🤍

“Your call has been forwarded to voice mail. Please try again later…”

Disappointment fills your chest as a sigh bubbles up from the depths of them. This was ridiculous, you vehemently thought as you paced around your living room, tossing your phone haphazardly on your couch, not even caring where it landed. Everything about this was ridiculous.

For weeks, you’ve been on the hunt for a job after your last one didn’t work out the way you panned it out to be. It was a lot more frustrating than you would’ve liked it to be because it was like staring out into the void - a whole lot of nothing. It wasn’t like you didn’t try either; you’ve been quite diligent at submitting resumés literally everywhere, and when that didn’t pan out, you’d directly call the company to inquire.

If they weren’t going to call you, then hell, you were going to reach out to them. No harm done. Except that was leading you absolutely nowhere either.

“Still nothing?”

You paused your pacing, immediately turning your head to the sound of your best friend’s voice. “Jesus, I forgot you were still here,” you chuckled, combing your fingers through your hair to soothe yourself. “No, unfortunately. I’m about to lose my goddamn mind, I swear.”

San clicked his tongue softly, nodding in understanding, his eyes dropping into that rare softness you only saw when he was trying to give you your well-needed space. “It’s not your fault,” he shrugged, pushing himself off your doorway to make his way towards you. “The market’s just surprisingly oversaturated. And it’s not like you’re underqualified, you literally speak four other languages.”

“I mean it’s not like I’m completely out of options,” you said. “I do have an upcoming interview with KQ Corporation, but I’m not holding my breath for it. I applied for a random position and they’re literally the biggest company in the country so I’m trying to broaden my prospects.”

San whistled, impressed. “KQ? Goddamn. That’s tough, good luck with that one. Though I think you should be fine. Our company is, what, almost on par with KQ and you still got in.”

Your face bunched up in vexation, a grimace making its way up your lips. “As you can see that didn’t really do anything for me,” you scoffed, the bitter taste of your old job suddenly making its way in your mouth. “I got hired to speak Japanese, San, and then they started talking to me in Russian. Do I look like I know how to speak Russian?”

“Lee was a piece of rubbish shit,” he jeered, waving a dismissive hand, lazily plopping down your couch to make himself comfortable as if he always belonged there and lived here instead of you. “I’m about to honestly quit too, I hate working for the guy.”

“If you want to end up jobless like me, then be my fucking guest, I suppose,” you laughed sarcastically, not intending for it to come out snappier than it did. 

San’s brows both rose in surprise. “Woah, easy there, tiger. Didn’t mean to pee in your cereal bowl or whatever,” he frowned. There was a second of silence before he sighed. “Seriously, though, are you alright? I know the job-hunting is getting to you…”

The way he asked it made your stomach turn. Your throat clenched. You swallowed hard, but the lump stayed there, thick and immovable. “I’m fine,” you reassured when his eyes still didn’t leave yours.

It was more than the waiting game or the unanswered calls - it was waking up with nowhere to be, no reason to rush, no proof that you were needed anywhere at all. You told yourself it was temporary, but the longer it stretched on, the more it started to feel personal, like the world was moving forward, and you were stuck watching from behind a pane of glass.

San just stared at you. Finally, he rolled his eyes, a small smirk tugging up the corner of his lips. “It’s a nice day outside,” he began softly, his voice contrasting the mischievous look on his face. “Why don’t you take a walk? Clear that bitch out of you or something before I get pissed at you for giving me attitude.”

And just like that, that glass cracked. Quietly, like it was set down but not quite shattered. You scoffed in disbelief, not being able to stop the laughter that bubbled up your throat. Without a word, you grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair, shoving your arms through the sleeves, movements jerky and frustrated yet determined and energised. 

“Are you going to be fine alone, though?” You asked, holding onto the door frame as you carefully put your shoes on, looking back to hear his response. “I won’t be gone for long.”

San let out a dramatic scoff like you had just insulted him. “Go before I chuck the nearest thing I can get my hands on at you,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Take your time. I don’t want to be disturbed as I raid your fridge and your wine rack.”

You rolled your eyes, but the sting behind them had dulled. You chose to hide them behind your sunglasses. Before you closed the door, you looked back at him one more time and you saw the sarcasm in his eyes melt into something warmer. San tilted his head, gaze gentler than his words. “Go,” he urged. “And bring an umbrella in case it rains.”

You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets and started aimlessly walking. The walking trail was only a couple of minutes away by foot, but being lost in your head made it feel like it was kilometres away. 

At least the trail was pretty. It was lush and full of life; full of unexplored possibilities that brought you back to your childhood wanting to explore every rocky path and staircase that disappeared into the trees. All you knew was that you wanted to walk away from your responsibilities even if it’s only temporary. You were hoping that the fresh air might change something.

For now, you wanted to walk away from yourself. Whatever you were feeling was a pill you couldn’t swallow whole. So, instead, it had swallowed you whole and was now following your thoughts. For now, you kept walking. Not towards anything, just away.

You were currently on the highest part of the trail, on top of that winding staircase that nobody wanted to traverse given how many steps it demanded of anyone brave enough to try. By the time most people reached the halfway point, they were already turning back, laughing breathlessly and deciding the rest simply wasn’t worth it.

That suited you perfectly. Most people preferred the livelier parts anyway, but this place? This isolated, forgotten corner? It was easily the most beautiful part of it. You liked that no one bothered climbing all the way up, and because of that, its beauty remained untouched. No one ever came up here. That was exactly why you loved it.

It was where your phone buzzed in your pocket. Without looking, you picked up, thinking it was San, but it wasn’t. It was one of the companies that you applied for; another one that said you were on their waitlist. Suddenly, the view started to fade into the background, your mood souring entirely.

“I could put you on hold until upper management is free,” the lady on the phone uttered monotonously as if you were just another voice on their roster they had to get rid of. “Though I’m not sure how long that would be.”

“I’ll wait,” you gritted out, trying not to sound let down. You gripped the phone tighter like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground, the telltale music on the other end as you were put on hold ringing in your ear like a heartbeat you didn’t want to hear. 

You knew how this was going to end. It was only one of two; either they put you on hold long enough where you knew they’re doing it on purpose and you’d have no choice but to hang up, or they’d pick up to tell you that they’ll put you on top of their waitlist. You’re just surprised your eyes haven’t gotten stuck behind your brain by how much you rolled them at this point.

But you were in a good mood today. You absentmindedly idled around, still taking in the view as you held the phone to your ear, waiting for what you already knew. Whatever, you thought. If this doesn’t work, you still have KQ. Hopefully.

You dug your free hand inside your pocket, taking out the company card you always carried. You even put a star sticker on it for good luck. You turned the card over between your fingers, the weight of it surprising you every time. Your thumb traced over the embossed letters, in awe of how luxurious even that felt across your fingertips.

KQ Corporation. Of course, you wanted in. They were the best of the best; the crème de la crème of the business world. You’d be set for life. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You weren’t special for wanting it. You were just one in the thousands upon thousands of applicants who wanted their piece of the prestige.

You must’ve been so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t notice that you walked into the deeper part of the trail, the one where you didn’t even venture in because the brush was thicker and the trees were denser. It was mostly unkempt because barely anyone went in here. You cursed under your breath when you looked back. You were so high up that going down would take a while because it was steeper to walk down than up.

You decided to walk a little further to find a path that wasn’t as steep, but that turned out to be a huge mistake. Your shoelaces got caught on one of the exposed tree roots that you barely noticed, causing you to trip unceremoniously, dropping everything you held in your hand to catch yourself before you cracked your skull on the nearby tree trunk, using your umbrella to cushion your fall.

You stayed where you fell, palms pressed into the dirt, annoyed at your clumsiness before you started picking your stuff up from the leafy ground of the walking trail. Your phone was only a couple of steps away from you, but your wallet, it wasn’t anywhere near you. Confused, your eyes scanned the ground, and that’s when you spotted it lying on the other side of the trail, further than where it should have been.

With a small groan, you crawled to wherever it was, not caring about the dirt on your clothes. As you were about to grab the worn leather, you stilled, fingers hovering above it. There were voices - two male ones, in fact - and they were close. A little too close for your liking. 

At first, you were going to ignore it, thinking that they were people who ventured a little too far on the trail just like you, but when you heard the distinct sounds of an altercation, it got your attention. Still, it was none of your business. It was an argument you did not want to involve yourself in.

It was the sharp, guttural sound of someone getting choked that had you going completely dead still. Your head automatically lifts to find the source, and there they were. Just beyond the trees was a taller, much bigger man pinning an older man against a tree, his hand wrapped tightly around the other’s throat.

Your chest wanted to cave in. You weren’t supposed to see this. From where they stood, you can tell that nobody was meant to see this at all. But that wasn’t why your gut was churning; you knew deep inside, that you were not supposed to be seen watching this unfold. You didn’t dare move, didn’t even dare breathe in fear that they’ll hear.

The older man choked out a pitiful sound, his fingers desperately clawing the other man’s fingers away from his neck as his face turned into a concerning shade of purple as he struggled for some sort of leverage. “P-Please,” you heard him wheeze weakly. “You c-can’t…”

You were horrified as you watched the taller man tilt his head slightly, not bothering to say a word. He didn’t even look strained as he held the older man hostage even though you knew it must take great strength to force someone’s head against a surface. Hell, you felt like you were straining more trying not to breathe or move.

As the pinned man garbled strings of random words that reeked of desperate mercy, you took this opportunity to stare at the taller man. He was magnetic, and not in a good way. He was broad, menacing in ways that threatened you even from where you sat. His expression was eerily blank as if he wasn’t actively choking the life out of this man.

But his eyes...you did not like them. For a split second as the older man seemed to blabber on and on, his eyes seemed to darken, like an ominous shadow enveloping the humanity in it. Or, perhaps, the complete lack of it. “I-I’ll do it, please, I’ll pay you, give you w-what you want,” the man gasped, his eyes rolling at the back of his head. 

The other man scoffs softly. “I don’t need your money.”

Shivers erupted from your skin at the tone of his voice. It wasn’t that it was low, rough, and rugged - though that certainly was a huge factor. It was the first time you heard him speak after all the broken cries of the other man and you weren’t sure you wanted to hear it again. If his actions already freaked you out, hearing him talk definitely was not going to help. 

“Please, put me down,” the older man croaked pitifully. “P-Put it down.”

It?

That’s when you saw the thing that set this apart from a regular fight between two men. Your eyes settled on the gun the taller man held in his free hand, your stomach dropping as he lifted it, pressing the cold metal on the struggling man’s temple. The motion was sure and final, like this wasn’t the first time he’d ever been on the other side of the trigger. 

You wanted to throw up. You were done for. You had to get away from here, but how? One wrong move and you were sure you’d be next. You were about to watch someone die and there was nothing you could do about it without giving yourself away. The man’s face had gone blotchy, veins straining as he forced words out past the pressure. “Y-You,” he let out with much difficulty. “You’re going to regret t-this.”

The taller man didn’t react. He just blinked, nodding slowly. “Will I?” He asked, genuinely curious of the answer he might hear next. You wanted to whimper at his sheer indifference.

The pinned man sucked in a broken breath, desperation sharpening his voice. “You think no one’s gonna c-come looking? You’re not untouchable–”

His tirade gets interrupted, letting out a small cry when the man presses the gun more firmly against his head. Your heart just about dropped to your foot at the brash gesture while the latter just lets out a quiet exhale, his fingers visibly tightening even more on the former’s throat.

“Why would that matter to you? You’ll be long gone by then,” he murmured, the faintest hint of something dark curling at the edge of his tone.

 “D-Do you not know who I am? This is—”

“I do,” the taller man interrupts him again, gentler this time. That just made it worse, in your opinion. “And that is exactly why you’re here.”

You were surprised when he suddenly let go, and clearly, the older man as well. He wasn’t thrown to the ground like a rag doll, he was just released, crumpling to the floor as he took in big gulps of the breath that was almost taken from him, dirt smearing all over his clothes as he tried to get away from his captor.

But none of that mattered. The relief was short lived as the taller man took one unhurried step forward, bracing his leg firmly on the ground as he lifted the gun in the air, the finality of it sealing all of your fates - the killer, the victim, and the witness.

Blood drained from your face, but you couldn’t move. It was so morbid, but you just couldn’t look away. The man on the ground trembled, pure and unadulterated panic taking over his entire form. “No, no, wait, p-please,” he begged. “You’re not going to get away with this, Song. People will ask, and they will find you. Don’t do this—”

The taller man stared down at him, expression unchanged save for the slight twitch on the corner of his lips. “You’re right,” he said softly, almost thoughtfully, voice barely audible. “It is highly unusual for big animals to not leave footprints in the snow.”

A soft click fills the air. It was the gun being cocked back in preparation for that one shot, but in the silence of the trail, it sounded like a bone being snapped in half. “But, the thing is,” he continued, eerily calm. “I have very, very small feet.”

Bang.

It was loud. The sound was a split second of finality, but it was deafening. Everything happened in slow motion. The man fell backwards as the bullet that pierced his forehead snuffed the life out of him, the heavy thump of his weightless, limp body falling down the damp soil startling you to the reality that you had just watched cold-blooded murder; you saw somebody die before you.

Faint smoke lazily curled up from the bullet hole on the dead man’s head, his open and unseeing eyes that reflected nothing at all staring up at you, judging you silently. But that wasn’t what made bile rise up your throat - it was the thick splatters of blood speckling your face.

You flinched, eyes closing on instinct as you felt tiny droplets mist across your face, the metallic scent of it making you nauseous. Your breath caught, mouth open as you tried to chase it before you hyperventilated. Your entire body was numb, caught between wanting to tremble like the leaves surrounding you and staying frozen, but the shock of it was preventing you.

You had to get out of here. You didn’t want to die, you didn’t want any part of this. All you wanted was to take a walk to relax, you didn’t want to die. But before you could even do anything, a shadow fell above you, enveloping your immediate surroundings ominously.

You stopped breathing then, your fingers curling in your palms, gathering dirt as they trembled. You didn’t look up - you didn’t want to. You could feel him there, staring down at you like he stared down at the man he had just killed, and every instinct in your body screamed at you to run, but you stayed exactly where you were, locked in place like prey that knew better than to twitch under a predator’s gaze.

Neither of you spoke or moved. Time twisted into something shapeless and it felt like a showdown to whoever would crack first. Maybe, your mind supplied in a panic. Maybe if I didn’t move at all he’d leave me alone–

You stopped yourself before that thought festered. No, that would not work. Not in a million years. He’d already seen you, and you know that he knows that you were there the entire time everything went down. Sweat trailed down from your temples, dripping down to the back of your hand. Your heart stopped when your fingers twitched, but that was when a thought struck you.

In a mixture of panic and sheer will to survive - and perhaps, possibly, the most idiotic thing you could ever do - you forced your hands to move. A little at first since they wouldn’t stop shaking, a little because you were scared that your nerves would cause you to topple over. You did it again until your hands dragged clumsily across the ground.

You swallowed hard, doing it over again, all without blinking nor moving your head, forcing your eyes to stare straight at nowhere in particular, your gaze slipping past everything like it couldn’t quite land as you patted blindly at the soil, movements uneven and hesitant while you tried to breathe through your panicked state.

Like you couldn’t see. Because that’s exactly what you were doing - you were pretending to be blind. Please, you internally screamed as your fingers swept all over the ground and purposefully missing your wallet by a few inches. Please let him believe it.

A scream bubbles up your throat when suddenly, the taller man crouches down. He went from standing menacingly tall above you to your eye-level, his face so close to you that you could smell the mint from his breath. You almost yelped when his hand came up to take your sunglasses off - the one you forgot you were still wearing all this time - and he was now staring directly into your eyes.

Your heart wanted to leap out your chest at the suddenness of it, but you forced yourself to look straight past him, hoping to convince him that you legitimately couldn’t see even though all you wanted to do was cry. His unexpected gesture made you fumble, causing you to accidentally run your hands on his shoe, though in hindsight, that might have helped your case. 

Through your unfocused gaze, you saw his brow tilt up. Without breaking eye contact, you saw his hand move through your peripheral vision, his fingers pushing your wallet in the direction where your hands were patting randomly. The silence stretched as you grabbed your wallet, clutching it a little harder than usual, the leather bending abnormally inside your palm.

What now, though? You had the one thing you crawled for in the sweaty palm of your shaking hand, so what now? Your heart was about to leap out of your ribcage. He was still staring, testing to see what you would do next. Even in your stationary gaze, you could tell that he was observing you; trying to detect any sort of deception on your end.

And you forced your eyes to stare between his brows and keep them fully open even when you felt them dry up. Fuck, you thought as dread crept upon you, don’t blink, Y/N, don’t you fucking dare blink–

It was a gradual sensation. You felt it slowly, that thin layer of moisture leaving your eyes. Your eyelids wanted to twitch, wanting to close for that relief, but you held them open; forced them wide. Then the burn came and tears threatened to form as the air around your eyes felt like fine grains, and still, your gaze stayed fixed and empty.

Unfortunately, though, your vision didn’t blur out. Instead, it sharpened in a way that made you notice every single detail about this man. You could see every pore on his skin, the way his icy blonde hair stayed in place even after what he had done, but most importantly, those unreadable eyes.

They showed no particular expression, and to you, that just made this entire thing much, much worse. You needed to know what this man was thinking. It was the only thing that will keep you alive. You had no idea if he was laughing on the inside because of this asinine charade you were pulling, or if his murderous intent had increased since then. You did not know.

Still, there was something chilling about them. Perhaps it was the nothingness in them, or perhaps, that thin, malicious sheen that pulsed with an unspoken threat. Your lashes quivered at the thought and you screamed internally at that blunder. He saw it, you knew he did. His head tilted slightly and you froze harder, if that was even possible.

Then, through your unfocused gaze, you caught the faintest movement. It was his hand moving slowly - the one holding the gun. You stopped breathing completely, but then, you saw him put it away. That should have made you feel better, but it didn’t, because the same hand started to come up until it was within your direct line of sight.

He waved his hand in front of your face, his eyes unblinking as he tested his suspicions, but you forced your eyes to not follow his hands, keeping them dull and off-center. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, his hand started to move forward. Controlled but with certainty, his hand moved until it made contact with your face.

You allowed yourself to flinch at the sudden touch, every muscle in your body locking up so tight that it hurt. His fingers were cold and honestly, you were just bracing for impact, but that didn’t happen. Instead, his fingers lingered, slowly tracing until they stopped on your cheek. He wiped something from your cheek, the pads of his fingers dragging lightly across your skin.

Your stomach lurched. You forgot you unwillingly got sprayed with blood. His hand momentarily pulls away and you watch as he slowly licked his thumb wet before going back in and wiping more of the blood away from your face. It made your skin crawl. The same hand that did not hesitate to pull the trigger felt abnormally tender like you were something so fragile.

It was over as soon as it started. He moved to get up and as you were about to panic, you felt him reach your arm, helping you get up. Your instincts told you to scream and push him away, but you didn’t. Your legs almost failed you as you tried to grab onto your bearings, and when you rose to your full height, your knees almost buckled when you realised that you were only up to this man’s shoulders. You never stood a chance.

You saw him bend down in your peripheral vision, saw him pick up your sunglasses and umbrella before handing them to you. In a morbid twist of events, he even put your sunglasses back on your face before positioning the umbrella for you on the wet, muddy soil of the trail. You swallowed, internally thanking whichever saint was watching over you and for San for making you buy those traditionally long umbrellas.

And for making you bring the umbrella in general, because this man must’ve thought you were using the umbrella as some sort of mobility cane to guide you on your walk. “T-Thank you,” you squeaked weakly, forcing the words out, willing yourself to sound normal even though the sound came out unsteady.

The man didn’t say anything. Instead, he grabs your shoulder, spins you around, and gives you a small nudge forward. At first, you were confused, but you were rendered dizzy when you realised that he turned you to the direction where it would lead to the main part of the trail near the exit. He was basically telling you to go.

The fear locked you into place, and you swear you willed yourself to walk, but you just couldn’t. That didn’t last long because you felt another push on your shoulder, this time, with a bit more force, as if he was telling you, “Go. Leave before I change my mind and end you here.”

That broke whatever mental barrier was hindering you. You gripped the umbrella handle so hard, your knuckles ached, like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Because it basically was. You lifted it, tapping on the ground like you thought people who couldn’t see would, not entirely sure if it looked realistic, but it was enough for now. It had to be.

San walked back and forth briskly in your living room, and had been for the past twenty minutes. His hair was in disarray as he bit his nails anxiously, pausing his walk to open his mouth before closing them again. “I-I just can’t believe it,” he blurted out in disbelief. “He let you go?” He snapped his fingers loud once and you unconsciously flinched. It reminded you of how loud that single gunshot was. “Just like that? He let you go?”

“Yes, how many times do I have to tell you?” You were getting exasperated at this point, stuck between laughing at the incredulity of the situation you found yourself in and crying at how messed up everything was. 

You came home in record time, busting through the front door about to pass out from the lack of breath. San was about to poke fun, but when he noticed how pale you were, trembling abnormally, with dried up streaks of blood on your face, he knew something was not right. “What am I gonna do?” You gulped. “W-What if he followed me here and I didn’t see him? What if he finds me, San? What if—”

“Alright, first off,” he interrupted before he led you to sit down on the couch. “Let’s take a moment—”

“I can’t,” you wailed, feeling tears threaten to fall from your eyes again. Everything suddenly hit you now that you were at the comfort of your own house. “I don’t know what to do, San, I just witnessed someone get shot and die.”

San holds your face in between his hands. “You’re hyperventilating. Breathe in with me,” he took a deep breath in, waiting for you to do the same. “Good, now breathe out with me…just like that, you’re doing great.”

It was easier said than done, but you managed to control your breathing by following his actions, and eventually, you felt like your airways were clear enough to get your thoughts straightened out. “I think I should go to the police,” you started, swallowing audibly before continuing. “I don’t think my conscience can take all this burden, I just can’t. I thought crap like this only happened in movies and they all made it seem so easy, but I don’t think I can hold this in.”

“Yeah, you do that, and what?” San raised a brow, pausing to sigh loudly in equal exasperation. “What are you going to tell the police? It’ll be your words against a man I’m pretty sure isn’t hanging around the trail anymore waiting to be caught like a live fish in a lake.”

You ran your hands on your hair, incredulous. “You serious? Are you telling me to just keep this to myself? Someone died, San.”

“Of course not,” he replied in disbelief. “But just think about it - do you even know which part of the trail it is? Do you know what this guy looks like? Can you even describe what this man looks like if they asked you for a composite sketch? You have no proof to bring them, Y/N.”

You opened your mouth to retort before forcing them shut. “But, I saw it,” you tried again weakly, clearly grasping for straws at this point. “I saw everything. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“It does,” he said, softer now. “To you.”

Your stomach sank. You knew he wasn’t wrong. Best case, they take a report and nothing comes of it. Worst case, they don’t believe you. Not without proof where they’ll start poking holes in a story built on fragments and adrenaline and fear. Your shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of you as quickly as it had come.

San leaned back slightly, watching you with something more measured. “You did what you had to do to stay alive,” he said. “Don’t twist that into something it’s not.”

Your thoughts raced faster, trying to think of how to turn this situation where you didn’t have to carry the burdens of what you saw, but there was nothing; not when you had nothing but a memory you couldn’t even fully trust because you’d spent half of it trying not to see. “So what, I just sit here and pretend it didn’t happen? But…” you trailed off, stomach churning violently. “So in other words, I’m fucked?”

“In many words, you’re fucked,” he scoffed, not at you, but at the situation, as he lightly shook his head. He went quiet for a second before he continued, more gently this time. “All’s I’m saying, let’s not dive in impulsively yet. If this freak had the audacity to do what he did in broad daylight…”

San trailed off, glancing at you pointedly. You gulped. You knew what he was trying to say - that this man was capable and more.

There are a lot of things that are easier said than done. You tried to forget, you really did. It’s been two weeks of constant nightmares plaguing you; two weeks of dread crawling up your skin, festering your insides like a rotten disease that has no cure. Every time you closed your eyes, you’d see man’s eyes that gleamed like a blade in the dark. You just wanted it to stop.

You sighed heavily, pressing your fingers to your temples to stop the clustered migraine making its way up your head, almost tempted to dig your fingers into your eyes just to stop the ache. You had to will them away, now was not the time.

You adjusted your sunglasses to block out the midday sun, gripping the fabric of your pencil skirt a little too tightly and then alternating that with smoothing the wrinkles you made over and over again. You were nervous. Today was a big day, after all.

Because you were currently in line along with other people outside of one of the most prestigious companies in the country, waiting to be let in for an interview. You will never forget getting the call a couple of days ago, thinking that it was another dud from a random company, but when Jeong Yunho introduced himself as KQ Corporation’s secretary and told you that you could come in for an interview, your mind just blanked out. 

The KQ logo sat high above the entrance, sleek and understated and you watched as it swallowed candidates one by one. Getting in the building was just step one; getting inside the lobby for the actual interview was another thing. That, alone, wracked up your anxiety.

“Sorry, but is there a way you could perhaps save my spot for me? I just need to use the restroom real quick.” You didn’t realise that the voice was coming directly from behind you. “Huh? Oh yeah, sure, of course, take your time,” you spoke nonchalantly, not really paying attention to the person.

You didn’t think much of it. After a while, you heard annoyed murmurs and minor complaints from behind you, snide remarks about people cutting in line. You assumed it was the man from earlier coming back and you thought that was that. “It’s crazy, huh? All these people want to be in and we’re one of them.” You didn’t reply at first, but then you realised that the casual statement was actually directed towards you. “Oh, yeah,” you chuckled when you turned around, nervously adjusting your sunglasses. “One can only dream, am I right?”

The stranger lets out a small laughter, nodding his head in agreement. You observed him for a second. He looked handsome, though intimidating in his stance with his sturdy and athletic build. However, his face was soft, his warm gummy smile complimenting his face. “For sure. If only it wasn’t so damn hot out here,” he said, fanning himself with his hand while the other jutted forward for a handshake. “Hi, I’m Choi Jongho. Should’ve introduced myself earlier.”

You took his hand and shook it well, hoping yours wasn’t clammy because he was right, it was hot outside the building. “L/N Y/N,” you smiled. “I’m just a bit nervous, that’s all. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he replied, mouth tugging up with a soft smile as he adjusted his own sunglasses. “For one, you’re the nicest person I’ve encountered today. Been holding that piss for hours now and these assholes just…well. Half the people here are acting like they’ve already been hired. Thank you for that, by the way.”

He wasn’t wrong. People stood a little too straight, eyes flicking over one another in quick, calculating glances, silently sizing up competition. Some didn’t even bother to hide it. Everyone just wanted to one up another. “Don’t mention it,” you dismissed. “Good luck to us, I suppose.”

Jongho was about to open his mouth to say it back, but it never came because suddenly, the energy shifted. The people began to murmur to themselves, clamouring as their voices overlapped with one another. You were confused, but you soon realised what was happening.

Someone important was about to come; someone to impress. Security guards lined up, parting the crowd to make space. You didn’t have to wait long. You felt a presence a distance away so commanding that you didn’t have to look.

There he was. The person moved towards the building with ease like he didn’t need the path cleared - like the world would’ve parted for him anyway. His stride was unhurried and grounded, confident in a way that wasn’t forced. You could easily tell that this person was in charge with the way he didn’t even acknowledge the attention. He didn’t have to.

As he got closer, you got a clearer view of this person. Your eyes traced upwards slowly, taking him in piece by piece, until you stopped at his face. But the moment you did, you regretted it. Everything slowed and your breath caught so sharp that it physically hurt you afterward.

No, no, no, you internally screamed, doom suddenly making your ears ring, easily tuning everything out as you honed in on the one face you’ve been trying to forget for two weeks now. Your heart dropped so fast it felt like it hit the ground.

It was him. The man from the trail. There was no doubt about it. You didn’t even have to look at his entire face, his eyes alone were enough. It was those same empty eyes that contemplated your demise; the same eyes where you saw your end before he let you go that day. And right now, people were parting for him as he walked through with authority. But that wasn’t what made him different today, it wasn’t what made him even more dangerous.

It was the way he carried himself. It was so different from the rugged, aggressive man from the trail. Your stomach lurched violently. What was he doing here? You couldn’t breathe, everything in you wanted to run, but he was getting closer and closer to where you were, and you couldn’t even move away.

And as if things weren’t bad for you already, you swore, you could have sworn, that you saw his eyes flicker towards you for a split second.

But he just moved past you, not stopping, not slowing down, not even bothering to look. He walked straight past, the guards falling in line behind him as he approached the entrance. The doors opened seamlessly, like they’d been waiting for him and then he was gone. Just like that.

It was when your knees gave out. The world violently spun around you as you stumbled. Everything crashed down on you, overwhelmingly and suffocatingly so. The noise, the heat, the crowd - none of that mattered to you. All you could think of was the nightmare you’ve lived for two weeks and now that very same nightmare was haunting you while you were wide awake.

You barely registered the firm touch of hands on your waist, balancing you up. Jongho’s worried face suddenly materialises in front of you, a frown on his face as he used the folder he had on himself to fan you as his other hand held your limp arm to also stablise you. “Y/N? You’re pale,” he pointed out. “Is it the heat? I can get you water–”

“W-Who was that?” You blurted out in a panic, jutting your trembling fingers at the entrance door. “That man who just went in…who was that?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s the CEO,” he answered as he helped you up, but all you wanted to do was throw up as his answer looped over and over in your head. That man was the CEO. He was the CEO. He’s in charge. He killed someone two weeks ago and you saw it. 

Your fingers curled tightly at your sides, nails digging into your palms as panic surged, hot and suffocating. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of something that refused to make sense. Did he see you? That can’t be. There were no less than a hundred people and you were just one of them. There was no way.

Beads of sweat started to trickle down from your scalp to your jaws, but you barely felt it with how cold your entire body felt on the inside. I have to get out of here, you internally panicked, already planning your escape route. You’d have lost your damn mind if you thought you were going to spend another second in the presence of a cold-blooded killer.

But before you could even attempt to leave, the entrance opens again and out comes someone and everyone falls into a hush when he raises his hand. Even in your frightened state, you could see that this was another person of authority. It was obvious that whatever he said next wasn’t up for discussion.

“We appreciate your interest in KQ Corporation and your time in attending today’s selection process,” he began, voice polished to perfection. “I’ll cut to the chase, if you are not Choi Jongho and L/N Y/N, then you are all dismissed.”

Your heart stopped for half a second. The crowd immediately erupted around you with voices of anger and disbelief as, but all of that faded into muffled white noise. You desperately wanted the high-pitched ringing in your ears to stop, but your limbs refused to move. “If there are any further disruptions,” the man said calmly, cutting through the noise with ease, “We will be forced to escalate this situation accordingly.”

Now, he didn’t say it outright, but the implication was clear - continue fucking around to find out. People still grumbled, but one by one, they started to leave. Still, you didn’t care. All you wanted to do was throw up. You had been picked, and now, there was no way out. Not anymore.

“Hey,” Jongho’s voice came through, breaking you out of your trance. You turned to look at him, and he still had that stunned look on his face. “This was…unexpected. We should go,” he cleared his throat nervously. He says something more, but you didn’t hear any of it. You were still feeling the aftereffects of your name being called. You were genuinely terrified and trapped. “Y/N?” Jongho frowned, looking back in confusion as to why you weren’t moving.

Your feet wouldn’t move. Inside those walls was everything you'd been dreaming of to advance in your career. The problem was, so was he. The memory hit you all over again - his eyes, the gun, the terror - and you just knew you couldn’t go in there. Your breathing picked up, throat tightening. You needed something, anything, to protect yourself. But before you could stop yourself, your mouth just moved on its own and you blurted out, “I-I’m blind.”

Jongho’s eyes widened in sheer surprise. “What? Oh my,” the latter uttered in disbelief, immediately walking back towards you. “I-I didn’t know, I’m sorry, here…”

He extended his hand, and you almost reached out, but stopped yourself, forcing your gaze to unfocus, tilting your head like you were listening instead of seeing. Jongho was confused why you weren’t taking his hand, but then, he face-palmed himself. “Oh, God, I’m an idiot,” he hissed. “Uhm, is it alright if I hold onto you so I can help you get inside?”

You nodded stiffly, legs finally unlocking as he guided you forward. In no time, the both of you were following the man, who you soon learned was none other than Jeong Yunho, himself. You saw him raise a brow at how Jongho was guiding you, but when he had told him of your circumstances, he stayed silent for a moment. If he was surprised, he barely let it show.

“Are you going to be okay?” Yunho asked as he guided you by the arm to sit down in one of the rooms. Jongho is already being shown his respective position so that left you. “On behalf of the company, I sincerely apologise for any discomfort. Had I known, I personally would have made you wait here from the start.”

Yunho’s voice was soft, and he was surprisingly gentle. It was such a contrast to his cool and intimidating exterior. You had to force your head still, thankful you didn’t have to take your sunglasses off so you wouldn’t have to pretend too hard. “I-It’s alright,” you stammered, trying hard not to sound like you were one step away from fainting. “I’d like to be hired fair and square despite my…shortcomings.”

“Admirable, I like that. I’m sure he will, too,” Yunho hummed. He stood up, patting your shoulder gently once. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. He’s just finishing a phone call, but he’ll be ready to personally interview you soon. Do call if you need anything, Y/N.”

Bile started to rise from your throat, but you had to make sure. “W-Wait,” you stopped Yunho before he walked away. “I-I’m sorry, who’s the he you’re referring to?”

Yunho lets a small smirk slip out before masking it quickly. “The boss, Y/N. This is his office,” he replied, gesturing his hand to the room. “He’s been quite taken with your credentials. You are exactly what he’s looking for.”

You did not like the sound of that. What the fuck does that even mean? Unfortunately, you had plenty of time to think about it as you sat in that chair, waiting for your doom to swallow you whole and spit you out with nothing but bones left. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.

Life was a joke like that. You knew you were going to see him again. You weren’t meant to stay in peace forever. But, goddamn, you didn’t think it would be this soon. You could’ve gotten more time, at least. Hell, you never wanted to see him at all ever again if it was up to you.

Your gaze lifted, carefully taking everything in. The office was spacious and elegant, but minimal in its decor. Dark, sleek furniture of sharp edges surrounded you, and surprisingly, it actually made sense. It was a mirror of how he was as a person, you couldn’t explain it. And then, you saw it - a metal plate fixed neatly against the desk with his name on it.

Song Mingi. Chief Executive Officer.

Your mouth dried up, eyes focusing sharply on that plate. Song Mingi. The name echoed in your head. Finally, you had a name to match to the face; a name to tie to the crime. He wasn’t just a memory anymore, he was tangible and real. He was here. And so were you.

“Comfortable?”

Hot breath ghosted over your ear. You jerked on instinct, nearly jumping out of your skin, yelping as your heart thundered violently against your ribcage. A low, amused chuckle followed. “Sorry,” a deep voice murmured, not sounding apologetic at all. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Something about that just sounded so…wrong to you. It was a good thing you didn’t turn around, because there he was, the man of your nightmares walking to sit behind his pristine desk. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin, terror washing all over you as you tried not to tremble, holding your breath as if that would save you.

Mingi. He was exactly as you remembered, yet somehow worse at the same time. He was still as broad two weeks ago, but instead of a black faded jacket, he wore a suit that emphasized his long limbs. He was still blonde, hair still slicked back, and the pale colour should’ve looked soft in this particular lighting, but not on him.

Unfortunately, it emphasized the sharpness of his features, contrasting his high cheekbones and lips that were curled slightly up the edges like he knew something you didn’t. It also highlighted those murderous eyes, except this time, they were filled with mirth and not in a good way. 

He looked good. No one would be the wiser that this man had no problem taking someone's life. You were about to stand, albeit stiffly, about to offer him a bow in respect, when his low voice cut you off mid-gesture. “No need,” he spoke firmly. You froze, not knowing what to do. “I’ve been informed of your…circumstances,” he continued, that faint curl of amusement still lingering in his tone.

You swallowed. Right. You were blind. You forced out a smile, hands gripping the sides of the chair awkwardly. You were still stuck in that halfway standing position and you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t even want to move, every inch of you wanted to just get up and run.

“Sit down.”

He said it so quietly that you barely heard him. You obeyed, though, because the way he said it was not a suggestion. So there you were, sat on a cushy chair that felt more like a trap across from where he also sat, not saying a word. The problem was, neither was he. You waited, keeping your posture pin straight as you waited for him to say something. Anything.

Instead, you saw his eyes on you, taking you in unhurriedly and deliberately like he had all the time in the world. Like you did too. Subconsciously, your fingers curled into your skirt, and you saw his eyes trail down at the gesture. His lips twitched a little, eyes shining like he was enjoying this far more than he should. It made your skin crawl.

The silence was oppressive. It made the room seem smaller, the air thinner somehow. Even the faint, ambient noises you might have expected like a clock ticking, footsteps outside the room, and paperwork rustling were absent. It was as if the room itself had decided to hold its breath, waiting to see what the both of you would do next.

But Mingi’s gaze remained fixed on you as though he could sit in this silence indefinitely and emerge victorious simply by outlasting you. There was no urgency in him, no need to fill the void. If anything, he seemed to thrive in it. You shifted slightly, your discomfort evident, and his lips stretched further. He was savouring this, enjoying it far more than he had any right to.

“You don’t look like someone who can’t see.”

The words didn’t land immediately. It was comparable to lightning where you’d see it before the booming loudness hit your ears. Your breath hitched, the dread pushing bile up your throat that you forced yourself to swallow. “I-I,” you started, voice cracking embarrassingly before you cleared your throat. “I, uhm, see silhouettes, but I’m mostly unseeing. You get used to it.”

There was a pause before he let out a soft chuckle, and somehow, that was the most menacing thing you’ve ever seen him do. “Do you?” He asked, tilting his head. You nodded weakly, and this time, you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking. 

“Ah, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” he chuckled again, waving a dismissive hand like he didn’t just make this entire encounter the most uncomfortable thing ever. “I meant that as a compliment. Let’s start over again, yes? Would you mind if I touched your hand to shake it?”

“N-No, not at all,” you replied, lifting your hand, steadying your head forward, still keeping your gaze unfocused and out of centre. Mingi does not hesitate to grab it, gripping it firmly, and for a split second, the way he did it reminded you of how he held your shoulders at the trail. Shivers crawled up your spine at the memory.

“Song Mingi, Chief Executive,” he introduced, shaking your hand before letting go. “Welcome to KQ Corporation. I’m sure you’ve heard of us, hopefully only the good things, though.”

“L/N Y/N,” you smiled tightly, putting on your professional stance, pretending that all of this was normal. That wasn’t the hard part anyway, you were good at your job. Your resumé speaks for itself. “It’s my honour to be here, Mr. Song. KQ has been a lifelong dream of mine.”

A ghost of a smirk graces his lips. “Charmed,” he said. “And Mingi will be just fine. We’ll be working very close together, Y/N. I suggest you get used to it.”

You chuckled nervously, disliking the message, hating the way he said it even more. But there was nothing you could do, not as you felt the weight of his gaze dragging over every detail of you just waiting for you to fail, patiently standing by to see when he could dig his claws in.

“Right. Let’s begin,” he started, posture straightening immediately into something more professional. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because, after all, the killer was an established businessman. “As you are aware, KQ invests plenty on international ventures. As do I. My presence is scarce in my own company because I’m always out of the country.”

You paid attention, ignoring the deep drawl of his voice and the change in his demeanor that was throwing you off-kilter. This was dangerous. If he could switch from being a menace to this composed, articulate executive in the blink of an eye, then nothing about him was accidental.

“Now, I had been told prior by Yunho about your visual impairment,” he continued, grabbing a couple of papers from the desk drawers. Your eyes tracked his measured movements without moving your neck, which proved difficult. “And while it is unconventional,” he paused, taking something small from the stack and sliding it across the desk directly in front of you. “Sight is not necessary for what I am hiring you to do for me, specifically.”

Your gaze dropped to his desk, and you felt your head spin so fast it almost made you dizzy. It was the company card you didn’t even know you had lost until this moment. It was yours, and you knew it was because of the star sticker. It also had small, dried up specks of blood on it.

You forced your breathing to stay even, but something in your chest had already tightened, coiling too fast to control. San was right - you were thoroughly, utterly fucked. This was no coincidence. He’d had the card all this time, and he was deliberately showing you.

But, you weren’t going to give in. Not now even if fear was harder to mask when it came from recognition. Mingi leaned on his seat, his gaze sharpening into something more analytical rather than predatory. “Something wrong?” He asked, almost innocently.

You shook your head, putting on a smile that you hoped didn’t resemble a grimace. “No, Sir—”

“Mingi.”

“—I was just wondering what my job description would be,” you finished, digging your nails into your palms. “M-Mingi.” 

A pause. His brows raised ever so slightly. There was a soft, almost inaudible, exhale of satisfaction from him before he went back to inspecting the stack of paperwork in his hands. “I reviewed your resumé,” he spoke, plucking said resumé from the stack. “Very impressive. Your previous company was tactless for letting you slip away.”

And there it was again. He was back at being eloquent. You watched as his eyes skimmed through your resumé, nodding imperceptively the longer he went on. You might even go as far as say that this might be the only time he was truthful with his words and actions. “If I didn’t know better,” he went on, voice lowering just enough to demand your full attention, “I’d assume they were giving you to me on a silver platter.”

Mingi didn’t miss the flicker in your expression. “Anyway,” he continued, the air shifting back into something more cutthroat. “To put this simply, I am in need of a personal translator. I do business with important people overseas and most of the time, you can imagine how challenging the language barrier could be especially if there is a lot at stake.” He paused, letting you absorb the information. “I do not always have the liberty of hiring different people all the time for that. We’re talking massive corporate leviathans here, Y/N. Things that simply cannot be common knowledge for the masses. Are you following me so far?”

You nodded. “I need discretion,” he continued smoothly, eyes hardening aggressively. “And efficiency. I will never compromise on those two. I will expect nothing less than perfection, certainly not while the vultures await. They only feed on decaying matter, after all.”

You straightened slightly. You were beginning to see why KQ was at the top echelon of the business world and why it was difficult to get in. “Understood.”

“I don’t repeat instructions. I don’t find pleasure being with people who waste my time and breath,” he added, almost conversationally. “Nor do I tolerate delays disguised as effort.”

There it was again, that edge that wasn’t loud nor overt, but unmistakably cutting nonetheless. You nodded once. “You won’t have to.”

“Good,” he said, seemingly pleased with your answer. He taps the resumé with his pen twice. “As I said, your credentials are impressive enough for me to overlook your limited vision. I only need you to hear and speak. If your achievements are what you say they are, then it won’t be of any hindrance.”

You could feel him watching you. Not curiously, but with the kind of attention that dissected reactions down to the smallest fracture. He was sizing you up, confirming if you had what it takes. “When do I start?” You asked, voice steady by sheer force and will.

He raised a brow, clearly fascinated. The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly, though there was nothing warm about it. “Interesting,” Mingi murmured, almost thoughtful, twirling his pen with his fingers absentmindedly. “You have maintained composure so far where other people would have folded. I admire your tenacity, Y/N. Truly.”

Your throat felt dry. He was talking about business, he had to be. The double entendre was difficult to ignore, however, it didn’t feel like he was just talking about this, but this was probably paranoia on your end. “I have been told I had plenty,” you replied curtly.

Another ghost of that smirk. “Yes,” he murmured, more to himself. “I’m beginning to see that.”

He straightened before you could react, snapping back into place like nothing had happened. “Your role, should you accept the opportunity I’m willing to extend to you,” he said, now all business again. “Will be as important as mine. You are the bridge of communication, the deciding factor on whether KQ stays afloat or sinks beyond. Failure is not an option.”

You nodded, grateful for the clarity. You could do that. It was work you understood and could control. “And if I don’t?” You asked, deliberately.

His eyes held yours, glinting with something that refused to be challenged. “You can either follow the rules, break them, or answer to me.”

There were no traces of threat in that statement, but that lingering tension stayed in your chest. Your own fear was twisting his words into something they weren’t. “So,” he continued expectantly. “What say you, Y/N?”

To leave was diving into uncertainty, but to stay was entering the belly of the beast. You nodded firmly, effectively choosing the lesser of two evils.  It was beginning to feel like a crossroads deal with the devil rather than a business transaction. “Now that we got all of that out of the way,” he said. “I do have one small favour to ask of you.”

“I’ll try my best to accommodate,” you said.

“Might I see the eyes of the person that’ll be with me and my business for most of the time? Plus, I reckon it’s proper etiquette to remove any sort of outdoor eyewear in front of your boss.”

You stopped breathing. Your sunglasses. It was the only thing blocking your eyes from him, the thing making it easier to pretend you weren't actually blind. You took a moment, not doing anything under his scrutiny, frozen under the weight of his unyielding expectancy. You gritted your teeth, upset that you couldn’t worm your way out of this one without being questioned.

In the end, you lowered your head not out of submission, but out of necessity, forcing your vision to blur; to dull itself into nothingness even if you’d be looking the devil in the eye once you remove the protective barrier that was keeping you somewhat safe. But the moment you looked up, your soul nearly left your body.

The fountain pen Mingi was holding was right there, the sharp, gleaming tip of it hovering only a couple of inches away from your left eye. He pointed the nib so close that if you blinked, your lashes would graze the metal - so close that you could feel it. Not just the grizzly pressure of it against your cornea if he actually pressed it, but the coldness the metal radiated.

The fear had left you petrified from where you sat. One wrong reaction - one wrong move - and it’s over. You might actually lose your eyesight for real. You swallowed your terror, willing your eyes to stay unfocused, compelling yourself to not see the pen and Mingi, himself.

And through your bleary vision, you could clearly see the way his lips fought to stay still, how he tried not to let out a smile. “You have beautiful eyes,” he remarked casually like he wasn’t about to stab your cornea. “Such shame. It would’ve been a delight to see those peepers sparkle. Have you never seen your own eyes, Y/N?”

Oh, God. The nerve of this maniac, you internally panicked, vision wavering dangerously as you fought for your body to stay rigid. “At some point, I might have. I’ve long forgotten. I tend to…forget things easily,” you replied confidently, praying that he got the message - that you wouldn’t tell a soul what you saw that dreadful day on the trail.

The corners of his mouth finally gave in, amusement dancing faintly in his eyes. “Do you?” Mingi clicked his tongue, sounding deceivingly thoughtful if it wasn’t for how predatory his face actually looked. “Because I don’t.”

His hand shifted, the pen tilting closer by a fraction. It was just enough to make your heart lurch violently against your chest. You could already imagine it, the promise of pure pain once that sharp metal nib goes through your eye, yet still, you refused to move, not daring to even take a breath in for fear of accidentally stabbing yourself in the eye, instead.

You saw him nod to himself, running his tongue painfully slow against his bottom lip as if he was impressed at your show of obstinacy. “That’s alright,” he hummed thoughtfully, voice deceptively soft. It was terrifying. If you were actually blind, you would have genuinely thought he was comforting you because he sounded so gentle.

“Though I must say,” he added. “Do forgive this ignorant man, but for someone who’s blind, I’m surprised at the clarity of your eyes. They look so clear and unclouded.”

Before you could spiral, a voice from behind you cleared their throat - someone you didn’t know was there until they spoke out. That should’ve scared you, and it did because that meant they've been there all along, silently watching all of this unfold. But for now, you could consider them your saving grace because you were running out of excuses.

“Cut it out, Mingi. Not everyone who is blind has those milky eyes you’re thinking of,” a man spoke disapprovingly. 

Mingi’s eyes shifted to look behind you. His eyes, God, the way they glared at whoever this mystery person was nothing short of terrorizing. They were so soulless and predatory, but that wasn’t why it shook you, because for a second, it was like looking at him two weeks ago again. It was the same look he had as he stared at that man seconds before he pulled the trigger.

“Right,” he murmured, finally lowering the pen and allowing you to breathe. He paused, taking in a breath before he returned to that professionalism you were starting to abhor. “My apologies. I have a lot to learn. Anyway, that would be my personal assistant.”

“Kim Hongjoong,” the mystery man introduces himself. You stood up, purposefully bowing in the wrong direction, to which he chuckled lightheartedly. “I appreciate that. We’ll be working very closely together. I handle Mingi’s affairs a lot.”

You smiled tightly, curious as to why Hongjoong gave a pointed look at the taller man. “Affairs as in now. You have a meeting with the finance department,” he continued, glaring heatedly. Your gaze flickered between the two men. Something was off. You’ll have to observe more next time, so for now, you tucked this information away for later.

“You’ll be hearing from him more than you will from me,” Mingi said, already shifting, already moving on like nothing had happened. Your attention snapped back to him. “He handles my schedule. Hongjoong will e-mail them to you. You can return next Monday”

Your stomach twisted. “M-Monday?”

“Yes, my dear. Monday,” he chuckled, amused, already halfway to the door. “I’m giving you a week to prepare yourself because once you start, there will be no turning back. I’ll have Yunho arrange for someone to escort you home,” he added over his shoulder.

The words settled into the room like a verdict. And before you could even process it, he was gone.

Working at KQ proved to be rewarding and challenging at the same time. Everyone either loved or feared Mingi, but for the most part, it was both. And working for him has proven to be conflicting for you. You haven’t seen him much, which you were honestly very thankful for, however, he did keep you at arms length.

Perhaps, he just wanted to keep a close eye on you because you exclusively worked inside his personal office, sitting all day on his cushy leather couch. Even Yunho found it fascinating.

Mingi was good at what he did. Painfully so, because the results were hard to deny. He didn’t waste time, didn’t tolerate incompetence, and had a way of cutting through problems so cleanly it left everyone else scrambling to keep up. You hated that you were impressed. Beneath the fear you had, he earned the power he held over everyone and you hated admitting it.

But at the same time, he made things a little smoother for you. Or at least, he sent someone to make things easier for you. Seonghwa was heaven sent, a ray of sunshine, if you will. He was the opposite of what this cutthroat industry stood for - very bubbly and energetic. He was the sweetest person, and that in itself made this place more bearable.

But you knew better. This wasn’t just a random act of kindness from your boss. This was Song Mingi, and Mingi was cunning. This was him exerting control even in unconventional senses such as adjusting his variables to make sure you stayed exactly where he wanted you to.

“Y/N, sweetie, are you alright? You still haven’t told me what you wanted,” Seonghwa’s soft and comforting voice spoke, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You almost turned to look at him, mildly startled, but you stopped yourself at the last second. “Sorry,” you apologised sheepishly. “I was just thinking. What were you saying?”

“I brought coffee and tea, I didn’t know which one you wanted so I figured I’d buy both so you could pick one to sip on while we work,” he said, already setting things down without waiting for a response, his voice bright and alive in a way that warmed you up. He was a nice man, and you felt bad for deceiving him, but no one can know you weren’t blind.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off before managing a small smile. “I prefer tea. Thank you, you didn’t have to–”

“Of course I did,” he cut in cheerfully, waving you off like it was obvious, already sitting down next to you. “Let’s start now so you can leave early. I get worried every time you go home with the sun gone. Same as usual, yeah? Just forgive my crappy Mandarin.”

This was the arrangement. Seonghwa would read, you would translate, and he would write it down. Luckily, you didn’t get much written documents, and computers were easy to worm your way out of since you managed to convince Hongjoong that voice-to-text worked well for you, and Mingi seemed to have no problem with it so long as the work got done.

It was the in-person business transactions that you were nervous about. So far, Mingi hasn’t taken you out to speak for major clientele, but he wasn’t lying when he said he worked for the big sharks. Three weeks shy in and you were already exhausted drafting and translating contracts and paperwork for him. Until today.

You were halfway through the document when the door to the office opened. Your back automatically straightened, eyes dulling themselves even further, when Mingi strolled in. You didn’t even have to look at him; you could just feel the immense power he exuded from his presence, alone, and how one glance could silence the room.

He didn’t greet either of you nor looked in your direction, just striding straight towards his desk to review some paperwork that was waiting for him to sign. You loosen up a bit. When Mingi was in the zone, he barely paid attention to his surroundings. Or is that what he wanted you to think? You didn’t care so long as he didn't acknowledge you at all. And you liked it that way.

The only thing that could be heard was the rustling of paper as Mingi flipped some documents, Seonghwa reading, and your whispers of translation. Times like these also allowed you to pay attention to his mannerisms. He didn’t have a lot, but it was the little things that truly scared you.

Like right now with his brows furrowed, eyes narrowed into slits as he furiously scribbled. It brought you dread when you realised down the line that he showed more expression to mere documents more than he ever did pulling that trigger on that man on the trail.

He had taken the liberty to take his coat off, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms that you were unable to look away from. Another thing that frustrated you to no end was that the more you observed Mingi, the harder it was to deny that he was very attractive. Had the circumstances been different, he would’ve been your type.

“How long until you’re done?” Mingi suddenly asked, voice hushed in the quietness of the office, still not bothering to look up.

“In about twenty minutes or so,” you blurted out, slightly startled, but more so annoyed at yourself for checking him out.

“Make it five. You’re coming with me.”

You could practically feel your hackles rise because, of course, nothing about this job was ever going to be simple. “Pardon?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Did I stutter?” Mingi retorted flatly, barely audible. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when he turned lazily to you. “I vaguely recall telling you that I don’t particularly enjoy repeating instructions,” he drawled slowly. “Those aren’t empty words, Y/N. You told me you understood.”

You had to physically stop your face from visibly souring and glaring heatedly at him, stiffly just nodding in response while mumbling a half-hearted apology. True to his words, he stood up exactly five minutes after, giving you one glance as if to say, ‘Follow me’, before leaving. All without even waiting for you. 

So there you were, marching through the office like a spectacle, eyes wide open but empty, as if you’ve truly mastered the art of pretending to unsee. Mingi created quite a distance between you two and you’ve barely managed to catch up with him before he went in the elevator. “Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?” You inquired faintly in the tight area of the elevator as its doors closed.

Through your peripherals, you caught Mingi’s lips quirk into a small smirk. “You are,” he replied, pressing a floor button. “Am I required to answer them?”

Your lips curve down into a frown, brain buffering for a split second. Mingi seemed to sense your distress and let out a deep chuckle. “I’m taking you on a little trip around the company,” he said. “I reckon it’s good for you to map out a layout in your head so you could develop some sort of muscle memory to make up for your lack of sight.”

That made sense. And you hated that it did. If you were actually blind, you would’ve been all over the moon. You swallowed nervously, dread crawling up your spine bit by bit the more the elevator rose. You did not like any of this one bit. The silence was stifling. It was hard to breathe especially with him so close. Mingi was a snake; he was constricting and looking away would be a fatal mistake. You didn’t even want to blink because you know he’ll be there, slithering around the brush, waiting to coil himself around you. 

You were startled back into sensibility when you heard a ‘ding’. You have arrived, and you didn’t know where. Before you could even ask, Mingi walked out and you had no choice but to move after him. At least you were behind him; it allowed you to look around freely.

But the moment you lifted your head to take in your surroundings, your heart dropped to your feet. This floor looked desolated, abandoned at best, like construction had started but never fully finished. Lights worked, but it was dim, and the walls weren’t even painted, leaving exposed wiring behind unfinished panels.

“Right this way,” Mingi said smoothly like nothing about this was unusual. “We’re heading near the HR department, for starters.”

Your face turned green with the intense need to vomit. A damn lie, it was, because in no shape or form were you near said department. You had half the mind to turn around and run back to the elevator, and the further you walked, the more you wanted to. But then, he stopped right in front of a suspicious looking door.

“This,” he said, already turning the handle to open it. “Is one of our private conference rooms. We could start here, but not to worry, everything is…everything is on the same floor.”

Panic spiked through you, but you had no choice but to swallow it down and walk through, and you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it was certainly not an empty room. No furniture, no dividers, no equipment, no nothing. Just a large, open space with bare floors and large windows that emphasized how empty it was. There were no signs of use and no signs of life; just too much space. It was  somehow the most claustrophobic room you’ve ever been in. To make matters worse, you heard Mingi shut the door behind you.

“Let’s begin,” Mingi murmured, but it was loud as it reverberated around emptiness. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I’ll tell you where to go, you just have to listen. Fair?”

You nodded stiffly, not knowing what he was planning to do, but judging by the toothy, wolfish grin spread wide on his lips that screamed of danger, it wasn’t anything good. “Perfect,” he said. “Just give me a couple of steps forward.”

And you did, mechanically dragging your foot to make that first step, opting to stop when it felt right. “Good,” you heard him say. There was a pregnant pause in the air before he continued again. “Actually, let’s try that again. A few steps back, please.”

Your lips twitched in perplexity, not knowing where he was going with this. Somehow, retracing your steps made your feet feel heavier than moving forward. You were back where you started by the door with Mingi to your far left still leaning against that wall, still staring intently at you as if he was waiting for you next move. Kind of like how he watched you that day in the forest to see what you’d do after he shot that man.

“Turn to your right. Walk approximately ten steps forward,” he finally said. You followed. “Now turn to the left. It leads to another room.”

You took a deep breath, walking into said ‘room’ anyway. “Forward a bit, then turn left,” he instructed, and again, you followed. “That’s another conference room.”

You swallowed the urge to scream at him that there was no room; that there was absolutely nothing. You could only hum, hoping to sound enthusiastic as you felt him getting closer. “You best remember that, love,” he commented. Dread crept up your insides. He sounded a little too happy, letting that polite mask slip away for a moment to enjoy whatever this humiliation ritual was. “Anyway, there’s a door in front of you, doll.”

Gritting your teeth to reel in your annoyance, you lifted a shaky hand to play along, letting out a convincing hum of confusion and surprise when you felt nothing but air. “Ah,” he said lightly. “Maybe this is too advanced. Next time, I suppose.”

God, you just wanted to go back to translating with Seonghwa, but instead, you’ve become a clown walking forward and backwards into an empty room, kind of like a child with a vivid imagination playing maze. “Turn around,” you heard him say. “Walk until I say stop.”

He wasn’t there when you turned around. That would mean he was behind you. Your knees almost buckled because you didn’t even hear him walk at all. You did as told, each step stretching just a little too long in the silence. But as you moved, your worry increased. This was the longest you’ve walked so far and he hasn’t told you to stop yet.

You waited for him to say something, anything, because you were a couple of steps away from colliding into the wall. The next couple of steps had you sweating, breathing heavily as you tried to walk normally, pretending that you weren’t about to get a nasty bump on your forehead from purposefully smacking face forward a concrete wall - all to make him still believe you’re blind.

Several steps from impact and you could already feel your legs hesitating to move forward, your pace stuttering, but you pushed, adjusting your steps accordingly to make everything still seem believable. You waited up until the very last few steps, but when you heard nothing from Mingi, you instinctively closed your eyes as the wall got closer, bracing for impact.

“Stop.”

The word snapped through the air just as your nose hovered a breath away from the surface. You halted instantly, biting your tongue to stop the startled squeak that threatened to leave your lips, not feeling any pain at all from the adrenaline and the fear pumping into your bloodstream.

“Careful,” Mingi murmured, his voice just behind your shoulder now, lips barely touching your ear. “There’s a wall here. You’ll want to remember that.” 

A soft, nervous laugh left you, controlled but imperfect. “I-I will,” you stammered. 

Goosebumps erupted all over your skin when he chuckled, low and amused, directly in your ears. “Yeah?” He whispered. Shivers broke out of you at his tone, especially when you felt him smile against the shell of your ear. You nodded. “You sure?”

You felt him blow the faintest air onto your skin. “Hmm. I like it when people listen,” Mingi whispered again, voice going even heavier in a way that had your stomach churning. He paused, like he was giving you grace to take it all in. “Especially when they know they should.”

You fought the instinct to break through this newfound tension. You were very aware of how little close you were - how easy it would be to move, and how impossible it felt to actually do it. “I said I would,” you replied, though your voice came out quieter than you intended. 

“I know, but saying it and proving it…” Mingi let the sentence trail off, the implication settling in the charged silence between you. Your breath hitched when you saw his hands settle on the wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you in. “...I wonder how far that goes,” he finished. “Anyway, let’s continue.”

You sighed in relief when he pulled away, though you weren’t sure if that was better. He was back at it with his instruction, and this time, he’s double the intensity. “Try again,” he instructed, clearly amused at your mistakes. “I said move slightly, not do a full swerve. Again.”

And again. Again. And again. Again and again and again. Mingi made you turn, then walk. Stop. Back. Forward. Shift. Over and over and over again. Your steps grew heavier, your legs starting to ache, your breathing less steady no matter how hard you tried to hide it. And through it all, he watched you. Still, you had to continue with gritted teeth.

Your patience thinned as he watched you walk yourself into humiliation like it was the most entertaining thing in the world. But you moved because stopping wasn’t an option, especially not when Mingi resembled a predator observing a prey exhaust itself, just lying in wait before he struck to take advantage of your vulnerability.

Every time you turned, you caught glimpses of him. His expression remained composed, but his eyes were alert and focused, waiting to see if your blind act was about to fail as he followed every single movement you made. And he was enjoying this, you could tell. The faint curl at the corner of his mouth when you adjusted yourself mid-motion was more than enough to tell you.

“That’ll be all, Y/N. You can stop now,” Mingi said, his voice returning to that composed, professional tone as if you weren’t breathing hard in exhaustion. As if he didn’t just make you go for a loop in an empty room to strip you of your dignity.

You couldn’t even reply, couldn’t even push him away when he put his hand to your shoulder to lead you back into the elevator. Your pulse still hasn’t settled, skin still tingling where his hand was, but you weren’t going to complain now you were about to go back to normalcy.

“You did well,” he said softly as the elevator doors opened back to the floor where his office was. He stepped out, walking away as if nothing had happened. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You watched as he walked away, frozen where he placed you in the elevator. Whatever happened back there felt like a fever dream, and you still haven’t woken up. On the outside, nothing felt out of place but on the inside, something shifted because before, you were just afraid of seeing him kill someone.

But now? You were afraid of him.

Mingi didn’t stop there. There were little instances here and there, not much to alarm you, but enough to put you on edge. It’s been a little over a month by then. The dread never left, not even the hefty paycheque you received was enough to ease that paranoia beneath your skin. You still didn’t see him often and so far, he technically hasn’t bothered you or done anything. 

But when he did do something, it was when you were the most ill-prepared; like a demon waiting for you to fall asleep before infiltrating your dreams and terrorising you when you least expected it, and by the time you realised he was there, you would have already been too paralysed to stop him.

It started small, as if he was testing how far he could go before you noticed, like giving you the wrong files to translate. Or that one time he turned on his obnoxiously bright desk lamp and pointed it on your face while you worked.

“Something bothering you, love?” Mingi asked, almost innocently, as if he wasn’t currently adjusting the lamp to beam it directly in your eyes, his tongue sticking out of lips a little in concentration. “You seem a little distracted.”

You felt your eyes tick, not because you’ve been forcing them wide open and pretending that lights weren’t bothering you, but because you were annoyed at the audacity of this man and his ability to get away with anything - all because he thinks you couldn’t see him. Black spots began to dance behind your eyes, the telltale signs of a debilitating migraine beginning to creep up your temples as the ache came in throbbing waves.

“Everything’s fine,” you let out weakly.

Mingi hummed softly at that, his fingers deftly clicking the lamp to amp it up to its maximum brightness. You had to dig your nails painfully in your palms to stop yourself from blinking as your vision burned, but still, you could see the smugness in his features, all while his eyes watched you. “Carry on,” was all he said after.

And then nothing after that for days, but that was the problem, because he would do them so randomly and sporadically that when you thought you were in the clear, you really weren’t. If Mingi was feeling especially heinous, he’d sometimes move your computer files and hide them in different folders, which would be already difficult for abled people, let alone for someone who is especially visually challenged. You’d just grit your teeth and move forward, all while his sharp, menacing shadow towered over you.

“Just call me whenever you need something, alright?” Jongho kindly handed you back the laptop after finding the right files for you and one day Mingi moved them. He let out a confused hum. “Perhaps we could ask Mr. Song to fix your laptop. It’s been acting up more than usual.”

You let out a nervous laugh. Jongho raised a brow, but decided not to say anything. The two of you had gotten closer over the following weeks and he’s honestly been your saving grace in times like these. He was a sweetheart, always offering to buy you lunch or drive you home whenever he could. It was times like these where you genuinely felt bad for lying to him.

But Jongho can’t possibly help you with everything. One thing Mingi was consistent about, however, was his work ethics. Mingi let out a sharp sigh, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose while his other hand drummed against the table.

“You think this is good enough, Y/N?” He asked, tone flat and unimpressed. He was strict, very much so, to the point that there were times where you were afraid to submit your proposals to him. “No. Actually, let me rephrase that.” 

He shuts the laptop off, eyes lifting to you, his back straightening against his chair. “Did you even read this before sending them to me? Or did you honestly think I just sign off every paperwork that gets sent my way without checking them for marginal errors?”

Your throat tightened. Mingi wasn’t loud when he was upset. Even when he tested your sanity with his stupid games, Mingi never compromised when it came to work. “My apologies, I’ll revise it as soon as possible,” you assured.

“I know you tried your best,” he crossed his arms. “But that’s exactly what makes it disappointing. I’ll let this slide. Go home. Yunho will finish this mess.”

Surprise crosses your features and you opened your mouth to argue, but decided against it. Not when his eyes left no room for debate. It wasn’t personal, but the brutal honesty in which he laid his expectations landed on your chest hard, and the worst part? He was usually right.

Soon, Mingi began taking you to meet important people like he said he would before he hired you. If Mingi was intimidating in the confines of his office, then he was downright terrifying around the people he did business with to the point that you had no idea how he was able to stay up top as long as he did. Hongjoong laughed when you spoke your thoughts out loud.

“It’s not just him,” he said, gently leading you inside one of the private rooms in the upscale restaurant. “You have to constantly one up everyone because they will not hesitate to bury you in this business, Y/N. Mingi just so happens to be the best at what he does.”

And you understood why. You saw how even those older than him with far more power and experience measured their words around him before saying them. Mingi just had this uncanny ability to dismantle people. Today, you sat next to Hongjoong while Mingi sat to your right, listening intently to you as you translated in real time, voice smooth and professional.

“This is preposterous,” the overseas investor from China scoffed at you, his confidence slipping the longer Mingi remained expressionless. “Tell Mr. Song here that I have a proposition.”

Indeed, he did, by giving a lower number - a number so low that even you knew that no sane businessman would take it seriously. You were visibly taken aback, pausing for a beat too long that Hongjoong had to nudge your foot with his subtly under the table. You swallowed nervously, already knowing that Mingi was going to hate this.

And he did. He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing for a split second before he neutralised his expression. He doesn’t speak yet, just pouring liquor into his shot glass. “Salud,” he cheered, lifting the glass up towards the investor who just spoke. “This one’s especially for you, fucker.”

Your head whips towards him, that smile on his face that you knew screamed danger flashing brightly as he downed his drink, followed by the merry cheers of the foreign nationals who were none wiser that they were getting cursed right in front of their faces. 

It was the first time you’ve ever heard Mingi curse, and you didn’t know what to feel about it. He was always so proper and composed and that anything outside of that realm bothered you more than it should’ve because you didn’t know which one was the character he was choosing to play in front of you versus the entire world. As if things couldn’t get worse, a thin trail of liquor slipped from the corner of his mouth, trickling down his sharp jaw down to his throat.

Warmth bloomed dangerously low in your stomach, but thankfully - or, perhaps, not - that heat vanished from your body when he spoke his next words. “Tell him,” Mingi said calmly. “That I can see why people stopped explaining things around him, that I envy people who would never hear how much of an imbecile he and his ideas are. If he wants to rob KQ that badly, at least haggle like a man. I’ve seen kids do it better for candy.”

The investor blinked at you expectantly, unaware, and beside you, Hongjoong went unnaturally still, but all you could do was freeze. You wanted to reword it, to soften the blow, but you must have hesitated for far too long because Mingi turned to you, his eyes cold and expectant.

“Well?” Mingi demanded, impatience creeping into his tone. “Word for word, Y/N. I want to hear it.”

Your throat was tight, but you forced yourself to translate, trying your best to not let your voice shake. “H-He says,” you cleared your throat, discomfort crawling up your spine. “That he can see why people stopped explaining things around you. A-And that he envies people who would never hear how much of an imbecile you and your ideas are…”

The investors’ polite expression drops immediately. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. The embarrassment was too much, every word tasted horribly against your tongue. “If you want to rob KQ so badly,” you spoke, or rather, squeaked. “Haggle like a man because he’s seen kids do it better for candy.”

The investors’ darkened faces stared at you in disbelief for a second before all hell broke loose. Slurs and curses were thrown all over the place, but all you could focus on were Mingi’s eyes on you and the small, satisfied smile on his face. And then it hits you. Provoking these investors wasn’t his only target.

Making you sit there and deliver those words for him amused him far more. You watched as his eyes landed on your ears, the tips of them red from the sheer secondhand embarrassment, and a faint smirk tugs on the corner of his lips.

“Well, that went terrific,” Hongjoong sarcastically let out as the three of you walked out of the restaurant, side-eyeing Mingi with intent while he helped you walk out, hands still as gentle as when he guided you in earlier.

You chose not to say anything, opting to stare blankly forward to keep up the act, periodically squeezing Hongjoong’s arm when you’d hit a bump or two. Mingi just smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes, walking as if he didn’t just botch an entire business transaction by letting his intrusive thoughts win.

“I don’t know, I’d say that went pretty well,” he shrugged, his indifference evident as he opened his car door, pausing to stare at the both of you. “Meet me back at the office. I reckon Seonghwa will have a field day after this. You tell him.”

You barely stopped yourself from raising a brow. Hongjoong stiffens under your touch, an unimpressed frown crossing his face, eyes narrowing with obvious annoyance. “Wait, why me? Do I really have to?”

“Yes. You’re my assistant, after all,” Mingi replied without missing a beat. He let out a condescending smile when Hongjoong’s eyes twitched. “Relax. He has a soft spot for you.”

Hongjoong was about to retort when Mingi gave him a look - a look that had Hongjoong pausing, glancing carefully at you as if he just remembered that they weren’t alone - before the shorter man rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered, turning to lead you away. “Anyway, I’ll drive Y/N—”

“No,” Mingi interjected. “I’ll do it. Put her in.”

Without waiting for a reply, he gets in his car. And that was how you found yourself in the passenger’s seat of your boss’ car, stiff as a board, staring at the distance not to pretend to unsee, but simply because you couldn’t bear to acknowledge how close Mingi was. “A-Are we not leaving yet?” You couldn’t help but blurt out, not being able to take the awkward silence hanging between the two of you.

“I’m waiting for you,” he murmured.

You frowned, confused. “M-Me? For what?”

“Mhhm,” he hummed. Your stomach churned at how it echoed in your ear. It was a low rumble, warm and smooth like lullabies of despair seducing you in, but you willed it away. “Your seatbelt, sweet pea. I can’t drive without you wearing it.”

Oh, this was dangerous. The way he said it was quiet enough to feel intimate, yet teasing enough to make your pulse skip. Unhurried, you shakily reached for the seatbelt, careful to maintain that blind, dead look in your eyes, but you couldn’t seem to grasp it. Mingi chuckled and the next thing you knew, he was leaning in, reaching for your seatbelt, himself.

A whimper of surprise leaves your lips before you could stop it. His face hovers inches over yours as he clicks the belt into place. He was close, too close, and you thought he was going to lean back, but no. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even seem fazed; he just stares. And you didn’t dare breathe against this intentional proximity that he put the both of you in.

You didn’t even realise that his hand was on your thigh until he gave it a small squeeze, and once again, your stomach churns, but this time, it was with an intensity that made you want to throw up. And all you could do was stare in between his eyebrows, pretending that you were seeing through him instead of at him.

“Funny how we keep finding ourselves in this situation,” he mused in a quiet whisper, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Almost as if we were meant to be here.”

Your brows twitch, not knowing what he was referring to. And then it hits you. Hard. This was the exact position and the exact closeness you had with Mingi that day in the forest. Face to face, his dark eyes dissecting you with that horrifying scrutiny before he wiped that blood that accidentally found its way onto your face. “I-I don’t know what you’re—”

“You should relax around me more,” he murmured, tucking a piece of hair obscuring your face behind your ears with so much gentleness that you wanted to scream. “You’re always so tense.”

And then, without warning, he finally leaned back into his seat. The loss of pressure was so sudden that it made your chest ache even further. He started the car, casually driving as if he didn’t just psychologically terrorise you.

But that was fine, you could handle these because they didn’t necessarily hurt you. All you had to do was ignore Mingi and go on still pretending you couldn’t see everything that he was doing. And you knew he was a psycho, but clearly, he’d been holding himself back.

Mingi drove silently, posture relaxed like nothing was wrong. Eventually, he slowed down, eventually stopping when at a red light. It was the busy intersection that was a couple of blocks away from KQ and you couldn’t wait to get the hell away from this man. But when the lights changed to green, Mingi didn’t move. “We’re here,” he said.

Your stomach dropped, taken aback by what he just said. “Here? A-At the office?”

“Mhhm. Where else?”

It was that same low, intimate hum. Your ears rang amidst the busy traffic all around, the honks of the cars behind you, and the buzzing of cars from multiple directions. “Go ahead. Your friend, Jongho, is waiting for you by the door,” he said.

His words slithered coldly up your spine. No, you thought dreadfully. He wouldn’t. But you knew better. You were in the middle of an intersection. You could see that the lights were red again, but the moment those lights turned back to green, there was a high chance that you would get hit. The thought alone made your vision double, and beside you, Mingi patiently waited, staring at you to see what you were going to do.

Panic clawed up your throat. You grabbed your walking cane and started pushing the door open, because refusing without any valid reason would completely blow your cover away. And then, divine intervention - Mingi’s phone started to ring. The sound of it made the both of you pause. From your peripheral vision, you could briefly see the name of the caller. It was Hongjoong. Mingi’s eyes were still on you, specifically on your hand that held the door handle.

He let out an exhale, as if disappointed that you couldn’t step out into moving traffic.“Close the door, love,” he murmured. “I’ll park at the other entrance. It’s dangerous here.”

You didn’t even hesitate. You slammed that door shut so hard that the entire car rattled with force. Mingi’s lips twitched with a small smile, staring at you for one more second before he finally picked up the call. He wasn’t relieved that you were safe nor was he shaken that you could’ve been hit by a car right in front of his eyes. 

No, Mingi was steady and unbothered. Interested, even, like his stakes had just gone up and he just realised that the possibilities were endless for him so long as you played for him.

Mingi didn’t even wait a week to test that theory out. It was, by far, the worst he’s done not because of what he did, but because of how bold and brazen his acts were becoming. You were working with Seonghwa in your usual spot in his office, but this time, Jongho was also here. He was today’s representative from his department for the monthly report. Then, in comes Yunho, bringing with him cups and a thermos before leaving. It was fresh tea; you could see the steam in your peripheral vision as Jongho poured the boiling hot water into the cups.

You didn’t think much when Mingi walked over to where you and Seonghwa were, placing two cups at the table. This wasn’t out of the norm, Mingi had always treated you well when there were people around for show, but clearly, you’ve been giving this man more credit than he deserved.

“I ordered everyone iced tea from the café across the building,” he whispered silently, only enough for you to hear. “It’s in front of you. Drink it before the ice melts and dilutes it.”

Panic seized your chest so bad that your lungs were burning from how carefully you were trying to control every breath you took. Your body reacted instantly by freezing into place. You wanted to gawk at the audacity of this man because now he was deliberately playing with you right in the presence of other people.

You forced your eyes to dull further as you nodded stiffly while being at a loss for what to do. You knew this man was cunning, but this was insane. If you grabbed the cup properly, that would give away that you could see. If you grab it clumsily, you’d burn your hand with boiling hot tea. If you give any sort of excuses to not drink it, you were done. 

You could feel his eyes on you, sharpening at every second you hesitated to grab the cup. Swallowing, your hands began to jut forward, thinking of a way to touch it without reacting somehow or at least minimise the pain you were about to feel when you burned yourself.

“Ah ah, sweetie,” Seonghwa’s gentle voice cut, intercepting you by guiding your hand away from the cup. “That’s, uh, bland. I’ll be back, I’ll get us some lemons to go with the…iced tea.” 

Mingi merely raised a brow, watching as Seonghwa got up and left the room. He shrugged, not sparing you a glance before he walked back to Jongho, who was still none the wiser as he sipped on his own tea, engrossed in the paperwork Mingi gave him. 

Seonghwa reappeared a minute later, quietly removing the cup of hot tea before replacing it with something actually cold. You had no idea where he got it, but you didn’t dare question it as your trembling fingers wrapped around the cold drink. Through your peripheral vision, you caught the way Seonghwa stared at Mingi.

And you were surprised at how angry he was. The look he gave Mingi was so scathing, more scalding hot than the tea you almost burned yourself with, that it sent more shivers up your spine. You had no idea that someone as gentle as Seonghwa was even capable of such look. Mingi smirked back sardonically, tilting his head mockingly before his eyes set to you.

His eyes stared you down as he sipped his own tea with no particular expression on his face. But his eyes, they looked alive; alive because every second of watching you endure him fed something inexplicably insatiable inside him.

“You don’t look like someone who can’t see.”

Your lips twitched as you forced a smile on your lips, your arms tightening around the laptop you held close to your chest. “I-I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Jung. I’ve been told as such before…”

Mingi didn’t react, not even bothering to look away from his laptop. Though from your peripheral vision, you saw him gaze at you for a few short seconds before letting out a small smile. It was the exact same thing he told you when he interviewed you a few months ago.

Today’s work was a bit different. You were used to leaving to meet up with potential clients and even going as far as traveling outside the country - something you would’ve enjoyed had you had more freedom to move since Mingi used his private jet and he was extremely generous with you and your expenses abroad. But today, KQ would be the meet-up point.

Yesterday, Mingi’s longtime friend, Jung Wooyoung, who also happened to be an investor, owed another company a favour and wanted some connections with KQ. You were surprised since Mingi hated short notices, but judging by the lecherous smirk on his face after that phone call, you’d say he didn’t mind. In fact, he seemed to look forward to it.

You tried not to squirm at the way Wooyoung stared at you through those sharp eyes of his. It wasn’t salacious, by all means, but it was extremely intrusive, like he was trying to read you from the inside out. It was unsettling, and you didn’t know how to avoid it, especially not when his hand started to play with your hair.

“I’m just teasing,” he chuckled. He gives Mingi a meaningful look before turning his attention back at you. “I’m just wondering what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a place like this, is all.”

The snap of a laptop being deliberately shut off is what got Wooyoung to momentarily stop playing with your hair.. Across the room, Mingi had already stood up, walking towards the corner of the office where he had a mini bar set up.

"There are birds that survive storms, Jung,” he murmured, pausing to pour brandy in his glass, swirling it slowly before taking a leisurely sip. “But they rarely survive entering another bird's nest."

You frowned, not really understanding the meaning or intent of what he just said. He sounded so nonchalant - uninterested, even - but the way his eyes bore into Wooyoung through his lashes had the latter blinking before stepping away, hands up in the air with mock surrender as a disbelieving laugh left his lips.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Wooyoung chuckled. “If I didn’t know you I’d have assumed that you preferred your birds to be made out of fine china, Song.”

Mingi just hummed. Wooyoung scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. “So, uh,” he pointed at the brandy Mingi was sipping on. “Are you gonna pour me one?”

“No,” Mingi deadpanned, putting the empty glass down before walking back to his desk. “As I recall, your hands were working perfectly fine earlier. Now, these,” he paused, pointing at the box Wooyoung had brought with him when he arrived. “What are these?”

“That? Oh,” Wooyoung shrugged as he helped himself to a drink. “Premium cherries straight from Japan. Heard that Mr. Yamada was very fond of them, which he better fucking like them because these cost me a pretty penny.” 

“I see,” Mingi murmured. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “Little doll?”

You were a bit startled at his sudden attention to you. “Y-Yes?”

“Come here.”

You hesitated, not fully sure what Mingi wanted. Ever since that tea incident, you’ve become more wary of him - more terrified since clearly, an audience was never going to stop him. However, that hesitance must’ve come off as helplessness because you saw Wooyoung’s eyes lit into recognition, immediately leaping to action to guide you by the arm towards Mingi.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to taste test them?” Wooyoung asked casually, raising a brow as Mingi opened the box, revealing the most perfect cherries you have ever seen in your life. You had to make an effort not to drool at the sight. Pretending you couldn’t see them was sad.

Even Mingi was impressed as he let out a soft hum. “Mr. Yamada doesn’t deserve a whole box.”

Wooyoung barked out a laugh as he returned back to the mini bar, leaning against it. “Yeah, I told him you despised tardiness. Even I’m getting pissed that he’s still not here.”

“Anyway,” he continued after taking a quiet sip of brandy. “Will Yunho assist you during the meeting? I didn’t see him in the lobby earlier.”

“Yunho isn’t needed. What I need is my translator,” he answered, eyes lifting up to you slowly. “And she’s right in front of me.”

The way he said it made your stomach tighten. Wooyoung paused, the surprise visible across his entire face. “Your what?” He asked, opening his mouth to say something again. “But—”

“Cherries are supposed to be off-season in Japan right now,” Mingi interrupted smoothly, taking one from the box carefully. “I’m surprised you even got your slimy hands on one box.”

Thick silence enveloped the entire room for a moment longer than what you deemed comfortable. Sometimes, you underestimated how tiring it was to feign sight - to stare at one space and pretend that the world wasn’t moving around you while you tried not to openly make eye contact with anyone because that’ll give you away instantly.

Then, Mingi’s gaze settles onto you. “Have you ever tried one of these?”

You frowned at the random question. “Cherries? Yes. The premium kind? Never.”

Mingi doesn’t respond, only humming in affirmation. Then, slowly, he lifted the cherry to his mouth. You ceased breathing then and there, barely stopping your knees from buckling under the weight of his stare. Heat crept up from your neck all the way to your ears as you watched his thick lips slowly envelope the red cherry with his saliva.

His eyes never left you as his tongue deliberately dragged against it, flicking the fruit left and right before he pulled the stem off with his teeth. It was unhurried and intentional, extremely obscene in the way he licked it with every second that passed between the two of you. Wooyoung could only watch, mouth parted, eyes comically wide in disbelief, but Mingi paid him no mind.

Instead, he leaned forward, plucking the cherry out from his lips to hold it towards your lips. “Open your mouth, love,” he murmured. “Try it.”

The initial disgust almost overpowered you, but refusing wasn’t an option. Reluctantly, you parted your lips to accept the cherry into your mouth. Across the room, Wooyoung let out the strangest little sound.

“Wait—” he squeaked, reaching his hand out instinctively, but it was too late. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, biting into his fists, visibly cringing at the inappropriateness.

All you felt was the instantaneous heat that spread through your body. Sweetness automatically burst into your mouth, but underneath that was an undertone that didn’t belong in cherries - mint. The taste hit you so hard that your stomach flipped. It was the same scent you always caught on Mingi’s breath whenever he got too close, which happened more often than not.

Mingi didn’t react - at least, not in the usual way he did. The smirk that was always plastered on his face whenever he did something heinous was missing and the amusement that always danced in his eyes was absent. Instead, his eyes were dark, gaze heavy with intent as something unreadable settled over his features.

It was almost possessive in a way that made your skin crawl, and somehow, that terrified you more than anything he’s ever done. “Good girl,” he whispered quietly, so quietly that you weren’t sure if you were even meant to hear it even though you knew it was for you.

The meeting did not go well. It wasn’t because Mingi had somehow screwed it up on purpose or the client lowballing him enough to make him angry - on the contrary, the meeting went terrific. No, the meeting went horribly for you, specifically, because Mingi kicked you out. Hongjoong was also present but he could tell something was amiss when he came in. Unfortunately, he was smart enough to go to Wooyoung, who had no problem whispering to him what just went down with you and Mingi. Hongjoong’s disgusted, but not surprised, expression was enough to make you want to disappear. 

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mr. Yamada was a raging pervert the entire time. He leered at you the entire time like he was undressing you and the discomfort made it difficult to stay still.

“You’re a beautiful thing, aren’t you?” He grinned, licking his lips in a way that made your stomach churn. “Does Mingi have a thing for hiring pretty translators?”

“T-Thank you,” you forced a smile. “Uhm, about the investments—”

“It’s too bad you’re blind, but I don’t mind. Why don’t you work with me, instead? I can already tell that Mingi doesn’t spoil you properly.” 

Your stomach churned further when he leaned back on his seat, eyes dragging all over you in ways that felt violating. But everybody’s eyes were on you, waiting for you to translate everything despite the way your body stiffened at every malicious stare this man gave you.

“You need better clothes, not these shabby ones,” he stated shamelessly, eyes dipping lower. “And those legs,” he paused to exhale through his nose. “Mingi’s an idiot. If you were with me, I’d dress you up nice to show off this delicate figure of yours…”

It was when his hand started to move to touch you did you actually panic. Suddenly, papers scattered all over the floor near you, making everybody pause. “Oh, geez,” Hongjoong muttered flatly, not even apologetic. “Terribly clumsy today, aren’t we, Jung?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung raised one brow as he stared at the Japanese pervert. “Yes, we are, Kim.”

Hongjoong crouched down to gather the papers, but not before shooting Mr. Yamada a look so cold that it had the older man withdrawing his hands. It was then that you released a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding in.

“Y/N.”

Your spine straightened instantly. That was Mingi. Your stomach dropped because you just realised that all throughout this, he had completely remained silent. “Y-Yes?”

“You’re dismissed.”

You paled. “M-Mingi,” you blurted out in surprise. As much as possible, you tried not to say his name in professional settings even though he allowed you to.  “I didn’t do anything, I swear—”

Mingi gave you a look that made your mouth shut immediately. “I won’t say it twice.”

And that’s how you found yourself walking out of the building with your thoughts spiraling in every direction. At least it was nighttime, you told yourself, sighing as you waited for the elevator. Pretty much all the employees have left and that meant that you didn’t have to stumble around pretending you couldn’t find your way out. For once, you could simply walk normally.

But as you were about to push the door open to leave, you cursed. You left some documents behind, ones you wanted to take home to work on since the deadline was in two days. Suppressing a groan, you begrudgingly turned around to go back to Mingi’s office, already dreading how embarrassing it was going to be.

That embarrassment soon transformed into utter shock when you heard a loud bang when you got to the office floor. You stopped dead in your tracks, eyes widened at how that sound exploded across the empty hallway. No, that can’t be, you thought. But there was no denying it - you knew that sound intimately.

You ran towards the sound before your brain could catch up, stunned at how you ended up right in front of Mingi’s office. The door was slightly ajar, just enough where you could peek in without being seen. You barely stopped the gasp from your lips as you covered your mouth in horror. There, on the couch, lay Mr. Yamada with his head hung at an unnatural angle. Standing over his body was Mingi, gun hung loosely in his hand, face speckled with blood. Your stomach lurched violently, because once again, you were looking at a murderer. Lucky for you this time, he didn’t know you were here. But you, you could see him. You could see how blank his expression was, like he didn’t just casually take another life like it was nothing.

“You out of your fucking mind or something?” Hongjoong asked with one brow raised, his voice breaking the silence that seemed to temporarily make everybody’s world stop for a second.

Mingi merely scoffed and Wooyoung barked out a laugh so hearty, it was almost contagious. “Jesus Christ, Mingi,” he snorted, walking away from the window towards the dead body, nudging the foot with his own. “Can’t believe this is how this old bastard went. Good riddance.”

You felt your knees weaken. No one looked shocked or even sick at the sight of a man getting shot and actively bleeding out against the couch. “Really, Mingi? This was supposed to be a null zone,” Hongjoong sighed, more inconvenienced than disturbed. “You couldn’t wait a few more days? Or, at the very least, get out of here?”

“For what? I’ve been meaning to off the bastard anyway,” Mingi paused to nudge Mr. Yamada’s shoulder with the gun muzzle. “He’s been on the shit list for a while, couldn’t really let the opportunity slip away.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with him eye fucking your translator now, would it?”

Your hand trembled violently against your mouth at the mere mention of you. Mingi plops down the couch, producing a cigarette and lighter out of nowhere. “Nuances,” he mumbled, exhaling smoke rings from his mouth up in the air. “I hate perverts, anyway. They’re very bad for society.”

The absurdity of that made you want to choke. Across the room, Wooyoung lets out another laugh. “Ah, yes. Because fuckers like you are the backbone of society,” he snorted, shamelessly opening the box of cherries to pop one in his mouth. “Anyway, why are you keeping her?”

Mingi doesn’t answer right away, inhaling another slow drag before exhaling. “I already told you why,” he replied, flicking the ash into a crystal tray. “The trail. I need to keep a close eye on her.”

Your heart stopped, coldness washing over your body. He knew. He’s always known. To be fair, if you recognised him immediately months ago, Mingi wasn’t a fool to not recognise you either, but hearing it made it ten times worse than it already was. Hongjoong immediately frowns. “Fuck’s sake, Mingi. She’s blind.”

That made Mingi pause. He turns his head, eyes darkened into something you’ve never seen before, one that made bile rise up your throat. “Is that supposed to mean anything?” 

“Song Mingi,” Hongjoong hissed. “There are rules to this—”

“Kim Hongjoong. Don’t test me, I may be in a good mood, but I’m warning you,” Mingi stated. The temperature in the room dropped instantly. His voice never rose, but something about it made your skin prickle. “Rules are suggestions until I deem them otherwise.” Heavy and uncomfortable silence followed. It was a subtle threat, one that made you understand why Mingi was to be feared in the first place. Mingi leaned back against the couch, his gaze fixed on Hongjoong, unblinking and calculated. The corners of his mouth twitched when Hongjoong sighed before looking away in exasperation.

Wooyoung tossed another cherry stem onto the table. “Christ,” he muttered. “She’s of no use to you, just let her go, you sadist.”

“Mhhm,” Mingi hummed, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Sorry,” he said. “Can’t do it.”

“Can’t?” Wooyoung echoed, eyes narrowed knowingly. “Or won’t? Does Yeosang even know?”

Mingi didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at him. Instead, he grabs a nearby cloth to wipe all the blood off of him. “Clean this up,” he ordered, standing up to adjust his sleeves. “I don’t give a fuck what Yeosang thinks. I’ll bust his head open if he has a problem with it. Anyway, I need a favour.”

“Don’t bother. He already knows and he’s not happy,” Hongjoong scoffed, gesturing towards Mr. Yamada. “What’s more important than dragging this piece of shit out here without being seen?”

“Of course he does, he’s Kang fucking Yeosang,” he snarled, tossing the bloodied cloth onto the corpse’s chest without a care in the world. “Go to the mall. You’re going shopping.”

You didn’t stay further, running to the exit as quietly and as fast as you can. By the time you reached the exit, your stomach gave out entirely, barely making it to the sidewalk before dropping to your knees and proceeding to vomit out everything you ate. Tears blurred your vision, your entire body shook, but the bile still burned your throat.

When you were done, you pulled out your phone, your trembling fingers barely able to dial the person you needed the most. “S-Sannie?” You squeaked when he picked up on the first ring, not being able to hold your tears any longer. “Can you pick me up from work?”

You didn’t know how you were going to return to work today pretending that everything was fine. You’ve thought about it over the weekend, drunk out of your mind with San convincing you to just quit at that point. He wasn’t wrong; you were working in a den full of monsters. But you knew there was no point - if Mingi found you once, he would find you again just as easily.

You were expecting to see Seonghwa or Mingi, himself, but to your surprise, there was no one, which was odd because you knew Mingi always arrived before anyone else. A part of you was relieved because you had no idea how you'd face Mingi but another part of you wanted to throw up because the office was pristine, no traces of anything heinous occurring at all.

A thought crosses your mind - would you be crazy if you tried to find some proof of Mingi's illicit affairs? You contemplated it. You couldn't pretend to be blind forever, it was getting harder because your emotions were getting difficult to contain, but you needed leverage in case he tried to do something to you - in case he decided that you weren’t worth keeping anymore.

With nothing to lose, you started rummaging through his drawers, careful not to mess anything up. The first few ones rendered nothing, until you got to the very bottom. There was only one folder in there. You frowned, picking it up and inspecting it. It was plain black with no company logo on it or any department, but it did have a label on it.

Confidential: High-Value Targets, and beneath it were the letters, K.O.S. Your brows furrowed, what the hell does that even mean? Opening it made less sense. Inside were names and dates, some of them crossed out, but before you could try to understand what this all meant, you heard voices right outside by the door.

“Hongjoong has sordid taste,” Seonghwa’s familiar voice stated. Your blood runs cold, nearly dropping the folder. “Christ, do I have to do everything around here? Promote me or something.”

As if things weren’t bad enough, you heard Mingi let out a short unimpressed sound. “Says you. Anyway, are you going home?” He asked, changing the subject.

You scrambled to put everything back into place, barely reaching the couch to sit on it as if you weren’t just snooping. “No,” Seonghwa scoffed as he pushed the doors open. “I have the gala to arrange—oh, Y/N, good morning,” he greeted warmly with a smile that always eased you.

But Mingi did not. Instead, his eyes lingered on you, assessing you more than usual, or was that your paranoia talking? Maybe not, especially when his eyes settled on his desk, then back at you. Your pulse climbed to your throat when Mingi shook his head, almost affectionately, a small smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth.

You thought he was going to say something about it, but instead, he turned to Seonghwa, relieving him of the several shopping bags hanging from his arm. “Wait, not this,” Seonghwa said, taking the smallest one before approaching you.

“Here,” he smiled, placing the bag on the couch beside you. “I stopped by that bakery we talked about one time and got reminded of you. I hope you like them, they’re just an assortment of pastries.”

Your eyes lit in surprise, touched that he even remembered such mundane information. “Seonghwa,” you said, heart squeezing in regret that you couldn’t express your thanks properly since you still had to pretend you were blind. “Thank you, really.”

Unfortunately, he had to leave after. Seonghwa had always been very kind to you, always sincere with his words and never tried to dupe you because you were ‘blind.’ The problem was, now you were alone with Mingi in the room. Nothing ever good came with being alone with Mingi.

For a moment, he simply observed you, but he, too, probably felt the weight of the silence. “You won’t be doing your usual work today,” he said.

You blinked, not expecting that at all. “What am I doing, then?”

Instead of replying, Mingi walks towards you and sets the bags down. You stiffened, the closer he got, the harder it became to control your expressions, and when his fingers gently closed around yours, your heart took a massive leap. He guided your hand forward, letting your fingertips brush against the bags. By the time he stopped, you counted no less than fifteen.

You gulped. No wonder Seonghwa looked so ready to drop them the moment he saw fit. “W-What am I touching?” You asked carefully, pretending you couldn’t see some of them - different arrays of clothes, all feminine, and all just about your perfect sizing.

“Clothes, lots of them,” he said, dropping your hand. “They’re all yours, precious.”

You stared blankly ahead. For a second, you genuinely thought he’d lost his mind. He sighed, nudging one of the bags with his foot. “There’s the annual gala tonight,” he began. “There will be a lot of future investors, clients, all that jazz. Then, the next day we have a short conference and an after party, so we’ll be staying in the hotel like last time. I already booked your room.”

“Okay?” You drawled, not quite getting what he was trying to insinuate.

His brows arched. “Okay?” He repeated, the mocking repetition making you want to slam one of the bags to his handsome face. “You’re coming with me. I kind of need you to translate.”

“No, I got that part,” you said, trying not to roll your eyes. “What I’m trying to understand is the excessive amount of clothes for one night.”

Mingi’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t mad, rather, he looked more offended than anything which was puzzling to you. “Excessive, you say? I think I can determine that, myself.”

“I...understand,” you said slowly. “It’s still too much. There’s no less than fifteen bags, Mingi.”

“And?” He raised an annoyed brow like you were insulting him by just pointing that out.

You blinked, opening your mouth before closing it, and then trying again. “It’s one night.”

“And?”

That shut you up. That one was sharper, his tone getting more pointed and snappier. You could see his patience visibly thinning by how his eyes have darkened. “Mingi,” you sighed. “Nobody needs this much for one night.”

A humourless chuckle escaped him. Shaking his head, he leans by the nearby desk, crossing his arms. “You seem to be under the impression that everything in there is just for tonight,” he pointed out. “There’s a variety of stuff in there. Dresses, work clothes, shoes, et cetera.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the quiet between you two stretching thin. These weren’t just bags anymore, they were a deliberate purchase catered especially for you. That was the part that bothered you more than the quantity - that Mingi bought all of these just for you. It felt like chaotic indulgence, and underneath the uncertainty, was something inside your chest that started forming, something your traitorous heart was getting harder to ignore.

“I can’t accept these, then,” you said firmly, deciding to stand your ground. 

That was not an answer he was expecting. You could tell you said the wrong words when something flashed across his face, gone so quickly you almost missed it. “Can’t?” He asked calmly, a little too calm than you liked. “What do you mean?”

You pursed your lips, thinking of what to say without aggravating him. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, precious,” Mingi cocked his head with a smile. It was thin, dangerously thin. “Please elaborate, Y/N. I must insist.”

You shifted uncomfortably, not willing to tell him the truth. You didn’t want to owe him, didn’t want anything tying you closer to him than you already were. You wanted distance and an escape route; a future where Song Mingi wasn’t going to be involved, and that included reminders of him even if it was the littlest of things.

Your silence was ticking him off. Mingi’s jaw flexed, it was barely noticeable, but enough to tell that you were beginning to irritate him. “I rest my case, then. I don’t see an issue with—”

“I do,” you interrupted. “This is ridiculous, Mingi—”

“Love.”

Now that actually shuts you up. The way he said it made it sound less like a nickname and more like a warning by the slight edge in his voice. But you weren’t going to budge even if the fear was slowly washing your resolve away. “I said what I said, Mingi. I can’t take them.”

“Hmm,” he hummed. His expression remained unreadable, but his stare had something darker flickering behind his eyes now. Immediately, the atmosphere shifts. You knew this feeling - the one where you’d accidentally stepped on a landmine and were waiting for it to explode.  

And maybe it did, because Mingi went from standing in front of you to his face inches away from yours. The couch dipped when he propped his knee, his entire upper body leaning over you, one hand bracing itself against the back of the couch beside your head, and you? You froze, trapped underneath him with nowhere to go.

You prayed he couldn’t hear how hard your stupid heart was thumping. He was close, far too close. His cologne immediately envelops you, and you hated it. Hated the fact that despite knowing exactly what kind of person Mingi was, your body automatically reacted to his presence. “U-Uhm,” you stammered like an idiot. “I don’t think—”

“You’re right, you don’t think,” he whispered, tone casual. “Because you seemed perfectly capable of accepting Seonghwa’s pastries earlier. You didn’t even have to think about it.”

That statement hit you so unexpectedly hard that you had to blink owlishly, mouth opening agape in disbelief. Maybe he wasn’t so casual about it, after all. For some reason, that statement carried a bit of a bite to it, a bitterness that felt entirely out of place for someone of Mingi’s personality as far as you’re concerned.

“B-But,” you stuttered, not really knowing what to say, before you cleared your throat. “That’s different,” you reasoned, gesturing to the bags. “That’s…different.”

“Is it?” Mingi asked, somehow looking more irritated even if his face was expressionless. Then, his other hand moved to your waist, his fingers deliberately settling themselves onto your skin through your clothes. “Tell me, then. I want to hear it.”

You gulped, body tensing in a way that you were positive he felt judging by the faint smile on his face. You hated the way your stomach tightened, hated how every nerve ending in your body suddenly became alive, hated even more how natural this all was to him as though he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain. It was getting difficult to breathe and you hated him for it. 

It felt like hours being underneath Mingi like this. The hand at your waist didn’t move, and if anything, it felt more and more present like a constant reminder of how easily he could invade your space if he really wanted to. “Look me in the eye,” he murmured, voice low and gruff.

You lifted your head, freezing at the last second. He almost got you there. You lifted your head, deliberately staring at something else like a blind person would. Mingi was still waiting, a small smirk on his face. “Wrong direction, doll. That’s my neck,” he chuckled in amusement. “Higher.”

A wave of humiliation ripples through you when you realised that you were, indeed, staring at his neck. But, you’d be damned if you looked him in the eye, so you settled on his lips. But that soon turned into panic when his hand started to travel up your waist. “No,” he murmured. “Higher.”

The moment he said that, his hand moved slightly higher as well. It makes your breath catch, your throat locking at how tense you felt. Your eyes flicker hesitantly, lifting up to his nose this time. “Higher, baby doll,” he repeated, voice going even deeper and rougher. “Higher.”

Something in him changed. It was subtle in the way his eyes cast a dark shadow over it, his breath getting shallower as his hand glided further up. A faint exhale escapes him, and you stop the squeak that almost left you when he bit his bottom lip lightly. Your eyes didn’t move, but his hand kept going higher and higher, right below your breasts.

Panic settled in and before you could think of your mistake and the consequences of it, you looked him straight in the eye like he asked, your eyes clearly holding fright as you stared at him. Mingi’s hand stops exactly on the curve of your tit, a couple of inches below your nipple. The both of you stared at each other for a long moment; a predator studying prey.

You weren’t in the mood to pretend, not right now. Mingi stared at the way your chest heaved up and down, the way your legs instinctively squeezed together. You shuddered at his touch, stifling any damning sounds, but it was when his hard started moving again that you snapped out of the daze.

“Mingi—”, you gasped, aggressively pushing his hand away. 

“What I give you is what you get,” he said, finally leaning away and putting distance between you. “And you’ll find yourself grateful for it.”

The statement hung in the air. It was neither a threat nor a promise, but somehow, that made it worse. At first, your mind reached for the most logical explanation, but maybe this was his way of controlling you in a way that made sense only to him. Your hands flexed at your sides without you noticing.

“You didn’t ask me,” you spoke.

“I didn’t think I had to,” he stated confidently, completely certain of himself. “Pick what to wear from the bags or I will. You don’t want that. The gala starts at seven.”

The gala was no less than glamorous. Everywhere you looked was filled with pretentiousness covered in glitz; polished smiles and conversations disguised as networking when in reality, it was just another ruse for some sort of power play. You hated every bit of it and you could not wait until you were back in your hotel room.

Unfortunately for you, this happened to be exactly the sort of environment where Mingi thrived in and you spent the majority of it being with him. The business itself wasn’t particularly exciting, still, you translated them all for him without complaining - all while resisting the urge to fall asleep in the middle of this bloody ballroom.

The irony wasn’t lost on you, though, because Mingi looked good tonight. Infuriatingly so. The black suit fit him perfectly, tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders and long legs, blonde hair pushed back to expose his sharp features that gleamed under the chandelier lights.

The worst part was that he looked like he belonged here. People flocked to him naturally. Sure, his status might have helped, but such was the charisma of one Song Mingi, really.

But despite the growing crowd vying for even a sliver of his attention, Mingi always found a way to pull you back. “Stay here,” he murmured, almost a warning, when you tried to wander off. 

Because God knows you wanted to. You needed to get away from him. The memory of what happened in the office earlier refused to leave your mind, and now, every time he stepped too close, the way his hand brushed your lower back to guide you through the crowd, and every time he leaned in to whisper something, your body immediately remembered.

But none of these surprised you - what actually bothered you was what Mingi wasn’t doing.

Turns out that there are some things that Mingi couldn’t even stand no matter how hard he pretends. Or, perhaps, you were the only one who noticed. Being around the blind makes people reveal themselves especially when they think nobody was there to watch. But you’ve always been here, mainly because Mingi had a thing for keeping you in check.

He hated being here, that much you could tell. Despised it, even. To others, Mingi looked the same, but you knew better. The way his eyes narrowed every time someone tried to talk to him was one thing, but his smirk was hollow and carried no weight, and his responses were beginning to get shorter and shorter as the night went on. 

His patience was wearing thin and that realisation was so fascinating to you. You’ve seen Mingi annoyed, amused, exploit, kill, but one thing you’ve never seen him be was be uncomfortable. The thought immediately makes you snort under your breath, and of course, Mingi notices.

His eyes narrowed, staring at you for a few seconds before he let out a long sigh, fingers slightly loosening his tie. “Do you need anything?”

The question surprised you, but the way he asked it almost created a big riff inside your chest. He wasn’t asking out of inconvenience, he looked like he actually wanted to ask you if you needed something. The thing was, the concern sounded so unnatural for him that you had a hard time conceiving an answer for him.

But you didn’t have to. Mingi was still waiting for an answer when, suddenly, his eyes darkened. The change in his body posture was subtle, but it was there. His back straightened, shoulders squared, and his chin lifted. You were stunned, you’ve never seen him like this before - not for investors, not for clients, and not for people who held twice the amount of power he did.

Someone was approaching and when that newcomer came in your line of view, you immediately understood why. This man looked like he should’ve been in a magazine cover, beautiful in a way that was not even fair. But that wasn’t what made you freeze - it was his eyes. They were cold, but not cold in a way that Mingi’s were. They weren’t sharp or predatory, they were just…cold.

This man was danger wrapped in silk to hide the rot underneath. The way he stood was restrained, his presence already squeezing your chest with unyielding tension. You understood why Mingi immediately tensed the moment he saw him.

“Yeosang,” Mingi greeted with a subtle nod. “Always glad to see you alive despite your efforts.”

You brows furrowed, the name tickling your brain to remember where it had heard it before. Yeosang returns the gesture. “Charmed,” he flatly stated. “My father isn’t happy, Mingi.”

You wanted to choke where you stood. That was it - no smile, no pleasantries, no nothing. Just straight into business. Mingi lightly scoffs, swirling his whiskey once before answering. “I would say that’s unfortunate, but it sounds to me that that’s his problem, and not my own.”

Yeosang stared at him for quite some time before cocking his head slightly. “You tainted the null zone,” he stated, expression unchanged. “Don’t mistake silence for approval. Though I must say, you’ve gotten…creative. I see you’ve also started including variables in your equation.”

The people around you blurred, and you were left stuck between two men who were clearly fighting for the upper hand even though you had no idea what they were talking about. “I aim to please,” Mingi shrugged, though you could see how tense he was. “It’s called adapting.”

Yeosang’s mouth curls into a small sneer. “Adaptable people know where the line is.”

But Mingi wasn’t having it. His eyes narrow into small slits, returning the glare with equal ferocity. “They also know when the line has moved.”

There was a pause, both men refusing to give out as they both stared at each other, communicating between their eyes. The measured silence was louder than all of the mindless chatter and ear-splitting music echoing in the ballroom and the discomfort was slowly creeping into your insides.

“What now?” Yeosang finally said, the taunting clear in his tone.

Mingi took another sip from his glass before setting it onto a passing waiter’s tray without even looking. “What else?” He jabbed in contempt. “I’ll deal with it. Like I always fucking do.”

Something flickered in Yeosang’s eyes, gone within the next second. Of course, Mingi notices. “Don’t even start,” Mingi said lowly, voice hardening. “Everything’s been done accordingly and neatly all within the given timeframe. You and I both know I’ve gone the extra mile way out of my area of responsibility every time. I have never failed. I never will. Not now, not ever.”

Yeosang scoffed. Your stomach begins to churn. Neither of them raised their voices or their fists, but this conversation felt more dangerous than any lingering violence you’ve witnessed. That statement earns the smallest reaction from Mingi. He lifts a brow, an action you knew too well - an action you knew was going to cost the nearest person he set his sights on.

“Is it not? My record says otherwise, Yeosang,” he said, voice sharpening on its edges. “I’ve been cleaning messes since the beginning. Run the reports and my every movement, I don’t care. Nothing’s off, nothing’s missing. So,” Mingi takes one step closer, enough to show that he wasn’t backing down. “Unless your dad has gone senile, then there’s nothing he can reprimand me on. He can talk to me, himself.”

For the first time, Yeosang’s expression shifts. It was subtle, but you could tell it was between disappointment and a warning. His gaze swept imperceptibly through the crowd before settling back on Mingi. There was pause before he finally sighed, his shoulders loosening visibly, eyes taking on something more human in them. “Don’t get too cocky,” he whispered.

A small smirk crosses Mingi’s face as he lets out a small huff. “You and I both know I’m not just someone. And about the…variable,” he said, eyes briefly landing on you before locking eyes with Yeosang once more. “It’s accounted for. But that’s not why you’re here. You didn’t approach me to criticise my methods.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he sets his sights on you, quiet but clinical. “You’re Y/N,” he stated.

You blinked, not expecting to be acknowledged by this beautifully dreadful man. As you were about to open your mouth to respond, for the first time since Yeosang approached, Mingi looked genuinely irritated. His hands suddenly grips your arm. It was neither tight nor gentle, but it was enough where you knew he was making his presence and intentions known.

“She is,” he answered quickly before you even could. Mingi doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but the pressure of his fingers slightly increases, but more than that, you could feel a slight tremble to them. You would even dare go as far as say that his hold felt desperate.

Yeosang’s eyes drop to Mingi’s hand, a slow, knowing smirk ghosting across his lips. But then, his eyes bore straight onto yours and your heart leapt out of your chest, too startled to look away. You immediately dimmed your eyes, hoping he didn’t notice how alert they were, but he kept staring, even slightly tilting his head as his penetrating eyes inspected yours.

“Huh,” he huffed in amusement, his mouth twitching at its corners. He sounded genuinely interested. “I’m impressed. Such tenacity. No wonder you’ve survived for this long.”

Mingi’s jaw shifts, his hold on you tightening once more before relaxing. Yeosang notices, his smile growing wider. “Don’t,” he warned. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Yeosang merely nods, but he all managed but two steps before stopping. You held your breath in anticipation, but what you weren’t expecting was for him to look back, eyes the softest you’ve seen. It wasn’t much, but it was enough where you thought you imagined the other version of him.

He reaches out, hand resting on Mingi’s shoulder, and by how Mingi didn’t flinch, you could tell it was a welcome and familiar gesture; almost comforting and brotherly, even.

Yeosang’s eyes settle on you briefly before he looks away. “I won’t tell if you won’t, Min,” he said quietly. Mingi managed the subtlest nod. Then, Yeosang was already gone. Approaching said table was the only thing left to do at that point.

And it wasn’t a pleasant experience. These people weren’t even predators; they were vultures and bottom feeders, just hovering over the weakest link before they did what they did best. It was revolting, and unfortunately for you, Mingi’s temper wasn’t helping.

He spent the entire time digging his fingers in to make these people bled, hooking in to let the pain fester more. Safe to say that being in the middle of this political fiasco was not for you in the slightest.

“As an outsider, what are your views on intelligence?” Mingi asked lightheartedly, though anybody with common sense can tell that his eyes said otherwise. It was awkward to translate that to the few people who didn’t speak the language, but you had to do it.

“I like how you never let facts get in the way of your opinions,” he whispered under his breath while another investor was explaining his plans for his company. The secondhand embarrassment of seeing the other man’s smile slowly fade and fumble to collect what was left of his social dignity was something you never wanted to witness ever again.

It wasn’t long before they started targeting you. It was to be expected - you were the weakest out of everybody in this table, the cripple, so to speak. If they couldn’t get to Mingi, they were surely going to take their frustrations out on the easy prey to salvage what was left of their egos. At first, they were polite about it, then they became just loud enough for you to hear.

“That’s the translator? My, so the rumours were true, after all.”

“But she’s blind. KQ couldn’t find anyone else that can at least look you in the eye?”

“I wouldn’t trust someone who can’t even see the people she’s negotiating with.”

Your fingers curled around your untouched champagne flute to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Imbeciles, you thought. You weren’t really blind, but of course, they can’t know that. You were playing the long game here and their words were nothing compared to the unknown of what would happen if Mingi found out. You didn’t even want to know. For now, you stayed silent.

But Mingi had different ideas. You and all the other patrons on the table flinched when his low chuckle pierced through the hushed conversations. “You know,” he started, gaze settling on the people who had questioned your abilities. “The funny thing about natural intellect is that it often doesn’t require sight.”

The implication was clear. No one spoke and a few nearby guests from the other table coughed awkwardly into their drinks. You were stunned into silence, your chest tightening as you watched Mingi take a sip from his glass, his posture as relaxed as ever. You wanted to believe that he meant something else - that he was doing this for his own interest - but you’d be lying to yourself.

One of the men who insulted you forced an awkward smile that looked like it was meant to be smug. “Ah, we were just curious,” he smirked. “KQ prides itself on excellence. I simply meant that eyesight is important in business.”

“So is a brain,” Mingi raised a brow, voice calm.

The dig was so pointed and deliberate that the people around were stuck in between snickering or stuttering in surprise, but the man’s face just reddened in embarrassment, perhaps in anger. “Come again?” He huffed in annoyance.

Mingi smirked behind his glass, scoffing softly. “All I’m saying,” he spoke calmly. “Is that I’ve met people who could see perfectly fine yet choose to be sightless. I’ve also met some who lost their sight along the way. I’m not sure who’s worse.”

His eyes lingered on every single face on the table long enough to make every single of them visibly uncomfortable. His words sent a shiver down your spine, so you turned to look at him, but he wasn’t looking at anybody else anymore. He was looking at you - no - he was looking through you. “Your entire existence has been led by your blindness.”

He continued, voice lowered enough not to be unheard, but enough to paralyse you because this felt personal. “And since you can’t see,” he paused as your pulse stumbled. “And the more nothing happens, the more dreadful it feels.”

A strange silence envelops the entire table. Some people gave an awkward laugh, but you barely noticed them, your focus entirely on the man beside you. This felt different. Every conversation you’ve had with Mingi felt like you were being hunted, but now? It didn’t even feel like he was mocking you for your blindness - it felt like he understood it.

Not the lie, but the fear of it and the suffocating uncertainty of not knowing whether or not he would finally do something drastic the next time you saw him. Your heart beat painfully against your ribs, and you couldn’t understand why because you should have been afraid.

So why did it feel like that the only person who seemed to perfectly understand the prison you’ve entrapped yourself in was the very same man who had built it?

You already knew that Mingi was detested being there - loathed the people around him, really - and that was fine, but even psychopaths like Song Mingi had their limits. You just weren’t expecting Mingi to act upon that unease in the most unconventional of ways. You shouldn’t be surprised anymore, yet somehow, you still were.

The water in the tub had long since gone cold but you had barely noticed. The bathroom was too quiet, especially in contrast with all of tonight’s events - the glittering chandeliers, forced smiles, conversations with hidden meanings, Song Mingi - all of it. The lavender scented bath salts that should have been calming, but they didn’t even work. Instead, you still felt sick.

You closed your eyes, but that was a mistake. Immediately, fragments of the evening flashed in your head. You sank deeper in the water to will yourself to think about anything else, but your mind refused. The last thing you remembered was running to your room after seeing Mingi and Wooyoung together in the emergency stairwell, but how did you even get there?

“Go to your room and rest, doll,” Mingi had spoken the moment he took you out of that suffocating ballroom. “You need it. We still need to attend the after party tomorrow.”

You absentmindedly played with the bubbles floating about, swirling mindless, abstract patterns with your fingertips. You remembered glancing at Mingi, reading to say your good nights, but he wasn’t even looking at you. Instead, he was staring at the ballroom doors, eyes fixed on it as if he was waiting for something to happen. You shivered at the memory.

“W-What about you?” You asked. “Are you not resting yet?”

He shook his head, gaze already down the hallway opposite the ballroom. “No. I’m going to smoke for a bit,” he flatly spoke, almost distracted. He grabs something from his coat pocket. “This is the list of people I need you to memorise for tomorrow,” he said, handing you a flash drive. “Go on. Jongho’s in the lobby to help you to your room. I’ll swing by later to get it back.”

You turned your head to the side where the flash drive lay on the pristine marble sink, still untouched, not knowing what exactly to do with it - not when you knew Mingi lied to you. You knew for a fact he didn’t smoke. So when he turned his back to walk away, you hung out but not because you were waiting for Jongho; no, you were going to see what Mingi was up to.

You should’ve just listened, because the next thing you knew, you were hidden by the staircase door, your eyes wide, mouth agape in fear and disbelief, watching Mingi’s smirk turn into a smug grin while Wooyoung grabbed him by the collar, eyes narrowed dangerously into slits, veins popping from his neck all the way to his temples in sheer anger. 

“Mingi, you piece of shit,” he seethed, voice scathing as he slammed Mingi against the concrete wall. “It was you, wasn’t it? I know it was you. The fucking gala is in shambles because of you.”

At that time you didn’t know it was related. When you were tailing Mingi, there was a sudden commotion that erupted in the ballroom when you passed it, panicked voices and frantic demands for an emergency hotline. The realisation made you pale, because now you knew why he looked at that door like he was waiting - because he actually was.

“Careful with the suit, Youngie. I happen to like this one a lot,” he murmured, not even bothered in the slightest. “Mighty bold of you to assume I had something to do with it.”

The playful, teasing investor who ate cherries was nowhere to be found. His usually warm face had darkened with rage, fists tightening even further against Mingi’s expensive suit. “Cut the bullshit,” he spat. “I was literally at the other table listening in while you were mouthing off to that dead trash.What the fuck were you thinking?”

The victim flashed across your mind almost instantly and your blood ran cold, realisation settling into your bones with horrifying clarity. Mingi had killed again and the one who died was none other than the executive who he spent the entire time digging into. And as if things weren’t bad enough, you saw a shadow approaching from the other side of the hallway. 

It was Jongho. He was about to open his mouth, but you hurriedly put your finger to your mouth, your teary eyes begging him to be silent and not speak while pointing at the staircase. His eyes widened, but luckily, he did exactly what you wanted and opted to stand beside you to listen in as well, though you think it was more because he was stunned into silence seeing you so panicked.

The both of you watched Wooyoung groan into his hands in sheer frustration before glaring at Mingi, looking like he was ready to throw him down the stairs. “God, Song Mingi, you just gave me a migraine and half,” he hissed, two seconds away from punching him. “Was he on the list?”

Mingi’s lips stretched at the corners. It wasn’t enough to be called a smile, but enough to show his canines. You remembered thinking how symbolic it was. “Oh. No, he wasn’t,” he replied.

Wooyoung stared, blinking twice like he had heard wrong. “I’m sorry?”

Mingi shrugged, casually straightening his tie. “I had no plans tonight, I genuinely wanted to leave this hellhole fast, so I wasn’t even going to do anything to the guy. He just pissed me off.”

Wooyoung stared more before exploding. “What?” His voice boomed through the entire staircase, loud and roaring, making you and Jongho both flinch at the intensity. “Mingi, that was blatant, you petty motherfucker—”

“I don’t get petty,” he interrupted with insulting calm. “I get even, Wooyoung.”

The amusement he had the entire time completely vanished. It was so unsettling. When Mingi looked back at Wooyoung, there was that terrifying cold that you only saw when he was in his murderous state.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” he said, holding Wooyoung’s gaze without flinching. “I’d have caved your skull in with my shoe for cornering me like this.”

Jongho’s breath hitched. Mingi wasn’t joking and even Wooyoung seemed to recognise that. For the first time since confronting him, hesitation crossed his face, but Mingi wasn’t done.

“This place,” he gestures randomly with his hands. “Runs on order, chaos, and my patience. If there’s a problem, it isn’t what I did. It’s what everyone thinks they saw. And I suggest,” he pauses, head tilting, menacingly so. “You make sure they’re looking at the right thing.”

Wooyoung paused, face settling into a dangerous realisation. You watched him take a step back, face reddening bit by bit as a newfound rage seemed to overcome him. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You play god to stay on top of that mountain of shit you’re sitting on and you expect people to just forget and hope their attention diverts towards something else?”

Mingi smiled a bit, genuinely amused by the situation. “You misunderstand me,” he said, taking a step slow enough to feel deliberate. “You think I killed my way here? Because anybody can kill. You certainly have. You think the man who kills the most gets to stay on top, Jung Wooyoung?”

The question was almost conversational and it had you and Jongho both holding your breaths. Wooyoung said nothing as Mingi’s eyes stayed locked onto his. “Listen to them,” he gestured towards the direction of the ballroom. “Half the room thinks he had a heart attack, and the other half thinks otherwise. But it doesn’t matter, because by tomorrow, every single one of those stories will be more useful to me than the truth. It’s always the little ants that help me stay up.”

His face had emptied with nothing but those dead eyes that stared through people rather than at them, but it was the way his voice remained calm - that was the terrifying part. There was no ounce of guilt in them. Mingi continued, voice dropping lower. “You see, before I built my network, I don’t announce my intentions to the anthill. Before I pull the trigger, I don’t explain myself.”

“You want to know why?” Mingi asked. Wooyoung's body tensed when Mingi stepped closer, jaw tightening when the taller man’s fingers brushed against his tie to fix it. “Because they’re ants, Youngie,” he declared, gaze sharpening dangerously, fingers twisting the tie, causing Wooyoung to choke out before letting go. “And ants are far below my understanding.”

The way he said it was soft, but the words landed like a blade. Mingi sighed, eyes drifting briefly towards the ceiling. “But the world is round,” he mumbled thoughtfully with an almost child-like innocence. “I could be the ant to someone else next time. But not tonight,” his eyes hardened when they returned to Wooyoung. “Because right here, right now, they are the ants.”

You finally understood something that terrified you more than the murders themselves - Mingi thought he was above these people and genuinely cannot imagine anyone changing the story he had already decided for them. You had to get Jongho out of here before Mingi realises he had another witness.

“Jongho, please,” you begged, grabbing onto his jacket. “Take me to my room.”

Jongho didn’t hesitate or ask any questions. His hands were trembling the entire time, you could feel it, and you could only imagine what was going through his head; to know that the boss he had admired for so long was a cold and calculated murderer.

The walk back felt impossibly long, but the moment you entered your hotel room, Jongho took a deep breath to prepare himself for the barrage of questions that he had for you. “Y/N, what the hell was that? I need to know—”

“I’m not blind,” you blurted out before you could help it. “I-I lied. I can see perfectly.”

And somehow between this revelation and the conversation between Mingi and Wooyoung, this one seemed to surprise him the most. You told him everything - how you had lied from the very beginning because you had accidentally witnessed Mingi doing the same thing months prior. And, knowing how smart he was, Jongho asked why didn’t you just leave or, perhaps, not accept the job offer, so you also told him about the company card and how Mingi found you through it.

Jongho nodded as he took the information in, but you could see how his face had paled as he tried to keep his composure. “He would’ve found you regardless of where you were,” he mumbled, more to himself, in realisation. “Y/N, this is fucked. All of this is. Does anyone else know?”

You nodded, telling him San, your best friend, knew. By the time you were finished, your voice had gone hoarse, hands trembling uncontrollably. Your chest, however, did feel a little lighter. Letting all of this out felt good for once even if saying it out loud solidified the danger wrapped behind it.

But as you stared at the way Jongho just stood there, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him; your chest felt lighter simply because you now had someone to share the heaviness with.

In the end, Jongho thought it was best to keep acting normal until the dust settles. “If anything goes wrong,” he said sharply through veiled concern as he was about to leave your room. “And I mean anything, you come to me. I have a spare room in my apartment you both could crash in.”

You could have cried. Jongho took it better than you ever did and finally - God, finally - you felt like you weren’t alone. The cold embrace of the lavender scented water you were submerged in didn’t feel so biting anymore. You were so engrossed and lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the bathroom door opening, though.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but not once in your wildest dreams were you expecting to see Mingi standing by the door of the bathroom. In your peripheral vision, you can see his breath hitch, frozen from where he was standing, just as startled as you were.

You racked your brain for reasons why Mingi would be in your room to begin with, but you saw him staring at the flash drive on your sink and it hit you. You forgot that he was supposed to take it.

He looked shocked. It wasn’t the subtle surprise you’d coax out of him once in a while or that morbid curiosity he always had. No, this was pure, unadulterated shock; one you’ve never seen on his face before. This wasn’t one of his calculated performances - he genuinely did not expect to see you like this, and for the first time since you’d met him, he didn’t know what to do.

He wasn’t the only one, you were so caught-off guard that you couldn’t even move and this was when reality set in. You were in a bathtub and you were wearing nothing. You could hear the slow drip of the water from the faucet, the faint hum of the air conditioner just outside this suffocating, the ringing in your ears - everything. And God, that thought was so unsettling.

You became painfully aware of your vulnerability; of your bare shoulders and legs exposed to the cool air, of the thin sheet of bubbles that covered what little of your privacy, and every instinct told you to cover yourself and to scream at Mingi to get out. But you couldn’t. Blind people didn’t react to people silently appearing in their peripheral vision. Blind people never had the need to sink lower in cloudy bathwaters to protect their dignity from someone they didn’t know was there.

So, you remained still, keeping your gaze unfocused, praying that your breathing and your wild heartbeat wouldn’t betray you. With shaking hands, you reached for the shampoo bottle, missing it a few times on purpose for the sake of normalcy. In the dim, yellow lights of the luxurious bathroom, you just hoped that your reddened cheeks and ears weren’t so visible.

Mingi still didn’t move, and even if he did, you were expecting him to walk away as quietly as he crept in, but this was Mingi you were talking about and he was anything but. You had to stifle the alarmed yelp that wanted to escape your throat when he slid inside the bathroom completely. If you were really blind, you would have been none the wiser; he was good at being unheard.

Your hands were trembling as you continued to shampoo your hair, all while he leaned his back against the wall. Your stomach dropped, was he going to stay here? You could feel your hackles rise in the silence. This was absolutely absurd, because at this point, it was just impossible to not feel each other’s presence. Mingi was right earlier - people do love to pretend to be sightless.

As if things weren’t disturbing enough, his eyes had gotten dark somehow, and through your peripherals as you dragged the washcloth over your exposed legs, you saw his breathing grow heavier, his chest rising up and down with so much difficulty that it was becoming hard for you to breathe as well. Whatever he was thinking, you did not want to know.

But it seems like you’d have no choice. You froze when you saw his hand going lower, inching towards the outline of his obviously hardened cock. You swallowed, reaching out for the faucet to turn the water just so the tension wouldn’t slice you in two, but that mistake would cost you. Mingi took this opportunity to use the noise of the running water to unbuckle his belt to lower his pants.

The sight of his exposed cock, hard and already dripping in precum, caught you off guard, causing you to accidentally lose your balance as you tried to sit back down. The mishap completely shifts the hazy bathwater around, the bubbles sloshing around at the ripples, completely exposing you in your entirety. Just like that, the atmosphere turned sinister.

Song Mingi was jerking off at the sight of you bathing. You wanted to throw up, utterly disturbed at the turn of events. You were trapped; acknowledging him would mean seeing him, and hiding yourself would also mean seeing him.

Act normal, you told yourself. But to be fair, even if you weren’t pretending to be blind, how does one react normally to this?

A shaky exhale came from Mingi, the sound of it loud to your ears over the running water. He wastes no time wrapping his hands around his cock, stroking it slowly, eyes roaming greedily at your plump tits glistening with soap as you tried to rinse yourself. Subconsciously, you bit your lip, and it doesn’t escape your attention how his hand tightened around himself.

You shivered, not being able to stop the small whimper that left your lips. Fuck, you thought helplessly, your own body betraying you as the tingles went from your spine all the way down to your nether regions. It was stomach-churning and tears threatened to fall from your eyes because you were getting utterly, disgustingly, turned on by all of this.

No, this wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. But there you were, gripping the edge of the bathtub so hard your fingers ached as Mingi’s eyes rolled back in pleasure at the slow, deliberate strokes he was giving himself at the sight of your nakedness. You weren’t supposed to feel like this, you weren’t supposed to feel stuck between a cliff where jumping down would mean giving in.

You grabbed the washcloth again, dragging it across your belly before the cloth dipped lower, spreading your legs, but stopping midway. You didn’t even realise what you were doing, and God, you were about to be sick.

But, fuck, you needed something. You swallowed, you were just cleaning yourself. Every section needed to be scrubbed, right? Nothing out of the ordinary.

You bit your lip as you finally dragged the cloth lower as you washed between your legs, spreading your thighs a little wider under the water as your fingers brushed your clit, going back and forth to make sure you were thoroughly clean. You closed your eyes, focusing on the delicious onslaught you desperately needed down there rather than the bile rising up your throat.

Mingi’s breath hitched and his pace quickened. You could see his fist going faster, his movement more urgent. He was watching every move you made, the way your fingers clenched around nothing as you rubbed the cloth there again, pretending and telling yourself that it was just routine bathing. You really shouldn’t be doing this.

His breathing turned ragged, his hand moving in quick desperate strokes, low groans barely contained, but just when you thought he was about to come, Mingi stopped. He closed his eyes, taking in slow but big gulps of air as he tried to contain himself with great difficulty if the veins popping on his neck weren’t telling.

You were confused, and thought of being confused made the bile in your throat rise even higher. This was so messed up. But you kept your expression neutral, eyes unfocused as you continued to wash yourself. And just as sudden as he came barging in your bathroom, he hurriedly tucked himself back in his pants, grabbed the flash drive on your sink, and left quietly.

When you heard the front door clicking shut, your lungs finally remembered how to work. You hurriedly turned the faucet off, drained the tub, and quickly got dressed, all in the span of not even five minutes, to sit on the bed. Every muscle protested as you slowly relaxed and you didn’t even realise how rigid you were the entire time until you felt the softness of the bed.

Your shoulders slumped in relief. Mingi was gone, and of course, you were relieved. So why did the room suddenly feel so empty? Your throat tightened, replaying the scenes over and over again like cinema credits that went on forever. You hated every second that his eyes devoured you, didn’t you?

You shook your head at that wretched thought, waiting for the correct answer in the expanse of your dark, luxurious room, but it didn’t come. Instead, another realisation crawled into your mind like poison. You didn’t want him in the bathroom, you knew that, but your body…

You barely reached the toilet before you were retching over it in painful heaves, your lungs burning terribly as nothing came out. You felt sick, not because of the thought of Mingi, because of the way your body responded on its own in his presence. The thought disgusted you, made you want to peel your skin off and flush it down the toilet.

Tears fell down from your eyes before you could help it. You told yourself that you were always going to see through this and not let Mingi get to you.

Yet there you were, hands on your face, sobbing and wondering whether or not he already had.

Sleep never found you that night. Sanity had long left you. Sentience was something of the past for you. Sensation swallowed reasons whole. Someone said your name, but you barely stirred. Sex on the beach tasted pretty bland in this afterparty, swirling it didn’t make it better either. Smiles spread across the room, and sobriety stood no chance finding you tonight.

“Easy on the cocktails,” Jongho murmured beside you, or rather, shouted above the loud music in the background. “Mingi’s going to suspect something.”

“Let him,” you deadpanned, downing more cocktails than you could ever take.

Not tonight. You needed to get drunk to forget what happened last night. And speaking of that, the morning after was the most awkward moment of your entire existence yet. Mingi knocked on your door to remind you of the party, but he looked fine, pretty much the same asshole he usually was.

In essence, you were the only one messed up while he was pretending like nothing happened and the thought made you angrier than it usually would have.

Maybe trauma had finally broken something inside you, or perhaps, living under Mingi’s constant intimidation and fear rewired your instincts into something else. Whatever it was, you absolutely hated it. Whatever. You weren’t here to party like everyone did, and the moment you got back home, you had made up your mind to talk to San about Jongho’s offer for safety and shelter.

Tonight was easy, though. It’s like all these snobbish elitists who pretended that the gala actually contributed to society wanted to let loose like they had the right to when every hypocrite in there and their mothers knew that everything was just a farce. Mingi hadn’t called for you at all. Good, you thought. It wasn’t like you wanted to see him; not after last night.

In fact, he hadn’t even looked your way once. You were positive of that even in the paradigm of how these backwards parties worked, so why did your skin feel like it wants to separate itself from your body? The way it prickled made you want to dig your fingernails in and scratch that unbearable itch until you reached bones and nerves.

He was like a ghost that lingered but never really stayed; a spectre of your inevitable downfall. He was everywhere, but nowhere at the same time. At least, not that your eyes could see. You could feel his eyes on you, but you knew for a fact that he was networking with investors as of the moment. You could feel him, not physically, but instinctually. You downed your drink in one go. Your senses have definitely left your mind. You felt delirious - paranoid. You rubbed your forearm, willing for that itch to go away, but it didn’t help. Whatever this was felt possessive—no, obsessive. It wasn’t until you felt fingers tap your shoulder that you snapped out of the chasm you jumped into. 

You blinked. It was a man, dressed to the nines and out to impress, already tipsy judging by the slight sway in his stance, an unpleasant grin plastered to his face like he deserved the attention he wanted from anyone.

“There she is,” he grinned, the horrible smell of alcohol and his pungent cologne invading your nose. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now.”

You forced a polite smile, your eyes dulling by itself not to pretend you were blind, but because you were genuinely not in the mood to act around pompous pricks when you already had so much in your head.

“My apologies,” you said, not even bothering to sound sorry at all.

His eyes traveled all over your form in ways you didn’t appreciate, his tongue poking out of lips, nodding in appreciation as if you were produce he wanted to purchase. Disgusting. “My, such pretty face for someone blind,” he clicked his tongue. “All wasted for Song Mingi.”

You immediately bristled at the insinuation. It was bad enough that you had to deal with the devil that was Mingi, himself, but you also had to deal with assholes like these who reduced you to what they thought you’re worth rather than what you’ve achieved. God, they made Mingi look like a saint because at least Mingi actually respected your job title and praised you for it all the time.

Jongho frowned. “With all due respect, Sir—”

The man cut him off with a dismissive wave. “I can make you see stars tonight, if you’d like,” he offered lasciviously, reaching out to you when he saw you stiffen. “You don’t need to be shy—”

An arm snakes around your waist, firm and certain, and you freeze before your body calms down. You didn’t even have to look, and the fact that you already knew who it was as you melted against him instinctively without thinking made you sick to your stomach. Mingi held you close, possessive without squeezing your waist, staking his claim without opening his mouth.

The other man’s smile falters and it was when Mingi spoke. “I see you’ve found yourself another friend, my little dove,” he said smoothly, dipping his head lower until you felt his breath against your ear. “Are you having fun?”

You shivered at the sensation, at his cordial and polite tone despite the way his eyes said otherwise as he fixated on the other man. He was completely devoid of warmth even though his skin left yours on fire. The other man took a cautious step back. You supposed that you weren’t the only one who could feel when Mingi was looking at them.

Mingi pulls you to the side, effectively seating you next to Jongho. “It seems our little friend here needs attention,” he mused, squeezing your waist possessively as if touching you was second nature to him.

He grabs your chin, turning you to him. “Be good for me, love,” he whispered. You gritted your teeth to stop that pleasurable zing up your spine. “Watch her,” he then told Jongho.

Jongho nodded dumbly, looking at you with wide eyes when Mingi turned back to the man, alarm clear on his expression that mirrored your own. The other man cleared his throat in an attempt to recover whatever dignity he lost, if he had one to begin with anyway.

“My apologies,” he began awkwardly. “I wasn’t aware that your employee was so…sensitive.”

What a piece of shit, you thought bitterly. He didn’t get what he wanted from you so he resorted to belittling you. “She seems to have misunderstood my intentions,” he continued, chuckling.

Mingi’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t think so,” he stated bluntly, not bothering to mince his words like he usually did. The man blinked, surprised at the turn of events, but Mingi’s gaze settled on him with that unnerving calm you knew too well. “Just because my translator cannot see you,” he paused, letting the words sink in. “Never meant she cannot hear you.”

You felt your gut tighten. While you appreciated his defense towards you, that didn’t really make your situation with Mingi better. He knew you were aware of everything he did, yet he chose to play games and test your sanity for months, so what did that say about him? The other man merely laughed, apparently - or choosing - to miss the point entirely.

“Well, perhaps I could make it up to her. Take her to dinner and maybe more, if you catch my drift,” he offered, that salacious grin still on his smug face. Jongho stiffens beside you, his usually kind eyes morphing into a glare so fierce that it could have rivaled Mingi’s.

Unfortunately, this man must’ve brought only half his brain because he didn’t stop there.

“Maybe I could shoot my shot with her,” he grinned, winking conspiratorily at Mingi as if this was an inside joke between them. “Plant my seed in her, you know what I mean?”

Mingi didn’t reply, yet the air around him changed so drastically, it was almost suffocating. His expression remained unreadable, but the quiet amusement in his eyes completely vanished. He nodded like he was agreeing. You swallowed. You learned enough about him to recognize that this was not a good sign. This was worse than him shouting. Much, much worse.

Then, in a whisper so soft that you were positive that you were the only one who heard it because nobody was meant to hear it, Mingi had barely let the words out of his mouth.

“What if I plant a bullet between your eyes, instead?”

Your blood froze, but the executive merely frowned. “Huh?”

“Hmm?” Mingi hummed in polite confusion, feigning innocence.

“Oh,” the man laughed nervously. “I thought you said something.”

A faint smile tugged at Mingi’s lips. “Must have been the wind,” he shrugged lazily.

But you couldn't take any of this anymore, so you excused yourself and said you were going to have fun on the other side of the venue with Jongho who immediately understands that you just wanted to get away. Mingi just raises a brow and cocks his head for you to go, but you hardly moved an inch before his hand wrapped around your wrist. He reeled you back without warning, your body colliding with his.

His other hand found the back of your neck, broad fingers spreading possessively beneath your hair. He held you there not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you that if he wanted to keep you exactly where you were, he could. His thumb stroked the nape of your neck in slow, deliberate passes.

“Stay where I can see you,” he said. There was no hint of any teasing in his voice, just firm and reminding. “I’d hate to have to come looking for you.”

Because I will.

Those were what his eyes were telling you as he let go, gesturing to the crowd to give you and Jongho permission to have fun. And you tried, you really did, but you couldn’t even move without your knees feeling strangely unsteady. Even at a distance, you still held your breath inside your lungs, unable to let it go no matter how much you tried.

Eventually, you had to tell Jongho that you needed to go to the restroom to get some space and hopefully refresh yourself, telling him ‘no’ when he offered to take you.

Snap out of it, Y/N, you told yourself in the subdued lighting of the ochre-themed restroom, splashing your face with a generous amount of cold tap water. Gripping the marbled sink with your trembling hands, you looked up at your reflection, watching droplets of water fall slowly from your exhausted face.

A shaky exhale leaves you. trying desperately to focus on anything except the lingering grip of Mingi’s fingers on the back of your neck. The bathroom ultimately felt too suffocating, plus staying wasn’t an option anyway - the last thing you needed was for Mingi to stay true to his threats. However, you barely made a step out when you felt yourself being slammed to the wall.

It was disorienting, and there was only one bastard who had the audacity to do that to you, but as you were about to give him a piece of your mind, another man’s voice spoke.

“You took forever in there,” he sneered, a dark undertone curling up his tone. “I thought I had to drag you out, myself.”

You froze, true fear crawling up your spine. You looked up, getting pale when you realised it was the same man from earlier who was hitting on you and now, he looked more drunk, more aggressive as he squeezed your arm painfully. “U-Uhm, you’re hurting me—” you tried to say.

“Mingi’s looking for you,” he interrupted, the pain shooting up further from your arm to your shoulder when he started dragging you towards the crowd without even waiting for you to say anything. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

You were having a difficult time keeping up with this man. The way he kept a tight grip on your arm felt different from the way Mingi had done. This one felt forceful and right, you would’ve traded anything for Mingi to be the one doing it instead because your arm genuinely hurt.

But as you stumbled, you quickly sensed that something was wrong when the music started to fade behind you, and by the time you realised that, the man had already pushed you outside.

Blood drained from your face. He had deliberately taken you out from the back where no one would come looking. “No,” you resisted, planting your feet as hard as you could on the concrete, flailing and trying to twist your arm free from his hands. “Let go of me—”

You cried out when you saw that he was trying to drag you to a lone car parked near. You clawed useless at his wrist to pry his fingers away, but this earned you a backhanded slap so hard, your head flew back.

“Shut the fuck up and get in the fucking car,” he hissed, hand shooting up, digging painfully into your jaw when you, one you couldn’t fight off because of the overwhelming nausea from him hitting you. “Or I’ll break your arm. I don’t mind fucking you with broken bones.”

Just as he was about to shove you inside his car, the back exit door slammed open so hard, it bounced off the walls in a loud echo. You slumped on the side of the car when the man’s grip loosened, wanting to just close your eyes and give in to the disorientation, but your eyes settled on the familiar figure up ahead - black suit, broad shoulders, blonde hair.

And when your eyes eventually cleared up to see who it was, you couldn’t stop the tears that fell. You’ve seen Mingi with all sorts of emotions, but not panic so raw, real, and unfiltered. His gaze swept all over you - your trembling hands, the bruise on your arms, your buckling legs.

Then, he settled on your face and the relief that washed over him was so immediate that it sent more tears down your eyes. He really was coming to get you no matter what, just like he had said.

The sight of your tears snapped Mingi out of the emotion he momentarily slipped into, burying it beneath something more infinitely dangerous.

But you couldn’t take it anymore, closing your eyes to let the darkness overcome you because you knew that whatever happened next, Mingi wasn’t going to let this man take you away.

Touch was the first thing you felt when you came to. Gentle fingers carefully gathered your hair, tucking the loose strands behind your ears. Mingi’s eyes were the first thing you saw the moment you opened your eyes, their usual sharpness dulled ever so slightly, his features softer somehow. You didn’t even move when his thumb brushed your swollen cheek.

Neither of you said anything, afraid of crashing this solemnity you rarely found with each other. This couldn’t be the same man - Mingi was highly intelligent and sarcastic, cunning in his ways and malicious in his murders. He likes winning conversations, gets irritated when challenged yet rarely explodes, and loves making people walk themselves into traps.

But most importantly, you knew he found you entertaining in every calculated torment he put you through. Yet here he was. His touch was careful enough that it almost frightened you.

Finally, he sighed softly, leaning away. “You’ll be alright,” was all he said. “Stay here. I’ll be right back to drive you home. I won’t be long, so I’d appreciate it if you stayed put.”

You didn’t even realise that you were currently in his car until he got out, closing the door softly so as to not startle you. You were going to pretend that didn’t happen. “W-Where are you going?” You blurted out, suddenly afraid to be alone. “Wait, the man from earlier—”

“Lock the door,” he cut off with maddening calm, staring at you for a second too long before he walked away, not bothering to look back. Having no choice, you did as he said. Another wave of exhaustion runs through you and before you knew it, you were once again dozing off.

Something must have startled you awake, though, with how you jerked slightly in your seat and judging by the embarrassing amount of drool pooled on your shirt, you must’ve napped for a while. And yet, there was still no sign of Mingi back in the car with you.

You frowned, looking at the direction where he’d walked away, your brows rising when you realised he walked into a dark, unmarked building. Immediately, something in your gut told you that something was wrong.

And like every bad decision you’ve made so far, you found yourself walking in, your footsteps impossibly loud despite how careful you walked. You were about to turn around when nothing came around when you heard voices ahead.

Gingerly, you pushed through nervously until you found yourself situated in a blind spot above a stairwell that overlooked an empty storage area.

Well, mostly empty except for two chairs where two men were bound and restrained. One of them had a gag on, wet with tears and wasted saliva, and the other one was pleading from his life while Mingi bunched his hair up in his fist. The blood drained from your face, not from what you were seeing - you were used to catching Mingi in the act. An unfortunate topic for another day - but because one of them looked very, very familiar to you.

The man who Mingi was facing was the very same man who had tried to take you earlier, his expensive suit tattered, one of his eyes already forming a nasty bruise.

“You said you’d let us go,” his panicked voice cracked. “I-I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

Mingi tilted his head. It was terrifying, really, how he regarded them with the same detachment he’d wear while reviewing quarterly reports. “Why do you sound like that? Did you miss puberty?” He asked nonchalantly. “I’m struggling not to put a bullet in your brain, so tread very carefully.”

Silence. Even you were holding your breath. “I can handle people trying to find me and try to kill me once in a while,” he continued, almost conversational. “People like you will keep going to either find nothing at all or even get to me if your stars are aligned properly.”

The man hissed in pain when Mingi seized him by the jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. “But you did honestly think that I’d be caught unawares?” He hissed, anger bleeding into his voice, a rare one that you’ve never heard.

“Now, riddle me this,” he said, drawing a pained gasp from the man when his grip tightened. “Would you have been luckier to find nothing…or to find me?”

A broken whimper escapes the man when Mingi lets go. Above them, your fingers curled so tightly around the railing that they ached. Every instinct screamed at you to leave, but your body refused to listen. “I won’t do it again, I was just paid to do this, I swear, I’ll leave you alone. Hell, I’ll even leave town—”

“Oh, that’s not what you’re here for,“ Mingi rolled his eyes. “See, I’m a wise man. I don’t waste time with people like you. I pay people for that. You crossed a line that wasn’t yours to touch, let alone force. I did not like that. I did not appreciate it.”

The captive's face had gone ghostly pale. His shoulders shook against the restraints, and he strained forward as if getting physically closer might somehow make Mingi believe him. “Look, I’m sorry. Sometimes, you can’t help but follow the scent of sweet fruit and resist not taking a bite,” he laughed nervously. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Mingi’s composure fractures a bit. He turned away slightly, dragging a hand slowly down the lower half of his face as though physically restraining himself from acting on the rage threatening to spill over. The man gestures towards the other captive. “He could tell you who paid us—”

“I don’t care who paid you,” Mingi snapped, words clipped by an anger he was making no effort to hide anymore. His eyes had gone frighteningly cold, but beneath them burned something raw and visceral. You had to bite down your horror when Mingi produced a knife out of nowhere and stabbed the man’s hand, pinning it on the armrest. “Those details don't matter much to me.”

The man’s bone-chilling howl drowned out your panicked, laboured breaths. You had almost forgotten how truly sadistic Mingi was; how little he cared for human life. “I didn’t mean,” the man choked out desperately as if his blood would stop flowing. “I-I swear, I didn’t know—”

“You knew enough,” was all Mingi said, quietly wiping his hand with a cloth before haphazardly tossing it away. Mingi regarded for a long moment before walking to the other man, still gagged but now with more tears and terror in his eyes.

“And you,” he scoffed, crouching until they were eye level. “I’ve been meaning to get to you for a while. You’ve made my boss into a fool chasing a pest like you. Imagine my luck when I found out you and this bastard here were connected.”

Mingi chuckled, slinging an arm around the gagged man while he stared at the other. “I’ll give you two options. See, my boss needs proof that I did my job. You understand that, don’t you?” He smirked, echoing the other man’s words from earlier.

“It’s simple. I need fingers and a tongue,” he pointed to the bloody knife. “You decide if you want your fingers to go or his,” he clapped the gagged man’s back. “Or vice versa. I’ll let you live. If not, then I suppose I must kill you.”

His shoulders caved inward as pleas poured from him in broken sobs, begging until his voice cracked into something almost unrecognizable. And Mingi listened, or rather, allowed the noise to happen.

Finally, the man caved and with shaking fingers, he reached for the knife before a strangled cry ripped from his throat as he pulled the blade free. You recoiled instantly, one hand flying to your mouth, stomach lurching so violently you thought you were about to throw up.

You watched Mingi smile. “Go on,” he murmured almost encouragingly, as though coaching someone, not caring that the man shook in pain. “You’re doing great. Don’t lose your nerve now. If you do it fast enough the pain will be over before you even knew it started. ” 

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. You wanted to run. You wanted to scream. The captive drew one ragged breath, lifted the knife with an unsteady hand and just as he was about to land a hit, the heavy door on the opposite side of the room swung open. The man's hand froze midair and even Mingi turned. Your heart stopped. Someone else was here.

Seonghwa’s steps faltered, his eyes sweeping across the room like he walked into a scene he never expected. For one fleeting second, relief crashed over you so hard, your knees almost gave out. Seonghwa, who was gentle with his smiles, always remembered your pastries, and always cared for you, could stop Mingi. Unfortunately, the hostage took this distraction to move.

“Don’t move,” he threatened, fear thick in his voice despite the way he grabbed his other companion to wrap his arm around him, knife dangerously close to his neck. “I swear to God I’ll slice his neck. You won’t find out who paid us to kill you, Mingi, if you touch me.”

You needed to warn Seonghwa. You didn’t need Mingi targeting him next for being here. But before you could think further, a gunshot rang out. You jolted at the sound, and for one second, you couldn’t understand what was happening, that is, until you looked closely.

The captive remained standing, eyes wide and knife still raised, the gagged man he’d been using as a shield collapsed at his feet. He was dead, a bullet tearing clear through his heart.

Seonghwa stood with one arm extended, a pistol resting comfortably in his hand, smoke still drifting from the barrel. “Not much of an upper hand now, are you?”

He tilted his head rhetorically as if mildly inconvenienced. It all happened in a split second - the man barely had time to open his mouth before Seonghwa shot again, clean between the eyes, sharp and precise.

He let out a sigh, not even bothering to look at the corpses, before shooting a glance at Mingi. “I distinctly remember telling you not to play with your food,” he clicked his tongue, casually putting the gun down a nearby table. “Did Yeosang actually ask for proof? Which one was on the list?”

Mingi snorted, pointing at the man who was shot first. “No, not really,” he admitted, amused at the questions. “I’m a man of my word, though. I meant it when I said they’d live. Why?”

Seonghwa didn’t reply. Instead, he stood to retrieve the knife, turning it over between his fingers. “I’m bored,” he shrugged, voice pleasant. Though his eyes showed otherwise, a glint so sinister the knife couldn’t compete.

You had to shut your eyes when Seonghwa grabbed one of the corpses’ hands and went to work, putting your hands over your ears to drown out his cheerful whistling and the unpleasant sound of squelching blood and metal crushing bones.

This wasn’t Seonghwa - the man hacking away body parts methodically like he did this everyday was not your friend. The illusion shattered so violently that it hurt you more than Mingi had ever done because at least Mingi never pretended; he had shown you exactly who he was from the beginning.The tears came before you realised it, the grief far worse than fear. It was absurd to mourn someone who was still here, but perhaps, the friend you knew never existed to begin with.

Mingi watched him for another second before speaking. “No remorse for the guy?”

Seonghwa didn’t even bother looking up. “I wouldn’t pee on him even if he were on fire.”

Mingi raised his brows, more in fascination rather than blatant surprise, an amused whistle escaping through his teeth. “You’re evil,” he grinned, shaking his head.

Seonghwa let out a laugh, a real one that made his eyes crinkle. “That may be so, but I’m not as cruel as you,” he retorted lightheartedly, lifting a finger to signal men to drag the corpses away before continuing. “The translator shtick was creative, I’ll give you that, but not slipping once in your mother tongue after months of working together?”

He chuckled, shaking his head in vague admiration. “Incredible discipline. Shouldn’t have expected less from the Song Mingi, himself,” he tilted his head thoughtfully, something knowing glinting in his eyes. “It’s either discipline…or obsession.”

Your blood froze. No, you desperately thought. Your heart already knew what Seonghwa meant, but your mind refused to accept it, and it still hit when Mingi spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugged innocently, replying in flawless Japanese. “I did need a translator. My Mandarin is pretty shitty, if I may say so myself.”

Seonghwa scoffed, rolling his eyes, fully offended at what he had just heard. “Don’t bullshit me, Mingi,” he replied in perfect, natural Mandarin. “You may not be fluent, but you’re decent enough. God, it’s been years and the way your mind functions still baffles me sometimes.”

Something inside you cracked open. Mingi never needed you. Everything crashed into you with suffocating force. He watched your panic over carefully chosen words all because he wanted to. He stared at Seonghwa for the longest moment before letting out a laugh, shooting his hands up in faux innocence as if he was caught stealing from a cookie jar. “You got me,” he mocked. “You said it yourself. My food, my rules. I get to play with it whenever I damn well please.”

Seonghwa’s amusement vanished. It was gradual, just enough for something infinitely more dangerous to settle on his face. “Careful, Mingi,” he started, inhumanly flat. “That food you’re referring to is Y/N,” he paused. He spoke your name with so much gentleness. “And I happen to like her very, very much. You’re not the only one with eyes, Mingi, so I’d watch your back if I were you. I’ve seen you play with her for way too long and I won’t stand by it anymore.”

The ease drained from Mingi’s posture first, the lazy tilt of his head disappearing, his eyes shifting into something far more terrifying than you’ve seen it. For the first time since you’d met him, Mingi looked genuinely angry. “Park Seonghwa,” he began, taking a measured step forward. “There are some things I tolerate, and some things that I won’t. You can borrow my car and you can raid my liquor cabinet. You can even take tens and thousands from my bank account.”

He paused to take more steps. “And I wouldn’t care,” he continued. They stood so close that their faces were mere inches away. “You can take anything you want, but you better not steal from me,” he seethed quietly. “Do not stand before me and tell me you’re entertaining thoughts you have no intentions of surviving. Because I won’t let you. Don’t take my goodwill for granted.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, pushing Mingi away. “Don’t piss me off. You already burned through every ounce of my goodwill when you shot Yamada in my fucking office on my favourite couch?” Seonghwa snapped, voice rising higher, unable to reel in his annoyance. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to keep the Kangs happy after that stunt, you disastrous son of a bitch?”

“Anyway,” Seonghwa sighed before his voice softened, and for a second, you couldn’t help but still see that friend you’ve come to like, especially knowing that he felt a little differently for you. But only for a second. “She’s been through enough tonight. Leave her alone. She looked so peaceful sleeping in your car when I passed by it earlier.”

Mingi shook his head, almost fondly. “No, she’s not.”

Your lungs seized inside your ribs. You subconsciously took a step back, hoping that he was speaking in tongues and doesn’t actually believe you were gone. Seonghwa frowned, his eyes following Mingi as he began to walk towards the exit. “You don’t know her like I do, Hwa,” he chuckled, reaching for the door. “By now, she’s probably long gone. You’ll be lucky if you even see a lick of her shadow at work this week because she’ll never step foot in KQ ever again.”

Something about the way he said it made your body scream. “But she’ll keep thinking about me. Fear has a funny way of making you remember someone. So yeah, she’ll run,” he said, smile  deepening, eyes glimmering into something more pleased and exciting. “And I’ll let her.”

The terror had seeped so deeply into your bones by now that your body hollowed itself out. The entire time you’ve been trying to navigate around Mingi, you had been dancing exactly the way he wanted you to. You thought you were running - Mingi knew how you’d react as if you running was something he already accounted for. Your choices were never yours to begin with.

“Whatever, you sick bastard,” Seonghwa’s dry dismissal cut through the silence. “Go play cat and mouse somewhere and get the hell out of my company. I’ll admit, you did a great job, but you bossing me around was getting on my nerves. Plus, I can’t take Hongjoong’s complaints anymore. You’ve been running my assistant to the ground, you opportunist,” he sighed. “Yeosang will put out a statement to avoid conflict or I’ll ask Wooyoung to take over the list for you.” 

His company? And what list? This wasn’t the first time you’ve heard of it. The words landed harder than the gunshots had and it suddenly explained every conversation where Seonghwa would pop up out of nowhere. It explained why Hongjoong acted the way he did, why Mingi himself never really challenged Seonghwa, and why Yunho bowed a little lower. It had always been Seonghwa who was holding the leash - Mingi was just the convenient front, but for what? 

Mingi shrugged, the statement not even bothering him, twisting the door handle to leave the premises. But before he could take a step, Seonghwa’s voice stopped him. “Mingi?” He spoke quietly, eyes softening significantly. “Don’t hurt her. Please.”

Mingi looked over his shoulder, pausing for just a fraction before he smirked. “We’ll see.”

Jongho made true to his promise. You haphazardly packed the bare minimum before San did the same at his place, all in the same night. Jongho’s apartment was modest and his generosity earned him a thousand thanks along with the tightest hug from you. “So, what now?” San asked that night after everything had settled, holding your hand tight in his. “What’s going to happen?”

Truthfully, you haven’t gotten that far yet, and admittedly, none of you thought this through. However, you did know one thing. “I’m going to the police,” you finally said. And you meant it this time. Out of all the crimes you’ve unwillingly witnessed, there was something about this last one that genuinely scared you. It wasn’t a burden you were willing to carry alone anymore.

Jongho and San looked at you, both concerned and uncertain. "They might not believe me," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I have to try. I-I can’t do this alone anymore. I just,” you paused, throat tight. “I need a record. That someone at some point reported it…”

They understood what you meant. If something ever happened to you, at least someone would hopefully connect the dots. For now, all of you agreed it was best to lay low for a while until the dust settles. But once it does, you really were going to go to the police station. It didn’t matter anymore because you were done protecting monsters; done going insane to remain sane.

It had been almost five months since then of you just sitting duck. Jongho decided that him working at KQ would cause the least suspicion and San absolutely forbid you from going out. You weren’t going to complain. You’ve found a routine designed to numb your brain and for the most part, you operated with the intent of forgetting, just walking around in a daze.

The image of Mingi just wouldn’t go away. You’d often wake up in a cold sweat after dreaming about him, having spent the last few weeks pushing him out of your mind with no success. You didn’t bet on lasting this long hidden away, however, there was a small part of you that ached at the thought that, maybe, he wouldn’t even bother with you anymore. It was confusing and revolting at the same time; the maximum reason why you couldn’t sit still in Jongho’s apartment. 

There was only so much of this that you could take. Needless to say, San wasn’t pleased when you told him that you’ve made up your mind and was finally going to make a move. “Y/N, I don’t know, I have a terrible feeling about this,” he spoke nervously over the phone. “Can’t you at least wait until the end of the week to decide?”

“I can’t, Sannie,” you murmured, turning the doorknob to enter your apartment. “I can’t live with uncertainty anymore. I already spoke with a detective earlier before I left. I just need to grab a couple of things from my place and then we can all go to the police station tomorrow.”

The moment you hung up the phone and entered your apartment, you wanted to crash. Oh, how you missed your place and the normalcy it provided. It wouldn’t hurt to stay for a little while you planned your next move, but first, you were going to change your clothes. You’ve been wearing the same ones for months and you felt bad for borrowing Jongho’s a lot. You headed up to your bedroom, not bothering to close the door, and started to take your shirt off.

But you froze when you heard the door close behind you. Slowly - painfully slowly - you turned around. Mingi stood leaning against the door, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. He looked…different. Gone was the suit, replaced by a leather jacket that looked lethal on him. And his hair was black now, messy and unstyled. Somehow, the darker hair made him look younger.

It also made him look even more dangerous. Or was it that unfathomable look in his eyes as he watched you that bordered between predatory and repressed anger? You had no idea; all you knew was that the sight of him made something inside you stir treacherously, but that didn’t last long because the fear had caught on. You’d escaped, you were finally safe, so how was he here?

“Mingi,” you whispered, the fear in your voice unmistakable, eyes darting around in search for the nearest weapon you could use to protect yourself, but finding nothing. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t reply, eyes still fixed on you. His eyes always unsettled you, but this one felt different. There wasn’t that sadistic amusement you’ve gotten used to nor that smug satisfaction that was always lingered. His stare was just pure ice with absolutely nothing in them. “Because I was looking for you,” he said, pushing himself away from the door.

You frowned, clearly not satisfied with this answer. He noticed and cocked his head in question. “Why? Were you expecting more?” Mingi asked, stepping closer to you. “Did you want me to tell you how irritated I was that you hid from me for so long?”

You maintained eye contact, raising your chin in defiance, trying not to falter when he stopped in front of you so close that his chest was brushing against your breasts. “You knew where I was,” you said, gritting your teeth when the tiniest quirk of his lips confirmed it. “There’s nothing for you here, Mingi, please just leave. I’m happy being with Jongho—”

“Enough,” his voice cut through like a blade. He quickly darted his hand out to your cheeks, gripping them painfully. “I must say, though, this is very nice,” he began with a dark chuckle, turning your face once as if he was inspecting a product. “Seeing you actually seeing me, if you get what I mean. I have to get used to it, but I am enjoying it so far. I mean it.”

Your blood turned to ice when the meaning struck instantly. All those months of looking through him and forcing your eyes out of focus. And now, your eyes were fully locked onto his. "So that's what your eyes look like when you’re not pretending to be blind," he whispered almost tenderly. "It’s so honest. It also means I can finally watch them tell me exactly how afraid you are."

The way he said it was far more unsettling than his presence. His voice had no teasing tilt anymore, none of that false gentleness that unnerved you and each word sounded flat. “So you've always known,” you couldn’t help but say as realisation hits you at the same time - that the polished, professional man in front of you had been hiding behind plausible deniability. And now that the jig was up, there was no reason for Mingi to maintain that mask. “Since when?”

“Right from when I saw you watch me shoot that man on the trail,” Mingi snorted derisively. Your breath hitched. Hearing him say it out loud like this right in front of your face brought in a new type of terror. “Wouldn’t be good with what I did if I couldn't tell, would I? It was funny,” he chuckled. “And so dumb at the same time that I couldn’t even be mad even if I wanted to.”

You glared at his blatant disregard of why you even had to resort to such methods in the first place, raising your hands to pry his fingers away, but that only resorted to him narrowing his eyes in warning, gripping your cheek harder. “Why did you let me go if it was so dumb, then?” You bit back. “You could have killed me on the spot and no one would’ve known except the trees.” “I wanted to fuck with you, was that so wrong? You can’t play games and not expect someone to not want to play with you. Or did you just not want me as your playmate?” He replied nonchalantly. “I’m not that bad. That’s why I made Seonghwa hire Choi Jongho. I saw he was being nice to you and I figured you needed someone who wasn’t part of this fiasco so you wouldn’t lose your mind. I don’t particularly enjoy playing with my food when they’re bland.”

Hot, searing rage courses through you, bone-deep in its intensity. He played you like a damn instrument and your melody invigorated him. You slapped his hand away from your cheek with adrenaline-fueled anger, even going as far as slapping his cheek once his hand let go. You hit him and you made sure it hurt. “You son of a bitch,” you seethed. “I saw everything, including Yamada and the warehouse with Seonghwa. I’m going to tell on you, Mingi, I swear I will. ”

You didn’t care anymore. Mingi let out a small laugh of disbelief, grazing his now bleeding lip with his tongue. “I knew you saw everything. Your reactions were never really subtle,” he said, speaking so casually that it made your stomach churn. “And that’s fine. You can go to the police. I’ll even drive you there. I reckon they’ll actually believe you. The only question is…”

You whimpered when he grabbed your arm and bent it behind your back painfully before slamming you up against the nearest wall. The room suddenly felt small, Mingi was too close; too warm for comfort. “...if they would do something about it,” he continued, getting closer, his breath tickling your ear, voice lowering just enough for your senses to cloud. “Think about it, Y/N.”

You swallowed, the sickening understanding finally dawning on you; he was right, the police would believe you. They just wouldn’t move because they were KQ’s lapdogs. You gasped when Mingi nibbled on your ear. “Yahtzee. That’s my girl,” he whispered, voice rough. “See? You can be smart if you want to be. A smarter choice would be to listen to everything I say from now on.”

You didn’t understand what he meant until you felt his hips grind against your behind, the feeling of his hardness palpable especially in this position. “Go to hell, Song Mingi,” you growled, not hesitating to tilt your head, the back of your skull catching him square on the face. “You can fucking shove it. You think this is a game to me? You murdered people. You terrorised me every single day, almost got me hit by a car, and almost burned me, you psychopathic pervert.”

Mingi grunted, grip on you relaxing as he clutched his face in pain. You took that opportunity to break free, kicking him again just to make sure he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. It worked, even setting him a few steps back. “You’re retaliating,” he pointed out flatly. The only sign that he was getting angrier was the cruel glint in his eyes as he watched you and the violent rise and fall of his chest. “That’s fine. I love the initiative. I just love punishing it more.”

You screamed both in pain and surprise when he lunged, grabbing you by the hair to force you to look at him. “Here’s what’s going to happen, sweet pea,” he whispered, nothing short of sinister, sliding his other hand to your throat and starting to squeeze. “I’m going to have you. Do you know what that means?” He paused to chuckle grimly. “I’m going to fuck you. Hard.”

Your eyes go wide and you start to wriggle out of his hold, but Mingi’s hand just tightens. Tears collect in your eyes in fear, but there was something else too, something you refused to admit. That realization made your stomach turn because you were supposed to hate this, yet you were here. You had gotten so used to Mingi chasing you that it started to feel wrong if you weren’t on edge. You had started to associate Mingi with adrenaline and needed him for excitement.

But still, this was wrong. You weren’t going down for this. Not for him and not for whatever twisted hold he had managed to build around you. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time. I knew from the moment I saw you on that trail that you were something special, but I had to wait. Now,” his husky voice purred with a hint of barely concealed warning. “You’re going to give it to me. I don’t enjoy hurting you, but I will if you don’t listen.”

You were absolutely not going to accept whatever he planned for you without a fight. With all the strength you could muster, you punched him square in the jaw. His eyes widened for a fraction as he groaned in pain and you pushed him away, chest heaving violently. You didn’t hesitate to hit him again, but he managed to grab your arm before you could, lifting his own hand to backhand your cheek, causing you to stagger at the sheer force of it, your face already pulsing in pain.

“Not bad, love,” he laughed, massaging the jaw you hit. “I would like to not do that again, so how about this? You apologise to me and say you’ll be a good girl and you won’t do it again. Make it sound good and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you and go easy on you.” 

You spit on his face after that statement. Mingi closed his eyes to contain himself, clicking his tongue in disappointment as he wiped your spit off with the same hand he used to backhand you. When he opened his eyes again, you knew you were done for. His body was fully locked in, jaw locked stiff, rage simmering behind his eyes beneath deceitful calm - the type of calm that meant he’d already decided to hurt you. He just didn’t know where to start.

You made a run for the door, but unfortunately, Mingi was faster. He slammed the door shut before you could even get near. “I let you run off for too long now,” he hissed, yanking you away from the door. “You’re mine, Y/N. I’m going to have fun making this lesson memorable for you.”

You refused to stay still, kicking and scratching at him with all your might. “I don’t belong to you, Mingi,” you seethed. “You don’t own me, and you can’t just force me into it!”

He stared at you, eyes hollow and vacant in the most terrifying way, every trace of mercy deliberately carved out and discarded. “Your life was over the second I laid my eyes on you. And let me tell you something, I rarely want because I already know the outcome. But let me ask you this,” he said softly, holding your face deceptively gentle. “Who are you trying to convince?”

He barely let a second pass before he tightly held your head, keeping you still as he crashed his lips against yours. There was no tenderness in his actions; just viciousness and brutality. You whimpered in resistance, biting his lower lip until you tasted blood. He groaned at the pain, pushing you away to slam your head by the door. That caught you off guard, but if he was going to hurt you, then you’d repay him in kind.

That head slam did stun you for a moment. You couldn’t stop him when he threw you on the bed, immediately straddling your legs, holding your arms above your head. His eyes clouded, pupils blown over from pure desire, cursing under his breath. You gasped when he ripped your shirt clean off you with one hand, yanking your bra aside to squeeze your tit harshly. “Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fuck, you look so good like this beneath me.”

You hissed in pain and started to struggle even though desire ran rampant through your veins, hot and searing, but Mingi wasn’t budging. He bent down, closing his mouth around your nipple, his tongue tracing around your sensitive bud. You groaned in response, arching against him as you were torn between your body trying to decide whether it wanted him gone or worse, inside you. When he pulled back just an inch, his smirk was knowing, pure of nothing but sin.

“Don’t do this, Mingi, please,” you all but begged, squirming weakly against the restraints of his hands, but for naught. He responded with a quiet huff. He slid his jacket off, revealing broad shoulders clad in a tight, black tank top that left nothing to your imagination. You jerked your head away when he tried to kiss your jaw, but you just felt him smile against your skin.

“Ah, ah. No begging yet, sweetheart. Not unless I tell you to,” he murmured, licking all over your neck all the way down to your shoulders and started to suck and bite. Mingi was indulging himself, ravishing you and relishing in your pain. You hissed, slightly relieved that your body wasn’t betraying you. That is, until you felt his hand starting to travel down.

“M-Mingi,” you whimpered when he immediately put a finger in you, not even waiting until you were ready, eyes glinting at the sound. He was gentle with his strokes, hitting you in spots you didn’t even know were possible. It elicited humiliating cries from you and you just wanted to die then and there. "You’re making a b-big mistake,” you panted helplessly against his ministrations. “I-If I don't show up, people are going to look for me. You're a damn fool."

Mingi’s eyes narrowed. You gasped loudly when he pushed another finger in, keeping the pressure until he was knuckles deep. “Let them look,” he replied flatly, not caring in the slightest, pushing in and out of you. You closed your eyes tightly, your whimpers turning into screams when he pushed a third finger roughly. He made a sound at the back of his throat. “You’re beautiful when you scream like this,” he growled.

It hurt badly, but that pain started to ebb slightly when he started circling his thumb against your clit. It was agony on top of another. You writhed against him to try and reduce the overwhelming sensations attacking you, but it didn’t work. You moaned helplessly when his fingers sped up, his thumbs pressing down on you, until you were screaming for dear life. “Give it to me, give it to me, give it to me,” he whispered over and over again, voice getting huskier with desire.

And you did. Mingi had to hold your trembling body tight to ease you back slowly. Tears streamed down from your face - both from pain and intense pleasure - and he didn’t hesitate to lick them off. Your head lolled back, your body exhausted from just that one ordeal. “I’m going to kill you after this, I swear,” you whispered when he pulled his fingers out and got up from the bed to leave you alone for a bit. 

You heard Mingi chuckle almost fondly over the sound of something you refused to acknowledge - the sound of something metallic clinking followed by a zipping sound and fabric rustling. “You do that, love. I’d like to see you try,” he replied simply as he got naked, exposing hard muscles that lead to his cock. Even through the haze, your eyes couldn’t help but widen.

Your heart was beating crazily with fear and you had half the mind to scramble up, scooting away from him as far away as possible. Mingi stalked towards you, utterly predatory, grabbing and dragging you by the legs until your ass hit his muscular thighs. He tried to pull your pants off, but you weren’t having it. You kicked at him, successfully hitting him once or twice, but Mingi was heavier and much stronger. Eventually, he was able to get rid of your pants along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare and exposed for him.

You were panicking. If you let him touch you, your resolve would weaken and you knew it. Mingi knew it too. He wedged himself between your legs to pin your wrists above your head, nudging himself against your entrance before he finally thrusted in hard. “Mingi,” you cried out loudly, half in pleasure, mostly in pain. You felt full, the fullest you’ve ever been, and the suddenness of his thrust made your insides sting and black spots to dance behind your eyes temporarily.

Mingi wasn’t faring any better. He inhaled controlled breaths, lips pursed together in great effort not to lose himself to the sensation of your tight cunt. He grunted low, the veins on his neck pulsating with great need. When he leaned back slightly to look at you, you moaned in surprise. Just there by the surface was a look of barely-contained lust and sadism, his eyes hazing out with pure desire. You clenched around him and it was enough to drive him totally wild.

“You’re mine, Y/N, you hear me? I’ll make sure of it. Gonna fuck you so hard and have you screaming for me every night from now on,” Mingi growled, voice guttural and dripping with arousal, leaning down to kiss you, but you turned your head away. “Am I going to have to break you?” He asked softly, clearly not looking forward to the idea, but not completely opposed to it either. “I’m already inside you, baby. Not much you can do but give in, really.”

You squared your jaw in defiance. “Drop dead, Mingi,” you spat venomously.

You cried out sharply when he started thrusting into you, rough and fast just like he intended to. You couldn’t even moan out properly - he was using you as if you were a sex toy only made for his pleasure. “If you’re not going to listen to me, I hope my dick sends my message well,” he laughed sadistically at your cries and resistance. “Now, do you understand?”

He kissed you, tongue demanding to be let in as he rocked his hips to ease his cock into you over and over again, not stopping until you felt his balls slap against your ass repeatedly. He let go of your wrists to wrap around you and held on tight, thoroughly claiming every inch of your body he could touch as his. Your pride wouldn’t let you off, so you still fought him as much as you could, struggling under his restraints while you tried to distract yourself from the feeling of his cock impaling you over and over again.

But Mingi wasn’t having it. He slows down his thrusts, giving you time to get yourself together, but not before he grabs your arm, pressing and squeezing hard at a particular spot that hurts so much that you let out an actual scream of pure pain. “Ow, ow, M-Mingi, you’re hurting me,” you whined, involuntarily squeezing his cock in because the pain mixed with his cock hitting your spot over and over again did something to you. “Stop it, stop—”

“Then stop resisting and give in to me,” he said, letting go of your arm, rubbing the bruised skin tenderly for a moment. “I meant it when I said I’ll make you scream. I just didn’t specify how. And I can do it again and again until I’m satisfied. Do you want that, little love?”

You glared at him, angry tears falling from your eyes. You took a deep breath in, trying to regain some of your dignity and strength. If he wanted a clear answer from you, then he was going to wait a while. Mingi smiled nastily, pulling back out only to thrust back in viciously, pleased when you let out a guttural moan. “I told you you were mine and I meant it,” he simply said.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe it. You absolutely did, God, you really did. Your heart was aware and your body was more than willing, but your mind refused to acknowledge it. You scowled at him, expression full of loathing and hatred. You sure as hell weren’t going to tell him that. But somehow, the glint in his eyes told you he already knew as he increased his speed in fucking you. “Go fuck yourself,” you sneered. “You are never going to have all of me, I swear to you.”

“Is that so?” He raised a brow, amused. He angled his hips in a certain way and it hit a spot in you so good that you couldn’t help but keen. He did this over and over again that once you got over the initial discomfort, Mingi’s body started to feel disturbingly comfortable against yours. “Fuck, baby,” he growled, pleased with your reactions. “I swear your pussy was made for me.”

You shook your head in denial, but that just prompted him to increase his speed just a little. You started to feel heat rising within you and at this point, it was getting difficult to deny just how good this was getting, but you weren’t giving up just yet. You moaned in dissatisfaction, struggling just a bit as a futile act of defiance. Mingi clicked his tongue in annoyance, and in retaliation, lifted your legs up to your chest so he could go even deeper and you swear you saw stars.

“Did you like that?” He growled, sliding his hand down to your ass so he could pull you against him even harder. His other hand went behind your head to pull your hair, dragging your head upright. “Look at me,” he demanded. “Tell me you like it while I fuck you hard, baby.”

You whined in response, your brain not entirely cooperating with your body anymore. “Yes,” you replied without thinking, arching your back against him. You regretted it the moment it came out of your mouth, but there was nothing you could do to take it back anymore. 

Mingi shuddered. “God, you little whore. You’re so fucking beautiful, and so dirty just for me.” he moaned, utterly wrecked, before his eyes snapped back into that dark, sadistic gleam you knew him for. “But only for me, yeah?” He whispered, the threat clear in his voice. “You don’t get to be a whore outside the bedroom. Only for my eyes and no one else’s. Say it.”

You echoed his moan. Nobody had ever spoken to you like this before and your body was burning in shame, but it didn’t compare the burn of being called a whore and actually liking it. You had never felt so desired in all your life and you didn’t know how to feel. “I-I don’t know, Mingi,” you squeaked in admittance, letting out another moan when you felt him fuck into you again.

That moan turned into a whimper when he squeezed your ass cheek painfully. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” He scoffed. “Look at yourself, pretending you don’t want this. Pretending you never enjoyed all the times I supposedly ‘tormented’ you. Your pussy is telling me otherwise, little one. You always enjoyed me being in charge.”

“Are you for fucking r-real? Congratulations, M-Mingi. You’ve managed to condition someone to fear you and mistook my survival for desire for y-you” You forced out, trying to sound angry, trying to reel in your moans, looking him dead in the eye. “You know what I actually enjoyed? Everyone’s presence except yours. Even Seonghwa’s as fake as it might’ve been. He’s—”

His hand shot out so fast you barely caught it before it wrapped itself around your throat. “Do not mention his name. And let’s get this straight, you survived because I allowed you to,” he hissed in legitimate anger, eyes reddening at the sheer intensity of it. “Now shut the hell up,” he said, grip tightening enough to hurt you. “And let me fuck you.” 

Mingi slid his cock out of you before ramming it back in with more force. It knocked the air out of your lungs, but Mingi’s feral state didn’t really care. His strong fingers gripped your hips as she pulled you forward to time it with his powerful thrusts. He stared down at you, eyes hazed and mouth parted open that betrayed how good it made him feel. “Ready to give up and tell me how good my cock is making you feel yet, baby?” He groaned.

The roughness in his voice combined with the possessiveness in his eyes sent shivers all over your body and you felt your toes start to curl in pleasure. “Never. I’d rather eat glass,” you gritted out, though the moans and whimpers that fell from your mouth after said otherwise. His jaw tightened for a second before a malicious grin spread across his lips.

“M-Mingi, please, ow,” you sobbed when he put a hand on your stomach, increasing the pressure as he pressed down hard, and you felt his cock kiss your cervix as he thrust the deepest he could go. The force of it hurt and before you could even process it, his other hand slid down to your clit and slowly, he started to rub in circles. You were delirious with all these overwhelming sensations, and your loud moans proved it, but goddamn, it felt good.

It scared you. You shouldn’t feel this way. In all the months you’ve been with Mingi, you’d never felt more alive. It was easy for you to leave from the start. He was brutal and rough, but the way he looked at you and obsessed over you was something you couldn’t ignore. And that was the problem. Your body suddenly tensed with fear because you were getting attached. Mingi felt the tension and paused. “Relax, love,” he murmured. “I don’t want it to hurt. Not too much, at least.”

He was never going to stop, and you knew how much this could hurt if you continued to tense up. So as much as you hated it, you tried to relax, gasping and feeling your cunt clench around him as he worked your clit, echoing his moans when he picked up the pace. “So fucking good, baby,” Mingi groaned harshly, the movement of his hips becoming erratic, breathing getting heavier.

He started to bite all over your shoulder, nuzzling your neck to pepper it with little kisses, his hand traveling from your tummy to your tits, alternating between squeezing and pinching your nipples. And when his lips found yours to set another brutal onslaught, eventually you found yourself kissing him back, no less brutal than him. It was all tongue and teeth gnashing against one another. “Mmm,” you moaned helplessly in his mouth, focusing on your pleasure this time.

To your surprise, Mingi slows down. Instead of the fast and shallow pounding, it became longer and deeper. You whined in response, not being able to believe that this could feel even better. His eyes were smouldering as he looked at you, pulling back and sinking into you over and over again with surprisingly gentle motions. “Wrap your arms around me,” he ordered.

You couldn’t speak, but it didn’t matter. Your wanton moans told him everything he needed to know. “You love this,” he grunted, pausing in between to suck and bite your neck. You moaned out a quiet response, pulling his hair a bit in affirmation. “Fuck,” he growled, shuddering at the sensation. “Tell me again,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.

You felt a wave of shameful pleasure ripple through you at the thought of actually having to repeat yourself but louder, especially while looking to those eyes that you feared so much these past few months. Your lips stayed shut, too embarrassed and prideful to say what he wanted to hear. He huffed impatiently, coaxing a response from you. “M-Mingi, please,” you whined.

But Mingi knew you. He leaned down, nuzzling your neck to position yourselves into an intimate embrace so you wouldn’t look him in the eye and you knew that you just ran out of excuses. “You drive me fucking insane, I swear,” he confessed through grunts. “Tell me what you want, baby doll, I’ll give it to you. Just as I’ve given you everything so far. I’ll put you on top so you can ride my cock and tell me, do you want that?”

You let out a breathy ‘no’ in response and he smiled against your ear. “You love it when I’m top of you, hmm?” He asked, voice getting huskier. You had to hold on to his shoulder to stop yourself from feeling faint. “You love it when I hold you down like this? When you feel dominated?”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, not being able to take it anymore. He growled, pleased with your response, sinking his teeth into your throat before he leaned back again, groaning when he saw how far gone you were, and it was all for him. “I do, Mingi, I do, Please.”

He grasped your chin roughly, making sure your entire attention is all on him, all traces of pleasure gone to be replaced with the familiar sadism and brutality for a second as he spoke. “If you ever look at someone the way you’re looking at me right now, I’m going to destroy you,” he asserted, the threat coated with nothing but the truth and the determination to carry it out if you ever even think of crossing him. “I promise you that, Y/N. I’ll do something I can’t take back.”

His thrusts became downright rough once more as he filled you over and over again, his intent clear with the goal of making you come. It should have hurt, but you didn’t care about the pain anymore. Your fingers curled, scratching his skin in desperation, and somehow with that  threat, you lost it. You opened your mouth to let out an animalistic sound you didn’t even recognise as your own, body bucking against Mingi’s as waves of pleasure finally crashed over you.

“Yes, just like that, squeeze my cock. God, baby, you’re gonna make me fucking come,” he cursed under his breath as he tried to chase his own high. His hips jerked, pressing his forehead to yours and let out a primal growl that sent a thrill through you. A harsh moan of your name escapes his lips as you feel his cock pulse, warmth filling your insides to the brim.

You were exhausted, laying next to Mingi as his cum started to drip out of you, but you didn’t care. All you wanted to do was sleep all week. The regret was already building, but you were too tired to even entertain it. You were about to fall unconscious when you felt him stir beside you. “Come here real quick,” he muttered before his hand shot out, gripping your jaw hard to force your face towards his. “Open your mouth.”

Your pulse hammered as you fought the urge to pull away, but you do as he says anyway, eyes widening in surprise and panic when he stuck his fingers in. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he began calmly, pausing to watch every flicker of emotion cross your face. “You’re going to freshen up so you could take a quick nap, pack some of your clothes, and then go downstairs. I’m going home and you’re coming with me. You understand that so far, little one?”

Your eyes widened, hesitating, but he sticks his fingers a bit deeper in your throat and you choke on them. “I said, do you understand me?” Mingi reiterated. You finally gave him a reluctant nod, tears in your eyes. “Good,” he said, taking his fingers out. “Get rest. I’ll wake you up after.”

He released you as though nothing had happened, getting up to put his clothes back on. The second he turned, you lunged. The lamp left your hand before you could think, crashing against the wall as he sidestepped it with irritating ease. “You have got to stop trying to kill me, Y/N. You’re giving me a massive hard-on,” he clicked his tongue. 

You grabbed another random item, but all he did was grab your wrist, exhaling tiredly rather than in anger. “Stop it. I will fuck you again, I mean it,” he said. “And when I do, I will be forced to drag your pretty ass with me because you’re not going to be able to walk after. You and I both know I’m very, very well-versed in dragging dead weight.”

The certainty in his voice chilled you far more than the threat itself. His words lodged something deep in your chest, though. He moved at ease like nothing between you happened when in reality, everything happened. “You’re shameless, you know?” You scoffed, breathing ragged to contain yourself. “I understand you want to assert control over me, but there are better ways. I don’t believe that you were actually going to kill me, so do you even like me, Mingi?”

His eyes never left you and that only made the anger in your chest fester. Mingi didn't say anything for a while and he looked like he was actually genuinely thinking of what to say in response to your loaded question. “You wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t,” he finally said. “And I was going to. I tried many times. Failed multiple times. Backed out twice as much.”

You were taken aback, blinking in disbelief. But the way Mingi stared at you dead in the eye with seriousness on his face told you that he wasn’t lying. You bit your lip, swallowing down emotions you didn’t dare name out loud. “No. Do you even honestly care for my well-being?” You said instead, ignoring his second answer. “Or do you just want to possess me just because you can?”

Mingi regarded you for a long moment. There wasn't a flicker of guilt in his face, just that same maddening composure. “What’s the difference?” He asked, the question landing with no emotion as though the distinction had never once occurred to him.

Something in you just fell apart then and there and for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t have any retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. Your shoulders slumped with exhaustion more than defeat. “You scare me,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, eyes burning with tears you knew he could see. “You genuinely scare me, Song Mingi.”

His mouth parted in surprise, brows raising a bit as if he expected you to say anything but that. When he did speak, his voice was softer and quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “On the contrary,” he began breathlessly. “You scare me.”

You frowned. There was no manipulation in his voice. His gaze wandered slowly across your face until he met your eyes without blinking. “This,” he said softly. “The way you’re looking at me right now. I was wondering whether there was anything underneath the fear and disdain.”

The words were quiet, even your heartbeat was more deafening. His tongue pressed against his cheek. “I’m scared,” he repeated calmly. “Of the day you stop looking at me like this.”

You huffed in defiance, folding your arms over your seatbelt, refusing to acknowledge Mingi as he drove. It wasn’t like you were the only one not speaking anyway, the moment he basically shoved you and your haphazardly packed luggage in his car, he hadn't spoken a word. “Where are you taking me, you brute?” You asked harshly, not being able to take the silence anymore.

A small smile takes over Mingi’s sharp face and you have to stop the urge to curse out loud. The light hit his handsome features just right, his darkened hair falling over his forehead slightly as he effortlessly manoeuvered the wheel. “Home, I told you,” he said. “Have I not made myself clear enough? I won’t do anything to you, little peach, so don’t worry.”

“That’s not gonna be good enough,” you replied in anger. “And I was home. You know, the one you broke into - which I still don’t know how long you’ve been in there before you ambushed me, by the way - and the one you took me from without permission. I want to go back.”

“Well, this is the best you’re going to get,” he retorted, something flashing in his eyes quickly before it disappeared. “You’re in no position to make demands here. You’re mine. I’m the one who gets to decide what happens to you from here then on so I suggest you get used to it. Or you can spend the rest of your life being chased by me. You pick. I don’t mind either option.”

There was a fleeting second where you imagined both scenarios, and both of them made you tremble either way. You sneered at him in an attempt to look as though you weren’t flustered. “I really, really hope you rot in hell, Mingi,” you glared at him venomously. “Truly.”

He laughed. Really laughed. The kind that made his body vibrate, eyes crinkle almost shut, and all of his teeth bared that reflected his genuine joy. “And here I was thinking that you’d be a little more cooperative after waking up from that power nap,” he chuckled. “Regardless, I can always use more methods of coercion if you can’t be civil with me.”

“Civil?” You echoed in disbelief, a look of disgust on your face. “Look at me!”

He spared a short sideways glance towards you, smirking at the sight of the hickeys and bruises that littered your skin, savouring the wince you let out when he purposefully hit a road bump just now. “Nothing that won’t heal in a matter of days,” he brushed off nonchalantly, killing the car engine. “Though that could be arranged right now if you’re interested.”

You weren’t going to give him the reaction so you stayed silent until he rounded up in the nicer part of the city, clearly away from your tax bracket, and killed the engine in front of the fanciest building in the area. “Get cosy,” he muttered the moment you both entered his place and closed the door, taking his jacket off and tossing it somewhere before setting his wallet and keys on the marble kitchen island. “I have a quick phone call to make. I’ll be right back.”

It was only until he left that you allowed yourself to breathe. You let your eyes drift around the apartment. It was beautiful, that much was undeniable. You weren’t surprised; Mingi had money and he sure acted like it. Yet somehow, it felt empty. Not because it didn’t have Mingi’s personal effects, but because it lacked life. There was something about this apartment that felt so hollow to you, like it was more of a showroom rather than something that’s supposed to be lived in.

You don’t know what compelled you to explore. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was boredom, but either way, you weren’t going to sit still and wait for Mingi to come back. Truth be told, it just screamed Mingi all over even though there wasn’t much. The apartment had a modern touch to it, little knick-knacks here and there organised neatly, a small table with a crystal decanter full of whiskey, and just about everything that you knew Mingi had meticulously curated himself.

Something that looked out of place, however, was a glass cabinet situated in the corner. It was clean, too clean, not one speck of dust and you can easily tell that this was the only sign of life in this place and that Mingi took very good care of it. You took a closer look and frowned. You were expecting a wine collection, or perhaps luxury items like watches and whatnot, but not these.

Awards, medals, and trophies. Not a lot, but still a significant amount. One in particular was a medal encased in a fancy box, another sat in an acrylic display with nothing else. None of them were engraved, nothing to signify what they were for, not even photographs of Mingi receiving them or dates, but all of them did have a small insignia, but you didn’t recognise what it was.

What you did recognise, though, was the folder that was in the middle of the dining table when you turned around. You bit your lip, glancing down the hallway where Mingi disappeared to. You really shouldn’t, every instinct screamed at you to leave it alone, but you picked it up anyway. The moment you do, that familiar adrenaline rushes back to you. This was the same folder you found in Mingi’s office back then, the one where you almost got caught looking at.

Confidential: High-Value Targets, K.O.S. You swallowed, it was the exact same, only this time, you noticed the same unfamiliar insignia when you opened it. You didn’t get the opportunity to do so back then, but something in you had this need to see what it contained as if your life depended entirely on it. And maybe it did, you were about to find out.

The first page contained a photo of a man. There were categories alongside that split into categories like basic information, aliases and financial records, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. “Charges?” You murmured in confusion, eyes widening when you read further. “What the hell? Mass weapon distribution ring?” You breathed out, a knot forming in your chest. 

You haphazardly turned the pages, not caring if they get wrinkled or not, quickly skimming through everything, unable to stop the trembling of your hands. There were more people, charges more alarming than the last - extortion, cybersecurity threat, political anarchy, and money laundering to name a few - but then it just got worse. The worst ones you saw were drugs and human trafficking, organised crime, and homicide. But all of them had the same thing.

TARGET STATUS: NEUTRALISED

You put your hands to your mouth when you flip to the next page, trying not to puke. It was the man from the trail, the one whose dead eyes still haunted your nightmares sometimes. Witness intimidation and international warrants, it said. Mr. Yamada was there as well. The same lecherous smile, same expensive suit, but this time he had political corruption and sexual exploitation labeled to him. Both of them had the same status - neutralised.

Your vision blurred, knees threatening to buckle as you barely held onto the edge of the table for support. Out of all the things you did and saw, you knew deep inside that this was the thing you should’ve never crossed. None of these made sense at all, and worst of all, why was Mingi in possession of something this detrimental? Your breathing became increasingly uneven, hands trembling so violently that several pages slipped through your fingers at once. 

You instinctively bent down to retrieve them, but before you could reach it, another set of fingers grabbed them first. You paled, gaze slowly climbing upwards to meet Mingi’s eyes. His eyes were unreadable, but you were positive he wasn’t mad. “I-I can explain,” you blurted out anxiously.

He stared at you for a few seconds, finally letting out a sigh before putting his phone back against his ear. “Change of plans, Joong. Stay where you are,” he spoke tiredly, pausing to pinch his nose bridge with his fingers, eyes closed. “The little birdie found the worm all by herself.”

Mingi ended the call. He glanced down at the papers you dropped and one of them in particular had him tense for a second before he calmly placed everything back at the table. His eyes went back to you, waiting for you to say something. “What,” you cleared your throat when your voice cracked. “W-What are these, Mingi?”

His stare was uncomfortable, not because it was loaded since his eyes held no contempt, no accusations, and no anger, but because it felt like he was trying to read you just so he could reply accordingly - something he never really did with you. “You tell me,” Mingi spoke softly, almost thoughtful. “You have talent in snooping and you’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

You swallowed. God, this felt like a test of some sorts. “You’re blackmailing these people,” you blurted out, saying the first thing that popped in your head. “A-And when they don’t give you what you want from them then you…neutralise them.”

Silence. For the first time since you’ve met him, Mingi was actually speechless. Ridiculously so. His mouth was slightly agape, eyes blinking at you multiple times as if he was trying to convince himself he heard wrong. And then, he laughed out loud, the utter disbelief audible from the sound. “You really are something, Y/N,” he chuckled fondly. “Out of all the scenarios you could give, honestly. Well, I suppose that is one way to insult me.”

He walked towards the glass cabinet, pulling out a hidden compartment you didn’t even realise was there. Inside sat more paperwork, multiple passports, some handguns that made you freeze, but he set those aside to grab a small wallet. He picked it up, pursing his lips as if deciding if this was the right thing to do, before holding it out towards you. “Open it,” he urged.

You barely obeyed him. The wallet itself was minimal and elegant, but there was something about it that was heavy. Not because of its weight, but because of what you saw when you unfolded it. “No, t-this can’t be,” you whispered, hands trembling, greatly so. There was an ID, Mingi’s younger face staring at you, eyes less empty but still chilling nonetheless, and there was no mistaking the government seal embossed into the corner along with his information.

Name: Song MingiAge: 30Position: Senior Special Operations AgentLevel: BlackActing Overseer: Park SeonghwaGeneral Supervisor: Kang YeosangOperational Status: ActiveAuthorised to Kill On Sight

A pounding noise filled the apartment and it took you a second to realise that you were hearing your own heartbeat. You dropped the wallet, unable to control the intensity in which your body shook. You shot your eyes at him and his expressionless eyes stared back. “Y-You’re not a serial killer,” you blubbered out in disbelief. “You’re not just some cold-blooded killer who just kills whenever he wants or something?”

Mingi scoffed before he picked the wallet up. “If we’re being technical, I am. Make no mistake,” he explained as he put it back in the compartment, closing it. “But for the most part, no. The government wants these people out. I just so happen to be the best at what I do.”

God, you wanted to slap yourself to wake up from this nightmare. This completely rewrites everything you’ve ever known and believed. You’ve spent the last few months convincing yourself you were trapped beside a serial killer, but was the truth marginally better? You were so out of it that you didn’t hear Mingi sigh before he held your elbows, leading you to the couch and sitting you down. “You kill people for a living,” you stated bluntly.

The corners of his mouth lifted barely into half a smile. “Yes,” he replied, one brow raised in amusement, arms crossed as he looked down at you. “To put it simply, there are people that the government wants gone. The ones that really need to go. These are people that justice will never touch, Y/N. People that range from guilty to national security threats and they’re like ghosts; elusive because they’re aware that people are after them.”

Your mouth dropped. You thought that only happened in fiction. When you didn’t respond, he continued. “When the option of justice disappears, people like me become the option,” he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “They give me a list,” he pointed at the paperwork on the table. “I make sure that they wish they were never born. Plain and simple.” 

It was insane. Your eyes were being opened to a whole new world out there and that world was literally just sitting right beneath your nose all this time and you barely had any idea. You could barely look at Mingi right now without wanting to break down because how were you supposed to just take this all in? “A-Are there more of you?” You couldn’t help but ask.

Mingi hummed. He tilted his head at you, analysing you. He wasn’t expecting you to ask that, hell, you bet he was expecting you to act erratically. “A handful,” he admitted. “This is as discreet as it gets, there isn’t really a job market for this. The elimination process is…grueling, and obviously, not a lot of people want to do it. You’ve met about half of the entire operation already.”

He smirked when your eyes widened. “Wooyoung and Hongjoong. Different specialties, but same job description, nonetheless,” he explained. A shiver ran up your spine. It made sense, everything made sense - Hongjoong’s attitude towards Mingi and Wooyoung’s nonchalance with Yamada and his reaction at the stairwell that same night. “And you’ve met Yeosang at the gala.”

Your brows knitted. “Good-looking guy, birthmark here,” he pointed at his left temple. And that’s when it hit. That unsettling man who talked to Mingi, how could you forget? You nodded slowly. “He’s the Big Boss’ son. He actually trained me,” he huffed, a small flicker of respect reflecting his features. “Only one of two who are above me by rank. Besides his father, obviously.”

Somehow, that made plenty of sense. You remembered the way Mingi unconsciously straightened when Yeosang approached, the absolute lack of his usual bravado, and the effortless authority Yeosang seemed to carry that felt much heavier than Mingi’s. “And Seonghwa?” You asked. “Yunho? Where do they both fit here?”

Mingi laughed, shaking his head. “Yunho’s innocent, just a regular worker. We still need to keep a legitimate front to keep the operation behind wraps. Seonghwa, on the other hand, he’s a bit…” he trailed off, trying to find the right word. “...different. He used to do what I do.”

The amusement faded from his face before he continued. “He’s been doing this since he was eighteen and he’d already done more than enough. He was tired, but retirement doesn’t really exist in this line of work. Truth was, Big Boss didn’t want to let him go. It would be foolish to let go of the man who perfected this system after all. So, he offered him a compromise.”

It wasn’t that difficult to believe. You watched Seonghwa hold the knife that night. Turns out, the most dangerous man was the one you trusted the most. “The compromise,” you murmured, swallowing heavily. “Was it KQ?”

“Smart girl,” Mingi smirked. “See, for this to work, we needed discretion. We can’t just eliminate them out of the blue and for no reason. People would ask questions, and that’s the last thing we wanted. Unfortunately, these bastards aren't dumb, so it’s extremely difficult to isolate them and make their deaths believable. However, all of them do have one thing in common.”

Your mouth had gone dry, but you found yourself leaning slightly forward to anticipate the answer anyway. “Greed,” Mingi said. “Money and investing makes it easy to lure them out. All we have to do is make it look like a transaction gone awry. Seonghwa gets the life he wants and we get access to the people we need. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

“So, in essence, KQ is a real company that runs on legitimate business that also happens to be an intelligence network where Seonghwa still runs things behind the scenes without being in the actual field. Did I get that right?” You asked. When Mingi nodded, you laughed in disbelief. “No wonder you didn’t care if I went to the police or not. I would’ve looked like a massive idiot.”

Silence settled over the apartment. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to feel because everything just makes perfect sense. In your eyes, he was still a psychopath. The only distinction was that he was the government’s psychopath. “Everything you did was legal,” you sighed in defeat. “Why didn’t you say so? Why let me believe otherwise?”

Mingi raised a brow, amusement curling his lips. “You didn’t ask,” he shrugged.

Admittedly, you didn’t think your question through and it was a stupid one in hindsight. Also, you were never going to get a straight answer from Mingi anyway, at least, nothing that pleased you, but seeing how nonchalant he was still shot anger through you. “Are you being for real?”

Mingi crossed his arms, a deadpanned look in his eyes. “Says you. You were the one playing blind like it was going to work in the first place,” he pointed out, dry and flat. He turns around - which was a good thing so he couldn't see how red you were from rage and shame. You watched him grab only one paper from the folder before he walked back, this time, sitting across you.

Without a word, he slides the paper from across the table. You stared at him for a second before your fingers pulled it towards you. You expected to see another random face in there, but when you saw a blank piece of paper with only your face in it, you almost dropped it, heart falling down to your foot. 

“Relax, sweet pea, it’s not what you think it is,” he immediately said the moment he saw your panicked face. “The system can’t eliminate you simply because you were never a criminal to begin with, much less witness one happen right before your very eyes.”

“But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You saw it,” Mingi stated plainly. He pointed at the paper in your hands. “That makes you a witness to an ongoing operation and a walking liability to something that was never meant for the public eye. I’m not going to lie to you, you caused quite the divide with the team back then for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

That caught your attention. “I don’t understand,” you frowned. “You said it yourself. Wrong place, wrong time. I didn’t mean any harm, I could have kept my mouth shut.”

Mingi smirked, shaking his head cynically. “People die because of what could have and should have. Don’t make me laugh here,” he scoffed. “At the end of the day, I am nothing but an agent no matter how high my rank is and I still had to answer to someone. That meant I had to tell Seonghwa. And Seonghwa had to tell Yeosang. And we do have protocols for this.”

“Yeosang was angry, obviously. He wanted to enact protocol immediately, hence that paper in your hand,” he continued. You swallowed audibly at that. “I happen to fancy you a little too much to let that happen, so I hired you. Having you work for me ensured that you didn’t blab to the wrong people. Plus, it wasn’t like you weren’t dying to work for me, anyway. No pun intended.”

“God, Mingi, you are such a massive asshole, I swear to God,” you scoffed. The way he talked about it rubbed you off the wrong way, though admittedly, you could see where he was coming from. “So, what? Am I supposed to thank you? My life is in shambles now, no thanks to you.”

“Yes, actually, you should,” he raised a brow, unimpressed. “Because lucky for you, Seonghwa took a genuine liking to you so it wasn’t difficult for me to disobey protocol and keep you and convince Yeosang to not tell his father about you, because trust me, you would not like that.”

You stayed silent, not really wanting to know what he meant by that. “Paper’s blank, love. I didn’t go through with it. I had no reason to and I still don’t. Even if they threatened me, I still won’t. You were innocent and I was aware of that. I’m not the animal you think I am, Y/N, and I don’t gain anything from killing civilians.”

Your fingers curled around the paper until it crumpled slightly. It wasn't compassion nor was it mercy. To Mingi, your life had been spared for the same reason someone chose not to swat a fly that landed on them. It wasn’t because it deserved to live, but because it simply wasn't worth the inconvenience. You didn’t know what to feel about that.

You got up, marching towards the dining table to hastily grab the folder before smacking it across the coffee table in front of Mingi, fuming with the repressed anger that had been building for months. “There were a hundred different ways this could’ve been handled. My entire career is a fucking lie,” you seethed. “There was no need for me to be dragged to KQ like some sort of luggage for something I didn’t even mean to see.”

Mingi regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I understand you’re angry, love, but I don’t regret what I did,” he said, gaze settling on you, unwavering. “Big Boss and the other directors aren’t exactly known for being kind, Y/N. If they find out, you would’ve been a goner. Personally, you know I find absolutely no problem in hurting you. However…”

“...that had been with my own hands,” he continued. “I didn’t want them to hurt you. That’s an entirely different beast, and you would never be the same afterwards. You don’t have to like it. But the fact of the matter is that you were there that day. And unfortunately, we have protocol for it. Protocols that are written in blood, both by the bad and the innocent, and they are the reason why order exists on things that aren’t supposed to happen, do you understand that?”

You turned around, ready to walk away, when he grabbed your arm to spin you around, his eyes ablaze. “Don’t you dare turn your back on me,” he hissed. “I need you to understand that I did what I did to stop them from taking you from me, Y/N. I didn’t want your blood on my hands.”

You didn’t want to believe him. Mingi had spent way too long being angry over him making a fool out of you and you weren’t about to let him do it again. And even then, it wasn’t specifically because he cared for you. “I would rather hurt you once if it means protecting you forever,” he sighed heavily, letting your arm go. “Not one ‘thank you’ from that pretty mouth of yours.” 

That last thread of patience snapped. “Protection isn’t impressive when you’re the reason I needed protection in the first place,” you spat venomously, trying to pry his hand off of you. And there was still something that bothered you more than anything else. “And what about me?” You asked, afraid of the answer, but had to ask anyway. “Where exactly do I fit in in all of this?”

He knew you were at the warehouse that night and he knows that you know that he never needed a translator. Something completely shifted in Mingi’s eyes. That detached indifference dissolved into something more unnerving.  His pupils seemed darker somehow, fixed entirely on you with an intensity that bordered on reverence and possession all at once. It wasn’t lust or desire, not entirely, but it was something much worse that made you freeze.

Fixation and obsession. His hand rose, knuckles brushing your cheek, fingers disappearing behind your neck to cradle it. “Nothing,” he whispered, fingers spreading possessively across your neck, a faint smile tugging at his lips when you squirmed. “But everything at the same time. You and my profession are two separate things. You are my greatest professional failure, love.”

He tilted your face upward, forcing your eyes back to his. “At least that’s how it all started,” he spoke, his expression flattening. “You were my responsibility for the longest time. And I absolutely detested you for being on that trail because no matter what you did, everything would have come back to me. Who do you think they’d kill after they finished you?” 

That sent shivers up your spine. “Keeping you long enough to kill you, myself, if I see you fuck up was my only reprieve,” he chuckled. “But the longer I watched you, the more I found myself just keeping you for the shits and giggles. You are the most fascinating thing I’ve ever come across and I don’t ever want to let that go. The thought of it, alone, is enough to make me very angry.”

His eyes held yours with unnerving certainty, hand tightening around the back of your neck. “You represented the ruin of my art. You saw what I did that day, and yet, you’re still here. Alive…something you’re not supposed to be. So, yeah, I’m keeping you. Whether you like it or not. After that trail, you became mine. Trying to escape won’t do you good, I guarantee you.”

You were horrified. Mingi was completely obsessed with you, and he was never going to let you go. He was never going to apologise for playing with you and it wasn’t because he wasn’t capable of remorse, but because in his eyes, remorse is reserved for mistakes. This was no mistake to him; it was a calculated risk. He had absolute control the entire time and that realisation was more unsettling. You had no idea how you got here from where this all started.

“You are absolutely insane. You can’t just objectify me like this just because you want to, you prick,” you snapped, wrenching your head away from his grasp, taking a few steps backwards. “I’m human, Mingi, I have aspirations and things I wanna do and achieve. I want to be loved—”

“And I will give you those,” Mingi bargained. “Isn’t this as close to love as you’re going to get? You’ll have everything you want and more. I’ll give you everything and I can even learn to love you the way you like it. Being mine won’t be too different from the life you had before—” 

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” you cried out, thoroughly done with him. “I don’t need you. I don’t want to be with you, don’t you get it? I already have people who love me who won’t hurt me or force me into situations I don’t want to be in. I don’t need your fucked up version of love when I already have friends who genuinely care for me waiting for me to come home to them.”

Silence. For the longest time, all you could hear was your own heartbeat. Mingi stared at you, eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn. His eyes hollowed out, fixed on nothing and everything at once, before his lips twitched into something cynical. And then, he started laughing. At first, it sounded normal, but when the deranged vacancy in his laughter started to fill the entire apartment, that’s when it truly hit you - Mingi was a madman.

“I don’t know about that, love,” he said, tone almost insulting in its indifference despite the loud, bellowing laugh he let out earlier. “None of these so-called ‘friends’ of yours have called you within the last few hours you’ve been with me starting from when we fucked on your bed earlier. You might want to rethink that statement of yours before I make you. ”

You froze. Every word chipped away at the illusion you hadn't even realized you'd been clinging to, because he was right, and the way he started stalking towards you slows means he knew it, too. “W-What did you do to them?” You stammered, terrified out of your wits as you stepped back, only to be stopped when your feet hit the couch. “What did you do?”

“Relax,” he chuckled, wrapping his arm all over your waist to pull you close. “They’re safe. Hongjoong is there as we speak and by now, he’s probably briefed them. Choi Jongho will be put into a witness protection programme. Since Yeosang and I go way back, he did me a favour and put him there. We just had to tweak it a little since the board cannot know he’s related to your case. He will not get hurt, and he will be put in a safer place, that I can guarantee.”

“But can I just go to that same programme?”

Mingi shook his head. “What makes his case doable is simply because he overheard something he wasn’t supposed to. I knew he was with you that night when me and Wooyoung were arguing by the staircase. Yes, you were both nosy, but still very much innocent and are civilians.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, the guilt riding on your back lifting at the fact that at least, Jongho was going to be alright. It’s been eating at you that you dragged him into this. “How do I know that you’re not lying?” You asked, suspicious.

He raised a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You have my word,” he said. “Which probably doesn’t mean much. Hongjoong will call in a little to update me and you can ask him,  yourself, then. I knew you were quite fond of my temporary assistant as he was of you.”

Relief hit you so suddenly your knees nearly gave out. For the first time in months, you weren’t thinking about surviving. “So this is it then,” you murmured, putting distance between you two. “You have no reason to keep me here. You’ve let me live alone on my own for months when I was working with you and you can just watch me from afar. Nothing changes so I’m leaving.”

Mingi didn't answer for a while. Then, the corners of his mouth lifted into the smallest smile. Without waiting for him to say something, you started to walk away. You meant it, you were going home. You refuse to play into Mingi’s cards no more, refuse to let him fiddle with you—

“I only mentioned one friend, sweetheart. I reckon you have two you were looking out for.”

The coldest bucket of water could’ve been poured on you on the spot but it wouldn’t beat the glacial fear that ran from your spine all the way to your toes. San. You had to mechanically turn yourself around, your frigid body locking in on itself as you forced yourself to look at him. There was pity in his eyes, but the mocking and contempt in them was difficult to ignore.

“He’s a tricky case, you know?” Mingi chuckled. “He’s a witness by association. He never witnessed anything and was never in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only misfortune he has is being that one sponge who absorbs every information without meaning to. Out of you three, he’s the most extreme liability. You and Jongho both work in KQ. We don’t know anything about Choi San except that he’s connected to you. Do you know what that means, love?”

Tears prickled behind your eyes. You thought you knew fear when you tried to outsmart Mingi on that trail, when you’ve witnessed multiple murders, or when you’ve been this close to being caught many times, but apparently, this was it. “It means,” Mingi whispered, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “He’s in limbo. Can’t be in the programme because he didn’t do enough but he also can’t be left alone because Big Boss is very particular about civilians knowing sensitive info.”

“No,” you breathed out, having to steady yourself to the nearest table. Genuine emotion cracked through your composure, and terror flooded every inch of you so violently it burned because this was San. “You,” you let out, voice shaking, lifting an equally trembling finger to point derisively at Mingi. “You stay the fuck away from him, you hear me?”

He was the person who never left; the one person who packed his life into two suitcases because you asked. "You ruined my life," you cried out, voice loud enough to carry to the next generation. "You dragged me into this. You manipulated me and lied to me for months for your sick satisfaction, and now you're telling me my best friend has to pay for your mistakes?" 

He smiled. It was small, but somehow, it looked more dangerous than all of the smirks he’s ever shown you. He had the upper hand and he reveled in it. But he didn’t bother replying; didn’t really need to. The way you unraveled in front of him was more than enough. “What do you want, Mingi?” You asked through gritted teeth. “Just…tell me what you want.”

The question came out more defeated than you’d like. You were tired of this back and forth and knowing him, there was already an answer waiting at the tip of his tongue just itching to be said. Mingi studied your face for several seconds before answering. “Surrender yourself to me.”

You felt sick. “I’ll make sure Big Boss doesn’t even get a whiff of Choi San’s scent,” he continued. “I’ll assume personal responsibility for him and make sure he gets to be in the same programme as your other friend. He will matter simply because he matters to me. And because he matters to me,” he tilted his head, smirking. “Nobody touches him. As long as you’re with me, that is.” 

Your eyes widened at the insinuation. He was basically asking you to sell his soul to him in exchange for San’s safety and he was bargaining it like it was some sort of contractual paperwork. “You’re blackmailing me,” you stated flatly. “You’re a monster, Mingi.”

He shrugged carelessly as though none of this mattered to him. “Call it what you will,” he said. "I call it the only arrangement where everyone you love walks away breathing."

Your knees finally gave out and you collapsed onto the edge of the sofa, your back sliding against it comically slow, squeezing your eyes shut. Every instinct screamed at you to fight, but you were just so exhausted. There was no point because this wasn’t survival anymore. Your consent had long been gone. “Fine,” was all you said even though you shattered on the inside.

Mingi exhaled, but not because he was pleased. It was because he was getting impatient, because to him, your answer should’ve been immediate. He wasn’t entirely pleased because he was already expecting it even though it took you a while. “Good,” he uttered, stepping closer, and for a second he thought he was going to corner you physically just because he could.

But then, he went straight, bending to grab the folder you haphazardly smacked against the table in anger earlier before squatting down eye level with you. “Sign it,” he muttered, jutting said folder towards you. “You’re my little spitfire and that’s what I like about you, but I don’t trust you. I need a guarantee you won’t run. This was what you were bound to do eventually anyway.”

You scowled bitterly at him. As if this piece of paper could stop you from simply running away anyway. You were about to reach and grab the folder, but you paused at the last second. His last statement. That went over your head for a second there. “Hold on,” you frowned. “What the hell do you mean? I’m pretty sure the government has nothing to do with your obsession with me.”

He let out a breathy chuckle that would’ve otherwise been innocent in any other situation. “No, not entirely. It’s just purely for assurance because I realised something rather inconvenient,” he said, thumb brushing lazily over the edge of the folder. “You are going to leave me eventually,” he paused to look you dead in the eye. “So I gave you something you couldn’t walk away from.”

You stared at him, confused. When Mingi saw that you were genuinely clueless, his brows raised, stunned in silence for a few seconds. “You’ve always been very bright, love,” he began, gently brushing your hair away from your face. You fought the urge to shirk away from the infantalising gesture. “But every now and then, you do disappoint me. ”

A chill crawled up your spine. Something tells you that whatever this was will change everything. You just didn’t know or understand how. “Remember this?” He lifted the folder up with a smirk. Your heartbeat pounded painfully against your ribs, not knowing where he was going with this. His fingers tapped once against the folder. “This was just files to you. Now, we have a problem.”

He opened it again, flipping each of the pages you’ve already seen yourself earlier, and he kept flipping until he got to the very last page of the entire dossier, raising it for you to see. A red classification stamp stretched across the whole page, but that wasn’t the part that made your stomach drop to your foot.

GOVERNMENT INTELLIGENCELEVEL BLACK FILESUNAUTHORISED ACCESS STRICTLY PROHIBITEDMUST REPORT IF UNCLEARED

“I…I-I don’t understand,” you blurted out, taking the folder in your hands to read it over and over again, because deep inside, you wanted to deny the facts that were slowly forming into a whole picture in your head. 

Mingi watched your face carefully. “Before today, you were merely a civilian who accidentally witnessed an operation,” he began, that sinister look in his eyes darkening the more he spoke. “And that’s fine. You can’t be punished for something you didn’t do wittingly. But now…”

He leaned, his lips a couple of inches away from your ears. “You’ve knowingly accessed confidential government dossiers, operational identities, assets, agent procedures, and most damning of them all, the criminal’s identities. These are things that must remain in secrecy within. You could have had at least some semblance to your old life.”

You wanted to throw up, the realisation settling into your stomach with sickening clarity and heaviness. He leaned away, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. “I really do have to keep you now, love,” he chuckled. “I really, really do.”

Your eyes burned with the sudden onslaught of tears, but you refused to let them fall. You hated that he could read your fear so effortlessly. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt useless beneath you. “That's not fair,” you tried to reason. “I didn't know I couldn't look. It’s my damn fault you dragged me here.”

“Unfortunately, ignorance of the law excuses no one,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“It's your word against mine,” you shot back. “Nobody’s going to know I looked at it.”

Mingi smirked, turning and tilting his head to look up and when you followed his line of sight, you were met with the sight of a small camera in the corner of the room. Of course, you thought bitterly. The walls seemed to close in on you. You clutched your chest, willing for that claustrophobic pain to go away. All you wanted was to have your old life back, and somehow, even that option had been taken away from you.

Amidst all of that, something inside you snapped. Mingi was a very meticulous person. Obsessively so. Even looking around his apartment right now, it was easy to tell how neat and orderly he was, and somehow, a folder that important had been left out carelessly. “You did this on purpose,” you blurted out, breathing turning ragged. 

Mingi’s brows lifted, eyes snapping at you with renewed interest. He didn’t answer, and somehow, that was ironically all the answer you needed. You stood up, something hot and violent surging through you. “You left that folder out on purpose,” you seethed, jabbing your finger to his chest to emphasise every word. “You fucking psychopath, I’m going to—”

Mingi held both your hands to restrain you, mouth stretching into a smile so delighted that it bordered on erratic. “I did,” he admitted, eyes shining not with fear that he’d been found out, but with unbridled excitement. “But I didn’t tell you to look, did I? It was there, yes, but you…” He laughed quietly at first, but your ashen face fell when it got louder. There was something horribly wrong with it. “Oh, baby doll,” he broke off, laughing under his breath. “You can’t blame me for everything. I distinctly remember telling you to make yourself at home, I didn’t force you to look through the folder. But you want to know what I did know?”

His expression changed, not entirely because the ecstatic smile remained, but his eyes had gone colder. “I knew you’d snoop,” he said without any ounce of shame or apology. “I know you. And I know you wanted answers, so I gave you the opportunity to find them. You should be thanking me, honestly, and it’s not my fault you have no self-control.”

Your lips parted, breathing becoming uneven. That would explain why he wasn’t surprised or angry when he saw you looking through the files - he was waiting for the moment that you did. The room spun, nausea threatening to send you into a massive black out. The moment you opened that folder, you had already lost. “You manipulated me,” you said, voice cracking midway.

“No,” he corrected as though he’d rehearsed this conversation long before you’d ever walked into his apartment. “I guided you. You made the choice. I just simply knew which one you’d make.”

Fury-fueled adrenaline coursed through you and broke free from his grasp, shoving both hands against his chest. The impact made him take a step backward. “You son of a bitch,” you screamed. “You planned this, you fucking knew I’ve been trying to disassociate myself from all of this. How can you do this to me?”

You shoved him again, harder this time. Your palms stung and your throat burned, but you barely felt any of it. Mingi barely moved, and somehow, that just made you angrier. “You sick, manipulative bastard,” you cried, tears falling from your eyes but you didn’t care anymore. “You couldn’t just let me go, could you?”

Your hands trembled as you struck him over and over again, each blow fueled by months of fear, humiliation, anger, and helplessness finally finding somewhere to go. For once, you weren’t scared of what your anger might do. You were too furious to care. And throughout this, Mingi may have looked unbothered, but his eyes, they held a reverent satisfaction as though this - your rage, hatred, and defiance - was exactly what he’d been waiting to see.

When your fists fell limp against his chest, his arms came around you. The embrace was unbearably gentle compared to everything he’d done to you. “Relax,” he murmured, hand moving through your hair so soothing that it almost felt insulting. “It can’t be that bad to belong to me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you everything you need and protect you from now on.”

Mingi leaned back, thumb brushing beneath your eye to wipe away your tears. You stared at him, devastated by how easily he could turn captivity into something that sounded like security. “You don't get to call this protection,” you muttered bitterly. “I didn’t choose whatever the fuck this is.”

Something unreadable passed through his eyes. “Not everything good in your life has to begin with a choice,” he said. His words made your stomach twist. He released you to take a pen, put it in your hand along with the open folder. “Sign it, love. Don’t make this any harder for us both.”

You stared at the blank line for several seconds, wanting to fight him off, but you were exhausted. There was no point in escaping when the cage had no door. It took less than a second to sign your name, each stroke feeling like shackles tightening around your neck. When you finished, Mingi took one look at the signed paper before giving you a light kiss on your forehead. 

“You should get some rest. I reckon this took a lot out of you,” he spoke, leading your tired body to sit back on the couch, even going as far as to put a pillow behind your back. “I’ll order us food in a bit and then I’ll instruct people to get the rest of your stuff from your apartment. I want you completely moved in and settled within the week.” 

You looked away, not bothering to reply because you knew better. And so did he. As he was in the process of getting your luggage you completely forgot about, his phone rang. It was Hongjoong. “Go ahead,” Mingi coaxed. “You might want to hear what he has to say. You wanted to ensure your friends’ safety, yes?”

And with that thought in mind, you immediately answered. Hongjoong’s brows raised slightly, mouth parting in mild surprise when he saw your displeased face on the video. “Well, uh, this is a pleasant surprise,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m glad to see you, Y/N, I really am, but I need to speak to Mingi. Is he there, by any chance?”

“Cut the bullshit, Hongjoong. I know everything,” you deadpanned. In the corner of your eye, you saw Mingi smirk at your straightforwardness. “Put San and Jongho on the phone before I do something drastic, please. I need to see that they’re okay.”

And they were. In fact, they seemed to be doing a little too well. You couldn’t help but feel relief as you talked to San, who was no less than shocked at the turn of events while Jongho and Hongjoong were eating and laughing in the background like they’ve been longtime buddies. It was difficult to stay mad at Hongjoong seeing as he did at least try his best to remedy the lies he’s built up and gave your friends the safest place they could go after all of this.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I really am,” Hongjoong apologised with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair in defeat. “You didn’t deserve any of this. None of you did. After I settle things here, I’m going to try my best to see what I can do for you, alright? I’ll try to talk to Seonghwa about it.”

You scoffed bitterly. “What else is there left to do? I’m stuck here with Mingi after he made me sign that goddamn paper. And while I appreciate your apology, I’m here to ask about San’s situation. Best case scenario, I want him to be at least with Jongho, but if not, I just want to make sure he’ll be put in the safest place, at least.”

Hongjoong didn’t speak for a moment, blinking multiple times at you as if he was making sure he was hearing you correctly. His brows furrowed as genuine confusion flickered on his face.

“What do you mean?” He asked, a clear hesitation coating his voice. In the background, you saw Mingi pause at what he was doing. “And what do you mean Mingi made you sign something?”

The way he asked that last part made you narrow your eyes, your mind numbing out as your blood ran cold. You told him everything - from Mingi telling you that everybody was actually government agents, your role and why Mingi had to make you his translator, the dossier, the witness protection programme , all the way to San’s state of limbo. Hongjoong stared at you, and for a second, his composure faltered. It wasn’t the usual controlled concern you were used to seeing on him. “Mingi told you San was in limbo?” He asked, genuine shock on his face.

You nodded and his eyes widened, muttering a quiet curse under his breath that made your stomach swoop. “Y/N, I need you to listen to me carefully,” he said slowly, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “He was in limbo, that much was true. But that’s why I’m here - to work it out. Mingi sent me here to clear San. As of now, he’s in the same programme as Jongho.”

You snapped your head towards Mingi. He paused from dragging your luggage in to stare back at you. He was smiling. It wasn’t that smug, triumphant smile he always wore. It was just a tiny, knowing curve. Horror spread through you as you realised something - that Mingi technically never lied. He did tell you San was in limbo and that he’d keep him safe. He just never said when and how. You had just assumed he’d do it after, not that he’s already done it beforehand.

Your eyes burned. At this point, you didn’t know if you were the dumb one for falling for his manipulation over and over again or if he’s that good. You turned back to Hongjoong in panic. “He used San against me,” you blurted out. You told him about you looking through the criminal target files and Mingi pretty much blackmailing you into signing it using the cameras.

This was actually what made Hongjoong reel back in horror. “Did you sign it?” He asked, sheer panic clouding his features. You were rendered speechless, not knowing what to say, but you nodded anyway. “Song Mingi, you made her sign a binding contract? You son of a bitch. I’m going to shoot you myself when I’m done here, I swear to God—”

“It’s not my fault that she keeps falling for it, Joong,” Mingi spoke nonchalantly, not even bothering to pause this time as he hauled your luggage into a random room, a gleam in his eyes. “And you make it sound so bad. I already said I’ll take good care of her and you know I meant it.”

As if things weren’t bad enough already, Hongjoong dropped another bombshell, looking so helpless you almost felt bad for him. “And about those cameras,” he winced, clearly wanting to be anywhere but be the bearer of bad news. “They’re broken. I called to tell Mingi that I had the replacement units. I was about to drop by after I was done here.”

You closed your eyes, a long sigh heaving out from your lungs. It really was the gift that keeps on giving. “Word of advice, Y/N?” Hongjoong quietly spoke. “A leopard can’t change its spots. Even if you manage to beat him and make him leave, he’ll be back with a stick next time. Beat him with a stick he’ll be back with a gun and if you beat him with a gun you better make sure he’s dead because Mingi won’t stop. May we never go to hell, but always be on our way. Good luck.”

You sank back into the couch, staring at nothing. Mingi didn’t need to blackmail you anything - he simply needed to make you believe he would. You had done the rest yourself. You had let your emotions get the best of you and Mingi used this to his advantage. The realisation hollowed you out because how could you be so stupid?

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t. There wasn’t much left in you anymore because you let Mingi lock the door you willingly went into. You crossed your arms petulantly, glaring daggers at Mingi because at this point, there was nothing else left to do. It was over. 

Mingi, unfortunately, seemed extremely delighted, looking too entirely pleased with himself. “For what it’s worth, you took it very well, love. You looked very convincing when you signed.”

Your glare intensified, rolling your eyes and sinking further into the couch, not willing to even talk to him anymore. You let your eyes do the talking - that if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t even be in this situation. You set your eyes on the folder that had your signature, hoping that it would burn to ashes. with how hard you were glaring at it.

“What?” He asked innocently, a glimmer of mischief behind those eyes. “You never asked.”

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I. “ARE YOU EVEN PUSHING?” 

You grunt as you shove the other end of the giant cardboard box containing your very unassembled couch through the doorway of your apartment. 

“Dude, I am pushing.” Hana complains, holding the other end. “This thing is bigger than both of us combined,” 

With one final heave, the box slides across the hardwood floor before coming to a stop in the middle of the still-empty living room. 

“One more piece of furniture and I’m never moving again,” You say as you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“You said that after the dining table.” 

“I mean it this time.” 

Before either of you can catch your breath, loud voices echo down the hallway. 

“Incoming!” Hongjoong appears in the doorway carrying two moving boxes stacked to his chin and half his height, San trailing behind him with another three balanced like they weigh absolutely nothing. Mingi brings up the rear, dragging a suitcase that definitely has wheels. 

“You know,” Mingi says between exaggerated sighs, “people usually hire movers.” 

“Why would we need to pay extra when we have our big brother and his even bigger friends?”

Hongjoong ignores you, setting the boxes down before pulling a box cutter out of his pocket. 

“Mom and Dad stopped by their friend’s place,” he says, “They’ll come back later to help.” 

“I think they’re just excited to be empty nesters.” 

“Empty nesters?” you scoff. “They’re free. We’re the ones stuck living across from this gremlin.” you point at Hongjoong who gasps dramatically. 

“This,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “is how you thank your amazing, handsome, hardworking older brother who found you a two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles that is not only close to your office but also thirty minutes from Hana’s university?” 

“You barely did shit, you forced us to live here,” Hana scoffs. She and Hongjoong continue to bicker as they go through your boxes, getting a head start in unpacking. 

The plan had been simple: stay in Seoul, climb the corporate ladder at the marketing firm that hired you fresh out of college, and eventually, build a life there. 

Except, two years later, you’d burned out spectacularly. You’d say that staying close to Hana while she started university was an excuse to move back home when actually you couldn’t stay at the firm any longer before you started ripping your brains out. 

Hongjoong, being Hongjoong, had taken that as a personal challenge to find an apartment for both of you. His standards, unfortunately, were less about amenities and more about distance.

“I can literally see your front door from ours,” he’d proudly announced over FaceTime after sending you the listing. 

You couldn’t say no, not when it had been too long since the three of you somewhat lived in the same space again. The rent was also within your budget, and it was convenient, despite having to live close to an annoying big brother. 

“I deserve compensation,” Mingi sets himself on the floor with a groan as he hands San an Allen wrench for your couch. 

“You got breakfast,” Hongjoong replies. 

“I deserve financial compensation.” 

“You barely did anything.” 

“I deserve emotional compensation.” 

“You need therapy.” 

Hana lets out a snicker beside you. “They’re exactly how you described them, Joong.” 

“They’ve somehow gotten worse.” 

“Hey! I heard that!” 

As the bickering continued, you finally let out of your thoughts and began peeling away the packing tape of the box labeled ‘Kitchen’. 

Maybe moving back hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all. 

The apartment was small but cozy. Afternoon sunlight poured through the wide living room windows, warming the hardwood floors.

Although you’d have to live directly across the hall from your insufferable older brother, you actually could see yourself living here. 

Hongjoong had warned you that you wouldn't just be gaining a neighbor, you’d be inheriting his roommates, too.

 San and Mingi were Hongjoong’s closest college friends. You’d met them before, loud voices in the background while you had your weekly siblings FaceTime. San was exactly like the gentle giant that Hongjoong had described while Mingi was exactly as shameless. 

The third roommate was nowhere to be seen. Your brother had mentioned that he was out running an errand and would stop by afterward to help finish up the rest of your boxes.

So when Hongjoong said there was a third roommate, in your head, he was just another one of Hongjoong’s friends. You haven’t bothered to ask who it was yet, since you were busy with moving in from Seoul. 

“Sorry,” a familiar voice called from the hall. “The line downstairs was ridiculous.” 

Another figure stepped into your apartment.

You haven't seen Jeong Yunho in years. 

The paper bags in his hands crinkled as he adjusted his grip, his eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise before settling into that same easy smile he always had. 

“YN,” he greets you. Your eyes met. He looked older, yet had the same broad shoulders, same clean haircut, and was still ridiculously tall. 

“Yunho-oppa!” Before you could say anything, Hana barreled straight into him. 

“Hana! You’re all grown up now!” Yunho barely had time to shift the paper bags to one arm before she threw herself at him, letting out a laugh. 

“Yo, where the fuck have you been man?” Mingi asks beside where you stood frozen, watching Yunho and your sister catch up.

“Got coffee, I know how cranky you guys get without it.” 

Mingi lets out a sound somewhere between a cheer and a sigh of relief and steals the bag from him.

“I forgive you.” He disappears into your kitchen, already handing out drinks like he owns the place.

It’s Hongjoong’s turn to greet Yunho now, peeling Hana off him so he could stand up properly. 

“Alright, alright. Let him breathe.” 

Hongjoong moves his gaze over to you, as if only just remembering. 

He gestures lazily toward Yunho. 

“I totally forgot to tell you he moved back in.” 

Your brows knit together. You’d assume he was only around to visit. 

“Moved back in?” 

“Yeah.” Hongjoong shrugs. “Shit happened, so he took the spare room a few months ago.”

“You know my sister already.” He points to you. “You remember YN, right?” 

Yunho’s lips twitch into a small smile. 

“Of course I remember. You’re back from Seoul?” His gaze finds yours again.

“Yeah, decided to move back,” you reply. 

Yunho nods once. 

“Welcome back.”

“Alright,” San calls from the living room carpet, waving his wrench in the air.  “You’ve got the rest of the lease to catch up, one of you idiots come help me assemble this couch before I accidentally invent a new piece of furniture. Mingi, what are you doing?”

San’s plea was met with a chorus of groans from your brother and Mingi. 

“I’m already doing the bookshelves,” Mingi whines from the kitchen, sticking a straw through his coffee. 

“You’ve been looking at the bookshelves,” Hongjoong shot back. “That’s not the same thing.” 

“It is if I look hard enough.” 

With a dramatic sigh, Yunho sets his bag beside the front door and shrugs off his jacket. 

“I’ll help.” 

“Finally,” San muttered. “Someone competent.” 

You quietly slipped back into the kitchen, pretending the kitchen boxes urgently needed your attention. It was strange seeing Yunho again after all these years. Stranger still was the tiny flutter in your chest. You hadn't thought about your old crush on Yunho in years. Seeing him again, however, seemed determined to remind you.

Yunho and San were kneeling beside the couch, arguing over which piece was labeled “B.”. 

“It says B.”

“It says eight.”

“It’s literally a letter.”

“Not from here it isn’t.” 

You smiled despite yourself. Hana, who you just noticed has been beside you all this time, catches it immediately, choosing not to say anything but smiles mischievously. 

“What now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“You have that look.”

“What look?” 

“The one you used to have in high school.” 

“I’m smiling because San thinks the alphabet ends at seven,” you defend, tearing your eyes away from your neighbors. 

Hana hums, “if you say so.” 

Before you could ask her what she meant, Hongjoong calls your name from the living room. 

“What?” 

“Can you settle something?” 

You walked over, grateful for the distraction. 

“What now?” 

“San says the couch should face the window.”

“Then won’t it be awkward watching TV?”

“That’s what I said!” Hongjoong exclaims.

“Why are you listening to her?” San grumbles.

“I live here,” you replied the same time Hongjoong says, “She’s my sister.”

As Hongjoong and San shuffled your TV across the room, you stepped around scattered boxes, only to bump into someone coming the other way.

"Oh—"

A warm hand steadied your elbow before you could lose your balance.

"Careful."

Yunho. 

His hand disappeared almost as quickly as it had landed.

"Sorry," you said at the exact same time.

You paused. Then, somehow, you both laughed. It was the first genuine sound either of you had made to each other all afternoon.

In the chaos of moving boxes and misplaced screws, no one noticed Yunho's eyes follow you as you stepped around the clutter after you had regained your balance. Years hadn't changed one thing, you were still just as clumsy as he remembered. He shook his head with an amused smile before reaching for another box, acting as though he'd been looking at the couch the entire time.

When you looked up, Yunho was looking towards your way. Not intensely. Not long enough for anyone to notice, before he gives you a small smile and goes back to what he was doing.

You’d only been living here for an hour. Maybe moving to Los Angeles wasn’t going to be as simple as you’d hoped.

II. IF THERE WAS ONE THING YOUR BROTHER WAS EXCEPTIONALLY GOOD AT,

it was coming home with extra mouths to feed. 

The first time it happened, you were eight. 

You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, notebook in hand, as you drew.

You barely looked up when Hongjoong burst through the front door yelling that he was home—until you heard another pair of footsteps behind him.

The boy standing in the doorway was tall for his age, clutching the straps of his backpack like he wasn't sure he was allowed to be there.

"Mom, I brought Yunho."

Your mother welcomed him inside before Hongjoong dragged him upstairs to play, but not before he caught your eye.

"Hi, YN!" he greeted with an easy smile.

You gave a timid wave from behind your notebook.

For reasons your eight-year-old self couldn't explain, you hoped Hongjoong would bring him over again.

He did.

After that, Jeong Yunho somehow became a permanent fixture in your house.

Whenever Hongjoong came home from baseball practice, Yunho was usually right beside him. He stayed for dinner often enough that your mother stopped asking if he'd be joining. Weekend sleepovers turned into blanket forts upstairs, afternoons at the park became bike rides home together, and before long, he'd somehow become part of your family too.

Unlike Hongjoong, who insisted your drawings looked "weird," Yunho always asked to see whatever you'd been working on. He'd sit beside you on the floor flipping through your sketchbook with genuine interest, tell you your art was cool, and remind you to keep drawing whenever you doubted yourself. If Hongjoong stole the last snack your parents left out, Yunho somehow always made sure you still got half.

Looking back, it was probably inevitable.

Your first crush didn't happen because of one grand moment.

It happened quietly, over hundreds of ordinary ones.

Growing up changed things.

By the time you started high school, Hongjoong and Yunho were on the varsity baseball team. Practices ran later, tournaments filled their weekends, and conversations that used to revolve around cartoons and video games slowly shifted toward college applications, baseball, and whichever girl had slipped a note into Yunho's locker that week.

You had your own friends by then. Your own clubs. Your own life.

Without anyone really noticing, the afternoons you spent with them became fewer and farther between.

Somewhere along the way, your childish crush quietly tucked itself away, becoming one of those things you only remembered when someone brought up middle school.

It wasn't anyone's fault. Life simply got busier. You had your own friends now, your own clubs after school, your own homework that seemed to multiply overnight. Some days Yunho would still come over for dinner, other days you'd only catch glimpses of him as he and Hongjoong disappeared upstairs, laughing about something that happened at practice.

Life scattered all three of you in different directions after that.

Hongjoong left for college first.

Then Yunho.

A few years later, you left for Seoul.

By the time you moved back to Los Angeles, Jeong Yunho had become someone you mostly heard about through your brother's stories—a familiar name attached to someone who no longer felt like part of your everyday life.

III. “I KEEP TELLING YOU, STOP EATING OUR FOOD.” 

Hana screams at your brother, who was currently rummaging through your cabinets. 

It’s been a week since you moved in, and today was your first day at work, while it was Hana’s first day of freshman year.

The dynamic hadn’t always been like this. For the first couple of days, you and Hana mostly stayed at the apartment, trying to feel more at home. Hongjoong would pop in every now and then and made sure you were adjusting well, even cooking dinner for the three of you in your new kitchen. You barely saw his roommates as Hongjoong said they were waiting for you to get accustomed to living at the apartment before they could start hanging out with you.

Naturally, that lasted all of four days. 

First, it was San, who wanted to borrow your clothes steamer since his broke. Then, it was Mingi, who only really came over to check out the snacks you had just bought at the grocery that day. Hongjoong had stopped pretending he knocked before entering. Sometimes you’d regret giving him the door code because whenever you came home from running errands he was already lounging at his designated spot on the couch, eating chips with Mingi. 

The only one who never seemed to invite himself over was Yunho. You’d catch him in passing every now and then. Sometimes he’d stop by with Hongjoong after work to ask how unpacking was going.Sometimes you’d exchange a few words in the hallway. Like nothing has changed. 

“Don’t you boys have food over at yours?” Hana continues her rant, while Hongjoong makes himself a sandwich. 

To be fair, he'd shown up with coffee for both of you, reminded Hana three separate times not to forget her student ID, and insisted on checking whether you'd packed lunch. So maybe he was entitled to one sandwich.

You had just finished getting ready, making sure that your clothes were neat and your makeup looked good. You were just about to leave before Hongjoong and Hana started bickering. Hana’s first class didn’t start until 10, which is why you were leaving an hour earlier than she has to. Hongjoong, on the other hand, had an irregular work schedule which comes with his assistant directing job, which meant he was there early to terrorize you. 

Hongjoong looked over. 

“Shouldn’t you be leaving by now?” 

“I’m literally leaving,” you say, slipping your shoes on. “Try not to burn the apartment down.” 

“No promises!” you hear as you close your front door, the melodic chiming of the door lock filling the empty hallway. 

You round the corner to the elevators and find Yunho already waiting, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Hey,” he greets you. “First day today?” 

It suddenly occurred to you that unlike the others, Yunho also worked a regular nine-to-five. Hongjoong had mentioned he was in finance, which meant the two of you would probably be leaving for work around the same time every morning.

You nodded, shifting the strap of your work bag higher on your shoulder. 

“Yeah. New office, new team.” You smiled sheepishly. “Trying not to embarrass myself on day one.” 

"You won't."

The answer came so quickly that it caught you off guard.

Yunho glanced at you before looking back at the elevator doors.

"You're good at what you do."

For a moment, all you could do was stare.

"How do you know that?"

He shrugged, almost as if the answer was obvious.

"Hongjoong talks."

You let out a laugh. "He does?"

"All the time."

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open. He lets you go in first, before stepping in and standing beside you, facing the doors.

The elevator’s empty, save for the both of you. There’s an awkward pause, the both of you trying to think of ways to fill the space. 

“So how was Seoul? We never really got to catch up after we left for college,” he asks, while you watch the numbers on the wall go down. You guess this was how he decided to break the silence, straight into it. 

“Um,” you hover. “It was a lot.” you let out a chuckle. 

“A lot good?” 

“A lot everything.” you reply. “I mean, the job was great, I learned a lot from my seniors and it was great being in a new environment, but it really does take a lot out of you. So when we found out Hana got accepted to college here, I decided to apply for a job in L.A.” 

The doors open again, this time a middle-aged woman pushing a stroller steps in, standing in front of both of you. But Yunho decides to keep talking. 

“You know, I was surprised when Joong told us you were moving back.” 

“You were?” 

“I thought you liked it there.” 

“I did.”

He looked at you then, eyebrows knitting together. The baby in the stroller lets out a small whine. 

“I also liked sleeping.” 

That earned a laugh. 

“It just felt like time,” you added. He gives you a nod at that. 

“I get that.”

The elevators slide open. You both get out then, muttering a polite “excuse me”, as you step around the woman and her baby while the both of you get out to the parking. 

“I was also surprised you were Hongjoong’s roommate again. He told me before you moved out like a year ago,” you say, as you walked toward the parking lot.

He rubs the back of his neck, “Ah. Yeah. Things didn’t work out where I was staying so I decided to move back.” 

You nod, not really knowing what to say. 

You stop in front of your car, unlocking it with your keys. 

“This is me. I’ll see you later?” 

“Yeah, of course. Good luck today, YN,” Yunho smiles again, and you clutch at your keys a little harder. 

“You too.” 

He waves you off before walking to his car a few feet down. When you get in, you look at yourself at your rearview mirror and let out a big huff of air you didn’t know you were holding. 

Your first day at the Golden Hour Marketing Firm went surprisingly well. You spent the rest of your 20-minute drive to work, practicing introductions so you wouldn’t shit yourself in front of your new team. Your manager had introduced you warmly, filling you in on your role and showing you around. 

By lunchtime, you’d already learned the names of most of your immediate team, survived HR orientation, and only gotten lost twice trying to find the pantry. On your break, Hongjoong sends you a text. 

joongie 🐲

baby sis has been sent off and on her way

she insisted i do NOT drop her off, unfortunately

mission complete regardless, boss 🫡

yn 🧚‍♀️

noted, with thanks 

don’t tell me you’re still at our apartment 

joongie 🐲

mingi thinks you should change your curtains 

yn 🧚‍♀️

i think mingi should get out of my house

joongie 🐲

too late we’re watching yt on ur tv now 

have a great day at work byeeee

yn 🧚‍♀️

me and hana are changing our door code when we get home 

Brand marketing has always been your thing. Growing up, you had a creative side. You were crafty, and always looking for inspiration. But somewhere along the way, that creativity evolved into something more strategic. You found yourself fascinated by what caught people's attention, what made a campaign memorable, and why some brands connected with people while others didn't. Over the years, you worked hard trying to build a career for yourself. You were good at your job.

Seoul had taught you that much.

The pace had been relentless, the expectations impossibly high, and more nights than you cared to admit had been spent asleep at your desk rather than in your apartment. But it had also shaped you into the person you were today.

Moving back to Los Angeles didn't feel like starting over.

It felt like finally giving yourself permission to breathe.

The first thing you noticed when you got home, toeing off your heels by the doorway, was the noise. You'd heard laughter and the clatter of pots and pans before you even unlocked the door.

The moment you stepped inside, Yunho looked up from the counter.

"How was—"

“You’re home!” Hana runs over to give you a hug before Yunho could finish his sentence.. 

Out of the three of you, she’s always been the most affectionate, giving you kisses on the cheek and hugs every now and then. Hongjoong sometimes acts like he doesn’t like it, but when he picked you up with your boxes when you first moved in, he was the first to hug her. 

“How’s your first day?” she asks, still clinging on to you.

“It was great,” you slipped off your heels. “I actually made a work friend today. “

 "See?"

Hana grinned.

"I told you."

You looked around.

San was stirring something on your stove while Hongjoong tosses vegetables in a bowl. Mingi, as you expected, is sitting on your couch, watching some kind of documentary. 

You last notice Yunho standing right by the kitchen, looking like he had just gotten home as well. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his suit jacket slung over one arm, and his work bag sits abandoned by Mingi's feet.

“Why are these people in our apartment?” you say as Hana lets you go. 

“Dinner party!” San announced.

“Hyung and I wanted to cook you guys dinner to celebrate your first day.” He points to Hongjoong. 

“We’re celebrating!”

“You, how was your first day? Meet anyone new?” you ask her. 

“Eh, it was okay. My classes are cool though. Some guy in my class asked me for my number,” she shrugged. 

“What.” Hongjoong freezes, gripping the bowl. 

“You didn’t tell me that earlier!” Hongjoong crosses his arms.

Hana huffs in annoyance. “Because I knew you’d act like this.” 

“Did you say no?” 

“I gave him my Instagram instead.” 

“You WHAT?” A couple of decibels higher and San would have to physically hold Hongjoong back. 

“My dear big brother, I’m eighteen,” Hana whines, “let me live.”

“You can start living once you're forty-five.” 

The argument continued without either of them expecting to win. Yunho shook his head with a quiet laugh as he reached over to take the bowl from Hongjoong before he accidentally crushed the lettuce in his grip. 

“She is eighteen, Joong.” 

“Don’t encourage her.” 

“I’m encouraging you to breathe.”

“Need any help?” you ask, as you walk over to the kitchen. 

“We’re good, you can sit over by Mingi and relax. It was your first day,” San says, pointing over to where Mingi was sitting. 

“I’d rather not, he’s watching something weird. I think it’s a documentary about Bigfoot.” 

The three of you, while your siblings chase each other in the background, talk about your days. You learn that San works from home in a tech company, and Yunho got home around five minutes before you did. 

In the middle of your conversation, you felt a gentle hand brush your shoulder. You turned just in time to see Yunho lifting the strap of your work bag off your shoulder before setting it on one of the dining chairs. You hadn’t even realized you still had it on you. 

“You’ve been carrying it this whole time,” he said simply before returning to the cutting board. 

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice,” you muttered. 

“No problem.” He turned back to the cutting board as if it hadn't been worth mentioning.

You reached for one of the bowls in the cabinet, clearing your throat before calling out for Mingi.

“Hey Bigfoot! Come set the table with me.”

Dinner ended up being louder than the cooking. Mostly because Hongjoong refused to let Hana tell the story about the guy from her class without interrupting every five seconds. Your conversations drifted from work to college to Hongjoong’s latest nightmare of a film set. You exchanged laughs every now and then, at one point, Mingi spilling on himself. By the time dinner was over, the sun had disappeared beyond the apartment windows. 

You offered to wash the dishes since the boys had cooked. As you carry a stack of plates in your arms, Yunho strides in beside you without a word, carrying the rest of the dishes with his sleeves rolled up. 

You settled into a comfortable rhythm—you washed while he rinsed.

“Hana seems like she’s adjusting pretty well,” Yunho breaks the silence. 

Across the room, Hana, Hongjoong, San, and Mingi had abandoned the dining table in favor of the coffee table, where an Uno game had quickly turned into a shouting match.

(“THE RULES WHERE I PLAYED IS YOU CAN ONLY PUT DOWN DRAW FOUR IT ONLY IF THERE’S ALREADY A DRAW FOUR CARD.”

“I DON’T CARE. DRAW SIX .”

“Both of you shut up. Hongjoong, draw six,” San says.) 

You smile to yourself, handing him another plate. “Yeah. I was worried she’d have a hard time moving to a new city. But she’s always been brave. And I think she just really missed her big brother.” 

“She missed you too, you know,” Yunho said after a beat. 

“Hmm?” you glanced up. 

“When Hongjoong and I came back home to visit, she always talked about you.” Yunho said, setting another plate on the drying rack. “Every summer she’d try to convince Hongjoong to take her to Seoul.” 

“She never told me that.” 

“Hongjoong probably missed you two the most, though. The first night you guys moved in? I walked into the apartment to look for him and found him sitting on your couch after you guys went to bed.” 

“I thought he had already gone back to yours,” you giggle. 

“Nope. I asked him and he said he was standing guard in case someone tried to break in,” he laughed. 

“That’s stupid, the only people breaking into this apartment are him and Mingi.” 

There’s another comfortable silence. 

“Hey, YN?” 

“We may act like a bunch of old idiots,“ He nodded toward the living room, where Hongjoong was accusing San of cheating at Uno. 

“But if you ever need anything, you know can always come over, right?”

Something in your chest softened.

"I know. Thanks, Yunho."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The water continued running between your hands as another plate passed from you to him.

Somehow, standing here with him felt... easy.

Not because the awkwardness had disappeared.

It hadn't.

But because, for the first time since moving back, you weren't trying so hard to fill every silence between you.

Some silences, it turned out, didn't need filling at all.

IV. EVERY MORNING, AROUND 8:15, YOU LEAVE YOUR APARTMENT. 

Every morning, around 8:15, Yunho is somehow already waiting for the elevator. 

The first couple of days, you assume it’s a coincidence. By Thursday, you’re not so sure. 

Sometimes he’s already waiting. Sometimes he steps out of his apartment just as you lock yours. On Thursday morning, Yunho is waiting with two plastic cups of coffee. 

“San got a new coffee machine,” he says, handing you one. “He made too much.” 

You eye the cup, taking it anyway. “Tell San thanks.” 

“I will.”

As the elevator arrives, you miss the tiny smile that pulls at the corner of Yunho’s mouth. 

The rest of the weeks go by like this: 

You’d find Yunho waiting by the elevator, always with a second cup of coffee for you. The elevator rides became longer conversations, mostly about his roommates’ latest antics and the office romance brewing between two heads of your department.

You’d walk over to your cars side-by-side. On the drive to work, sometimes you’d catch Yunho’s car beside you at a stoplight, letting out two beeps, lifting two fingers from the steering wheel in a lazy salute before the light turned green.  

You’d gotten close with your brothers’ other roommates too. As much as you hate to admit it. 

San had also started treating your apartment like a second home. Sometimes he'd stop by just to water Hana's plants while the two of you were out, claiming, "You'd be surprised how many people accidentally kill succulents."

Mingi, in particular, only ever texted you when he needed rescuing.

The first time it happened, it was barely three weeks after you moved in. Your phone buzzed in the middle of a Saturday morning. 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

yn 

yn kim 

what do you want

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

sos 

yn kim 

you’re alive enough to text 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

girl i need ur help

yn kim 

???

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

the girl i brought home last night won’t leave 

could u come over and pretend ur like my crazy ex or something 

yn kim 

absolutely not 

ask san 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

PLEASE

the boys left to play pickleball 

she wants us to have breakfast 

yn kim 

then get breakfast with her? 

mingi jfc it’s 8 in the morning

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

i NEVER have breakfast w my hookups

pls ill buy u boba for a month

yn kim 

deal

Ten minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of his apartment, questioning whether this was worth the boba. 

The door flew open before you even had a chance to knock.

"I owe you my life."

He stepped aside to let you in before lowering his voice.

"She's in the kitchen."

It happened again.

And then again.

By the fourth time, you no longer asked questions.

You'd simply knock on their apartment, sigh dramatically, and say,

"Where is she?"

Mingi would point toward his room.

"Thank you for your service."

On Friday nights, your group somehow always ended up at the same Korean barbecue place a few blocks away. San and Yunho usually took over the grill while Hongjoong argued that he could cook the meat just as well. Mingi would inevitably declare he was "too full for dessert," only to be the first one ordering boba ten minutes later.

It wasn't long before you met the rest of their circle, too. There was Yeosang and Jongho, San's coworkers who somehow always ended up as the voice of reason; Wooyoung, whose favorite pastime seemed to be irritating San just to get a reaction; and Seonghwa, an old college friend of your brother's who, much to your amusement, was one of the few people capable of making Hongjoong visibly nervous.

Most nights, it was just the six of you, drifting between your apartment and theirs as if there was no real distinction anymore. Someone would inevitably pull a movie from the ever-growing stack Hongjoong had collected over the years, and before long, all six of you would be crammed onto whichever couch had enough space, arguing over what to watch before inevitably settling on something everyone had already seen at least twice.

It was the little things as well, that showed how you all cared for each other like a real family. San and Hongjoong somehow made it their mission to pack yours and Hana's lunches every morning. Mingi, surprisingly, had become self-appointed host of girls' nights, barging into your apartment with face masks, a tub of ice cream, and the announcement that "the boys are pissing me off again."

And then there was Yunho.

It wasn't anything grand. At least, you didn't think so.

He was simply thoughtful.

If your hands were full, he'd take whatever you were carrying without asking. If everyone went out for coffee, yours somehow always ended up paid for. When movie nights stretched past midnight and one of you started nodding off on the couch, he'd throw a blanket over you. You’d seen him do it to San and Mingi once, patting their heads before he settled back in his seat.

You told yourself he was just like that.

So you tried not to think too much about the way you'd occasionally catch him looking at you whenever one of Hongjoong's movies made you cry, or how he always seemed to notice when work had worn you down before you'd even said a word.

Your routine quickly settled into place. Until one Monday, it wasn’t. 

You unlocked your car, tossed your bag onto the passenger seat, and turned the key. 

Click. 

“...No.” 

You tried again. 

Click. 

Your shoulders slumped. 

“No, no, no.” 

You let your forehead fall against the steering wheel. You were already running late, instead of your usual 8:15, you came rushing out of your apartment by 8:30, and Yunho, bless his soul, was still waiting by the elevator by the time you arrived. 

A car stops by your parking spot, Yunho rolling down his window. 

“You okay?” 

“My car chose violence this morning.” 

He laughed quietly, before sliding out of the driver’s seat and coming to your side. “Can I try?” 

You stepped out, handing him the keys. 

He slid into the driver’s seat and gave the ignition a try.

Click. 

Once. 

Twice. 

“I think your battery’s dead.”

You groaned. 

“Great.” 

"Could be worse."

"Could it?"

"You could've found out halfway to work."

"Don't say things like that."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He reached through the open passenger door of your car, grabbing your work bag before picking up the coffee you'd abandoned in the cup holder.

You blinked.

"What are you doing?"

“Good thing your office is right by my route, and I’m also the best person in the world,” he says.

“Pardon?” you ask. 

“You’re riding with me. Get in if you want to make it before work.” 

“I can just call an Uber."

"You can."

He started walking toward his car.

"Or..."

He held up your bag.

"...you can save forty bucks and let me drive you. Hongjoong would kill me if I left you here to book an Uber."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile as you climbed in.

"You're unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

He closed the door before walking around to the driver's side.

As he started the engine, he glanced over.

“We’ll call the mechanic during lunch and have Hongjoong meet him. You gave him the spare key, right?” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“I know.” 

He pulled out of the parking garage. 

“But I was going to anyway.” 

When you were on the main road, neither of you spoke anymore. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware that you'd never actually been alone with Yunho like this before. Usually there was Hongjoong in the passenger seat, Mingi yelling from the back, or Hana changing the music every thirty seconds.

Sensing the awkwardness in the air, Yunho reached toward the center console. 

“You can connect your phone if you want.” 

“You sure?” 

“As long as you don’t play any Taylor Swift. Mingi likes to sing in the shower.”

You laughed. 

“Of course he does.” 

You plugged your phone in, scrolling through your playlists before settling on one you’d been listening to on repeat lately. 

As the music flows in the car, Yunho taps the steering wheel in time with the music while you look out the window, watching the city blur past. 

The rest of the drive slipped by easily. 

You talked about work. 

About Hana mentioning another guy from one of her classes, nearly giving Hongjoong a heart attack.

About Mingi somehow bringing the same girl over for the third time despite insisting he "wasn't looking for anything serious."

By the time Yunho pulled up outside your office building, you were surprised you’d already arrived. 

He shifted the car into park. 

“What time do you get off?” 

“Six.” 

He nodded once. 

“I’ll pick you up.” 

“You don’t–” he cuts you off. 

“Nope, I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

“Okay,” you smile.

You clear your throat and reach for the door handle. 

“Thanks Yunho. See you later.” 

You stepped out of the car, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Just as you reached the sidewalk, his window rolled down.

"YN."

You turned.

"I'll see you at six."

By the time six o’clock rolled around, your brain felt like mush.

The first full Monday of campaign planning had consisted of three meetings, two brainstorming sessions, and an alarming amount of coffee.

When Yunho comes to pick you up, you could barely keep your eyes open. 

“For YN Kim?” Yunho says as you sit in the passenger seat, in a perfectly practiced customer service voice.

You looked at him.

"...Yes?"

"Destination?"

You deadpanned.

"Home."

He nodded solemnly.

"Excellent choice."

"Driver, I'd also like to request silence."

"Unfortunately, this ride includes complimentary conversation."

You laugh silently as Yunho drives the car back on the road. 

“Long day?” 

You let out a dramatic sigh. 

“You don’t even wanna know. I sat through three meetings that could've been emails.”

He winced sympathetically. 

“You can nap for a bit if you want, it’s sushi night at our place. You know how Hana and Joong get when there’s sushi involved.” 

“Ugh, I forgot about that. Are you sure it’s okay?” 

“Yeah. We’ve got twenty minutes before we get home.” He shrugged. “I’ll wake you up.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him turning the volume down on the console. You said nothing, pretending not to notice.

By the time you got home, Yunho had woken you up with a gentle nudge to your shoulder, and a soft “we’re here” before you could even adjust to your surroundings. 

In the middle of dinner, while you were all having different conversations, San’s suddenly looked up from his sushi.

“Yunho, I have a bone to pick with you,” he says seriously, pointing a chopstick at him. You supposed he was feeling tipsy, if not for the soju bottle he split with Mingi. 

“That sounds ominous,” Hana says, stealing a piece of salmon from Hongjoong’s plate. 

“What did I do?” Yunho asks. 

“You finished my coffee beans.” 

“...Again?” Hongjoong sighs. 

“Again.” 

“Wait,” you interrupted. “I thought you always made too much coffee.” 

San frowned, “Those are Guatemalan beans, YN. I don’t just make ‘too much’.”

"Then why has Yunho been bringing me coffee every morning?"

Yunho answered before San could.

"I just make an extra cup while I'm there."

You nodded as though that explained everything.

"That makes sense."

"Does it?" Mingi asked around a mouthful of rice.

Yunho shot him a look.

"What?"

"Nothing." Mingi raised both hands in surrender.

Across the table, San quietly met Yunho's eyes.

Yunho looked away first.

Before the silence could linger, Hongjoong reached across the table and stole the last piece of nigiri from Hana's plate.

After that dinner, you found yourself thinking about the coffee more often than you cared to admit.

Every morning Yunho still handed you a cup without fail, and every morning you caught yourself wondering whether he'd actually been making an extra one... or whether he'd been making one specifically for you all along.

It was a dangerous train of thought.

So you stopped letting yourself think about it.

V. ‘THE BITCH IS BACK’ IS PLAYING IN YOUR EARPHONES WHEN YOU PUT THE LAST ROLLER ON YOUR HAIR.

“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh, the bitch is back…” You sang quietly under your breath, swaying to the music as you leaned closer to the mirror you'd dragged onto the kitchen island. You were currently getting ready in your kitchen, rollers in your hair, and makeup on the counter. 

Your coworker, Johnny, had asked you out for an annual marketing forum that your firm sponsored. He didn’t have to, because you were planning on going anyway, but it was nice to get asked out again after a while. 

Your dress was laid over the couch as you sat on one of the kitchen stools in your underwear and a robe hanging off your shoulders, because you couldn’t risk getting powder on it before you could even wear it. 

You stood up, grabbing the tube of mascara that had rolled onto the floor, singing the rest of the chorus, and swaying along dramatically.

You were so into it that you didn’t notice your front door beeping. 

“It’s the way that I move, the things that I do, oh-oh-oh!” 

“Oh shit.” 

When you turn around, you didn’t expect to see Yunho standing frozen in the doorway. You let out a surprised gasp, tying the strings on your robe. Yunho just saw you in your underwear, and you were acting like an idiot. 

He also hadn’t expected anyone to be home. When Hongjoong told him the door code, he was told you would’ve been gone by now. 

His eyes met yours and immediately darted somewhere over your shoulder. 

“I, uh, sorry.  Hongjoong told me you were gone, I came to pick up his hard drive that he left here.” 

“Why didn’t he get it himself?” You say, your face flushed. Yunho’s ears had turned red.

Cute, you thought. 

“He’s in the middle of editing,” Yunho said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He asked me to grab it since I was already heading out.”

“I think it’s over there,” you gestured vaguely towards your coffee table. 

“Right.” 

Neither of you moved. 

Yunho cleared his throat before keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the table as he crossed the room. He found the hard drive almost immediately.

Silence.

You couldn't remember the last time the apartment had felt this small.

He turned to leave before hesitating.

“Hongjoong said you have a work event today?” he asks, while you go back to your seat. 

“Yeah, I was supposed to go alone but my coworker, Johnny, asked me to go with him.” 

Yunho gave a slow nod.

"Johnny."

"Mm-hmm."

"From work?"

"Creatives."

"Is he nice?"

You let out a small laugh.

"Why are you interviewing me?"

"He's moving kind of fast."

You let out a laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"No, say it."

Yunho shifted awkwardly, gripping the hard drive a little tighter.

"I'm just saying... asking someone out after a month."

"It's not a date."

"Isn't it?"

You shrugged.

"I don't know. It's a work event."

"Just the two of you?"

"...Yes?"

"So..."

He trailed off.

"That sounds like a date."

“Maybe.”

For the first time since he'd walked in, Yunho genuinely looked stumped.

Like he'd asked himself the same question and didn't have an answer.

He looked away.

"Forget I said anything." You raised an eyebrow. 

“Um, I should go,” he says after a beat. 

You nod, smiling. 

He turns back around with a hand on the knob,”YN?”

“Yeah?”

“You look beautiful by the way.” 

Your smile softened.

"I haven't even put the dress on yet."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"I know."

Another beat.

"Have fun tonight."

Before you could say anything else, he slipped out the door.

What was that? 

When Yunho gets back to his apartment, he makes a beeline for Hongjoong’s door. 

He knocks, quite aggressively, three times before letting himself in. 

The sight of Hongjoong hunched over his desk and tweaking with the film he’s working on one of his three monitors greets him. Headphones are over his head while he has a hand on his chin. 

If he wasn’t working, Yunho might’ve smacked his hard drive on his head. 

“Hongjoong.” He shoves his shoulder with the hard drive. Hongjoong flinches before realizing it’s him, and takes his headphones off

“Here,” he grumbles. 

“What’s up with you? It took you like five minutes to get back from across the hall.”

Yunho’s supposed to be heading out, but he figures there’s no use anymore, embarrassment clouding his mind and a deep motivation to strangle the man in front of him. 

“YN was there, idiot. You told me she’d be gone.” 

Hongjoong glances at the clock on his desk, “Oops, I think she said Johnny was picking her up at six, not five.” 

“Well, I walked in and she was home.” He closes his eyes for a second. “And I might have embarrassed both of us.” He sighs.

“Did you catch her singing Elton John again? She loves to do that when she gets ready,” Hongjoong says, plugging the hard drive on his computer. 

Yunho nods. He decides not to tell him that he caught her in just her underwear and a robe, though. He’d seen how Hongjoong gets over his sisters. 

“Did you know she was going on a date?” He asks instead. 

“Yeah, some work guy named Johnny.” Hongjoong replies, monotonously. 

Hongjoong clicked through his editing timeline before speaking again.

“Is she done getting ready yet? I told her to send me and Hana pictures before she left.” Hongjoong adds. Yunho’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise. 

“You’re okay with YN going on a date?” he asks. Just the other day, Hongjoong launched a 5-minute tirade about Hana going to a college party that mostly talked about “NO BOYS”. 

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You practically put Hana under house arrest because some guy asked for her Instagram.” 

Hongjoong scoffs, “That’s different. Hana is a baby. She enjoys making my blood pressure spike.” 

“How is that different?” 

“Listen, I know I’m the eldest, but YN spent years taking care of everyone else and raising Hana. All she does is work alongside being a good sister, the least she deserves is to get pretty, go out with a coworker on a date, and have fun,” Hongjoong says with a fond look on his face.  

Hongjoong studied him for a second. Then a slow grin spread across his face.

"...Why do you care so much?"

Yunho's head snapped up.

“I don’t. I was just asking.” Hongjoong smirks.

 “I’m serious.” 

“You know YN doesn’t date much. So I know Johnny isn’t really her type.” Hongjoong leaned back in his chair. “She'd rather spend years getting to know someone than jump into something because they asked.” 

“And you know her type?” 

“I’ve been her brother for twenty-six years.” 

Yunho doesn’t speak a word after, his eyes to the floor. 

“I’ll let you figure that out.” 

The date went well. Johnny was easy to be around. Confident, funny, effortlessly sociable. He made conversation with everyone he met, pulled you into group photos, and by the time your workmates migrated to the after-party, he'd somehow convinced half the room onto the dance floor. 

You thought it would be enough to distract you from your thoughts and whatever’s going on at home. But you think all Johnny could ever be to you was a friend. 

If anything, he’d been thoughtful and easy to talk to. But he wasn’t the problem. The problem was that somewhere over the last few months, you’d grown used to a different kind of kindness. One that was quiet and consistent. 

The sort that remembered how you took your coffee, carried your bag without asking, and turned the television down when you looked tired without another word. The kind that would pay attention if you weren’t feeling well, or knew everything about you. 

By the time you get home, you realized you hadn't spent the evening getting to know Johnny. 

You spent the entire night wondering what it would’ve been like if Yunho had been there instead. 

VI. WHEN MONDAY ROLLED AROUND, YOU NOTICED YUNHO HAD CHANGED.

The Monday after you went on a date, he'd ask how your weekend was. When you told him, you don't think Johnny and you could be more than friends, he stifles a grin and nods in understanding.

He still waited for you by the elevator and handed you another cup of coffee without a word. 

There was still the coffee (When has it ever stopped?), the elevator conversations, and small smiles you’d throw at each other. 

But you also noticed, the line between being neighbors and potentially something more started to blur. 

It was subtle at first, a hand on your back when you left the elevator, or instead of separating as soon as you got to your car, he would wait until you closed your car door. But then you noticed he kept making excuses to be close to you, to touch you. 

Whenever it was movie night, he’d go as far as shoving Mingi to the other end of the couch just so he could sit next to you. 

(“You didn’t have to shove the poor guy,” you whisper as he grabs a handful of the popcorn on your lap.

“He’s fine. He was taking up too much space on the couch.”

“Mingi’s pouting.”

“Shh. Just let me sit next to you.” 

“Jeong Yunho!” Mingi shouts, throwing a pillow at him. 

By the end of the night, your head, however, had somehow found its way onto Yunho's shoulder.) 

After dinners together, he'd linger just enough to fall into step beside you while everyone else walked ahead. Whenever you crossed the street, his fingers would wrap loosely around your wrist—or sometimes your hand.

"Cars," he'd explain every single time.

As if that answered everything.

As if he wasn't still holding your hand long after you'd reached the sidewalk.

Even though Hongjoong had gotten your battery replaced, Yunho started insisting you carpool with him to work. He’d made a pretty good argument, that gas prices were crazy high and it would be better for the environment now if you rode to work together.

He’d open the car door for you, be at your office at six on the dot, and always let you choose a playlist. He’d have a different excuse every day like if you were carrying too many things, or if Hongjoong needed both of you to drop by at the store. You would've said yes regardless. 

If your friends noticed, they didn’t say a thing. They watched as you and Yunho cooked dinner together, bumping shoulders and sharing looks that definitely meant that there was something there. When you would get home and start complaining about work, Yunho would drop everything and listen to you. 

(“I don’t think they realize we’re still here,” Mingi whispers. 

“They’re in their own world at this point, I could set myself on fire and Yunho would still be making heart eyes at her,” San grumbles, watching you and Yunho laugh by the couch. 

“Do you think they know?” Hana says. 

“Nah. They’re both idiots. And slow. But I’d let them figure it out.” 

“Figure out what?” Hongjoong asks as he steps out from the bathroom. 

“Nothing.”) 

You know things are changing. And as you hate to admit it, the crush you had on him years ago came back and has evolved into something deeper. Whenever he’s close to you, you’re painfully aware of his presence, your heart beats a little bit faster, and you find yourself looking for him in every room you enter. 

Almost six months after you moved in, and a little over a month since you and Yunho have settled into dangerous territory, your brother announces he’s been chosen to direct all on his own. Suddenly, you and your friends (except for Hana who’s not only underage but had a late night dance practice that day) end up at a bar after Hongjoong’s celebratory dinner.

“DIRECTOR BABY!” San screams, after taking a shot, and kissing Hongjoong’s cheek, and laughing when he gets pushed away. 

You’ve been sitting in a booth for about an hour, when the next round of beers come in. Wooyoung had dragged Mingi with him to the dance floor by the second round, while Yeosang and Jongho sat across from you, whispering to each other. San and Hongjoong were absolutely gone. San had turned red by the first shot, and Hongjoong downed at least five after you learned that Seonghwa wouldn’t be able to come. 

It ran in the family though, because you were second to being absolutely gone as well. 

“Here,” Yunho came back to your booth with a glass of water and hands it to you. 

“Thanks.”

You hadn’t meant to get drunk, but you were celebrating, and then too many shots came and Yunho was so close, you kept thinking of kissing him. So you kept up with the shots and now you feel dizzy, your head spinning. Yunho, being the nicest person ever, stayed completely sober since you arrived.

He put an arm around you when you lean a bit too far to your side. You wish he wasn’t this close because you might actually kiss him this time. You take a sip of the water as you try to focus on your surroundings.

“If you stopped blubbering like an idiot every time Seonghwa talked to you, maybe he would’ve come,” San teases Hongjoong with a matching hiccup. 

“He’s so pretty. Did you know he’s so pretty San?” Hongjoong cries, hand reaching out to grab another shot.

“Yep, okay that’s enough,” Yunho says from beside you and dragging the tray of shots away. “All of you are officially cut off.”

You hear groans coming from the two drunk men in front of you but as you turn your head to look at him like this, serious but with an expression of someone who is used to taking care of people and the sharp tick of his jaw, you think fuck, you really like him. And he’s so pretty.

He’s wearing a white button-up shirt with the top three  left unbuttonned and dark slacks that highlight his long legs and tiny waist. His hand that’s rubbing along the side of your shoulder is cold from the silver rings on his fingers. 

“You’re so pretty,” you murmur before you can stop yourself. 

“What?” he laughs.

“You’re so pretty, you’ve always been pretty,” you repeat, feeling more confident after all the alcohol has kicked in. 

“You really are Hongjoong’s little sister,” he whispers, his wide grin fading into something smaller, the kind that’s only reserved for you. Little sister. You thought with the way he was looking at you, it wouldn’t hurt. But there’s the familiar pang in your chest when you hear it. 

Before you could ask him what he meant, Wooyoung and Mingi come back to your booth.

“What am I looking at here?” Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at you and the two friends in front of you. You stop looking at Yunho then, leaning your head back on the couch while your eyes start drifting slowly. 

“They’re drunk off their minds. I think it’s time to go home,” Jongho says, pointing to the three of you, with a tone so clear you wouldn’t think he’s had more to drink than you. 

You all clear out the booth then, Yeosang and Mingi with their arms on Hongjoong and San, while Wooyoung and Jongho trailed behind. Yunho helped you get to your feet with an arm around your waist and your bag in his hands. 

The air is cold when you step outside, and the sidewalk feels gummy as you struggle to stand up. It was early in the morning, you assumed around 3 am. You were so out of it, your mind going back to little sister, while the boys around you figure out what to do with the drunk ones. 

“Hyung, stop squirming or I’ll call Seonghwa,” Yeosang says, the only other one who was sober, as he tries to get Hongjoong to stand. 

“Do. Not. Call. Him.” Hongjoong says in between hiccups, yet doesn’t make any move to stand up straight. 

“Yunho, did you bring your car?” Yeosang asks. Yunho nods. 

“Okay, I’ll take these guys with me home, could you–“ Yeosang gets cut off.

“I got her.” 

“Great, because Hongjoong looks like he’s going to puke any second from now and my car’s right up here so we’ll get going.” Yeosang sighs, as he struggles to lift your brother up. 

Mingi and Wooyoung stay behind at the club, something about wanting to dance more. 

By the time your brother and the rest get settled in Yeosang’s car, you and Yunho end up alone on the sidewalk. 

“Come on, YN, let’s go,” he says, steadying you with an arm. 

“It’s okay, I-I can just call an Uber,” you say with conviction, despite the pounding in your head.

“YN, I’m not letting you get into an Uber. My car’s just right up the street.” 

You wanted to say more, to ask him why he called you that earlier, but your head really hurt and you wanted to get home, so you nod. 

“Can you walk?”

“I can.”

You absolutely cannot, and Yunho can tell because he holds you even closer so you don’t fall onto the floor, leading you to his car. 

He helps you get into the passenger seat and clicks your seatbelt into place.

As he drives you home, it’s silent. You struggle to keep your eyes open, as you watch Yunho tap on his steering wheel rhythmically. Neither of you speak, had it been a work day,  you’d be talking each other's ears off. 

When he parks the car in your apartment complex, you wake up when he’s opened your door. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “we’re home.”

The elevator ride up is the most daunting thing to ever exist. The alcohol hasn’t worn off, but it pushes you to decide to break the silence anyway.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath as you hold on to the elevator railing.

“When are you going to stop being so confusing?” 

“What are you talking about?”

You sigh, letting the words flow out of you before you could tell your brain to stop. 

“You do all these things,” you wave vaguely between the two of you. “You look at me like,” like you’re in love with me.  “Then call me Hongjoong’s little sister at the end of the night.”

“YN.”

“I wish you’d stop reminding me whose sister I am.” 

He stares at you, speechless.

“Because every time you say it…” Your voice softens. “…I feel stupid for thinking maybe you meant something else.”

“I–,” 

The elevator dings.

Before he can finish, you hurry out, nearly tripping over your own feet as you make your way down the hallway. You bump your shoulder into the wall once, then again, before finally stopping in front of your apartment.

“Where the fuck are my keys?” you mutter, patting every pocket of your dress in growing frustration just as Yunho catches up beside you.

“You don’t have keys, your door uses a code,” he says.

“Oh.”

When he unlocks the door, you stumble into your room, Yunho following close behind. 

“YN, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“God, my feet hurt,” you deflect, tearing off your heels and throwing it in random directions.

Yunho closes the bedroom door behind him. 

“YN.” 

“Don’t.” you sigh. 

“Can you just look at me?”

You shake your head.

“If I look at you, you’re going to explain it away.”

He falls silent.

“Explain what away?” You laugh, but it comes out tired.

“Everything.”

He frowns.

“You keep doing things that make me think…” You stop yourself, rubbing at your face. “Nevermind.”

“No. Finish.”

You finally look up at him.

“You look at me like I’m important.”

His expression flickers.

“Then you call me Hongjoong’s little sister.”

Silence.

“Do you know how unfair that is?”

Yunho opens his mouth, then closes it again.

You continue, “I want to believe that the way you look at me is not how you look at everyone else, but you say things like that, and I don’t know anymore.” 

There’s a beat. 

“I need to lie down,” you say, while Yunho stood frozen. 

You shift and lie down on your bed, closing your eyes. Maybe he’d disappear from your room if you closed your eyes hard enough. 

As you try to drift to sleep, you hear Yunho come closer to your bed. 

Carefully, he kneels in front of the bed and slips your heels farther underneath it so you won’t trip over them in the morning. He reaches for the throw blanket folded at the foot of your bed, unfolding it gently over you.

“I "I don't do any of that for everyone," he says quietly. "I don't wake up early just to make coffee for everyone. I don't wait by the elevator hoping I get ten extra minutes with someone. I don't come up with excuses to drive people to work or sit next to them whenever I can." His eyes meet yours, steady this time. "I do those things because they're with you. You don’t even notice how much I look at you, do you?”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t open your eyes. 

He sighs. He’d say more, explain things clearly, but he’d rather have you sober before you forget everything he said. 

“Good night, YN.”

There’s a pause, and you think he might’ve actually left, when you feel a pair of lips on your forehead. 

When Yunho quietly closes your bedroom door behind him, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

Hana is sitting on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, lazily sipping from a glass of water.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Well.”

Yunho presses a hand to his chest.

“Jesus, Hana.”

“I came back from Joongie-oppa’s, they got home a bit earlier than you two.”

“Is he okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, Seonghwa’s coming over to take care of him because he kept whining about him, so I left and came back here to wait for my sister.” There’s a grin on her face. The kind that she’d put on when she was up to no good. 

“Imagine my surprise, big brother,” she trails off. “When you two come home, don’t even notice me standing in the kitchen, but disappear into her room in the middle of what appears to be a lover’s quarrel?” 

“It wasn’t–“ he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t a lover’s quarrel. It’s complicated.” 

She studies him. 

“Did she finally say something?”

Yunho doesn’t say anything. 

He doesn’t have to because Hana could already tell. 

“Huh.” she shakes her head. “So she finally noticed.” 

Yunho looks up.

“Noticed what?”

Hana just laughs.

“Nothing.”

She walks past him toward your bedroom with a cup of water and painkillers that were on the coffee table.

“Good luck, big brother.”

She pauses at your door without turning around.

“You’ll figure it out.” 

VII. WHEN YOU WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING WITH THE WORST HEADACHE EVER,

you decide that you are never leaving the apartment again. 

You remember bits and pieces of last night. You remember taking too many shots, Yunho’s arm around you, Hongjoong calling for Seonghwa, the way Yunho looked at you then called you a little sister. You remember the elevator ride and the forehead kiss he left on you before you drifted away to sleep. 

It was a Saturday, so thankfully you didn’t have to see Yunho today. But your mind goes back to everything you said last night and hoped you hadn't scared him off. 

You spent the rest of the day on your couch, nursing your hangover with soup you had delivered and reruns playing on your TV. 

Hongjoong comes over by the end of your fifth episode, sporting the same headache and squeezes next to you on the couch. Apparently, he’s in the same situation as you. 

“Seonghwa,” he sighs, when you ask him what’s up with him. You don’t ask why, as you two watch TV together.

You’ve been like this for three hours, before Hana comes to intervene. 

“What did we learn?” she says, standing in front of the both of you like a military captain with her arms behind her back. 

Your brother, wearing sunglasses indoors, raises a weak hand.

“Never mix beer and tequila.”

“Wrong.”

She looks at you. 

“To never drink again.”

“Also wrong.”

“The correct answer,” Hana says, “is that none of you are allowed to make decisions after your third shot.” 

“What are you talking about? You weren’t there,” Hongjoong grumbles. 

“You drunk-dialed Seonghwa so many times he had to come here to take care of you and when he got here you puked all over his slippers,” Hana says without missing a beat. She turns to you.

“And you. You’re sitting here with your hopeless brother instead of dealing with whatever happened with Yunho last night.” 

You almost choke on your ice cream. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Something happened with you and Yunho?” Hongjoong turns to you.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly. “Yes,” Hana says at the exact same time. 

“What does Hana know that I don’t?” 

“None of your business.”

“I’m serious. What happened?” He’s using his big brother voice, the kind that made you stop lying, and you sigh. 

“I… might’ve asked him to stop being so confusing.”

“Confusing how?”

“He—” You hesitate. “He called me your little sister.”

Hongjoong blinks.

“…That’s it?”

“No, that’s the problem.”

“I don’t get it.”

You set your spoon down.

“He spends all this time with me. He drives me to work, insists on carrying my groceries, steals San’s coffee every morning, practically kicks Mingi off the couch so he can sit next to me…” You gesture helplessly. “Then the moment I think maybe I’m not imagining things, he reminds me I’m just Hongjoong’s little sister.”

He sits with what you say for a moment, nodding. 

“Can I say something?” 

You shrug, gesturing for him to go on.

“I didn’t see it before but he definitely doesn’t treat us like he treats you. I’ve known Yunho my whole life, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him act the way he acts with you.” 

You grip the bowl in your hands.

“He told you that, didn’t he?” he continues. You nod with a sigh. 

“What if I just made everything weird?” You ask.

“Did he look uncomfortable?” 

“No.”

“Then go talk to him.” 

“Joong—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You’ve been my sister for twenty-six years. I know when you’re overthinking.”

He nudges your knee.

“If Yunho really did something that hurt you, then tell him.”

A beat.

“And if he didn’t…”

He smiles, small and tired.

“Then stop making each other miserable. I know for a fact he’s feeling as bad as you are.” 

Hongjoong stands to join Hana, and they each grabbed your hand before it dragging you to your room. 

“You’re doing this now,” Hana says. 

“What?”

“If you don’t do it now, you’ll spend the whole weekend on the couch and eat your feelings in ice cream.” 

Three minutes later, after changing into an oversized sweater and convincing yourself at least seventeen times that this was a terrible idea, you stand in front of your apartment door.

“What if he’s mad at me?”

“Yunho?” Hongjoong lets out an incredulous laugh. “That guy couldn’t stay mad at you if you ran over his foot.”

You take one deep breath and pull the door open before you could think about what to say to him. 

To your surprise, Yunho is already standing on the other side, his fist raised mid-knock. 

You both freeze.

“Oh.”

“…Hi.” 

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“I…” A laugh escapes you, equal parts relieved and disbelieving. “I was actually just about to come over to yours.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You glance back.

Hongjoong and Hana are peeking shamelessly from behind your still-open front door, both giving you enthusiastic thumbs-ups.

You sigh.

“Not here.”

Yunho follows your gaze and immediately understands.

“Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “Definitely not here.”

The two of you walk to the very end of the hallway, where a large window overlooks the city and a couple of chairs make a small sitting area. It’s close, but also out of earshot, so you don’t have to worry about your roommates eavesdropping. 

The silence stretches between you until Yunho finally speaks.

“I guess you remember everything?” 

You nod. He lets out a slow breath. 

“Yunho, I—“ You’re about to tell him that you were sorry for messing things up when he interrupts you.

“I owe you the truth.” You say nothing, as he looks at the view from the window before looking at you in the eyes. 

“I called you Hongjoong’s little sister because you told me I was pretty. When you said that, I panicked. Hongjoong calls Seonghwa pretty because he’s in love with him but is too scared to admit it,” he says, brushing your hair away from your face. “I guess he and I have that in common.” 

“What?”

“It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.” 

“Yunho.”

“Every time I got too close to you, every time I caught myself looking at you for a little too long…” He exhales. “I’d remind myself you were Hongjoong’s sister.”

“Because if I didn’t…” His voice catches. “I’d want things I had no right to want.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs.

“Then you moved back.”

A small smile finds his face.

“And suddenly you were everywhere again. Last night made me realize, I’d probably been in love with you longer than I thought. Maybe since the day you moved in.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. From the window, the sun starts to set, casting a warm glow on Yunho’s face, as he holds your hands into his.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally says. 

You understand now, how it feels to have the one thing you’ve ever wanted, show you that it hadn’t been all in your head.

“You’re an idiot.”

His face falls. 

Before he could apologize, you grab the front of his sweater and kiss him. 

His hands automatically find their place on your waist while he pulls you closer. He tastes like coffee, which you thought tasted better on his lips than in the coffee cup you had every morning. He smiles into your teeth when he realizes you wouldn’t let go, with everything he’d spent months holding in. 

You pull away from him for a moment, him looking at you more clearly now, without hesitating, like he’s loved you all his life. 

“I’m in love with you too, you know.” You grin. “I thought it was obvious.” 

“I was hoping you’d say something dramatic, like you loved me since you were eight,” he jokes. 

“I thought you were cute when I was eight.” 

“Only cute?” 

“I was eight. I just kissed you, Yunho. We’re in love with each other,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, quieter this time.

Instead of answering, you rise onto your toes and press your lips to his.

“Ahem.”

The two of you spring apart.

Standing a few feet away is Mingi, a trash bag hanging limply from one hand.

He blinks once.

“Am I interrupting?”

Yunho closes his eyes for a brief second.

“Mingi.”

“No, no.” He holds up his free hand. “Please. Continue. I’ve only been waiting…” He checks an imaginary watch. “…roughly six months for this.”

“Mingi, don’t start,” you say, eyes pleading.  

Before either of you can stop him, Mingi is already halfway down the hallway.

“SAN!”

“WHAT!”

“We should go before everyone on the floor finds out,” Yunho whispers. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE KISSING?”

San’s voice echoes through the hallway.

“Too late.” 

The next Monday morning, you don’t have to walk to meet Yunho by the elevator anymore, because he’s already at your door the second you open it. 

“Good morning,” he smiles. 

“Morning.” 

He’s holding two cups of coffee. You eye them suspiciously.

“Did you use San’s coffee beans again?”

“No.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I bought my own,” he puffs his chest, a proud look on his face. “I figured my girlfriend deserves more than stolen Guatemalan beans.” 

“Girlfriend?” you laugh, taking one of the cups. 

“Yep, girlfriend. I don’t care if your siblings are staring me down now.” 

His eyes leave your face and move to look behind your head, to see Hana eating cereal with a furrow in her brows, Hongjoong beside her at the dining table with the same expression.

“You two are gross,” Hana mutters. 

Yunho ignores her, casually slipping a hand into yours. 

“You know they’re still watching, right?” you whisper.

“I know.”

“They’re judging us.”

“I know.”

“You don’t care?”

He looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

“Not even a little.”

END.

I remember standing by the ocean Watching all the waves just rollin' on

You sat beside Hongjoong, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder while Yeosang stretched out between your legs. The ocean rolled in and out in front of you. Waves crashing softly against the shore. The salty air filled your lungs with every breath, the breeze occasionally brushing strands of hair across your face. For once, everything felt quiet. Peaceful even.

A kind of peace you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. No more tension. No more awkward glances. No more rooms filled with unsaid feelings. Just this.

Just the three of you after everything that happened... Gods, you have missed this. You missed breathing without feeling like your chest was caving in. Missed laughing without guilt sitting in your stomach. Missed existing without waiting for something bad to happen.

Beside you, Hongjoong shifted slightly, pressing his cheek gently against the top of your head. A quiet habit that made you lips twitch.

Meanwhile, Yeosang was entirely occupied with your hand. Specifically, your left hand. His fingers absentmindedly played with yours, occasionally twisting the ring around your finger. The engagement ring caught the sunlight each time it moved, sparkling brightly enough to steal your attention.

You looked down and immediately smiled. Because Yeosang was staring at it too. And the expression on his face, the pure pride and happiness. A smile sat on his lips as he carefully turned the ring again.

The ring. The one he and Hongjoong picked together. The one they spent entirely too much time debating over. The one that now sat on your finger because after all the heartbreak, after all the healing, Yeosang got to propose too.

Finally, even if it was Hongjoong. He can recall the tearful face of yours, the faintest yes leaving your lips as Hongjoong took off the old ring. Yeosang getting the honors of placing the new. Yeosang glanced up and caught you staring.

“What?” he asked, trying and failing to hide his grin.

You raised an eyebrow. “You've been staring at it for like ten minutes.”

Immediately, his ears tinted pink. “I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

Hongjoong snorted beside you, causing the three of you to burst out laughing. And just like that, the sound of their laughter mixed with the ocean waves. And for the first time in what felt like forever you truly felt at home again.

I remember shadows growing darker, yeah. Then the morning broke with a brighter sun, yeah

Seonghwa couldn't believe his ears. The words echoed over and over in his head, each repetition somehow hitting harder than the last.

"I think we should stay being friends."

Everything after that became muffled. Like he was underwater. Like someone had pressed mute on the world. He was vaguely aware of himself nodding. Aware of you sitting across from him. But the ringing in his ears drowned everything else out.

What had he expected? Honestly? What had he really expected?

That you would welcome him back with open arms?

That after starting the worst year of your life, after breaking your heart and walking away, you would simply let him step back into the place he once occupied?

The thought alone made his stomach twist. Of course not. You deserved better than that. You always had. Across from him, you noticed immediately.

Because despite everything you still knew him. You always would. Your hand gently touched his. The contact pulled him back just enough to focus on you again. "Hwa..."

His eyes lifted.

"It doesn't mean I don't love you."

The words immediately made his chest ache. You smiled sadly. "We're still going to be us."

A pause.

"Just not romantically."

His throat tightened.

"And with more boundaries."

There it was. The reality of it. No anger, no hatred, not even rejection. Just a boundary. A consequence that was his fault. A line drawn by someone who had finally learned to protect herself.

And he didnt know that would hurt more. Because he couldn't even argue with it. Couldn't tell you it was unfair. Couldn't tell you that you were wrong. You weren't.

You were finally choosing yourself.

Something he should've wanted all along. Seonghwa swallowed hard before forcing a smile onto his face. The strongest one he could manage. "Of course, Yn."

His voice sounded steadier than he felt. "Anything you wish for, princess."

Your smile softened. For a brief second, he saw the person he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Then you leaned forward. And pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek.

Tender, affectionate and goodbye. A goodbye to the version of you two that once existed.

Then you stood and left. The door clicking shut behind you. The room became silent. Seonghwa remained exactly where he was.

Still smiling. Still staring at the spot you'd been sitting moments ago. Until something wet landed on the back of his hand. He blinked.

Looked down. Another followed. Then another.

Only then did he realize he was crying. Not loudly, nor dramatically. Just quiet tears slipping down his face as the reality settles in. You still loved him. Just not the love he was hoping for. And that somehow made it worse.

Because for the first time since he broke up with you, Seonghwa understood something with painful clarity: Loving someone wasn't always enough to be allowed back into their heart.

Sometimes, you gotta move forward Just take it step by step

You stood awkwardly in the doorway of Yunho's room. He sat in his desk chair facing you, hands clasped together as if he was trying to stop himself from fidgeting. The tension in the room was so thick it made you want to turn around, find Hongjoong and Yeosang, and drag them back as emotional support.

Taking a breath, you finally spoke. "Look, Yunho—"

"I know." He cut you off before you could continue. "We're not getting back together."

You blinked. The bluntness caught you off guard. It stung a little, but not nearly as much as it would have a year ago. "Well," you said dryly, crossing your arms, "there's no need to be so blunt about it."

A sheepish smile tugged at his lips.

"Sorry. I just..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've accepted the fact that even if I apologized and spent the rest of my life proving how sorry I am, you still wouldn't want to be with me."

You couldn't even argue with that. After several long conversations with your fiancés, the answer had become clear. Getting back together with Yunho wasn't something you wanted. Not anymore.

"It's just..." You shifted your weight. "Yunho, you did the most damage after the breakup."

His smile disappeared.

"You didn't stay away, but you weren't kind either. You didn't give me any sign that we could even be friendly. Every interaction felt like you hated me."

Guilt flashed across his face. "And I'm still sorry for that," he said quietly. "The whole thing just blew up after I got that text and—"

"And I get that, Yun. I really do."

The nickname slipped out naturally. Softly. "But it's still not an excuse."

Something visibly jolted in him. Yun. You hadn't called him that in over a year. For a moment, he simply stared. Because despite everything, despite knowing he'd ruined any chance of getting you back, hearing that nickname made his chest ache.

He was still in love with you.

That much had never changed. But he also knew he'd destroyed something that couldn't simply be repaired with an apology. He'd seen the disappointment in Hongjoong's eyes. Seen it in Mingi's too.His best friend. The people who had watched him self-destruct alongside you.

"Will we at least still be friends?" he asked softly, avoiding eye contact.

Silence filled the room. You thought about it for a moment before answering. "Of course, Yunho."

His eyes lifted.

"We were friends before we were lovers."

The tension in his shoulders loosened slightly.

"And I don't want to lose that."

You stepped forward. Hesitating for only a second before closing the distance between you. Yunho froze. Then you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead. His breath caught instantly. Before he could stop himself, his hands found your waist, pulling you into a tight embrace. Not in a romantic or possessive way. Just desperate, like he wanted to hold onto this version of you for a little longer.

You let him, just for a moment. Then you shifted. A silent reminder that it was time to let go. Slowly, his arms loosened.

You smiled sadly. "I honestly do miss our gaming sessions."

The confession came out as a whisper. Then you stepped away and headed for the door. Yunho watched you leave. The room felt empty the second you were gone. The door clicked shut behind you. And only then did he finally speak.

"I miss them too."

The words fell into the silence, he was the only one left to hear them.

And then you'll notice You've found your place (goddamn!)

You and Yeosang were at the gym, working out separately but close enough to keep each other in sight. Yeosang was across the room working through a set of weights while you focused on hip thrusts and squats, earbuds tucked into your ears.

Neither of you noticed the pair of eyes occasionally drifting your way. San had been working on his arms a few machines over, doing his best to focus on his workout instead of you.

Failing miserably. As he finished a set and reached for his water bottle, a familiar laugh suddenly filtered through his headphones. His head snapped up.

That laugh. Your laugh. The audio playing from his phone wasn't music. It was him. More specifically, an old recording of the two of you pretending to host a podcast. One of hundreds of ridiculous voice memos the two of you used to make.

"Can you believe the Choi Jongho has a hickey?" his own voice rang through the earbud.

A second later came the sound of your snort. Then your bright, uncontrollable giggles. The kind that always made him keep talking just to hear more of them.

"I heard he got caught making out behind the dorms."

Another burst of laughter. San felt his chest tighten painfully. Tears immediately stung his eyes. He grabbed his sweat towel and pressed it against his face, pretending to wipe away sweat while discreetly blinking away the emotion threatening to spill over.

A tap on his shoulder startled him. San nearly jumped. Turning around, he froze. You stood there holding your water bottle, offering him a small smile.

"Yn," he breathed. The towel nearly slipped from his hand.

"Hi, Sannie," you said softly.

The nickname alone nearly knocked the air from his lungs. His eyes immediately darted around the gym. Looking for Yeosang.

You noticed instantly. "He went back to shower."

San nodded. Still staring, trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him. Then you shifted awkwardly.

"Do you want to... maybe get some lunch?"

For a second, he genuinely thought he imagined it. Then realization hit. You were asking him. His heart nearly stopped.

"Yeah." The answer came far too quickly.

"Yeah, I'd like that." The smile that appeared on his face was impossible to hide. Maybe this was a chance. Maybe this was finally his chance to apologize.

—

A short while later, the two of you sat across from each other at a small café near the gym. A protein smoothie sat in front of you. One San had insisted on buying. Refusing to even let you reach for your wallet. You took a sip before glancing up at him.

The nervous energy practically radiated off him that you felt bad for a moment you had to break the tension. "So..."

"I'm sorry."

The words exploded out of him. You blinked, clearly not expecting him to launch straight into it. San immediately groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

"So much for easing into the conversation."

A small laugh escaped you. Despite yourself. Taking that as encouragement, he pushed forward.

"I'm sorry for ghosting you." His voice softened.

"I don't have an excuse." The smile faded from his face.

"I don't." He shook his head.

"What I did was selfish and cowardly, and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you'll let me." The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.

You offered him a soft smile. "Oh, San..."

The nickname alone nearly made him tear up again. Because you still said it the same way. The same looked at him as well, so gentle and warm. Far kinder than he deserved.

Across from you, San immediately looked nervous. Like he was bracing for impact.

"Seonghwa and Yunho, they're a fucking mess after you talked to them," he admitted with a weak laugh. "I'm fully expecting to be too after you chew me out."

A surprised laugh escaped you. Not because it was funny. But because he genuinely looked terrified. "Good," you replied.

San groaned immediately, dropping his forehead into his hands. "I knew it."

"You should."

His shoulders shook with a defeated laugh. You took another sip of your smoothie before setting it down. The smile faded slightly. Not completely, just enough.

"Do you know what hurt most?"

San slowly lifted his head. The fear immediately returned. Because your voice wasn't angry. It was sad. And somehow that was worse.

"I kept making excuses for you."

His expression crumpled instantly. You looked down at your drink.

"When everyone else broke up with me, I told myself you'd never do that."

Silence.

"I defended you."

San's eyes immediately began stinging. Because he remembered. Remembered how many times he promised he'd never leave. How many times he'd been the one reassuring you. The dependable one. The safe one.

"I told myself San would call eventually."

Your voice cracked slightly. "Then I thought maybe you were busy."

San couldn't look at you anymore. Then came the words that shattered him.

"Then I started wondering if you were hurt."

A pause.

"If you were sick."

Another pause.

"If you hated me."

San squeezed his eyes shut. Because every possibility you'd imagined was better than the truth. The truth was that he'd seen your calls, your messages. Seen your name appear on his screen. And done absolutely nothing.

"I know," he whispered.

His voice sounded broken. "I know."

You shook your head.

"No." Your eyes finally met his. "I don't think you do."

The restaurant suddenly felt too quiet. Too small. Because there was no anger in your face. Only hurt.

"Ghosting me wasn't just you leaving, San." Your fingers tightened around your cup.

"It made me question every memory we had."

His breath caught. Because he had never thought of it that way. Not even once.

"I kept wondering if any of it was real."

Immediately, tears filled his eyes. "Yn—"

"Was I that easy to throw away?"

The question came out quietly. And San looked like he'd been punched. Because there wasn't a single answer he could give that would make that hurt disappear.

"No."

The response came instantly and desperately. "No, no. God, no."

His eyes overflowed. "You were never easy to leave."

His voice shook a little bit now. "You were the hardest thing I've ever walked away from."

A tear slid down his cheek.

"And I did it anyway."

"I was a coward."

Another tear followed.

"I thought if I disappeared, it'd hurt less than hearing me say it." He laughed bitterly. "Turns out I was wrong."

You stared at him for a long moment. Taking in the tears and regret. The guilt he'd clearly been carrying for over a year. Then quietly, you spoke.

"Yeah."

San winced. Because he knew he deserved that.

"It did hurt more." you said softly.

San was fumbling with his fingers now, his eyes focused on them when your hands came into view, cupping his. That's when he looked up and can see the pain.

" even though it hurt, i forgive you San... and i think we should just stay as friends."

He knew he shouldnt be hurt. He knows that but fuck does it hurt so much. He sucked in a deep breathe, wanting this to be dream. You can see the turmoil on his face. It was the same one you would make a year ago.

San's lip quivered. He immediately looked away, blinking rapidly as he tried to keep himself together in the middle of a crowded café.

You noticed. Of course you did. You always noticed. "I still love you, Sannie."

The words made his chest ache. Not because they gave him hope. Because they didn't, at least, not anymore.

The hope had already been gently taken from his hands. But hearing that you still loved him somehow hurt more than hearing you didn't.

Because it meant he hadn't imagined it. What the two of you had was real. It just wasn't enough to undo what happened.

You squeezed his hand gently. "But I need time to heal from you."

San nodded slowly.

You took a shaky breath. "I've accepted that Seonghwa and Yunho will never be the same again."

The words hung in the air.

"And that hurts."

Your gaze dropped to your intertwined hands.

"But with you..."

San's breath caught. Because there was something different in your voice. Something softer.

You smiled sadly. "With you, I imagined a whole future."

The tears he'd been fighting finally spilled over.

A family. A home.

Growing old together, every stupid date, every lazy morning, every dream he'd let himself have.

Gone, because he'd broken something precious enough that it couldn't be rebuilt overnight. Maybe not ever.

"Yn..." His voice cracked.

You smiled anyway, a gentle one. The same one that always made him feel safe. Taking a deep breath, San wiped quickly at his eyes and forced himself to speak.

"I wish you nothing but the best with them."

His voice was rough but honest. Because despite how much it hurt, he meant it. Your smile widened immediately, a real one this time.

Bright enough to make his heart squeeze. Instinctively, both of your gazes dropped to your left hand. The engagement ring sparkled beneath the café lights. A reminder of the future you'd chosen. The future waiting for you.

"Thank you, Sannie."

hold onto your ground, doesnt matter how

You and Hongjoong had known there would be backlash. No matter when you announced your engagement, there would always be people who questioned it. You'd told yourself that for weeks.

Repeated it like a mantra. Tried to prepared for it. Or at least you thought you had.

But nothing prepared you for actually seeing it. The post had only been up for thirty minutes. Thirty. And already the comments were flooding in.

Anonymous yeah sure. announce an engagement RIGHT after a scandal.

hj&ynlover i love them but this feels really suspicious. happy for them, i guess?

yeosangleftsock oh please. this is the most obvious publicity stunt i've ever seen.

Your stomach dropped. Every comment felt like another hand reaching into your chest and squeezing. Because they weren't talking about some celebrity. They were talking about your life.

Your pain, love and future.

Anonymous she got caught in a scandal and suddenly they're engaged? okay.

Anonymous trying to distract everyone from the poly rumors.

Anonymous he deserves better honestly.

That one made your breath hitch. Your thumb froze.

Anonymous she's always causing problems for the group.

Anonymous i miss when ateez wasn't messy.

Anonymous this relationship always felt off.

Your vision blurred, tears stinging your eyes as you desperately tried to blink them away. This wasn't speculation. This was your engagement.

Your future, the happiest moment of your life reduced to strangers calling it fake. Your chest tightened painfully as another comment flashed through your mind.

He deserves better.

The words hit harder than they should have. Because after everything, after the breakups and the scandal. there was still a part of you that wondered if everyone would be happier without you.

A sob threatened to escape. You quickly pressed a hand over your mouth.

God, not now. Not when they would be home any minute.

You wiped furiously at your face. Trying to erase any evidence. Trying to compose yourself. Then you heard the front door.

The familiar sound of keys. The door opening. Voices immediately filling the apartment. You hurriedly wiped your cheeks again, rushing off the couch as you ran towards the kitchen.

The door to the living room swung open. Hongjoong and Yeosang walked in together, still caught up in whatever conversation they'd been having. Neither noticed you at first.

"Baby!"

Yeosang's voice filled the room immediately. Bright and excited.

"You would not believe what Hongjoong did during our suit fitting."

A small laugh escaped Hongjoong.

"Don't start."

"Oh, I'm absolutely starting."

Yeosang kicked off his shoes and pointed dramatically toward him.

"This man got emotional."

You let out a small laugh. A convincing one, at least, you hoped it was. Quickly turning back toward the kitchen island, you reached for an onion and a knife. Anything to keep them from looking too closely.

Anything to explain the burning in your eyes.

The comments still sat heavy in your chest.

He deserves better.

Publicity stunt.

Damage control.

You swallowed hard and focused on the cutting board. Hongjoong and Yeosang wandered into the kitchen together, still lightly bickering.

"He cried."

"I did not." Hongjoong whined.

"You literally did."

"I was not crying."

Before either of them could notice anything strange, they stepped into your space. Yeosang kissed your cheek. Hongjoong pressed a quick peck against your lips.

The simple affection nearly broke you all over again. Because they loved you so easily. And strangers hated you just as easily.

The moment they pulled away, Hongjoong frowned. His hand lifted. Carefully brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"Baby."

Your stomach dropped. His thumb lingered against your cheek.

"Have you been crying?"

For a split second, your entire body froze. You turned around quickly and held up the onion in your hand like evidence.

"Just the onions I'm cutting for dinner."

The lie slipped so much easier than you thought it would. Hongjoong stared at you for a moment before nodding his head.

" alright... but you'll let us know is anything is brothering you right?"

you nodded your head, pressing a reassuring kiss to his cheek, as well as Yeosangs. " i promise, now go get washed up boys. Dinner will be done shortly."

buying your excuse, you let out a sigh of relief that you didnt even realize that you were holding in.

they don’t even care so then, why should you?

You didn’t remember when your emotions had gotten this bad. Maybe it had been gradual. Like it had happened so slowly that you never noticed until now. All you knew was that lately, it felt like everything hurt more than it should.

You leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, tears streaming down your face as the last remnants of your sobs slowly quieted. Your chest still ached from the breakdown you’d just had, the aftermath lingering like a storm that refused to fully pass.

The house was silent, a little too silent. And in that silence, the thoughts came back.

“You don’t deserve them.”

Your head snapped up. The reflection staring back at you looked foreign. Cruel, almost hateful.

“I mean, who would want to stay with you?”

Your breath caught. Fresh tears immediately welled in your eyes. “No,” you whispered.

But the voice kept going,relentless and so cruel.

“Look at yourself, you’re exhausting. Too emotional.”

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs. Another tear rolled down your cheek. You couldn’t look away from your reflection, as if your memorized to your own cruelty.

“It’s why they didn’t invite you to the cake tasting.”

The thought struck deeper than it should have. A stupid thing. Something that had a perfectly reasonable explanation. Yet somehow your brain had twisted it into evidence.Evidence that you were unwanted and that you were being left behind.

“You’re so sensitive. It’s probably why they needed a break from you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut immediately, hard. Like you could physically force the thoughts away. Your chest heaved as you fought for a steady breath.

But it wasn’t working. The breathing exercises that you and yeosang practiced out the window. A sob was working it’s way back up again. Because the worst part wasn’t hearing the words. The worst part was that some small, broken piece of you believed them.

you didn’t recognize yourself anymore. Not the girl who used to stand her ground. Not the woman who used to fight back. Just someone standing alone in the bathroom, crying over comments, over cake tastings, over things that shouldn’t hurt this much.

yet somehow it did and no matter how tightly you shut your eyes, you couldn’t stop hearing that voice. Sounding exactly like your own.

“ you should just end it all. i mean, you would make everyones lives so much better. everyone is thinking it.”

a choked sobbed left your throat as you stared at the razor that hung on the wall. your vision so blurred and the tightness in your chest began to hurt. your hand trembled, feeling around for your phone.

your fingers hovered over hongjoongs contact, hesitating on bothering calling him. Staring back at your reflection who held such a cruel smirk on her face, your hands reached across the sink.

dont stop believing how you got here hold onto that feelin gonna make it far enough

Hongjoong and Yeosang arrived home to an unsettling silence.

The kind that immediately put them on edge. It was strange. The apartment was usually filled with something like, music playing from your phone, the television running in the background, your laughter carrying from another room, or even just your voice talking to Mouse.

But now? Nothing.

The silence wrapped around them the moment they stepped through the front door, sending an uneasy chill down their spines. Each of them carried a small bag from the cake tasting, having brought home slices for you to try. The entire drive back had been spent arguing over which flavor you'd choose as your favorite.

"Yn! Baby, we're home!"

Hongjoong slipped into his slippers as he called out, expecting to hear your voice almost immediately. Nothing answered him.

Yeosang frowned. "Maybe she's asleep?"

It wasn't impossible. The past few weeks had been exhausting, and lately you'd seemed more tired than usual. Still, something felt off. A sharp yelp suddenly echoed down the hallway.

Both men turned instantly. "Mouse?"

Another yelp. Followed by frantic scratching. Hongjoong's stomach tightened. Without thinking, he headed toward the spare room where the noise was coming from.

The scratching grew louder as he approached. "mouse?"

The moment he opened the door, Mouse practically launched himself out of the room. The dog jumped against Hongjoong's legs before immediately rushing toward Yeosang, whining loudly.

"Whoa, hey." Yeosang crouched down, rubbing behind Mouse's ears.

The dog wouldn't settle. Instead, he paced between them anxiously, letting out another distressed whine.

Hongjoong exchanged a look with Yeosang. Something wasn't right.

"That's odd..." Yeosang murmured, watching Mouse dart toward the hallway before looking back at them again.

His brows furrowed. "Usually Yn has him with her."

The uneasy feeling in Hongjoong's chest suddenly grew heavier. Because Yeosang was right. Mouse followed you everywhere, like a shadow.

And if he was locked away in the spare room by himself, where were you?

Hongjoong set the bag of cake slices down on the kitchen counter, the cheerful conversation from earlier long forgotten. The uneasy feeling in his chest had only grown stronger. Mouse's anxious behavior.

The fact that you hadn't come running out to greet them. None of it felt right. Without saying a word, he headed toward your shared bedroom. The hallway suddenly felt much longer than usual.

When he pushed open the door, his stomach dropped. The bed was empty. The blankets were still rumpled from that morning, but there was no sign of you.

His eyes immediately caught on the sliver of light spilling from beneath the bathroom door. The light was on.

A sinking feeling settled heavily in his stomach.

"Baby?" he called softly. No answer.

Behind him, he could hear Yeosang approaching, his footsteps quickening when he saw Hongjoong standing frozen in the doorway.

"Is she in there?" Yeosang asked quietly.

Hongjoong didn't answer right away. Because suddenly every terrible possibility was trying to force its way into his mind. His throat tightened.

"Yn?" he called again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing. His hands began to shake, just slightly. But enough for him to notice. Enough that he had to curl them into fists before reaching for the doorknob.

The metal felt cold beneath his palm. For a moment, he simply stood there. Heart pounding. Breath caught somewhere in his throat. Trying to convince himself he was overreacting. Trying to convince himself that you were probably just taking a bath.

Probably scrolling through your phone. Probably annoyed that he kept calling your name. But the dread in his chest refused to ease.

And as he wrapped his fingers around the handle, Hongjoong found himself taking a shaky breath. One he couldn't quite seem to finish.

Hongjoong breathe was caught in his throat, the scene forever pictured in his mind now. A wail left his body as he stumbled towards the bathtub. The crimson red blood stained the floor as Yeosang eyes widen at the scene. Hongjoong crawled towards your body, tears streaming down his face.

" y-yn!" he cried, putting pressure onto your open wounds.

Yeosang was fumbling with his phone, stuttering to get his words out as Hongjoong was frantically calling your name. Deep down, they both knew.

you were dead.

gonna make it far enough

Seonghwa was the first to get the call. One moment, he was sitting on the floor of his apartment, absentmindedly sorting through a set of Legos while a show played quietly in the background.

The next, his phone rang. Hongjoong.

A small smile had started to form before he answered. It vanished almost immediately. The color drained from his face. The Lego piece slipped from his fingers, clattering against the hardwood floor.

"Hongjoong?" His voice came out strained.

Whatever Hongjoong said next made Seonghwa shoot to his feet so fast the box of Legos overturned beside him.

"Where are you?"

San and Jongho looked up from the living room instantly. Because Seonghwa never sounded like that. So panicked and terrified. His hands were shaking as he grabbed his keys.

"Okay. Okay, we're coming right now."

The call ended.

"Hyung?" Jongho asked, already standing.

Seonghwa couldn't seem to catch his breath.

"Get your shoes."

The words came out broken, urgent and it brought chills to San and Jongho. Enough that neither San nor Jongho questioned him. They were moving before he even finished speaking. Because the look on Seonghwa's face told them everything they needed to know.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

im so scared, i feel like i might fall i cant believe you for even a moment, so im in a hurry to hide it.

Across the city, Wooyoung was grocery shopping when his phone rang. Yeosang. Without thinking, he answered with a soft smile.

"Hey, did you guys finally decide what flavor-"

The smile disappeared instantly. His entire body went still. The shopping cart slipped from his grip. For a moment, he simply stood there in the middle of the aisle. Just listening. His expression growing paler with every passing second.

"Yeosang..." His voice cracked.

The cart sat abandoned beside him. Half filled with groceries. Items he'd spent twenty minutes comparing. Things that suddenly felt completely insignificant.

Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut. Then he was moving, leaving everything exactly where it was. The shopping cart sat abandoned in the middle of the aisle, groceries half-finished and forgotten.

People turned as he rushed past them. He didn't notice nor didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting to the hospital.

His hands shook as he pushed through the automatic doors, nearly dropping his phone in the process. Yeosang's voice still echoed in his head, strained and terrified in a way Wooyoung had never heard before.

Every red light felt too long and unbearable. All he could think was one desperate prayer: Please be okay.

why dont you try hiding it? go ahead and dive in even when the world pushes you away you remember that moment, that we shared together

Across town, Mingi and Yunho were in the middle of a game when both of their phones began ringing simultaneously. The sudden interruption drew confused looks from both of them.

Before either could answer, the dorm room door flew open. Their manager burst inside. The color had completely drained from his face.

"Hyung, what is go-"

"No questions."

His voice was sharp, urgent. The kind of voice that immediately made your stomach drop. The last time they'd heard him sound like that was when he'd rushed them to the hospital after Yn's miscarriage. The memory hit both of them instantly.

"Get up."

Neither Mingi nor Yunho argued nor asked another question. A knot twisted painfully in Mingi's stomach as he pushed himself to his feet. Something was wrong. very, very wrong.

Yunho could see their manager's mouth moving. Could see the panic written all over his face. But suddenly there was a loud buzzing in his ears. Everything sounded distant.

Muffled, as if he was underwater. His pulse thundered violently in his chest.

"Hyung..."The word barely left his mouth.

Their manager's expression crumpled. And somehow that terrified him more than anything else. Because managers were supposed to stay calm. Yet standing in front of them was a man who looked utterly shaken.

"It's Yn."

The world stopped. Nobody breathed.

Then Mingi's knees nearly gave out beneath him. He caught himself on the edge of the desk, his hand trembling violently.

"No." The word escaped before he could stop it.

Yunho felt his own stomach drop. Cold dread spreading through every inch of his body.

"What happened?"

His voice sounded strangled. The manager looked away for a moment and that was enough. Because suddenly every horrible possibility was crashing through their minds.

Mingi was already grabbing his shoes. His fingers fumbling so badly he could barely tie them.

Yunho's heart slammed against his ribs. Hard. The buzzing in his ears only grew louder. Because for the first time since everything had happened he was truly terrified.

Not of losing a relationship or a friend. But of losing you. And suddenly every argument felt stupid. Every grudge felt meaningless. All the cruel word he'd ever thrown at her replayed in his head.

As they rushed out the door behind their manager, neither man realized they were crying. Only that they couldn't get to the hospital fast enough.

when i become more critical of myself than anyone else, just take a breath, thats enough

Hongjoong sat motionless in the hospital waiting room. He couldn't remember how long he'd been there. Time had stopped making sense the moment the doctors had taken you from his arms.

Everything since then felt distant. Muted even. Like he was watching someone else's life unfold from far away.

His hands trembled in his lap. He stared at them, unable to look away. Tears slid silently down his face. He didn't bother wiping them away.

All he could think about were the last few weeks. The signs he'd missed. The moments that seemed insignificant at the time. Your forced smiles. The exhaustion from practice and comeback preparations.

The way you insisted that you were fine or how you'll laugh your tears off. The way you'll kissed his cheek and told him dinner would be ready soon. A broken sound escaped him.

How had he not seen it? How had he looked directly at the woman he loved and failed to realize how much she was hurting?

His chest tightened painfully. Because no matter how many times he replayed it, the outcome never changed. He should have stayed. Should have pushed harder. he should of asked one more question.

sometimes you gotta move forward, just take it step by step and then you'll notice youve found your place

Beside him, Yeosang sat with his head in his hands. Silent tears slipping through his fingers. The waiting room was full of people now.

His members and managers, yet Yeosang had never felt more alone. Because the only person he wanted was the one currently behind those hospital doors. And for the first time in a very long time, yeosang felt completely helpless. All he could do was wait.

The image of you in the bathtub, laying lifeless haunts his mind. Scared to close his eyes, he just stared at the white tile floors. Fiddling with the ring you had gifted him not to long ago.

The smile on your face memorized, as you gave him a sweet kiss. His hands finding your waist as you placed the ring on his finger. your voice echoing in his mind.

"now we're matching!"

god damn, hold on to your ground doesnt matter how. they dont even care, so then why should you?

San couldn't sit still. He paced the length of the waiting room over and over, one hand tangled in his hair while the other wiped uselessly at the tears that refused to stop falling.

Across from him, Wooyoung had long since broken down. His elbows rested on his knees, face buried in trembling hands as quiet sobs echoed through the otherwise silent room.

Neither of them had imagined they'd ever be back here. Not after everything. They had just gotten on speaking terms with you.

Jongho sat rigidly in one of the plastic chairs, his knee bouncing uncontrollably. He stared at the floor as though afraid to look at anyone else.

"She has to be okay..."

His voice barely carried across the room. "...Right?"

The question lingered as no one answered. It wasn't because they didn't want to. It was that none of them knew what to say.

The waiting room felt suspended in time. Every second stretched into an eternity. Every time footsteps echoed down the hallway, every head lifted in hope. Only to fall again when they passed.

Mingi sat with his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Yunho hadn't spoken a single word since arriving. His eyes remained fixed on the closed doors at the end of the corridor. He couldn't stop replaying their last conversation.

The things he'd said. The things he'd never apologized for.

Seonghwa closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, no one cared about misunderstandings.

Or breakups.

Or jealousy.

Or hurt feelings.

All that mattered now was one simple wish that every person in that room shared: Let her come back to us.

don't stop believing how you got there. hold onto that feelin, gonna make it far enough

The words barely had time to register before his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, a broken sob tearing from his chest. The rest of the members didn't need to hear the doctor's voice to understand. The look on Hongjoong's face told them everything: You hadn't made it.

Jongho remained frozen in his chair, unable to move as tears streamed silently down his face. His hands trembled in his lap, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to look at his hyungs as the reality settled over them. The thought echoed relentlessly in his mind, you were gone.

His chest ached with a grief so profound it felt impossible to breathe through. The person who had always been his greatest source of comfort, his favorite member, the one who had been there through every triumph and hardship... was gone. And for the first time in a long time, Jongho felt completely helpless.

when all the walls are closing. when the weights hard to bear

Wooyoung struggled to breathe, each breath catching painfully in his throat as his hands tangled in his hair. His frantic eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything , that could undo what had just happened.

Regret consumed him in an instant, swallowing him whole. He would have given anything for one more chance. One more kiss, one more opportunity to pull you into his arms and hold you so tightly you'd never have to doubt how much you meant to him. To bury his face against your hair and whisper endless apologies, telling you over and over how deeply he loved you.

But there were no second chances. Just the crushing silence you had left behind, and the unbearable weight of everything he would never get to say.

when you feel like youre nowhere. let it go 'cause ill be there for you

Mingi stared blankly at the wall, completely motionless as tears streamed endlessly down his face. He didn't wipe them away. He didn't seem to notice them at all. He didn't understand. He just couldn't.

His mind rejected every word the doctor had spoken, refusing to let them settle into reality. It had to be a mistake. There had to be another explanation, just anything but this.

You couldn't be gone. Not you. Not his beloved princess.

His breathing was shallow, his thoughts trapped in an endless loop of denial as the truth hovered just beyond his reach. No matter how many sobs echoed through the hallway, how broken the others sounded, he couldn't force himself to acknowledge it.

Because the moment he did... It meant accepting that you were really gone. And that was a reality Mingi simply couldn't bear.

when there is no one for you when you just need a friend 

San was the only one who found the strength to follow the doctor back to your room. Each step felt heavier than the last, his breathing growing more uneven the closer he came. The hallway seemed impossibly long, every footfall echoing in his ears as his heart pounded against his ribs.

His body had already begun to tense, every muscle rigid. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around: to run, to pretend this wasn't real, to never walk through that door.

Because he knew that once he did... there would be no denying the truth. His trembling hand hovered near the doorframe as he fought to steady his breathing, tears blurring his vision. He wasn't ready to see you like this.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave you alone, either. Not after the year you had. You deserved to be surrounded with love. He can see his hand shaking on the doorknob, the few tears that slipped past him falling to the ground.

Taking in a breathe that he could muster up, he finally entered the room.

when you're just feeling lonely Ill be there

Yeosang stumbled into the nearest bathroom, barely making it inside before locking himself in a stall. The moment the latch clicked into place, his composure shattered.

A broken sob escaped him as his body began to tremble uncontrollably. He pressed a shaking hand over his mouth, desperately trying to muffle the cries that refused to stop, his shoulders shaking with the force of each one.

His thoughts spiraled without mercy. All he could think about was you. How frightened you must have been. Whether you had been looking for them. Whether you had called out for someone in your final moments.

The guilt settled heavily in his chest, stealing what little air he had left. He imagined seeing you walk down the aisle, wearing your wedding gown. He imagined tearing up, and he can picture you giving a shy smile with tears also.

unfortunately, he'll never get to experience that.

Hold on to your ground Doesn't matter how 

Yunho's legs trembled uncontrollably, even as he remained seated. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers shaking as they found their way to his mouth. He had never been one to bite his nails, but now he couldn't stop.

Tears poured endlessly down his face, blurring his vision until the world became nothing more than distorted shapes and muffled sounds. Regret consumed him. He should have told you he loved you one more time.

He should have fought harder for the two of you. He should have taken back every hurtful word he'd ever spoken.

He regretted letting you go. Breaking up with you had already been the hardest decision of his life. Now, knowing there would never be another chance to fix it, the pain became unbearable. His chest tightened with every shallow breath until it felt impossible to breathe at all.

Someone was touching him, but his mind refused to process who it was, still trapped in the shock of losing you.

Only when he slowly lifted his tear filled eyes did he realize Mingi was standing in front of him. Without a word, Yunho surged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around him as another sob finally escaped his chest.

They don't even care So then, why should you? 

Seonghwa held Hongjoong tightly, the two of them collapsing into one another as heartbreaking sobs echoed through the hallway.

His mind drifted back years in an instant.

Back to the day you were both trainees.

He could still picture you walking over to greet him with that bright smile, introducing yourself as though you had known each other forever. You had always carried so much warmth—so much life—that it was impossible not to be drawn to you.

Then came the day the company announced that all nine of you would debut together.

You had thrown your arms around him without hesitation, hugging him so tightly he had laughed, your excitement infectious as tears of happiness filled your eyes.

"We did it," you'd whispered.

He could almost feel that embrace now. Almost hear your laugh.

It hurt. God, it hurt. If only he could turn back time, he would. He would stay by your side. He would of never let fear or doubt come between you. He would never break up with you. He would hold you close and never let you walk away.

His eyes drifted to Hongjoong's left hand, settling on the silver/gold ring wrapped around his finger, the matching one he knew the two of you had picked out together.

A painful lump rose in Seonghwa's throat. That ring had once been a promise of forever. Now... It was all Hongjoong had left.

don't stop believing how you got here hold on to that feelin' gonna make it far enough

Hongjoong finally found the strength to move. It wasn't because he was ready. He never would be. Who could be ever ready to see their loves one dead.

His body moved on its own, numb and unsteady, following the sound of Yeosang's broken cries echoing down the hallway. Each step felt impossibly heavy, as though the hospital floor were trying to pull him back.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His breath caught the instant his eyes landed on you. The world around him faded into silence.

You looked... peaceful. As though you had simply drifted into a deep sleep. But the warmth that had always lit up your face was gone, replaced by a heartbreaking stillness. Your skin had lost its color, leaving you impossibly pale.

He hated it. how lifeless you looked. that you weren't smiling at him. that your chest no longer rose with quiet breaths. Most of all, he hated that this was the last time he would ever see you.

His knees nearly gave out as he stumbled forward, accidentally bumping into Yeosang's shoulder. Neither of them acknowledged it.

Yeosang remained where he was, both of his hands wrapped carefully around one of yours, desperately holding onto fingers that had already grown cold. Silent tears continued to fall onto the blanket as he gently rubbed circles across your knuckles, as if willing warmth back into them.

Hongjoong slowly lowered himself beside the bed. His trembling hand hovered just above your face. He was terrified to touch you. Afraid that the moment he felt how cold your skin had become, every last shred of denial he had left would disappear.

His fingers finally brushed against your cheek. Cold. So unbearably cold. A broken sound escaped his lips before he could stop it, his shoulders shaking violently as he cradled your face with both hands.

"Baby... I'm so sorry," he cried, his voice trembling so badly the words nearly fell apart before they reached you.

He leaned forward hesitantly, as though terrified that even this final act would somehow make everything more real. His lips met yours in one last kiss, firm, yet impossibly gentle.

They were cold. The absence of your warmth shattered whatever remained of his composure. A sob tore from his chest as he lingered there for a moment longer, unwilling to pull away, desperately pretending that if he stayed close enough, you might kiss him back.

When he finally lifted his head, tears fell freely onto your cheeks. The memory of that unbearable cold lingered on his lips, a feeling he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.

even if the darkness stops you we can find the light wherever we go, we'll be together 

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the moment you stared into his brown eyes beneath the shade of the courtyard’s wisteria trees, you should have known you were done for.

everything about him was amicable. he was poised, polite, well-mannered. the very definition of a crown prince if you’d ever seen one. on the contrary, you could say the same for yourself. the people’s princess, a beacon of light and laughter even between war-torn kingdoms. so, the very moment that your parents pledged you to one another, you imagined it was the most strategic match on paper that could have been formed.

the ceremony was short, fleeting. there was no time for niceties at a time when people were dying and villages along borders were being seized. your marriage wasn’t a celebration of undying unity or the triumphs of a love match. no, it was one of survival. the fact that you both recited your vows like clockwork with your only witnesses being the royal courts and your parents before the priest said that much.

you stand on one of the balconies looking out at the courtyards that evening, the wisteria trees swaying gently beneath the late summer breeze. even in the face of political turmoil, you vowed to yourself to find beauty in the smaller things in your time at your new home. the neighboring kingdom had a beautiful abundance of gardens and winding paths that traversed the landscape of the castle grounds and you imagined you’d find yourself lost amongst them for some sense of respite when the weight of your crown became too heavy.

“your highness,” he calls out to you and you peer over your shoulder into those brown eyes again. a small smile graces your face as you nod your head, reciting your name back to him.

“no need for the formalities. we are married now, after all.”

hongjoong approaches you carefully, hands clasped behind his back as he hums to himself and follows your gaze out into the gardens. he doesn’t say anything else for some time, the silence growing between you as you process what exactly you’d gotten yourselves into. his gaze flickers to your left hand, where you nervously spin the band of his grandmother’s ring around the base of your finger.

and then, he says, “you know, i got in trouble when i was younger for climbing the wisteria trees and hiding in them. it was the only way i could get out of etiquette lessons.”

you look over at him and can’t help but burst into a fit of laughter at the mental image, the sound pleasing hongjoong as you drop your hands. “somehow, i don’t find that hard to believe. i would have done the same.”

“did you also climb trees to run away from responsibilities?”

“not exactly,” you grin, grateful for hongjoong’s feeble attempt to ease your nerves. “there’s a strip of beach behind our castle grounds. i’d sneak through cracks in the back walls and hide there.”

“that sounds peaceful.”

“it was.”

suddenly, the weight returns. there’s no grand fanfare to celebrate that the crown prince was married. no feast, no dancing in the streets. your parents returned to your kingdom quickly, leaving you in the clutches of a castle you’d stepped foot in maybe once when you were younger. hongjoong’s father said no more than a muttered congratulations before being whisked away to the war room by his court. a new union with your kingdom meant you were both stronger for it when the rest of the continent beyond your northern borders was in shambles.

“i know we’re not exactly in love,” hongjoong says matter-of-factly, breaking the silence for a second time. you know he’s stating a fact, but it still creates a knot in your stomach. “but, i don’t resent you. we’re just—”

“—fulfilling our duties to our people,” you finish for him, a pitiful smile etched across your face. “i know.”

“we can keep it at that, if that makes you feel more comfortable.” he stares at you intently, so much so that you nearly feel as though you have to look away. “a necessary arrangement.”

you stare back at him for some time, your thoughts racing faster than you can manage. you couldn’t fathom the idea of falling in love with hongjoong. there was too much at risk, let alone the added weight of growing attached to him. surely, he would never see this as anything more than a political alliance, no matter how kind he was. it was only logical to agree.

“i think that’s best,” you nod, ignoring the way the words knot your stomach for a second time. “there’s so much at stake right now.”

“i’ve been told i’m not the best at romance, anyway,” he jests, a dramatic sigh slipping past his lips and earning a laugh from you in reply. your gaze returns to the gardens, to the setting sun behind the trees. you don’t notice that hongjoong hasn’t stopped looking at you, his hand lingering beside yours on the banister.

the weeks that follow are grueling. while most of the castle staff and nobles were kind to you as the crown prince’s now-wife, it was a short-lived fascination with the demands of keeping up with the ongoing war. nearly every day, there were reports of casualties along the border, of property seized and widespread panic growing. as much as you worked hard to learn of the kingdom’s customs and internal politics, you needed to maintain correspondence with your own court and the needs of your newfound people.

it became a labyrinth of roundtables, running between libraries and wordless dinners that were so quick you’d barely swallow down a meal before returning to hongjoong’s side in meetings.

“your highness,” an older nobleman says, “it’s incredibly unprofitable to relocate the people of the northern villages closer to the central towns.”

“and it will be unprofitable if we leave them there to die,” hongjoong replies, his tone steady and severe all at once. you stare at him from the corner of your eye, noticing the way his jaw ticked at the older gentleman’s words and the way that his gaze was firm.

“i might also add—” you start and the noblemen interjects.

“no need, your highness.”

“let her speak.”

hongjoong looks at you expectantly, his face unreadable as you clear your throat and face the rest of the court in the intimate war room. there’s clearly a lack of respect from the rest of them that you try to ignore as you continue.

“there’s also the option to use the roads on the western side of the kingdom that lead into ours,” you inform them. “it’s a bit of a longer route, but there’s a vast expanse of free land in our territory that can be used for temporary refuge. it can avoid interrupting any ongoing business in this kingdom and keep central roads clear for trade.”

the room remains silent and you’re unsure if they’re impressed, offended, or both.

“we’ll draft plans for her highness’ suggestion,” one of them finally says and you feel your shoulders nearly melt from how tightly you were tensed. hongjoong nods in approval once and you allow him to follow through with the rest of the meeting.

that night, you confine yourself to one of the libraries close to your chambers. it overlooks the gardens, offering you some semblance of peace as you write correspondence back to your own court to arrange for the refugees.

you’re pages deep, ink running low and your hand cramping from clutching the fountain pen when you hear someone clear their throat and jump.

“well, i didn’t mean to scare you,” hongjoong teases gently, his eyes traveling to the stacks of paper around you. “am i missing something?”

“oh,” you feel heat rise to your cheeks as you look down at the letters you’ve written. “i’ve just been working on correspondence with our court to arrange for the refugee agreement.”

“the court can work on that,” he replies, arching a brow. “there’s no need to overexert yourself.”

“sure, but it’s my land, after all.” you hold his gaze. “it’s my responsibility, whether the court likes it or not.”

hongjoong narrows his eyes at you, his lips parted as if he were contemplating another response. finally, he lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender. “i understand. just don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it.”

“i will,” you assure him. “why are you awake and wandering at this hour?”

“same as you,” he answers, settling into the chair across from you. “worrying, plotting.”

“worries will give you frown lines,” you poke at him. “terribly unbecoming.”

hongjoong laughs, the sound striking something within you that you quickly stifle as you raise your gaze to look at him. the candlelight illuminates his features, each of them appearing sharper than usual. his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the top button unfastened and his hair falling from its usual sweep over his eyes. you throw yourself back into your writing and fight the urge to continue staring at him.

he doesn’t leave, just sits there quietly and watches as you put pen to paper. a yawn escapes you and he finally speaks, a mischievous glint in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“would you like to go for a walk?”

“this doesn’t really constitute a walk,” you call up at him as he scales the branches of the wisteria trees. lilac petals drift to the gravel beneath your feet as he grunts, finally making it to the edge of a particularly sturdy branch so he could peer out over the walls.

“did we not walk to get here?” he asks from above. there’s something refreshing in his expression, as if he weren’t just burdened with the responsibilities of serving an entire kingdom. right now, he just looked like a boy that liked to climb trees.

you bite down on your bottom lip, the thought crossing your mind for a split second before you hike up your skirts and scale the trunk after him. you’re more capable than you expected, finding your footing quickly and tiptoeing across the branches until you’re stood beside him. you peer through the sea of purple bathed in moonlight until you can see the expanse of the kingdom beyond the walls. faint specks of lanterns and chimney smoke float from the ground, up into the star-scattered skies.

“oh, this is beautiful,” you breathe, the floral scent engulfing you as you stare off into the distance. hongjoong swallows, propped against the trunk further into the expanse of the tree as he watches you admire his kingdom. a blissful sigh slips past your lips and you take a step back, about to turn to him when you misstep.

you flail at the loss of balance before hongjoong reaches to grab you by your wrist and pull you into his chest. the tree shakes, swaying to a stop when you realize you’re a breath’s distance away from him.

from your husband.

your eyes dart between his, your heart thundering in your chest when you realize he hadn’t let you go. his hands remained fixated on your waist, holding you sturdy until you clear your throat and heat rushes to your face.

“thank you,” you mutter as you tuck away a strand of hair.

“mm,” he replies, unsure of what to do with his hands until he shoves them into his pockets and takes the risk of meeting your eyes again. “well, casualties aside. if you ever need a moment to yourself, don’t hesitate to climb up here. although, if you misstep like that again, i might need to be here for it.”

“it was an accident!” you retort, shaking your head before you follow him down the trunk back onto the ground.

that was the first night in what felt like a lifetime that you’d slept soundly.

amidst coordinating war efforts, you and hongjoong were informed that there was a ball hosted in one of the neighboring territories that you were required to attend. the look you exchanged upon hearing the news said more than words. neither of you felt content at the idea of dressing lavishly, indulging in fine wines and dancing the night away when people were actively dying.

even then, it was still a strange responsibility you needed to fulfill.

the guards guide the pair of you into a carriage before filing into their own that flank either side of you. hongjoong doesn’t say much when you sit across from him, focused on the maps and charts he’d brought along to study during the journey. you follow along, quietly observing the routes he marked and notes he’d scribble into the margins.

“would you like to take a break?” you offer, finally getting him to look at you in what felt like hours. his eyes are bloodshot and his face sullen, hardly the picture of someone prepared to attend a ball and dress to the nines. not waiting for his response, you gingerly prick the documents from his hands and fold them neatly into squares that can be stowed away in his satchel. he glares at you in protest, too tired for words when you reach out and pat his hand.

“during a war isn’t the time to celebrate,” you say. although you mean the ball later that night, you both knew full well it could mean the same for your marriage. “but that’s hardly a reason to overwork yourself until you can’t think straight.”

“if i don’t, who will?” hongjoong rasps, allowing himself a moment to close his eyes and lean into the plush upholstery. the carriage rides over a dip in the road and you flinch, your knees brushing against his when he opens his eyes again. he looks less intense than usual. if anything, he looks more human than you’d ever seen him.

“we will figure it out together,” you assure him quietly, your hand still on his. “for now, we have something even more politically complex to figure out.” he stares at you in question until you crack a smile that he mirrors. “attending a ball with these other god-awful royals.”

the sun has already set by the time that the carriage slows to a stop in front of the hosting castle. lanterns line the cobblestone paths, the faint sound of fanfare and conversation floating through the air from an inner ballroom. the castle’s guards meet your own and hongjoong steps out first, offering his hand to you so that you could join him.

a handful of other nobles trickling in stop in their steps, their eyes wide and their whispers rising in volume at the sight of you. this was your first public appearance as a newly wedded couple, something that was sure to be topic of conversation for the night. hongjoong ignores them and keeps his eyes fixated on you, a small smile on his lips as you bow your head in thanks.

“shall we?” he asks as you curl your fingers around his arm. you nod, your head held high as you match his steps to follow the guards through the halls.

as expected, you’re instantly bombarded with well wishes and questions of your marriage to the coveted crown prince. he’s whisked away by other noblemen, dragged towards tables littered with half-empty whiskey bottles and crystal glasses while the women surround you in a corner of the dance floor.

“is he as charming as they say?”

“oh, what was the wedding like?”

“have you all spent much time together yet?”

you answer their questions halfheartedly, a rehearsed smile on your face as you suddenly find yourself pining for hongjoong’s comforting presence at your side. your gaze travels across the ballroom to where he was in a similar position, his own remorseful expression matching yours until they jolt him back into conversation.

“have you gotten a dowry from her parents yet?”

“has she been an absolute nag? when i tell you, my wife—”

“how is she in bed?”

hongjoong stiffens, the barrage of increasingly inappropriate questions making his blood boil until he finally downs the rest of his whiskey and excuses himself. he sifts through the crowd along the edges of the dance floor until he approaches you, the girls surrounding you becoming wide-eyed with awe when he outstretches a hand.

“if you ladies would excuse us,” he says, his eyes locked on yours. “i’d like to dance with my wife.”

you take his hand graciously, following him onto the dance floor as the band shifts into a slower waltz. his hand rests on the small of your back, the other holding yours at your side as you fall into a steady rhythm. you hadn’t ever danced together, but years of training on both of your accounts were enough to figure it out.

“thank you,” you say to him as he chuckles.

“no, thank you,” he answers. “the men were equally insufferable.”

little by little, you and hongjoong allow yourselves the privilege to enjoy the night. you join him for a glass of whiskey while the girls whisper about you at the lemonade table. he whisks you around the dance floor for three, four rounds without so much as a glance in their direction. your laugh grows louder and your cheeks hurt from smiling more than you’d expected.

the night finally comes to a close, whispering royals led by guards to various wings of the castle. you remain at hongjoong’s side, deep in conversation about one nobleman’s particularly tight trousers in a fit of laughter when you’re guided into a room and the towering oak doors are shut behind you.

the pair of you fall silent. you suddenly become all too aware of hongjoong standing beside you, the scent of his perfume and the way heat radiates from his skin.

at your own castle, you slept in separate rooms. separate beds. you hadn’t so much as consummated your own marriage with the onslaught of political responsibilities. it had been weeks and you weren’t entirely sure what hongjoong’s bed chambers even looked like.

yet, here you were, in a foreign land, standing beside one another in a room with one bed and not a wandering eye in sight.

“i can ask the guards to prepare another room,” hongjoong says quickly in a mumbling mess before you reach for his arm to stop him.

“it’s fine,” you say, not recognizing the sound of your own voice over your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage. he turns to you slowly, his eyes trailing over every inch of you that feels more exposed than you’d ever been.

he takes a step closer.

you feel your breath caught in your throat, your mind reeling with every warning that you should back away and prepare for bed. you feel your hand tremble against his arm and swallow, the taste of whiskey still on your tongue as you meet his eyes.

he takes another step closer.

hongjoong brings his hand to your face, brushing his thumb along your cheek tentatively. it’s a small gesture, but enough to earn a gasp from you as your eyes flutter shut. finally, finally he closes the distance between you when he presses his lips to yours.

the feeling that surges along your veins is inexplicable. he was your husband, but in name only. something about it felt scandalous, as if you were both shying away from your duties as the crown prince and his bride in a time when there was no room for romance. even then, you drape your arms over his shoulders to draw him in closer, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

“hongjoong,” you try to say, the last strain of logic in an attempt for you to stop yourselves. “we—”

“shh,” he hisses against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine until he practically begs. “just this one night. we deserve one night.”

the final bit of restraint left within you snaps and you sink your nails into his shoulder blades as he lifts you to carry you to the bed. you fall back onto the sheets, hongjoong’s lips never leaving yours as he settles between your thighs.

for just one night, you free yourselves of your duty to your crowns. the war raging on at the border fades into the distance. no one was telling you that you had no room for feelings at a time like this.

not even yourselves.

the next morning, you awaken to hongjoong’s arm draped over your waist and your face buried in silk sheets. your skirts and corset were thrown haphazardly across the room, the same as his trousers and coats. his scent mingles with yours, sunlight pouring in through the tall windows as you finally sit up with a groan.

hongjoong stirs, his own eyes peeling open to look up at you with a blissful smile on his face. “good morning.”

“good morning,” you hum in reply, stretching your legs over the edge of the bed to prepare for your return back to the castle.

the pair of you are seated in the carriage once again, en route to your own territory when hongjoong breaks the silence unexpectedly.

“last night can’t happen again,” he says, his expression unreadable when you nearly unhinge your jaw in astonishment.

“pardon?”

“i—” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck as he averts your gaze. “we can’t let ourselves get distracted when we return.”

you stare at him for a long time before you finally nod once. “of course.”

you don’t say another word for the rest of the journey.

there’s little time for your irritation to fester when you’re bombarded with noblemen running out to the carriage, their arms flailing as they yell over one another.

“what is happening?” hongjoong asks, his voice carrying over theirs until one finally speaks.

“the caravans headed down the western route were ambushed.” your blood runs cold as your eyes widen in shock. “their king discovered the diversion and sent his men away from the border and towards the refugees.”

“he’s just being barbaric,” you seethe, “there’s not even any monetary value in attacking refugees.”

hongjoong doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes darting between you and the noblemen before he finally turns his back to you. “prepare another carriage for my departure. please write to them that i will be visiting for a diplomatic discussion.”

“let me go with you,” you urge, surprised when hongjoong pulls away from your touch. he doesn’t say another word to you and hurries to prepare with the rest of the court, leaving you standing alone.

you’re not sure what the plan is for hongjoong to approach the rival kingdom. he hadn’t so much as spared a passing glance following your return to the castle. you were left to dinners alone while the king and crown prince focused on political strategy. the handmaids urged you to go for walks, take up hobbies in the drawing rooms or the gardens. all you could do was seethe and wonder what it would take for him to at least look at you again.

if not the way he did that night, at least just to acknowledge you.

the night before he leaves, you’re finally able to corner him in his bed chambers thanks to one of the guards that lets you through.

“what are you doing here?” he asks blankly, focused on packing his belongings for the journey.

“i’m your wife,” you snap, frustration evident in your voice as you storm across the room towards him. you don’t even appreciate the fact that you’re able to take in his bedroom for the first time. “we returned nearly a week ago and you won’t even speak to me.”

“i have more important things to address right now, do i not?” hongjoong glares at you over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since you were tangled beneath the sheets together.

“and am i not supposed to be included in these conversations?” you ask, taking a step closer. “am i not the queen-to-be? are these not also my people?”

“this isn’t a discussion,” hongjoong replies, “it’s a decision.”

“and you think you have the right to decide for us both?” the room is thick with tension, the pair of you glaring at one another. you see red as you run a hand over your face in frustration before heaving a sigh. “actually, go. do whatever you think is best. don’t bother involving me.”

“what are you so angry about?” he asks, his voice raised.

“i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

“oh, i’m sorry.” you let out a dry, humorless laugh. “forgive me for thinking making love to me and then acting as though i don’t exist is concerning.”

“i did not make love to you,” hongjoong corrects you, his tone clipped. the way he looks at you practically drives a dagger through your chest.

“so what was that, then?” you’re close enough that you’re sure he can feel your breath on his lips. “touching me like that? telling me sweet nothings while you fucked me into the sheets?”

“it didn’t mean anything."

the way his words land shatters every bit of admiration you had for him. he wasn’t the boy who liked to climb trees anymore.

he was just the crown prince.

“i see.” your voice becomes eerily calm, enough for you to back away from him and bow your head in surrender. hongjoong stares at you, motionless and unreadable with his hands hovering at his sides. you don’t lift your eyes back to meet his gaze, focused on the floor beneath your feet. “apologies, your highness. i should go.”

hongjoong says your name, but it’s cut off by the way the doors slam behind you when you leave.

you watch the next morning when the carriages depart through the front gates from your balcony. you spent the night tossing and turning, fighting with yourself as to whether or not you should cave and return to hongjoong in an attempt to remedy the situation. pride got the better of you and kept you confined to your bed.

even after such a horrid argument, you feel your heart sink when the carriages disappear beneath the canopy of trees that lead into the rest of the kingdom. you hadn’t realized how desperately you craved his touch until he lay a finger on you. how badly you needed to hear the sound of his laugh until he had you spinning around the dance floor in stitches.

you’re left with little time for your own thoughts when the remaining members of the royal court summon you to coordinate efforts with your own kingdom. you quickly become engrossed in your work in order to stifle any last thoughts you had of hongjoong. you hear word from the other men that he hopes to negotiate a ceasefire, but it only spurs your anger further knowing you could have made a compelling argument of your own.

the carriages return—only this time, without hongjoong.

“he chose to stay behind with the men on the front lines,” the driver informs you. considering you hadn’t said a word, you’re sure your expressions gives away enough. “it seems as though the negotiations were unsuccessful.”

the anger in your chest quickly simmers in exchange for a gnawing anxiety that rattles against your ribcage. the thought of him becoming injured—or worse—was something that seemed so far removed that you hadn’t considered the possibility. then again, you should have known better with the way that he had an undying commitment to serving his people.

a part of you wants to write to him, to tell him you hadn’t meant to let him go on a sour note. a larger part of you wants to remain upset, to let it fester so you could feel something with his absence.

days turn to weeks, to nearly a month by the time that a letter is placed on your dressing table. you recognize the stationery immediately and feel your blood run cold at the sight.

to my wife.

i debated as to whether or not i should write this letter at all. i’ve since realized that it would be wholly unfair to you to not tell you the truth. that keeping you at arm’s length did more harm than good.

we made an agreement on our wedding night that we were to be nothing more than a political alliance. a necessary union for the good of our people, especially in the face of ongoing conflict. we agreed that there was no benefit to falling in love beyond what was required of as the future king and queen. the moment i looked at you between the wisteria branches, illuminated by the moonlight, i realized i had already failed.

not a day has gone by since meeting you that i’ve not felt madly in love with you. from the way you stand your ground in discussions with a court you were married into, to the way you look at me. the way you furrow your brows when you’re deep in thought (which, by the way, is terribly unbecoming).

i told you that the night we shared meant nothing. for that, i am sorry. i would never blame you if you chose to never forgive me. truthfully, it meant more than anything i’ve allowed myself to feel in a very long time. it was not a mistake, nor was it a distraction. you are none of those things. but, you understand better than anyone that allowing ourselves to feel is a luxury we cannot afford. not as the people responsible for ensuring our kingdom survives what is to come.

i do not know if convincing you to hate me is any more successful than risking love. i do not know if i will have the opportunity to convince you that i did not mean a single word i said to you before i left. i do know this much—i love you. more than you can imagine. more than i think i was even able to realize on my own.

i am aware of the risks associated with staying with our men on the border. the worry it must instill in you, the uncertainty as to whether or not i will even return to the castle. every day, the scent of smoke and gunpowder convinces me that there may not come a day—which is why i needed to tell you this while i still had the ability to do so.

i will never be able to say it enough times, but again—i apologize. for everything.

— hongjoong

you’re not sure exactly how much time has passed since you received hongjoong’s letter.

war continues raging on at the border. you hear word that he and the men are holding steady, that there seemed to be no end in sight with their resolve. his letter remains tucked beneath your sheets, folded over so many times that the edges were becoming frayed. you don’t write back. you attempted, drafting a response over and over until you convinced yourself that it was better to keep quiet. he had nothing to lose if he had no idea how you truly felt in return, which was exactly what this arrangement was intended to be in the first place. it was a difficult burden to bear, the weight of your own feelings coupled with your desperate attempt to protect the kingdom alongside the king. hongjoong was becoming distant, his scent no longer embedded in your mind and his touch a distant memory.

you wander from your bed chamber on a random night, following the trails down to the wisteria tree he’d first climbed with you. with a sigh, you trace a finger along the ridges in the bark, as if feeling them against your skin would tether you to the memory.

as the tears brim at your waterline and threaten to spill over, you succumb to the pressure of every emotion coursing through your body and collapse beneath the trees with a resigned sob. time passes, your tears dry and your breathing returns to a steady rhythm as you lean against the bark with a defeated sigh.

“i love you,” you say, your voice carrying in a whisper along the night air. somewhere beyond the castle walls, you hoped he would hear you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out despite the blood gathering in the corners of your lips and the tears streaming down your face, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s me that's sorry,” Juyeon whispers, gently cradling you in his lap, “You have nothing to be sorry about, my love.”

“You got hurt because of me,” you insist. And it’s ridiculous, it’s so ridiculous, because Juyeon barely even got a scratch in his futile attempt to save you, and yet you’re apologizing as if he’s the one barely breathing. It’s hard to see you like this, no matter how many times it happens. But he can’t leave either, can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone like this, even if this timeline gets erased the moment he’s gone. Juyeon could never abandon you.

He carefully wipes away your tears, ignoring the way they are mixing with the blood and dirt on your cheeks. “I’d do it again,” he says and he knows it’s true because he already has, so so many times. And he will do it once more. 

Because it’s you. 

Because being with you feels like spring after a long winter. Even if things get erased over and over, even if you don’t remember him, even if he’s a stranger to you every single time—he’ll do it all again. He’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes and he doesn’t mind falling slowly, as long as you’re falling in love.

“I’ll do it again,” he whispers, but he’s not sure you can still hear him. Your eyes are unfocused and blurry and your breathing is flat. He knows he’ll see you again, but he still can’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. The knowledge of meeting you again is comforting, and yet it doesn’t take away the pain of losing you. Maybe, he thinks to himself as he watches the light in your eyes disappear, maybe the next time will be the last. Maybe in his next life he can finally make everything right and choose a path where you get to live.

The pink petals falling to the ground almost look like pink snow, making the world feel soft and peaceful. It’s supposed to be lucky to catch one in your palm, and Juyeon thinks a little luck won’t hurt, so he outstretches his arm, closes his eyes and waits for a moment. Nothing happens, no petal falls into the palm of his hand. Instead, someone bumps into him from behind, taking him off guard and almost making him stumble forward.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice immediately stutters out. “I was lost in thought.”

“No,” he says, slowly turning around to see your apologetic face, “don’t worry about it.” You look a little disheveled, scarf in disarray and a bunch of things that seemingly didn’t fit into your bag pressed to your chest. A single flower petal got caught in your hair, and Juyeon almost automatically reaches out to remove it.

“How lucky,” he says, holding it between his fingers before placing it in your palm. 

“Lucky?”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“Hm,” you hum, “I guess it is, then. I’m y/n, by the way.”

“Juyeon.”

“Juyeon, huh? That’s a beautiful name.”

 The first time you met Prince Mingi, he was face-down in a muddy rice paddy screaming about frogs.

You were thirteen. He was fourteen.

And honestly, you should have left him there.

“You don’t understand,” the boy wailed dramatically, arms flailing while half-submerged in muddy water, “it looked at me.”

You stood on the edge of the paddy with your straw basket hanging from your arm, blinking slowly.

“It’s a frog.” 

“It was judging me.”

“It’s a frog.”

“It knew I was weak.”

You stared at him another moment before sighing deeply through your nose.

Summer heat pressed against your skin. Cicadas screamed from the trees. The village fields shimmered gold-green under the afternoon sun, and right in the middle of it all was a very tall, very dramatic stranger who looked like he’d never worked a single day in his life.

His clothes gave him away instantly.

Fine silk. Embroidered sleeves. Boots too clean for a traveler—well, clean before the mud. A jade hairpin tucked through dark hair that had mostly fallen apart from his struggle against the “evil frog.”

A noble. Possibly stupid. Definitely rich.

You crouched by the paddy.

“Why are you in there?”

He looked personally offended.

“I fell.”

“How?”

“I was running.”

“From the frog?”

“FROM THE HORSE.”

You pressed your lips together. Then snorted. Then laughed so hard you nearly fell into the water yourself.

The stranger pointed at you accusingly. “You are cruel.”

“You’re muddy.”

“You’re heartless.”

“You’re dramatic.”

He gasped like you’d stabbed him.

“You wound me.”

You held out a hand anyway.

He stared at it. Then at you.

Then dramatically placed his hand in yours as if you were rescuing him from certain death rather than helping him out of ankle-deep water.

The second he stood, he slipped again. This time he took you down with him.

The two of you crashed into the mud together with matching shrieks.

Silence followed.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

You slowly turned your head. Your basket of freshly picked vegetables had overturned into the water.

You stared at it. He stared at it.

“You,” you said calmly, “are paying for those.”

That should have been the end of it.

A ridiculous noble boy passing through your tiny farming village.

Instead, he came back the next day.

And the next. And the next.

At first, you assumed he was lost. Then you assumed he was lonely.

Eventually, you realized Prince Song Mingi of the royal family was simply insane.

“You live like this every day?” he asked one afternoon while following you through the fields carrying a sack of cabbages incorrectly.

“Yes.”

“There’s dirt everywhere.”

“It’s a farm.”

“There’s bugs.”

“You live outside too.”

“Outside with servants.”

You rolled your eyes.

Mingi huffed dramatically and shifted the sack on his shoulder. He was terrible at manual labor. Truly awful. Somehow every task became a disaster.

The first time he tried milking a cow, he got kicked into a fence.

The first time he fed chickens, they chased him.

The first time he attempted harvesting, he cut through his own sleeve and cried for ten straight minutes because “this robe was imported.”

But he kept coming back. Tall and smiling and endlessly talkative.

You learned quickly that Prince Mingi hated palace life.

“I can’t breathe there,” he admitted once while lying across the hill beside you beneath the evening sky. “Everyone watches everything. Every word. Every step.”

You chewed on a blade of grass.

“That sounds annoying.”

“It’s awful.”

“Then don’t be a prince.”

He turned his head toward you.

“That’s not how that works.”

“Seems easy enough to me.”

He laughed.

God, his laugh was terrible for your heart.

Big and loud and warm enough to melt mountains.

“You’d overthrow the monarchy in three business days,” he said.

“I don’t know what monarchy means.”

He grinned.

“Exactly my point.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

The village adored him eventually.

Mostly because he was incapable of acting like royalty.

He’d sit with the elders playing cards for hours. He helped children catch fish in the river. He bought sweet buns from the market and handed them out to random people before realizing he’d spent all the money his guard gave him.

Once, he tried helping repair a roof. He fell through it.

Mrs. Choi screamed so loudly half the village thought someone died.

Mingi emerged from the broken ceiling covered in straw holding a turnip somehow.

“I found this,” he announced.

To this day, nobody knows where the turnip came from.

“You like him.”

You nearly dropped your basket.

Your best friend narrowed her eyes at you from where she sat beneath the shade tree.

“I do not.”

“You made him lunch.”

“He forgot his.”

“You braided flowers into his horse’s mane.”

“The horse looked sad.”

“You smiled today.”

You froze.

“That means nothing.”

“It means everything.”

You glared at her.

Unfortunately, she was right.

You did like him. Which was stupid.

Catastrophically stupid.

He was a prince.

You were a farmer’s daughter who spent half her life smelling like dirt and onions.

Nothing about that ended happily.

So you ignored it.

Mostly. Okay, terribly.

Especially when Mingi smiled at you like you were sunrise itself.

Especially when he remembered tiny things about you. Especially when he started bringing gifts.

Not expensive gifts. Never jewels or silk.

Just little things.

A ribbon because he noticed yours fraying. A peach because you mentioned liking them once.

A tiny carved wooden rabbit because “it looked grumpy like you.”

You kept every single one.

Hidden carefully beneath your bed.

One autumn evening, the two of you sat by the river eating roasted chestnuts.

Mingi was unusually quiet.

You nudged his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

He tossed another chestnut shell into the water.

“My father wants me back at the palace.”

You frowned.

“For how long?”

His silence answered enough.

Your chest tightened.

“Oh.”

“They’re starting marriage talks.”

You stared straight ahead. The river blurred slightly.

“That’s good,” you managed.

“It’s terrible.”

“You’ll marry some noble lady.”

“I don’t want some noble lady.”

Your fingers tightened around the warm chestnut.

“You don’t get to choose.”

“I should.”

“You’re a prince.”

“And?”

“And princes don’t marry farmers.”

The words came out harsher than intended.

Mingi went still beside you.

Then quietly—

“What if I wanted to?”

You looked at him finally.

Moonlight caught across his face.

Too soft. Too sincere.

You forced a laugh.

“You’d survive one week married to me.”

“I’d survive forever.”

“You say that now.”

“I mean it now.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. He leaned closer.

“You know,” he murmured, “when I first met you, I thought you were terrifying.”

You snorted weakly.

“You cried over a frog.”

“It was a very aggressive frog.”

“It was sitting there.”

“It had malicious intent.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

Mingi smiled immediately like he’d won something.

Then softer—

“You always laugh like that when you forget to stop yourself.”

Your breath caught.

Too close. Too warm.

You stood abruptly.

“I should go home.”

He grabbed your wrist gently before you could leave.

The touch was light. But devastating.

“You never answered me.”

Your voice came out smaller than intended.

“Answered what?”

His eyes searched yours.

“What if I wanted to choose you?”

You couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Because part of you, the selfish, reckless part—

Wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell him you’d loved him quietly for years already.

Wanted to let yourself believe impossible things.

Instead you pulled your hand away carefully.

“You should go back to the palace, Your Highness.”

The title hit him like a slap.

You saw it immediately. The hurt.

Mingi stared at you for a long moment before nodding once.

“…Right.”

He stood slowly.

For the first time since meeting him, he bowed formally.

Prince-like. Distant.

It made your stomach ache.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly.

Then he walked away.

You were miserable afterward. Truly unbearable to be around.

You snapped at chickens. Burned soup twice.

Accidentally dumped an entire basket of peppers into the river because you kept replaying that stupid conversation in your head.

Your mother finally grabbed your face one morning.

“If you sigh one more time,” she warned, “I will marry you to the blacksmith.”

You looked horrified.

“The one with the nose hair?”

“Yes.”

You burst into tears immediately.

Your mother sighed deeply.

“Ah,” she muttered. “So it’s serious.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Weeks passed.

No Mingi. The village felt wrong without him.

Quieter.

You hated how much you noticed.

One evening, while gathering water from the well, you overheard traveling merchants gossiping nearby.

“The prince returns to court this winter.”

“They say the king favors Lady Han.”

“Poor boy looks miserable.”

“Royalty never marries for love.”

You carried the water home in silence.

That night, you cried so hard your pillow ended up damp.

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

Winter arrived harsh and fast.

Snow blanketed the fields. The village slowed beneath icy winds and gray skies.

Then one morning—

“HE’S HERE!”

You dropped the potatoes you were peeling.

Children sprinted through the village shrieking excitedly.

Your heart immediately betrayed you.

No. No no no.

Absolutely not.

You marched outside trying very hard not to look eager.

Then froze.

At the village entrance stood a royal procession.

Guards. Horses. Banners.

And in the middle—

Prince Mingi.

Dressed properly this time in dark royal robes lined with fur.

Beautiful. Infuriatingly beautiful.

The villagers bowed quickly.

You didn’t.

Mostly because your body forgot how to function.

Mingi’s gaze found you instantly.

Then lit up. Actually lit up.

Like he’d been waiting only for that.

He stepped forward.

Then immediately slipped on ice.

Chaos erupted.

A guard lunged for him.

Another screamed. A horse panicked.

Mingi windmilled violently before crashing face-first into a snowbank.

You stared. The whole village stared.

Slowly, Mingi lifted his head from the snow.

“…I meant to do that.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

His eyes widened slightly at the sound. Then he grinned.

And suddenly it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

Mingi sat at your family table devouring stew while your parents watched him with poorly hidden fascination.

“Official royal business.”

“You’ve been here three hours and challenged six children to snowball fights.”

“They were threatening.”

“They’re eight years old.”

“They lacked honor.”

Your father barked out a laugh.

Mingi looked extremely pleased with himself.

You tried not to smile. Failed horribly.

And Mingi noticed immediately. Of course he did.

He always noticed everything about you.

That night, he found you outside feeding the animals.

Snow drifted softly around the barn.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said.

“I’m feeding chickens.”

“At midnight?”

“…They’re hungry.”

Mingi snorted.

You refused to look at him.

Because if you did, you’d cave instantly.

And you couldn’t afford that. Not with him.

Not when he belonged to another world entirely.

“I missed you,” he said quietly.

Your chest hurt.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Too late.”

Silence settled between you.

Then—

“They chose someone for me.”

You froze.

Lady Han. Of course.

Something sharp twisted inside your ribs.

You nodded once.

“Congratulations.”

Mingi stared at you. Then laughed softly in disbelief.

“You think I came all the way here for congratulations?”

“What else would you want?”

“You.”

The word landed heavily between you.

You finally looked at him.

Snow clung to his dark hair. His cheeks pinked from cold.

And his eyes—

His eyes looked devastatingly earnest.

“Mingi…”

“I told them no.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“I refused.”

“You can’t refuse the king.”

“Turns out you can if you embarrass him publicly enough.”

Horror filled your face.

“What did you do?”

“I may have climbed out a window.”

“You WHAT?”

“And there may have been a horse involved.”

“Mingi.”

“And possibly a goose attack.”

You stared at him in absolute disbelief.

“…A goose attack?”

“It was protecting the gate.”

“That sentence doesn’t even make sense.”

“It was a very patriotic goose.”

You covered your face.

“Oh my god.”

Mingi laughed.

Then gently pulled your hands down.

His smile faded into something softer.

“I meant what I said.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t want them,” he murmured. “I want you.”

The barn suddenly felt too small. Too warm. Too close.

“Mingi…”

“You know what my advisor said when I told him?”

You shook your head weakly.

“He said marrying for love is reckless.”

You swallowed hard.

“And?”

Mingi stepped closer. Snow crunched beneath his boots.

Then closer still.

Until you could feel warmth radiating from him in the freezing night.

“I think,” he whispered, “falling into a muddy rice paddy because I was losing a fight against a frog was reckless.”

You laughed despite yourself.

“I think coming back afterward was reckless.”

“Mingi—”

“And I think falling in love with you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Because this was real.

Impossible. Terrifying. Real.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered shakily.

His smile turned brilliant.

“Probably.”

“You’d ruin your life.”

“Only if you reject me.”

“Mingi.”

He reached up carefully. Slowly.

Giving you every chance to pull away.

Instead you stood frozen as his fingers brushed your cheek.

Warm. Gentle.

“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured.

“What?”

“I don’t even think I started loving you gradually.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

“I think it happened the moment you called me stupid in a rice field.”

You burst out laughing. Then accidentally started crying immediately after.

Mingi panicked.

“Oh no.”

“You made me emotional.”

“I can fight the king but I cannot fight tears.”

“That’s your problem.”

“Please stop leaking.”

You laughed harder through tears.

Mingi looked desperately relieved.

Then softly—

“Can I kiss you?”

Your entire brain stopped functioning.

“…What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for years.”

“Years?!”

“You’re very distracting.”

“You’re insane.”

“Probably.”

You stared at him.

At his nervous smile. At the way his hands trembled slightly despite all his joking.

And suddenly you realized—

Mingi was scared too.

Not of kings. Not of court politics.

Of you. Of your answer.

That realization melted something inside your chest entirely.

So you grabbed the front of his robe and kissed him first.

Mingi made a startled noise against your mouth. Then immediately kissed you back like he’d been dying to.

Warm despite the cold.

Clumsy at first because he smiled halfway through it.

Actually smiled into the kiss.

An idiot. Your idiot.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless, Mingi looked genuinely dazed.

“…Wow.”

You laughed shakily.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I forgot every word I’ve ever known.”

“That explains a lot actually.”

He grinned suddenly. Then scooped you clean off the ground.

You shrieked.

“MINGI—”

“I HAVE POWER NOW.”

“PUT ME DOWN.”

“NEVER.”

He spun once in the snow before promptly slipping again.

The two of you crashed directly into a snowdrift.

Silence. Then your horrified whisper:

“You dropped me.”

Mingi emerged from the snow looking deeply offended.

“I fell with you romantically.”

“You threw me into ice.”

“It was a gesture of affection.”

“You concussed me.”

“You look beautiful.”

You stared at him. Then burst into helpless laughter.

Mingi joined instantly.

Loud. Bright. Completely ridiculous.