking back up at you.

"Huh? Yeah." You struggle to wipe the frown off your face before looking down at the Devil. "Want dinner?"

"Hot pot?"

"I've made hot pot several times this month," you groan. "Are you not tired of it?"

He looks at you like you're crazy. "No?" He sits up abruptly without removing Lock from his stomach first, and the cat releases an ear-piercing yowl before jumping off him. Key follows suit as Jun pulls his legs away and plants his feet on the floor. "You humans tire of things so fast. It's why you're all so vulnerable to temptation."

"Pfft. Me? Prone to temptation?" You pause and think of all the material things you've forced Jun to buy you under the guise of it being absolutely necessary for your productivity as his assistant. You shrug. "Okay, yeah. That is true."

Jun smirks and shakes his head. "Come on. Let's eat."

You nod, following him as he gets up ahead of you and walks into the kitchen. You slow at the door when you find him leaning his back against the fridge, his arms crossed and his lips pursed. He's blushing slightly, and he looks like he almost regrets doing this.

"Happy DAD, I guess."

The kitchen is decorated in every possible shade of pink you've ever seen—balloons, streamers, tinsel, confetti, a sign that says Demon Human Appreciation Day! And in the middle of the kitchen island is a cake, and just looking at it, you know it's not like the blood-based desserts that the demons around here like to indulge in.

"I never had a meeting with God," Jun mutters. "I just had you put that in for me. I was actually meeting Joshua to get this. It's angel cake. Actual angel cake. They use stardust sugar, moon milk, morning dew, and cloudberries. Figured you'd prefer this over devil's cake… actual devil's cake."

You stare at it, decorated beautifully with piped frosting and fresh berries. It's a pale pink—so pale, it looks white compared to the other shades that litter the space—and its frosting just barely glitters under the light. The top reads, Best Human Ever.

"Of course, the angels chose the message. To be clear, I would never call you the best."

You're finally snapped out of your daze at the words, which prompt you to roll your eyes. "Yes because you would use something much better. Like Most Perfect Human Ever, right, Junnie?"

His blush deepens and he glares at the wall across from him. "No."

You look around, stunned by the display of appreciation, especially for someone who was technically just fulfilling her part of the contract. You've never even gotten a birthday party thrown for you, and the happiness you're filled with threatens to strangle you. You swallow the knot forming in your throat, thinking that maybe DAD is your favorite holiday.

"Can I hug you?"

"Absolutely not."

"Oh come on!" you whine, already walking to him with open arms. "You can't do something so kind and cute and wonderful and not accept a hug!"

He backs away from you, hands splayed in front of him to keep you away. "The Devil doesn't do hugs."

"The Devil probably also doesn't have a history of showing his assistant appreciation," you point out. "Or securing her an angel cake she's going to eat in one sitting!"

Jun pauses, frowning. "One sitting?! It's meant to serve 10 people!"

"Give me a hug!" you shriek, jumping at him.

He, of course, disappears. You stumble into the space he was just standing in and gasp in mock offense at being evaded. You spin around, pouting, and find him right behind you, glaring. You sigh.

"Okay, if you're really not consenting to a hug, I will not force you into one. But if you're just being an emotionally constipated weirdo, I would ask that you suppress that for DAD and allow just one—" You hold up one finger for emphasis. "—hug. Please."

Jun's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows nothing, his eyes zoning out on something above your head. He shakes his head and sighs. "Fine. One hug, bu—oof."

You don't wait for him to finish his sentence, hugging him so tightly, you immediately start sweating from the heat radiating through his clothes. But you don't care, tightening your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek as far into his chest as it will go. You're on the verge of tears and your boss doesn't need to see it.

When he realizes you fully intend on making your hug last more than a millisecond, a single hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, thumb hesitantly sweeping back and forth in a comforting caress.

For the first time in several days, you don't bother to check in with your feelings and you decide maybe it's time to stop. Because this just feels nice, and if it feels nice, then that's all you want to know. Everything else is noise that threatens to pop this bubble of safety you're in—Jun's arms. You decide then that the nuances of your happiness are none of your business as long as you are happy. Happy. Something you're starting to think you've never fully been now that you've truly experienced it here, in Hell.

"Thank you, Junnie," you mumble against his chest. You know it's easy to tell you've been brought to tears from the way your watery voice trembles, but thankfully, the Devil doesn't point it out. "You don't know how much this means to me."

He sighs, squeezing your shoulder. "I think I do." After a moment, he adds: "Thanks for everything you do for Hell… and for me. You are very…" He clears his throat uncomfortably, "… appreciated here."

You smile, sighing as you finally pull away from him, wiping at your eyes discreetly as you do. "Thank you. Now let me make you hot pot and let's eat this cake."

You turn away fast to hide your glassy eyes, missing the way Jun rests a palm to his chest where you had just been pressed against him.

A/N: again, this is already done and tumblr just kept me from keeping this a one shot bc of its 1000 block limit bc it HATES ME! i've queued the next part to release this wed 7/1 so pls stay tuned! :)

"That’s the problem, isn't it?" Minghao’s voice was like ice, slicing through the heavy atmosphere. He was still standing to the left of the chair Y/N had just vacated, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "We don't think. We climb the charts, we sell out stadiums, we celebrate our 'perfect machine,' and we completely forget that the fourteenth gear is being stripped raw just to keep the rest of us turning."

"Hao, that’s enough," Jeonghan said quietly from the kitchen counter. But his voice lacked its usual authority. His hands were gripping the marble edge so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked toward the hallway where Y/N’s door had closed, his heart aching with the memory of her limp arms in his embrace just hours earlier. "We all failed. Every single one of us."

Jihoon stood up abruptly. He didn't look at anyone. His face was a mask of absolute, pale shock. He walked toward the front door, his hand trembling as he reached for his jacket.

"Where are you going?" Hoshi asked from the floor, his voice raw.

"The studio," Jihoon whispered, his throat tight. "I need to... I have to look at the track files. I have to look at Shadow."

"It’s four in the morning, Jihoon," Joshua said softly, reaching out to catch his sleeve.

"I don't care if it's the middle of the night!" Jihoon shouted, slamming his hand against the wall. The sudden outburst made Seokmin flinch. Tears finally spilled over Jihoon's lashes, hot and furious. "I told her her lyrics were too dark. I told her they didn't fit our image. She was telling me she was dying in the dark, and I gave her a lecture on commercial branding! I have to open the files. I have to see what I threw away."

He ripped his arm away from Joshua's grip and let himself out of the apartment, the heavy front door slamming closed with a dull, echoing boom.

Inside the bedroom, the world had shrunk to the space between two heartbeats.

Wonwoo’s chest was warm against Y/N’s back, his long arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him until there was no air left between them. He hadn't stopped shaking. The quiet, unbothered rapper who usually watched the world through a detached lens was holding onto her like she was the only solid thing left in a collapsing universe.

"Oppa," Y/N whispered into the dark, her voice small and rough from hours of crying. "You should go out there. They need you."

"No," Wonwoo murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that only came when he was completely drained. He buried his face deeper into the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "I’ve spent six years standing out there with them while you stood back here alone. Tonight, I'm staying in the corner."

"They didn't mean to do it," she said softly, staring at the faint gray light beginning to trace the edges of the window blinds. It was a strange twist of the heart even now, with her contract resignation sitting on the table, her first instinct was to protect the boys from their own guilt. "Coups-hyung... he’s just trying to keep the group alive. The company puts so much pressure on him."

"Don't defend him, Y/N-ah," Wonwoo whispered, his grip tightening around her waist just a fraction, as if he were physically fighting the legal team she had tried to call. "He’s the leader, but he’s also your brother. If he’s too busy looking at the stadiums to see that his sister is disappearing in the wings, then he’s failing at both."

He shifted slightly, turning her around in his arms until she was facing him. In the weak dawn light, his sharp eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a rare, desperate vulnerability.

"Minghao was right," Wonwoo said, his thumb coming up to trace the fragile line of her jaw. "If you do this... if Team 2 processes the paperwork, the company will make it ugly. They’ll structure the articles to protect the 'Seventeen' brand. They’ll say you left because of health reasons, or personality differences, or lack of dedication. The fans... some of them will be furious. Are you ready for that?"

Y/N looked into his eyes, her heart aching with the sheer weight of his worry. "I’ve spent six years being torn apart by solo stans for just existing in the line-up, Wonwoo. I’ve read the threads saying I’m the 'ugly variable' that ruins the dance formations. Do you really think an official exit article can hurt me more than sitting in that waiting room tonight while everyone looked right through me?"

Wonwoo closed his eyes, a sharp, ragged breath escaping his throat. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his fingers curling into the fabric of her black hoodie.

"Then let me come with you," he whispered.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat. "What?"

"If you leave... let me terminate mine too," Wonwoo said, the words falling out of him with a terrifying, absolute certainty. "I don't want to stand on that stage if half my heart is sitting in a legal office in Samseong-dong. I don't want to sing the bridge if I’m looking at the space where you used to stand."

"Are you crazy?" Y/N’s voice finally rose, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to see his face. "Wonwoo, no! You love the stage. You love the Carats. You went through the green basement you bled for this group!"

"I bled with you," he corrected fiercely, his eyes flashing with an intensity she had never seen in him before. "We built this together. If the system is so broken that it requires your erasure to function, then I don't want to be a part of the machine either."

A quiet knock on the door broke the heavy tension of the room.

Y/N and Wonwoo both turned their heads as the door pushed open a few inches. Minghao stood in the threshold. The morning light from the hallway hit his face, revealing the dark circles under his eyes. He didn't look angry anymore; he just looked incredibly old.

"Coups wants to talk to you," Minghao said quietly, his eyes lingering on Wonwoo’s defensive posture before moving to Y/N. "Not as the leader. He left his phone and his tablet on the kitchen counter. He just wants to speak to his sister."

Y/N looked at Wonwoo. He was staring at her with an unspoken plea, his hand still tight on her waist, silent text saying you don't have to go if you aren't ready.

But Y/N took a deep breath, the hollow clarity from the corridor returning to steady her nerves. "It's okay, oppa. I’ll go."

Slowly, she slid out of the bed, her joints popping in the quiet room. Wonwoo followed her closely, stepping into the hallway right behind her like a shadow that refused to leave her side.

The living room had changed. The remaining members were still there, but they had moved. Seungcheol was sitting alone on the floor in the center of the room, his back against the sofa, staring at the empty wooden chair Y/N had used earlier.

As Y/N walked in, the boys went entirely still. Seungkwan quickly wiped his face, trying to stop his sniffing, while Dino looked up from the corner with an expression of pure, childlike heartbreak.

Y/N didn't sit in the wooden chair. She walked over and sat directly on the floor, a few feet away from Seungcheol, crossing her legs. Wonwoo sat right behind her, his knees bracketing her hips, his chest an unyielding support against her spine.

Seungcheol slowly lifted his head. His eyes were completely red, the skin around them swollen from crying. He looked at her really looked at her for what felt like the first time in six months.

"I called the Vice President," Seungcheol said, his voice completely hoarse, barely carrying across the small space.

Y/N’s heart did a small, cold flip. Already?

"I told him that if Legal Team 2 answers a single call from your number," Seungcheol continued, his lower lip trembling as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his own personal ID card the official leader pass that gave him access to every executive floor in the Pledis building, "I am stepping down as the general leader of Seventeen effective immediately. And I told him that if they try to release a single negative article about your departure, the thirteen of us will sit in the lobby and refuse to record the repackage album."

The room went entirely silent. Even Wonwoo’s grip on her shoulder went rigid.

"Cheol..." Y/N whispered, her eyes widening.

"I’m not trying to force you to stay, Y/N-ah," Seungcheol said, a fresh tear tracking down his pale cheek. He placed his leader card on the glass table, sliding it right next to her phone. "If staying here is killing you, I will personally drive you to the corporate office and help you sign the termination papers. I will protect you from the company, and I will protect you from the media. But I need you to know... I didn't see you because I was stupid. I thought because you didn't cry, you were okay. I thought because you always smiled, you were strong."

He leaned forward, his forehead coming down to touch the cool glass of the table between them, his voice breaking into a ragged, pathetic sob.

"Please don't leave thinking you didn't matter," the leader wept into the quiet room. "If you go... we will let you go because we love you. But we will never be whole again. The fourteenth seat is yours, Y/N. Even if it stays empty for the rest of our careers, nobody else is ever going to sit in it."

Y/N stared at the back of his head, her own tears finally spilling over, hot and heavy, dripping onto the fabric of her sweatpants. She looked around the circle at Minghao’s tight jaw, at Jeonghan’s closed eyes, at Wonwoo’s steady warmth behind her.

The legal papers were still waiting in the corporate office. The three-second bridge blocking was still locked for the music shows. The system hadn't magically changed in the middle of the night.

But as the morning sun finally broke through the living room windows, flooding the cramped apartment with a bright, golden warmth, Y/N realized one thing: The ghosthood was gone. They were looking at her, they were bleeding for her, and for the first time in six months... she was visible.

The golden morning light crept further across the living room floor, illuminating the raw, exhausted faces of the fourteen people who had spent their entire youth building a dream together.

Seungcheol remained with his forehead pressed against the glass table, his shoulders shaking with the quiet, devastating grief of a leader who had finally realized his own blindness. Next to his bowed head, his leader ID pass and Y/N’s locked phone sat side-by-side.

Y/N looked at the plastic card, then up at the brothers surrounding her. The initial, bitter anger that had fueled her walk down the corridor yesterday had faded, replaced by a profound, heavy sorrow. They weren't a perfect machine anymore. They were just thirteen broken boys realization-struck by the cost of their own success.

Slowly, Y/N slid forward, moving out of the protective bracket of Wonwoo’s knees. Wonwoo let his hands drop, but his eyes never left her as she closed the distance between herself and the leader.

She reached out, her small, trembling hand gently coming to rest on top of Seungcheol’s thick hair.

"Cheol," she whispered, reverting to the softer, more intimate honorific she used when they were trainees, long before he became Seungcheol or the General Leader. "Pick your head up. Please."

Seungcheol slowly lifted his face, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. He looked at her hand on his hair, then into her eyes, looking entirely lost.

"I don't want you to throw your career away for me," Y/N said softly, her voice thick with her own tears. "I don't want the thirteen of you to strike, or to sit in the lobby, or to break the circle because of me. If I leave... I want to leave because it's time for me to heal, not because I want to burn down everything you’ve all bled for."

"But we bled for it with you, Y/N-ah," Seungkwan choked out from the sofa, his voice muffled by a throw pillow. "If you leave like this, every trophy we win from now on is just going to feel like a reminder that we pushed you out to get it."

"You didn't push me out," Y/N murmured, looking back at Seungkwan, giving him a fragile, reassuring smile. "You just... you forgot to look back. And I forgot how to scream when I was drowning."

Minghao stepped forward from the edge of the kitchen, his posture finally relaxing from his rigid stance. He walked over and sat on the floor next to Y/N, pulling his legs up to his chest. His sharp eyes searched her face.

"The legal call," Minghao said quietly, his voice a calm anchor in the emotional room. "What do you want to do, Y/N-ah? Truly. No corporate pressure, no leader ultimatums. If you want to walk out that door, I will carry your bags. But if you are only leaving because you think you aren't wanted... look around this room."

Y/N looked.

She saw Hoshi, whose fierce, tiger-like intensity on stage was completely replaced by a crumpled, heartbroken expression. She saw Dokyeom gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles were white, silently praying. She felt Wonwoo’s steady, unyielding gaze from behind her, a silent promise that whatever she chose, he was still ready to walk out the door with her.

"I'm scared," Y/N confessed, the truth slipping out before she could stop it. Her fingers curled into her sweatpants. "I’m scared that if I stay, the next comeback will be exactly the same. I'm scared that I’ll be hidden behind Mingyu’s shoulders again, and I’ll have to sit on the edge of the bench, and I’ll have to listen to the directors say my voice doesn't fit the 'color' of the group."

"It won't be," a new voice spoke from the entryway.

Everyone turned. Jihoon was standing in the doorway, his jacket damp from the morning dew, his baseball cap gripped tightly in his hand. He looked completely drained, but his eyes were wide and burning with an absolute, fierce intensity. He had walked all the way back from the universe of his studio.

He walked into the center of the living room, ignoring the space between the members, and dropped a thick, printed stack of paper directly onto the coffee table.

Y/N looked down. It was the audio tracking sheets and lyric blocks for Shadow. But the margins were covered in fresh, chaotic black ink Jihoon’s unmistakable, frantic handwriting.

"I opened the files," Jihoon said, his voice trembling as he stared directly at Y/N. "I took out the verses we locked last week. I put yours back in. The whole song the intro, the first chorus, the outro it’s yours now, Y/N. It’s not 'too dark.' It’s the truth of what we’ve been putting you through, and it’s going to be the main promotional B-side for the repackage."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at the ink-stained papers. "Jihoon-oppa..."

"And I called the performance directors on my way back," Hoshi spoke up eagerly, crawling forward on his knees until he was right next to Seungcheol. "I told them we are scrapping the second-verse blocking for the title track. I don't care about the thirteen-member symmetry anymore. We’re moving Mingyu to the left wing during the bridge, and you’re standing dead center, Y/N. The camera isn't going to miss a single syllable."

Y/N sat in the center of their sudden, overwhelming desperation to fix what they had broken. It was everything she had wanted for the past six months every boundary she had begged them to cross, every tiny scrap of validation she had starved for.

But as she looked at Jihoon’s exhausted face and Hoshi’s frantic adjustments, she realized the most important change wasn't on the paper or in the choreography.

It was the fact that they were finally looking at her. The phantom thread hadn't snapped; they had grabbed onto it with both hands, terrifyingly aware of how close they had come to letting it slip away forever.

Slowly, Y/N reached across the glass table. She passed over the leader ID card, leaving it for Seungcheol. Instead, her fingers wrapped around her own phone. She unlocked the screen, pulled up the contact for Pledis Legal Team 2, and with a single, deliberate swipe of her thumb, she hit the delete button.

The room let out a collective, ragged breath, the tension snapping like a rubber band. Seungkwan buried his face back into the pillow, his sobs turning from grief to sheer, overwhelming relief.

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Wonwoo’s in the quiet dawn light. The deep, heavy sorrow in his eyes slowly melted into something soft, a quiet, profound gratitude that made his entire face relax for the first time in twenty-four hours. He reached forward, his long fingers gently catching the hem of her black sleeve, pulling her back just an inch toward him.

"I'm not signing the papers today," Y/N said softly, looking back at Seungcheol, whose eyes were wide with a sudden, cautious hope. "But I’m not practicing today either, hyung. I’m tired. I need to sleep. And I need to write."

"Anything you want," Seungcheol whispered, his voice cracking as he reached out and covered her hand with his own large, warm palm. "Sleep for a week. We’ll push the pre-recordings back. We’ll handle the company. Just... stay in the room, Y/N-ah."

"I'm here," she whispered back, the tears finally slowing down.

As the members slowly began to move, the rigid courtroom atmosphere dissolving back into the chaotic, protective warmth of their shared home, Y/N let herself lean completely back against Wonwoo’s chest. His arms wrapped around her waist immediately, holding her securely, no longer like a shield against a cruel world, but like a solid, permanent anchor.

The machine was still complicated, the industry was still harsh, and the road to healing the last six years of silent erosion was going to be long and painful. But as Wonwoo buried his face in her hair, his breathing finally steady and calm against her neck, Y/N closed her eyes.

She wasn't a ghost anymore. She was the fourteenth member of Seventeen, and for the first time since debut, the silence didn't hurt.

The collective exhale that had filled the room suddenly caught in thirteen throats.

Y/N’s hand remained resting on her phone, the screen showing that Pledis Legal Team 2 had indeed been deleted from her recent contacts. But her thumb wasn’t shaking anymore. The hollow, terrifying clarity that had carried her through the broadcasting station hadn’t vanished just because Jihoon had rewritten a lyric sheet or because Seungcheol had threatened a strike.

She looked at Seungcheol, whose hand was still covering hers, his eyes wide with a fragile, desperate relief that she was about to systematically dismantle.

"I deleted the contact," Y/N said, her voice dropping into a quiet, unyielding register that made the room go completely still again. "But I didn’t say I’m staying."

Seungcheol’s palm went rigid over hers. Behind her, Wonwoo’s arms tightened around her waist instinctively, his chest heaving with a sharp, sudden intake of breath.

"Y/N-ah..." Seungcheol’s voice was a ragged whisper, the hope draining from his face so fast it left him looking gray under the morning sun.

"I’m not going to call the lawyers today, and I’m not going to slip out the back door while you’re all asleep," she continued, looking around the circle of her brothers. "I owe you, and I owe Wonwoo, more than a sudden disappearance. But you can’t undo six months of drowning in twenty minutes, hyung. You can't rewrite the last six years of my life with one b-side track."

Jihoon stood frozen by the coffee table, his hand still resting on the ink-stained sheets of Shadow. The fierce, frantic energy that had driven him back from the studio evaporated, leaving him looking devastatingly small. "Y/N... I can change more than just Shadow. Whatever you want to write, whatever concept you feel fits you-"

"It's not a negotiation, Jihoon-oppa," she said softly, shifting her gaze to him. Her eyes were entirely sympathetic, but they were firm. "That’s exactly what I mean. Right now, you’re all reacting out of terror. You’re reacting because you looked down and realized the floor was cracking. But what happens in three months? What happens during the next world tour, when the schedules are packed, and the company is screaming about profit margins, and the formations have to be perfect again? Are you still going to see me then, or are you going to go back to the machine because it’s easier?"

No one answered. The brutal honesty of her words hung in the air, a mirror reflecting the relentless, corporate reality of their careers. They all knew how the industry worked. When the pressure cooker of a comeback cycle hit its peak, survival mode took over and in survival mode, routines became absolute.

"I need time," Y/N said, looking back at Seungcheol. "I’m going to finish this promotion cycle. I’ll stand in the center for the bridge, and I’ll sing the verses Jihoon wrote. I’ll give Carats the fourteen-member comeback they paid to see. But every single day of these promotions, I am still going to be thinking about leaving."

A quiet, choked sob broke from Seokmin's corner. He covered his face with his hands, his broad shoulders shaking violently. Beside him, Seungkwan looked up, his eyes rimmed with raw red, his lower lip trembling.

"So... it’s a countdown?" Seungkwan asked, his voice barely a squeak. "We’re just waiting for the day you decide to drop the pen?"

"It’s an evaluation," Minghao corrected from her side, his voice a calm, grounded shield against the rising panic in the room. He didn't look surprised by her words; if anything, a faint, proud look crossed his sharp features. He looked at the rest of the group. "She’s giving us a chance to prove that we’re actually a family, not just business partners who share a kitchen. If we can’t change our habits when the lights are bright, we don't deserve to keep her."

Seungcheol slowly slid his hand off hers, pulling his fingers back tightly against his chest. He looked at his leader ID card resting on the table. The authority it carried felt completely useless now. He couldn't command her to stay. He couldn't manage her out of her pain.

"Okay," Seungcheol whispered, a single, heavy tear dropping onto his sweatpants. He lifted his head, his expression shifting from a broken boy back into the protector, but this time, the protection was entirely for her. "Okay, Y/N-ah. That’s fair. It’s more than fair. We will earn it. Every single day, we will earn the right to have you stand next to us."

He stood up, his joints popping loudly in the quiet room. He looked at the rest of the members, his eyes hard and commanding. "No one pressures her. No one makes her feel guilty for checking out mentally when she needs to. If she wants to sit in the waiting room with her headphones on, you let her breathe. If she wants to go back to the dorm early, the managers will make it happen. We don't adjust her to fit Seventeen anymore. We adjust Seventeen to protect Y/N."

The boys nodded in unison, a solemn, quiet vow rippling through the semi-circle. Hoshi wiped his eyes fiercely with the back of his hand, leaning back against the wall, his jaw set.

Slowly, the heavy weight in the room began to fracture into movement. Joshua gently guided a still-crying Seungkwan toward the kitchen to get some water, while Dino and Chan quietly picked up the discarded jackets from the floor.

Wonwoo didn't move. He remained sitting right behind her, his chin resting gently on the top of her shoulder, his long arms still locked around her waist.

"You did good," he murmured against her ear, his deep voice vibrating right into her spine. "You held your ground."

Y/N let her head fall back against his shoulder, letting out a long, shuddering breath that felt like the first real pocket of oxygen she had claimed in months. "Are you disappointed, oppa? That I didn't just say I'd stay for you?"

Wonwoo let out a soft, dry chuckle that held no humor, only an immense, profound relief. He tightened his grip on her, burying his face in the fabric of her black hoodie.

"I told you in that storage room, Y/N-ah... I don't want a statistic, and I don't want a ghost," Wonwoo whispered into the dark of her hair. "If you stayed just because I begged you, you’d still be fading away inside. I want you whole. Even if being whole means you eventually walk out that door, I’d rather watch you leave on your own two feet than watch you disappear while standing right next to me. I’m here for the evaluation. I’m not letting go."

Y/N closed her eyes, her fingers interlocking with his over her stomach. The morning sun was fully up now, casting long, bright geometric shapes across the living room floor, burning away the shadows of the night. The countdown had officially begun, and the bridge beneath her was still fragile but for the first time in six months, she wasn't walking across it alone in the dark.

The next three weeks of promotions were unlike any schedule Seventeen had ever run.

To the public, the transition was flawless. When the repackage album dropped, Shadow debuted at number two on the charts, chased closely by the title track. The fans went wild over Y/N’s verses. For the first time, casual listeners and long-time Carats alike were flooded with vocal layers that weren’t just harmonies buried under Seokmin or Seungkwan they were raw, distinct, and hauntingly front-and-center.

But backstage, the atmospheric shift was staggering.

At the next music show pre-recording, the waiting room was a completely rewritten script. Y/N sat in her usual corner by the garment racks, her noise-canceling headphones pulled over her ears. Six weeks ago, this would have been an invisible boundary that kept her isolated. Tonight, it was a protected zone.

Mingyu had walked over twenty minutes ago, carrying a plate of sliced fruit. He hadn’t said a word to disrupt her space; he had simply set the plate on the small table next to her, tapped her shoulder to point at it with a warm, quiet smile, and walked back to join the others.

"Is she eating?" a voice murmured near the door.

Y/N pulled one side of her headphones down, her eyes tracking the whisper. Seungcheol was standing by the entrance, speaking to one of the main managers. His tablet was open, but his attention was entirely split.

"She took a few pieces," the manager replied quietly. "The performance coordinators want to know if she needs to skip the secondary blocking run-through. The stage floors are a bit slick today."

"Tell them she’s sitting out the dry rehearsal," Seungcheol said without a second of hesitation. His voice was firm, carrying that new, unyielding barrier he had built between Y/N and the corporate demands. "If they have an issue with the camera lines, tell them to adjust the tracking manually. We aren't running her ragged on a wet floor."

Y/N stared at the back of Seungcheol’s head. He didn't turn around to check if she was watching. He wasn't doing it to perform or to earn a quick smile from her; he was executing the vow he had made in the living room. He was managing the world so she didn't have to shrink herself to fit it.

"Line up! Entering the stage in three minutes!" the floor director bellowed through the corridor.

The members stood up, the rustle of heavy stage velvet filling the room. As they moved into the hallway, Hoshi stepped to the front, but he didn't immediately call for the chant. Instead, his sharp eyes scanned the line until they landed on Y/N.

"Spacing check," Hoshi said, his voice loud enough to clear the hallway chatter. "Verse two. Mingyu, remember your mark."

"I'm shifting three feet left the moment the lights hit the platform," Mingyu nodded instantly, his broad shoulders dropping back into a defensive lane that left the center lane completely unobstructed. "I've got the wing angle covered."

"Jihoon?" Hoshi tracked.

"Audio balance is locked," Jihoon said, stepping into line behind Y/N. He didn't push past her or give her a corporate lecture. He reached out, his small hand briefly catching the hem of her sleeve, giving it a light, grounding tug. "Sing it exactly like you did in the studio, Y/N-ah. The mic split is dead. Nobody is cutting your track."

The stage lights flooded the studio a minute later.

When the intro for Equilibrium hit, Y/N’s body moved with the same sharp, automated precision she had trained years for. But when the bridge arrived, the shift was physical.

As she stepped into the center, Mingyu cleared the lane with a sweeping, dramatic transition that felt almost protective. The main broadcast camera dipped low, locking onto her face as she delivered the vocal climax. For three seconds, she wasn't an extra or a transition pivot. She was the focal point of a thirteen-man engine that was deliberately turning around her.

From the front row of the audience, the fan chant rose like a wave—and for the first time in six years, her name didn't feel like an afterthought tucked into the end of the rhythm.

The evaluation continues

By 11:45 PM, the first van was quiet on the ride back to the dorms.

Y/N leaned her forehead against the cool window glass, watching the neon signs of the Han River blur past. Her phone lay flat on her lap. The notes app was open, but the digital graveyard of resignation letters had been replaced by a completely empty page. She hadn't written a single pro-or-con list in three weeks.

She felt a large, warm palm slide over her freezing fingers.

Wonwoo was sitting next to her, his thighs pressed tightly against hers in the cramped space, his reading glasses caught in the collar of his hoodie. He didn't look down at her phone screen. He didn't ask if she had made up her mind, or if the countdown was shrinking.

"Your voice sounded clear on the monitoring playback," Wonwoo said softly, his deep baritone a grounding weight against the hum of the van's engine. "The mixing team didn't drop your lower register this time."

"Jihoon-oppa stayed in the engineering room until four in the morning to make sure they didn't," Y/N whispered, her fingers curling slightly around Wonwoo’s thumb. "He didn't tell me, but Minghao saw his car in the lot."

Wonwoo let out a soft, low breath, his chest expanding against her shoulder. "They're trying, Y/N-ah. The whole house is trying."

"I know," she said.

She looked down at the empty note on her screen. The terrifying, heavy truth was still there the system was still massive, the industry was still clinical, and the scars of the past six years weren't going to vanish because of one good promotion cycle. She could still feel the phantom pull of that legal extension, the quiet allure of a life where she didn't have to fight for three seconds of air.

But as the van pulled into the dark basement garage of their dorm, she saw the door to the second van slide open. Seungkwan stepped out, immediately looking around the concrete space until his eyes locked onto her window, his face breaking into a small, tentative smile when he saw her wave back.

"Are you still thinking about it?" Wonwoo asked quietly, his grip on her hand tightening just a fraction as the engine cut out, leaving them in the dim, quiet luxury of the car.

Y/N turned her head, looking into his steady, intense eyes. There was no desperation in his face anymore just the unyielding, patient loyalty of a brother who was willing to wait at the edge of the line for as long as it took.

"Yes," Y/N whispered, her voice entirely honest. "I'm still thinking about it every day, oppa."

Wonwoo gave a single, slow nod, his thumb tracing the fragile skin of her wrist. He slid his fingers down, interlocking them with hers securely before reaching for the car door handle.

"Then we'll keep showing you the light tomorrow," Wonwoo murmured, pulling her gently out into the concrete garage where the other twelve were already waiting by the elevator, holding the door open for the fourteenth member to step in first. "Every single day until you decide to stay."

The final broadcast of the repackage promotions ended on a rainy Sunday night. The rest of the group had gone back to the main dorm in the first two vans, but Wonwoo had quietly spoken to their primary manager before the final stage. He didn't want the dorm tonight. He didn't want the kitchen table, the lingering, anxious glances of the other twelve, or the heavy, unspoken countdown that hung over the living room.

He had taken her keys, borrowed the manager's personal car, and driven her completely out of Seoul.

By 1:30 AM, they were parked at an abandoned, gravelly overlook near the old reservoir in Gapyeong a place they used to sneak away to during their brutal trainee days when the green basement felt like it was swallowing them alive. The rain pattered against the windshield in a steady, hypnotic rhythm, the dashboard clock throwing a faint, amber glow over Wonwoo’s face. He had taken off his stage makeup, stripped out of his performance velvet, and wore an oversized gray sweater that made him look like the boy she had met when she was thirteen years old.

He cut the engine, but he didn't pull his hands off the steering wheel. For a long time, he just stared out at the dark, rain-slicked water of the reservoir.

"You haven’t opened your notes app in three days," Wonwoo said, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet hum of the rain. It wasn't an accusation. His voice was thick, heavier than usual, carrying the exhaustion of a man who had been holding his breath for a month.

Y/N leaned her head back against the passenger seat, staring at his profile. "I didn't know you were tracking my screen time, oppa."

"I track everything about you, Y/N-ah," he murmured, his fingers finally dropping from the wheel. He shifted in his seat, turning his entire body to face her, drawing one leg up onto the cushion. He reached into the backseat, pulled out a thick, fleece blanket, and gently draped it over her lap, tucking the edges around her waist with a familiar, practiced care.

"I’ve been tracking you since 2015. And I think... I think I’ve been too quiet for too long. Everyone else has yelled. Coups threatened to strike, Jihoon spent eighty hours in the studio, Hao practically tore the storage room apart. But I haven’t really talked to you. Not about everything."

He let out a long, ragged breath, his shoulders dropping. His sharp eyes, usually so guarded behind his glasses, were wide, watery, and intensely vulnerable under the dim dashboard light.

"I remember the day you entered Pledis," Wonwoo started, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, melancholic cadence. He was doing more than talking; he was opening a valve that had been sealed shut for six years. "You were thirteen. You had these giant, terrified eyes, and your knees were bruised from practicing the debut evaluations until two in the morning. Do you remember what the trainers told us the first week you arrived? They sat the thirteen of us down and said, 'She’s the wildcard. If she doesn't fit the image by next evaluation, we drop her and revert to the original line-up.' From day one, they treated your existence in our lives like a temporary trial."

Y/N swallowed hard, the memory hitting her like a cold wave. "I forgot they said that."

"I didn't," Wonwoo whispered, a heavy, emotional crack breaking through his tone. "I didn't forget because I spent that entire week watching you hide behind the water purifier so you wouldn't get in anyone's way. And do you remember what happened during the Adore U promotions? When the first hate threads came out? The fans were furious that a girl had been added to a boy group. They cropped you out of the fansite photos. They blurred your face in the music video edits."

He reached out, his long, cool fingers gently capturing her right hand from beneath the fleece blanket. He didn't hold it tightly; he just cradled her palm in his, his thumb tracing the small scar near her index finger a reminder of a broken stage prop from their first year on tour.

"Back then, I promised myself I would be your safe spot," Wonwoo said, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he looked down at their hands. "I told myself, "As long as Wonwoo is standing next to her, she won't feel the cold." When we did the vocal team switches, I always made sure our mics shared the same frequency block so I could hear you breathing during the live stages. When we had those awful, crowded corporate dinners where the executives would ignore you and talk over your head to Coups, I would deliberately drop my chopsticks or complain about the food just to pull the attention away from you. I thought I was protecting you, Y/N-ah. I thought my silence was a shield."

He paused, his chest heaving as a quiet, choked sound escaped his throat. He lifted his other hand, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face fiercely, trying to stem the pressure behind his eyes. When he looked back at her, a single tear had escaped, tracking down his cheekbone into the dark fabric of his collar.

"But I was wrong," he confessed, his voice trembling violently now, fully exposed to the raw weight of his own guilt. "My silence wasn't a shield. It was just another layer of the dark. I was so comfortable having you in my corner, so selfishly happy that I had a sister who understood the quiet parts of my soul, that I didn't see the erosion. I watched Jihoon take your melodies because the company wanted a more 'aggressive masculine bass line,' and I didn't fight him. I watched Soonyoung move you to the back wing during Don't Wanna Cry because the visual symmetry looked better with Mingyu in the center, and I just stood on my mark and let it happen. I let them turn my sister into a ghost because I was too cowardly to disrupt the peace of the group."

"Woo, stop," Y/N whispered, her own tears blurring her vision, her chest aching at the sheer amount of agony in his voice. "You didn't do those things. The company did. The directors did."

"No, I let them do it!" Wonwoo’s voice finally rose, a rare, heartbreaking burst of raw volume that echoed inside the small car. He grabbed her hand with both of his now, holding it against his chest, right over the frantic, heavy thudding of his heart.

"I am a senior member of this group. I am part of the foundation. If I had opened my mouth three years ago, if I had stood up during the production meetings and said, 'If Y/N isn't singing the second verse, I’m not singing the first,' we wouldn't be sitting in a dark car in Gapyeong while you decide whether or not to destroy your own contract."

He leaned forward, his forehead dropping onto their joined hands, his shoulders shaking as the dam finally burst completely. Jeon Wonwoo, who never cried in public, who had buried his own deepest personal griefs away from the cameras, was falling apart in her lap.

"When I saw Team 2 on your phone that night," he wept, his voice muffled against her skin, "it felt like my entire life was being rewritten as a failure. I spent six years thinking I was your anchor, but I was just the weight holding you underwater. The thought of walking into that rehearsal room... of looking at the tape on the floor where your feet are supposed to be it makes me feel like I’m suffocating, Y/N-ah. I don't care about the perfect all-kills. I don't care about the stadiums. If you leave this group because we starved you of light, then everything we’ve built is just a monument to our own selfishness."

He lifted his head slowly, his face soaked with tears, his expression completely broken open. He reached up, his long, trembling fingers gently cupping both sides of her face, his thumbs wiping the tears from her cheeks with a desperate, frantic tenderness.

"I know you’re still thinking about it," Wonwoo whispered, his breath hot and ragged against her face. "I know every time you look at the schedule, you’re calculating how much strength you have left before you drop the pen. And I won't stop you if you need to go. If your soul cannot survive this machine, I will personally sign your exit papers as a witness. But please... please don't think you were an extra. Don't think you were a variable. You were the only reason the green basement didn't drive me crazy. You were the only person who saw me, not Seventeen's Wonwoo. If you leave, leave because you want a bigger world, Y/N-ah. Don't leave because you think we don't know the color of your eyes."

He fell silent then, his hands remaining on her cheeks, his forehead leaning forward until it rested gently against hers. The rain continued to smash against the glass, a chaotic wall of sound that shut out the rest of the universe, leaving the two of them entirely alone in the wreckage of six years of unspoken devotion.

Y/N blinked, her vision swimming as she tracked the long fingers up to a familiar, broad shoulder. Standing beside her was Wen Junhui. He was wearing a low-slung black bucket hat and a loose denim jacket, his sharp, actor-like features slightly flushed from whatever dinner or after-party he had clearly just come from. He smelled faintly of expensive cologne and high-end whiskey; he wasn't wasted, but he was definitely carrying that loose, unbothered warmth that came with being slightly tipsy.

"I think you’ve had enough, Y/N-ah," Jun murmured, his deep voice carrying a soft, familiar weight that instantly made her chest ache.

"Jun?" She squinted, a bitter, half-drunken laugh escaping her lips. "What are you... you're not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be on a billboard or a music show."

"I was nearby with the performance team," he said quietly, placing a handful of bills on the counter to cover her tab. He gently hooked his hand under her elbow, lifting her off the barstool. "Come on. Let's get you out of here before someone recognizes either of us."

The moment they stepped out into the crisp, midnight air, the alcohol hit Y/N’s system like a physical blow. Her knees buckled instantly, the sidewalk tilting at an impossible angle.

"Whoa I’ve got you," Jun muttered, his arms immediately wrapping around her waist to catch her before she hit the concrete.

She couldn't walk properly. Every step was a clumsy battle against gravity, forcing her to lean her entire body weight against his side. Her head dropped naturally onto his shoulder, her face burying into the soft denim of his jacket as he guided her down the quiet, narrow side street toward where he had parked.

With every stumbling block, Jun had to tighten his grip, his arm shifting until her hip was locked firmly against his. And with every step, the slight buzz in his own system began to warp into a heavy, suffocating wave of nostalgia.

It had been eight months since the breakup eight months of clinical silence, of deleting draft messages, of watching her life through occasional social media updates. But holding her like this, feeling the familiar, petite frame of her body pressed against his side and the faint, sweet scent of her perfume filling his lungs, Jun felt the neat, professional wall he had built completely crumble.

He missed her. God, he missed her so much it felt like an ache in his bones. He missed the way she used to laugh at his terrible jokes, the way she used to tie his hair back when he was practicing late, and the way she felt completely, perfectly matched to his height.

"Junhui-ah," she mumbled against his neck, her breath warm and slightly sweet. "You're being too loud. Your heart is beating too loud."

Jun froze, stopping them right under the flickering amber glow of a streetlamp. He looked down at her. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the alcohol, her eyelashes damp from the mist, her lips slightly parted as she looked up at him with a hazy, vulnerable confusion.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, emotional register he couldn't control. "You shouldn't be leaning on me like this."

"Why not?" she mumbled, her hand reaching up clumsily to grip the lapel of his jacket. "You always caught me."

The last bit of Jun’s restraint snapped. The slight blur of the alcohol erased the boundaries of the last eight months, leaving only the raw, bleeding truth of how much he still loved her. He leaned down, his hand coming up to securely cup the back of her neck, and pulled her into a deep, desperate kiss.

Y/N gasped against his mouth, but she didn't pull away. The familiarity of his lips, the sudden, overwhelming warmth of his body, and the drunken haze in her mind coalesced into a desperate need to hold onto him. Jun groaned softly, his grip tightening as he lifted her slightly off her feet, pressing her back against the cool brick wall of the alleyway, kissing her as if he could pour eight months of silence into a single night.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless and flushed, Jun didn't let her go. He carried her to the car, drove her back to his private studio apartment, and the moment the front door clicked shut behind them, the rest of the world faded to black.

The Morning After

The harsh, unfiltered morning sunlight sliced through the gaps in the sheer curtains, landing directly across Y/N’s face.

She groaned, a sharp, throbbing headache instantly blooming behind her eyes. As she tried to roll over, she realized she couldn't move. A heavy, muscular arm was securely clamped around her waist, pulling her back against a broad, bare chest.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open.

The reality of her surroundings hit her like cold water. She was lying in a king-sized bed with white linen sheets. Her gaze darted down she was wearing nothing but an oversized gray shirt that clearly belonged to someone else.

She turned her head slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Jun was fast asleep beside her. His long dark hair was messy against the pillow, his face soft and relaxed in a way the public never saw. His denim jacket and jeans were discarded in a chaotic heap on the floor, leaving him in nothing but his sweatpants.

Oh, no. Oh, my god.

A wave of panic, confusion, and intense embarrassment washed over her. They were exes. They were supposed to be civil, distant, and completely moved on. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Trying to be as quiet as a mouse, Y/N gently took hold of Jun’s large wrist, trying to slide his arm off her waist millimeter by millimeter. She held her breath, shifting her hips toward the edge of the mattress, preparing to grab her clothes from the floor and bolt out the door before the awkwardness could swallow her alive.

Just as her foot touched the cold floor, the grip on her waist suddenly tightened, pulling her right back into the center of the mattress.

"Where are you going?" Jun’s voice was incredibly deep, a gravelly, morning rasp that sent a shiver straight down her spine.

Y/N froze, her back stiff as she slowly turned her head to look at him. Jun was awake, his eyelids heavy, propping himself up on one elbow. He looked at her bare shoulders, then at her panicked face, the memory of the previous night instantly registering in his eyes.

"Jun...I..." Y/N stammered, pulling the white sheet up to her chest defensively, her cheeks burning. "I’m sorry. I shouldn't have... I was drunk, and I shouldn't have let this happen. I’m just going to get my clothes and-"

"Hey, hey. Look at me. Breathe," Jun interrupted softly. He didn't try to pull her closer, nor did he try to touch her again. Instead, he slowly withdrew his hand from her waist, raising both palms in the air in a gesture of absolute surrender. He wanted to make sure he didn't cross any boundaries she wasn't comfortable with.

He took a slow breath, his sharp eyes filling with a profound, quiet sincerity.

"You don't have to run away," Jun murmured, his voice dropping into that gentle, comforting cadence that had always been her safe haven. "I know we drank. I know things got... complicated. But I'm not going to pretend last night was just a mistake, Y/N. I meant every single kiss."

Y/N stared at him, her defensive grip on the sheet loosening slightly. "Jun, we broke up for a reason. Your schedule, the group... we couldn't make it work."

"I know," Jun said, a small, bittersweet smile touching his lips as he reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently tucking a stray lock of bed-hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, careful, and entirely respectful. "But the schedule hasn't stopped me from missing you every single day. I'm not asking you to just jump back into a relationship with me right now. I know you're confused. But please... just let me make you breakfast. Don't leave the apartment feeling like you did something wrong."

Y/N looked at his open, vulnerable expression, the throbbing in her head slowly being replaced by a strange, blooming warmth in her chest. The panic began to fade, leaving behind the simple, undeniable truth that she had missed him just as much.

She let out a long, slow breath, dropping her shoulders. "What kind of breakfast?"

Jun’s face instantly lit up with that bright, familiar boyish smile that always made him look ten times younger. He slid out of bed, grabbing a t-shirt from the chair, and looked back at her with a soft twinkle in his eyes.

—

Jihoon had dumb ideas. Khonshu, arguably, had dumber ideas. 

In the two years since his brush with death and subsequent joining to the Egyptian god of the moon, he has dealt with 12 other near-death experiences, 2 eviction notices, 8 fake passports, 5 new apartments, 3 concerned Avengers, and 47 crime organizations that Khonshu deemed a threat. Now, his next order of business was preventing a group of extinctionist radicals trying to wipe out humanity. Just a typical Thursday. 

“What about this one?” Jihoon mumbles to the deity no one else could see. He’s been pacing the Egyptian sculpture gallery of the British Museum like a madman for well over twenty minutes, moving from artifact to artifact until he discovers one that was to the moon god’s liking. Currently, his eyes are tracing the shapes of kings etched into a huge chunk of limestone, and the god’s vague hum of disapproval sends him over to the next cluster of objects. “You could help by giving me some other descriptors, you know.”

“You’ll know when you see it, impatient mortal,” Khonshu huffs in his brain and Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Bastet is one of the most beloved in our pantheon. Her artifacts burst with ceremonial energy.”

“If it could burst a little faster, that would be great,” he frowns, approaching a granite statue of a ram guarding a king between its hooves. Jihoon scans the placard under the sculpture. “Amun. Don’t you know him?” 

“He is my father, you dolt.” 

“Hey, this dolt is doing your dirty work for you, so watch yourself, Big Bird,” Jihoon fires back. A group of tourists eye him warily and he shoots them a friendly smile that probably leans more toward a snarl before stalking away again. Before he can give Khonshu another smart remark, something palpable shifts in the exhibit hall. It’s a sensation he’s felt once before, when he crossed paths with the man Anubis had chosen as his vessel. Suddenly, the air feels charged with electricity, the air sticking to him like honey. An energy is probing him and his connection to Khonshu–not hostile, but formidable. He can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, but he feels the strongest pull from an artifact in a glass case to his right. 

“Behold,” Khonshu murmurs. “The Lady of the East.” Jihoon creeps toward the green-tinted bronze figure of a cat, sitting regally with its paws together and its tail tucked to the side. A Wadjet amulet and a winged scarab hangs from the collar etched into its chest. Gold earrings pierce either of the cat’s ears and a nose ring hangs from its snout. Its eyes bore into Jihoon like black holes and he gets the sense that something is watching him–whether that be the cat or someone else, he couldn’t tell. This was undoubtedly the artifact Khonshu had sent him looking for. 

“What now?” 

“Now, we take it.” Jihoon startles like he’s been electrocuted. His hands want to knock his own skull around, as if that would bother Khonshu for suggesting such a thing. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” He accuses a little too loudly. Nearby, a mother ushers her young son away and he winces. His next sentences come out as irritated hisses. “This is a museum, Big Bird. I can’t just walk in here and walk out with a cat statue like it’s a department store.”

“We will not act now; we will return under the cover of nightfall,” explains the moon god and Jihoon groans. 

“Can’t we find her through other means?” He pleads and he can feel the god reject his idea immediately. “What about drawing some cats on the sidewalk? Chalk and concrete are a lot easier to come by then a fucking bronze figure. We could make our own obelisk, even.” 

“We must threaten an item that holds high stores of energy in order to get her attention, wherever she may be.” 

“Seems like an awfully good way to get arrested,” Jihoon points out. 

“Humans have twisted the concept of ownership. This institution does not deserve half of what lies within its walls,” spits Khonshu. 

“For once we agree,” he states. “I still don’t see how stealing this would make her want to talk to us.” 

“She’d probably skip the talking and just grab Sekhmet to go to town on your organs,” interrupts a calm, slightly teasing voice. You greet Jihoon with a smile and position yourself next to him in front of the Gayer-Anderson cat, one of the most beloved pieces in the museum that you called your place of employment. “You’re better off swiping some drachmae and hoping the Roman pantheon doesn't pay you any mind.” Jihoon gapes at you for a few seconds. You’re wearing a normal museum uniform and a gold necklace hangs on your neck. A black earpiece snakes up the side of your neck, leading him to believe you might be some kind of security guard or important personnel. 

“That’s an odd thing to say for someone working in a museum,” he begins slowly. He feels Khonshu trying to read you, just as he was trying to suss you out himself, but finds no ill intent in your gaze nor your body language. You seemed to be just a worker with a mildly sick sense of humor. 

“And you’ve been muttering under your breath for the past thirty minutes,” you reply not unkindly. “Museums attract all sorts of interesting people, don’t you think?” He lets out a surprised chuckle and shrugs, defeated. 

“I guess so. How much of that conversation with myself did you hear?”

“Only the part about stealing what I think is the most important artifact in this whole building,” you say nonchalantly and he bristles. You notice. “Relax, I’m not gonna report you for anything. People come in here wanting to be tomb-raiders all the time. It’s why we have security guards everywhere.” 

“The number of guards will be substantially lower when we infiltrate the building at night,” Khonshu whispers and Jihoon shakes his head to the side to get him to shut up. You squint your eyes but don’t comment further. 

“You said this cat is the most important,” he says hurriedly to get the conversation back on track. “Why?” An unreadable look washes across your face.

“Just personal preference,” you answer mildly. “Everyone has their favorite items in here, but I’d argue she’s the most important because she symbolizes good health. I think we all hope for that these days, no?” Jihoon nods, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“If you were able to talk to her, what do you think she would say?” He has no idea why that question left his mouth and he can feel Khonshu’s confusion compound with his own. He waits for you to laugh at him or awkwardly excuse yourself, but you fall silent and stare into the cat figure’s eyes like they would give you the answer. 

“I think she would say that this world is broken, and that we have a responsibility to rid it of evil,” you muse and a chill runs down Jihoon’s spine. The foreboding atmosphere that he had adapted to increases tenfold, and he clears his throat with an uneasy hand rubbing the back of his neck. You catch his reaction and the pressure dissipates, as does your serious demeanor. “That, or she would tell me to get a cat, and then another, and another, and another, and…you get the point.” You offer a sheepish smile that makes Jihoon’s ears heat up.

“I see. Can I ask a question?” 

“Of course, as long as it’s not about how to sneak into the museum to steal a cat figurine. That, you need to pay extra for,” you grin and he cracks a smile. 

“Do you have anything associated with Khonshu?” You blink at him, surprised. 

“Oh. The moon god?”

“Yeah, that one,” Jihoon replies, omitting the other descriptions that could be said about his deity. Tall, large, carries a staff with a crescent moon on it. Generally a pain in my ass. 

“We have a few shabti where he’s mentioned in the inscriptions on display,” you explain. “But most of our Khonshu items are in storage. There are quite a few amulets in the museum's collections.” 

“Perhaps tonight we can redecorate,” suggests Khonshu and Jihoon shakes his head again. 

“Dude, shut up,” he mumbles. Your eyebrows raise. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Ahem, something stuck in my throat,” he lies, beating his fist against his chest. “Allergies.” 

“Right,” you comment, not convinced in the slightest. 

“Is there–uh–is there anything ever mentioned about people being chosen by the gods to enact their will?” The same unreadable look appears on your face, but this time it remains. 

“You will not unbind yourself from me using crumbling figurines, Jihoon,” Khonshu advises. 

“There’s been some records of Egyptian gods seeming to favor certain mortals, but the practice seemed to die out with the empire's collapse,” you inform him. “Anything beyond that, I'm not sure, sorry.” 

“Thank you for explaining anyway; I know it's not a question you get everyday.” You shrug, your fingers fidgeting with the gold charm around your neck. 

“I've had worse. There was a guest last week who thought Night at the Museum was a documentary,” you recount. The sparkle of your necklace draws his eye and the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. On your collarbone dangles a cat identical to the one in the glass case, complete with the round piercings and hollow eyes. 

“Got an affinity for Bast?” Your smile turns subtly feline and he swears he sees flecks of gold flicker in your irises. 

“Caught me there,” you concede. A muffled voice comes through your earpiece and you politely bow in farewell. “I'm afraid duty calls. Enjoy the rest of the museum.” You turn to go and pause, giving him one last piece of advice before departing. “Oh, and a word of warning. If you do decide to steal something,” you add in a dangerously low tone, “I'd advise you steer clear from the cat. She isn't a fan of those who desecrate her animals, living or otherwise.” He shivers and your shoes click against the stone floors as you exit. 

“So?” He challenges Khonshu. “Still think it's a good idea to piss off Bast?”

“The Protector of Ra will be summoned. The fate of the world depends on it.” Jihoon turns away from the cat. 

“I had a feeling you'd say that.” He pushes his sunglasses onto his face and carefully makes note of the room’s security cameras. “This is gonna be a pain.”

—

Big Ben is tolling the midnight bells by the time Jihoon begins his infiltration of the museum, the moon casting a halo of light around his hands as he works. Dressed in black with a mask covering the bottom half of his face, he ambushes the security guard doing perimeter checks, nabs the keycard attached to the guard’s belt, and drags the incapacitated guard into a storage closet after he swipes himself into the building. His footsteps echo off the walls of the empty hallways, the only other sound being the hum of the ventilation system. The quiet is eerie, the kind of silence he was used to in graveyards and morgues. The eyes of the statues and the paintings lining the walls seem to supervise his trespassing, and Khonshu’s presence within his mind brings him no comfort. Still, he makes his way back toward the Egyptian sculpture exhibition with his heart hammering in his chest; at some point, he passes a display of Roman drachmae and his mind drifts back to your cunning smile and the cat charm guarding your heart. It was hard to unnerve him, seeing that he could summon a dozen crescent-shaped darts at the wave of his hand, but the way you’d crept up on him earlier and answered his questions too knowingly made him uneasy. That, and the fact that maybe in his previous life, he would have asked you to dinner and learned where your preference for the cat goddess came from.

“Focus,” Khonshu grunts. “She is a distraction from your mission.”

“She’s pretty,” Jihoon argues, for some reason.

“I do not disagree. She remains a distraction all the same.” His mouth briefly tugs into a smug smirk and he finally finds himself back in the hall with the two towering pillars carved with columns upon columns of hieroglyphics. “Find the cat. Break the glass. Do not get caught.”

“Appreciate the words of encouragement, Big Bird,” he deadpans, but beelines for the Gayer-Anderson cat anyway. The skylights and windows that drenched the room in sunlight now cast shadows upon the cat’s form, bathing it in darkness that felt akin to staring into a void. With a deep breath, he draws upon Khonshu’s energy. The still air around him whips into currents that secure the mummification linen-like armor around his body, wrapping him from head to toe and pulling into a hood that falls over his forehead. Golden crescent moons adorn his chest and elbows, and the belt of crescent darts appear at his waist from the folds of the armor. As Khonshu’s energy begins to recede again, a cape stretches from his shoulders to the floor and undulates as he draws his arm back to punch the glass. 

Before he could follow through with the strike, his chest tightens and he gasps as the same energy that he felt earlier takes hold of his body and paralyzes him. His balance falters from the sheer amount of power resonating throughout the entire hall, like there was an earthquake only affecting him. The walls hum. The limestone statues shed dust as they vibrate. The bronze cat’s mouth seems to have curled up in a smile. The aura that he attributed to the figurine now falls heavily on his shoulders from all directions, but the strongest pull…

He senses the source behind him.

“You’re trespassing, Traveler,” says a voice that sounds like yours amplified by something cosmic. Jihoon is frozen in place and kicks himself mentally for not recognizing who you were sooner. All the signs were there: your necklace, your affinity for Bast, your warning against messing with the damn cat. Khonshu had sent him on a goose-hunt for an artifact to grab the attention of wherever Bast’s vessel was lurking, only for you to be feet away from him the entire time. “I’d hoped you would heed my warning.”

“Unfortunately, the bird isn’t very smart,” Jihoon curses. 

“He’s not known to be,” you continue, alarmingly relaxed for someone whose artifact was about to be stolen. He musters the strength to level with you properly, and the sight strikes him with a sense of fear that he hasn’t felt since he became Khonshu’s vessel. Gone is your formal museum-wear, replaced by a similar linen-type armor that wraps your entire body, extending into a capelet not unlike those worn by queens in the days of ancient Egypt. A gold mask resembling a cat’s head covers your head and the top half of your face, your eyes glowing white from behind the shining metal. Daggers hang from either side of the woven gold belt slung at your waist over a schenti skirt and frontal apron. Gold cuffs hug your wrists and bronze boots stretch the length of your calves. Along with your smaller cat necklace now hangs one identical to the collar of the figurine, a scarab and the Wadjet amulet adorning your neck. You look royal, lethal. 

“He’s not happy you said that,” he stalls and you tilt your head, ironically cat-like. 

“And I’m not happy you’ve done all this work to get me to reveal myself,” you caution. “I want no part in your violence, Traveler. I have sealed the serpent and ensured the security of this world. Leave me alone.” You turn your back on him and he starts forward, halting when sharp gold claws extend from your fingertips. “I said, leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that,” Jihoon admits. “You’re in danger, and I need your help to stop said world from ending.” You bark a skeptical laugh.

“I see Khonshu hasn’t changed. Bastet says he’s always been a fan of the dramatic.” You speak of the cat goddess with such confidence that he wonders just how long you’ve been her vessel.

“Trust me, I know. Right now, we have to get out of here before they figure out you’re here.” Your eyes narrow to slits.

“Who’s they?” At that moment, the windows above your head shatter, and you’re moving before the shards hit the ground. 

Jihoon dashes for cover at the same time a knife embeds itself in the wall that was nearest to his head and counts two dozen assailants repelling in through the broken windows. Alarms blare through the hall and emergency lights illuminate your body as it slips between attackers, claws swiping and daggers flying. The cultists are wrapped in the same black snakeskin robes that they wore at the meeting he invaded, only this time they hold an array of spears, knives, and bats. He grabs a crescent dart from his belt without thinking and hurls it at the opponent lunging towards you. It knocks them off balance and gives Jihoon an opening to lay a lightning-quick combo, charging his fists forward in a familiar rhythm. As soon as one is downed, three more take its place and he ducks, slamming a punch into the nearest attacker’s ribcage and a brutal left hook to the next. 

He catches a glimpse of you as you fight and finds himself mesmerized by the way you flow like water, never striking hard but instead slicing in vulnerable places with your claws. Blood spurts from the limbs that you cut and you leap away from the spray like a ballerina, never in one place for longer than a few seconds. Someone lands a hit on your jaw and you snarl, teeth flashing as you feint right and rip through the attacker’s throat like jelly. Your combat style stands in stark contrast to his bone-crunching violence, lithe and smooth and keenly aware of your surroundings. 

He thinks you have the situation under control until an explosion of broken glass bursts in his peripheral vision and a carnal scream tears from your throat as one of the attackers snatches the cat figurine–your cat figurine–by its neck. You lunge forward, your eyes flashing with rage, and he catches the four hidden enemies crouching behind various statues as you sprint toward the one holding the statue. 

“A trap,” Khonshu growls and Jihoon draws his crescent darts too late. A mountainous opponent tackles him by his waist and he’s dragged across the hall; his head hits a limestone column and he blinks through the daze as he narrowly avoids a jab to the temple. On the other side of the room, you’re struggling. Four sets of hands restrain your arms, subduing your claws and forcing you to your knees. The one holding the statue begins muttering in a language he recognizes but can’t understand, creeping toward you with the cat statue held out like a shield. Someone brings down the butt of a dagger against your skull and a glob of blood and saliva leaves your mouth. You thrash and bite until your energy begins to be sucked into the statue, your body going limp. Jihoon’s vision goes red. “The Lady is under assault. Destroy them.” 

A surge of energy burns like fire through his veins and two white truncheons appear in his hands and he shoves the weapons downward onto the attacker’s back. The hold loosens and he twists away, swinging the sticks and beating his opponent’s face until he hits the ground and remains there. His attention snaps back over to where you’re nearly emaciated and he hurls one of his truncheons at the skull of the one holding your statue. The weapon finds its home and the world seems to move in slow motion. Without another thought, he ducks into the nearest corner of cold, clammy shadows and reappears just in time to catch the bronze cat before it bursts on the ground. The sealing ritual is interrupted but only a small part of your energy returns to you, the rest lingering in the statue that he cradles to his side like a baby. The four people that were restraining you are thrown backward as you free yourself from their hold, swiping with your claws with a new-found vengeance. For the remaining fight, Jihoon simply watches in awe (and occasionally stomps his foot on half-conscious enemies) while you tear through flesh and shatter bone. 

“Give me my cat,” you command when the final intruder falls to the ground. You step over pools of blood and cringe away when a hand weakly tries to grab your ankle, stepping on the fingers with a nauseating crunch. Khonshu bristles within his mind as you approach and take the figure from Jihoon with uncharacteristic gentleness, color returning to your face and life running through your body once more. You protectively stroke the statue’s head like a real cat and the foreboding aura of Bastet lifts from his shoulders. He thinks he can sense Khonshu taking a well-needed breath as well, if it was possible for a humanoid skeleton falcon to inhale. “She is irritated but not ungrateful,” you tell him and he tries to nod, his forehead pounding from his collision with a column. You sigh, sensing the approaching police cars outside the museum and looking towards the nearest exit. 

“In return for saving your life, could you at least hear what I have to say?” Jihoon proposes before you can slip away and you eye him reproachfully, but nod all the same. “Okay. Do you have a safe place we can go?”

“I do. Do you like espresso?” 

—

Coffee at 1:30 in the morning was a little unconventional, but so was having a safehouse located above a cat cafe. 

“I know caffeine doesn’t usually affect us,” you begin, placing a mug in front of him along with a small carafe of milk, “but I’ve found it helps to take the edge off after a fight.” He carefully takes a sip and the relaxation is almost immediate, and he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Good?”

“Yeah. Really good,” he manages. After two years of being Khonshu’s vessel, this was definitely the most intense mission he’d been sent on, yet you perch on a velvet armchair with your own mug like it was just another cozy weekend. The space itself is not what he had expected from Bastet’s vessel, either. The attic you led him to after avoiding the authorities as they swarmed the museum is sparsely decorated, a small bed and a vanity tucked on the other side of the room. A spiral staircase leading to the first-floor cafe winds down beside the sofa, and your coffee table is littered with various materials to make cat toys. The Gayer-Anderson statue that you decided to borrow from the museum sits on the windowsill, moonlight reflecting off the bronze and the green paint. 

“You look like you haven’t been in that kind of fight before,” you observe, your eyes shining. 

“You have?” You shrug noncommittally. 

“Ten years as a vessel puts you through a lot of shit, though that was my first time almost getting completely sealed,” you explain, taking another sip of your coffee. “Our enemies are evolving.” 

“The ones who attacked us tonight want to release Apophis.” You roll your eyes, unsurprised. 

“Every group I’ve fought for the past seven years aims to release the serpent, but they’ve failed for a number of reasons.” Jihoon keeps his mouth shut and waits for you to continue. You exhale and set your mug on the table, lifting a finger for every reason you describe. “One, they don’t know where he is sealed. Two, they don’t know how to unseal him. Three…” Your voice trails off and he sees your eyes go to a different memory. 

“What’s the last reason?” He prods. Your expression darkens.

“Three, I catch wind of their plans and end them,” you finish. Jihoon swallows thickly. 

“She is keeping something from you,” Khonshu whispers. 

“Yeah, I don’t blame her,” he says aloud and you watch him, curious. 

“What’s he saying?” You ask. 

“He believes you’re not being entirely truthful.”

“I’m not,” you admit. “I don’t know what you’re hiding from me, so we remain on even ground.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” he grimaces. You watch him expectantly.

“This is the part where you explain why you were trying to smoke me out,” you state. 

“I need to know where you sealed Apophis,” Jihoon says and you frown. 

“Why?” 

“Khonshu thinks that if we can seal the entrance to the temple, then no one will ever be able to try to unseal the serpent.” Your frown deepens, like he’d insulted you.

“You don’t think I already sealed it permanently?” You cock your head, listening to the goddess in your mind. “Bastet has some choice words for you, but I’ll refrain from repeating them for both our sakes.” 

“The serpent is sealed, but the entrance is not,” Jihoon insists. “That’s how the cultists know to seal you first before they free Apophis, because Apophis is whispering to them from the temple.” 

“That’s impossible,” you scowl. “The runes I used to seal him should prevent him from contacting anything outside the temple.” Jihoon shakes his head.

“Then something is wrong with the runes, because the cultists I took down last month said that Apophis had given them instructions to unseal him. They mentioned something about a prison that shifts.” You freeze and the look on your face makes the hairs on Jihoon’s arms stand up. 

“What?” 

“What?”

“The last thing you said. What did you just say?”

“The guy I interrogated kept going on about a shifting prison,” he repeats. You exhale and drag your hand down your face, stress etching into your features.

“He figured it out.” 

“He figured what out?” He leans forward. “What are you not telling me?” You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously.

“I can’t tell you where the temple is because I don’t know where it is,” you reveal after a long, awkward silence. “Bastet designed it so that it shifts with the desert, never staying in one place for more than three hours. If Apophis knows that the prison is always moving, then his best bet is to seal me and ensure that I don’t interfere with his cultists figuring out how to find the temple. That prevents Bastet from protecting the rest of the world.” Jihoon’s stomach drops. 

“How do we stop Apophis from communicating outside the temple?”

“I would need to go to the temple myself and redo the runes, but that would require me knowing where it is–”

“And you have no idea where it is,” Jihoon finishes. He swears under his breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. An idea occurs to him, one that he wasn’t the biggest fan of but also the only one he could plausibly accomplish, especially with both your powers combined. “We could just kill all of the cultists.” You shake your head.

“Apophis will find another group to whisper in the ears of.” He curses again.

“Sounds like we need to find the temple before they do so he stops talking to them.” Your eyes narrow.

“As much as I appreciate the heads-up about my greatest enemy playing telephone with extinctionists, Khonshu has his own justice to serve, doesn’t he?” 

“Why is the Lady refusing our assistance?” The moon god questions.

“Because she’s wondering why you give a fuck, Big Bird,” Jihoon fires back and you make a noise in your throat that sounds like a stifled snort. He gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry. I haven't figured out how to talk to him in my head yet.” 

“You’re right, though I would have phrased it a little differently,” you clarify. “Now that I know that the temple needs to be found, why does Khonshu need to be involved?”

“He likes a good fight. Flair for the dramatic, remember?” You breathe out a laugh.

“Right.” You’re silent as Bastet airs her concerns. “She wants to make it clear that if you get in our way, she’ll leave you for the rats. And she hates rats.” Another pause. “She still doesn’t trust you after you threatened to steal her statue.” 

“Noted. And for the record, I apologize. That was the bird’s idea, not mine,” Jihoon offers and a smile tugs at your mouth. “Any idea where to start?” 

“I’ve got an idea, but Big Bird isn’t gonna like it.” 

“How do you know?” 

“He’s never played nice with gods of other pantheons.” 

—

The chances of running into the Norse god of thunder on the grounds of Greenwich Park is low, but never zero. Finding his favorite Midgardian meteorologist wandering among the gardens? Much more likely. 

“Stargirl,” you greet kindly as you approach the figure staring at the sky rather than the perfectly tended shrubs around you. Bastet purrs within your mind, always appreciative of a woman with a strong intellect. Jihoon walks beside you with steps that are nearly impossible to hear. The meteorologist in question turns to you with a bright smile, the silver thunderbolt ring on her hand catching the morning sunlight. Her messenger bag swings against her hip. “Got your head in the clouds again?”

“Always,” she replies with a smile. Her eyes flick to the man beside you and you sense her guards go up ever so slightly; immediate suspicion was a side effect of being tricked by Jeonghan one too many times. “You brought a friend.”

“Jihoon, Stargirl. Stargirl, Jihoon,” you introduce, gesturing between the two. “He's like me.” 

“Like you?” Her eyebrows furrow and you give her a look. Realization hits her like lightning. “Oh. He's like you.” You hum. She observes Jihoon like a tornado without a path. “So, what god did you make a deal with?” She sticks her hand out, presumably for him to shake. Jihoon frowns out of the corner of your eye.

“You know?” He asks and she nods. 

“Ten years with an Egyptian god means you have to make some allies on the way,” you explain. “She can be trusted.” Jihoon hesitates for a moment but reluctantly shakes Stargirl's hand. 

“Khonshu. God of the moon,” he answers carefully. “What, or I guess who do you have?” Stargirl laughs and shakes her head.

“I'm not a vessel, if that's what you're asking. My relationship with a god is a little more…complicated.” 

“She's in a situationship with the god of thunder,” you whisper conspicuously behind your hand. Stargirl pouts and swats you lightly. 

“Alright, shut up,” she groans. “Let's talk business?”

“Please,” you agree and she leads you over to a concrete bench. Jihoon perches on the arm rest next to you, close enough to brush your shoulder, and you fight the flip your heart does in your chest. Bastet senses the change and growls. 

“Do not,” the cat goddess snarls and you steady yourself with a breath. 

“I’m not doing anything,” you mumble to her. 

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” Jihoon catches the way you've tensed and leans closer. 

“You good?” He murmurs and you nod stiffly, your eyes stuck to the screen of the bulky laptop Stargirl has procured from her bag. “You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine,” you say a little forcefully and he, thankfully, doesn’t push. Stargirl watches you, interested, but you shoot her a pointed look. “Right, so we need to figure out where Bastet’s temple is shifting, and when it would be most easily accessible.” 

“How do I play into this?” The meteorologist inquires. 

“I was hoping you could show us a nice little diagram or something that would explain how to track where the temple moves,” you say and Stargirl blinks at you. 

“You–you don’t know how to track it yourself?” It’s an innocent question, but your face burns and Bastet bristles within you. You really didn’t know what you were doing, if you were being honest. Stargirl was just a shot in the dark. Jihoon shifts at your side.

“I imagine you wouldn’t need to, as long as you trusted that the runes were secure enough to never need to enter again,” he offers evenly. Stargirl considers this and shrugs. 

“I guess so. Still, I would need to know what I’m tracking in order to, you know, track it.” 

“What about toxic gases?” Jihoon asks and you look at him, surprised. “Could you track deposits of toxic gases as they shift?”

“I can, but it would be a lot easier if I knew what gases to pinpoint.” 

“Can you try hydrogen sulfide and carbon dioxide?” Stargirl bites her bottom lip and begins rapidly tapping away at her keyboard.

“How do you know to look for those two gases specifically?” You whisper. 

“The cultists meeting I raided. They referred to them so often that I had no choice but to remember what they were.” He pauses as Khonshu gives his input within his mind. “I’m not saying that aloud, Big Bird,” Jihoon snaps and you fight a chuckle. “I’m not, so quit it!” 

“Do not become distracted,” Bastet interjects and you can hear her lip curling in disgust. 

“He just reminds me of us when we first started,” you counter wordlessly, but you still fidget with the cat charm on your neck like something else was on your mind. “That’s all.”

“You can lie to yourself, but not to me,” she states and stalks back into the recesses of your mind. Before you can think on it further, Stargirl turns her laptop to you and you see an array of blobs in various colors swimming around what looks to be a map of the Sahara Desert. 

“I pulled up a map from a doppler over the Sahara and filtered all the poisonous gases I could think of to see how they move under the Earth’s surface. The two that you asked for, hydrogen sulfide and carbon dioxide, are noted here,” she explains, pointing at a key on the corner of the screen. “It’s about a 10 second delay for real-time tracking, but I also pulled up a time lapse of the last nine years since you sealed the temple.” She clicks again and the blobs begin shifting faster, a clock at the top of the screen flickering through dates at a rapid speed. You watch the screen progress through the years and one blob of green and blue catches your eye. 

“There. What is that?” You point at a mass that seems to be moving in a helix-like pattern, twisting in on itself and changing directions but never straying from its path. Stargirl checks the key and gives you an approving look. 

“That, my friend, is the largest deposit of hydrogen sulfide and carbon dioxide I have ever seen. If I had to bet where your temple was, it would be connected to that,” she says. Jihoon squints at the map. 

“How do we know where it will be next?” He questions. Stargirl presses even more buttons and fiddles with some on-screen dials until the two maps are layered on top of each other, the present mass lining up with the 9-year pattern perfectly. “Huh. Neat.” 

“Isn’t it?” Stargirl beams proudly. “Based on how the deposit has moved over the years, it should be,” she pauses and traces the shapes with her finger. “There, in three days. That’s the most convenient location to find it, I think,” she concludes and you look closer. According to the map, in three days the temple would be just outside of Cairo. Easy enough to get to, easy enough to enter. Bastet hums in approval, anticipating a fierce battle. 

“You’re unreal, Stargirl,” you exhale in relief, nudging her with your shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Just stop teasing me about Joshua, please,” she begs and you hum like you’re thinking it over. “I’m serious!”

“If you tell Loki to stop picking on me, I will,” you fire back. 

“He’s a jackass–I can’t control him!” 

“Tell your boyfriend to strike him with lightning,” you suggest and she scoffs. 

“He still wouldn’t stop. Being a jackass is in his nature.” Jihoon clears his throat almost uncomfortably and keeps his eyes on you. Stargirl glances at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I know it can be a little overwhelming to hear about all these random gods. You’ll get used to it over time, I’m sure. Plus, you’ve got a great source of answers right here if you have questions.” She nods to you. 

“It’s–it’s fine. I’m fine,” he replies. “Yeah, I’m glad I found you.” He winces inwardly at the addition that leaves his mouth. You make yourself laugh awkwardly to ignore the way your cheeks have gone hot under Jihoon’s stare. As you hug Stargirl goodbye, you feel her breath against your ear as she says low enough that Jihoon can’t hear. 

“Miss Bastet, I’m taking bets on when those two kiss,” she whispers and you gawk at her and her mischievous smile that would put Jeonghan to shame. 

“I beg of Ra that they do not,” cringes Bastet. You relay the message to Stargirl and she barks a laugh, waving to you with a wink as you go your separate ways. 

“So, the god of mischief has a thing for you,” Jihoon observes nonchalantly once you’re alone again and you glare at him.

“I’m going to stab you with one of my claws if you ever bring that up,” you threaten with no real heat. He huffs a laugh and you ignore Bastet’s growls as your heart does a flip again. 

— 

The air is wrong. 

You realize too late as a bullet tears through your abdomen, white-hot pain blooming through your stomach that makes your knees buckle onto the sand. Above you stand what you thought to be researchers, though only now do you realize that they were something far more sinister. The opportunity seemed too good to pass up, six months ago: an all-expenses paid trip to Egypt to study a lost temple to Bastet that had never been explored before. The men who hired you said they needed you to verify the meaning of hieroglyphics covering the walls, but you knew something was off when they started reading from a language you barely understood. 

Before you could dash for the exit, a gunshot was already ringing out against the sandstone and your blood was dripping red onto a circle you didn’t notice had been drawn on the floor. The dirt drinks up your blood like a predator in a heatwave, and the ground within the circle begins to crumble. You scramble backward and watch in horror as a few of the men who’d brought you here tumble into the abyss, while the rest of them kneel just outside of the circle, chanting. The blood refuses to staunch and your vision starts to blur when a voice, clear and crisp as cold water, resonates in your mind. 

Daughter, it whispers. Your breath comes in increasingly shallow breaths and your body seems to have relinquished all of its remaining energy. A body of black scales rises from the hole like a whale’s back. The voice becomes more insistent. You are dying. I can save you. 

“Please,” you plead with all the strength you have left. You’re scared, you’re tired, but the one defining emotion still running through your body is rage. You’d been tricked into coming here under the pretense of fulfilling your dreams, and now you were bleeding out for what? To open a pit into the Earth that could very well hold world-ending darkness? “I don’t want to–I don’t want to die–not yet.” A trickle of blood runs down the side of your mouth. The men ahead of you have stopped chanting and are now approaching you in what seems like slow motion, reaching for your arms and dragging you over to the pit. You thrash in their hold, but it’s no use. The void slithers as you stare into it and you choke on a sudden lack of oxygen. 

No. Please.

Not like this.

Not yet.

No, no, no, no–NO!

You wake with a shout and shoot upright, your clothes sticky with sweat and your forehead pounding. Thin blankets pool around your waist and you heave in stale air as you try to remember where you are. Your head feels like it’s being slammed repeatedly against a wall and your heart won’t stop racing. Bastet uncurls herself in the back of your mind.

“Breathe,” she hushes. “Where are you?”

“The inn. I’m in an inn. Cairo. We’ve been here for two days,” you whisper to yourself, trying to steady your breathing but failing. 

“Those men are not here anymore,” she says gently and you shake your head, tucking your knees into your chest and hiding your face in your hands. “We are never truly safe, but we are presently not in danger.” 

“I can’t–I can’t breathe,” you croak, a sob tearing itself from your throat. “I don’t–I don’t know what to do.” You curl into yourself and cry as your body trembles for what feels like eternity but could only have been a few seconds, when Bastet’s presence sharpens. 

“The Traveler is awake.” You blink and squint your eyes. 

“What?” A quiet knock on the door of your room startles you and you draw on Bastet’s energy to manifest claws on one hand, but she stops you. “I want a weapon,” you insist.

“You won’t need it. Open the door, child.” You rise slowly, creeping toward the door without a sound and unlocking it with a click! Tension leaves your shoulders as soon as you register who’s waiting on the other side, half-asleep but clutching a crescent dart like he was ready to fight alongside you in just pajamas. “He worries for you.”

“I heard a shout,” Jihoon says, eyes tired but body alert. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you croak, though your red-rimmed eyes give you away. 

“You don’t look fine,” he replies softly. “Even Big Bird agrees.” You don’t laugh and your eyes glaze over right in front of him, like your mind was departing somewhere else entirely. “Can I come in?” He asks cautiously and you nod, opening the door enough for him to slip in.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you say shakily, taking a few sips of water from your bottle and sitting back on the bed. “You can sit, if you want.” He hesitates for only a moment before settling down next to you, a respectful distance away. 

“You didn’t wake me, not really.” You tilt your head, puzzled. “Technically, I was awake for maybe…ten seconds? Before you shouted.” 

“What woke you up?”

“I’m not sure,” Jihoon admits. “Good timing, I guess.” You hug your arms against yourself and exhale, your body finally coming down from its heightened state. 

“Can I ask a favor?”

“Anything,” he answers immediately. Bastet paces your mind protectively.

“Can you tell me what we’ve been doing these past two days? Sometimes, when I have,” you inhale and struggle to find the words, “these types of dreams, I can’t remember what is real and what’s not.” Jihoon is quiet as he listens to you, but you feel him watching you even in the dim moonlight of the room. Your hands shake as you press against your abdomen, where Bastet’s energy had stitched up your gunshot wound. “I woke up thinking there was a bullet in my stomach, but my body still thinks there is one.” He nods once and takes a deep breath. 

“I’m real. You’re real. This moment, right now, is real,” he states in a low tone. “We left London two days ago for Cairo, which is where we are now. Tomorrow, we’ll intercept Bastet’s temple as it travels parallel to Giza, about eighty miles into the desert.” 

“What did we do the past two days?” A memory flickers to life in your head. “The bazaar. That was–”

“Real,” he concludes for you. Your body recalls the sweltering heat and the swarms of bodies milling about the tight alleys, along with an unfamiliar sense of calm when you remember that Jihoon was never too far as you explored the streets. He wasn’t the most talkative, but he was constant, something you rarely experienced as a vessel. Stability.

“Did you end up buying that lamp Khonshu was telling you to snag?” You can hear the smirk in his voice when he replies.

“He really wanted me to, but you saw a textiles vendor and I ignored him to follow you.” You close your eyes and remember the stitches in the fabric and the textures under your fingers, but your mind returns to the gold lamp that Jihoon had stood in front of for well over ten minutes.

“It had a moon on it.”

“It had a moon and a bird on it,” he adds. “Big Bird said it would do me well to furnish my apartment.” 

“You have an apartment?”

“If you can call it that,” replies Jihoon a little ruefully. You feel him shift on the bed to face you more directly and you finally feel calm enough to sit back against the headboard, your fingers playing with the edge of the blankets. 

“Where is it?”

“Just outside Seoul,” he explains. “It’s mostly a glorified closet with a toilet and a stove.”

“Sounds cozy…and a little small,” you comment with a wry smile and he does the same huff-laugh that makes your heart flip. 

“Well, when you’re legally dead, your options are a little limited when it comes to landlords.” Your face falls. “I’m still surprised you haven’t asked me how I came to Khonshu in the first place.” 

“The moments we choose to be vessels are traumatic,” you murmur, recalling your dream that had you waking up in a pool of your own panic. “It didn’t seem like my place to ask.” 

Silence falls over the room of the inn as you sit in the darkness, two vessels that had resigned themselves to living life alone. You try to recall the last time you were able to talk so openly like this, to have someone understand that your life is no longer entirely yours, but also in service to an ancient deity that has a mind of her own. Stargirl listened and tried to sympathize as much as she could, but no one else really understood your life now. After ten years, you’d become used to being alone with Bastet as your only company, but you hadn’t considered how Jihoon would be faring after barely two years with Khonshu. 

“I’m not proud of who I was before Khonshu,” he begins unexpectedly and you hold your breath. “Ex-military turned mercenary, you know. Killing without asking questions. Liking the money that came with it.” Jihoon inhales like recounting his past pained him. “The guys that hired me got into deep shit and had to tie up loose ends.” Your chest aches. “It was a trap.” 

“They tried to kill you,” you summarize with a lump in your throat. 

“They did,” Jihoon states. “I ran for seven months before they caught up to me in the desert. Knife to my throat and everything. I prayed to the moon for a chance to do something more, and you can guess who listened.” Bastet preens at the rage that flares in your belly. 

“Did you kill them?” 

“Eventually,” he confirms. “It took some time, but I got them. Then, I started after whoever Khonshu told me to.” 

“Do you ever regret it? Becoming a vessel?”

“Do you?” 

“It gets lonely, but I guess that’s just the price we have to pay,” you sigh. 

“Not anymore, it seems,” he considers. 

“What do you mean?” He’s silent for so long that you think he somehow fell asleep. “Jihoon?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he stammers, sounding a little flustered. “I just–I was thinking about after we reseal the temple.” He hesitates and you suddenly wish you could see his face. “I was wondering if you’d let me hang around London, just until I get the hang of this whole vessel thing.” 

“Well, that’s ironic,” you chuckle. “I’m planning to leave London in a few months.” 

“Oh.” Silence settles again awkwardly, and you hope he can’t hear the way your heartbeat is racing in your ears. “That’s a good thing, I think? Good for you.”

“You could come with me, if you want,” you suggest after a long pause and fight the urge to laugh when he gulps audibly.

“Where will you go?”

“Wherever I want. Bastet has an idea to track down other vessels, see if it’s worth it to team up or something,” you say. “Apophis isn’t the only evil in this world, but now I know that I’m not the only vessel, either.” 

“I’d like that,” Jihoon says. “Staying with you.” 

“I want you to. It’s nice having someone that understands.” 

“I highly doubt that is the only reason,” Bastet mumbles from the back of your mind, having retreated after your body finally came down from its heightened state. 

“Enough,” you say to her rather than Jihoon. 

“Was what she said really that bad that you had to say something aloud? Maybe you’re not so in-tune with each other as I thought,” he teases and you lightly kick him with your foot. He laughs, a real one that echoes in the dark room of the inn, and you swear the moon outside shines a little brighter. 

“Jihoon?” 

“Mmm?” 

“Would you mind staying? I know we have to be up in a few hours, but it’d be helpful if–” You’re cut off by the abrupt movement of him hopping off the bed and onto the floor, wordlessly settling onto the worn carpet. “Wait, I was gonna say we could share the bed, if the floor is uncomfortable. Or I could take the floor.”

“I think a certain cat goddess would kill me in either of those scenarios, so I’ll have to pass,” he informs you matter-of-factly and you laugh. “I will admit, though, Khonshu has quite a few things to say about his vessel willingly sleeping on the floor.” 

“I’d sooner have him sleeping in your bathtub than in your bed, child,” Bastet growls. “The Traveler will live with one night at our feet.”

“He can take it up with Bastet, in that case, because she’s already a little angry that you’re in here at all,” you reply, sliding yourself under the covers again. Sleep pulls at your eyelids, but your body doesn’t feel as heavy as it did earlier. 

“A little seems like an understatement,” Jihoon remarks and you can hear the grin in his voice. You toss your extra pillow in his general direction and you hear it land on him with an oof. “Was that thrown from you or Bastet?” 

“If it was thrown from her, it wouldn’t be given so nicely.” 

“Thank you, then, and send her my thanks for not ripping out my throat for being so close,” he declares and Bastet rolls her eyes. 

“Go to sleep before she decides to kick you out,” you laugh. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

—

You blink awake before the sun has peeked over the horizon to the sound of Jihoon snoring softly by the edge of the bed. The familiar sense of fatigue still hugs your body, but an unexpected sense of calm rests on your shoulders as you pack your things and get ready for the day. An hour later, you’re following Jihoon down a series of alleys in the direction of a car he conjured up from his mercenary days, saying something about someone owing him a few favors. Golden light wraps the buildings as the sun continues to rise, and before you know it, you’re in a small plaza lined with a dozen or so cars. 

“Black Jeep, 10 o’clock,” Jihoon states. “That one’s ours.” 

“I hope it’s got gas,” you half-joke, though you know that if your timing in arriving at the temple was even the slightest bit off, you could miss it by miles. 

“All these cars do,” he replies. He reaches under the car, just behind the wheel, and feels around for the keys until they fall with a jangle into his hand.

“You know who these cars belong to?” The moon god’s vessel nods and opens the back of the Jeep, tossing in his backpack and yours before slamming it shut. 

“Remember those bosses I was talking about?” You frown.

“The ones that tried to kill you?”

“Yep,” confirms Jihoon. “Those guys made a lot of enemies, so when they started hunting me I used the information I knew about them as currency. It’s how I survived for those few months before they caught me.” 

“And all these cars are a favor that you asked for?” 

“The location of the cars is the favor. Mercenary contingency plans.” Your mouth opens into an ah of understanding. 

“How many other contingency plans do you have up your sleeve?” 

“Too many to count.” You hum.

“No wonder Khonshu was so eager to make you his vessel.” 

“I know. I bet I’m the first vessel he’s had that’s buy one, get a network of global weapon stores,” he chuckles. Soon enough, you’re climbing into the passenger seat of the Jeep and exiting the city into the open roads of the desert. With a map marking the coordinates of where to intercept the temple and a compass pointing where to go, all that’s left is to drive and drive and drive. At some point, you find a CD in the glove compartment of the car that ends up blasting death metal, so you both agree to calm silence. Occasionally, a question will occur to you and Jihoon will answer for as long as needed, but you always end up back in a comfortable quiet with nothing but the hum of the engine to fill the emptiness. The sun beats hard through your window, even with the air-con blasting, and the never-ending stretches of sand bring back unpleasant reminders of the last time you’d been in Bastet’s temple. 

Two hours into the journey, a cloud of dust in the side-view mirror catches your eye. 

“Do you see that?” You turn to Jihoon and find him already frowning.

“Yeah. What is it?” The car roars as he pushes the gas pedal further.

“I don’t know. Does this thing have a gun stored somewhere?” 

“Should be under your seat.” Your hand searches blindly below your seat and wraps around the grip of a small pistol. Pulling it from its compartment and rolling down your window, you stick half your body into the desert and pull away just in time to dodge a bullet that shatters the side-view mirror. 

“Shit!” You shout as you’re thrown sideways when Jihoon swerves to avoid another round of bullets that crack the exterior of the vehicle, thankfully not breaking through any windows. Your body twists to count the number of cultists that have figured out your location and were now trailing you to the temple. 

“The enemy has found us,” Bastet hisses. “Dispose of them.” The searing fire of Bastet’s power singes your skin as your armor wraps you from head to toe, your claws extending to a razor sharp point. 

“Three cars, two motorcycles. Everyone’s armed, I’m assuming,” you report as Jihoon throws the car around again. “How much farther do we have until we reach the temple?” 

“Five miles. We need to get them off our ass by then.” 

“Agreed. Take the gun.” He shoots you a concerned look.

“You don’t want it?”

“If you see me shoot a gun, you’ll realize why Bastet gave me close-range weapons instead,” you cringe. “Slow down and let them get close, but not near enough to get our tires. The last thing we need is to walk to the Temple.” 

“Copy.” The incoming formation of attackers quickly gains ground when Jihoon eases off the accelerator. “Target the cars. I’ll take care of the bikers.”

“Look at us, working as a team,” you smirk. 

“I know, so don’t get killed,” Jihoon warns and you salute him with two fingers before launching yourself through the open passenger window. 

You land with a thud on the side of the nearest car, your claws sinking into the metal and keeping you from getting thrown off as the driver panics and begins swerving from side to side. A cultist leans out the window with a gun pointed at your head and you use it as an opportunity to kick into the car, slinking through the same open window and ripping through the throats of the three passengers. The driver roars in anger and attempts to swipe you with a khopesh that he pulls from the side compartment of the door, but you bend out of reach and crawl onto the roof, claws piercing the metal again to keep you crouched low on the top of the car. 

When the second car draws close enough to try to shoot you, you grab the driver through his open window and yank him out by the neck, tossing him into the desert and hopping to the roof of the next car. A bullet collides with your armor and bounces off harmlessly, with a flurry of gunshots ringing out below you as the passengers try–and fail–to shoot you. From the corner of your vision, you catch Jihoon driving with one hand and firing at the motorcyclists with the other, taking care to keep the car out of reach of the cultists’ blades as they try to pop the tires. After he fires a lethal shot to one biker’s neck, he proceeds to ram the other motorcycle into the side of the car that you’re perched on, trapping the rider between both cars. Taking advantage of the close proximity, Jihoon takes care of the driver, the passenger, and the nearest passenger in the backseat while you grab the other two through the window and fling them into the desert. 

“Need a ride?” He shouts over the roar of the Jeep’s engine. 

“More like a stepping stone!” You yell back and he nods, keeping it steady while you leap from the out-of-control cultists’ car onto the roof of the Jeep, and then land on the roof of the final car. You anchor yourself with your claws into the roof and channel some of Bastet’s power into your legs as you kick off and swing straight into the windshield, diving into the car in a bursting firework of glass. Fists fly at you and you bend awkwardly in the confined space, attacking where you can but missing a lot of your hits. Before you can throw any of them out of the car, the vehicle screeches to a halt and you fly forward, your back hitting the front dashboard. Pain blooms in your ribs and your lower back and it takes you a moment to realize that the cultists stopped because Jihoon had stopped. Your senses perk up just in time to duck as the moon god’s vessel takes out the last remaining cultists in the vehicle with five precise shots. You groan and stumble out of the car, your claws pulling back as Jihoon steadies you with a grip on your forearms. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you wince. “The gear shift stick might’ve somehow got lodged between my vertebrae, though.” You manage to give him a pained half-smile and he breathes out in relief.  “Why’d you stop the car?”

“Because we’re here. The temple is right below us.” Your pain is immediately dulled by simultaneous senses of dread and wonder as Bastet purrs at the front of your mind, recognizing her sacred place in a sea of sand. Your eyes follow the same linen armor as it covers his body as well, though he makes a point not to cover his face with the mask yet. “Do you know how to open the door? Or…find the door in general?” Jihoon asks uneasily and you nod.

“That, I can do,” you assure him. 

“Great. Let me know what I can do, if anything. If not, I’ll just stand here and keep Khonshu’s beak shut.”

“That would be the greatest assistance of all,” Bastet sneers. 

“She’s, uh, grateful,” you relay. “Keep watch for me.”

“You got it.”

Closing your eyes, you let the cat goddess internally guide your body, puppeting your legs like a doll and sinking your knees into the sand. A hand of claws dig into the ground and Bastet recites a chant through your mouth, using your voice. As she speaks, the Earth beneath you trembles, vibrating in a way that pushes the sand outward until it reveals a solid disk of limestone embedded in the floor as large as the Jeep. Where your claws dug into the sand, a series of holes have formed at the center of the disk the same size as your fingers. Jihoon observes silently while you prick the pad of your finger against one of your claws until a dot of blood beads on each tip, then replace your fingers back into the hole again. With a mechanical grind, brick-sized sections of limestone open up in a spiral pattern around the center of the disk, lowering themselves into place until a staircase is visible leading into the temple below. Jihoon whistles in amazement. 

“Khonshu’s a little mad that you have a cooler temple mechanism than him,” he informs you and you chuckle. Bastet sniffs haughtily. 

“Follow me. Keep close. Try not to touch anything,” you advise, beginning the descent into the temple. Jihoon bristles.

“Booby traps?” You stifle a snort.

“No, but do I need to remind you what happened last time someone touched Bastet’s stuff?”

“Point taken,” he surrenders, following you down the stairs and into the darkness. 

—

The main cavern of the temple is identical to how you left it before, save for the skeletons wrapped in archaeologist Halloween costumes. A mountainous statue of a cat covers an entire wall, holding up the ceiling and framed by pillars that are marked with millenia of stories. The hole that had opened up for Apophis to escape, once a stone basin at the foot of Bastet’s statue, is now a solid black limestone disk similar to the entrance of the temple. To your sides lie a row of doorways to a maze of tunnels, most leading to nowhere. Taking careful steps into the temple, as if the men who’d tried to kill you would come alive again, you almost jump when Jihoon gently places his hand on your shoulder.

“You’re not alone this time,” he murmurs. “Let’s fix the runes and go. You don’t have to stay here any longer than needed.” You swallow and nod, dragging yourself toward the disk and trying to push away the primal fear pounding in your chest with every stride. “What made the runes weaken in the first place?”

“Stargirl theorized erosion,” you recall. “Something about the momentum of the temple constantly moving creating its own wind current that broke down the softer stone and messed up the carvings.”

“Will they erode again once we fix them?”

“I was in a rush when I made them the first time. I think if I etch them deep enough, they’ll stick for a long time, at least until the next vessel comes along to fix them.” When you reach the edge of the circle, Jihoon crouches down and places his palm on the black stone. His expression is severe. 

“What is it?”

“I can feel him,” he states. “Lurking under the stone.” Jihoon’s breath catches and he shakes his head like he’s trying to rid a memory from his mind. “He’s–he’s trying to talk to me. Break me.” 

“What’s he saying?” You ask in a low tone, kneeling beside him close enough that your shoulders touch. 

“That you’re too powerful to be unchecked. That the world needs correction, someone to counter you,” he repeats with a shadow over his eyes. You shift away from him almost imperceptibly. 

“What else?”

“That you killed the men who tricked you and used their blood to seal Apophis.” Your heart drops into your stomach. Jihoon’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “That you’ll use my blood to seal him again.” 

“That’s not true,” you deny immediately, almost pleading with him. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not going to betray you.” His expression has darkened. You’d kept this part of the story from him, and now it was your word against Apophis’. 

“Is it true? That you used their blood to seal Apophis?” Bastet’s energy flares protectively around you like a blue flame, panic underlining her energy. Below the panic is another emotion that she didn’t show very often–fear. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “I needed blood to seal him the first time, but I swear to you I’m not going to use you to seal him again. I don’t need to. I don’t want to.” 

“He’s still speaking to me. Telling me things about Bastet. About her vessels. About what she needs to do to keep the world under her control,” he says emotionlessly. Copper stings your tastebuds as memories of ten years of being her claws rise in your memory like obelisks to the sky. All the blood that you’ve spilt in her name to keep the world balanced, to administer justice. “He says that if he’s free, less people would die.”

“You really believe that?” Jihoon falls silent beside you, so quiet that you’d never know he was there if you closed your eyes. Inside your mind, Bastet snarls like a cornered panther.

“He will break,” she spits and you scowl, screwing your eyes tight. Pain stabs through you like lightning, the weight of her anger coming down on you like an avalanche. “Kill him. Before he kills us.”

“No. He won’t,” you argue mentally and she pushes back with a force that makes you nearly vomit. “He won’t hurt me. He won’t break.” 

“Men are weak!” She roars, sharpening your claws and trying to get you to swipe. You clamp down your hand on your arm to force it into stillness. “Men are why the serpent was nearly freed. Kill him!”

“Does he look like he’s trying to hurt us?”

“He will if he succumbs to the serpent. Like the others did. KILL. HIM.” 

“No! He won’t let that happen. I trust him.” Her anger and distrust cripples you, tightening your chest and stealing the air from your lungs. Over and over again, the same command–kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him. “Please,” you beg. “Trust me. Please.” 

“You are a fool. You are a fool for letting yourself feel safe with someone who we do not know enough to trust, and now you will die again and unleash the serpent on the world in the wake of your failure. Kill him. KILL HIM. KILL–” 

“Hey.” You rip your eyes open and suddenly Jihoon’s hand is cupping your face, brushing away a tear that has broken from your waterline with his thumb. Your mind goes silent, your thoughts only occupied by how intensely his eyes are staring into yours. “Apophis is a bullshitter.” 

“What?” 

“Apophis. Is. The biggest bullshitter. I have ever had the displeasure of meeting,” Jihoon repeats slowly. “He’s a liar, he’s a coward, and he’s not going to take me away from you.” 

“But he told you the truth about how I sealed him, and what I do as a vessel, and–”

“If I turned on you for that, I’d be the biggest hypocrite that’s ever walked this planet. Love, I was a mercenary before this,” he explains, the term of endearment slipping out so easily that it catches you both off guard. “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that came out, or–” He’s abruptly cut off by you wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him so tightly that you might suffocate him. 

“It’s okay. Please don’t apologize.” I liked it. Bastet is speechless in your head. Jihoon’s hands hold you tentatively at first, then secure around you completely while you melt into him. 

“I don’t believe him. I won’t ever believe him,” he murmurs. “Do what you need to do and let’s get out of here.” 

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding and blinking away the tears that have started to prick your eyes. “Okay.” 

Movement stirring in the shadows of the temple’s entrance catches your attention, and you stiffen as at least fifty armed cultists in black snakeskin surround you and Jihoon. Each holds a khopesh and a smaller dagger, along with smaller throwing knives slung at their belts. Their faces are entirely covered by a black mask and a hood that covers their eyes, but you still feel their gazes piercing you like needles. Bastet stretches and her claws come out at the same time that yours flash in the streaks of light leaking in from the staircase. 

“You said you didn’t need blood to seal Apophis,” recalls Jihoon, his eyes flashing while Khonshu’s armor secures around his body. 

“I said I didn’t want to use your blood,” you correct, eyeing your enemies as they position themselves like statues around the room until you and Jihoon are trapped at the center of the disk sealing Apophis. The stone below you vibrates with energy and you can feel Apophis trying to slither his way into your mind. The back of your hand brushes Jihoon’s and your mental walls fortify themselves. You’re not alone this time.

“Someone else’s blood, then?” A grin pulls at the corner of your mouth.

“That could definitely work,” you confirm. “How do you want to–”

“Redo your runes,” Jihoon murmurs. “I’ll get you the blood.” 

His words seem to set off the cultists like dynamite and they all charge forward at once with an ear-piercing roar, but you’ve already dashed away by the time they reach the center of the disk. The shadows embrace you as you slip between your enemies, claws slicing through flesh like water and dousing the floor in red. You catch Jihoon’s eye as he slams his opponent onto the ground and he nods at you, trusting you to do what needs to be done. For a moment, your blood runs cold as one of the cultists begins chanting the same ceremony that had begun after you’d been shot, but is abruptly shut up by Jihoon knocking the speaker’s teeth in with his fists. The temple shakes violently as the weight of the few syllables the cultist was able to utter sinks into the floor and feeds the serpent below the disk, knocking the room off its axis and sending everyone sideways. 

Your claws scrape against the limestone to recenter your balance and you draw on Bastet’s energy to materialize a dagger in your hand, brushing away the dust and debris and beginning to redraw the sealing runes above the runes that had been broken. Every time Bastet warns you of an approaching enemy, Jihoon is already guarding your back like a shield, ensuring that no one gets within three feet of you as you work. Under your fingers, you can feel Apophis bellowing in rage as the runes glow molten gold and take effect. Someone’s fist collides with your shoulder and you bark out a swear, reaching backward to claw their face, only to find that Jihoon has sent them flying across the room and into the wall. Rune by rune, you dig the dagger as deep as you can into the stone, guided by Bastet’s whispers of instruction and never once looking back at the moon god’s vessel protecting you. As you begin the final rune, Bastet growls. 

“You and the Traveler must leave the temple as soon as the final rune is completed. If not, you will be sealed with Apophis for the rest of eternity.” 

“Oh, so now you want him to come with us?” You snap under your breath, a bead of sweat running down the side of your face. 

“He has proven himself worthy of being in our presence. He does not deserve to die.” 

“I can hear the reluctance in your voice, my lady,” you huff. “Jihoon!” His head snaps toward you as you call for him. “We need to get to the exit as soon as the last rune is marked.” He grabs a cultist’s head with his whole hand and throws him to the ground.

“What about the blood?” 

“It has soaked into the sand enough,” Bastet says, focusing your eyes on the rivers of red trickling all over the dark stone. 

“The sealing ritual will begin as soon as the last mark is drawn,” you relay. “We just need to get the fuck out.”

“That, I can do,” Jihoon agrees. 

“Get ready to run, then.” You dig your dagger into the stone and carve the last line downward, leaping away from the completed circle of runes as it starts to glow with an increasingly blinding light. 

“Ten seconds,” Bastet warns. “Run!” 

“Let’s go!” You shout, taking Jihoon’s hand as he drags you through the mess of cultists that have not succumbed to their wounds yet. Your free hand of claws swipes blindly as you sprint towards the staircase. From the corner of your vision, you see the remaining enemies recoil in agony while their limbs begin to sink into the sand, reaching upward in vain as the temple takes them as a sacrifice. Apophis roars behind you while you clamber up the staircase, Jihoon at your back and leaping away from the temple entrance just in time for the spiral’s entrance to shut and disappear back under the desert. You lie back and catch your breath, your hand clutched in Jihoon’s like a lifeline. Around you, the sun has started to sink over the dunes and the air around you is still. 

“It is over. Well done,” Bastet concludes before disappearing into the recesses of your mind, leaving you alone with Jihoon. Your armor unwraps to leave you in civilian clothes, body aching but swimming in relief. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to Jihoon, turning to look at him only to find that his eyes are already on you. He gives you a smile, a warm one that makes your stomach flip. “Let’s go home?”

“Let’s go home.”

—

A few weeks after you reseal Apophis for good, you quit your job in London and start looking for a new place to call home, one where both you and Jihoon can thrive. To your delight, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York has an extensive collection of Egyptian art and has no problems hiring you after you’re able to recall information about certain items that probably isn’t anywhere on the Internet. With what Jihoon has left in his offshore holdings from his previous life as a gun-for-hire, you’re able to rent a one-bedroom apartment and argue vehemently about your concerns with Jihoon sleeping on the couch; you ultimately relent and take the bedroom. But, somewhere between a date that he swears isn’t a date and a first kiss that happens because you both overestimated your stamina during Happy Hour, you wake up with his arm slung around your waist more often than not. Learning how to love and be loved by Jihoon is quiet but constant, just like him. Beyond your shared experience of having an ancient god constantly intruding on your thoughts, you find that you connect with him on a deeper level that you’ve never connected with anyone before. You seem to know what he’s thinking before he knows he’s thinking it, and he barely blinks any time you seek out his touch for comfort, whether it be on a crowded street or at midnight in your apartment. You also learn how to compromise–you’re adamant on getting a cat, Jihoon recommends starting with keeping a plant alive.

So naturally, you get the cat and a plant. 

“I think we should get a leash for the sake of looking normal,” Jihoon comments as the gray tabby you have affectionately named William walks in stride with you down the sidewalk towards the flower shop you’d heard good things about. “Because right now, we look less like a couple and a cat and more like you’re a witch, he’s the familiar, and I’m your henchman that you tricked and cursed.” 

“Okay, that’s enough cable television for you,” you snort, giving his hand a squeeze and trying not to feel too warm when he squeezes back. “If it makes you feel any better, William told me he would prefer to be carried in a bag.” The cat in question turns to look at you both while he walks, as if modeling his agreement with your statement. “Cats in bags are normal, right?” Jihoon shrugs. 

“I’m still not over the fact that you can talk to the cat.”

“I have still not processed that I allow you to sleep in our bed at night,” Bastet grumbles and you fight a smile. He catches it.

“What’d she say this time? Is she making fun of my idiocy again?”

“Always,” you wink and Bastet makes a gagging noise like she’s coughing a hairball. When you reach the flower shop, William lightly paws your leg to request that you put him on your shoulder, a habit that he began to show as soon as you brought him home from the shelter. Sometimes you find him on Jihoon’s broad shoulder at home, watching intently as dinner is cooked and listening to your boyfriend mutter things as he works. With the cat on your shoulder and Jihoon at your side, you step into the little flower shop and freeze. 

Something is pressing against your magic.

You glance at Jihoon and know from a single look that he feels it too, the way the atmosphere around you shifts like it’s charged with static electricity. Bastet is eerily quiet in your mind, like she knows the magic is there but is not threatened by it. The aura of whatever is within the shop is simply present, not foreboding or oppressive. You take a careful step forward and find that the air doesn’t change, but that you start adjusting to it and you feel the space adjusting to you as well. William meows and swats at a leaf hanging near his eye level, none the wiser that his new family has tensed. 

“Interesting place you brought us to, honey,” Jihoon states with a knowing look. 

“Leave it to me to find the one magic flower shop in the entire city,” you mutter. William hops down from your shoulder and rounds a corner near the counter at the back of the store. You hear a squeal of delight and swear you catch the flowers in the room start to open a little more like they were enchanted. 

“Well, aren’t you a smart guy?” You follow the same path William had and discover someone whose type of energy you recognize immediately. The unfamiliar atmosphere and jungle of plants that seem to be breathing suddenly makes a lot more sense. “Who’ve you brought into my store, my little friend?” 

“I think the better question is how my cat knew you were a green witch,” you state with a friendly smile. Her expression is sharp but not unkind as she takes in you and Jihoon. You feel Bastet watching from the back of your mind, but she makes no move to contribute her input.

“Takes one to know one,” the green witch chuckles. “Though I will say you don’t carry the magic that I’m used to.”

“The same could be said about you,” comments Jihoon, his voice guarded. She waves her hands around carefreely.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got the regular old, standard-issue ancient green magic. You both, however, have something different,” she observes. “Ancient, yes, but not tied to spells or covens like I am.” She squints at you again and puts the pieces together in her head. “Deity magic, is it?” 

“You know your stuff,” you say and she beams. 

“I try my best. Now, enough about magic stuff. Is there something I can help you find today? That’s not magic-related?” Your shoulders relax.

“House plant, preferably. Something easy. Hardy. Resilient,” requests Jihoon. “Non-toxic in case this genius decides to have a salad,” he adds, gesturing to William as he tries to fit his mouth around the spout of a watering can. 

“Gotcha.” She disappears among the foliage and you scoop up William, placing him back on your shoulder. 

“What are the odds we call a magic plumber to fix the kitchen faucet?” Jihoon jokes.

“Or a magic locksmith to replace the windows,” you smirk. William mews in your ear and presses his furry head against your temple. “I don’t know if we can make you magic, William. I’m truly sorry.” The cat purrs and your entire head vibrates just as the green witch comes back with a pot of green spear-shaped leaves. 

“So, I’ve got an easy one right here called snake plant–” Your eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. Jihoon makes a choked noise of surprise that he hides with a fake cough.

“Maybe not that one! We don’t have the best experience with–ahem–snakes,” you explain sheepishly and the witch eyes you for only a moment before nodding. 

“You wouldn’t like my boyfriend, then,” she grins. The leaves seem to extend toward her as she walks away again, like she was sunlight itself. 

“And why is that?” Jihoon inquires with the tone of someone diffusing a bomb. 

“He turned himself into a snake once to scare his brother. When Joshua picked him up, he said, ‘Bleh! It’s me!’ and then stabbed him.” You blink at her and try to stifle your laugh when she returns with a pot of tear-shaped white flowers. “They were eight, at the time.” You can practically hear Jihoon’s skeptical look even when you’re not facing him. “Anyway, peace lily! She’s a good one, and also acts as an air filter.” 

“Neat. We’ll take her,” you say and the flowers around the witch bloom bigger. 

“Perfect. Here you go,” she replies, handing the pot to you. “I’ll see you both around, I hope.”

“What about payment?” Your boyfriend asks, having already retrieved several bills from his wallet. The green witch waves him off. 

“This one’s on the house. Consider it an act of goodwill, and a promise that if I need some help kicking my idiot boyfriend’s ass, you’ll do me a favor.” 

“Depends on who the boyfriend is,” Jihoon asserts. Your eyes flit down to the green crystal hanging around the witch’s neck and you probe it gently with your magic. When you realize what–or who–has enchanted the necklace, your face goes fiery hot. 

“You’re in love with Jeonghan?” You realize, absolutely aghast. “Loki, God of Mischief Jeonghan?” Her face lights up while yours twists into a scowl.

“Oh, you know him?” 

“Do I know him? That jackass has tried to steal my artifacts at least once every lunar phase!” She winces. You catch Jihoon biting his lip and trying not to laugh out of the corner of your eye. 

“Yeah…he likes pissing off as many magical figures on Earth as he can. Says he’s trying to hold a record, or something,” she answers. “Sorry about him. He’s nice, once you get to know him.”

“I’d rather claw my own throat out,” Bastet snarls. As if he knows what your goddess is thinking too, Jihoon gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and speaks before you can repeat what Bastet said. 

“You’ll have to introduce us properly one day, then,” he concludes. You shoot him a grateful smile. “Though, I reserve the right to punch him in the face.”

“Please do,” the green witch allows. “He’s got an ego larger than this room.” William meows on your shoulder and insistently headbutts your ear. “Seems like your little guy is ready to go home. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

“You as well. Thank you for the plant,” you say. “She’ll be well-loved.”

“I’m sure. Your little family brings me joy,” she says softly. “Take care of each other.” 

“We will,” Jihoon says, though his attention is on you more than the shop owner. His fingers intertwine with yours once more. As you exit the shop and begin walking back to your shared apartment, the sun and moon are both visible, the former sinking below the horizon as the latter rises to its place among the darkening sky. William walks in front of you, scouting the path ahead like a toddler. Jihoon holds your peace lily under one arm, his other hand securely in yours. Bastet exhales with you, sensing the familiar charge of Khonshu’s energy take hold with the night. A smattering of stars starts to twinkle above.

“Jihoon?” 

“Yes, my love?”

“What do you say about taking the scenic route home?” He lifts your joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

“I follow where you go. Lead the way.”

SOMETHING NEW

You lay in bed while staring up at the ceiling. You were still hurting from your relationship. After all, four years was no joke. You were numb and you were sick and tired of everyone telling you that it'll pass.

There were only so many times someone could tell you that you'd be okay before those words lost its meaning. It had been three months since the breakup. Three months since you packed the last of his things into a box. Three months since you watched him walk away. You never asked him to stay. Three months was long enough for everyone around you to assume you'd moved on.

You haven't. Not really.

You were inconsolable before, but now, you were sort of a functioning citizen. You went to work, answered messages, laughed at the right moments, and even remembered to water your plants by the windowsill. But every now and then, usually when you were alone, you'd catch yourself wondering when your heart would stop hurting.

A knock on your door echoed through your apartment, making you slowly sit up. You doubted it was him, but you still kind of hoped it was. The person knocked again and with a heavy sigh, you got out of bed and answered the door. As soon as you unlocked it, Seungkwan was already inviting himself inside with a bunch of stuff (i.e., food, drinks, care kits you might need, etc.).

"You look alive," he announced, slipping off his shoes. "That's an improvement."

You blinked. You weren't expecting him. Heck, you weren't expecting anyone. "Well, hello to you, too."

"I'm serious." He glanced around the apartment before setting everything on the coffee table and dropping onto your couch. "You've officially spent enough time moping."

"I haven't been moping."

"You reorganized your bookshelf alphabetically and by color." Seungkwan nodded towards your bookshelf.

You sat next to him. "It was therapeutic."

"It was concerning."

You rolled your eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips. Seungkwan noticed immediately. "There she is," he pointed dramatically. "I knew my best friend was still in there."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

He fully turned to you. "So."

You narrowed your eyes. "No."

"I haven't even said anything!" Seungkwan whined.

"You've got that scheming look on your face. What are you plotting, Boo?" You eyed him suspiciously.

"Fine!" Seungkwan said exasperatedly. He leaned over the coffee table, grabbed a bag of chips, and opened it. He grabbed a piece and ate it while you stared at him, waiting for whatever scheme he had to say. "I want you to go on a blind date. I swear, I think I've hit the jackpot this time. So much so, you'll name your first born after me."

"Absolutely not." You shook your head.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't be like that!" Seungkwan huffed, eating another chip. "He's tall, ridiculously handsome, a great cook, he's such a giver! Give him a chance!"

"Seungkwan, please." You groaned. "I'm not ready. Besides, what if he's just like—"

"Don't compare him to Jeonghan, Y/N. They're different guys." Seungkwan said, leaning back and continued eating chips. "I'm a Jeonghan anti, but I guess he's not totally evil. He's just... built different."

"The answer is no."

-

"I want you to go on a blind date. I swear, I think I've hit the jackpot this time. So much so, you'll name your first born after me." Seungkwan smiled, repeating the same spiel to Mingyu.

Mingyu looked up in thought. "Okay, but what if our child is a girl? We can't name her 'Seungkwan'."

Seungkwan's eye twitched. The different answers he got gave him whiplash. "Then name her Boo Youmi."

"Boo Youmi?" Mingyu made a face. "Shouldn't it be 'Kim Youmi'? I'm the dad, not you."

Seungkwan pursed his lips, "Boo Youmi is a cute name. 'Kim Youmi' sounds incomplete. Name her 'Kim Boo Youmi'."

"Absolutely not." Mingyu shook his head.

"How about 'Kim Youmi Boo'?" Seungkwan asked.

"Kim Youmi is final, Kwannie."

"Ugh, we're getting sidetracked!" Seungkwan exclaimed. "So, go on this blind date with my best friend. She's—"

"Sure." Mingyu said with zero hesitation. Seungkwan was expecting Mingyu to whine. He didn't expect such a direct answer.

"...That's it? You're not going to make me beg?" Seungkwan eyed him suspiciously.

Mingyu shrugged. "Yeah, that's it. Unless..." Mingyu smirked. "...Unless begging is a kink of yours that you weirdly want me to fulfill. If so, I'm honored, Kwannie."

"Ew! Shut up, himbo!" Seungkwan said, causing Mingyu to laugh. Seungkwan gave Mingyu a dirty look. He tried to keep it that way, but it's been a while since he heard Mingyu laugh. Like you, Mingyu's heartbroken, too.

When Mingyu's laughter died down, he cleared his throat and looked at Seungkwan. "I think I'm ready to meet someone."

Seungkwan gave him a small smile. "Yeah?"

Mingyu nodded. "I mean, I don't think I'll ever be ready." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But I don't want one relationship deciding what the rest of my life looks like."

"You're SO gonna love me for this, Kim Mingyu."

-

Saturday arrived faster than either of you expected. You didn't know how Seungkwan was able to persuade you into going on this date with some rando, but here you were. You stood in front of your closet with your arms crossed, staring at the clothes hanging inside.

"...Seriously?" You sighed. "So many clothes, yet nothing to wear."

Nothing looked right. You pulled out a sweater, too casual. A dress, too much. A blouse, too boring. With a sigh, you tossed everything onto your bed until half your wardrobe was scattered across the comforter. Somewhere in the pile, your phone buzzed.

[kwannie 🍊]: don't cancel.

You rolled your eyes.

[y/nie <3]: I'm genuinely thinking about it.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

[kwannie 🍊]: no, you're not :p

-

Across town, Kim Mingyu was experiencing a crisis of his own. Three shirts were laid neatly across his bed. He held up the first one.

"...No."

The second.

"Ew, definitely not."

The third.

"...Maybe."

Unsure, he snapped a picture and sent it to Seungkwan.

[mingoo]: quick! blue or white???

The reply came within seconds.

[seungkwannie]: white.

Mingyu stared at the message.

[mingoo]: that's what I was thinking, too! [seungkwannie]: asdfghjkl then why'd you ask?! [mingoo]: for emotional support, ofc!

-

You settled on something simple. Cute enough to make an effort. Comfortable enough to leave in if the date went terribly. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjusted your sleeves before letting your hands fall to your sides. You looked... fine. Not amazing. Not terrible. Just fine. That would have to do.

-

Mingyu buttoned the last button of his shirt before taking a step back from the mirror. He frowned.

"...Maybe I should change."

Five minutes later... He was wearing the exact same shirt.

One spray of cologne. He paused. "...Too much?"

He sniffed his wrist. "...Maybe one more."

Another spray. A beat. "Okay, that's definitely too much."

-

You grabbed your bag, checked for your wallet, keys, and phone. Everything was there. Good.

You reached for the doorknob. Stopped. Exhaled. You could still text Seungkwan that you weren't coming. You could crawl back into bed. Pretend this never happened. Your phone buzzed again.

[kwannie 🍊]: you're leaving now, right? [y/nie <3]: unfortunately [kwannie 🍊]: 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

-

On his way to the restaurant, Mingyu slowed down when he spotted a small flower stall on the corner. He walked past it. Kept walking. Stopped. Turned around and walked back to the flower stall.

"Would flowers be weird?" He asked himself as looked at the wide array of flowers.

The elderly florist smiled knowingly. "First date?"

Mingyu scratched the back of his neck. "Is it that obvious?"

"A little." She laughed.

He left the stall with a small bouquet wrapped in brown paper. Halfway to where his car is parked, he looked down at the bouquet and turned back around.

The florist looked at him from across the stall. "You're not returning those, are you?"

"I... wasn't?"

The florist shook her head, "Keep them, and give it to your date. It's never too much to give flowers on a first date."

"Okay." Mingyu said, turning back to walk to his car. He turned to face the florist and walked backwards, "Thanks, wish me luck!"

-

You arrived first. Of course you did. Better to wait than make someone else wait. You sat near the window, fingers wrapped around a glass of water you hadn't touched, rehearsing all the ways this evening could go wrong.

-

Mingyu took a deep breath before entering the restaurant that Seungkwan ever-so-kindly booked for the two of you. Mingyu looked around and spotted you before you spotted him. Well, he's never seen you before, but his gut was telling him that it was you.

He approached the table with a small smile on his face while smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on his shirt. "Y/N?"

You looked up and nodded. "Mingyu?"

"Hi." Mingyu smiled.

"Hi."

A beat. Then, he awkwardly held up the bouquet he'd been hiding behind his back. "I, uh... these are for you."

You blinked.

"For me?"

"Unless Seungkwan set me up with someone else, then this could get awkward."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "No, I'm definitely Y/N."

"Good," he sighed dramatically before taking a seat in front of you. "That would've been embarrassing."

You accepted the flowers carefully, fingertips against the brown paper wrapped around the stems.

"They're beautiful."

"I'm glad you think so." He said, his shoulders visibly relaxing. His eyes sparkled and you almost forgot what it felt like to be on a first date. For the first time in months, you stopped wondering how long it would take for someone to leave.

-

Dinner was... easy. Much easier than you expected. Mingyu talked enough to fill the silence but never so much that you couldn't join in. He asked questions, actually listened to your answers, and somehow turned even the most ordinary stories into something worth laughing over.

By the time the waiter cleared your plates, you realized you hadn't checked the time once.

Seungkwan wasn't lying," Mingyu admitted, leaning back on his chair.

You tilted your head in wonder.

"He said you laugh with your whole face."

"...He said that?"

"Mhm."

You looked away, smiling despite yourself. "I'll have to yell at him later."

"He'll probably thank you."

The evening stretched naturally into a walk. The city had quieted by then, leaving only the occasional passing car and the glow of streetlights overhead. Mingyu matched your pace without thinking.

"So..." he glanced over. "How bad do I rank on the blind date scale?"

You pretended to consider it. "Hm."

He gasped. "The hesitation already tells me everything."

"I was going to say you're somewhere in the top two."

"...Out of?"

"Two."

He laughed so loudly that a couple walking past turned to look. Worth it.

A cool breeze drifted between the buildings. Without thinking, you rubbed your hands together. Mingyu noticed immediately. "Here."

Before you could protest, he slipped his jacket over your shoulders.

"Keep it." He smiled while he adjusted his jacket on you. Your eyes widened in shock, "What?"

He gave you a small smirk, "I'll get it the next time I see you."

A memory surfaced before you could stop it.

"I'm freezing." You shivered. Your teeth chattering so hard, you were scared that it would fall off.

Jeonghan glanced at you briefly before stuffing his hands deepers into his own pockets. "You should've brought a jacket. You didn't even wear gloves, Y/N. You knew it'd be cold outside tonight."

The memory disappeared as quickly as it came. You looked down at Mingyu's jacket around your shoulders.

"...Thank you."

"No problem." He smiled.

By the time your apartment building came into view, neither of you seemed particularly eager for the night to end.

"Thanks for driving me home," you said.

"I was going this way anyway."

You raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you parked in the opposite direction?"

"I didn't know you paid close attention to me, Y/N." Mingyu teased.

You laughed.

"There it is again."

"What?"

"That laugh."

Heat crept up your neck. "Oh."

"I like it."

For a second, you forgot how to respond. Then your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you back to reality. You glanced at the dark screen before looking up again.

"...I should head inside."

"Right."

He took a good look at you and smiled. "Goodnight, Y/N. It was a pleasure being your date tonight."

"Likewise. Goodnight, Mingyu." You got out of his car, and watched him turn the corner before unlocking your apartment.

Your flowers found a home in the only vase you owned. Mingyu's jacket still carried a faint trace of his cologne. You caught yourself smiling. Then, another uninvited memory.

It was all over the internet. 'Just because' flowers are now making rounds on social media. You weren't fond of flowers yourself, but seeing all those people receiving flowers made you happy for them. You wondered if Jeonghan would buy you 'just because' flowers. After all, you've been together for so long. Surely, he'd thought of that, right?

"Hannie?"

"Hm?"

"Would you ever buy me flowers?" You asked.

He looked at you with knitted brows, "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing." You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "It's just a question. Would you ever buy me flowers even if there's no occasion?"

Maybe it was your fault for being hopeful because your heart sank when he laughed at your face.

"Baby, they're going to die in a week or less. It's not practical." Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head.

"But Seungkwan buys me flowers sometimes. He even bought me a small bouquet for Valentine's Day." You said.

"Then go date Seungkwan." Jeonghan said. His tone was light, but you knew it was off. You stared into each other's eyes and you knew it was time to drop the subject. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, "You're right. It'll just die. Waste of money, am I right?"

Jeonghan's eyes lit up. "See? I knew you'd understand. You're so smart, baby. Anyway, what's for dinner?"

You looked up at the bouquet sitting on your kitchen counter. Maybe the flowers would die less than a week, but they were beautiful and goddammit, you deserved it, anyway.

Your phone buzzed.

[Mingyu]: Hi!

You smiled.

[Y/N]: Hi

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again. Finally—

[Mingyu]: I'll just shoot my shot here 😅 Can I see you again?

You stared at the message longer than you'd like to admit. Your fingers hovered above the keyboard. Maybe this was the part where you should slow down. Maybe this was how people got hurt.

But then... you thought about the way he'd looked at you across the dinner table. The flowers. The jacket resting over your hair. The way he'd never once made you feel like you had to earn his attention.

Your thumbs moved before fear consumed you.

[Prettiest Girl]: I'd like that, actually :)) [Mingyu]: 🥰♥️

You couldn't help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, this could be something new.

STICKY SWEET LIKE HONEY

Somewhere between coffee dates that stretched well past sunset, late-night drives with nowhere in particular to go, and Mingyu insisting on driving you to your apartment every single time, the two of you had quietly become inseparable.

One month became two. Two became three.

Neither of you could remember whose idea it was to stop calling them dates and simply start calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Your first outing as an official couple came sooner than you expected.

"Just a few friends," Mingyu assured you while driving to the restaurant. "Nothing scary."

You chuckled nervously, "You say that now."

He laughed as he parked his car. He removed his seatbelt and fully turned to you, "I promise they're nice."

As soon as the two of you entered the restaurant, five heads turned toward your direction. Your eyes widened. You immediately leaned over to whisper to Mingyu. "You never told me your friends were all models."

"Hm?" Mingyu looked at them before looking back at you. "They're not, hon."

"Gyu, they're literally glowing!"

He let out a laugh before leading you over to the table. "Y/N, this is everyone." He gently rested a hand against your lower back. "Everyone, meet Y/N. My prettiest girlfriend ever."

A chorus of greetings followed.

"Hi!"

"It's nice to finally meet you."

"We've heard SO MUCH about you."

You smiled nervously before bowing your head slightly. "It's nice to meet all of you, too."

Then you leaned toward Mingyu again.

"Mingyu-yah," you whispered, "if I'd known your friends looked like this, I would've dressed up better."

The entire table erupted into laughter as you both sat down. Mingyu frowned, "Why?"

"Because they're all ridiculously attractive."

He blinked before looking around the table. "...Them?"

"Yes," you nodded. "them."

"Nah." He waved his hand dismissively. "They're just normal guys with normal jobs."

You looked at him. Then at them. Then back at him. There's no way these people had normal jobs. "You're telling me none of you are CEOs? Models? Nepo babies?"

"Absolutely not," Jaehyun laughed. "We hate nepo babies."

Mingyu nodded in agreement and let out a small "true" before moving his seat closer to yours and putting his arm around your shoulder.

Seokmin pointed at himself. "I'm Seokmin, an elementary school music teacher."

Your jaw dropped, and you shook your head. "No, you're not."

"I am." Seokmin laughed. "I spend my weekdays convincing eight-year-olds that the recorder is a real instrument."

Minghao raised his hand next. "I'm Minghao, and I own a pottery studio."

"Oh? You make bowls and stuff?" You asked, causing Mingyu to chuckle next to you.

"I make aesthetically pleasing bowls and stuff." Minghao corrected. He took a sip of his tea before smiling, "But thank you for assuming I'm a model. I'll take that as a compliment."

"Jungkook. I'm a physical therapist," Jungkook said, taking a bite of the appetizer.

"Seriously?"

"I help people recover from injuries." Jungkook nodded.

You looked at Mingyu, and he nodded. You looked back at Jungkook and gazed at his muscles before looking at his face, "I thought you lifted buildings for a living."

Jungkook chuckled, "I only lift patients who have trouble walking."

Your gaze landed on a quiet man, "Please tell me you at least work in fashion."

He smiled and shook his head. "I'm Eunwoo, and I'm actually a librarian."

Your eyes widened in shock, "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope." Eunwoo shook his head. "I spend most of my day reminding people to whisper."

"I'm Jaehyun, and I work in finance." Jaehyung grinned.

"You... willingly stare at spreadsheets?"

"Unfortunately." Jaehyun chuckled. "I like it, though. Besides, I handle these guys' finances. I can do yours too, if you want. Totally free. These guys just buy me samgyeopsal, or they treat me to a buffet every six months."

"Yah, she doesn't need it." Mingyu pouted. "She has me. Besides, we'll be having a joint account when we get married."

The table fell silent. You slowly turned to look at him.

"What?" Mingyu blinked innocently.

Jungkook looked at him over the rim of his glass. "It's only been three months."

"So?" Mingyu frowned. Minghao sighed into his tea, choosing not to say anything. After all, he meditated earlier that day.

Seokmin sighed. "Ignore him. He's always been like this. Once he likes someone he's all in."

"No, I don't!" Mingyu defended.

"You do," Jaehyun nodded. "It's actually kind of impressive."

You laughed as Mingyu reached for your hand.

"Anyway," he smiled sheepishly, "I'll handle everything. Don't want your pretty mind to be tired."

Seokmin lightly nudged Jaehyun. "Tell her."

Jaehyun sighed dramatically. "My parents couldn't afford college, so I studied hard to get a full-ride scholarship."

"Wow!" You nodded, impressed. "You must be pretty athletic, too, huh?"

Mingyu laughed, "Honey, he's not athletic enough to get through at least one sport. Not even table tennis."

"It's true," Jungkook nodded in agreement, cheeks full of food. "He's terrible at sports."

"I was dirt poor before I became a teacher," Seokmin said with a big grin. "Worked my ass off and everything."

"Same," Minghao nodded. "We all worked our asses off to get where we are."

"Amen." Mingyu raised his glass before drinking. "There are times when I'd hate my fucking job, though. Being an architect is a pain in the ass, but then I realized that this is literally what I prayed for, so I'd cut myself some slack."

You looked around the table once more as Mingyu fixed your hair for you. "So... no trust funds?"

Five heads shook.

"No secret billionaire parents?"

"I wish," Seokmin said.

"No hidden royal family?"

"Unfortunately." Eunwoo sighed.

You laughed. "I seriously can't believe any of you."

"Neither can we," Jungkook muttered, grabbing a piece of kimchi.

Everyone started eating, then another question popped into your head. "How did all of you become friends? I mean, I doubt you were co-workers, given that your line of work is completely different."

Silence. Everyone looked at each other.

"...College?" Jaehyun answered uncertainly.

Minghao nodded, "Technically."

"I honestly don't remember," Jungkook admitted.

"I do!" Seokmin announced proudly. Everyone turned to look at him. "I collected them... like Pokémon."

Jaehyun nodded. "You did."

Without warning, Seokmin shot up from his seat. He pointed dramatically toward absolutely nothing. "GOTTA CATCH 'EM ALL!"

He even threw in a fist pump for good measure. The entire restaurant fell silent. A little kid from another table gasped excitedly, while their mother sighed.

Minghao closed his eyes. "I don't know him."

"You've known me for almost ten years." Seokmin laughed as he sat down again.

"I've tolerated you for almost ten years." Minghao corrected.

Jungkook rubbed his temples. Eunwoo offered an apologetic smile to the surrounding tables. You looked at Mingyu, "Is he always like this?"

Mingyu smiled as he reached under the table to intertwine his fingers with yours. "This is actually one of his calmer days."

"You're joking, right?"

"I wish I were, baby."

You couldn't help but laugh. And just like that, the nerves you'd carried into the restaurant quietly disappeared. As all of you fell into casual conversation, a memory resurfaced again. As much as you want to shake it off, it started playing in your head.

The first time you'd met Jeonghan's friends. Joshua and Seungcheol had welcomed you politely enough.

"It's nice to meet you."

"You too."

For a moment, you'd thought the night would go well. Then the conversation shifted. University stories, military enlistment, old classmates. Inside jokes that had everyone at the table laughing.

You smiled whenever everyone else did, hoping it looked natural. Every now and then, Joshua would glance your way with an apologetic smile, almost as if he realized you'd been quiet for a while.

Seungcheol tried once. "So, Y/N, what do you—"

Before you could answer, Jeonghan interrupted with a story of his own. The conversation drifted away again. You spent the rest of dinner pushing your food around your plate, wondering if anyone had noticed you'd barely spoken at all. By the time you got home, you couldn't remember if Joshua and Seungcheol knew anything about you other than your name.

"Y/N, you're coming next week, right?" Jaehyun asked.

"Sorry, what's next week?" You asked, turning to Mingyu. He smiled and held your hand, "We do this every week, baby. It's okay if you don't want to go, but just know that the invitation is always open."

"You're so whipped." Jungkook teased, handing his card to pay the bill.

Seeing this, you quickly grabbed your wallet, but Mingyu stopped you. "Don't. Jungkook is paying this week. Next week is on Seokmin." He turned to Jungkook and said, "Also, I don't care. She's my person."

You smiled to yourself, quietly slipping your wallet back into your bag. It wasn't just the way Mingyu said things. It was how naturally they came to him.

"My prettiest girlfriend."

"She's my person."

He never hesitated; not once. Never second-guessed himself. If there was one thing you'd quickly learned after dating Kim Mingyu, it was that he loved loudly. Within an hour of making things official, his lockscreen had changed. By dinner, his profile picture followed. By the end of the night, his Instagram bio proudly read: ♥️ @yourusername.

Seungkwan kept telling you that you shouldn't compare Mingyu and Jeonghan, but you couldn't help it. They were just... different. Seungkwan would argue that they both loved differently and the way you love is just more in tune with Mingyu. He'd often tell you, "You and Hannie hyung are just way too different."

"What if we matched profile pictures?" You asked Jeonghan.

Jeonghan glanced up from his phone. "...Why?"

"I don't know." You shrugged. "It'd be cute. Besides, everyone would know that we're together."

"Y/N, I don't really see the point." Jeonghan huffed. "I mean, everyone knows we're dating. There's no need to publicize it on Instagram. I'm barely online, anyway. What matters is I love you, and you love me, right?"

Not wanting things to escalate, you gave him a small smile and decided to tease him, "Okay, Barney the Dinosaur."

Jeonghan laughed. "Wow!"

You were dropped off by Mingyu an hour ago. You were just grabbing a snack when you received a notification that Mingyu changed his profile picture. To your surprise, it was a picture of the two of you at dinner a while ago. The picture was taken by Jungkook, and it was a great candid shot.

[Prettiest GF]: Kim Mingyu [Handsome]: ♥️♥️♥️♥️ [Prettiest GF]: You're unbelievable. Can't believe your pfp is a candid photo of us 😭💀 [Handsome]: HAHAHAHA, but I'm YOUR unbelievable, though. I'll pick you up at work tomorrow, okay? Get some sleep, pretty. Good night. I love you so much ♥️

Your smile slowly faded. Then, before you could stop it, another memory surfaced.

It had only been a few months into your relationship with Jeonghan. You'd spent the entire evening convincing yourself to say it. When he walked you to your apartment, you took a deep breath.

"Jeonghan?"

"Hm?"

"I... I love you." You stuttered.

The words slipped out before you could lose your nerve. Jeonghan looked at you. Then, he smiled. A small, almost amused smile.

"You do?"

You felt your cheeks warm and nodded. "I do."

He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked down for a second. "I think," he started, searching for the right words. "it's still a little early for me to say that."

Your smile faltered for the briefest moment. "Oh."

"It's not that I don't like you." He was quick to clarify. "I just don't say things unless I'm completely sure."

You nodded. "Right."

"I don't want to tell you I love you because it feels like the right time." He reached over and gently squeezed your hand. "When I say it, I want to mean it."

You smiled. "I understand."

And you did. You really did. It just didn't stop your heart from sinking when you got home.

You stared at your phone. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. I love you, too. The words came so easily in your head. Your fingers, however, refused to type them. Instead...

[Prettiest GF]: Good night, Gyu ♥️

HERE'S TO HOPIN'

Being loved by Kim Mingyu was easy.

He'd show up outside your office with an iced coffee before work because he'd remembered you mentioning you were tired the night before. If you forgot an umbrella, he'd somehow already have one waiting in his car. When you complained about skipping lunch, he'd quietly drop off your favorite food with a sticky note that simply read: eat ♥️

He loved loudly. Somehow, that scared you more than you'd ever admit. It wasn't because he was too much. It was because every day, he gave you another reason to believe he'd stay. And a tiny part of you kept wondering what it would feel like if one day, he didn't.

The following Friday came around quicker than expected. Like clockwork, Mingyu was waiting outside your office building. The moment he spotted you walking out, his face lit up.

"There she is." Mingyu smiled, jogging over to you.

You smiled despite yourself. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Nah." Mingyu shook his head, grabbing your bag from you.

You took a good look at him, squinted your eyes suspiciously. "You've been here for twenty minutes, haven't you?"

"Hm," Mingyu scratched the back of his neck. "maybe."

You laughed before slipping your hand into his. "You're unbelievable."

"But I'm your unbelievable." He grinned, swinging your hands as you walked, making you laugh.

Dinner with the boys felt as chaotic as ever. Seungkwan somehow invited himself this week. No one really minded. They all liked Seungkwan, anyway. He was their gossip dealer, and what's life without any gossip?

"I'd just like everyone to know," he announced proudly while taking a seat, "that this relationship exists because of me."

"Here we go," Jaehyun sighed.

"I changed two lives." Seungkwan said, pretending to cry.

"You set up one blind date, Seungkwan-ah." Jungkook corrected. "You didn't cure cancer."

Minghao took a sip of his tea. "The Nobel Peace Prize committee must've missed your email."

"I deserve a medal!" Seungkwan exclaimed, while grabbing some food to put on his plate.

"I'll buy you dinner, Kwannie," Mingyu offered.

"I want a statue." Seungkwan said, taking a bite of food.

You laughed, looked at Mingyu, and then at Seungkwan. "I'll name our first born after you."

Seungkwan gasped dramatically, giving Seokmin whiplash. Seungkwan was practically shaking in his seat. "You mean it?"

"No." You said. The table erupted into laughter. Mingyu quietly placed another piece of grilled meat onto your plate.

"You haven't eaten enough," Mingyu said quietly.

"You worry too much." You chuckled lightly. Mingyu pouted, "I know. Sorry."

You looked at him and cupped his face with your hands. "Don't apologize for caring. I appreciate that you worry about me."

His smile returned instantly.

After dinner, the two of you sat on the hood of Mingyu's car overlooking the Han River. The city lights danced across the water. Neither of you spoke. It wasn't awkward. It never was.

Mingyu was staring at the river. "Can I ask you something?"

You turned toward him, and nodded. "Of course. Ask away."

He stayed quiet for another moment. You waited patiently. He took a deep breath and looked at you. "Do I... love you more than you love me?"

Your stomach dropped. "What?"

He laughed softly. "I know how that sounded, and I'm not asking because I'm upset."

"Mingyu..."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've just been thinking." He looked over at you. "You never say that you love me back. I mean, you smile, you hold my hand, you kiss me, you call me when you get home, you do all these things..." He smiled. "but you never say it."

Your chest tightened. You didn't know what to say, truly. He quickly shook his head. "I'm not keeping score, I promise. I just..." His smile faded. "Sometimes it feels like you're always waiting for something bad to happen."

"Gyu, I..."

"Honey, I don't know how to convince you that I'm not already halfway out the door. I feel like you're already grieving something that hasn't happened yet, like you're waiting for me to leave before I've even gone anywhere." Mingyu said sadly.

Your eyes immediately welled with tears. "No, Gyu..."

He reached for your hand instinctively. "I know you care about me."

"I do."

"I know." Mingyu gave you a small smile before he looked away. "I just... sometimes I wonder if I'm loving you too loudly."

The words shattered something inside you.

"No." Your voice cracked. "It's not you, Gyu."

He looked back. You took a shaky breath. "It's me."

He looked at you and patiently waited for you to explain your side.

"I know you're not Jeonghan."

His expression softened immediately.

"I've never compared you to him because I wanted to." You said, another tear rolled down your cheek. "I compare you because... I'm scared. So, so scared."

You laughed weakly through your tears. "I didn't think I'd survive that. I barely did. I mean, that was four years of my life."

Mingyu nodded in understanding.

"Then you came along." You smiled at him. "You loved me so easily, so openly, so fearlessly. It's all so new to me because it wasn't like that with Jeonghan."

You looked down at your intertwined hands. "Every time you tell me you love me, a tiny part of me keeps thinking, 'what if this is the last time?", and I don't want to know how you'll leave me. I don't ever want to know what you'll look like when you leave."

Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I love you a lot, Mingyu. I've been too scared to say it out loud."

For a long time, Mingyu didn't say anything. He simply looked at you. Then, he cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away your tears.

"I'll stay with you," His forehead rested against yours. "for as long as you want me to be."

You closed your eyes.

"I can't promise that we'll never fight. I can't promise I won't disappoint you. I can't promise that life won't get hard." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But I can promise you one thing..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not looking for an exit."

A sob escaped your lips. You wrapped your arms around him. "I love you."

You felt him smile against your hair. "I know."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "No, you don't."

His eyebrows lifted as you laughed through your tears. You took a deep, trembling breath, "I love you so much."

For the first time since you'd known him, Kim Mingyu was speechless. He simply pulled you into another hug. Holding you as though you had all the time in the world.

"For the record," he smiled. "I also hope I never see what you look like when you leave either." He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I mean, the Lord knows I've memorized your face so well, and I'd search for it everywhere until my next life." A tiny laugh escaped him. "You're it for me, honey."

a/n: tysm for all the love you've sent my way for the hoshi installment of this series! i hope you give mingyu's installment the same love i gave while writing it xo

Honestly, at first, it wasn’t intentional. You didn’t mean to accept so many jobs as a Private Investigator which put you right in the Detective’s vicinity so much. You didn’t mean to almost consistently take on jobs that had you stepping on his toes. You just accepted the jobs that seemed interesting to you and did the best you could; even if that meant pointing out things the man missed when you happened to be at the same place, working on the same case, yet answering to different bosses.

But then, when you realised how cute Junhui looks trying to keep his cool, how easily he flusters and loses his ability to string an intelligent sentence together when you turn up and push his buttons just right, well, you couldn’t really help but push at every chance.

Admittedly, you don’t even pay attention to the job sometimes; you read the requests just enough to get the general idea of the job, so that you can figure out if it will be a case that gets dropped on the desk of Detective Wen Junhui to handle or not. Then, once the investigation begins, you spend most of the time bouncing along close to the tall, handsome detective’s side with a pleased grin on your face as you watch him try to pretend that he’s not trying his damndest to keep his composure. His clenched jaw sure is pretty from that angle too, so that’s a nice little bonus of following him like an irritating shadow.

That being said, you never shirk your duties. Every case you take on, you do, in fact, solve; often in collaboration with Junhui. As much as he obviously wishes otherwise, the two of you make an incredible team despite not being colleagues— not when humans aren’t allowed to become cops due to how fragile they are compared to supernatural beings; you know you would’ve made a great cop otherwise.

In fact, you both have better success rates, close more cases, when you’re side by side than apart. At this point, you’re pretty much an honorary cop, and Junhui has clearly been told by his superiors to play nice with you so that fewer crimes remain unsolved— or, at least, get solved quicker.

With your entire heart, you can say that even without getting the chance to watch the tall werewolf try to not snap at you— no pun intended— on an almost daily basis, you would love your job. But getting to watch Junhui’s eyes flicker gold in that moment before he turns away from you is truly the icing on the cake.

It’s just another job, just another day of you and Wen Junhui working side by side to investigate a foul, pathetic excuse of a life form, when things get a little different.

In all you’ve worked together, in all the danger you’ve been in and fought off together, you’ve never been led into a trap like this.

The little, abandoned, underground convenience store you’re in suddenly turns dark with the clunk of a shutter closing. Even with his advanced hearing and speed, Junhui doesn’t manage to notice or move fast enough to stop it from happening; his extended hands meet the metal just as the edge hits the cracked tile flooring below.

“Well, that’s new,” you muse from where you remain in place, knowing that you don’t have a chance in hell of navigating the space without your sight considering all the stuff strewn over the tiled floor; rubbish, debris, and other disgusting items you truly don’t want to get a closer look at.

Junhui doesn’t respond, and you honestly don’t expect him to, but you do hear him huff out an extra frustrated grunt where he’s already trying to physically yank the shutter up, despite the fact that you both know store shutters are made to withstand supernatural strength.

For a few minutes, Junhui incessantly yanks and hits at the metal in his attempts to remove it. At best, all he does is make a tiny dent along the bottom edge, just enough to let a small amount of light filter in. It’s not enough to do much but let you see his feet moving around, but you still stare at it; naturally drawn to whatever allows your simple, human eyesight to function.

“Given up?” you question when the clanging stops and Junhui stumbles back a few steps. He doesn’t answer, but you do hear him let out an almost pained sounding gasp before there’s a thud of what sounds like someone dropping to their knees. “Junhui?” You’ve barely shuffled a few steps forward before he lets out a desperate sounding noise, and there’s another clank of metal as if something has hit it heavily.

“Stay back!” he demands harshly, in such a pained tone that you fall still in shock.

“Are you hurt?” you ask quietly, worried. For all you love to piss off the man, you can admit that you do care for him, quite a lot really.

It’s probably something like little boys pulling the pigtails of the girl they like on the playground, the way you treat Junhui. You like him, more than you’ve ever admitted to anyone, even yourself, and you don’t know how to handle that when he’s evidently far from open to even the mere whisper of a thought of liking you. The man doesn’t even like you as a friend, as an acquaintance; there’s no way he’d ever consider opening his heart to you in a romantic manner. You’ve known that since the start, so you’ve done what you can to shield your own heart, while still annoying him enough that he can’t ignore you or forget that you exist.

“No,” Junhui answers after a moment, though it doesn’t sound truthful; he sounds strained in a way you haven’t heard him before, not even when he got shot with a silver bullet almost two years ago now. You’re not sure he knows it, but you barely left his side for the week he laid unconscious in hospital, too scared that he wasn’t going to pull through.

“Jun–” you start, tone turning a little stern to try and convince him to be honest, though as soon as you try to move from your spot to approach, he growls, and you fall still as your heart races with sudden fear.

In all you’ve taunted the man, in all you’ve pissed him off, he has never growled at you like this. Sure, you’ve heard him growl, he does it quite a lot really, but it’s never laced with such violence, such dark warning. For the first time in the five years you’ve known the man, you’re scared of him.

You’ve always known that really, Junhui could rip your throat out, tear you limb from limb without even breaking a sweat. He’s a werewolf and you a mere human; he’s got all the upper hands where strength, speed, agility, and healing abilities are concerned. But he’s never truly lost his cool with you. He’s never even looked like he would raise a hand at you, doesn’t even drop empty threats your way. For all you piss him off, Junhui is still a gentleman at heart, and has such control over himself that you’ve always instinctively known he won’t hurt you.

Yet now, now you’re questioning that.

“I fucking said stay back!” he bellows, making you jolt at the volume of his harsh words, and stumble back a few steps; tripping over something on the floor, and landing on your ass harshly. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he rushes out, genuinely apologetic, and tone so drastically different to only seconds before that your head spins.

“What’s going on?” is all you can manage to ask as you blindly kick aside the items surrounding you where you remain on the tiles, deciding that you might as well sit down and wait until one of your colleagues realise that neither of you have checked in lately, and come to your rescue. Or whoever trapped you in here comes back to kill you, whatever happens first.

Though, you’re pretty confident that Junhui could easily take who you assume is the man you’ve been hunting down together; a fledgling vampire who hasn’t even cut his gums based on his previous victims. A pureblood werewolf will always trump a turned vampire; unless the werewolf is still just a pup and the turned vampire has at least half a century behind them. And as Junhui is a 30-year-old pureblood werewolf borne of centuries of strong werewolves, and the suspect has to have been turned into a vampire within the last six months to not even have his fangs in yet, Junhui would easily win in that fight and save both of your asses.

“Have you seriously not learned to pay attention to the fucking lunar calendar yet?” he grunts, and the metal creaks as you assume he shuffles where he’s leaning against it on the floor. A shadow flickers, so you glance at the patch of dim moonlight on the tiles only to find Junhui’s hands hovering in it, claws extended.

“It’s a full moon,” you realise, some of that fear trickling back into your body, especially when Junhui hums in confirmation and pulls his hand back out of sight, out of where you can see it and know his position. You know that if it comes down to it, Junhui could easily move so quietly that your human ears wouldn’t hear him; and with your lack of vision due to the darkness right now, you wouldn’t even know about it until his claws are buried in your flesh.

Although werewolves generally have their shifts under control and legally aren’t allowed to be out on full moons without having proven that they have the restraint to not let their instincts take over and send them on a murder rampage, you know that it doesn’t mean a lot in the first few minutes of a forced shift. And under the full moon, all werewolves have no choice but to shift into wolfskin when the moon is at the highest point in the night sky. Even if they can’t see the moon, they can’t fight the shift.

Considering the fact that you regularly go out of your way to piss Wen Junhui off, you know that tonight, your life is in real danger. As soon as he is forced out of his human form and into his wolf one, as soon as he loses himself, all that carefully controlled frustration and anger he holds for you will so easily lead his baser instincts.

“Shit,” you mutter, and he hums. “How long?”

“An hour, maybe.”

“Why did you even come down here when you knew how close the full moon is?!” you ask utterly baffled.

“Because you would’ve come alone otherwise, stubborn asshole,” he grumbles. “I’m not being responsible for a fledgling slitting your throat and draining you.”

“So, instead, you’re going to do it.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest and rolling your eyes, well aware that the man can see perfectly clearly in the dark so will know what your reaction is.

“I didn’t expect this!” he defends sharply. “I–I didn’t think we’d get trapped like this,” his voice softens again, turns guilty, worried. “I’m sorry, I…I’m really fucking sorry.”

You sigh and let your arms unfold, dropping them to your sides. “It is what it is. After all I’ve pissed you off, I probably deserve to have my leg chewed on,” you joke softly, trying to lift the mood a little.

It works, Junhui huffs a laugh. “Pretty sure it’s not just your leg I’d chew on,” he muses.

“Have you done that before?”

“Bitten someone on the leg?”

“Mm, and in general.”

“Yeah. Never a human though, never someone that can’t easily heal from it.”

You’re quiet for a moment as you consider his words, features pinched as you think about it. “I can’t tell if that’s a kinky sex thing or not,” you admit, and Junhui chokes out a laugh. “No? Yes? Come on, tell me all about werewolf sex; this may be the only chance I get to find out!” you enthuse.

“Please don’t remind me that I’m going to lose control soon,” he whispers, pleads.

“I didn’t mean like that. I just meant I don’t exactly know any other werewolves well enough to ask; and funnily enough, they keep away from me in general anyway. Do I smell weird or something to werewolves, by the way? I’ve always mean to ask you but get distracted and forget.”

“No.”

“No? I don’t smell weird?” He makes a noise of confirmation. “Then why do werewolves specifically avoid me so much?”

“Uhm… just…probably smell me on you,” he admits quietly, awkwardly. “Because we spend so much time together for work that you smell like me; so I guess they think you’re claimed.”

“So you’re the reason I’m not getting any kinky werewolf sex!” you exclaim, going for theatrically displeased, but it can’t land right because Junhui growls softly in warning. “Alright, damn, down boy,” you mutter. “I’m just fucking around.”

“Sorry, it’s the moon.” You don’t fully believe him, something in his tone doesn’t sound entirely truthful, but you just hum and leave the topic there, not wanting to get into it and risk setting him off.

For a couple of minutes, the two of you are quiet. There’s a tenseness to it, the impending violence hanging over your heads in a way neither of you can ignore, but you also can’t do a thing about it. It’s a reluctant acceptance you share, but something makes you think Junhui’s having more trouble than you accepting it. Then again, if you knew you were about to lose control and tear apart an innocent person, you would also not want to accept it and feel the guilt weighing heavy even before the act occurs, regardless of how much said person pisses you off on an almost daily basis.

“To your right, there’s a pole, it looks like a broken stand of some kind,” Junhui’s naturally gentle tone breaks the silence, making you jerk a little in surprise, before automatically looking to your right as if you can see it. Of course, all you see is darkness. “Reach out, I’ll guide you.”

“Why?”

“Because it may be the only hope you have of getting out of this,” he reasons with a slight tremble in his voice. You can’t tell if it’s the thought of what is going to happen, his fear causing the shakiness, or if it’s the effects of the moon getting higher, closer to its peak. “Just– Please do as I say. I know you don’t like me, but just–”

“I have literally never said that,” you say, sharp as you cut him off and turn a stern look on him. At least, where you think he is; you have no way to know for sure.

Junhui hesitates before responding, as if he’s truly stumped by your words. “You don’t hate me?” he mumbles, barely audible as if he can hardly get the words out.

“What? Hate you? No way! I don’t think anyone is capable of hating you, Jun,” you retort with a scoff. “Seriously, I think even the people you arrest don’t hate you.”

“Pretty sure they do.” He chuckles.

“Well, you thought I hate you, so I don’t think your judgement here is accurate or valid.”

“In my defence, you’ve been finding every single way to annoy me for the past five years. It’s hard to think you don’t think negatively of me,” he reasons, and well, he’s got a point there.

“And in my defence, you started it.”

“How?!”

“You refused to work with me when we met, treated me as lesser because I’m a PI. If I could be a cop, I would be; it’s not my fault it’s literally illegal.”

“That’s not what I was doing at all.”

“Really?” You give him a disbelieving look that you know he can so easily see and feel the full force of— even if you happen to be glaring at the shutter over his shoulder and not directly at him, though you’re not aware of that little fact. “I distinctly remember you saying I’m not working with someone like her, the first time you were told to work with me.”

“I didn’t mean because you’re a PI.”

“No? Then what?” In the awkward silence that follows, the guilty silence, you understand. “It’s because I’m human.” Junhui sighs, and you know you’re right. “Well, fuck you, Wen Junhui! How fucking dare you look down on me because of how I was born! You’re not automatically better than me just because you’re a werewolf, so get the fuck down from your pedestal and give me the respect I deserve.”

“No, no, no,” he says quickly. “It’s not like that at all. I don’t think of humans as a lesser species. All species are equal as far as I’m concerned.” He sounds like he’s being truthful, but you don’t remove your hard expression, not able to accept his words when you really don’t know what else his issue could be. “I wasn’t refusing because I think I’m superior in anyway. Even back then, I knew you’re so smart; I had been hearing your name and praise for months before we even met and you had just started your PI career.”

Your posture unravels; expression softens to something surprised yet puzzled. “Then what was your issue?”

“You’re so fragile,” he points out, sounding almost pained to say the words, like he hates them. “I know you can hold your own against humans, you have the awards to prove that, but supernatural beings? You’re so fragile against the majority of the assholes we have to hunt down and bring to justice that I was scared I’d have to watch you die on a job one day. I’m still scared of that, terrified really. If I don’t keep a close eye on you, then they could get to you so quickly that you won’t know until you’re heading to the afterlife.”

“Oh…” You’re not sure what to say in response. Part of you wants to argue and say that he doesn’t have to worry about that. It’s not his job to worry about you; you’re not even real partners despite how often you work together and call one another your partner during work hours. But the other part of you knows he’s right. You’re so delicate compared to supernatural beings and are constantly at risk just by dedicating your life to trying to protect innocents by bringing foul beings to justice where you can. It doesn’t help how sore Junhui sounds; how it truly sounds like the thought of watching you die hurts him deeply, especially if he should’ve been there to protect you.

“Yes, so, I don’t have anything against you at all. I…think you’re a wonderful person; so intelligent and caring that it’s easy to see why you’re one of the highest sought-after PIs in the city. All the humans ask for you; it’s why I get assigned so many human-related cases, because I work with you.”

“Oh…I didn’t realise,” you admit, feeling kind of stupid for not realising that the majority of the cases Junhui picks up to work are human related. You’re so used to working primarily for humans that you forget that humans are the minority, so Junhui should actually have a lot more cases relating to supernatural beings like himself.

“Mm.”

The pair of you are quiet for a few moments as everything shared between you settles, as you both realise that maybe, you’ve both been seeing your relationship in the wrong light from the start, all because of a lack of communication and jumping to conclusions that don’t even exist between you. It makes you wonder that if you’re wrong about Junhui disliking you from the start, maybe you’re wrong about him not wanting to be friends, wrong about the assumption that he’ll never see you as a potential romantic partner one day.

It’s a cruel kind of irony that the day that hope first flutters in your heart for the man potentially gaining feelings for you in the future, is also the day he’s about to rip that very heart from your chest through no choice of his own.

A series of bitten back, pained grunts breaks the contemplative quiet. Your attention turns entirely to the present, to Junhui trying his best to fight his very nature in an attempt to protect you for a little longer.