fic recs

akaashi sits at his desk like a man about to defend a doctoral thesis, except instead of research on economic theory it’s a 7-page mla-styled confession to you. his laptop glows at 2 a.m., word count taunting him. bokuto had, unhelpfully, told him to “just tell her you like her!!” but no—akaashi is incapable of such casual lawlessness. if he’s going to confess, it will be formatted, cited, and double-spaced.

he adjusts his glasses, rereads the first paragraph for the 43rd time, and agonizes over whether “irrevocably tethered” sounds too intense. (spoiler: it does, but he leaves it anyway, because it’s true.)

when he prints it out, he holds the warm paper like a newborn. his hands shake. he rehearses—should he hand it to you with a bow? slide it across the desk like contraband? staple it to your notebook so you have to read it? in the end, he folds it neatly into thirds and tucks it into his pocket. his heart beats like a libero sprinting after a shanked ball.

all day, he hovers like a malfunctioning ghost. when you finally ask if something’s wrong, he thrusts the letter at you with the urgency of someone handing over state secrets. “just—read this. when you have time,” he mutters, then immediately flees, which is not suspicious at all.

the letter contains:

────୨ৎ────

love letter in mla format by akaashi keiji

keiji akaashi

the love of your life (self-proclaimed but factually accurate, see works cited)

english iii, but make it personal

16 september 2025

dear y/n,

in consideration of recent empirical evidence—that is, every recorded instance of my pulse accelerating upon the sight of you, supported by first-hand observations and internal peer-reviewed studies of my own psyche (see fig. 1, appendix)—it has come to my attention that my feelings for you are not only profound but also academically verifiable. this letter, then, attempts to both a) confess my adoration in accordance with mla guidelines, and b) ensure that you cannot possibly misconstrue my devotion as anything less than a peerless thesis of love.

i submit the following statement: you are, inarguably, the most radiant, delightful, and inexplicably perfect human being i have ever encountered. the scope of this claim is intentionally broad, for narrowing it would diminish its accuracy. to contextualize, when you walk into a room, the oxygen molecules themselves seem to rearrange, as if auditioning for the chance to be breathed in by you. i find myself taking notes in my head, as though i am preparing a literary analysis of your smile (compare to: sunlight, starlight, the flash of a libero’s perfect receive).

i recognize that the previous paragraph verges on hyperbole, but i assure you it is in fact a faithful account of my interior world. even bakugo (2014) notes in *the unspoken laws of attraction* that “extreme emotional expression is the natural consequence of proximity to someone you care for deeply” (p. 43). therefore, my exaggeration is merely a symptom of clinical sincerity.

consider, further, the sheer gravitational pull you exert on my attention. i do not mean this metaphorically—though if einstein were alive, i am confident he would posit a new theory of relativity solely around the event horizon of your existence. my eyes, much like poorly trained freshmen, cannot stay in their lane whenever you are nearby. and yet, unlike those freshmen, my attention does not waver. i cannot look away.

and to be transparent: this inability to look away may appear unsettling to others, but to me, it is simply truth. i am tethered. undeniably. irrevocably. i wake and think of you; i sleep and dream of you; i annotate the margins of my textbooks with your initials, as though the structural integrity of my education depends upon your presence.

some might call this level of fixation unsustainable, but i argue the opposite. in fact, i have conducted (admittedly biased) research, and the conclusion is clear: life without you is a poorly cited essay, full of gaps, missing a works cited page, doomed to fail. with you, however, my life achieves not just coherence but eloquence.

(parenthetical note: i am aware that i am currently begging in the subtext of this letter, but if begging is a sin, then please grade me an “f” so long as i may keep kneeling at the altar of your kindness.)

i must also address your laugh. it is not hyperbolic to suggest it should be classified as a renewable energy source. if the government were to bottle it, we could shut down every power plant tomorrow. when you laughed that one time at bokuto’s pun (the one even he wasn’t sure landed), i swear the axis of the earth tilted three degrees closer to joy. i have replayed that sound in my head more times than i care to admit (approx. 78,391, but who is counting).

my point is: you are vital. not “important” in the way we call breakfast the most important meal of the day, but *vital*, as in: you are air, you are gravity, you are the annotated bibliography without which my research collapses into incoherent rambling.

i acknowledge that the tone of this letter may lean towards desperation. and while i strive for academic neutrality, my bias cannot be suppressed. every fiber of my being wants you. in this moment. in every moment. i would cite the beating of my own heart as evidence, but that feels less like a citation and more like a confessional (which, admittedly, this entire letter is).

should you accept my humble, academically formatted declaration of love, i promise the following:

unconditional support for all your endeavors (including but not limited to: late-night snacking, impulse shopping, and venting about minor inconveniences).

a lifetime subscription to my undivided attention.

the type of devotion typically reserved for tragic victorian protagonists, except i plan on surviving long enough to actually make you breakfast.

in conclusion, and to restate my thesis: i love you, wholly and without qualification. this is not conjecture, nor is it tentative. it is the strongest claim i have ever made, the kind that requires no counterargument.

with all my footnotes,

akaashi keiji

────୨ৎ────

works cited

bakugo, katsuki. the unspoken laws of attraction. u.a. press, 2014.

einstein, albert. relativity, but make it romantic. princeton university press, unpublished manuscript, probably.

akaashi, keiji. every heartbeat since meeting y/n. unpublished primary source, ongoing since 2009.

y/n, you. existing flawlessly. self-published, timeless.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

you read it. you laugh so hard at his fake citations you nearly choke on your drink. the “renewable energy source” section about your laugh has you snorting while laughing, which only confirms his thesis. the part about begging in parentheses? you highlight it in your mind forever.

when you finish, you find him pacing outside the classroom like a medieval knight awaiting judgment from the queen. the moment you approach, he looks at you like he’s seconds away from fainting.

“so,” you say, grinning, holding up the letter like evidence. “mla format, huh?”

akaashi’s ears turn pink. “i thought… it would be clear. academically.”

“it’s definitely clear,” you assure him, and then—because the dramatic irony is too perfect—you kiss his cheek.

he freezes, then exhales like someone just lifted a two-ton bibliography off his shoulders. “does this mean—”

“yes,” you cut in, laughing again. “you don’t need to write another works cited page. i get it.”

he looks equal parts relieved and terrified, like you’ve just accepted his marriage proposal instead of his love letter. and from then on, every time you so much as giggle, he mutters something about “fig. 2: confirmation of hypothesis” under his breath while scribbling imaginary notes in the air.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: take my phone away from me so i could stop coming up with stupid ideas (˶˃⤙˂˶)

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

Outside, you find him waiting at the table with the least lighting. His attention is on his phone, brows scrunched together in irritation, face a little pink—judging from the matching hue on his arms and shoulders, a slight sunburn. Beside you, they laugh, causing him to look up and meet your stare.

Rather than focus on his friend, his food, or the chick laughing beside you, Iwaizumi focuses solely on you, and you wonder for a moment if he remembers you like you remember him.

(An introductory Poli-Sci course in the spring that took place after your first class in the same lecture hall. You always sat in the front, planted there from an hour and a half before, giving you the pleasure of watching as he came in. Your eyes would meet and you'd feel the tiniest flutter behind your navel. Iwaizumi always sat behind you and you always wanted to introduce yourself but could never find the courage after meeting those pretty, pretty eyes.)

His attention darts to his friend, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip the moment he sees his burger, quick in the way he checks you out once more.

At your friend's insistence, you take the space next to him, laughing to yourself at the way he stiffens. For someone so... broad and a little imposing, you wouldn't imagine him to be shy. They flirt in front of you both, obnoxious and oblivious, leaving you speechless, neglected, asking you to find solace in a virtual stranger.

Just as you, he seems almost hesitant to dive in despite the scent that wafts and the growls of your stomachs. Turning to him, you study the line of his nose, the sharp cut of his jaw. Olive eyes catch you in the periphery and his cheeks warm at the same time that yours do. He turns to you, lips quirking with some question going unasked.

"Nice seeing you again." Your greeting is casual, assuming an intimacy that isn't there, an attempt to mask the thrumming of your heart.

"Yeah, uh," he says, pausing as his eyes flit across your face, mouth shaping into a hesitant smile, "nice seeing you again. Poli-Sci... 21A, right?"

When you grin, it's involuntary, a reaction to the quickening of your heart, the confirmation that you're not alone in remembering fleeting eye contact from months before. When he mirrors you, your grin grows wider. Perhaps you're lucky and he wanted to introduce himself to you as much as you did him.

"That's right. You always sat behind me."

Mirroring you further, his smile widens and you remember exactly why you always hesitated. "We couldn't all sit in the front row."

You like the way his mouth moves as he speaks, the way his voice breathes life into his words. Giving him your name, you're enthralled by the way it rolls off his tongue, the lift to the right corner of his lip as he says it like he can't help himself—an ember that floats up from the crackling fire. In turn, he gives you his and it wraps itself around your heart, feeling sure when the world seems less so.

The two of you eat, exchanging quick words between bites, your conversation going unnoticed by the two responsible for bringing you both here. It feels easy, comfortable in a way that has you reaching with open palms for more. It feels like the start of something new.

“Hyung! I really need–” He stops mid-sentence as he registers that there’s someone else on Keeho’s couch, frozen in place like a cartoon character. Then he snaps out of it, lifting a hand in a wave. “Oh hey, Mihwa,” he says easily. “I didn’t know you were here.”

You blink as you stare at him, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. Mihwa? Who in the world is Mihwa? 

“You’ve known me for two years, and you still don’t know my name, Hwang Intak? I’m offended.” You’re teasing, but for some reason Intak begins to look panicked. 

“No, no, of course I do, that’s just –”

“Hey, Tak,” Keeho calls out, interrupting your friend as he steps out of the bathroom from where he’s just showered. He’s using a towel to dry his hair, and you take the distraction of your newly-arrived friend as a blessing, allowing your gaze to linger a bit longer on Keeho than usual. You take note of the way the droplets drip from his wet hair down onto his forehead, your eyes following one drop in particular as it trails all the way down the bridge of his nose, before he’s wiping it away with the towel. He’s changed out of the outfit he’d worn to class – one of your favourite hoodies of his, and jeans – into your ultimate favourite Keeho look: a simple, white tee, and sweats. God, he’s stunning.

“Hey, bro,” Intak returns, and though he’d appeared devastatingly frazzled just a moment before, he seems to have hastily forgotten whatever it was as he brightens. “I really need your help with something.”

Keeho immediately glances over at you, and you can tell he’s about to kick Intak out for your sake. You’ve only come over to study, so it’s not a big deal to postpone it a little, but Keeho has always been extra considerate and attentive when it comes to you. You both love and hate him for it, because it brings up certain feelings that you simply won’t allow yourself to indulge in. 

You shake your head. “It’s okay, we can postpone our studying a bit longer, Kyo,” you say. “I wanted to run to the coffee shop anyway.” 

I also now have to try and process why one of our good mutual friends just called me by someone else’s name when he entered your apartment, is the part you don’t say out loud as you grab your wallet and coat. 

“Grab me a latte!” You hear Intak call out as you close the door behind you.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you!” Comes your childish reply, before you’re off out into the snow.

As you take the roundabout way to the cafe amidst the snow flurries, you can’t help but run though the last few hours in your mind. If you’re honest, you’d been a bit on cloud nine before Intak had come in and promptly brought you back down to earth. 

Keeho had come to meet you on campus after your last class of the day so you could walk back to his place to study. Despite your busy schedules, whenever there’s a chance to spend time together, you jump at the chance — even if it involves sitting next to each other and doing schoolwork. You know the feeling is mutual, and you’ve never doubted it — Keeho loves loud, and doesn’t waste his time on people who don’t love him back. Being his friend is a privilege, and you’ve never taken it for granted.

Because that’s exactly what he is. A friend. 

He’s just so affectionate and funny and warm that you can’t help but wish that all of it meant more than it does. The touches, the glances, the teasing. Especially when sometimes you think that he actually feels it, too.

Like today, on your walk to his place, when it had begun to snow. Keeho had halfheartedly protested as soon as you'd stopped walking and turned to him, looking at him with your brows raised. 

“No way,” he’d said, shaking his head immediately. “Embarrass yourself alone.” But he’d been laughing despite himself, the beginnings of that smile on his face that always gave him away. You’d pouted before tilting your head back and spinning in a circle, only stopping when you felt his hand on your arm.

Then he’d held out both hands, pretending to grumble the whole time, before spinning you around with both hands like some cliche romcom. When you’d stumbled, he’d caught you in his arms mid-fall like the lead in some drama. You’d stared up at him as he’d asked if you were okay, trying to suppress his giggles as he spoke, and you’d been so speechless that all you’d been able to do was nod. When he’d finally pulled you upright, his fingers had continued to hold onto your arms as he gazed down at you, the smile never leaving his face. He’d looked so soft with the snow coming down all around him, sticking to his hair and eyelashes, and you’d been so caught up in the sight of him that when his hand had moved to brush a snowflake off your cheek, it had taken you entirely by surprise. You’re still a little bit mad about the quiet, involuntary noise you’d let out at his gentle touch before you’d pulled away abruptly. 

The walk back after that had been quiet for a while until Keeho had broken the silence by reading you a funny text from his friend, and you’d begun to laugh at the message together. The two of you had quickly returned to normal, and if you’re honest, you’d felt a little hopeful about what it all meant. 

Then Intak came crashing through the door and called you by the wrong name and now you’ve begun to second guess it all again. 

You know Intak has been seeing someone and hasn’t mentioned anyone else in a long time (though he won’t admit he’s smitten), so if it’s not Intak’s partner… Who else could it be but someone Keeho is seeing? You remind yourself that for as much as it breaks your heart, Keeho doesn’t owe you anything, and you continue to trudge through the snow with that reminder weighing heavy on your chest.

Intak is long gone by the time you get back to the apartment. You and Keeho have settled into your routine now, hot chocolates in hand, but even though you’re supposed to be studying, you can only think about one thing.

Who the hell is Mihwa? 

Is it someone Intak had expected to be at Keeho’s house? Is Keeho seeing someone that he’d forgotten to mention? Is he—

“Hey.”

A hand rests on your knee where your leg is curled up under you on the couch, and you glance down to find Keeho looking up at you from where he’s sitting on the floor. He moves his hand from your leg to rest his head on it, but you can still feel the warmth of his palm through your jeans.

“Hi,” you return, and Keeho laughs a little.

“You okay?” His gaze is soft as he gives you a quick onceover. “Are you tired?” He continues to gaze up at you with quiet concern, and you’re reminded just how lucky you are to see him like this. With everyone else, he’s the life of the party — but to you, he’s always been soft underneath all that. You will the butterflies to leave, once and for all. 

Who the hell is Mihwa?

“I think Intak called me by the wrong name earlier,” you finally blurt out.

Keeho’s eyebrows furrow, and you know that’s not at all what he'd been expecting you to say. “What do you mean?”

You figure you might as well get right into it — you’ve started down the road now. “When he came into your apartment, I think he called me by someone else’s name.”

“Oh, that’s weird.” Keeho is quiet for a second. “It could be the person he’s been seeing lately?”

You shake your head. “No, it wasn’t them. I think it was a… Korean name?” 

“I’m really curious now.” Keeho picks up his phone and opens Instagram, and you watch over his shoulder as he begins to search his and Intak’s mutual friends. “You don’t remember what it started with or anything?”

You sink back into the couch. “No, I… I remember.”

Keeho pauses his scrolling to look at you again, and you can tell he’s confused by your stilted responses. “What was it?” He’s being patient, and you know you need to calm the jealous green giant that’s threatening to break out of you before you speak next.

“It was Mihwa.”

It’s so silent after you speak that you think you must have said something completely wrong. Or maybe you’d dreamt what Intak had said? 

“He… what?” 

When Keeho finally speaks and you gain the courage to look at him, you abruptly realize that he looks just as panicked as Intak had… if not more.

“I think that’s what he said?” You begin, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry if I’m butchering it. I figured it was Korean, so if that doesn’t sound familiar, then maybe I said it wrong or —“

“You said it right.” He pauses before repeating softly, “Mihwa.”

“Oh,” you say quietly. “That’s pretty.”

“Yeah.”

It’s suddenly so awkward between you that you think you might die, and you feel a desperate need to fill the silence somehow. “Is that… Is that a common name in Korea?”

Keeho looks pained. “Sort of? It’s a kind of name, yeah.” He stops, and you swear you can see a pink flush beginning to dust across his cheeks. “It can be a name but also a… title of sorts. Sometimes.” He exhales sharply. “It’s a bit hard to explain, but it’s… it can be a term of endearment.”

You’ve never been more confused in your life. “Oh,” you say, a little dumbly. “Like honey? Or darling?”

Keeho, cool and collected Keeho, suddenly looks almost as if he’s going to pass out. “Um, yeah. Essentially.”

Why the hell would Intak have called you that? Holy shit, does Intak have a crush on you? Your head is spinning. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” is all Keeho offers as he stands up, shifting so that he’s sitting next to you on the couch. You attempt to sift through your thoughts, trying your best to gather them into something even semi-coherent, but you’re struggling. 

“So if it’s not someone that you know, then I guess I’ll just… text and ask Intak why he called me that?” You say slowly, mind racing. “You know I don’t see him as more than a friend, so I guess I should be straight up with him? It’s weird, though, I thought he was super into the person he’s seeing. I never thought that he—“

“I’m going to kill him.” Your eyes widen as Keeho interrupts you mid sentence. He runs a hand through his blond hair before he leans forward, his elbows on his knees.

“What? Why?”

“Mihwa is your Korean name,” he says abruptly, straight and to the point, and now you’re officially dumbfounded. What the hell is he talking about? 

“My… what?”

“Mihwa is what I call you in Korean.”

You blink. Keeho hasn’t looked at you directly in minutes, and if you’re honest, it’s making you panic a little. “Okay,” you say slowly, still waiting for something to make sense. “Is that a big deal?”

“Well, when you look up what it means, I’m fucked.”

Your breath catches, and your heart is in your throat now. “What are you talking about, Keeho?”

Keeho inhales, and then suddenly he’s looking at you so seriously that you’re rendered incapable of all thought. “‘Beautiful flower’,” he murmurs, his voice quiet. “Mihwa.”

The room is silent as you let the words sink in. Keeho seems to have steeled himself as he holds your gaze, and you feel like maybe you should look away so you can breathe, but you can’t.

“Beautiful flower?” You repeat, your voice quiet. “Me?”

“You.” He says it matter-of-factly, almost as if he’s trying to make sure you can’t argue. 

“Oh,” you finally manage. All you can think of to say next is, “Is that why my name has a flower next to it on your phone?”

You watch as Keeho’s mouth begins to turn up at the sides despite how red he’s gotten, and you’re comforted by the beginnings of that smile you’ve come to know well. The sight of it makes you feel warm all over, even though you’re not any less confused by what’s happening. “Yes.” 

“But it’s not… it’s not a bad thing, right?”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, because you know it’s not — how can the term ‘beautiful flower’ be anything but wonderful? — but you’re still trying to figure out what exactly is going on. Why does he call you that? Why has he never told you? 

A full smile has made its way onto Keeho's face now. It’s a welcome sight, serving to break up some of the tension that’s fallen between you. “Remember how I said it was a term of endearment?”

“Right,” you recall. You bite your lip. “Why would you keep it a secret, then?”

“Because I’m pretty sure telling your good friend that you think they’re cute is against the rules.”

You’re sure you must be dreaming. 

“I believe the word you used to describe me was ‘beautiful’, actually,” is what finally comes out of your mouth, and you’re surprised by how smooth it sounds. Smooth is definitely not how you’re feeling on the inside.

Keeho’s face brightens up lightning fast at your teasing remark. He laughs, though it’s a bit strangled, nodding as he replies, “You are.” He lets his eyes wander across your face for a second, wide smile still on his lips. “Beautiful, I mean.”

Neither of you speak for a moment. 

“You mean that?” You ask softly, and Keeho’s face grows serious again. He nods. 

“I do.”

You know you’re not misreading this — there’s no way. And you’re beginning to think that you hadn’t misread everything else, either.

“Well,” you begin quietly, “How can I say ‘I think you’re really cute too’ in Korean?” God, you love Keeho’s smile — especially when it’s directed at you. 

“Can I teach you later? Because right now, I think I need to kiss you.”

You can’t help the surprised laugh that leaves you at his words. Your heart is racing, and you feel lightheaded as he moves closer, but you manage, “You need to, huh?”

Keeho nods, and though he’s trying to be serious, he can barely contain his smile. “Desperately.”

“What will happen if you don’t?” 

The breathiness of your voice is giving you away, but you find that you don’t care at all. Not when he’s pulling you ever closer to him with a hand on your waist, until he’s so close that you can barely think. 

“I’ll die,” he murmurs.

You let out a snort, something so indelicate for the moment you’re in, and you’re about to respond with a witty remark but then he’s kissing you, and you don’t give a damn about what you were going to say. 

Because Keeho is laughing against your mouth and you’re lost. He kisses you hard, a hand finding your jaw, fingers cupping the side of your face. He’s smiling and kissing you again and again and you think you never want him to stop. 

When you finally break apart, you can’t find it in you to open your eyes — not yet. Keeho’s forehead falls to rest against yours, and you let out a shaky breath.

“Mihwa,” comes his soft murmur, and your eyes open at that. He pulls back to look at you, fingers brushing back and forth against your jaw, and you lean forward to kiss him again, long and soft and slow. When you pull away, he‘s absolutely beaming. 

And all you can think to say is, “You’d better not call me by my birth name ever again.”

Phew - here we go! Tbh, I doubt I'll be posting very frequently as I am very rarely actually on Tumblr anymore, and writing has felt like a chore for a while now... But I liked this one, and thought someone out there might like to read it. <3

It’s your birthday and your gathering is at the izakaya your family owns. The establishment is full to the brim of people with nothing but love for you and he’s glad to be among them. While he sits and talks with some of the older folks, he can’t help but overhear you talking with your college friends about when you’re going to put yourself out there and start dating again. One of them asks whatever happened to the boyfriend you had in your first year, and your words cut through him.

“He waited too much. I never knew if he liked me or if a relationship was simply another box for him to mark off his checklist of things to accomplish. If I date again, I want to know that I’m wanted, that I won’t be left waiting for scraps of affection.”

(It makes him wonder whether his approach is all wrong.)

Later in the night, you come to him, eyes full of unguarded emotion thanks to the sake you shared with your parents earlier. You lean in a little too close, smile a little too freely, leaving the edges of his mind feeling blurred from you alone, but still, you ask if he’ll have a drink with you. Just one, to enjoy the sake made from one of the farms on the outskirts of town.

He agrees if only because it is you.

Kita is a patient man, able to withstand most impulses, until you.

It’s smooth going down but burns in his stomach as it heats him up and it is no longer just the edges of his mind that are blurred. He tells a little joke and you laugh, your hand coming to rest on his wrist where it sits on the table. The words from earlier replay in his mind as they have been, slowly rotating as he considers how you must feel and what he must do to make you feel wanted.

(Because he wants you; wants mornings beside you and ongoing conversations that take place over the course of days and to share meals with you. He wants to touch you and hold you and kiss you. He wants you.)

And then it just happens.

One second he’s smiling at you, enjoying the lilt of your laughter and the way it settles upon his skin, and the next, his fingers are lacing with yours and he’s leaning in for the barest hint of a kiss, the barest brushing of lips before he catches himself and pulls back.

Kita thinks he is practiced and capable of waiting, but here you are, proving capable of taking that outline of a plan and tearing it up.

Time slows with his inhale, shaky and uncertain as he studies your expression for any betrayal of a reaction, the only thing audible the steady beating of his heart in his ears. Your lips are parted as they were when he pressed against them, eyes clouded with thoughts that go unsaid, watching him but not. And then they sharpen when they see him again and your fingers tighten and time resumes, the volume of the izakaya almost overwhelming. Despite that, he swears he hears the exhale that escapes past your lips before they close, curling into his favorite smile.

“I was wondering if you were going to say something, Kita, but this works.”

It’s the kind that belongs on postcards and screensavers. Perfectly powdered, glittering under the mid-afternoon sun, draped over pine trees like somebody staged it. Which, in your experience, usually means something is about to go terribly wrong.

Like, for example, someone deciding you should strap two long pieces of plastic to your feet and slide down a mountain.

“This is a bad idea,” you tell the universe. Or, more specifically, the person currently crouched in front of you, tightening the last buckle on your ski boot.

“No,” San says patiently, “this is a great idea.”

He looks up at you from where he’s squatting in the snow, cheeks flushed from the cold, hair tucked under a black beanie with a tiny pom-pom. His goggles are pushed up onto his forehead, and his breath leaves in white puffs as he tugs on the strap.

“You said you wanted to try new things this year,” he reminds you. “This counts.”

“I meant trying a new coffee order,” you say. “Maybe getting bangs. Not… this.”

“You’d look good with bangs,” he says immediately, because of course he does. “You look good in anything.”

Your brain short-circuits for a moment.

He stands, brushing snow off his knees. The gray of his jacket makes his eyes look darker, deeper. There’s a smudge of something on his cheek. Maybe snow, maybe the shadow of a fall you didn’t see.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s made comments like that. Little throwaway compliments, tossed out as casually as he throws snowballs. You’ve also lost count of how many times you’ve told yourself not to read into them.

That’s just how Choi San is, you insist to yourself. He’s like that with everyone. Warm, easy, shamelessly charming.

Still, your stomach flips.

“Stop trying to distract me with flattery,” you say, valiantly straightening your spine despite the weight of the boots. “I’m about to break both my legs.”

“You’re not going to break anything,” he says, adjusting the strap of your helmet with careful fingers. “You have the best teacher on the mountain.”

“Who?” you ask. “Because I know you’re not talking about yourself.”

“Hurtful,” he says. “I’ll have you know I only fell three times today.”

“Impressive,” you say. “Considering you’ve been out since nine.”

He laughs, teeth flashing white.

You pull your goggles down over your eyes, the world tinting a little darker. The beginners’ area spreads out before you. A gentle slope dotted with kids in colorful jackets and adults moving at varying speeds, some more unwilling than others.

Beyond that, further up the mountain, the steeper runs cut through the trees. You’d watched the more experienced skiers earlier, San included, carving smooth arcs down the hill. Looking like they’d been born with skis attached to their feet.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” you mutter.

He leans closer, the two of you almost nose-to-nose through your goggles and his. “Do you trust me?”

You hate that he knows exactly which button to press.

“Yes,” you say, because lying would be stupid and also pointless.

His smile softens. “Then it’s not a bad idea. Just a scary one.”

You sigh. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”

“As long as you haunt me on the slopes,” he says. “We’ll be legendary.”

You groan.

Someone whistles behind you. You turn to see Yunho waving from where he’s standing with Hongjoong and Wooyoung near the lift entrance, boards and skis at the ready.

“San!” Yunho calls. “You bringing our newbie or what?”

“No rush!” you shout back. “I’ll be… right there. In a decade.”

San chuckles. “Come on. We’ll start with the baby hill. Then, if you don’t cry, I’ll buy you hot chocolate.”

“If I do cry?” you ask.

“I’ll still buy you hot chocolate,” he says. “Just with extra whipped cream.”

You squint at him. “Bribery. You’re using bribery.”

“And charm,” he adds.

“You’re overestimating your charm,” you say.

He looks devastatingly unbothered. “You’re underestimating your resilience.”

You wish he wouldn’t say stuff like that in the same tone he uses to talk about the way the snow looks on the trees. It makes your heart do weird, inconvenient things.

“Okay,” you sigh, resigning yourself to your fate. “Teach me, o great snowboarder of the mountain.”

He bumps his shoulder gently against yours. “That’s the spirit.”

To your credit, you only fall three times.

To be fair, you also don’t go very fast.

The first fall is immediate. You manage to click into your skis, point vaguely downhill, and then—before San can even finish his sentence about leaning forward slightly, you find yourself sitting in the snow.

He appears at your side like he teleported.

“You okay?” he asks, trying not to laugh.

“Is my dignity still attached?” you ask.

“That fell off when you put the helmet on,” he says cheerfully.

You swat at his arm with your glove, which does exactly nothing.

The second fall is more dramatic. You manage to actually slide a few meters this time, legs wobbling, arms flailing. For a brief, shining moment, you’re doing it. You’re skiing.

Then you overcorrect on a tiny turn and go down sideways in a flurry of limbs and snow.

San skids to a stop beside you, spraying you with powder.

“Hey!” you sputter.

“That was good,” he says, eyes bright behind his goggles. “You turned.”

“I ate snow,” you point out.

“You turned,” he repeats. “On purpose. Mostly.”

You scowl up at him.

He offers you his hand.

Even through gloves, his grip is warm and steady as he hauls you back to your feet.

The third fall happens right at the bottom of the slope, when you realize stopping is apparently more complicated than starting. You panic, lean back, and your skis shoot forward while you sit down with a jolt.

You lie there for a second, staring at the pale sky.

A shadow passes over you. San leans into your field of vision, upside down from your perspective.

“You did it,” he says.

“I fell,” you say.

“You came down the hill,” he counters. “That’s skiing.”

You squint at him. “Are you this encouraging with everyone, or am I special?”

“Very special,” he says.

You’re suddenly glad for the goggles hiding your eyes.

“You’re definitely getting hot chocolate,” he adds.

“I earned it,” you groan.

“Agreed,” he says.

He helps you up again, guiding you carefully to the side of the slope.

By the time you take off your skis, your legs feel like overcooked noodles. Your fingers are numb despite your gloves. Your nose is running. You’re fairly certain your hair, flattened under your helmet, now resembles a damp mop.

San looks unfairly good.

His cheeks are flushed from exertion, not cold. His hair is slightly damp at his temples but still soft-looking. There’s snow dusting the shoulders of his jacket, and he looks like every winter sportswear ad that ever made you think, Yeah, maybe I should go outside.

“Come on,” he says, slinging his board casually under his arm. “Let’s take a break in the lodge. Warm up, refuel. Then we’ll see if you want to try again later.”

You latch onto the first part of that sentence and ignore the rest. “Lodge,” you say. “Yes. Lodge. Love the lodge.”

He laughs.

As you trudge toward the building, you catch sight of your other friends in the distance. Wooyoung is making exaggerated skiing motions while standing still. Yunho is patiently listening to him. Hongjoong appears to be arguing with a trail map.

You’re about to call out when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You fumble it out with clumsy fingers.

Wooyoung: we’re going to try the longer run before the lifts close!!!

Wooyoung: u two coming??

Yunho: only if y/n’s legs haven’t resigned

Hongjoong: meet at the main chair in 10 if yes

Wooyoung: if no we will remember u fondly

San peers over at your screen.

“Do you want to go?” you ask him.

“What about you?” he asks.

You look at your legs, then at the mountain.

“I think if I try that now, I’ll end up as a cautionary tale,” you say. “You should go, though. You haven’t really gotten to do any real runs since we got here. You’ve been babysitting me.”

“I like babysitting you,” he says.

You wish he’d stop saying things like that so casually.

“No, really,” you insist. “Go. I’ll sit by the fire, drink something hot, and contemplate my life choices. It’ll be great.”

He hesitates.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he says.

“I’m a grown adult,” you remind him. “I can sit on a couch by myself.”

“In a crowded lodge full of strangers,” he points out.

“That’s called ambience,” you say. “Go, San. I’ll cheer for you in my heart.”

He studies your face for a second, then sighs like you’ve asked him to do something terrible.

“Okay,” he says. “But only if you promise to text me if you need anything. Anything. Even if it’s just ‘my hot chocolate is too far away and I’m too tired to reach it.’”

“I’m not that lazy,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow.

“…Anymore,” you add.

He snorts.

“Fine,” you say. “I promise. I’ll be right here when you get back. Probably asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up,” he says. “Gently. With a snowball.”

“If you throw snow at me inside the lodge, I’m blocking your number,” you say.

He grins. “Noted.”

At the fork in the path, left toward the main chair lift, right toward the lodge...he slows.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he says.

“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.

He gives you a look. You relent.

The lodge is warm and loud, full of clattering dishes and snatches of conversation. A fire crackles in a stone fireplace against one wall, surrounded by couches and armchairs occupied by rosy-cheeked skiers and boarders. The air smells like wood smoke, melted cheese, and wet wool.

You peel off your helmet and gloves, feeling oddly light without them.

“Text me when you sit down,” San says. “And send me a selfie so I know you’re still alive.”

“Stop being cute,” you say automatically.

His ears go a little pink.

You blink.

“Well,” you add quickly. “Have fun. Try not to die. If you do, I’m keeping your board.”

He laughs and reaches out like he’s going to ruffle your hair, then remembers it’s probably a disaster under the helmet and aborts mid-air, turning the motion into a weird half-wave.

“See you soon,” he says.

You watch him jog back out into the snow, board under his arm, before turning toward the heavenly sight of the hot chocolate station.

You don’t fall asleep.

You try. After securing a mug of hot chocolate (San was right about the whipped cream), you find a spot on one of the couches near the fireplace. You kick off your boots and tuck your feet under you, letting the heat seep into your bones. Your muscles, pleasantly exhausted, start to unwind.

But your brain doesn’t shut up.

It keeps replaying the afternoon: San’s hand around your arm when you nearly tipped over getting off the magic carpet. His laughter when you proudly managed to turn without wiping out. The way he kept adjusting your goggles and helmet, the way his fingers brushed your cheek once purely by accident.

You tell yourself, for the thousandth time, that he’s like this with everyone.

You also know, for the thousandth time, that you’ve never seen him like this with anyone else.

It’s infuriating.

Part of you wants to grab him by the lapels of his jacket and demand, Do you mean it? When you say stuff like that, do you mean me or just anyone in front of you?

The other part of you wants to never find out in case the answer hurts.

You’re chewing over this, staring into the fire, when your phone buzzes.

San: survived

San: lifts closing soon, we’re heading back down to lodge

San: how’s my favorite beginner

Your chest does the too-familiar flip.

You: my legs hate me

You: i might never stand again

You: but the hot chocolate is good so i’ve decided to forgive you

San: i’ll carry you back to the car

San: hero mode

You snort.

You: focus on not falling off the mountain hero

You: see you in a bit

San: see you soon

You tuck the phone away, suddenly restless.

The fire is too warm. The room is too loud. You stand, ignoring your legs’ protests, and wander toward the big windows that look out onto the slopes.

Outside, the light is shifting toward late afternoon, the sky a pale wash of blue and peach. The snow has started again. Soft flakes drifting slowly down, catching the light.

You can see the main chair lift in the distance, carrying little clusters of people up toward the top. Some chairs are empty; most are crowded with skiers in bright jackets, boards dangling from boots.

You press your palm to the glass.

Somewhere out there, San is on his way down the long run with the others. You try to pick them out among the moving dots, but everyone is bundled and helmeted and indistinguishable from this distance.

You remind yourself he’s done runs like this hundreds of times. He knows what he’s doing. He’s fine.

Right on cue, your brain offers you an image of him wiping out spectacularly on a patch of ice.

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself.

Snow swirls.

You watch the chairs move steadily upward, one after another, disappearing over the ridge.

Then you see it: a pair of familiar silhouettes loading onto a chair near the base.

Even from here, through glass and falling snow, you recognize the way San moves. There’s a bounce to his step, an easy confidence in the way he slides forward, sits back as the chair scoops him up.

You squint.

There’s only one other person on the chair with him.

Yunho? No, too short. Hongjoong? No, the jacket’s the wrong color. Wooyoung?

No. That’s definitely Wooyoung getting onto the chair behind them, because you’d recognize that neon monstrosity anywhere.

Which means—

Your phone buzzes again.

San: slight change of plans

San: the guys wanted to do the black run

San: thought we’d go together another day when you can join us

San: so i told them to go ahead

San: and somehow ended up on the lift with just one extra spot

San: …

San: you busy? 😇

Your stomach swoops.

You: YOU WHAT

From outside, the chair with San on it passes the point where you can see faces clearly. It continues up, up, up.

San: there was a spot

San: the operator was yelling “single?? any singles??”

San: i panicked

San: and said my best friend is inside

You stare at your phone.

You stare at the mountain.

You stare at your phone again.

You: ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE SAYING

San: come ride the lift with me??

San: just up, we don’t have to ski down the long run

San: we can ride back down on the chair if you’re tired

San: but the view is really pretty right now

San: and…

San: i want to show you

Your heart does an alarming little flip-flop.

You glance back at the chair moving steadily up the hill.

You could say no.

You’re already warm. Your legs are already jelly. Objectively, there’s no good reason to go back out there, strap your boots on again, and willingly sit on a swinging bench suspended several meters above the ground.

But he wants to show you something.

San, who loves sunsets and stars and things that make him feel grounded and alive all at once. San, who remembered your coffee order and your birthday and the way you take your gloves off by pulling at each fingertip, not the cuff.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers are moving.

You: don’t you dare leave without me

You: i’m coming

San: knew it 🥹

San: meet you at the lift in 5

San: wear your helmet!!

You roll your eyes, but your pulse is racing.

You drain the last of your hot chocolate, jam your feet back into your boots, and grab your helmet and skis.

The world outside the lodge door is colder than before, the sun lower in the sky. The snowflakes are bigger now, drifting lazily through the air.

You make your way carefully toward the lift, feeling oddly exposed without San’s steady presence at your side.

It’s not until you’re standing in line. Skis on, helmet buckled, gloves pulled tight. That the implications hit you.

You’re going to be alone with him. On a chair. In the sky.

You swallow.

The lift attendant waves you forward.

“Single?” he asks.

You nod, heart pounding.

He raises the safety bar just as a chair swings around behind you.

You shuffle into position, knees bent like San showed you earlier. The chair bumps gently into the backs of your legs and you sit, letting it scoop you up and away from solid ground.

As the snow beneath you drops away, you grip the side of the seat.

The attendant swings the safety bar down with practiced ease.

And then you’re rising.

The station recedes behind you, the lodge shrinking, the people on the ground turning into colorful dots. Trees slide past on either side, their branches heavy with snow. The air grows colder, cleaner. Quieter.

Up ahead, a few chairs.

And then—

He turns around to look at you.

You’d know his silhouette anywhere, the slope of his shoulders, the way his head tilts.

As your chair draws closer, he twists in his seat, one arm hooked casually over the backrest, and lifts his goggles so they rest on his beanie.

His eyes find yours immediately.

The corners crinkle.

He looks like the sun showed up to the snow party.

They slow the lift down just enough near the midpoint station that you can scoot forward and hop off… or, in this case, shuffle quickly along the snow and then shuffle back on with San.

“Go ahead,” the attendant says, waving you through when he sees your panicked face. “Riding up and down?”

“Y-yeah,” you manage.

“Top’s closing soon,” he adds. “You’ll catch the last one.”

You nod, words lost.

San is waiting just past the little dismount zone, his board angled in the snow, body turned toward you.

“You made it,” he says, like he ever doubted you.

“I could still throw up,” you say.

“You won’t,” he says confidently.

“You have a lot of faith in my stomach.”

“I have a lot of faith in you,” he corrects.

You ignore the way that hits you.

He glances at the empty chair coming around.

“Ready?” he asks.

“No,” you say, honestly.

He grins. “Too late.”

The chair reaches you. This time, you sit together.

You end up automatically closer than you expected, thighs pressed side by side, his board angled outward in front of you, your skis pointing straight ahead. The safety bar comes down with a practiced clank.

The ground falls away.

You’re going up again.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, leaning just a little closer to be heard over the whir of the machinery.

You stare determinedly at the snow beneath you for a second, watching the trees slide past.

“I will be once my soul returns to my body,” you say.

He laughs, soft and low.

“Look out,” he says. “Not down.”

You make a wounded noise. “How about I look at you? That seems safer.”

The words come out before you can stop them.

Silence.

You blink.

He blinks.

“That came out wrong,” you say quickly. “I just meant—”

“No,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I like that version better.”

Your heart launches itself at your ribs.

“I walked into that one,” you mutter.

“You walked into the right thing,” he says.

“What does that even mean?” you demand.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he tips his chin upward.

“Seriously,” he says. “Look.”

You follow his gaze.

The view steals whatever sarcastic comment you had queued up.

From here, the world looks… suspended.

The slope below you glows with late-afternoon light, skiers and boarders carving their last runs. The trees on either side of the line stand tall and silent, branches dusted with snow. Beyond the mountain, in the distance, you can see the valley spreading out. Little houses, frozen rivers, roads disappearing into the horizon.

The sky is starting to change. The sun, low and swollen near the horizon, paints the clouds in streaks of orange and pink. The falling snow catches that light, turning the flakes into tiny sparks.

You’d thought the world looked like a postcard from the lodge.

From here, it looks like something out of a dream.

“Okay,” you whisper. “This is… I get it. I get why people come up here.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him watching you.

“This is my favorite part,” he says quietly. “Not the going down. The being up here.”

“You say that like you’re not the one who tries to race gravity every time,” you say.

“I like that part too,” he says. “But… here. Like this. It feels… big. And small. At the same time.”

You turn your head to look at him.

The light from the setting sun hits his face, painting golden stripes across his cheeks, his nose, his mouth. His hair glows at the edges where it peeks out from under his beanie. The snowflakes on his shoulders sparkle faintly.

You forget for a second that you’re afraid of heights.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your voice softer now.

He glances out at the view again.

“I grew up near the sea,” he says. “You know that. The horizon there is… different. The water just goes and goes. When I was a kid, I’d stand there and think, ‘Everything is so big. I’m so small.’ It was… beautiful. And scary.”

You listen, stunned into silence.

“When I started coming to the mountains,” he continues, “I thought it would be the same. And it is, in some ways. It’s big. It’s overwhelming. But being up here…” He nods toward the valley. “You can see the roads. The houses. The people. All these little lives, connected. It doesn’t make me feel insignificant. It makes me feel… part of it. Like I’m sitting in the middle of something alive.”

Your chest aches.

“You think about this while dangling over the void?” you ask, because your defense mechanism is always humor.

He smiles, but it’s soft, almost shy. “Sometimes.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are.

He’s not touching you, not really. Your arms are held close to your sides, hands gripping your ski poles. But your legs are pressed together from hip to knee. You can feel the warmth of him even through the layers, the solidness of his body next to yours.

The lift rattles faintly as it passes a support tower.

You swallow.

“What do you think about?” he asks. “When you look at this.”

You consider.

“Honestly?” you say. “I think about how I hope that cable was inspected regularly.”

He laughs, the sound bright and echoing in the thin air.

“Okay, fair,” he says. “Anything else?”

You look back at the view. It’s even more beautiful now, the sun sinking lower, the colors deepening.

“I think about how different everything looks from up here,” you say slowly. “The lodge. The parking lot. The trees. They’re all still the same things, but… different. Like… like you can see how they fit together. How it all connects.”

He makes a soft, approving noise.

“And I think,” you add, a little quieter, “about how if you hadn’t asked me to come, I would’ve missed this. Because I would’ve been too scared to try.”

He’s silent for a second.

“That’s how I feel about you,” he says.

The words land like a snowflake and a stone at the same time.

Light. Heavy.

You turn your head sharply. “What?”

He’s looking straight ahead now, jaw working.

“That’s… not what I meant to say,” he mutters.

“What did you mean to say?” you ask.

His fingers flex on the safety bar.

The chair creaks slightly as the lift slows for a moment, letting someone off at the midpoint station. Then it picks up again.

“San,” you say.

He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath.

“This might be a really bad time,” he says. “Or the only time I’ll get.”

Your heart hammers.

“I didn’t used to think about… any of this stuff,” he says, gesturing vaguely with one hand. At the view, at the sky, at everything. “I’d just… go. Do things. Have fun. Move on. I didn’t stop to… look at how it all fits together.”

You listen, the cold forgotten.

“But then you showed up,” he says.

Your stomach swoops.

“At first it was just… fun,” he says. “You were at all the group hangouts. You laughed at my dumb jokes. You tried that terrible fusion restaurant with me and didn’t leave when the waiter set the table on fire.”

“That wasn’t his fault,” you protest weakly. “The pan was very hot.”

He huffs out a laugh.

“And then it stopped being just fun,” he says.

The snow falls thicker now, big flakes swirling lazily around you, catching on your jacket, his beanie, the metal bar in front of you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, even though you’re pretty sure you know.

You just need to hear him say it.

“I started… looking for you,” he says. “At every party. Every game night. Every time the group chat made plans. When you weren’t there, it felt… off. Like someone forgot to add a color.”

Your throat tightens.

“I’d do something stupid during the week,” he continues, “and my first thought would be, ‘I can’t wait to tell you, you’ll make fun of me and then say something that makes me feel less dumb.’”

Your vision blurs slightly. You blink hard.

“I’d walk home after hanging out and realize my face hurt from smiling so much,” he says quietly. “And it was always, always, because you were there.”

The lift hums.

The world narrows.

He turns his head finally, looking at you. Really looking.

“I didn’t used to notice sunsets like this,” he says, nodding toward the sky. “Or the way snow sounds different at night. Or how the world looks from high up, all the pieces fitting together. I started noticing because I kept thinking, ‘I want to show this to you.’”

Your heart cracks open.

“That’s what I meant,” he says. “When I said that’s how I feel about you. If I hadn’t met you, I would’ve missed a lot of… this. The feeling that I’m part of something bigger than just… me rushing downhill all the time.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until a tear slips down your cheek, chilled almost instantly by the cold air.

You swipe at it with the back of your glove, huffing out a shaky breath that’s half laugh, half sob.

“You’re terrible,” you say thickly.

His eyes widen. “What?”

“You can’t say stuff like that while we’re suspended over a drop,” you say, gesturing helplessly at the emptiness below. “I’m emotionally compromised and physically trapped.”

A startled laugh escapes him, breath fogging in the air.

“I’m serious,” you say. “My brain is trying to decide whether to swoon or cling to the bar for dear life.”

“Please don’t let go of the bar,” he says immediately.

You huff out another wet laugh.

He shifts slightly, angling his body toward you as much as the seat allows.

“I don’t want you to be scared,” he says. “Of this. Of me. Of… anything I’m saying.”

“Too late,” you say honestly. “I’m terrified.”

He flinches.

“But…” You swallow. “Not in a bad way.”

He watches you, silent.

“I’ve been… so careful,” you admit, the words tumbling out now that the dam has cracked. “Not to… read too much into things. Not to look at you too long. Not to hope. Because you’re… you. You’re like this with everyone. Friendly. Warm. Charming. I didn’t want to assume that just because you made me feel special, that I actually was.”

His face twists, like you’ve physically hurt him.

“I’m not like this with everyone,” he says, voice low and fierce.

You blink.

“I’m friendly, sure,” he says. “I joke around. I like people. But I don’t… wrap everyone’s scarves around their necks and fuss over their helmet straps and remember exactly how they take their coffee. I don’t spend entire runs down the mountain thinking about whether they’re warm enough in the lodge.”

Your breath hitches.

“I don’t come up on the last lift of the day just to see the sunset with them,” he says. “I asked you. I wanted you here. With me. In this exact moment.”

The chair sways gently as it passes another tower.

Snowflakes catch on his lashes. He blinks them away, eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m in love with you,” he says.

The world goes very, very quiet.

The hum of the cable fades. The distant shouts from the slopes below vanish. All you can hear is his voice and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while,” he says, words coming easier now that they’ve started. “I tried to tell myself it was just a crush. That it would go away. That I was just… projecting.”

A bitter little smile tugs at his mouth.

“But it didn’t go away,” he says. “It got… worse. Better. You know what I mean.”

You do. Oh, you do.

“I’d wake up and think of you,” he says. “I’d go to bed and think of you. I’d see something funny and think, ‘I wish they were here.’ I’d get good news and think, ‘I can’t wait to tell them.’ It got to the point where I realized all my favorite thoughts started with you.”

Your eyes spill over.

You don’t bother hiding it this time.

“And I didn’t say anything,” he says quietly, “because I didn’t want to lose what we already had. Your friendship. Your trust. These stupid little rituals—going for coffee, sharing fries, racing to call shotgun in Yunho’s car. I didn’t want to risk that and have you… pull away. Or feel like I’d tricked you.”

Pain flickers across his features. “So I tried really hard to just… be your friend. Be happy with that. But then I’d catch myself staring at you across the room and think, ‘I don’t know how to make this smaller.’”

A laugh slips out of you. Wet, disbelieving.

He huffs out a breath.

“And then today happened,” he says. “Watching you try something new. Seeing you fall and get back up and get mad at the snow like it personally offended you. Sitting in the lodge and realizing that the thing I was looking forward to most wasn’t going down that run, it was coming back to you.”

He swallows.

“I got on this lift with the guys,” he says. “And I kept thinking, ‘I wish they were here. I want them to see this.’ And when the operator yelled for singles, I thought, ‘This is my chance.’ My stupid, maybe-terrible, maybe-perfect chance to get you up here and tell you. Because if I didn’t…” His voice breaks. “If I didn’t, I was afraid I’d keep… circling around it forever.”

Your hands are shaking.

You don’t know when you let go of the safety bar, but at some point, you did. Your fingers are clenched in the fabric of your ski pants, nails biting through the layers.

“San…” you whisper.

His name feels different this time. Fuller. Heavier. Like you’re saying more than just three letters.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says quickly. “I know this is a lot. And the timing is… not ideal.” He gestures helplessly at the suspended chair, the snow. “If you need time, or if you just want to ignore this and pretend it didn’t happen, I’ll—”

“Shut up,” you say.

His mouth snaps shut.

“What?” he says weakly.

“Shut up,” you repeat. “You’re doing that thing where you decide the ending before I get to say anything.”

He blinks. “…Oh.”

You take a shaky breath.

The chair creaks. The snow falls. The sky burns orange and pink.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about telling you?” you ask.

His fingers twitch on the bar. “What?”

You laugh, watery and a little wild.

“Do you have any idea,” you say, “how many times I’ve almost said it? At two in the morning when we were the last ones awake at that stupid cabin trip and you were telling me about your hometown. In your car after that concert when my ears were ringing and you sang along off-key just to make me laugh. Last week, when you helped me build that Ikea shelf and didn’t laugh when I put one of the boards on backwards.”

He’s staring at you like you’ve started speaking another language.

“I’ve been so careful,” you say, shaking your head at yourself. “Because I thought… this was just me. That I’d fallen into something you didn’t want to join me in. That if I said anything, you’d either feel guilty or annoyed or… worst of all, you’d get really nice and polite and distant.”

“No,” he says automatically, vehement.

“I know that,” you say. “Now. But back then, all I could think was, ‘Don’t lose him. Don’t lose this. Take what you’re given and be grateful.’”

He looks suddenly anguished.

“I didn’t realize you were… holding back,” he says.

“You didn’t realize?” you echo. “San, you’re the one who carries me up stairs and feeds me fries. You hug me every time you see me. You wrap me in your jacket when it’s cold. And I still had to convince myself it meant something more than ‘I am a golden retriever in human form and this is how I interact with all humans.’”

He chokes out a startled laugh, tears bright in his eyes.

“You are so…” You cut yourself off, searching for a word that isn’t stupidly sentimental. “…dense sometimes.”

Fair.

He laughs, a wet, breathless sound.

Your hand leaves your thigh almost of its own accord.

You reach over and grab his.

His skin is warm against yours, even through the gloves. His fingers stiffen in surprise, then curl around yours, tentative and sure at the same time.

“I love you,” you say.

His eyes go huge.

“I’m in love with you, San,” you say, heart pounding, voice trembling. “And believe me, I have tried not to be. I have tried to make it smaller, like you said. Tried to shove it into the ‘good friend’ box and nail it shut. It keeps breaking out.”

He lets out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.

“And sitting in that lodge,” you continue, “watching the lift and knowing you were up here, I realized I was doing exactly what you said. Circling. Watching from below. Pretending I was okay with just… seeing you from a distance.”

You squeeze his hand.

“I don’t want to do that anymore,” you say. “I want this. Even if it’s scary. Even if we’re dangling from a cable and my legs are shaking and my nose is running. I want… you. All of you. The rushing down the mountain and the sitting quietly on the chair. The bad jokes, the good hugs, the way you look at sunsets like they’re telling you secrets.”

His breath catches audibly.

“You’re not… too much,” you say softly. “And this isn’t too much. At least, not for me. It fits. You fit.”

For a heartbeat, the only sound is the wind.

Then he moves.

He shifts on the seat, turning toward you as much as the bar and your skis will allow. His hand tightens around yours, anchoring you.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

There’s no question.

He just leans in.

It’s not rushed.

He moves slowly enough that you see it coming, see the intention in his eyes, the way his gaze drops briefly to your mouth then back up again. Slowly enough that you could pull back.

You don’t.

You meet him halfway.

His lips are warm despite the cold, soft and a little chapped from the wind.

The first touch is feather-light. Abrush, a question, a relief.

Then he presses in more firmly, and your brain short-circuits.

You’ve imagined this before.

You’ve pictured what it would feel like, the angle of his head, the way his nose might bump yours, the warmth of him.

Reality is so much better it’s almost rude.

You exhale into the kiss, your free hand lifting without conscious thought to grip the edge of his jacket. Your fingers curl into the fabric, pulling him closer.

He makes a quiet, surprised noise in the back of his throat and it sends a shiver down your spine.

His thumb strokes over the back of your hand where your fingers are interlaced, soothing, grounding. His other hand, the one not trapped in yours, comes up to cradle your jaw, gloved thumb brushing your cheekbone.

The chair sways gently.

The cable hums.

Snowflakes land on your cheeks, your nose, the bridge of his nose where your faces are pressed together. You taste the cold on his lips, the faint bitterness of coffee, the sweetness of the hot chocolate you had earlier.

Your nose bumps his.

Your teeth click together once and you both laugh into each other’s mouths, breath mingling in white clouds.

It’s not perfect.

It’s so much better.

When you finally pull back because your lungs demand oxygen and your heart needs a second to catch up, you stay close.

Your foreheads rest together, goggles bumping lightly. Your noses brush. You can feel his smile ghosting over your lips.

His eyes are bright, edges crinkled. There’s a light in them you’ve never seen before, or maybe you have and you just didn’t have a name for it.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Best bad-timing of my life.”

You snort. “This timing is insane.”

“We’re literally on a chairlift,” he says. “If we break up, I’m never coming back here.”

“You’re not allowed to think about breaking up when you just kissed me for the first time,” you say.

The corner of his mouth lifts.

“First time,” he repeats. “I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t get cocky, Mountain Boy,” you say, trying to hide your grin. “You still have to get me down from here.”

He tilts his head, still close enough that your noses brush again.

“I’m pretty sure,” he says, a little smug now, “that if we survived that conversation and that kiss suspended over the void, we can handle the ride down.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me,” he reminds you.

You should be used to your heart flipping by now. It still hasn’t gotten the memo.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I do.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been trapped in his chest for months.

The chair passes the last support tower before the top. The slope beneath you flattens slightly; you can see the upper station coming into view, small clusters of skiers and boarders gathering near the unload area.

“Just so you know,” he says quickly, “I’m not going to be… chill about this.”

You snort. “About what? Us?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m going to be obnoxious. I’m going to hold your hand all the time. I’m going to kiss you in front of our friends just to watch them scream. I’m going to post photos of you doing nothing and write dramatic captions.”

You burst out laughing.

“Please don’t do the captions,” you wheeze. “They’ll block us.”

“I’m going to do all of it,” he says. “Because I’ve been pretending for so long that you’re just my friend and it has been driving me insane.”

You squeeze his hand, still tucked safely in yours.

“I’ll allow the hand-holding,” you say. “And the kissing. We’ll negotiate the captions.”

“Captions are non-negotiable,” he says, but he’s grinning.

The station looms closer.

“San?” you say.

“Yeah?” he says instantly.

“I’m really glad you panicked,” you say.

He barks out a surprised laugh. “Thanks?”

“That you told the guy you had a best friend inside,” you clarify. “That you asked me to come. That you…” You gesture vaguely between you. “…did this.”

His expression softens, all the jokes and bravado falling away for a heartbeat.

“Me too,” he says simply.

The chair reaches the top.

The lift attendant shouts instructions, but you barely hear them over your own heartbeat.

“Okay,” San says, switching to practical mode in an instant. “When we hit the ramp, stand up, lean forward, let the chair push you. I’ll be right next to you. I won’t let you fall.”

“You say that like the snow isn’t right there,” you mutter, but you nod.

The moment comes.

You stand, knees trembling, skis sliding onto the ramp. The chair nudges you forward. For one terrifying second, you wobble...

...and San’s hand is there, firm at your elbow, guiding you.

You glide down the little incline and come to a wobbly but upright stop away from the unloading zone.

You did it.

He throws his fist up in a tiny, jubilant cheer.

“See?” he says, eyes bright. “You got it.”

“I’m dating a liar,” you say, gasping a little. “You said you wouldn’t let me fall and I almost just fell on my ass in front of God and the lift operator.”

“Almost,” he says. “Doesn’t count.”

“You’re insufferable,” you say.

“You’re in love with me,” he says.

“Tragically,” you agree.

The lift attendant calls the “last ride down,” meaning the chairs are now only carrying people back to the base. There’s a small line forming of tired skiers and boarders ready to call it a day.

San nods toward it.

“One more?” he asks. “Down this time. Together.”

You glance at the slope leading away from the station. The long, slightly intimidating run the others took earlier.

He sees the direction of your gaze and shakes his head.

“Not that way,” he says. “Not today. We’ll do it when you’re ready. When it’s our first run as…” He wriggles his eyebrows. “…whatever this is.”

“Disgusting,” you say, but your cheeks hurt from smiling.

He grins.

“We’ll ride down,” he says. “No pressure. No heroic teaching. Just… us. And the view. One more time.”

You don’t even pretend to think about it.

“Okay,” you say.

You shuffle back into line.

This time, when the chair scoops you up, you sit a little closer immediately. The safety bar comes down and, without asking, without checking, he reaches over and laces his fingers through yours again.

The world falls away for the second time.

The view looks different going down.

The valley is slowly filling with twilight, the colors deepening to shades of purple and blue. The lodge glows warmly, windows lit. Tiny dots move along the lower slopes, last stragglers making their way back.

You feel different going down too.

Lighter.

Grounded.

Terrified in all the best ways.

San swings your joined hands gently, cheeks pink, eyes soft.

“You know,” he says, “this is technically our first date.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re counting a shared adrenaline spike as a date?”

“Almost dying together is bonding,” he says. “Ask anyone.”

“We didn’t almost die,” you say.

“We confessed our love dangling from a cable,” he says. “Artistically, that’s near-death.”

You laugh.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he adds. “Better dates. Less heights. More food.”

“You’re not getting out of a real date with technicalities,” you say. “You’re taking me out properly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, mock-saluting with his free hand. “Anywhere you want.”

“I want…” You trail off, thinking.

“A cabin,” you say finally. “Near the sea. Or the mountains. Or both. Somewhere with a ridiculous view and a working heater.”

“Ambitious,” he says. “Let’s start with dinner.”

“And dessert,” you say.

“And breakfast the next day,” he says without thinking.

Your heart trips.

He freezes.

“I mean—” he starts.

You grin. “You’re not wrong.”

His entire face goes red.

The chair sways gently as you pass the midpoint. The snow continues to fall, soft and insistent. The lodge grows larger, warmer, more real.

San shifts closer, bumping his shoulder against yours.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hmm?” you answer.

“I love you,” he says.

You turn your head, meet his eyes, and feel the words settle over you like a blanket.

“I love you too,” you say.

He leans in and kisses you again, quick and sure, with the snow and the sky and the mountain holding you in place.

When you reach the bottom, your friends are waiting just outside the exit, helmets off, goggles up, faces flushed from the cold and the runs.

Wooyoung takes one look at your joined hands and your slightly dazed expressions and screams.

“FINALLY!” he yells, loud enough that several strangers turn to stare.

Yunho chokes on his water. Hongjoong just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he owes someone money.

“I owe Mrs. Kwon twenty bucks,” he mutters.

“Called it,” Yunho says weakly.

Wooyoung bounds over, nearly wiping out in his boots.

“Did you confess?” he demands, eyes wild. “Did you kiss? On the lift? Did you almost drop your poles? Tell me everything.”

San tucks you closer into his side, unabashed.

“Yes,” he says.

“To which thing?” you ask.

“All of it,” he says.

Wooyoung squeals.

You hide your face in San’s shoulder, laughing.

Later, much later, when you’re back at the lodge in dry clothes, nursing another mug of hot chocolate, San will sit next to you on the couch, thigh pressed to yours, arm slung along the backrest behind you.

At some point, you’ll lean your head on his shoulder.

At some point, he’ll press a kiss to your hair and whisper something soft and stupid and perfect in your ear.

At some point, you’ll look out the window at the dark mountain and the faint line of the lift and think, I was up there, and I was scared, and I did it anyway.

You’ll think, I could’ve stayed on the ground.

You’ll be very, very glad you didn’t.

Main Masterlist | San Masterlist

Read the other Member Drabbles here:

HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH

At the sound of his footsteps on the forest floor, you turn to face him, your lamp held up close to your face.

"Your Highness," you greet with a smile he almost fears he will never grow tired of.

A small chuckle slips through him, and he glances down at his boots before meeting your eyes again. "Will you never stop calling me that?"

Your smile widens. "What would you rather?" you tease. "Most honourable Ice Prince?"

Minghao scoffs. He has said before how much he despises that title, given to him by those who call him cold, who say he has no heart, who say he is ruthless. Those who have never tried to meet the real him.

And yet, hearing it from you... he doesn't mind it so much.

You meet him -- the real him -- every week in the canopied darkness of the Morrigan forest, where time always seems to stand still just so Minghao will stay with you for longer than he plans.

Each night, he tells himself, just a little bit longer.

"Do you call for my company only to tease me?" Minghao counters. Each word he speaks on nights like these is a veiled request-- will you please smile again? He wants to see it the second it disappears.

Your smile persists, and he can't hide his own, even in the shadows of the trees.

"I believe you are the one who calls upon me, Your Highness." You step closer. He prays you cannot hear his rapid heartbeat. "And that aside, I am certain you enjoy my teasing. Why else should you wear a smile like this one?"

Extending your arm, you bring the lamp closer to Minghao than yourself, and you hold back a laugh at his shy smile.

He looks away, first to the expanse of forest behind you and then to his boots once more. His hands fumble to find home somewhere, failing to make him seem casual as he balances on his heels. "Perhaps I do enjoy our banter."

"I should hope so, Your Highness, lest I be wasting valuable sleep just to meet you out here in the Morrigan."

He ventures another glance at your face. Your eyes capture his.

"Must you call me that?"

You step closer yet again. Your free hand reaches towards his face, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks you will touch his cheek, cradle his face in your hand. He almost begs for it with his eyes, but he stops himself with a hitched breath when you continue past his face and up to his hair. You touch him for the briefest of seconds (he has to resist letting his eyes flutter shut) and pull back with a dried leaf between your fingers that must have been caught in his hair.

You smile.

Johnny Suh was a giant of a reporter—both physically and reputation-wise. As one of the most reputable (honest) and persistent journalists in the city for one of the nation's leading news outlets, he was well respected and almost always got the questions he had answered. Almost. 

You didn't even need to save a smile for him. With a nose that could sniff bullshit five miles away, you were better served saving it for someone else. 

He leaned against the wall by the elevators in the penthouse suite, a press pass hanging from his neck (not that he needed one) with a leather jacket over his broad shoulders and an old fashioned pen and paper pad in his hands. He chuckled, an incredulous sound, as he glanced away for a moment. “C'mon, Yn. Now I know he's blowin’ me off.”

There was one word that could properly describe the heat swarming to the surface of your skin: embarrassment. “He's not doing it on purpose,” you insisted. “You know that Chan is called away spontaneously. Crime doesn't sleep.”

“I should be interviewing you, at this point,” Johnny said with a shake of his head. He pointed the tip of his pencil at you. “That's quite the one-liner, actually—”

“Oh, no,” you cut in, holding your palms out in front of you. “Absolutely not. I don't do interviews.” You huffed out a sigh, not even bothering to hide the stress in the breath because Johnny had been through this situation with you more than once. You tugged your phone out. “Listen, I'm guaranteed to speak with him sometime tonight, so I'll talk to him about it then and make sure he sits down with you sometime this week.”

“Tomorrow.”

Your brows furrowed as you glanced up at him from your calendar app, the days striped in a rainbow blockade of meetings and events. “Tomorrow? Johnny, you know—”

“I’ve got deadlines, Yn,” he told you firmly. “Can you really guarantee that you'll speak to him tonight? I thought crime never sleeps?”

Your mouth snapped shut. 

That was all the confirmation he needed. “Kid, I know you're just doin’ your job. I get it, but Boy Wonder used to be real good about answerin’ my calls.”

Yeah, you thought to yourself as you stared down at your phone calendar, before he hired me to be his excuse-maker. “I'll see what I can do,” you said and stepped forward to call the elevator. 

“That's all I'm askin’.” He lifted his hands in innocence as he sent you one last look, before disappearing in the elevator. 

As soon as the gilded doors closed and you were left alone in your employer's penthouse apartment, you let out the loudest sigh ever known to man. The sound reverberated against the walls and lofted ceilings; you wouldn't even be surprised if the city beyond these massive windows could hear you. 

Johnny Suh didn't need to make threats. You knew that if you didn't squeeze him into Chan's schedule tomorrow, Johnny would use his magical way with words to pen something less than favorable in the paper about the city's favorite superhero. You couldn't even blame him, at this point; Chan had pretty much been avoiding you, too. 

You glanced down at your phone and skimmed through the notifications blowing up onscreen. But none of them were from the one person you needed to hear back from.

There were still a dozen other events he had scheduled for the day: a library opening, a meeting with the city's press team, so on and so forth… It only meant that you either needed to rein in your Super employer, or you needed to suddenly gain a couple dozen new excuses to gab to people. There were only so many times people would be okay with the “saving lives” thing, especially if they were a person in power. 

Bang Chan—your employer and the famed superhero Phoenix—was a fan favorite of the city. He was smiley, dimpled, and had a heart of gold that burned like the fiery wings he spirited from his back; he never failed to capture civilian hearts by rescuing children from burning buildings or stopping dangerous bank robberies. He was your city's biggest celebrity, and was treated as such with red carpet invitations, banquets held in his name, and even owning a key to the city. It was a stroke of luck that you even stumbled into his employ, but it was because you believed in him and his cause. 

He wanted to help people in the best way he knew how. Who were you to stop him?

“Except that it's your fucking job to stop him,” you muttered to yourself as you trudged into his kitchen to make yourself lunch. By booking him for all of these things, it meant he had to choose between meetings and spontaneously running out of the room to save someone's life. And when those whose meetings he ran out on came calling unfairness, you were the person they yelled at. 

You didn't and couldn't control Chan, and you weren't about to try and leash him. But it didn't mean you wouldn't stop trying to do your job, the one he paid you to do. 

You tapped on his contact, setting the call on speaker mode as you rummaged through his fridge. The ringing echoed against the polished wood and marble surfaces, only to be met with his voicemail. 

“Come on, pick up,” you chanted to yourself, barely paying attention to the food selections in front of you. 

“Hey, it's Chan! Sorry I couldn't answer your call, but if it's urgent and it's business, you can call my assistant Yn at—”

You reached over to hit the end button with a huff. Whatever. 

If there was one good thing about moving into the city proper, it was discovering little joints like Bluenote. Bluenote was a cozy bistro a few blocks from Broadway, with live entertainment and a warm atmosphere, and it had become one of your favorite places to take people. Every time your folks were in town, you had a friend visiting, or even if your employer finally had two minutes to sit down with you—Bluenote was your go-to. 

Lately, you hadn't been back in what felt like forever. It was only right that when you and the guy you'd been seeing for a couple weeks now needed another place to meet, you jumped at the opportunity. 

“You're still hanging out with this Mark guy?” your friend Karina groaned into your ear. She was overseas earning her PhD, but she always had time for you and your life updates. 

The sounds of the city wailed loudly in the background—the metal pipes moaning, the cats screeching, the cars honking. This cacophony of sounds was simply what most called an urban symphony. It was what you worked to, what you slept to, what you lived to. 

You tugged the dark cardigan over your shoulders tighter around you as a rogue breeze swept past and raised goosebumps over your skin. “'Hanging out with?’” you parroted with a deadpan, even though she wouldn't see it. “You say that like I'm not dating the guy.”

“Well that's just my point! You're barely dating him,” she said. “He has to dip at the last minute nearly three quarters of the time for some unknown reason.” 

“Okay but—”

“He's married. He's gotta be married!”

You made a face. “Jimin, he is not married.”

“That’s exactly what he wants you to think!”

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, even as you rolled your eyes and huffed out a light laugh. Mark Lee was not married, that was one thing you knew for certain. It would make your overthinking brain run a little less hot though if he was; the only problem with cute, dorky Mark Lee from the NeoNet news outlet was that he had a penchant for being a total flake. It had only been two weeks since you started seeing each other, and he was sweet, but half the time you wondered if he was some secret superhero or something with the way he made up excuses for not making it. 

Karina told you to dump him twelve days ago, and she was probably right, but you couldn't confront the idea that maybe he just didn't think you were a high priority. When you and Mark did finally get to hang out, you were great together. And maybe, at some point, you'd gotten used to being flaked on to the point that you could stomach it. It wasn't like you weren't super busy either. 

(It wasn't healthy, of course, but what adult in this city was healthy?)

You hit the crosswalk button one block away from Bluenote and leaned against the traffic light pole. “I think I'm fine with it, y'know? It's casual—”

A ringing next to your ear interjected your words, and you pulled the phone away to see the screen. Your eyes lit up at the same time as a groan slipped from your mouth. “Shit.”

“What? Did he make up another lame excuse again?” 

“No” —you squeezed your eyes shut and shook your fist instead of punching the metal pole— “it's Chan. He's finally calling me back. I'm so sorry, Rina—”

“No, it's all good, girl! I totally understand. Go rip him a new one.”

As the walk sign flickered on in front of you, you stepped out onto the street. “If only… anyways, love you, and talk soon.” After hearing those sentiments reciprocated, you hung up from the call with Karina to switch onto a line with Bang Chan. “Chan.”

A grimacing hiss flew into your ear as you slapped your phone against it. “I know what you're gonna say, and I'm really sorry—”

“Johnny Suh is the person you should be apologizing to at this point,” you cut in. “C'mon Chan, you know how important an interview with him is, and you've been dodging both mine and his calls!”

You heard clattering around in the background and you recognized the familiar sounds of him making himself something to eat. Something awfully like guilt twisted in your stomach. He probably hadn't eaten all day. 

“I'll make it up to him.”

“He wants an interview tomorrow,” you replied. You stopped short of the doors into Bluenote, stepping out of the walkway so you could consult the phone calendar once again. 

Chk-chk-whoosh, went the stove on the other end. “Okay, then I'll meet with him tomorrow.”

“It’s really not that simple.”

“Well then, what do I have tomorrow?” 

Despite knowing this calendar like the back of your hand, you continued to scour it as if it was your personal fortune teller. “The only remotely viable space would be early in the morning.” Your mouth flattened into a line; it was important that Chan still got time to rest, or maybe even sleep. You were hesitant to even bring up this time slot to him, as if you already knew where his brain was going. 

“How early?” he asked. Just as you suspected. 

Your eyes lifted to absentmindedly stare out into the busy street of traffic before you, the neon lights and fast cars whizzing past in a blur. “Like almost 7AM. That early.”

A beat passed. “Okay, yeah. I'll do it if he can wake up that early.”

You had given up trying to parent him long ago. After working for him for this long, you'd learned the long and tedious way that attempting to wrestle him into a healthier lifestyle was like trying to blow out a fire—useless. “As long as you can, too,” you said, already opening a chat with Johnny to let him know the updated time. “Anyways, I won't keep you any longer. You need to eat and sleep.”

“So do you,” he shot back. For a moment, there was only the sound of something frying on the other side, or maybe that was boiling. “Hey, I appreciate you, by the way.”

The smile that wormed itself on your face was unsuppressable. Was this what made you such a doormat? “And you stress me out, boss man.”

A bright chuckle met your ear. “I apologize for that. Have a good night, Yn! See you bright and early tomorrow.”

When you hung up the phone, you let a sharp exhale fall from your mouth. You brushed a hand roughly over your hair, pausing when you remembered that you were wearing makeup and you should not drag that same hand down your face. Once you had made the corresponding updates to your records, you tucked your phone away and finally turned into Bluenote. 

The establishment could be described as the epitome of warmth and bubbliness. The laughter and chatter that floated in the air danced in time to the bassist plucking his solo onstage. Bluenote was built and designed to reflect the aesthetic and atmosphere of a jazzy speakeasy complete with wooden walls and floors for acoustics, a dimly lit bar hugging the side wall, and a floor that descended gradually to the stage. 

You could already feel the stress melt away as you strolled up to the hostess stand and smiled all too easily. “Hi, reservation for Yn.”

The hostess nodded her head, tapping away on her tablet. “For two correct?” At your affirmation, she gestured to her left with an elegant hand, palm toward the ceiling. “If you'd please follow me, Miss.”

You clutched your purse in front of you as the pair of you weaved through the low booths and tables toward the small steps that led to the next platform down. There was a table for two tucked away just by the railing, out of direct view of anyone coming by, because their eyes would be toward the musicians onstage rather than you and your date. 

“Thank you,” you said to her, as you settled into your seat.

Just as the hostess left to return to her post, a waiter in a sharp vest and bow tie appeared from your periphery. “Welcome to Bluenote,” he greeted in quiet cordiality. He set a drink napkin in front of you, then hovered over the second seat. “Are we waiting on someone else tonight?”

You nodded. “Yes, he'll be here soon.”

“Excellent.” A second napkin was placed. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“An apple martini, please,” you replied, flashing him a smile in thanks. You peeled the cardigan from your shoulders and draped it over the back of your chair, a sigh falling from your mouth. Once you were settled, you retrieved your phone to check if Mark was on his way. 

You weren't even surprised by your newest notifications. 

mark lee: heeeeey… i'm gonna sound like the WORST broken record ever, but i have to take a raincheck 😓😓 mark lee: I'M SO SO SO SO SORRY YN I'LL MAKE IT UP TO U I SWEAR

There wasn't much you could do, but the thought of having this table to yourself didn't sound too terrible. At least this was a place you were comfortable in, and not some stuffy restaurant with four dollar signs. It's all good! We'll just have to do this some other time, you answered.

mark lee: it's something w my aunt, i promise i'm not flaking on purpose… it's just… complicated your phone: dude, seriously, it's okay. do what u gotta do!  your phone: bluenote isn't going anywhere anytime soon mark lee: ur an angel 😭 hope u have a good night yn

You swiftly texted back a message along the lines of wishing him and his aunt well before you tucked your phone away and out of sight. If you respected yourself, you would have dropped him already. At this point, the two of you were barely friends, let alone dating. Had Karina been here, she would have argued how his so-called aunt was just a code word for his wife. 

“She's right, you know.”

You stared absently at the pianist onstage. “Yeah, but who am I to—” You stopped yourself short of finishing. Who said that?

You whirled around, your heart stuttering at the sight of a familiar man standing by your table. His dark hair was swept out of his face, leaving only a single lock curled over his forehead; he wore a sharp-looking suit that could be both casual and dressy, paired with a set of warm-tinted sunglasses perched on his nose. Only a man with his audacity could pull off something like this. 

Immediately, your expression soured, even if your pulse continued to pound relentlessly against your throat. “You've got to be kidding me.”

Could this day, night, life get any worse?

Kim Hongjoong grinned down at you from over the rim of his glasses. “This has to be fate.”

You turned your head back to the front, resisting the urge to drag your hand down your face and smudge your makeup. “Do I need to file a restraining order?”

“Why file one when you could just restrain me yourself?” he all but purred, eyes never leaving you as he stepped toward the one other open seat at the table, across from you—Mark’s ex-seat. 

“Don't” —you whipped your head around and raised your hand, but to no avail. Your face fell into a flat look as he helped himself to the seat. “Whatever.”

Hongjoong made himself comfortable as he crossed one leg over the other and picked up the slim menu card left on the table. “Sorry, I'm late, by the way,” he drawled as his eyes lazily skimmed over his options. “Midtown traffic is absolutely abhorrent during rush hour. Didn't mean to keep you waiting, darling.”

You set your palm on the table, leaning toward him with as much menace in your eyes as you could muster. “Are you stalking me or something? You know who I work for, don't you?”

At the mention of your employer, he cocked a brow. “One, I'm not stalking you; you know how I know.” He tapped the side of his head, wagged his brows—mind reader, he mouthed, then giggled. As if you needed a reminder. “Two, the only reason I'm here is because of who you work for, Yn, I thought we established that during our first date.”

“That was not a date.”

“Catching you on the Treasure Island bridge overlooking Aurora Cove at sunset wasn't a date to you?” He set the menu down and pressed his hand to his chest, adding a gasp for dramatic effect. 

You pinched the place between your eyes. “Are all villains as dramatic as you are?” you grumbled. 

“I guess I'm just not courting you enough,” he said. His head tilted upward as the waiter returned to deliver your drink. “Could I just get a whiskey on the rocks, please?”

As you accepted your own martini with a thanks, you couldn't help but note how polite the man across from you was. You always pictured supervillains to be rude and entitled, or plain stupid. But every time you'd had a “curated” meeting with him, he'd acted like any other stand-up guy, never drawing too much attention to himself besides through his charisma and good looks. (Not that you would ever admit that to his face or out loud.)

“Why are you here?” you asked once the waiter was out of earshot. 

Hongjoong folded his arms loosely over his chest. “Well, replacing your sorry excuse for a date, for one.”

Something needled at your chest. “He's a nice guy—”

“Nice guys don't ditch their dates half the time,” he said with a raised brow. He then sat up to lean his forearms over the table. “I mean, darling, you're dolled up so pretty and you picked a beautiful place” —he gestured to the venue around you— “it’s a perfect evening, and he asks you for a raincheck?”

Your nostrils flared, heat swarming to the surface of your skin. “Stop listening in, Hongjoong.”

“I don't need to ‘listen in’ to know why he's not here,” Hongjoong quipped. 

There was that gross, sticky feeling in your stomach again. It spread around your shoulders this time, making you long to hide yourself—from embarrassment, humiliation, and the fact that he was right. “And I don't need dating advice,” you muttered, staring him straight in the eye, “from a supervillain.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Fine, have it your way.”

The two of you fell into a momentary lapse of silence, where the only sounds came from the life around you—the soft jazz floating in the background, the muted chatter. Your table's waiter came back to hand Hongjoong his poison of choice for the evening, and that seemed to remind you that you had your own drink to sip. 

He took a sip at the same time you did, only yours was much longer. Watching you from over his glass, he asked, “So have you thought about it?”

“Thought about what?”

“My offer,” he replied. He set his drink down onto its napkin, then leaned the side of his head against his fist. 

Oh, that? “You're funny,” you muttered into your glass, glancing away from him and at the jazz band playing. This evening had run far off the rails as it was. You couldn't believe he was still asking you to turn your back on Chan. 

Hongjoong hummed to himself. “I know I am, but I'm being serious.”

“I'm his assistant. You need an assistant?” you blurted out, shooting him an incredulous look. 

He shrugged. “I could,” he said. He leaned forward to say, “But it's not about whether or not I need an assistant—it’s the meaning behind the action.”

“You mean the implications of you successfully poaching me?” Why were you still entertaining this guy? Oh yeah, because you couldn't prove any of this to anyone. Plus, the most harm he had ever mentioned or committed in front of you was this stupid notion of becoming his employee. 

“Well, yes.” Hongjoong reached for his drink and drained the glass to its icy bottom. “So? What say you?”

You swirled the remaining dregs of your martini in the cup, the liquid sloshing precariously close to the edge. “If you can read minds, Kim, why are you still asking me?”

“Sue me for liking the sound of your voice,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air with melodrama. A slow smile curled onto his face. “I do prefer verbal confirmation. I'm sure you don't enjoy the thought of me intruding into your safe, mental space.” He idly examined his nails, some of them painted with a chipped black color. 

“You can't seriously expect me to believe that you purposefully try not to read my mind,” you scoffed. 

“Then don't,” he stated. “But sometimes your thoughts are loud.”

Your mouth dropped open and you had to consciously tell yourself to snap it shut. A giggle bubbled out of your counterpart, the back of his hand pressing to his mouth. There was a twinkle in his eye, a satisfied sort of smirk leftover. 

Why I oughta—

Hongjoong suddenly rose from his seat, the chair legs scratching lowly against the floor. “Alright, I think that's my cue to go.” He was already tugging out a bill from his wallet before you could process. “It was wonderful seeing you again,” he said as he dropped the money by his drink glass. “You clean up nice.”

You leveled a glare at him. “I will turn you in some day.”

“No, you won't.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Hongjoong pushed his chair in, leaned over the back of it. With an easy grin, he replied, “Because you haven't yet.”

To the rest of the world, Kim Hongjoong didn't exist. It wasn't that ‘Kim Hongjoong’ was a made-up identity. In fact, he was a real person. The only problem was that he was supposed to be dead. 

The next morning, you were perched atop a stool at your kitchen counter, the sleep from your eyes having been fully replaced by the dull buzz of caffeine. You absentmindedly raised your mug of coffee (a porcelain piece that had Phoenix's winged logo emblazoned on it—free merchandise that came with the job) to your lips as you devoured the article on your phone screen. 

It was your sixth article this morning surrounding the subject matter of a tragic incident that occurred five years ago. Back then, Phoenix was nothing but a young man attempting to tame his own pyrokinesis, a grade-A menace to society. These articles weren't new to you either, but ever since you met Kim Hongjoong, you never looked at them the same ever again. 

“EDENARY UNIVERSITY STUDENT DIES IN FATAL LABORATORY ACCIDENT,” was what this one's headline read. Accompanied with it was a high definition photograph of the university's laboratory caught on fire and burning to the ground. 

There was no way to save anyone from the building, let alone Kim Hongjoong, the student caught at the very epicenter of the blast. It was unknown why an economics student was in a restricted biochemistry laboratory in the first place, and you had yet to ask the not-so-dead economics student himself. 

But something happened to force him or convince him to fake his own death. Something had to push him toward the path he went down now as a metahuman with telepathic and telekinetic capabilities. 

Out of all things, why did one choose to become a supervillain?

Biting your lip, you swiped out of this article and tapped into another one. This wielded a far different tone than the last. The headline read: MASTERMIND—A SERIES OF SILENT REBELLIONS. The article summarized the so-called greatest hits of a supervillain with telekinetic powers, namely one Kim Hongjoong. To the public, he went by many names—Mastermind, Maestro, Magician—but the one that tended to stick the most was the Captain. 

He could captain just about anything with his powers; thus, gracing him with that very title. His introduction to the city had been a few years ago, and it hadn't been with the usual sorts of villainy like robbing the federal reserve. 

That year, the government had announced the banning of several dystopian novels. The next morning, the streets were littered with painted words from each book, skyscraper faces wallpapered in life-sized pages. 

(Eye witness reports and security camera footage showed only tools and materials, like paintbrushes, moving on their own as if by phantom hands.)

You still remembered the deep-seated awe in your chest. It remained there, buried, because if anyone knew what you really thought of that act, you'd probably be far beyond being out of a job. 

Though the Captain never made physical, theatrical appearances to claim his work, one would always know it was him at the helm of a scheme. Perhaps he had begun with vandalism, but his acts only continued to grow in criminal magnitude since.  

(Suffice to say, there was an active warrant out for his arrest, despite the government being oblivious to what he actually looked like.)

As you glanced down at your phone again, a notification appeared at the top of the screen: OMW home for the exclusive with Suh. Can I give you a lift? 

The message was from Chan, and you instinctively lifted your head up to peer out the window. It was nearly seven in the morning, but as you'd postulated before, crime never slept. You weren't surprised that Chan wasn't home at this hour. 

your phone: sure, glad i'm not wearing a skirt today boss man 🔥🦅: haha fs i'll c u in five

“Five minutes, it is,” you muttered aloud as you slid off the stool to place the coffee mug in the sink for later. Chan's generous offer was going to save you a dull drive through midtown morning traffic. If there was one true perk to working for a superhuman who could fly, it was all the gas money you were saving. 

As he said, Chan appeared outside your living room window five minutes later with a jovial grin. He didn't seem any worse for wear with no outward appearances of injuries; and he only wore a fitted, flame-retardant tank and pants, rather than the full suit. It was the equivalent to him going out for a morning jog, if said morning jog consisted of stopping early morning robberies and the like. 

He eagerly waved his hand at you as you wrestled the window up. The sounds and smells of the city poured in—all the smog, car honks, and early sirens. You stuck your head out and shoved your bag strap over your arm. “Am I gonna need a harness this time?” you jested with a wrinkled nose, peering up at him. 

“Well, if you hold on tight like I always tell you to,” he teased back with a mirthful twinkle in his eyes, “then you won't need one. Now, c'mon. Let's not be late.”

“I'm never the late one,” you quipped. You had only ever taken the Chan Express a few times, so you still felt your stomach drop as you carefully lifted one leg out onto the fire escape, then the next. 

The flames of his fiery wings blew gently with the breeze at his back. He once told you it had taken him months to control the flames in a way not only to keep their shape when flying, but to a temperature that wouldn't hurt whomever he was carrying. It was really quite the feat. 

Chan was swift to scoop you up and you held your breath as you scrambled to cling onto his shoulders. Even if you only lived on the third floor, there was still a long fall before you splattered on the ground. 

“Hold on tight, Yn—I mean it!” he chuckled, before taking off into the sky. 

Once you and Chan reached the terrace of his penthouse apartment, you fixed up your appearance and went straight to work. You got a pot of coffee running and quickly made Chan a breakfast that he scarfed down in seconds. It wasn't that you were his caretaker, or god forbid, mom, but you knew this guy took on his role as “hero” a little too intensely sometimes. 

It gave him tunnel vision. He saved the world, but who saved him?

“I can wash the dishes and things,” Chan assured you, crowding you out of the kitchen. 

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved a hand at him absentmindedly, your focus on your phone again. You had just received a new notification and you plugged your earbuds in to take the incoming call. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” you mused as you stepped into the back hallway for some privacy. “Or should I say good evening instead?”

The sound of shuffling, like the fabric of a comforter, met your ears. “Hrmph,” the caller grumbled on the other side. “Ha ha, very funny.”

Jeong Yunho was a friend of yours from several years back, when you met him in your last year of university at Sector 1 College. The man was a savant with the way he could understand and manipulate technology to his very whim. He was intelligent and competitive, but one of the sweetest guys you knew. Now, he worked at a massive cybersecurity firm located in one of the city's high-rises. 

Occasionally, you checked in on him under the guise of lunch or coffee—lord knew he needed to get out of his damn gaming chair every once in a while to see the sun. 

“I got your text,” he said through a yawn. There were more sounds on his end—sitting up in bed, or wherever he had fallen asleep. “Sorry, I was… definitely not up playing Val last night.”

You made a face and gazed out the window closest to you at the city beyond. “Uh-huh sure, I believe you. But it's fine, I didn't really need an answer right away.”

After you'd come home last night from Bluenote, it had taken a very hot shower, an additional glass of wine, and three hours of overthinking before reaching out to your tech-whisperer friend. If anyone could find anything on Kim Hongjoong, it would be Yunho. 

“Let me just get my ass to my computer.”

You laughed. “Take your time.” 

Distantly, you heard the sound of the elevator. Johnny Suh had arrived to get that exclusive he was promised. 

“So um,” Yunho started to the sound of keyboard clacking in the background, “who’s this Kim Hongjoong guy anyway? You stalking a potential Tinder match or something?” 

You nearly choked on your own air. “Uhm no,” you replied firmly. “I wouldn't do that—”

“You definitely would,” he sang. 

“—and I don't have Tinder.”

Yunho clicked his tongue, and you could already imagine the impish, little grin on his face as he shook his head at your caller ID. “A shame,” was all he said. “I'm just messing with you. So who is he?”

You pursed your lips. How much should you divulge to Yunho? There was certainly a moment you realized that telling others could potentially put them in danger, too. There had to be a reason why Hongjoong felt that your knowing his identity was okay—but then again, he had never directly confirmed that he was the Captain. 

“He's,” you pulled out of thin air, gesticulating as you went, “a person of interest.” Lame. Now it sounded even more like he was a potential Tinder match. 

A snort from your counterpart. “I can say for certain that he shouldn't be interesting to you.”

You straightened. “Why?”

“Because he's dead, Yn,” he said in a tone that sounded a whole lot like ‘Duh.’

Oh. You couldn't stop your shoulders from falling. “Okay, but,” you stammered, “there has to be something more, right? Like maybe something about the Biochem building the explosion was in—what was that lab working on—”

“Yn.”

Something in his tone brought you to a screeching halt. Yunho was the classic Golden Retriever type; you never heard him so much as raise his voice at you, only at his computer screen. But there was actual steel in his voice then, something terse and tender at once. 

Like he was being defensive. 

“I think we should leave it.”

You gathered your words and found your voice again. “I know it's not right to dig around someone's personal life, especially when they're dead, but Yunho—”

“I'm sorry, Yn. I'm just—I’m not touching that case with a ten foot pole.” You could hear him push away from his desk then, the dull sounds of wheels rolling against a wood floor carrying through. He sighed, “I transferred into Sector 1 College from Edenary.”

Oh… shit. “Yunho, I'm sorry, I didn't know.” Your fingers lightly grazed over your temple, wishing greatly to smack your forehead instead. 

“I know you didn't, and it's okay. I just… I don't want to look at that stuff.”

You swallowed and started nodding. “Of course,” you said. “Thanks anyway.”

The two of you exchanged quiet goodbyes, along with brief assurances that everything was fine (when they certainly were not). You hung up the phone before leaning back against a wall. How could you not know Yunho went to Edenary University before transferring to your college? 

You bit your lip, thumbs hovering over your keyboard as you contemplated a text message to your friend. 

your phone: hey yun, again i'm so sorry abt_|

You hit the backspace and deleted the message. Give it a couple hours, you thought to yourself. As you began weaving your way back to the front room where Chan was being interviewed, you already started mentally drafting another text message. 

Jeong Yunho didn't like to think of himself as a liar. He was simply revealing only portions of the truth. He was skilled at that part—it didn't mean he felt good about doing it. 

He glanced down at his phone screen, your caller ID and “Call Ended” glaring in his face. With a rough sigh, he tossed the phone onto his bed, leaning back in his chair to stretch his limbs. “I hate this, Joong,” he voiced aloud before dragging his hands down his face and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

A ways behind him, leaning against the room's doorjamb, was Kim Hongjoong; strands of his hair hung in his eyes, body clad in a T-shirt and sweatpants for sleep. He crossed his arms over his chest, digging his teeth into his lip. “I know,” he said lowly. 

He'd come into the room when he heard Yunho wake up, and listened in when he was calling you. After the text you sent Yunho last night, the two of them discussed what exactly Yunho should respond to you with. (The comment about playing Valorant was only partly true.)

“I can lie to other people,” Yunho exclaimed as he turned his chair around to face his friend. He threw his hands up in the air for increased impact. “But lying to Yn like this—I don't know, it just feels wrong.”

“But you're not lying to her,” Hongjoong pointed out. “And this is for your safety and hers.”

Yunho knew that. Of course, he knew that. He wouldn't even be here—knowing Hongjoong was alive, who he was, and harboring him in his apartment—if he hadn't followed his own instincts and investigated Hongjoong's “death.” There was a reason why Kim Hongjoong from the past needed to stay dead to the world. 

Yunho shook his head, leaning his cheek against his hand. “I'm convinced she's not complicit. Whatever her hero trash of a boss knows about the Answer Project, she doesn't. She can't!” 

He refused to believe that his very normal friend from college was in any way associated with the bastards who were holding his fellow metahumans captive, experimenting on them, and attempting to silence (execute) people if they knew too much. It didn't fit with the vision of you he had in his mind, but was he giving you too much grace? It had to mean something that you had yet to tell Phoenix who you suspected Hongjoong to be.

Hongjoong lifted a hand in understanding. “I have a gut feeling, too; but even if she knows nothing about Answer, her knowing your involvement with me or that you know about Answer could get you both in trouble.”

It wasn't like gut feeling was all Hongjoong had either. He didn't enjoy purposely becoming a fly on the wall in someone's head, but when one was paranoid, measures were taken. 

His mind drifted to last night when he had slipped into your date's chair at the jazz restaurant. He didn't know why he continued to pursue you and reach out—perhaps in the beginning, it was to get an edge on Chan/Phoenix and even the Answer Project, but now… 

Well, he'd just say he wasn't lying when he told you how nice you cleaned up. 

(Who would skip the chance to take you out on a night on the town? You knew your own worth, didn't you?)

“She probably thinks I'm mad at her,” Yunho muttered, staring at the ground with a pensive look on his face. “I should text her.”

Hongjoong lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You could. Though, something tells me she wants to give you space.”

“And by something, you mean her own thoughts,” Yunho mused and cocked a brow at him. 

“I'm not listening to her thoughts. Y'know, sometimes, it's just intuition and emotional intelligence.” Hongjoong turned on his heel and began walking out toward the living room and kitchen spaces. “But since you're awake now, we've got work to do.”

A groan emitted from within Yunho's cavern (bedroom). “I forgot that it was tomorrow.”

“Better believe it.” Hongjoong grinned to himself. Tomorrow the live meeting of the nation's Climate Council was to be hosted in this city. There were plenty of members on that panel whom Hongjoong itched to give a piece of his mind to. But before the day arrived, there was still a load of preparations left. 

It would be a Climate Council meeting that no one would forget. 

You were three seconds from nodding off. At this point, even your soul had unbuckled itself from your spine and taken a hike. Climate issues were important, sure, but the way these shmoes talked about them made you want to drill a hole through your skull. 

As Phoenix's personal assistant, you were granted the seat directly behind him against the back wall of the room. The council was being hosted in a large conference room within the city's town hall, outfitted with a long table curved in a crescent moon facing inward. An audience of press and lower dignitaries, politicians, and graduated students made up the sea of people across from the table. Flashes of camera shutters occasionally popped and flickered, blinding you. 

“We are working hand-in-hand with our city's own Phoenix to ensure that all of our industrial operations continue to adhere to—”

As your eyes lazily opened from another slow, torturous blink, you felt a light nudge from your side. 

Jerking slightly, you turned your head to your right. 

“Sorry,” whispered the man next to you, a look of pure sheepishness radiating from behind his thick-framed glasses. He nudged those very frames up his sculpted nose, teeth pressed into an awkward grin. He wore a standard suit and tie, along with a blue lanyard with an ID badge attached that read: PARK SEONGHWA, PhD and D.O.H. “I just don't want you to get caught in the background of a picture with your eyes half closed.”

That at least made you crack a smile. “Thanks for the assist,” you said back quietly. You extended your hand to him as subtly as possible. “Ln Yn, by the way. You work for the Department of Health?”

He nodded and shook your hand. “Yes. It's nice to meet you Ms. Ln. I'm Dr. Park.”

“You're not on the panel, Doctor?”

“Dear god, no.” He glanced at the panel of speakers seated only several feet in front of you, including your own boss. His trademark wings were out of sight for the time being. “I’m only filling in for a colleague who couldn't make it. They filled me in on any necessary information should the Director” —he inclined his chin to the man he corresponded to— “need it.”

Ah, that made sense. You had only attended one other Climate Council before and you didn't recall ever seeing Dr. Park there. Though, the Department of Health was certainly staffed with a large number of people. 

“Well, at least that gives you cause to stay awake,” you joked. “I'm never needed, but my attendance is required.”

Seonghwa shot you a playful grimace. “The only staff member to a very busy public figure? I couldn't imagine.”

You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. “I get the job done.” Sometimes. Your track record of wrangling the city's favorite firebird as of late was shoddy. 

“And that's all that matters.” 

“So what is it that you do for the D.O.H. if not climate-related things?”

He raised a brow at you, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “Who said I didn't work on climate-related things?” Before you could reply, he gave a small smile with that sort of awkward boyishness to it. “Sorry, I was trying to say something cool. Heard that in a movie.”

If you weren't at a public, broadcasted event, you might have laughed a little. He was charming—in that dorky kind of way. 

Seonghwa continued, “I actually work with researching vaccinations for diseases. We work closely with the Climate Impact group under the umbrella of the Public Health division.”

Your lips parted in respect and understanding. Well, even if he wasn't working in Climate Impact, you could understand where his knowledge came from. It became a unique perspective. 

“That's really co—”

A loud whirring sound reverberated as all the lights in the hall went dark. A loud gasp followed by exclamations of confusion and panic erupted soon after. 

You immediately whipped your head over to Chan, who had stood up and materialized a small ball of fire in his palm, the orangey glow illuminating wavering shadows over the planes of his face. 

Seonghwa leaned forward, eyes darting around the room. “What's going on?”

“I don't know,” you murmured as you watched Chan raise his hands to attempt to capture everyone's attention. You glanced over at the press in the audience, their focus flickering between the superhero and their own screens. “It looks like only the building's power has been cut, though.”

“Everyone!” Chan hollered, lifting his fiery palm toward the ceiling. “Please remain calm. I'm sure it was just a hiccup in the electricity; this building has backup generators. There is no need to worry.”

As if on cue, the monitor screens around the walls of the room flickered to life. Their faces blasted a glaring blue light, terribly eerie, washing the room in cobalt. 

A shiver crackled down your spine and you couldn't help but look over at Chan again. There was a crease between his brows now, his mouth pressed into a line. He returned your glance, a knowing look. 

This wasn't just an unlucky power outage. 

The room stood stalk-still as all eyes remained glued to the screens. Words appeared in bold letters, one at a time: LIES. CONTROL. SELFISHNESS.

The screens shuttered, the words and blue screens replaced with footage. It was filmed from a high angle, likely a security camera in what appeared to be a large control room. There were several rows of monitors, staggered in height, as they overlooked a panoramic screen with statistics and alerts. 

At the top of the arena were two men, one seated at a monitor while the other man towered over his shoulder. 

The audio crackled to life, muffled yet somehow clear as day. 

“The backups aren't working, sir,” said the man in the chair. “The water levels are too low and the generators are way too hot.”

Your ears perked up at the sound of the second man's voice. He grunted in reply, “I thought you scientists were supposed to be intelligent. Isn't there an abundance of water in the ocean? We're right next to it, goddamn it.” Wasn't that… Lee Taeyoon, the president of HiveTech?

You couldn't make out any visible logos in the video, but if this really was footage from HiveTech, this was about to break the entire council.

The first man shrunk in his seat. “We’ve already been put on alert by the Pollution Watchlist, sir. And, with all due respect, you signed the agreement with the city's Public Health board to contain water usage to below ten million liters per day. Siphoning water from the ocean will breach that contract, as well as increase the amount of toxins released into the—”

“I don't care—just access the ocean line. The pipeline was already built, so we should use it,” President Taeyoon said, straightening and flicking his wrist in dismissal. “Wu from the Public Health board owes me one, so he'll turn a blind eye.”

You just knew Johnny Suh was kicking himself for not getting this story out first. 

Your soul nearly jolted out of your seat as a single light from the ceiling above beamed down to illuminate one section of the audience. 

There, as if it was his solo onstage, was President Lee Taeyoon of HiveTech. He sat still as a statue, eyes narrowed and hands balled into fists on his lap. 

“Wireframe Publishings” —everyone’s heads whipped up at the sound of a voice echoing from above—no, around? It was everywhere, surrounding you, and it was so awfully familiar— “calls President Lee of HiveTech the 'greatest mind since the invention of the lightbulb. Lee will take us into the future with his brilliant, new artificial intelligence, his… HiveMind.’”

The last few words were dragged out, long and sarcastic. 

Your stomach twisted violently. You knew exactly why the voice sounded familiar. 

The disembodied voice continued, “My friends, my enemies… Phoenix.”

You glanced over at your boss who seemed at a loss. There was nothing to fight, nothing to burn without a body. 

“Now that you know the truth, will you continue to praise and protect this pathetic loser?” 

A long, heavy silence washed over the room. You could feel your heartbeat physically thrashing against your chest, the tick-tocking of a timed bomb. Everyone looked at everyone, and everyone looked at Chan. You felt awful at such a feeling of helplessness, so you couldn't imagine what he felt like. 

The Captain—because you damn well knew who was at the helm of this scheme—clicked his tongue. “Truly, how disappointing. Politics really are the people's enemy, aren't they?” 

“What do you want from us?” Chan finally called out into the ether, a muscle twitching in his brow. 

There was a pause, then a small chuckle that followed. 

The hero curled his lip. “You think this is funny?”

“Hilarious, actually,” the Captain said. The mental image of Hongjoong laying on his stomach in bed and kicking his feet up behind him just materialized in your head. “Do you always speak like you're in an action film, Phoenix? It's so… I'd say entertaining, but I think even I would shut the TV off by this point.”

If this wasn't a serious situation, you would have rolled your eyes. All of this flak coming from the diva himself?

“You didn't answer my question: what do you want?”

“Isn't it obvious?” 

The television screens flickered. The footage switched from the control room to what looked like one of the aisles of a data center. There were black box-like shapes taking up the frame, blue and red lights twitching on their panels. 

You took a wild guess as to where this was. 

“Notice how no one has left the room yet,” he continued. “None of you are trapped here, but you all want to see what comes next.”

A few heads turned to the doors on the furthest side of the council hall. And yet, no one moved a muscle. 

SCREEEEEECH—audible grimaces filled the room, people slapped their palms to their ears. The scratching sound grated on your bones, nails on a chalkboard. It was like metal was being torn open with someone's giant, bare hands. The video screen seemed to brighten, but not before a strange whooshing sound began to grow louder in the background. 

Shhhh swiftly became a raging roar. 

It clicked in your head the same time it did in President Taeyoon's because the man jumped out of his seat and dashed to the nearest monitor. “NOOO!” he thundered, banging his fist against the screen hard enough to shatter its face. 

The screen only continued to display the rush of ocean water that rampaged through the HiveTech data center, devastating all of the contents within. 

A borderline lovesick sigh filled the room. “Ah, don't you love the sweet sound of justice?”

“JUSTICE?” Taeyoon staggered to his feet with something monstrous contorting his features. He threw his fists up toward the ceiling. “YOU CALL THAT JUSTICE?”

The Captain snickered. “You don't? Well, I guess you could also call it karma.”

“Phoenix!” —a voice from the corner of the room, some security team member— “I've got a location hit on the IP address hacking our system!”

Phoenix stumbled over chairs and mumbled harried sorries as he tripped over feet toward the exit. “WHERE?”

“He’s at the waterfront. Dock 1117—”

Whoosh. A few yelps cropped up in the crowd as Phoenix flicked out a pair of blazing wings from his back and soared over heads to reach the nearest window. A stream of pure, blue flame shot forth from his palms, melting a hole clean through the glass. 

In the blink of an eye, he disappeared into the world outside. 

The press in the room didn't wait to see what came next; they all scrambled to their feet and grabbed their equipment to reach the data center in time to get the live action scoop. 

“This should be fun,” were Hongjoong's last words from the speaker system before all the lights came back on and the screens returned to their previous media. 

You stood up from your chair, lips still parted in shock. Did that really just happen? Was it faked or was the entire HiveTech data center just destroyed?

In the corner of the room, Lee Taeyoon hunched over in devastation, shoulders trembling in rage or from crying—you couldn't quite tell. The other attendants of the meeting glanced among each other and traded their concern, all illustrated on their faces. There were some remaining members of the audience who frantically made calls to others, likely ordering more security for their own corporations and their properties. 

What was going to happen now? 

With the screens returned to normal, there was no way to know what occurred at the docks until it was over. How did Hongjoong even manipulate all of this technology? He was a telepath, not a cyberpath. 

“That was,” you voiced out loud, “a lot.” You attempted to force a bit of lightheartedness into your tone, but when you glanced over at Doctor Park, your shaky smile dropped. 

Dr. Park Seonghwa was bracing himself on his knees, eyes wide as twin saucers behind his glasses as he stared at seemingly nothing. His skin had blanched considerably, almost sickly in color. You swore you could hear his rapid and shallow breaths—dear god, was he going to faint?

You instantly fell back into your seat beside him and lifted your hand slowly, before placing it on his shoulder. “Dr. Park… Doctor? Doctor, are you alright?”

His lip trembled. “I—I need some air, I think.”

“Of course,” you said swiftly, nodding with vigor. 

You gently took him by the crook of his arm and helped him to his feet. He grappled onto your own arm as a crutch, and the two of you carefully picked your way across the meeting room with slow, measured steps. 

The few times (several times) you stole a glance at him, the man had his dark hair hanging over his eyes as he glued his stare to something far off in the distance. It was almost like this was a response to something; it could be that this entire ordeal struck a nerve in him, possibly mirroring a past trauma of his. 

That seemed to quell your thoughts for the meantime. You didn't want to pry into his private life. 

When you and Dr. Park broke out into the outside world's sun-soaked glory, you could feel him relax a little beside you. Sirens sang their song far off in the distance, out east toward the marina. 

Out here in the light, though, you caught the silvery glint pooling in Seonghwa's eyes. You thought it was a trick of the sun, but that tremble in his bottom lip was still there. 

This… this poor man. 

You walked Dr. Park to the front of the building, closer to the outer road. “Let me call you a cab,” you murmured to him while patting his arm. 

Your eyes scanned the busy streams of traffic for a blur of familiar yellow. When you spied your target vehicle chugging toward your direction, you raised two fingers to your lips and released a shrill whistle into the wind. That, accompanied by you waving your free hand around like a maniac, successfully brought the taxi to yours and Seonghwa's curbside. 

“Thank you,” he said to you, the volume barely audible above the sounds of the city, but loud enough to you. 

You nodded, shooting him a strong smile, as he lowered himself into the car. “Take care of yourself, Doctor. It's going to be alright.”

He wasn't able to muster up a smile, but he did lift his fingers in a brief wave before closing the door. You watched the cab merge into oncoming traffic and didn't leave until you could no longer make out the letters of the license plate on the back. 

You had dodged dozens of calls from Lee Taeyoon, the Climate Council members, and other notable individuals by the time Chan touched down in his own home. 

Ever since yesterday's fiasco at the televised Climate Council meeting, your phone (nor you) knew a moment of quiet. Every waking moment was spent desperately attempting to placate people of the safety of their properties from scheming, telepathic metahumans; as well as managing the tsunami of requests for interviews from every goddamn news outlet in this city. 

Lee Taeyoon and HiveTech was a big fucking fish to fry, was the moral of the story here. 

That, as well as the fact that the Phoenix failed to apprehend the culprit behind yesterday's attack. Yeah, the Captain remained free as a bird, and there were no leads or evidence pointing to his whereabouts. 

“Chan,” you exhaled out of your mouth, shooting to your feet from your nervous perch on his coffee table (not the couch). You beelined for him, noting the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders as he stalked into the apartment. “We need to talk about what's going on.”

He brushed past you, but you clung to his heels, following him into the kitchen. “Not now, Yn,” he said through a sigh. “I need to get something to eat before I have to go out again. Titano had to choose this week to throw a fucking tantrum.”

You could understand. Really, you could understand. 

“The mayor wants to meet with you and put out a joint statement, and the head of the Department of Security keeps calling—”

Chan ripped the fridge door open. “Can't you tell them I'm busy?”

You leaned against the counter, arms folded over your chest. “That's what I'm doing,” you quipped. Pursing your lips, you suppressed the urge to talk even more about all of the things on your plate when he had his own shit. “Chan, I'm on your side. You know this.”

“Do I?” He slammed the refrigerator shut and moved to one of the cabinets instead. “You want something from me, the city wants something from me, the news wants things from me. I can't catch a fuckin’ break right now.”

He hadn't cursed this much in a long time. Frankly, Chan didn't lose his shit in front of you ever.

Guilt twisted in your stomach. “I already gave them statements to get off your back. I'm not here to tell you to attend any more meetings or interviews; I wanted to talk about if you were okay.” Because you damn well cared about the guy! 

You believed in him—his cause, too, but mostly him. That was one of the reasons why you were still here. 

Chan took out a package of ramen and let his arm fall to his side, head hanging. 

There. In the beat of silence, you ventured a step closer. “What happened with HiveTech—”

“Was a fucking disaster,” he interjected, whipping toward the stove to find a pot somewhere. 

Your eyes shuddered, and you sucked in a breath. Great going, Yn. “—was not your fault,” you corrected firmly. 

What was bothering him so much about HiveTech? It wasn't as if he didn't have other, worse moments in his superhero career. So why the hell was this one so different?

Chan threw you a dry look, but it was far from any joking deadpan he'd sent before. You could feel the cold breeze brush past your arm. It was strange, really, how someone so naturally warm could be capable of such frigidity. 

He didn't say anything after that, just put the ramen packet down on the counter and whisked himself out of the room. You slipped after him, and didn't bother stopping him as he completely dismissed his break to fly out of the apartment again. 

“Super job,” you muttered to yourself. “That went over so well.”

It didn't make sense to you why this one instance wounded his pride more than the others. Maybe he was getting more flak than you were realizing; but where and how, if all outside communication went through you?

You collapsed onto the couch in the living room and pulled out your phone. 

Unsurprisingly, there were another couple dozen missed calls, and nearly a hundred other notifications. There was one in particular that caught your eye though. 

While you freely ignored everyone else, you tapped straight into your newly-made text chain with Dr. Park Seonghwa. 

dr. park: hi yn, thank you for reaching out — it was really thoughtful of you, both what you did for me yesterday after the meeting and for checking up on me. i'm doing better today, but i suppose i'm still a little shaken. how are you?

In an effort to distract yourself from your own work, last night you had gone home and worried yourself silly about Dr. Park instead. You found his phone number on one of the staff directories for the Department of Health, and shot him a text inquiring after his well-being. You hadn't expected an immediate response, but you were glad to finally hear back from him. 

your phone: it's completely okay to be shaken still, doctor. as for me, i fear that i'm too stressed to be worried about anything 😅  dr. park: ahh understood. i hope you'll attempt to take care of yourself though, despite it all. 

You bit the inside of your cheek as you read his message. It was difficult to even envision yourself making attempts at self care during this time, but if you wanted him to try, then so should you. I'll try my best, you typed back. It seems like we both need a breather from reality, you said in partial jest. Another attempt to lighten the mood. 

dr. park: true! it was very nice meeting you yesterday, though, all things considered. i wish we were able to chat more your phone: i'm not sure if our schedules will allow, but maybe we could get a meal together sometime to chat? i think getting to know a new friend would give me something to look forward to  dr. park: i think i can definitely make room for a new friend :))

A smile curled onto your face—the first one in the last twenty-four hours. 

Along the 2nd Street Promenade that overlooked Aurora Cove and the Treasure Island bridge sat a local fish fry that had been open since as long as this city lived. It was owned by a man and woman who boarded up just above the restaurant in the apartment upstairs. Though prices had increased slightly as the years went by, the taste and quality remained one of the highest in the city. 

“How are you feeling today, Doctor?” you asked Park Seonghwa who sat across the table from you. The two of you had just placed your orders up at the counter, and were settled with two cups of water and a plastic number card.  

The young doctor nudged his frames up the slope of his nose, smiling slightly. Saying he looked far better than a couple days ago was an understatement. The image of his sickly appearance, the watery glint in his eyes… he had been close to falling over, or maybe even throwing up his lunch. “I'm much better now, thank you,” he said. “And please, you can call me Seonghwa.”

“Then you can call me Yn,” you replied good-naturedly. “I'm glad you're feeling much better, though. What we went through was—it was upsetting.”

There was some real fear that struck your heart that day. You didn't know how far Hongjoong/the Captain would go to make his points. You didn't truly know him at all. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled in agreement, reaching for his water cup. After a small sip, he said to you, “I guess I'm just a little… thrown off. I'm not sure if that's the word.”

You nodded, brows furrowing as you leaned forward to show that you were listening. “Sure. That makes sense.”

“Not because of the information that was exposed or even the damage being done to the HiveTech server center.”

You tilted your head, confused. 

Seonghwa waved his hand absentmindedly. “It's just that,” he continued, “I feel that I…” he paused. There was a flicker of conflict in his expression before he overcame it. “I think I recognized the voice.”

Your heart dropped clean into the pit of your stomach. What? “The voice?” you asked slowly, uncertainly. 

“Yes, the voice over the speakers. The one who was confirmed as the Captain—or the Mastermind or Maestro or whatever he's called.”

Well, this was an interesting turn of events. You busied your hands with taking your water cup, hoping he didn't see them shake slightly. “Is that so?” you queried while forcing the tremor out of your voice. “Who did it sound like?”

Seonghwa paused again. He stared at you for what felt like an eternity. Could he see right through you? Despite the poker face you wore, you were convinced you had your guilt scribbled all over your face right now. “I don't want to get anyone in trouble,” he finally said with slow and measured words. “But it probably wouldn't matter anyways.”

Your heartbeat slowed only a little. Right, you nearly forgot you were actually the assistant to a superhero who wanted to find the Captain. “Why—uhm, why not?”

Your counterpart stared into his water for a moment, then glanced back up at you. “Because he's dead.”

This is just getting better and better, you thought to yourself. You feigned confusion and formed a furrow between your brows. “Dead? What do you mean? Who did it sound like to you?”

“It sounded like an old friend of mine from college,” he replied. His head turned to gaze out at the yolky sun sinking into the bay. Perhaps it was simply the golden hour light, but you swore there was a hint of nostalgia, grief, painted softly over his features. “He died in that explosion—the one at Edenary University five years ago.”

You wished you could put your head in your hands. Unfortunately, Seonghwa had recognized the correct voice. Despite the spike of panic in your heart, there was an ocean's load of melancholy weighing down your chest, too. 

To believe you were hearing the voice of an old friend, long gone—one might think you were hallucinating. How agonizing. Did Hongjoong know Seonghwa was going to be present in that room? He must have. So what did that say about Hongjoong?

“I'm so sorry, Seonghwa,” you said quietly. 

His head turned back to you and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “Not at all—I mean, you have nothing to be sorry for. I suppose I'm just,” he chuckled, “hearing things or something.”

You aren't though, you thought with a frown. Maybe you could tell him—

He cleared his throat before you could even attempt to salvage this conversation. “That's enough about me. How have you been since? I imagine the blow back afterward was… not fantastic.”

Immediately, you felt reality rush back into you like the oncoming tide up a shoreline. 

Your face must have been answer enough for him. Seonghwa sent you a grimace. “That bad?”

You let out a strained laugh, leaning the side of your head against your fist. “You've seen the news, right?” you answered jokingly… kind of. It was an utter nightmare. 

When Phoenix had failed to apprehend the hacker from the broad-casted council meeting and the perpetrator of HiveTech's physical and metaphysical ruin, he received all the criticism. There were some activist groups who were glad Phoenix had failed, though—after all that was revealed about President Taeyoon's actions and true, malicious intentions, they agreed with the Captain in his indictment of Lee. 

Tech giants around the city and nation were, undoubtedly, distraught and outraged at the public display of destruction of private property. You could understand that they felt threatened by the Captain, and what he might do next. It was no longer the government he showed malice against; private corporations were next on the chopping block. 

Not to mention, the metahuman Titano continued to rampage across the city’s financial institutions with no signs of stopping. 

Suffice to say, your boss had a lot riding on him for a win. 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa admitted with a wince. “I'm sure it's very overwhelming for you, too though, right? You have to deal with everyone who wants a piece of Phoenix, whether they're on his side or not.”

That was true. You were still getting calls left and right, even out of business hours, attempting to hassle you into a reply from Phoenix. Your dear old friend Johnny Suh had run back to your inbox again, as well. It had gotten to a point where you were forced to silence your cell phone as soon as you clocked out of work. 

You gave a half-hearted shrug. “You're right on all accounts, but it is what he pays me to do. I am the wolf wrangler.”

That at least got a snort out of him. “I admire your strength,” he mused. “I hope he pays you well.”

“I'd be gone if he didn't,” you laughed. 

As the sun slipped deep beneath her covers, and night filled the sky in her place, you and Seonghwa finished your meal. Yours and his combined laughs trailed with you as you pushed your way out of the eatery and onto the marina walkway. Though life had been stressful as of late, you were glad you had put a pause on all of the work to have this little bit of joy. 

Seonghwa grasped his hands in front of him with a soft, boyish smile. “I'm a little hesitant to leave now,” he admitted, “but unfortunately, duty calls.” He inclined his chin in the direction of the parking lot. 

“Work at this hour?” you queried. 

He shrugged, as if he couldn't help it, but there was a sheepishness still present. “My colleagues and I have all been working overtime to prepare for some clinical trials. I should—really get back, but this… tonight was much needed.”

You broke into a smile, nodding. “Same here,” you laughed. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for reaching out in the first place.” He sent you a little wave as he began slowly walking backward toward his destination. “When things slow down, you should come by the office for a tour!”

“I'd love to.”

His grin widened. “Have a good night, Yn!”

“Good night, Seonghwa.”

You watched as he left, and only turned back toward the bay when he had also turned around. A small sigh fell from your mouth, not tired but content. You had been so used to being flaked on recently, that going through with a foolproof night was almost foreign to you. 

Seonghwa was a good person, as well. You were glad he was doing better, but you wondered if you should have told him the truth about Hongjoong. 

A breeze drifted across the marina and you started walking closer toward the water. The sun had completely disappeared into the silken skyline, but the night was comforting on your shoulders. 

You settled on a bench that overlooked the bay. It wouldn't hurt to linger here for a moment longer. 

Across the bay, you watched as flame met pure steel. Embers ricocheted as sparks, miniature fireworks, before being concentrated into a ray of power that could rival hot lava. In the distance, sirens crooned their citywide warning as they headed for the scene of the fight. 

You resisted the urge to check your phone for the current news. It was being played out in front of you anyway: 'Phoenix Battles Titano on the Rooftop of Metro Bank.’ Who needed a newspaper when you knew the real deal? 

You sank against the bench, unable to tear your blank stare away from the battle scene. Being physically removed made it so easy to forget that this was reality, that people's lives and welfare could hang in the balance. To you, across the bay, this was a scene from a movie—that was someone else's problem, not yours. 

After all, what could a person like you possibly do to help in that scenario?

Footsteps tapped lightly against the wharf, and then you felt his presence. 

Kim Hongjoong had his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as he sat down on the far end of the bench, eyes gazing out at the same scene as you, a sigh materializing in your ears far louder than any of the emergency sirens. “Nice night?”

For a pregnant moment, you entertained the idea of ignoring him; but there were too many things on your mind to do such a thing. “Is this all a joke to you?”

When you turned your head to look at him, he mimicked your movement toward you. There was a small twitch in his brows, but otherwise, you were unable to read him. How unfair it was that he could skim your mind like some cheat sheet and you couldn't even make out an intention from his expression. 

“So is that what you think of me?” he asked you. His tone and pacing were as if he'd plucked the words carefully and maneuvered them into place on a Scrabble board—certain, but still cautious. 

“That was you a couple days ago, wasn't it?” you threw back instead. “With HiveTech and the Climate Council.”

Hongjoong rotated himself back in the direction of the bay. “Lee got what he deserved,” he said, “and if you listened to anything in that security tape, you would agree with me.”

You were at a loss for words. Were you supposed to be mad about that? “No,” you sputtered, facial features wrinkling in disgruntlement. “I” —you scooted the tiniest bit closer, knees knocking against the wood of the bench to face him— “You had a friend in college named Park Seonghwa, and he recognized your voice in there.”

There was a shift in his demeanor as soon as you said the doctor's name. It was impossible to put a label to it now, but you hoped for Hongjoong's own humanity, that his own heart hurt as much as Seonghwa's probably did. 

You didn't know where the red, hot flame inside you started to grow, but it became the heat beneath your skin that boiled your blood. “I'm sure you're a meticulous person,” you continued on, “and you would have known he was going to be in that room. You should have seen him, Hongjoong. He could've fucking fainted by the end of it.” 

A muscle feathered in the side of his jaw as it clenched. “I didn't know he was going to be there.”

“Bullshit.”

“I didn't.” He looked at you then, and the utter wall of stone in his expression made your spine snap straight. It staunched the thrumming of your blood, the fiery advocation you were cranking up. He wasn't lying; you realized that much. “Do you think so lowly of me as to believe that I would purposely try to retraumatize someone I cherished in my past?”

You stupidly had nothing to say. The words had spilled out of you without thinking, and you believed him. Maybe you were just trying to find something to blame him for, to convince yourself that he truly was worthy of being labeled a villain. 

Hongjoong shook his head. “He wasn't supposed to be there,” he said. “No one from my past life was supposed to know that I'm still alive, but—” He stopped himself short, shaking his head again. “Was that why you were meeting him tonight?”

“Partly.” You fiddled with the end of your blouse, shifting your body to no longer have your knees pointed at him like an accusation. You casted a glance at him, saying, “He was in poor shape after everything happened. I found his number in a staff directory after I helped him get a cab home, and we agreed to grab a meal together to have a proper conversation.”

He nodded quietly. “Thank you.”

You swallowed. “Don't. I'm… sorry for what I said earlier. I just assumed.” And wasn't that the problem?

“I understand your line of thinking,” he said, crossing one leg over the other to lean back against the bench. “So—nice night?”

Ah, there it was again. He was moving on for you. You pursed your lips, head instinctively turning toward the bay once more, only to find your face illuminated by a massive wave of flames in the distance. 

Hongjoong let out a low whistle. 

You replied, “Answer enough for you?” You extended your legs out in front of you and began to swing them absentmindedly. “I feel like I'm desensitized to all this now. Your friend was good company though... That's how my night's going.”

He raised his brows at you. “I'm not about to be replaced, am I?”

Your eyebrows wrinkled together. “Replaced?” 

“As your date!” he scoffed. 

Oh my god. You didn't even try to fight the deadpan off your face. “I've only shared one meal with this guy and you're already threatened?” Plus, there wasn't anything beyond platonic that sparked for you between yourself and Seonghwa. He was handsome, sure; but he wasn't someone you could imagine in that light, at least for yourself. (Something else Hongjoong was never going to hear from your lips.)

Hongjoong draped one of his arms over the back of the bench, his hand within brushing distance of you. “Well, yes,” he lamented. “I knew Park Seonghwa, if you remember, darling. I know competition when I see it.”

You rolled your eyes hard enough to give you a headache. “You're insufferable.”

His mouth pulled into an easy grin. “I prefer 'passionate’,” he chirped. “Have you thought about my offer?”

The audacity and timing made you sputter out a hearty laugh. “I know you said it was just for the symbolism, but why would you want me as your assistant? I'm sure there are plenty of competent people out there.”

“Do you not think you do a good job at it now?”

You opened your mouth to give a snarky answer, but the words died on your tongue when your thoughts hit a wall. Did you think you were doing a good job? The question simmered in your head for a moment, and a replay of the past several months whizzed by in your mind's eye. You settled for huffing out a laugh. “To be honest? Sometimes I wonder why he even needed an assistant in the first place. I thought he was doing fine with choosing people to speak with on his own.”

Hongjoong considered you for a moment. “Not necessarily,” he replied. “He… became a celebrity, essentially, and suddenly was expected to attend to everyone who was considered important; while also juggling his need to be a hero still. You help him organize the celebrity portion of his life.”

Well, that certainly was a succinct way of putting it, you had to admit. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip and you glanced back over the bay. Phoenix's pyrokinesis ceased to set the night sky aflame, and the blue and red lights seemed to drown out the orange tint of his wings. 

“I don't think it's that important of a role,” you pondered aloud. “Considering what he does as a superhero” —you nodded to the scene ahead, undoubtedly where Titano was being shipped off to Strictisle, the alleged island prison for metahuman criminals— “conforming to being a 'celebrity’ or whatever should be the least of his concerns.”

Something tightened in Hongjoong's expression. “Do you really believe what he's doing is helping? That he is the answer?” His voice was quiet, but not weak, eyes trained on you and your reaction. (If he spoke any louder, it would be far too easy to unleash every bit of rage he kept under lock and key for all these years.)

You met his gaze and started at the intensity there, the fire. “I don't believe metahumans are the villains.”

“Interesting, but that wasn't my question.”

You had always believed in Phoenix/Chan. The former was a symbol of light and hope, and the latter was a reminder of his humanity, where the fire had been born. He saved children from burning buildings and stopped dangerous bank robberies. Of course, you believed in his cause. 

There was no reason to doubt him yet. So why did Hongjoong continue to question you?

“Yet.”

A question mark formed in your head, until it clicked for you. 

Hongjoong leaned forward. “Yet. There's no reason to doubt him yet; so what is giving you reason to believe now that there might be one in the future?”

You stood abruptly from the bench. “Stop reading my mind, Hongjoong,” you nearly snarled at him. God, no matter what he claimed about not liking reading your mind or however goddamn loud your thoughts were—it was awful in itself that your private thoughts weren't necessarily private anymore. 

“You doubt him, Yn,” he shot back with equal ferocity. “Maybe it's only a hairline fracture, but you cannot deny that it's there.”

“You're so fucking full of it.”

Hongjoong tilted his head, smiled. “Am I getting in your head, darling? Does that bother you?”

A nasty, hot flame curled in your stomach, and you physically suppressed any outward reactions to his provocation. “I don't have to deal with this,” you huffed and began to round the bench in the direction of the outer road. “It's been a long week, no thanks to you.”

You tucked your hands beneath your armpits as you continued walking away. It really had been a long week: first, there was dealing with the fallout from the council meeting; then, Chan practically snapped at you; and now, Hongjoong continued to wear down your defenses by making you overthink everything.  

Life was so much simpler before he came along. 

“Hey Yn.”

You slowed slightly at the sound of his voice calling your name from back at the bench. With a glance over your shoulder, you saw that he had stood up and stared on after you, but didn't make any moves in your direction. The glow from the nearby restaurants painted over his face and casted a shadow over the other half. 

His mouth was pressed into a grave line. “He doesn't deserve your loyalty.”

[You know your worth, don't you? Wake up.]

You startled then, footsteps tripping over yourself as if there was a crack in the sidewalk. 

Who's voice was that in your head…?

You caught his face again, something fierce in the salt-breeze night. When that second realization hit you tonight, you turned tail swiftly and hauled ass home. 

rina!! 💖: but ur alright??? ur not hurt or anything?

The light from your phone glared into your face, illuminating the darkness of your room with its blinding glow. You turned onto your side to send Karina a text message back. You'd just updated her on everything that had happened lately, minus your recent interaction with Hongjoong. She didn't need to know, not when it could potentially get her into trouble. 

your phone: yeah, i'm fine your phone: just super stressed ngl :/ i need u back here asap i've been around too much testosterone lately your phone: missed u sm 

After the last message sent, you turned your phone off and shifted in bed to find another comfortable position. For a moment, as you listened to the muffled sound of the city's cacophonous symphony, you thought about the Captain's takeover—really thought about it. 

The basic fact of the matter was that President Taeyoon of HiveTech was breaching his contracts and agreements with the city for the benefit of his HiveMind program. He chose his own technology over the well-being of the population and the environment. 

By some metrics, what Hongjoong did was justice. 

Maybe his way damaged billions of dollars in private property, but it got people's attention. Would the government really have taken action if he had only shown that security tape? 

(You didn't want to admit that Hongjoong had some justification for all that he did. You didn't want to admit that, if you weren't working for Phoenix, you might have started rooting for the Captain a long time ago instead.)

“Have you ever been to Strictisle?” 

You never thought you would see the day you and Johnny Suh shared a cab. Instead of taking Phoenix Airlines to the marina, you opted to hop into the car with Johnny so that Phoenix could ensure the armored car transporting Titano got to its destination safely. 

You pulled your gaze from the car window, turning toward the passenger seat where Johnny was. “Me personally? No.”

Johnny had twisted around in his seat so he could have a proper conversation with you. “Bummer,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You think Phoenix would do me a solid and let me see it just once?”

“If he refuses to take me, he'll refuse to take you, too,” you chuckled. Not that you wanted to visit Strictisle… 

From what Chan mentioned about the island prison, it wasn't an ideal place for any civilian to be. It was a place where only the worst metahuman criminals were shipped off to for their prison sentence. No one except for certain government officials, Phoenix, and those sentenced there had ever seen the island in person. It dwelled in the thick fog, far beyond the view of the naked eye, and the waters surrounding the isle were allegedly surrounded with naval guards to prevent any civilian or merchant boats from passing through. 

“You don't think it's strange?”

You hummed with a high intonation at the end, a question. 

Johnny cocked a brow at you. “You don't think it's strange that not even fishing boats have seen anything? Or that no one has been allowed to even visit the island unless you have high enough security clearance—whatever that bullshit is.”

Your lips pursed into a slight frown. “It's for our safety, Johnny,” you said. “I mean, you've seen what people like Kang Seulgi and Lee Taeyong are capable of. And now Titano.” 

Kang Seulgi and Lee Taeyong were just two of the alleged prisoners on Strictisle. They were arrested by Phoenix around four years ago, near the beginning of his career. Seulgi wielded the power of hematokinesis, and used her powers to implode her victims through exploding their blood vessels; whereas Taeyong was a shapeshifter whose trademark emerald-colored serpent rampaged through downtown for an entire week. 

“But does it give the government the right to hide this alleged prison island from the general public?”

You pressed your lips together and sighed inwardly. No. “Does the general public want to see the prison?”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Touché. But how do we know these people are being treated humanely? What if they are being forbidden from seeing visitors, getting food, or other basic life necessities?”

A lesson to never share a cab with a reporter, you thought to yourself. You really needed to watch what you said around Johnny. “Touché,” you replied back quietly. You glanced back out the window. “I’ll ask Phoenix.”

Johnny sent you a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye, and for a second, you thought the journalist looked surprised, of all things. “'preciate it,” he chirped, then turned back around in his seat. 

The street just outside the marina was packed as if the city were hosting Nationals for sailboat racing today. Even if they were hosting a street fair, you had never seen so many people packed shoulder to shoulder in this area at once. It seemed like everyone wanted to be present for Titano's sendoff to Strictisle. Being sentenced to Strictisle didn't happen as often as one might think—most metahuman criminals didn't commit heinous or serial crimes, or if they did, they managed to evade capture. 

The cab gave up on pushing through people, so you and Johnny hopped out before it could make it to the front. 

If there was one good thing about practically being escorted by a 6-foot-2 reporter giant, it was having a tower to get you through the crowd. 

“‘SCUSE ME! PRESS, COMIN’ THROUGH!” he bellowed with his impressive lungs as he shoved past people and waved his press pass around in the air. His presence in front of you allowed you to slip right past, and you didn't need to find Chan himself to get yourself through. There were usually security guards or officials stationed at these events who recognized you as Phoenix's assistant to let you through, but having Johnny saved some time. 

When you and Johnny finally broke through at the front of the crowd, you settled at the edge of the barricade to monitor the event. Johnny already had his recording device on and pointed toward the mayor, who stood upon a wooden podium erected by the dock that led to the secure boat. Titano was restrained in tungsten cuffs and chains, body movement subdued by being pinned in place to a large, wheeled platform. 

Phoenix and other members of the police force stood surrounding Titano and the mayor. The former caught your eyes in the crowd and flashed you a grin of acknowledgement. 

Mayor Song tapped the microphone once to test it. “Hello, everyone,” he addressed the crowd. “I'm pleased to see that so many of you have come out to see Titano's departure to Strictisle. As I am certain you are all aware, the villain we call Titano spent several days in the past week terrorizing our local financial institutions. His actions have caused panic for many civilians, such as yourselves, and made you worry about your presents and futures. But thanks to the tireless efforts of Phoenix” —he gestured with an arm out toward your employer, to which he smiled graciously at the crowd's applause— “the people of this city can sleep soundly—”

“Fuck you!” someone jeered from the crowd. “Fuck you and that hundred-degree chicken you call a 'hero!’”

Heads began to turn as more heckling arose. 

“How much longer are you people going to let them mistreat metahumans?”

You couldn't locate the source of the voice, but Johnny had turned his recorder in that general direction, craning his head to see above the crowd. 

The mayor's brows furrowed. “I'm not sure who the person or persons speaking are, but you are sorely mistaken—”

A large shadow passed over your head, and you barely had time to think before an orange-tinged blur shot into the sky and blasted the object away. 

The crowd gasped, then scattered like zebras. 

You realized far too late that Phoenix had just stopped a car from hitting the mayor. A car—a car that exploded in a fury of violet light once it hit the water instead. 

Johnny grabbed your forearm and tugged you toward the left. “C'mon Yn, time to find some shelter!”

If Johnny, investigative journalist extraordinaire, was running, you bet that you were hauling ass out of there. 

Your legs leapt into action and you channeled all the energy in your body into not tripping over gaps in the sidewalk to keep up with Johnny's long strides. From behind you, you could hear the pandemonium mounting: harried shouts from the mayor's security team, orders to get Titano to the boat, more explosions rattling the literal ground you scrambled upon. 

Johnny ducked beneath the awning of a nearby storefront and tucked himself in the threshold of the front door. He kept his recorder out and held his phone in his other hand, video taping the scene while grabbing crisp audio simultaneously. 

You attempted to soak in everything that was happening. 

“That's Uchinaga Aeri, isn't it?” you voiced aloud, eyes dating from one thing to another person as fast as your brain could handle. 

Aeri was a metahuman who could charge anything she touched with an explosive amount of kinetic energy. That power manifested in a violet-colored light, as seen with the flying car from earlier. Her weapon of choice was a deck of playing cards, an abundant item that could be charged into and thrown as a deadly projectile. 

Over the course of you knowing Phoenix, you'd learned how fire reacted with a myriad of things. 

You yelled 'Duck!’ to Johnny just as a beam of fire collided into a flying, charged card. The resulting impact created a wave of power that nearly had you toppling over if you hadn't ducked behind a patio table. 

“Yeah,” Johnny huffed from your side. “Goes by the alias Wildcard. It's kind of a metal name, actually.”

“Dude,” you huffed a laugh. 

He sent you a shameless sort of grin, before his eyes whipped up to something in the distance. “Shit,” he swore, raising his phone up and furiously zooming in with his fingers. 

Your head turned in that direction. 

For a moment, you didn't know what Johnny had spotted, but your gaze wandered over to where Titano was being watched over by several guards. As the wave of power radiated toward their spot, it caused something to waver in midair—a body. For a split second, a body manifested physically, before wavering out of view again. 

The person was headed for Titano. 

“Oh my god,” you muttered, “we have to warn him.”

“Well, you can't just yell it,” Johnny said, “you'll give it away.”

“I'm trying to think,” you shot back. It was bad enough that Phoenix was fighting against Wildcard of all people; but for someone like Kang Yeosang to show up, as well? You supposed it made sense that Aeri was just the distraction. 

You didn't know what to do in this situation. Chan was busy and there was no other backup in sight. 

As if the universe heard your pleas, the body of one firebird superhero came careening past your place of hiding. His fiery wings sputtered out as his body skidded against the cement, his face scrunched up in pain. 

You grimaced to yourself, but with Chan only a few feet away, this was your chance. “Hey!” you hissed desperately. “Kang Yeosang is headed for Titano.”

Phoenix's head perked up and he grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. “Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. “I'll handle it. Just get out of here, Yn!”

He thrust his arm out in the direction of Titano and the pier, a thick beam of fire curling around itself. You ducked back into hiding when Chan's wings flung back out and he rocketed himself in that same direction. 

“Shit—” 

The sound came from Aeri, who had a card lifted between two fingers, eyes flickering back and forth as if deciding where to aim it. Did she hit Phoenix? But what if Yeosang was standing in the way without her knowledge? How could she possibly give her partner in crime the window to rescue Titano…

Your heart dropped into your stomach when Aeri's head cocked to the side and made direct eye contact with you. 

Johnny's swear was the last thing you heard before you moved. “Oh fuc—”

As the card exploded the awning above your head, Johnny ducked into the shop, and you dove for the space beyond it. 

You felt your hands and knees scrape and burn against the cement, but adrenaline continued to pound through your bloodstream as you scrambled to your feet. Debris laid just behind you, and you had no time to look back and see if Johnny was alright. 

“Come here, you little rat,” came Aeri's snarl. “Do you think he cares more about you dying or my friend going to prison, huh?”

Through your panting, you glanced over your shoulder and shrieked as a card flew straight for you. You threw yourself back toward the ground and out of the explosion range. You slapped your hands over your ears so your eardrums wouldn't burst. 

Then it was back to your feet—running. 

“Chan!” you screeched at the top of your lungs. There was a sickly twisting feeling in your stomach—Chan needed to worry about Titano escaping. There was only one of him and two of them—

Something hit the bottom of your shoe. 

There was a blur of violet in your periphery. You went flying—heels over head over heels, the world spun, and you screwed your eyes shut and stuck your hands out in front of you to cushion the fall. 

You didn't feel the sickening hardness of cement. There was only air, before your hands gently laid on the ground. 

Your eyes fluttered open. What the fuck…?

It was almost as if something had caught you in midair and set you down on the ground… not something, but someone. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Aeri said, charging two more cards. “I know you're here, you fucking bastard!”

You raised your head up and caught movement at the mouth of the alleyway ahead of you. Your eyes shuddered for a second; you couldn't believe who you were seeing. 

Kim Hongjoong's face was dark with a storm you'd never seen before, mouth pressed into a line that kept threatening to curl back to bare his teeth. He wore a pair of glasses with a crossbody bag hanging over his chest like he was just some regular samaritan who came to watch Titano's sendoff. 

“We had a deal, Aeri,” he drawled icily. “No casualties. You rescue Titano, and get the hell out of here.”

Too many questions—what was going on? Was Hongjoong a part of this? And did he just… save you?

Aeri wrinkled her nose up. “You've gone soft, Hongjoong. She gave Yeosang away!”

“No, that was a result of your carelessness.” Hongjoong's gaze fixed upon you. “What're you waiting for? Run.”

He didn't have to tell you twice. 

Aeri's mouth tightened. “I'm not just letting her go,” she exclaimed and flung the two cards out. “She's complicit, too!”

Complicit in what? You were about to roll out of the way again, hands held over your face, when—

“I told you my one condition.”

You couldn't register what was happening. The cards were flying back at Aeri now; Hongjoong had stopped them from hitting you and played them against their own sender. 

His hands, delicate and vicious in subtle movement, pushed each card Aeri fired back onto herself. 

He was giving you a way out and fighting against his own ally. What in the world?

You scrambled to your feet and pounded pavement. Only when you believed you were safely out of bounds did you finally stop to breathe. You leaned against the nearest wall and screwed your eyes shut, tilted your head back to the sky. When you opened your eyes, you assessed the angry reddened scrapes on your palms; you could still hear the battle happening about a block away. 

“Miss! Miss, are you alright?”

From down the street, a couple of emergency responders had spotted you and jogged over. 

You nodded, raising your palms. “Just a couple of scrapes and bruises,” you said as one of them directed you back over to one of the ambulances. “There's a journalist still back there—”

“Don't worry, Phoenix has it handled,” they assured you. “We've been instructed to form a perimeter and tend to those who make it out.”

Phoenix has it handled? You bet he didn't even know that Johnny was still there. You wanted to go back; you knew where Johnny was hiding out. 

Does Hongjoong know where he is? 

As you perched on the back of the ambulance while an EMT cleaned your hands, you couldn't shake the look in Hongjoong's eyes, the steel in his tone as he spoke to Aeri. The two of them undoubtedly knew each other. In fact, it sounded like Hongjoong was in on the whole scheme—

Wait, was the car at the beginning his doing? Wildcard could charge the car to explode, but neither she nor Yeosang had the ability to send it soaring over a crowd of people. 

That was Hongjoong. He was part of the distraction. 

“Miss, are you hurt anywhere else?” the voice snapped you out of your daze. 

You nodded and lifted the hem of your pants up to show them the scrapes and bruises that were freshly formed on your knees and shins. 

You turned your stare in the direction of the marina. All you could do now was wait. 

[It'll be over soon.]

You paused. That wasn't your voice in your head. 

[Yes, it's me. Are you okay?]

A wave of déjà vu racked through you. Just because you saved my life, you thought, doesn't give you permission into my head. 

The paramedic finished up with your legs, and you thanked him. You grasped their hand as they helped you down from the truck. 

[I'm only here to say I'm sorry about Aeri, okay? That wasn't meant to happen. You weren't meant to get involved.]

You wanted to roll your eyes. You spotted an open bench nearby to sit and wait it out. Oh, you mean you didn't foresee a dangerous metahuman putting people in danger? With a sigh, you leaned back on the bench and tilted your head up to stare at the sky. The sounds of explosions and the fight were still present in the distance, but more muted. So you were here to help them break Titano out? I should report you. 

[So why haven't you?]

You bit your cheek. Johnny probably saw you anyway. Maybe even Chan. 

[Actually, both of them did. So I guess I'm here to also warn you that they'll have questions.]

Fantastic. You raised your bandaged hands up to your face and contemplated digging a hole in the ground and never coming out. A soft laugh echoed in your ears, and you realized that it was Hongjoong's. He could see the mental image plastered in your mind. 

I hate you. 

A slightly louder laugh. [Oh, you want me so bad.]

This time, you didn't bother suppressing an eye roll. More like I want you so dead. 

[Stop it. I'm blushing.]

You rolled your eyes again, but if anyone asked, the corner of your mouth definitely did not almost curl into a smile. 

[Take care of yourself.] He didn't say anything else afterward. 

You heard Chan before you saw him, which was a first since one usually could not miss the glowing ball of fire barrelling across the night sky. 

Not even a moment passed after he landed in his own penthouse, that he marched over to you. “Who was he, Yn? What the hell happened out there?”

You couldn't tell if your rapid heartbeat was from anger at his tone or fear. You launched to your feet. “I’m fine, by the way. How are you?” you shot back, arms folded over your chest. It was only right by yourself to be defensive after being accused—why was he asking what happened out there to you?

His expression shuddered, and he dragged a hand down his face. “I'm sorry,” he said whilst taking a breath. “Are you alright? Really.”

“As I said, I'm fine.” You sat back down onto the edge of his couch, phone dangling from your hand absentmindedly. “What happened with Titano and the others?”

Chan paced the floor in front of you in slow steps with his hand pressed to his forehead, a crease between his brows. “Wildcard got away, but I managed to subdue Kang Yeosang long enough for backup to come.”

You'd been too on-edge all day to check the live news feed. You didn't even know if Johnny made it out, but if Hongjoong had been so adamant about no casualties, as he said, then perhaps there was hope for Johnny yet. 

“Now, about the metahuman who helped you get away…” 

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, glancing up at Chan once when he lowered himself onto the couch cushion beside you. What were you supposed to say? You liked to talk a big game to Hongjoong about turning him in, but facing that decision was something far different. 

Maybe you were still tense from how Chan came storming in here… yeah, that must have been it. You'd been turning over much of what happened today, as well, everything from your conversation with Johnny, to Aeri claiming that you were complicit. What were you complicit in? Metahuman injustice?

Chan let out a small sigh. “I—have a feeling about who he is. I mean, he used telekinesis of all things to fight back against Wildcard,” he said with a chuckle, as if trying to ease the tension. “He was the Captain, wasn't he?”

“How would I know?” you queried back, quietly, apprehensively. “No one's ever seen him before.”

“Yn,” he replied firmly, “you looked at him like you knew him. Like you recognized him.” 

Your thoughts became muddled at the thrumming of blood pounding in your eardrums. Chan was calling you out, and you could feel the ice run through your veins, chilling your fingers. 

When you remained quiet, he leaned in closer, trying to make eye contact with you. “It's okay,” he said quietly. “He can't hurt you—”

What?

“—you don't have to keep any secrets about his identity. The authorities will find out sooner or later.” His voice was soft, like a comforting hand on your shoulder, but his words were anything but. “Has he contacted you before? Is that why you recognized him?”

Hongjoong's words from a week before echoed in your head, 'He doesn't deserve your loyalty.’ So who did? 

“He's,” you began to say slowly, carefully, “contacted me before, yes.”

Chan's shoulders shifted and the furrow between his brow deepened like he cared. “Has he threatened you?”

No. “He's not a—”

“You don't have to defend him. He can't hear you, Yn. It's alright.”

That's where you're wrong. You didn't quite know how to feel having the kind of information that Chan didn't; it was information that could help or hurt one side, and you couldn't believe that you were hesitating. 

There was a part of you that clung onto the safety of working under Chan—he was the city's favorite superhero, the guiding light people idolised, the firebird who rescued children from burning buildings and halted dangerous bank robberies. 

The person who Chan and Phoenix made themselves out to be was so starkly different from Hongjoong and the Captain. Where Chan was bold and bright, unable to be ignored; Hongjoong lingered in the darkest parts of one's mind, puppeteering the machinations of the world from the shadows. He'd pretended to be dead all these years, isolated himself from the people he knew all his life—to what end?

You knew to some extent based on his work, but there were so many missing pieces. 

“I know it must be hard to think about today,” Chan finally said when you continued to stay quiet. He patted you on the shoulder in a reassuring gesture, then leaned his arms onto his knees. “But just know that nothing will happen to you, Yn. I'll make sure of it. Not any other villain or the Captain will touch you.”

The problem with that was the Captain was the one who saved you today, not Phoenix. 

You found yourself nodding though. “Thanks, Chan,” you murmured, sending him a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. 

Chan smiled back at you, dimples pressed into his cheeks, satisfied. 

Before he could walk away, you gathered up your courage to ask something needling at the back of your mind. “Johnny and I were talking in the cab on the way over to the marina earlier.”

He bobbed his head. “Right. What about?”

Your teeth scraped against the inside of your cheek. “Would you… ever consider taking me to visit Strictisle?”

“Strictisle?” he blubbered, dumbfounded. His expression flickered and he shifted away from you slightly, features contorting into an awkward confusion. “Why would you think of something as silly as that?” he joked. 

Silly. Right. “Oh, y'know,” you let out an equally awkward laugh, “he was just saying that it was strange that no one's even seen the island from afar. He was doing what he usually does—prodding and asking questions—”

“Well, you know better than to give into journalists like that, Yn-ie,” he chirped, grinning as he playfully nudged your arm with the back of his hand. “Johnny Suh, especially. He can be pushy if he has a spin on a story.” 

You blinked at him. “So Strictisle is real?”

He sucked in a breath, and it was the first time he truly hesitated during this conversation. “It's—there is a holding facility for metahuman prisoners, but it's not an island. That's just so civilians feel safer.”

“Wait, we can't lie to the general public about this,” you sputtered out. 

“You're not lying to anyone about anything,” Chan said firmly. “Please don't tell anyone about this. It's for your own good.”

Your eyebrows scrunched up together. For your own good? The seed of doubt that Johnny had planted earlier was slowly taking shape in your stomach, and it curled around your viscera in a way that made you sit uncomfortably next to the hero. 

He grabbed your shoulders and looked you in the eyes. “Yn,” he enunciated, “promise me.”

You didn't know what else to do but nod. “I promise,” you croaked out.

Chan didn't let go for a beat of silence, as if searching for something in your expression. When he pulled away, you let air flow back into your lungs. 

You rose to your feet again, flashing your phone screen at your face. “It's getting rather late,” you muttered. “I think I should head home and take a long, hot shower.”

“Oh, let me give you a lift—”

You shook your head and assumed a mask of ease, a smile that he was used to seeing from you—his assistant, the one who wasn't ever supposed to know this much. “No, that's okay. I drove here this morning, so I need to take my car back anyway.”

Chan nodded knowingly. “Ah, gotcha. Well, I'll see you tomorrow then. Sleep well, Yn.”

You sent him a wave over your shoulder, pressing the button to call the elevator, and busied yourself with going through your recent notifications. “G'night, Chan.”

You felt a crease form between your brows as you found a series of new text messages from Seonghwa on your phone. Shit, you'd nearly forgotten. He would have seen the footage from today's incident—shit. 

“Everything alright?”

You jolted as you stepped into the elevator. “Yep! Just Karina updating me on something,” you dismissed. 

Chan watched as you disappeared behind the elevator doors, the easygoing smile on his face remaining until he was certain the carriage had sent you down to the ground floor. His expression dropped into a blankness that you would have found so foreign on his face, so unnerving. 

He brought his phone out and dialled one of the numbers buried in his contacts. When the receiver picked up the line, he said gravely, “We've got a problem.”

The last thing you expected Seonghwa to confront you with after today's debacle was not a confidential file. 

doc hwa: we should talk abt hongjoong, but that's not the most pressing thing at the moment  doc hwa: *sent a file* doc hwa: i found this on my desk — but pretty sure it was supposed to go to my superior's desk instead doc hwa: do u know anything about this??

As the numbers at the top of the elevator descended at a constant rate, you opened up the file he sent and skimmed what was left. The majority of the file was blacked out to maintain confidentiality, but a couple of the key words leftover were enough to catch anyone's attention. 

Strictisle and Phoenix particularly stood out to you. 

But curiously, at the top of the file, the word ANSWER was written out like a title—or a project name. Regardless, you weren't sure what to make of it, but it was curiously-timed. 

You hurriedly sent a text back. Not sure what I'm looking at, to be honest. Are you allowed to be showing me this?

doc hwa: i'm not even allowed to be seeing this, but something abt it feels off, so i figured u might be the next best person to ask your phone: i wish i could help :/ your phone: wait. but this was supposed to go to your superior?? what does strictisle or my boss have anything to do w public health and diseases

The elevator reached the ground floor, and you shoved out of the building's lobby doors to head for your car. It was parked out on the street, tucked close to the back alleyway that housed the building's dumpsters. You stood beneath the glow of the nearby lamppost, digging around your purse for your car keys when you heard another text come in. 

doc hwa: doesn't phoenix donate a lot of blood to research?

You paused just as your fingers enclosed around your key fob. You're right, you typed back. But that still didn't explain the connection to Strictisle. 

With a tired sigh, you unlocked your car door with a loud chirp. You swung the keyring around your finger once to mindlessly grab the key fob and whip out the key. 

A muffled scream tore out of you as a bag was shoved over your head, the fabric yanking back to rock you off balance. 

Pure panic raced through your body as you flailed your arms. If you could just hit or kick your assailant—your breathing became short and frantic within the darkness of the bag, elbow digging into the arm of whoever was dragging you backward. 

“HELP!” you screeched, voice ripping at your larynx like it was clawing its way out. 

“Be quiet,” a voice hissed. 

Your head went fuzzy when you felt something hit the side of your temple. Your movements became more sluggish, but the adrenaline remained. 

With a spike of energy, you whipped your dominant hand back—the one with the car key primed and ready—into your kidnapper's face. 

“Gaaah!”

He dropped you like dead weight, and you wasted no time scrambling blindly toward your car. You ripped the bag off your head and locked yourself in the vehicle just as his fists collided with the window. 

A terrified half-scream, half-sob choked its way out of your throat. You jammed the key into the ignition and tore out onto the main street. 

“What the hell?” You huffed and puffed, eyes flickering back into the rearview mirror, before returning to the road ahead. The streets were practically empty from the fear that earlier events in the day had brought. You couldn't blame people. 

But of all the places, it happened right outside Chan's apartment building? 

A million and one scenarios raced through your head. You couldn't simply sort through them and pick the best option. You needed to ensure you weren't followed home, that they didn't already know where you lived—it just…

Your heart sank as you glanced back into the rearview again. 

There was a white van—how fucking on the nose—gaining on you. When you made a left turn, it careened left. When you made a sudden right turn, its tires skidded against the road as it turned right. 

What now what now what now—

[Make a left here.]

What in the… you really couldn't be surprised anymore. Out of all the moments, you would accept this once for Hongjoong to magically appear in your head. 

You made a sharp left turn at the light and floored the gas. 

I need help, you practically screamed in your head. HELP ME. 

[That's what I'm trying to do, darling. Now run the red light.]

Your eyes widened at the sight of the glaring crimson in front of you. But between the kidnapper's van and a possible traffic violation, you really couldn't give a damn. 

Channeling the energy of a Grand Prix speedway, you dug the ball of your foot into the gas pedal. You didn't know where you were going as Hongjoong instructed you on how to zigzag through the streets, but you didn't know what else to do. 

You hadn't even thought to call Chan—but there was something in your gut that kept you glued to Hongjoong's directions. 

Where are we going? you asked after nearly a dozen additional turns. The van still remained chained to your six o'clock; there was no losing this guy. 

[You're almost there.]

Maybe you shouldn't even ask. 

You glanced back in the rearview for the thousandth time, just as you passed by the city library's steps. 

One second, the van was still following you. The next, it wasn't. Like some invisible hand shoved it over, the van went flying, tumbling through the air before you heard the crash somewhere behind you. 

What just happened? you asked him. The wheels of your car squealed as you swung it into park along the curb. 

[Uhm, I just saved your ass? Now, let's go!] 

Something compelled you to look up out of your window, and in the shadows of the city library, you spotted his figure. He looked the same as he did earlier today—glasses, bag, bomber jacket—and he waved his hand at you with extreme urgency. 

You grabbed your purse and clambered out of your car. Who cared if it got stolen now when you were about to get snatched off the street five minutes ago?

With the road practically barren, you sprinted for the other side of the street. You glanced back at the wreckage of the van, the vehicle turned on its backside like an overturned turtle.

He did that, right? That was Hongjoong's doing, and he didn't even touch the damn thing. 

“Yn!” Hongjoong's voice called out to you. “Come on!”

When you reached the curb, he met you there and ushered you into the nearby parking lot. The street lights dotting the area were few and far between, their glows dim, weak; whether they were giving you the secrecy to operate beneath or giving you more shadows to run from, you couldn't decide. 

Your feet skidded to a halt, several meters from the car Hongjoong stopped next to. 

“What? What's wrong?” he asked you out loud as he wrestled his car keys out from his pocket. For a moment, he stared at you, and you could imagine him rifling through your thoughts like the stack of papers on a secretary's desk. 

This could all be an elaborate ruse, couldn't it? Establishing rapport, getting you out of your car, having you get into a new car willingly—

Hongjoong stepped back toward you. “I know you're scared, but this is not the time to be standing out here in the open and overthinking.”

“I don't even really know you,” you told him, planting your feet. You couldn't knock the tremor from your voice, couldn't stop thinking that maybe you've been stupid this whole time. 

He pressed his lips together and considered you again. “Whatever you're thinking—”

“You know exactly what I'm thinking.”

“Okay, fine. Yes, I do,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, then walking up to you with slow steps. “But this is not some elaborate ruse to kidnap you. You are free to go anywhere you'd like right now, but you were screaming for help, and I wasn't about to leave you for dead!”

You swallowed. Even if you couldn't read minds, your gut feeling was difficult to ignore. He had so many opportunities before to take you if he wanted to, so it wouldn't make sense now. 

It had to be another villain, some other enemy of Chan's maybe. You didn't know what to do, didn't know who to turn to. 

At that moment, your phone rang in your hand, and you nearly jumped clean out of your skin. You fumbled with the phone and your face contorted into confusion at the sight of Yunho's caller ID staring up at you. 

You answered the call and pressed the device to your ear. “Hello?”

There was an awkward sort of drawl to his voice, “Hey, uhm, you're with Hongjoong, right?”

You paused as your brain caught up. Your mouth opened and you looked over at Hongjoong, who only waited. “How the hell could you possibly know that? Just a few weeks ago, you refused to even tell me about—wait, you know he's alive?”

He laughed, and you could hear the audible grimace. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, we do.” You hung up the phone and exhaled sharply. “Lead the way, Captain,” you muttered. You couldn't believe this was happening. 

Hongjoong only nodded and unlocked his car doors for you. 

You settled into the passenger's side, closing the door and inhaling the smell of his cologne. There was nothing special about the car itself, but it was somehow very him. It was humble with its older interface and model, the old coffee cup sitting in the cup holder. It was so jarringly normal. 

He started up the car after throwing his bag into the back seat, and pulled out of the sparsely-populated parking lot.

When his phone's music connected to the radio, he reached over to lower the volume. He glanced over at you, light bouncing off his glasses lens. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “I could only, y'know, hear your thoughts, so I don't know exactly what happened but I just…” He sighed, as if searching for the words to say. “I know you're scared and that this is scary.”

You leaned your head back against the headrest. You couldn't label Hongjoong as a “nice guy” by any means, but there was something good left in him. If you thought about it, wasn't the only reason why he was a “bad guy” in your mind that he was against the system in power?

“Yeah, it is scary,” you agreed. “My head's a little woozy, but that's the only physical injury I have.”

He threw another glance over at you, teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

“You know, you were right,” you said, and saw him stiffen out of the corner of your eye. “He did ask me about you. He thought that you were threatening me or something.” Had there been a moment where real fear pierced you in the chest back in the penthouse? You were uncomfortable—had you ever been that uncomfortable around him before? You let out a little, incredulous scoff then, shaking your head. “There's something different about him.”

“Or maybe he was never the man you thought he was.”

You looked over at him when he said that. That glint in his eyes was unflinching, but not unsympathetic. It was just knowing. 

When Hongjoong drove you to Yunho's apartment last night, you decided you were too exhausted to get Yunho's entire explanation. He'd gotten off the hook for the time being, but you promised that when morning came, you expected a full report and apology for basic, emotional gaslighting. 

But your eyes fluttered open to the sound of murmurs. They were low, but harried, drifting into your ears from the bedroom down the hall. 

Hongjoong and Yunho had set you up on the pull-out couch—the place you assumed Hongjoong had been sleeping before he tore off the sheets and hid his sleepwear somewhere out of your view. You woke up to the typical sounds of the city and an aggressive ray of sunlight pouring into your eyes. 

You breathed in deeply and rolled over. If you shut your eyes now, you could drift off and delay facing your waking reality for another hour or so. 

“Yn.” A bony finger poked your cheek. 

Somebody made a noise of disapproval. “Yah, I told you to leave her alone.”

“But you also said that we need to talk about this. You know better than me that she's awake.”

You frowned, but kept your eyes closed. “Well, now I'm definitely awake,” you grumbled. You opened your eyes again, only to find your two hosts loitering by you—your tall, beanpole of a friend leaning over you and Hongjoong standing by with his arms crossed over his chest and worry creased between his brows. 

Oh. “What's going on?” you asked through a yawn, wrestling yourself into an upright position. Having a thorough talk about Yunho lying to you was on the docket but you didn't realize he would be this eager to repent for his sins. 

The two men exchanged glances. 

Your eyes narrowed. “What's going on?” you repeated. 

Hongjoong grabbed something off the side table and sat down on the edge of the pullout. It was a tablet, something slim and standard, but he swiped through a couple of pages before handing it to you. 

It was your face. Your picture was plastered on some news site, accompanied by a big, ugly headline that read: PHOENIX'S “ASSISTANT” IS REALLY HIS CONTROLLER?

What? You furiously began reading the article, heartbeat catapulting in your chest the more you skimmed. Every accusatory word hit you in the temple where it hurt. 

You went to the search bar and typed in your name. 

It got worse. It was only ten in the morning, but it felt like every major and minor news outlet had something to say about your alleged manipulation and handling of your own boss. 

You clicked into another article and slowed at the pictures in this one. Someone had pulled security camera footage of every time you were ever with Hongjoong. From the first time at the Treasure Island bridge, to the last one when he tipped over a car to help you escape. 

Ln Yn appeared to the public as the definition of a normal, hard-working citizen. But this only proves that we cannot truly know someone from afar, or as it turns out, from close by either. 

Phoenix himself, in a statement given to the Daily Star, revealed he was shocked to uncover her affiliation with this unknown man—a man we now know as the notorious villain the Captain. When he had hired her over a year ago, he had no clue as to her intentions to subtly manipulate his actions and—

You set the tablet in your lap and covered your mouth with your hand. 

Chan gave them a statement? He claimed that you were affiliated with Hongjoong and wasn't denying that you had malicious intentions. 

He knew you, for fuck's sake! 

A hand warmed your shoulder and the tablet was carefully slid out from your lap. “Yn,” Hongjoong said lowly, almost soothingly. But there was still that edge there—a promise. “You need to breathe, okay? Just give yourself a minute—”

“I need to—I need to call him,” you stammered. Your voice was shaky and you couldn't stop your fingers from trembling as you searched around for your phone. 

Panic was clawing itself up your throat and you choked on it. It welled up as tears in your eyes, the unknown staring you down the barrel of a gun. 

Hongjoong stayed with you as you dialed his phone number, only to be met with, “The person you are trying to reach is unavailable.”

You dropped the phone into your lap. Yunho muttered about going to do something about the shit online, but you couldn't hear it over the blood thrashing in your ears. 

“He,” you managed to say, “blocked me.”

“Yn, I'm sorry.” The man beside you bent his head slightly to catch your eyes, his own blown wide in an emotion you didn't have the heart to identify. “We're going to clear your name, I promise.”

You nodded, but the motion was thoughtless, empty. You didn't know where else to turn or who else would believe you. How could they when the city's champion just turned their back on you?

This couldn't be happening, this couldn't—it just came out of nowhere. 

His hand brushed the hair from your eyes and gently tilted your head to look at him. “I'm sorry,” he whispered again, some semblance of comfort. 

You didn't know what he was sorry for, but his own words echoed in your head—you couldn't tell if it was his voice in the moment or your memory of the past: he never deserved your loyalty. 

a/n: not sure if i'll get the motivation to finish this storyline, but i had big plans, promise haha anyways, pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed!

atz m.list

For the first time in the past several hours, Hongjoong's mind was quiet. The sound of your screaming from the audio file had cleared out; the schemes in his head came to a halt—all that remained was the road ahead through the windshield and Lee Kyungmin's portrait projected in his mind's eye. 

He couldn't wait to put a fucking bullet between his eyes. 

Yunho helmed the car he sat in as they sped through the streets of Hala Town toward the eastern side. Wooyoung's coordinates directed them to a grouping of small apartments owned by Lioncrest that, according to property bills, hadn't been occupied in years—up until the last six months. There were no indicators as to which apartment it was, but if Hongjoong was anything, he was determined. 

There were also records through GPS tracking that told them you had been near this area before, weeks ago, when you had followed those Lioncrest Society gang members from the station toward Hala Town. The Laundromat Jongho had raided to find the scraps of train station schematics was nearby, too. It all revolved around this area, five blocks south of Paradigm. 

Wooyoung's voice cut through over the car speakers. “Sakura's apartment is several blocks from here. I asked her to monitor through the CCTV cameras.”

“There really wasn't anything she saw before all of this?” San asked from the back seat, before leaning forward to poke his head between Yunho and Hongjoong. 

“She didn't know what Kyungmin looked like or that he existed,” he said in her defense. “How could she pick out one snake from an entire den of them?”

There wasn't much room for argument there. No one in this car, in the family, knew that Lee Yunseok had an offspring; there was no way to look for something you didn't know was real. Hongjoong jammed his tongue into his cheek. He had been bracing himself for some kind of issue to crop up within the first couple years of his reign, but he hadn't expected something like this. 

Three years… and it could have all come crumbling down. 

They said hindsight was 20/20, but truly, when he looked back at the past, the only person he could have had a chance at predicting was Jung Joonseo. 

And then there was you. You and Kyungmin were two factors he never saw coming. 

Yunho swerved into a spot along the curb across from the first block of target apartments. Other cars pulled up alongside him, ferrying the other commanders in the Captain's inner circle, as well as a great many of their men prepared to storm the area. 

Hongjoong slammed his door shut, cane swinging along the asphalt. A weak winter sun pierced through the sheets of clouds across the sky, illuminating his stride across the road. His breaths shoved out in visible puffs before his face, canines gritted together in his mouth. Here were a smattering of several, short apartments—desolate and unassuming—unused telephone wires strung haphazardly from their poles across the landscape. And in one of these shitholes was where you were being kept. 

“Start canvassing the area,” Hongjoong began. “If anyone comes in or out of this place who's not our own, I wanna know.”

“Aye, Captain.” Yunho and San broke off to distribute orders to their people. 

Hongjoong could hear footsteps following swiftly after him. In his periphery, Seonghwa and Jongho instructed men to start taking buildings in groups. Level by level, they would knock doors down and ensure that no one would get past them without them knowing. 

Heads raised as another car came careening down from the end of the block, skidding to a halt by Yunho's SUV. Wooyoung's sedan was a recognized sight to see, and the last commander clambered out of the vehicle to make his way toward Hongjoong. There was a rifle strapped to his back and a pistol in his hands, a fresh magazine being shoved into place. 

“You're not supposed to be here,” said Hongjoong. 

There was a resolve there on Wooyoung's face that he couldn't ignore, a telltale crease between his brows and a firmness in the line his mouth made. “I wasn't just gonna sit still, Captain. You know I can't, and I won't.”

Defiance was something Hongjoong saw with Wooyoung more often than not, but this time, it was different. 

“I never said I was gonna make you go back or sit still,” Hongjoong replied, turning back toward the apartments. There was a part of him that feared this wasn't the right place. It wasn't that he doubted Wooyoung's skills; it was more so he doubted that Kyungmin would only pick one place. He'd seen before how many places the new Strictland had occupied. How could they be so sure that they weren't wasting their time?

Wooyoung lingered by his side, shifting from foot to foot. “What is it?” he asked, sensing the hesitation in the air. 

Even as soldiers were about to tear these buildings apart, Hongjoong continued to linger upon the precipice. 

Seonghwa walked up to stand at Hongjoong's other side. “They've started, Captain,” he reported quietly. “Do you want to pick an apartment? We'll follow you.”

Hongjoong watched and headed doors being torn down, shouts erupting and echoing in the narrow alleyways. He couldn't see every building from this viewpoint. 

A feeling irked at him. He reached for his phone in his coat pocket in search of the aerial view of the apartments. 

He stilled. There was a single notification at the top of his lock screen with a dark red exclamation mark inside a triangle, a visible warning sign: REGISTERED ‘AURORA’ NEARBY. SIGNAL: MODERATE.

“Captain, what's wrong?” came Seonghwa's voice, steady but concerned. 

It hit him, a wash of cold water in his face. Your lipstick. You just activated the lipstick tracker. 

Atta girl. He could fucking sing. 

Swiftly, he pulled open the Polaris app he had installed onto his phone, zooming in with his fingers to find the location of the signal. Hongjoong couldn't help the feeling ballooning in his chest now. He shoved the phone toward Wooyoung. “Isn't this coming from the furthest building out that way?” 

He thrusted a finger in the direction of the southeast corner, the building no soldier had yet made it to. 

Wooyoung and Seonghwa both threw him curious glances, but the former nodded. “Yeah, that's the one. But how the Hell…?”

That was hope now beating against his rib cage like thrashing, wild waves. “She's here,” he said with more certainty than he'd ever had in his life. Hongjoong whirled on every man left in the vicinity. “Tear this place apart. If you leave one scrap unturned, I'll have your head.”

There was no time left to waste. He handed his phone to Wooyoung. “Keep your eyes on that,” he told him. To both of the commanders at his side, he nodded toward the building far out. “Let's move.”

If you were going to die, then you would go down fighting. Perhaps now wasn't the best time to regret not taking those self defense lessons with Ryujin a long time ago, but you were pretty sure their curriculum didn't include having one leg chained to the floor, anyways.

Kyungmin pounced at you with a snarl, and you threw your entire body toward your left. You hit the wood floor with a thud, arms bracketed inward to keep Aurora close and out of reach. 

He crashed against the wall you had just been close to—he whirled, that crazed, crimson expression glaring at you. Instinct was telling you to runrunrun—

You needed an exit plan, or at least a plan to stall while Hongjoong hauled ass here. However long it took, at least he knew where you were, where Kyungmin was. Even if you died.

“You're just wasting your breath,” he huffed, wiping at his nose again with his arm. It dribbled down the length of his hand, staining the floor beneath him. 

You stared up at him, cheek burning where he'd hit you, heart pounding. “I could say the same thing about you.” He was just running at you like a bull seeing red, after all. 

He took a couple steps closer, and your eyes flickered down to the chain pulled taut at your ankle. You clocked the distance between his foot and yours, prayed to whoever was watching you as you thought of tripping him over the chain. 

Your idea, however, shattered as he pressed his foot against the end of it. Any movement you tried making with your chained leg was now near impossible with the weight of him holding you down. He tilted his head at you, gauging the cold gleam of fear in your eyes, the realization dawning on you. He'd seen the plan forming. 

"I knew this big oaf was good for nothing,” Kyungmin said suddenly as he used his other foot to kick the body you'd knocked a chair over. He then stepped forward again on the chain miming walking down a tightrope. 

You yanked at your own foot, ignoring the way the metal cuff dug into your flesh every time you moved. Anything to get you out from under his weight. 

“Just give me the damn thing. Don't you want me to stop hurting you?”

Stop? You won't stop. You pushed your body up with your forearms braced against the ground. “Kim Hongjoong is on his way,” you grunted, flashing the red light at him again. “Even if you took this from me now, he will find us. I guarantee it.”

Something changed in his demeanor then, a subtle shift where the hot rage cooled into something icy. Wasn't it that an animal was most dangerous when it felt cornered? 

“Maybe it'll destroy him more if he found you dead then,” he said quietly, as if to himself. He nodded.

Dread pooled in your gut. Every moment you were here, you were stuck with him becoming more and more deranged. Your head swiveled as you tried to figure out your next move before he figured out his. The only way to survive this was to take him out. 

You helped yourself upright into a seated position and raised Aurora in your hand. “Hey, Kyungmin. Catch—”

Before he could process, you let his instincts fly just as Aurora flew out of your hands and into his. You bent your chained leg and threw yourself into his lower body, tackling him to the ground in a flurry of tangled limbs and body parts mashing together. 

“You little—”

Something bordering a growl tore out of your throat as you lifted yourself briefly, only to bring the sharp point of your elbow down into his lower stomach. A gargled groan left his mouth and you barely had enough time to roll out of the way of his knee-jerk reaction. 

You turned your head slightly, catching sight of a broken-off leg from the wooden chair. It laid there only a few feet from you on the floor this whole time, camouflaged against the floor in the corner. If he got his hands on it, you'd be screwed, but if you could get to it first…

Breathing quick and shallow, you crawled for the piece of wood. 

It was only just out of your—fuck—

All the wind flew out of you as something—no, the toe of his shoe—careened into your side. He'd kicked you, no more to him than a soccer ball with a heartbeat, a dog in the streets. 

You swore aloud as a pained yelp escaped you; your body crumpled limp onto the floor once again, but with the right side of your ribcage pulsing like a nightclub. God, if he cracked one of your bones, you wouldn't be surprised. 

“Fuck you, really,” you rasped, clutching at your side as you attempted to regain your breath. “That hurt.”

“Good,” he drawled and knelt down beside you. 

You couldn't control the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the quiet wheezing coming out of your throat from every labored breath you took. Another dose of dread shot through your veins; you saw that glint in his eyes again as he loomed over you. 

What now? What… now. 

A crash resonated faintly from the open doorway. Yours and Kyungmin's heads whipped in that direction, ears trained on the shouts and incoming, unmistakable sounds of gunfire. 

Your eyes widened, and you didn't have much time to act. 

With his back turned to you, you reached your hand up and behind your head, blindly fumbling for something, anything—

Your fingers curled around something hard and solid, the cool, polished surface making you inwardly scream in relief. It was exactly what you needed. 

“He's co—shit!” Kyungmin turned just in time to see you bring down the wooden chair leg like a club, aimed at his head. 

He brought his hands up in front of him, palms catching the jagged side of the wood. Blood seeped from the flesh of his hands as he gritted his teeth and attempted to rip the makeshift weapon away from you. 

Kyungmin yanked hard, but you clung to it like it was your anchor. The force dragged you with him as he fell backward onto his posterior. 

“In here!” you screamed to whoever was outside of that door. Heart racing, half your body on fire, you continued to grapple onto the wood piece and clamber to your knees.

Like a frightened horse, Kyungmin suddenly bucked one of his legs out and nailed you in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of you once more, the wooden leg skidding across the floor past your head. 

Your face contorted into a grimace as you tried to brace yourself onto your forearms—your arms trembled, abdomen screaming at the slightest movement. Something was broken. Something had to be broken. 

The room tilted violently on its axis as your vision blurred. 

“Take one more step, pirate, and I kill her.”

Oh. What? 

When you lifted your head, the scene had changed drastically. 

Not only had Kyungmin retrieved the gun from the fallen guard's body, but there were three newcomers standing in the open doorway. There was an immense wave of relief that rippled through your body at the sight of Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa, and Jung Wooyoung; all of whom drank in the sights before them with increasing fury building up beneath the surface of their skin. 

(Where did one even deign to look first? The chain attached to your leg? The gun in Kyungmin's hand? The mismatched bruises and blood stains littering your face and body? The felled guard on the floor?)

Even as the relief washed over you, the adrenaline was slowly seeping out. No, no, you thought, just a little more. We're not done here yet.

You met Hongjoong's eyes from across the room, eyes gleaming like twin pearls of steel. There was a flicker of something across his face, a microbreak in his solid resolve. You couldn't hold yourself up; it was like your body knew he had finally come. 

Right—then there was the barrel of a gun pointed at your head. 

But Kyungmin wasn't looking at you. He was only staring at the one man he had done all of this for. The one man who stole everything from him, whether he intended to in the beginning or not. 

“So,” Hongjoong drawled, cocking his head to the side, twirling the pistol in his hand, “you've been the annoying thorn in my side for three months.”

“It's been six, actually,” Kyungmin sneered. 

“Oh, has it?” The Captain lifted a brow, unimpressed. “Maybe you just weren't obvious enough in that first half.”

If it didn't hurt to breathe, you might have laughed. Whatever Hongjoong was doing—and you were sure he knew what he was doing—was pissing Kyungmin off royally. 

Had he even fired a gun before?

You weren't about to wait and find out. 

While Hongjoong dealt with Lee Kyungmin you caught Wooyoung's eyes. He stood flanking Hongjoong on his left, hands primed on his pistol but not aiming. His eyes widened slightly as you sent him a pointed look. 

Are you okay?, he seemed to ask with the tilt of his head, mouth pulled into a frown. 

You mouthed, ‘There’s a bomb.’

His brows creased and his posture shifted. ‘What?’

‘Bomb,’ you enunciated clearer. When his eyes widened again, a silent question as to if he read your lips right, you nodded shallowly to keep from bumping your head against the barrel of the gun. ‘Ship. Wreck.’

Wooyoung's expression shifted and you saw a flicker of alarm cross his face. ‘Bomb on the Shipwreck?’

You mouthed back a very insistent, 'Yes,’ and watched in utter relief as Wooyoung pulled his phone out behind Hongjoong's back and began working his magic. Seonghwa was subtle in his movements as his eyes peered over at whatever Wooyoung was doing, while continuing to monitor Hongjoong and Kyungmin. 

“It tracks though,” Hongjoong continued with a mocking thoughtfulness, “you can't seem to keep anyone's attention. Mine, your father's… I mean, that is why Joonseo raised you, is it not?”

Kyungmin bristled from the sting of that remark. You could taste it in the air, or maybe that was the smell of gunpowder wafting from the gun pointed at you. “My father led Strictland; he didn't have time for anything else. You, though—you took everything he would have given to me one day.”

Here we go again. 

Hongjoong let out a delighted, little scoff—you couldn't tell if it was closer to a laugh. “And your first thought was to throw a tantrum?” His lips pulled into a wide grin, all teeth and no mirth. “How cute.”

“Tantrum?” Kyungmin seethed. His left hand disappeared into his pocket and withdrew a device you couldn't see from your position. But there was a deep-seated premonition in your gut, and it was only confirmed when you glanced over to the couch and realized the detonation device was no longer there. “All of this was carefully planned, down to the very moment I rigged your old boat to explode. The Shipwreck should have stayed a shipwreck—”

The smile slipped off Hongjoong's face. “I don't have time for this. You have my bird in chains.”

Your brain didn't process it until the gun fired. 

BANG! —followed immediately by a tortured scream above you. 

The pistol in Hongjoong's gloved hand smoked when you whipped your head in that direction—then back at Kyungmin, as he dropped his own gun in favor of clutching his right hand, now quaking from a bullet sailing clean through the center of his palm. 

Blood poured out onto the floor, and you dragged yourself out of the way as the three members of Ateez swept into the room. 

You were still in shock, you realized. Your eardrums were ringing, the sound muffled coming in. 

Hongjoong had shot Lee Kyungmin through his hand from across the room, without blinking. 

Oh my fucking—

“Get him out of my sight.” A body arrived at your side, his touch gentle as it warmed the back of your head. “Dove?” The disgust in his voice from before had disintegrated like morning fog in the clarity of day. Your chest warmed at the feeling, the sound, a soft caress to all your senses. 

Your body sagged against his knees. Everything ached. “I can't get up, Joong.”

“That's okay,” he murmured. You could hear the sound of rustling from where your head was buried in the crooks of your elbows. “Hold my cane—shit… this fuckin’ cuff. This'll only take a second, dove.”

He passed his cane over to you, and same as you had with Aurora, you hugged the length of it to your chest as you laid on your side. From within the inner lining of his coat, Hongjoong withdrew a slim pocket of tools, thin and sharp, taking two of them out and working at the small hole in the middle of your ankle cuff. 

“You should have stayed nonexistent, Lee Kyungmin,” you heard Seonghwa say somewhere in the distance. 

Like magic, the piece of metal that kept you captive cracked in two and slipped off onto the floor. Cool, fresh air drifted over that portion; the nerves were slowly coming back to life in that area of your leg as another wave of relief washed over you. 

Hongjoong knelt above you with silver lining his eyes, hair hanging over his forehead. “I’ve got you now.” 

You sent him the smallest of smiles. He was here—you couldn't express how glad you were to see his face. 

As if he was handling million-dollar china, he draped his coat over you and scooped you up into his arms. You hissed at the feeling of his hand against your battered side; he shifted his hold before continuing to the door. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly. 

“You didn't know. It's okay.” You peered up at him as he carried on down the hallway so resolutely. “Hey, Joong.”

“Yeah, baby.”

The pulse in your neck fluttered. “The bomb on the Shipwreck—that’s… that's real. I told Wooyoung, but…”

Hongjoong glanced down at you. “They’ve got it handled,” he promised. “Don’t worry about it. Just—just rest, alright? You're safe now. He won't hurt you ever again.”

You're safe now. The past twenty-four hours had been a fever dream. A very real and painful fever dream, but surreal, nonetheless. All of the bundled up fear and dread compounded inside of you, pushing tears to wet your eyes. You didn't want to cry. After all that you went through, you didn't want to cry; you certainly deserved to, though.

They were tears of relief. You made it out of that room, alive and with Ateez. 

When Hongjoong stepped out of the apartment building you were being held in, there was a car already stalling by the curb. Jeong Yunho sat in the driver's seat with Wooyoung on the passenger side. The latter clambered out of the car to pull open the door to the back seat, allowing Hongjoong to carefully slide in with you in his hold. 

You laid your head in Hongjoong's lap, catching Wooyoung's slight smile as he closed the car door. 

The car was quiet as Yunho drove all of you out of the eastern corner. 

Despite the residual anxiety lingering somewhat in your veins, you could feel the heavy pull of your eyelids. Now that you were out of immediate danger, all of the energy you exerted was finally taking its toll. 

Hongjoong noticed the drowsiness lingering, and his hand brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “Sleep, dove. You must be tired.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, shoulders loosening. “This is the first time I've voluntarily closed my eyes in the past twenty-four hours,” you murmured quiet enough for only Hongjoong to hear clearly. 

His mouth pulled into a frown. “Voluntarily?”

“It’s” —your eyes opened and your head turned away at the memory of hands wrapped around your throat, your vision going dark— “don't worry about it.”

His fingers directed your head back to him, so you could see the firmness and sincerity in his face. “If you need to talk about it…”

You nodded as well as you could've. “I know. Thank you—for coming for me.”

He didn't say anything, only sent you a look filled with too much tenderness. You didn't quite have the energy to dismantle all of that this minute. Your eyelids were sinking again, until you finally were pulled into a willing darkness. 

Kim Hongjoong had too much on his mind as he suppressed every urge to stare at your sleeping face. He had wanted to tell you he hadn't slept at all since the moment you went missing. He couldn't work up the courage to tell you everything he told Seonghwa earlier—not now, not when you were finally able to sleep in peace, out of harm's way. 

Instead, his eyes flickered to the horrifyingly dark bruises around your neck, his hand curling lightly into a fist before unfurling. There were so many things he had planned for Lee Kyungmin once he ensured you were home safe. It took every fiber of his being from moving his arm a little to the right to make Kyungmin the spitting image of his father. But a quick death was the last thing he deserved. 

All of those hours—you survived it, whatever that bastard put you through. 

A quiet cough came from the front seat. “Hey, hyung?”

Hongjoong hummed in reply.

“San's units are at the Shipwreck now,” said Wooyoung, keeping his volume low as he twisted around in his seat to face his leader. “They found C4 strapped to the underside of the bar and some on the outer sides of the ship on the starboard side.”

His jaw clenched slightly. Of course, he believed you initially when you mentioned it earlier and he also believed that Kyungmin would have put the unaccounted-for C4 in a place of significance; but hearing the confirmation—that it could have all ended at the push of a button—was harrowing. How did he miss that? When did Strictland have any time to put the explosives in place?

He couldn't help but think of how close he was to it, how close you were to it. If the C4 had been there for as long as a couple days ago, then it well and truly could have been the end. 

It was luck. Maybe he didn't believe in fate, but he could believe in dumb luck when it stared him in the face. 

“They're sweeping the rest of the ship for any more explosives,” Wooyoung continued with that graveness still etched into his features. “But they'll need permission to enter the captain's quarters.”

“Granted,” Hongjoong said swiftly with a wave of his hand. He glanced out the window—the winter sun was already halfway toward the horizon. “They better find all of it.”

“Aye, Captain, they will.”

A thought popped into his head and he gestured with his hand toward Yunho in the driver's seat. “Yunho, who's your man inside the Sector 1 precinct? Dowoon, right?”

Yunho nodded as he met his eyes through the rearview mirror. “Aye. Now that I think about it, he's got access to one of their K9 units. Since we have an area to focus on, we can get him to take a dog and sniff out the rest.”

Hongjoong bobbed his head. “Exactly.” At least that would settle things for the time being. 

His eyes wandered back down to you, hand resting on the side of your shoulder to keep you from falling with the motions of the car. “Wooyoung.”

“Yeah, Cap'n.”

“Have Doc Shim on standby at the house.”

He could see the commander nod from his seat. “Sure, hyung. Should we make up a guest room?”

“Nah,” he said. He dismissed any thoughts in his head that convinced him otherwise. He simply couldn't be apart from you right now, not when the last time you left, you'd been in danger. “Just—have him ready in my room. And also, give Ryujin a call and ask if she'd like to see Yn.”

Wooyoung's response was a quiet confirmation, but he snuck another peak behind him at his leader and his friend. Maybe it was the soft paleness of the winter afternoon light, but the way Hongjoong looked at you… there was no doubt in his mind. 

One could feel the arrival of snow in the air like tasting the heat and electricity of an oncoming thunderstorm. Kim Hongjoong stood with his shoulder resting against the wall by the window, staring out into the dark gloom beyond as thick cumulus clouds rolled in over the bay. These were different from storm clouds that made the sea thrash with monstrous rage; they swept in frigid winds that stilled even the ocean, and could freeze the wetness in one's eyes. 

In the reflection, he spied Seonghwa making his way over. His second-in-command went to the liquor cart in the corner and poured himself a shot and a half of bourbon. “They've been in there for awhile,” he murmured before lifting the edge of the crystal glass to his lips. 

Hongjoong hummed, glancing down at the dregs of amber liquid at the bottom of his own glass. “They have much to talk about.”

They were referring to you and Ryujin, whom San drove over to the house to avoid Yeji or Chan coming to the private wharf. The two of you had locked yourselves in Hongjoong's room for the past three hours, likely discussing everything that you experienced these last few months. Not to mention the last twenty-four hours of constant peril. 

He knocked the remaining liquor back down his throat. He couldn't pretend he was anxious to hear what either of you had to say. After all you went through, he couldn't imagine Ryujin, or even you, to want to remain in this city or in his life. He would understand… he would understand and let you go, wouldn't he? 

“Wooyoung says the safe house in Sector 2 is good to go,” said Seonghwa. “They can head over whenever they're ready.”

Since yours and Ryujin's apartment was compromised, Ateez had a safe house in Sector 2 for you both to stay at for the time being—if you wanted to, that was. 

“Right,” Hongjoong replied with an instinctual sort of nod, not really processing his counterpart's words. 

“You should tell her.” Before Hongjoong could even open his mouth to reply, Seonghwa cut him off, “And don't say your feelings don't matter in this situation. Of course they do. Will you let yourself live with the fact that you didn't even try to ask her to stay?”

He couldn't deny that it would be against his very nature to just let you go without trying, not when he so badly wished to be selfish. Were you not safer close to him, by his side? Or was that the very reason you were hurt in the first place? That was the crossroads he stood at now. 

A person made their way down the inner hallway and out to the main room beyond. Hongjoong and Seonghwa both turned to face San as he walked into the room, his thumb pointed over his shoulder. 

“They're ready for you, Cap'n.” 

Hongjoong pointed a finger at his chest. “Me?”

San lifted his brows. “Yes, you. They wanna talk to you.” He paused, then amended, “Yn wants to talk to you. Ryujin wants to be in the room, but I don't think she has anything to say to you.”

That tracked. Hongjoong deposited his empty drink glass on the cart and followed San back toward his own bedroom. 

It was strange taking steps down a hallway well-worn with his footsteps before, but with a different weight in his chest. There was something—someone—waiting for him on the other side of his door. 

Hongjoong muttered his thanks to San before taking the doorknob and letting himself in. 

The room was just about the same as he left it: you were lying on the left side of his bed, head turned toward the door to meet his eyes; Ryujin was seated on the edge beside you with her body twisted in a way to watch him come in. He couldn't (didn't want to) read into the way your expression changed slightly at the sight of him. 

(Hope was a cruel mistress.)

Ryujin stood stiffly, but didn't move from your side just yet. “I'll just go sit over there,” she muttered then, moving past him to take the seat at the desk on the far right. 

He nodded, but was already going to replace where she had once been. The corners of his lips curved upward as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “How're you feeling?” he murmured, eyes refraining from fussing over the exposed bruises and bandages. It turned out to be another stroke of dumb luck that Kyungmin hadn't broken your ribs when he kicked you. (Incompetent, even in that.) They were badly bruised, but they would heal in due time. 

You had an ice pack held against the right side of your face, but you still spared a small smile for him. “Everything kind of hurts,” you admitted. 

“I bet,” he said and lifted his hand toward you like instinct, but stopped suddenly. Ryujin's presence was stark at his back, and even if she didn't outwardly threaten him, he dropped his hand back to where it'd been. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Your mouth pressed together as you nodded, and his heart cartwheeled off a cliff. That… wasn't a good sign. “Yeah, I—we talked and we both agreed that we'd really appreciate being able to stay at your safe house in Sector 2 until we find a new place.”

The muscles in his shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Is that all?”

“Well,” you continued slowly, as if the words were hesitant to leave your tongue, “we’re gonna leave tonight. For the safe house. I can't really think straight while I'm—in this state, and I… I just need to think over some things.”

“Ah.” Hongjoong glanced down at his lap, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips; then returned his attention back to you. No, if he displayed any signs—he didn't want to sway your decision. You said you needed to think about some things. 

Seonghwa's words echoed in his ears like the dissonant toll of a bell. 

“Joong?”

He nodded, and Ryujin's presence be damned, he reached over and grabbed your free hand. There was this wobbliness in your eyes, a softness at the corners he wanted to cling onto forever. He didn't want you to leave. “Whatever you need.”

You stared at him for a long time as if you were searching for something in his face. 

Once upon a time, he'd done that, too. He'd looked for any sign that you wanted out of this life, or maybe that you wanted to stay. Anything. 

“I'm gonna take care of you,” he whispered, a vow. He leaned down closer to you, bracing one hand on the bed by your pillow. Your eyes fluttered shut and he brushed his lips against your forehead, lingering there for a long moment and wishing it was even longer. 

A kiss for a kiss, a life debt for a life debt—you owed each other nothing, and yet, he would give you everything. 

When you and Ryujin left for the safe house soon afterward, he pressed his crow-topped cane into your hand when you tried to give it back. He stood outside of your car door in the blistering cold, a grin on his face, pushing it toward you. “You need it more than me,” he teased, “and you'll just have to return it at some point.” And see me again. 

You were given no room for refusal. You sent him another smile, and waved to the others lingering by the doorway of their home to see you off. “Count on it, then,” you said. 

If anyone asked him, he might have admitted to skipping more than one heartbeat. He wondered, terribly, if he could kick San out of the driver's seat to take you there instead. 

“Get some rest, dove,” were his last words to you, soft against the winds blowing through his hair and the cold nipping at his cheeks. He shut your car door and stepped back, watching solemnly as San gave a salute through the driver's side window and disappeared down the wharf. 

For a moment, the Captain and the remainder of his crew stood there. 

Hongjoong was no longer smiling, his thoughts on some point—someone—far away. His expression mirrored the cold and stormy evening. “I’m headed to the warehouse,” he voiced out into the night all of a sudden. He turned on the ball of his foot and headed for one of the cars parked nearby. “Anyone care to join me?”

Glances were exchanged amongst the commanders. Wooyoung admitted to being tired and ducked back into the warehouse, shivering like a cat thrown in water. Yeosang followed swiftly after him. Yunho and Mingi shrugged to one another before joining their leader in the car. Though the main perpetrators had been caught, there was still work to be done. When one head was lobbed off, two more would take its place. 

Between the oldest and youngest, there were similar thoughts floating around. 

“Well, this should be good,” said Seonghwa in a tone that expressed very much the opposite. 

Jongho glanced at his phone. Hongjoong had already fired up the engine to his car, so they made their way over to another car parked nearby. “Yep,” he drawled wryly, “I almost feel bad for what's about to happen.”

“Feel bad? For that scum in the brig?”

“No,” he scoffed. “For Doctor Shim and the mess he's gonna have to clean up. Y'know, the last time hyung was in there while he was pissed off, someone lost an eye.”

Seonghwa pushed out a huff that came out in a visible puff in front of his face as they climbed into the car. “He didn't lose it. It just… got away from him.”

“Is that your way of saying you'll go in there to supervise?”

The key was jammed into the ignition and the car pulled out just after Hongjoong's sedan. “Absolutely not. I'm not about to get in his way.”

Jongho slowly began working through his notifications. The Shipwreck had just been cleared for all explosives as of several minutes ago, and that was one less headache to deal with. The next would be figuring out how they got there in the first place. Any thoughts pertaining to that question certainly didn't ease anyone's minds. “Fair enough. Good thing he's not handling the handoff with the DDC later.”

“That, too.”

Neither of them could say they were incredibly surprised that Hongjoong simply let you go without a fight. They'd seen the signs—he’d broken so many patterns when it came to you that they couldn't be surprised. You were his exception. Through all of Hongjoong's determination, he could be just as stubborn, too. It was frustrating, to say the least, seeing him put himself through this. 

The car was a comfortable quiet between the two until Jongho piped up, “He gave her his cane.”

Seonghwa nearly banged his head against the steering wheel. “I fucking know.”

You received all your intel through Sakura's secure line, who received it from Wooyoung's secure line, who received it all straight from the source—but his reiteration would always be with a dash of melodrama. Yours and Ryujin's agreement was for you to stay at the house (not working) until you were fully healed. During that time, it was preferred that you didn't communicate directly with the members of Ateez while you marinated in your thoughts. 

The only problem was that you couldn't stay away. You just couldn't. 

It was something that Ryujin was beginning to understand, even as she tried to resume her normal life and working schedule; even as you hobbled around the safe house with that damned Captain's cane; even as she looked at the sallow-colored bruises on your face and neck and was reminded of the horrors you went through, of the life you had been living. 

There were moments she wondered, horribly, if this could have all been avoided. Was it selfish of her to think that? The trajectory of your life was manipulated in a way to lead you toward this end point. Some of it wasn't your choice, and some of it was. 

When Yeji had pulled her aside in the hallway outside the apartment, she'd explained who she was, who the men in the apartment were, and who you were in relation to all of them. It had been a feat to wrap her head around, but she couldn't do anything but worry about you. The two of you had been safe in the gray area for so long that she couldn't believe this would ever happen. What was the alleged “safety” of the gray areas good for if the politics of the territories eventually bled into them?

She didn't know what to do, or what you would have her do. There weren't many ways to go back after this. 

Two weeks in and the safe house still wasn't quite home. 

Ryujin pushed her way in through the door with her work bag on one shoulder and exhaustion weighing down the other. The house was nestled in some very quaint, little suburban slice of Sector 2, complete with two stories, a porch, and kids with bikes riding along the streets. It was so odd to have a mafia family's safe house in the middle of this place. 

She deposited her key by the door with a clatter. “Yn?” she bellowed into the house. “Can we talk?”

Commutes to and from the office were often a place to marinate in one's thoughts as they zoned out after a long day of work. With Sector 2 being south of Sector 1, there weren't any closures on the subway line from the Hala Town explosion. Ryujin had been doing too much thinking lately. 

A pattering of footsteps could be heard from upstairs. “Yeah, gimme a sec!” This was swiftly followed by more footsteps, before you appeared at the top of the stairs by the entryway to the house. 

“Hey,” you greeted her brightly as you descended the stairs. “How was work?”

Ryujin groaned into your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around her. “I’m gonna kill Leonard.”

“I'm sorry, hon,” you murmured in consolation, patting her back. “Aren't you getting a new boss soon? Maybe when she comes in, he'll get his head bitten off.”

“Wouldn't that be the dream?” she huffed, pulling away and brushing the hair from her face. She gave you a once-over, as she'd made it a habit of to check the state of your physical injuries—then gestured to the living room down the hall. “I don't think I can do this anymore.”

You stopped in your tracks with your eyes going wide. “What do you mean?”

“This” —she put her hands out to the entirety of the house around her— “it just doesn't feel right.” Ryujin held the sides of your arms and looked you in the eye. “You know, I was a little mad at you for a couple days because you joined a mafia.” 

“That's fair.”

“And you know, it's also not your fault that some whack job stalked you and trashed our apartment, then kidnapped you,” she continued on. “But I don't want us to live in fear our whole lives.”

You nodded in earnest. “I know. And we won't, I promise, Ryu. I'm so sorry I got us into this mess. I'll—I can get us out of it—”

Ryujin blinked. “Wait. Hold on.” She shook her head. The tiredness was getting to her. “I just mean—you can't let go of it, Yn. This whole time you've been here, you might have tried to separate yourself, maybe for my sake, but you haven't been able to. Tell me I'm wrong.”

“No, you're right,” you said, swallowing. 

“I'm trying to see this, them, from your perspective.” There had only ever been a black and white way of viewing the ruling crime families and gangs for her, but seeing how this one had been so adamant to find you and help you… they didn't abandon you. Their captain had stuck by your side until he was kicked out of his own room. She had seen how you and he were together with her own eyes. 

She'd be a damn fool to ignore it. 

“I don't wanna lose you.” Your words were a quiet statement. 

Ryujin squeezed your arms lightly. “You won't,” she promised. “But I need you to be honest with me—what do you want to do? Because I'm going insane while being cooped up in this house, pretending like everything is fine.”

Had she gone overboard? Was her sanity clear out of the station? You looked right back at her and she watched the microexpressions of your face change as your resolve did. You wanted to fix things after getting her involved, and you wanted her to be the first one to speak her mind. But Ryujin didn't want to be the friend who pretended like she didn't know you needed this, needed them. 

“I feel like I have a purpose there,” you confessed, rubbing your other arm. “I've met people I adore. It's where I want to be.” 

That was all she needed to hear from you: the truth. 

When you left the safe house thirty minutes ago, you swore you could do this. But as you stood, in the freezing cold, outside the captain's quarters of the Shipwreck, you weren't so sure anymore. That was, owning up to your feelings. The part about taking your job back was easy, but there were other things left on your mind, too. 

“Are you gonna come in or just freeze to death?”

Your hands tightened around the head of Hongjoong's cane in surprise as his familiar voice carried through the wooden door. It made a warmth pool in your stomach—two weeks away, and you missed him. The last time you saw him…

You sucked in a breath and finally let yourself in. 

The warmth inside the cabin washed over you in a wave. You could feel your body begin to thaw from the brief amount of time you dawdled outside. Nothing about the office had changed much—there was still the big, mahogany desk at its center, the armchair in the corner, the porthole window looking out into the ocean, and the man seated at the focal point of your view. 

He stood at your entrance, hands braced lightly on the desk, a pretty smile on his face. “I thought you were going to be a popsicle before I got to see you again, dove. How are you?”

You nudged the door closed with a sheepish chuckle. “Well,” you said, “thought I would up the anticipation. I'm—I’m better.”

“Better?” he repeated softly, rounding the desk to see you for himself. He stopped a distance still away from you, leaning back against the edge of the desk, eyes soaking in the faded bruises and the healthier stature and glow. 

“Most of everything's healed,” you said, handing him his cane so you could unwrap the scarf from around your neck. The contrast between the office and the wintry world outside was stark. “Obviously, there are some things I can't forget, but…” your voice trailed off when you saw how intently he was listening; he rubbed the top of the crow's head absentmindedly. “I'm fine, really,” you promised him. “How are you?”

He licked his lips. “Fine, all things considered. I've been, ah, wondering how you were. Thank you” —he raised the cane slightly to gesture with it, before leaning it against the side of the desk— “for bringing this back.”

“'Course,” you said. You fiddled with your jacket zipper, before opting to take the winter coat off, too. “I know I kind of left pretty suddenly that night—”

“You don't have to explain yourself,” he murmured. He pushed off the desk and stepped closer to you, eyes pinned to the hollow of your throat as he helped you shoulder the coat off. As he folded the garment into neat quarters, setting it on the table, he said, “You needed time to think, and you needed space to do that.”

“It wasn't the conversation I wanted to have with you.” The words came too suddenly out of your mouth. Truthfully, you feared if they hadn't tumbled out like an oncoming avalanche, they would have never. It seemed to pique his interest, nonetheless. “Ryujin and I have talked a lot about what happened and how this will affect both of our lives going forward. And I… I really just wanted to fix things between us because I had put her life in danger, and I owed her that much as her friend. I don't,” you paused and shook your head. “I don't really know where this is going.”

You swore something had cracked in his demeanor. He swallowed, straightening. “My offer still stands,” he said quietly. “Yn, I want you to be able to have a choice in this. A chance to get out while you can.”

Oh. You really should have rehearsed your words better. “Joong, I can't go back.”

“You can. I’ll—”

“I don't think you understand,” you interjected, stepping into his space to cup his face in your hands. “I couldn't go back if I tried. You'd have to wipe all my memories of you.”

His expression shifted as it dawned on him. 

“And I don't want to forget you.”

He shuddered, arms coming around you. Your hands fell to his shoulders—he cradled one side of your face with his hand. “Tell me you want me as badly as I want you,” he said, pleaded. His eyes searched your face for something. “Tell me you wanna stay, and I'll take care of you for the rest of my goddamn life.”

You could feel your heart in your throat. “Kim Hongjoong, I want you.”

The next breath you took was air, but everything afterward was him. He drew his lips over yours, soft and feather light. It was only a taste of what he wanted to offer you, but he was giving you space to move back if you wished. Even now, he gave you a choice. But if he was bourbon, and this was a sip, you were as good as addicted. 

You exhaled into him, pressing your lips against his in silent words that spoke volumes. 

His fingers squeezed your side, confident hand guiding you backwards by one step, two—until the edge of the desk dug into your back. His brows furrowed as he seared his kiss into you and your head tilted to accommodate him. Every second he wasted without his lips on yours, he made up for now. He held you like you were his, kissed you like you made him whole. 

All the wanting, the aching… it all culminated into this. Something heavy, but something that could be held between the two of you. 

When you both pulled away, your chests heaving for air, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, noses close enough to touch. No breath wasted; only ever his and yours. After all this time—

“Sometimes,” he muttered so close to your lips, you could taste his words, “I think I would have always ended up in that bar, one way or another.”

It took you a moment to realize he was talking about the one on Fifth. The warmth from his gaze, his skin, his touch… there went all of your inhibitions. “I thought you didn't believe in fate?” you mused, practically breathless. 

Hongjoong hummed. “I don't,” he said, “but I like to think that if things were different, we would have still met. And my plans that night, whatever they were, would have changed as soon as I saw you.” 

You couldn't string together a coherent response, but there was this awfully fond gaze on his face that made your heart pound harder. Fuck, maybe I love you, you thought.  

You were hopeless—you both were. The emotion was building up in your chest, and you couldn't force it down. It was spilling, spilling, spilling over; until all you could do was grab him and kiss him again. 

EIGHT MONTHS LATER.

You could always overhear Ethan and Perry's conversations from the register. One might think they learned to quiet their big mouths every once in a while, but that simply had yet to compute in their minds. It wasn't like you were about to tell them to quiet down; it made your job a whole lot easier. 

“They say wherever she goes, he's probably not far behind.”

“Well, who is she then?”

You exhaled under your breath as you swept out from behind the bar countertop and made your way over to an abandoned table. The patrons who were just here left their drained glasses and napkins, and you deftly piled them onto your tray to take into the kitchen. 

For the past month or so, you were stuck working at this hole in the wall. It was down south, on the westernmost edge of Hala Town's famed east corner; the edge of all the action, really. But if you had learned anything over the past year, it was that no matter where you were, people talked. 

You passed by a bus boy's cart just before you reached the back doors, and deposited your load. 

“Hey, Dove!” 

You lifted your head and adjusted the pencil tucked behind your ear. “Yeah, Perry, what's up?”

Perry leaned over the bartop. With traffic through the joint having slowed considerably, he was far too bored. “You ever heard of this storm bird chick? I figured since you're named after a bird, you might know her.” He chuckled at his own joke, hitting Ethan's arm with the back of his hand. 

With a raise of your brow, you carried on to wipe down some of the tables. “No idea,” you drawled with easy nonchalance. Talk did spread, but that didn't mean it spread well. You were counting on hearing a few other things though. 

Yunho had gotten word from one of his undercover informants about a month ago to keep an eye on this place. You couldn't see the importance at the onset, but you supposed any place could be the place. 

With the ghosts of Strictland's past leadership officially booted off this mortal coil, you and Ateez were left killing a Hydra. Your job? Smoke out the snakes hiding in the brush. 

Though, as much as you enjoyed helping the family with taking out the trash, you couldn't wait to get back to the Shipwreck. Working at places like this reminded you of how lucky you were. 

As you continued on with your duties, you caught sight of a figure seated in one of the corner booths. He had been here for a little over half an hour now, angled in a way where the shadows clung to his features just right. If you glanced at him once or twice, you would be able to see his features well enough to identify him, let alone remember him. 

He wore a newsboy cap over his face, casting another shadow over his eyes. Ethan nor Perry had paid him any mind. 

You walked over toward his table and leaned your hip against it. “You sure I can't get you something, love?”

Half of his smile peeked out of the shadows, and he lifted his head just enough so you could catch his wink. “Surprise me, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you say,” you mused, wandering back over to the bar. 

You tuned back into Ethan and Perry's conversation. Half of the time, they only blabbed about the latest sports broadcast, anyway; but occasionally, they said things that piqued your interest. 

“—know they're acquiring them, right?”

Thank God your ears couldn't perk up like a dog's. “Hey, can I get three fingers of bourbon neat for the guy back there?” you asked, leaning your forearms over the bar. 

Ethan nodded at you and turned toward the liquors. “Sure, gimme a second—you were saying? What do you mean they're acquiring them?”

“That’s just what I mean! It's like they're buying them out to get sole leadership, I dunno. Except, they're not buying; they're… y'know…” Perry made a slicing motion across his neck just as Ethan passed you the bourbon you asked for. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking the drink slowly. 

“Why? To establish dominance?”

You took your time walking back toward Hongjoong. 

“Well, yeah. If you wanna have a chance at taking out the Captain, you have to be ruthless. That guy is like, unkillable.”

When you reached your desired booth, you set the glass down in front of him. “I think you're only here because guys like them keep calling you 'unkillable’ and 'untouchable,’” you jested, crossing your arms over your chest with an ill-concealed smile. 

“That's not true,” he protested half-heartedly. Hongjoong knocked the bourbon back in an easy swig, and he slid out of the booth to stand up. You could see his face much better now. There was a smirk settled there, a canine poking out as he licked the remaining bourbon from his lips. “Maybe I'll return this glass to them while I'm over there.”

“Don't twist their arms too hard. They're kind of funny,” you said to him. 

“Dove, they might want to kill me.”

You cocked your head to the side in mock thoughtfulness. “I thought you were unkillable?”

His smirk widened. “Doesn't stop anyone from trying.” He grabbed your waist and hauled you to him before stealing a kiss (for “good luck,” he always claimed). “I love you, but go wait in the car.”

“Love you, too. Don't make me wait too long.”

Hongjoong began walking in the direction of the bar as you went toward the exit. He cracked his knuckles through his gloves, clocking the size and stature of each man and how best to make them talk. “This should be fun,” he muttered to himself. 

It was time for him to go to work. 

permanent taglist (the new one): @jaehunnyy @seomisaho @gaonashi @thecarnivaloflies @mars101 @sanbangchan @http-gyu @luumiinaa @starlightkwan @empire-x @kpopjackie @shakalakaboomboo @vernonburger @kangyeosanq @fluorescentloves @distvrbia @cromernet

a/n: and that's the end! thank you for tuning into this endeavor of mine — i've always wanted to see a mafia au through, not to mention an extremely long-form fic like this 😅 really, this tested my nerve, patience, skills, brainpower, and willpower (some of those def overlap), and i'm very happy to say that i was able to see this project through. this has actually been a draft of mine for over a year, but i lost motivation after writing some of chapter five before picking it up again during IOMT era. ig i'm just glad i didn't lose all hope with it haha

thanks again for reading, from those who came back each week for the new chapter drop to those who are binging the series in one fell swoop. pls remember to reblog if you enjoyed reading it tho, and tell me what u think! 💖

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He wondered how he hadn't seen it. As right-hand to the Ateez family's Captain, he prided himself on his strong will, level-headedness in a storm, and his ability to judge character. 

He hadn't yet failed so devastatingly at the latter as he had with Yang Jungwon. 

“You can't blame yourself,” San murmured under his breath so only Seonghwa beside him could hear. The two of them stood at the edge of the Crow's Nest office while Sakura and Wooyoung caught the remainder of the inner circle up on what they had already revealed to him. 

Something bitter climbed up his throat—Seonghwa had to press the side of his gloved hand against his lips. If his trust in Jungwon had damned the family, damned you… he was going to be sick. 

“How can I not?” he muttered back. Jungwon was his lookout, after all. Hand-picked and trained, or so he thought. His eyes were pinned to the laptop screen seated on the edge of the desk, replaying the security footage that Sakura had painstakingly sifted for. 

The CCTV footage clip showed a grainy view of a man purchasing several prepaid phones with cash. Sakura had managed to snatch a photo of the man's face when he turned toward the camera slightly, then cross-referenced his identity with all her databases. It wasn't Jungwon, but the young man—his name was Nishimura Riki—was affiliated with the Diamond District Chois as a lower-level soldier. 

And one of the prepaid phones purchased by Nishimura was a number in Jungwon's phone, one in which he was in frequent contact with. 

“Yn mentioned,” Sakura said, swallowing, “that she and Jungwon—something happened between them, I'm not really sure. But it was clear that her trust in him wasn't fully there anymore, and I got paranoid after I heard about the explosion at the station.”

As Seonghwa listened to Sakura explain how she even came to the decision of digging through Jungwon's phone, he glanced over to the desk where Hongjoong sat. The captain had been quiet for a while, ever since Seonghwa returned from Cho Namyoon's residence. The man seemed deep in thought, his eyes somewhere far away, but he was listening—that much Seonghwa was certain of. 

Though shadows didn't have a physical presence, the one looking over Seonghwa's shoulder was heavy. He racked his brain for any signs, any at all, that Jungwon could have been an implant for the DDC. How could he not see it?

“The number is labelled as 'Jjong hyungie’ in Jungwon's phone,” Wooyoung said matter-of-factly. Even he had yet to crack a joke. “It could be a nickname for another low level soldier in the DDC, Park Jongseong, but—”

“I dug back further.” With a flourish of her hand, Sakura pulled up a PDF file onto the screen. “Orphanage records. They were kept under a pretty heavy lock and key, but I got it open. Jungwon and the lower level soldiers he was recruited with were all adopted by different people during the same year, but Jungwon's guardian is listed as Baek Jisu.”

Wooyoung folded his arms over his chest. “Baek Jisu is married to Yoon Jaehyun, whose son is notably Yoon Jeonghan.”

Damning, as Seonghwa had been thinking. It got worse every time he heard the explanation. 

“The DDC's had a plant in here this whole time?” Mingi muttered, along with a swear. “No wonder they knew about the cromer powder.”

Seonghwa's temples suddenly gained a pulse and he raised a hand up to gently rub at his newly forming migraine. Worse… and worse. 

“So where is Yang now?” Jongho cut in, nodding to the screen. 

All eyes cut over to Seonghwa. 

He didn't bother to straighten out his posture, only kept the expression of ill-concealed shame and stress slathered on his face. “I've called him in under the guise of an all-hands meeting.” His eyes flickered back to Hongjoong again and met his leader's own eyes. “He should be here soon.”

“Alright,” Yunho said next, “what's our plan? Take him down to the brig immediately?”

“No” —heads whipped over to the speaker at the desk— “we don't know how much training he received from the Yoons on interrogation tactics, or how loyal he is. He could keep quiet.” Hongjoong laced his hands over the top of the desk, a muscle feathering at the corner of his mouth. “We bring him here and hold him. In the meantime, call Yoon Jeonghan. We just got a bargaining chip.”

The next time you woke up, your head still hosted a rock band and your shoulder felt like it was holding onto the rest of your arm by sheer willpower. Though you were lying down, it didn't take away from the pain that stabbed at you if you moved even a little. 

There was a low sound in the background—the television, some old sitcom—to fill the silence. The lamplight was still on. The guard, the man who asphyxiated you to sleep, remained on duty with not a shred of apology in his cold, dead eyes. 

You flinched at the sound of wood against wood, the rough scratching searing through your concussed head and getting nearer and nearer. 

Kyungmin's face appeared in your view once more, leaning over his knees from where he sat in a chair he had lugged over. “Good morning! I realized that without you awake, it gets a little boring.”

What are you? Five years old? Your eyes narrowed, and the expression must have been so jarring that he chuckled. 

“I take it you're not as happy to see me as I am to see you.”

At your continued silence, he said, “I do think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Lee Kyungmin and you're Ln Yn.” He moved slightly, twisting around to grab something behind him. You watched as he retrieved a plastic water bottle and unscrewed the lid, the seal crackling open with an easy twist. “Are you thirsty?”

This guy had to be kidding, right? What was with this switch up? It had to be a change in tactic, or this guy was actually insane. 

But now that he mentioned it… your throat and mouth were rather dry. You wondered how long it had been since the explosion, since you weren't handicapped, kidnapped, and concussed. Were people even looking for you? The thought alone made you struggle to swallow. 

Though you were dehydrated and probably desperately needed the water, you continued to be silent. You would not take water from him.  

He deadpanned. “Must I prove that it's fine?” He huffed, rolling his eyes, as he tilted his head back to pour some of the water into his own mouth. As he swallowed, he shot you a look. There, happy? 

Silence. 

(Maybe if you kept this up, he would stomp his foot like a toddler.)

Kyungmin's nostrils flared slightly, but it was enough to illustrate his annoyance. “You didn't seem so disinclined to speak to me earlier. So what changed?” He hummed under his breath, twisting the cap back on and setting the bottle aside. “Was it because I put you in your place? I truly don't enjoy hurting you, Yn; that's why someone else is here to do that work for me.” He nodded over at the man in the corner. 

He continued, leaning his cheek against his palm. “You know who does enjoy hurting people? Your beloved Captain—Kim Hongjoong, isn't it?” 

Your breathing stumbled at the sound of his name. What was he getting at?

Something twitched at the corner of his mouth. Maybe he thought he saw something in your reaction then, a pressure point he could jab at until you squirmed. “After that interruption at the Dionysus meeting, and Uncle Joonseo was taken, I imagine the Captain has been torturing information out of him. I heard he has… very effective methods of getting what he wants.

“I don't suppose you know anything about that.” He cocked his head to the side. “You don't know a thing about him, do you? If he found out you were the traitor, the weak link within his organization, he wouldn't hesitate to carve your heart out, let alone choke you.”

The words spilled out before you could even stop yourself: “I'm not a traitor,” you spat. 

His eyes lit up. “Ah,” he drawled, wagging his finger, “but you are a weak link, aren't you? I suspect you were beginning to figure it out already.”

You bit your tongue, a sour aftertaste settling in your mouth. That was exactly what forced you to leave the Shipwreck—the fear that you were a vulnerability that was bringing more trouble than you were worth. That, despite wanting to be here with your newfound family, you would only be endangering them. You weren't born or raised in this world, after all.  

“Don't you know that he sees you only as a liability for the success of his business and empire?” Kyungmin clicked his tongue. “You're not truly a part of his family.”

“You're trying to turn me against him,” you said quietly, “but it's not going to work.”

He raised a brow at you. “Oh, is that what I'm doing? I was stating the truth. My uncle worked with him before under the previous, rightful reign, y'know. Before your Captain betrayed Strictland.”

“Strictland fell because your father was an arrogant tyrant—”

“Strictland fell because my father was murdered,” Kyungmin sneered at you. There was that flicker of red in his eyes, that sinister air that made your lungs seize up. The last time you saw something like that on his face, he had his guard wrap his hands around your throat. “I was supposed to take over after he was done, but Kim Hongjoong came in and took all that was mine. I guess he was right for calling himself a pirate.”

You twisted your face into something indignant and incredulous. “And how is keeping me here going to get you what is supposedly yours?”

“It's interesting.” Your captor leaned back in his chair, no longer hovering over you. There was a pensive look on his face. “I originally planned to kill him. I'm sure you're privy to all the attempts we made.”

You scowled. Privy was one way to put it; you were almost killed along with him, twice. 

“But then you” —he peered down at you again with a look so clinical, it almost scared you— “came into the picture. I wanted to see how he would continue to interact with you, so I did a little pushing until you had no other choice but to go to him.”

It clicked for you. The blacklisting—that was him? There was an undeniable spike in your heart rate; you could feel the current of blood pound against the thin skin of your throat. There really was no such thing as fate. 

“You manipulated my life for fun?”

“For science,” he mused with a shrug. “I just wanted to see what he would do, and really, I thought he would try harder to get rid of you.”

You struggled to swallow. “You're vile.”

Kyungmin barked out a laugh. “What's so special about you, anyway? You add no inherent value to his operations, but he's protective of you to a fault. You should have seen the way he reacted when that assassin asked about you.”

What? 

“Don't act so surprised,” he chuckled at the way your brows scrunched together. “I’ve been listening and paying attention to much of your Captain's movements. It's really so interesting how he breaks his own rules for you.”

The bitter, acidic taste of bile crawled up your throat. There was something truly sick about this guy. “What's your point? You still haven't answered my question.” What purpose did keeping you here even serve?

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” He clicked his tongue at you and stood up from his chair. Something in you flinched along with it, déjà vu from the last time it happened. “He believes that if he wants something, he can just take it. When he finds you, and I count on him doing so, you'll turn against him.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Bold assumption.”

As if it would be that easy to get you to turn against Hongjoong.

He grinned. “I have something in mind to make you consider it more. We'll get to that later, though. But if you don't defect on your own, then I'll just—kill you.” Kyungmin's eyes gleamed as he glanced at you from over his shoulder, his hands shoving the chair out of the way with a rough scraping sound. 

You wanted to remain calm, truly, but the eyes were the window to the soul, and they widened to the size of saucers. The breath in your throat got trapped there; this… this couldn't be how it ended. 

He stepped over to the table by the couch, picking something up—a phone. “Do you think he would choose to save you over all that he's built? Wouldn't that be a strange twist? You, or Hala Town…” He laughed. “There is no doubt in my mind as to which one he'd pick.”

Right. Right. Because you were one person, and everyone he cared for lived in Hala Town. To think he would choose you over the city he fought so hard to free from a terrible man's iron fist would be stupid. You didn't have any doubts either. 

(Though for a split second, you thought it could be possible for him to save you both. You didn't know Kyungmin's full plans, but his ultimate goal seemed to put Hongjoong in the hot seat. He wouldn't be able to have both or either, if Kyungmin had his way. But if you knew Hongjoong, wouldn't he try his damnedest to have both anyway? If that was what he wanted, then that was what he would get.)

When Kyungmin neared once more, you eyed the device in his hands, fear coursing through you. What could he possibly plan to do with that?

You squirmed a little, but your movements were met by a chiding tut from his lips. He shook his head and shushed you, as if scolding a child, and he lowered himself beside you, pinning your left arm in place with his knee. 

The weight of his leg dug into you, and you tried to yank yourself out. You could already feel your arm begin to numb as the blood circulation was cut off. “What are you—get off me—”

“No, no, no.” He busied himself with the phone and pulled up the voice recording app. When he was done preparing it, he set the phone down beside your head, then he leaned over your body, hands reaching toward your other side. “Just stay still. We're just gonna scare him a little bit, yeah?”

Scare him? He was scaring you. Your breathing grew ragged, nightmarish thoughts running rampant in your mind. “No, wait! What are you doing?”

Kyungmin didn't answer you for a second. His mouth quirked to the side as if mentally deciding something. Then, he settled one hand on your right bicep, the dislocated one. 

Your entire body stilled. “Please don't,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the pain to come. 

“Don’t worry; I learned how to do this on the internet earlier.” He met your eyes firmly, an encouraging smile on his face. “All you have to do is scream really loud.”

Choi San hated the cold. It tended to creep into his blood and chill him to the very bone. Plus, big winter jackets didn't exactly fit with his aesthetic, unless he wanted to cosplay as some kind of Grand Duke of the North with his large fur coat. He feverishly rubbed his hands over the arms of his dark wool jacket, something far more subtle than the aforementioned fur piece. 

Beside him, Wooyoung was juggling a hand warmer between his palms in a desperate attempt to un-numb his fingers so he could pull the trigger if the time came. “Aish,” he cursed under his breath as he plucked up the hand warmer from the ground again. He squeezed it between his fingers, peering through his rifle scope. “The DDC must be nervous. No way they're actually late.”

“Or they just aren't coming,” said San tersely. It wouldn't be the first time the other party bailed on Ateez when they were to be confronted. It just didn't happen very often with actual families. 

“I think they'll come. They have to,” Wooyoung muttered, jaw and shoulders tense. 

For a moment, the two of them simply sat there, two statues in the early winter morning. Neither of them were strangers to what this life could do to people like you; they'd seen it plenty themselves, but it had been a long time since they last were so close to someone other than each other. You had come into their lives like a thunderstorm—at first, only an increase in heat and humidity, before the sprinkles of rain became gusts of wind that knocked over houses. They never knew what hit them until you were gone. 

“Are you saying that because you're convinced the DDC values Jungwon that much or because you need this to lead to Yn?”

Wooyoung didn't pull his eyes away from the scope once. He'd spent long days and nights with his eyes wide open, and he would do it again if he had to. “Both,” he said quietly. “Don't you want her back?”

San's answer was lost in the gust of wind that blew past. He knew just how much you were valued by Hongjoong and Wooyoung, not as a soldier for the family business; but as a friend. He could see it… and he couldn't exactly deny there was a heaviness in his chest either. 

Wooyoung's breath hitched suddenly, and San straightened. “They're here.”

It was customary to have Wooyoung stationed up above with a sniper rifle in his hands during meetings like this. He'd been up here for many a council meeting, and even when Hongjoong went to meet that Wings Express assassin. The only difference this time was San's presence. He was more useful to the family on the ground, but this was different. It needed to be less confrontational, more low-key. 

It was important that there weren't too many representatives of either side present. 

Through the scope, Wooyoung watched as one dark SUV pulled into the Sector 1 garage. 

Ateez had been there for only a couple minutes before, but they arrived on time. On their side of the ring was Hongjoong with Seonghwa and Yeosang, the latter of whom clutched Jungwon by the back of his collar. They had cuffed Jungwon's hands behind his back, his right eye sporting a gnarly purple splotch—a souvenir from when he tried to get away earlier. 

(Wooyoung couldn't even pretend to be upset about the black eye. The moment he found out that Jungwon was a rat, he'd nearly wanted to go out with a gun to find the little weasel himself. If he had anything to do with your disappearance, all bets were off.)

Yoon Jeonghan stepped out of the first car and was flanked by two guards, neither of whom looked armed. If the DDC wanted to make a break for it, they could still have weapons hidden beneath their jackets. If Wooyoung was wrong about how much Yoon valued Jungwon, then this could end poorly for the latter. Jungwon must have known a good amount about their plans, after all. 

Through the communication devices tucked away in the inner portions of San and Wooyoung's ears, voices crackled to life. 

“You have a lot of nerve showing up late, Yoon. Do you not want your rat back?” Hongjoong asked, the venom in his voice ill-concealed. 

Jeonghan tucked his hands into his pockets, and Wooyoung squinted as he zoomed into his face with his lens. There was a micromovement with his eyes—Jungwon to the Captain. It seemed to linger on Jungwon for a moment, accompanied by a tightening of his mouth, before moving on. 

Wooyoung's fingers didn't even flinch, but he so badly wanted to squeeze the trigger. C'mon, you bastard. 

“We wanted to make sure we were prepared to meet whatever terms you proposed,” said Jeonghan. “I do apologize.”

Hongjoong's head shifted. “For being found out?”

“For the poor timing.”

San clapped a hand on Wooyoung's shoulder, his hand squeezing. “Don't,” he murmured in warning. 

“Is that so?”

Jeonghan nodded with an easy smile on his face. “It puts my man in a tight spot. He had nothing to do with the attack on Hala Town station, nor the capture of your darling bird.”

“Liar,” Wooyoung grunted. What he would do to put a bullet between the snake's eyes… but that would constitute a hefty punishment from his leader. They needed Yoon, whether Wooyoung liked it or not. 

“I won't say I believe you completely. After all,” Hongjoong drawled, “you still got something out of planting him within my ranks. You must be so frustrated that he could never tell you more about our elusive product.”

It was a careful lie, one that was masked by the truth. While neither Hongjoong nor his commanders wanted to fully believe that the DDC wasn't involved, Hongjoong reported that Joonseo swore the DDC wasn't in league with them. In fact, Choi Seungcheol and Yoon Jeonghan had firmly turned them away. Whatever Strictland offered simply wasn't worth anything to the Diamond District. 

To Jeonghan's credit, he merely shrugged, eyes darting to Jungwon again. “I can't say I'm not disappointed, but you do keep it under lock and key. I respect that you've been able to keep it out of my reach for so long.”

Hongjoong smiled. “Don't flatter me.” 

“Well, you can't say I didn't try.”

“You're lucky we're not waging war because of this stunt.”

Jeonghan made a flourishing gesture with his hand. “I do thank you for that,” he said in a mock bow. “My Boss sends his regards. Now, since we're all here, I'll take Mr. Yang back and get out of your hair.” 

“I'm not sure if I should laugh,” Hongjoong replied, and Wooyoung could just see the corner of his mouth curl upward. It was the kind of smile that sent shivers down an enemy's spine. Rather than his expression growing more serious, there was always a maniacal side of the Captain that came out to play instead. 

Hongjoong gestured to Yeosang, and Jungwon was shoved to his knees between the two of them. The cane was flipped upside down, the curved metal beak slipping across Jungwon's throat. “You know better, Yoon.”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, his hands holding the ends of his elbows idly. “Worth a try. What do you want, Captain? What reparations are in order?”

“Find me Lee Kyungmin.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Lee Kyungmin. Who is Lee Kyungmin?”

“He must think hyung's an idiot,” Wooyoung muttered, reaching down blindly to grab the hand warmer again. He used his nondominant hand to press the warmth against his trigger finger. 

San shushed him quietly. “Listen.”

“—I know you've already started collecting any and everything you can find on him. Jungwon knew his name before any of us did.”

Wooyoung's jaw clenched. The only reason why that was the case was because you trusted him—all of them trusted him. 

Jeonghan raised his palms in surrender. “Alright. Lee Kyungmin on a platter. I'll do my best—”

“Do better than your best,” Hongjoong quipped. “You have eight hours; and if you're even a minute late…” His boot went to the back of Jungwon's neck to force the kid's face into the dirt. Jungwon winced, turning his head to the side, a flash of fear crossing his expression as Hongjoong nudged his cuffed hands with the cane. “I'll start with his pinky finger.”

As Jeonghan could do nothing but watch his adoptive brother pant against the dirt, Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa. “Any preferences for the left or right?”

The stormy look on Seonghwa's face hadn't budged all meeting long. “The left symbolizes love and devotion.”

Hongjoong's grin widened. “Fitting. The left one it is.” He turned swiftly to Jeonghan, gesturing at Yeosang who hauled their prisoner to his feet, stumbling. “Eight hours, Yoon.”

The representatives of Ateez piled back into the car from which they came while Jeonghan remained standing there. He watched as Jungwon disappeared into the opposing black SUV, the sound of the door slamming and car wheels screeching tearing through the quiet of early morning. 

Wooyoung’s eyes didn't shutter for even a millisecond, and all the better. Jeonghan's hands came down to his sides, his fingers flexing into a brief fist, then relaxing. Finally, a visible sign that Yoon Jeonghan cared. Not that his actually showing up didn't show he cared about Jungwon, but this validated Wooyoung's inference. 

Only once the car was well and truly gone did Jeonghan turn on his heel, his hand carding through his hair as he hurried into his own SUV. 

Wooyoung continued to monitor the DDC vehicle as it left the premises and raced back to Sector 17. 

“Hunter” —Wooyoung’s head lifted as San pressed his phone to his ear— “got anything yet?”

A beat passed as Wooyoung relaxed from his position and checked his own notifications. While a portion of the organization was focused on Lee Kyungmin and finding where you and he were, the remainder was assigned to locate the rest of the explosives Strictland had purchased. Whether the C4 was being stashed somewhere or they were already planted and armed, they needed to find them all, and fast. 

Sakura's contact was frequent in his list of new notifications. She continued to keep him updated on anything she found—if she was able to find anything—as well as asking how the meeting went. 

Wooyoung brushed a hand through his hair as he sat up and let her know that they would hopefully get information about Lee Kyungmin in eight hours or less. 

He paused, then began typing something else out to her: Any way you could get into Yoon Jeonghan's communications? If we could get ahead on what he already—

A brand new notification appeared at the top of his phone screen. 

Wooyoung's brows scrunched together as he pulled the email down and read the words Open Me in the subject line. There was no text in the body nor did he recognize the address it was sent from. The file attached, though, was an audio recording about sixteen seconds long. 

As he watched his program check for any viruses in the file, his heart began to slowly gain speed. What was he about to hear?

When the file was deemed safe, he clicked on the play button, lifting the speaker end to his ear. 

Out of the corner of his eye, San saw Wooyoung's body jerk violently. He immediately put his call on hold and turned to his counterpart, concern scrawled over his face. “Hey, what's… wrong? Wooyoung?”

All the color had drained from Wooyoung's face as he kept the phone pressed to his ear and he made eye contact with San. “Captain's not gonna like this.”

Four hours—that was how long had passed since Hongjoong met with Yoon Jeonghan, Wooyoung received the tape of you screaming and begging, and Hongjoong heard it. Wooyoung had since then been dispatched to trace the origins of the email he received, only to realize that Kyungmin was actually somewhat intelligent. Or whoever was doing his cyber work. 

The only hit he reached so far was a popular internet café in the middle of Hala Town, but it was already taking him ages to comb through the security footage. 

Wooyoung arrived on the top level of the Crow's Nest with a heavy weight in his chest. There wouldn't be any good news yet; not from him, and not from all their men sent out to find where all that unaccounted-for C4 had gone. That was another nightmare of its own. 

The commander's head rose and he made eye contact with the man stationed outside the office door, his expression stony and unreadable, hands cradling his cell phone. Wooyoung chewed on his bottom lip and nodded to the door. “He's still in there?”

Seonghwa gave a stiff nod back and pocketed his cell. “He's been listening to that damn audio file on loop,” he murmured. With a sigh that almost sounded like a hiss, he raised a hand to massage his temple. “God, the sound of her pain… that's haunting.”

“Yeah.” Wooyoung gulped knowing full well where Seonghwa was coming from. 

The moment he realized it was you on the tape, his heart had dropped clean to the bottom of his shoes. Despite all the time he had known you, he had never ever heard you sound anything like that. Your watery voice whimpering, begging Kyungmin to stop; his threat to 'do the same to your other arm’; the scream that made the table vibrate when he'd done what he wanted to. In sixteen seconds, that bastard had managed to shake Wooyoung to his core. It was enough to drive him mad, but he couldn't imagine what it was doing to Hongjoong. 

He'd heard worse shit, seen worse, but for some reason, all of this happening to you just felt wrong. You were merely a pawn to be played so Kyungmin could take revenge on Hongjoong. It was unfair. 

“The last time I came to him with something new,” Wooyoung said, “it wasn't good news.”

Seonghwa could only hang his head. “It's not like I have any good news for him either. I feel fucking useless standing out here while he inflicts his self-torture. He blames himself, y'know?”

It wouldn't be a complete surprise to Wooyoung. That was just who his leader was; and now that he basically had proof that you were alive and unwell, it was time to confront the looming giant that was having No Leads. 

(What was the point of power and authority if one could not keep the ones they loved safe?)

Wooyoung opened his mouth to say something when his eyes caught movement. The door just beside Seonghwa cracked open, revealing the dark interior of the Crow's Nest, and mercifully, silence. 

Hongjoong poked his head out and neither Wooyoung nor Seonghwa could get a read on him. There was that undeniable steel gleaming in his eyes though; at least there was that. “Oh, good. You're both here.”

“Aye,” replied Seonghwa. “What’s on your mind?”

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said, inclining his chin to the commander in question and leaning his side against the doorjamb, “go through properties that Lioncrest holds, but aren't actively in use. I realized that we're looking at this the wrong way.”

Wooyoung perked up at this new possibility and immediately tugged his phone out from his pocket. “Aye, hyung.”

“Joonseo was adamant he didn't know of any properties near the exchange site,” Hongjoong continued. “And if we haven't found any old Strictland properties near there—”

“Then Kyungmin must have taken over something from their ally,” Wooyoung rushed to fill in his thought, already half turned toward the elevator. “On it!”

As Wooyoung disappeared once more inside the elevator, Seonghwa turned back to Hongjoong, who was already retreating back into the office. He pushed in through the door after the latter, then softly closed it behind him. 

The room was swallowed in darkness, with only the residual light pouring through the open window to illuminate the space. Hongjoong returned to his seat behind the desk, his fingers pressed together and his mouth pressed to his fingers; eyes looking at nothing and no one, just someplace far away. 

Before him on the desk was his own phone with the audio file pulled up. If it had a view counter, the number listed would be criminal. 

It wasn't because he enjoyed listening to your suffering—something in him broke the first time he heard your scream shred through the speaker. It tore his heart straight out of his chest, puncturing the cavity so he couldn't even breathe properly. The weight of guilt gave him no reprieve either. 

He needed to find you. He needed to find you and get you out of there. You didn't belong there; you belonged somewhere safe, somewhere he knew those sounds would never come from your lips. 

What he would do to ensure you never had to beg, scream, or cry like that again…

“Are you done wallowing yet?”

Hongjoong almost forgot there was someone else in the room with him this time. Your voice echoed in his ear like the ringing in his eardrums after an explosion. “I'm not wallowing.”

Seonghwa settled in one of the armchairs on the other side of the office. “Yes, you are. You play that audio file like it'll give you the answers, or like it'll reprimand you as you've delusionally convinced yourself you deserve.”

“She didn't choose this, Hwa—”

“Maybe not in the beginning,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “But she came back, Joong. You gave her plenty of opportunities to run, but she did come back.” Seonghwa leaned forward onto his elbows, eyes pinned to the man in the chair. “I'm not saying she deserves this or asked for it, but I am saying that she joined our cause of her own free will.”

Hongjoong now pressed his forehead to the sides of his fingers, eyes fluttering closed. “I offered her her old life back,” he confessed. “Yesterday, on the Shipwreck. We were talking about my brother, and what I would have done if not for all of this, and I—it came out of me. I wanted her gon—not gone, but safe. I wanted her to have a choice and a chance to escape. Y'know, because I didn't have a choice,” he continued. “I wanted…”

His voice trailed off for a moment. What did he want? “I want her, but if that's not what she wants, then I would give her up. I just needed her to know that she could still leave if she wanted to.”

It didn't matter what he desired. If he had to give up his own wishes to fulfill yours, he would do it in a heartbeat. 

(Maybe, in some way, it was also a selfish wish of his to want to preserve your normalcy and innocence. For the first time in a long time, he'd met you as Hongjoong without the added pretense of his being the Captain. No expectations, just strangers. If he could turn back time—)

Hongjoong suddenly felt a hand warm his shoulder. When he glanced up, Seonghwa stood at his side, eyes full of that ironclad will of his—firm, resolute, familiar. “We'll get her back,” he promised, “just so you can tell her all of that yourself.”

Hongjoong couldn't help the laugh that fell from his lips. He reached over to clasp his own hand over the top of Seonghwa's, nodding. “You're right.”

“Aren't I always?” 

The door to the office burst open, slamming against the opposing wall. 

Hongjoong had half the mind to bite the head off of whoever just entered, until he realized it was Yeosang silhouetted in the doorframe. Even in the dark, Hongjoong could make out the distinct gleam in his eyes, the tilt of his smile—something dangerous, something hopeful. 

“Yoon just came through,” he said in greeting and walked over to the wall beside him, across the desk from Hongjoong and Seonghwa, and slapped a piece of paper against the plaster. There was a portrait of a young man now hanging there, staring back at them. “Wooyoung got a hit with that picture, while cross-referencing it against his own searches of the old Lioncrest apartments five blocks from Paradigm.”

Hongjoong rocketed out of his seat, heart rate pummeling in his chest. “Round up the troops,” he commanded. “We leave in five.”

Yeosang saluted his captain and ducked out of the room. 

Seonghwa watched as Hongjoong pinned his eyes to the man's face on the wall, committing every groove and detail to memory. A crow never forgot a face that caused them so much strife. Even if Lee Kyungmin's was so… unremarkable. How utterly boring. 

Hongjoong picked up the revolver from the first desk drawer and twirled it around his finger. He raised the muzzle up to align with the portrait, his expression steeled and determined. “So this is what you look like,” he muttered to himself, squinting one eye and envisioning the trajectory of the bullet; how it would puncture the place right between the brows, making Kyungmin look identical to his good-for-nothing father. 

If Kyungmin felt so entitled to take his father's place, then so be it. 

“So who did you turn?”

Kyungmin's head perked up from the couch, mouth pursed as if surprised to hear you begin the conversation this time. “What?”

You let out a barely audible groan as you pushed yourself into a seated position against the wall nearest to you. You were slightly diagonal behind the couch, out of Kyungmin's direct line of sight, and closer to the guard (and Aurora). It was as far as you could go, anyway, with your foot chained to a spot in the floor.

Since Kyungmin had popped your shoulder back into its socket, you had a lot more range of motion—you weren't about to thank him though. Not on your life. That bastard nearly broke your arm instead of fixing it. 

(He said he learned how to do it on the internet? The fucking internet. He also threatened to dislocate your other arm as punishment. God, the moment you could bash his face in…)

“I mean,” you said with a quiet huff, reaching over to cradle your right arm, still sore from all that time spent dislocated, “You and Joonseo kept claiming to Lioncrest that there was a contingency plan where you could turn someone on the inside of Ateez, someone close to the family.”

For a beat, he didn't say anything. You continued, “If you're reluctant to tell me, then just remember that you were the one who said that the only way I was getting out of this room was against Ateez or in a box.” There was no harm in telling you. How would you communicate it to Hongjoong? Brainwaves? 

(Speaking of communicating, you needed to start thinking about how to reach Aurora. Your eyes flickered to the chair only a few feet away from you. It was from the last time Kyungmin had sat in it, but your foot chain had enough give to reach it.)

That seemed to convince him. He shifted on the couch to sit on his side, legs propped up onto the cushions. “There was no insider.”

Your brain skidded to a halt. “What?”

He shrugged. “There was no insider,” he repeated, this time chuckling. “Weren't we good? We should go on Broadway or something. Truly, we had you fooled and we had Lioncrest and the GV fooled. Admit it.”

You could only blink at him, jaw left slightly unhinged. Clearly, you were fooled. So was the entire fucking family. What did he mean there was no insider this whole time?

“You seem to forget that people can just lie,” Kyungmin hummed in response to your reaction. “People lie and manipulate and hurt others. It's the way of the jungle; it's the way of this city.”

“Then you're lying right now.”

He shook his head, throwing his hands in the air with a total expression of joy illuminating his stupid face. “I wish I was! Really, it would have been so much easier and so much more fun if we had someone planted inside your ranks; but alas” —he shrugged again— “there was no one. It was a way to placate Lioncrest and the Gold Village, but now I see that it's worked in other ways, too.”

Your skin burned and you glanced down at your shoes. That was your original intel. You told Hongjoong that there was a mole, someone who would turn against Ateez for Strictland. In reality, you were the biggest vulnerability. 

Shame was a tidal wave cresting over your head, too fast to escape and too large to swim through. 

“Aw,” he cooed in mock pity. Kyungmin pouted, cheek laying against his cheek. “Don't feel so bad, Yn. You did me a favor—you made your Captain paranoid.”

(Would death by that big burly guard to your right be so bad if you managed to claw Kyungmin's face off? Yes, no?)

Kyungmin suddenly shifted on the couch again, this time so he rested his stomach against the back cushions and fully faced you. “That brings me to the other thing.”

There's more? He had to have an off switch or something. It was as if he had bad news and monologues locked and loaded. Did Joonseo and Yunseok raise this man in solitude?

“While there may have not been an inside man within Ateez, you could still become my informant.” 

You opened your mouth, prepared to rip him a new one from his pure audacity—

“Ah!” He raised his pointer finger to prevent you from speaking. “I know what you're gonna say. But consider it—if you want to get out of here alive, you could work for me.”

Without concealing the way your face twisted in disgust and incredulity, you droned, “Is that all? To keep my life is the only incentive you have to ask me to betray Ateez?”

“That,” he said, “and if you don't want me to blow the Shipwreck to smithereens.”

Wait, what?

For a moment, you couldn't even process what he just threatened. Then your blood went frigid—not the Shipwreck. How? “There's no way you could have planted C4 there,” you stammered, your words coming out not too sure. There couldn't be. Hongjoong lived there half the time, and people were working there and watching over it, and—

You couldn't breathe or think straight. You needed to tell Hongjoong and the others. Somehow, soon. 

Kyungmin loosened a bright hum from his mouth. “So you understand the stakes now?” He wiggled around a little device in his hand, something akin to a garage door opener, but you could guess exactly what it was. “One little click, and that old thing goes boom.”

You knew what he was saying now—if you cared about Hongjoong at all, you would sacrifice your own dignity and his trust in you for this boat. But you knew it wasn't just a boat. Joong had said it himself, hadn't he? It was a taste of the normalcy he craved for all his life, something that could be purely his own selfish desire. 

But you also couldn't betray him. You couldn't—you wouldn't. 

You needed to reason your way through this. There was no feasible way anyone could get past Ateez to reach the Shipwreck with enough time to plant explosives, of all things. Not without someone on the inside, which he did not have. Didn't Kyungmin say it earlier? People lied; he lied. 

“You're bluffing,” you rasped. 

Kyungmin mouthed a word to you, clear as day: 'Nope.’

The two of you remained at a stalemate, one glaring at the other's stare. There was a fear and helplessness driving your pulse. You wished you knew better, you wished you knew better.

“Let me think about it,” you said instead, the words leaving your lips in a whisper. Your eyes dragged back over to the chair, a slow plan forming in your mind. 

A sigh fell from your captor's mouth. “Well, I can see you're genuinely thinking over it now, so I suppose I'll give you time.”

You heard your stomach gurgle softly, aching from its lack of sustenance. You could barely count the hours of how long you'd been trapped here. (Was Ryujin worried? Had she phoned your folks yet? Were Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Sakura—) 

The idea popped into your head as if a lightbulb buzzed to life. “Could I, uhm, please have a snack? It would help me make my decision a lot faster.”

You peered up at him through your eyelashes, shrinking into yourself to make you look smaller. To him, you were nothing but a pawn, a lamb to the slaughter. To him, you were already dead. If anything, you were only playing into his assumptions about you. 

Kyungmin narrowed his eyes, and for three thunderous beats of your heart, you feared he already caught onto your act. 

Then he stood from the couch. “Alright. I'll get you something from the kitchen, but behave.” He gave you a pointed look, once more like you were some child who didn't know better, and made his way to the only door in the room. 

Your eyes didn't leave him as he disappeared through the door. Your heart continued to race in your chest when you heard the loud clunk of a lock on the other side; when your attention turned back to the chair; even as the guard's gaze seemed to burn a hole through the side of your skull. 

Awkwardly, you coughed, then began scooching toward it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted movement on your right. “I just have a thing” —the lie slipped too easily out of your mouth— “where I get indigestion when I sit on the floor and eat.”

The guard stared at you, stone faced. For the first time since he choked you, he moved from his corner. 

You grimaced and forced yourself to live the lie you needed to sell. You could still feel the phantom weight of his fingers encircling your throat, cutting off your oxygen. It served as a reminder of what was in store for you if you failed. “I’m just gonna sit in the chair. Kyungmin has the whole couch, so I figured… Oh, do you want the chair? You've been standing for a while.” 

When the man still didn't answer, you said, “It's just a chair. And there's nothing funny about indigestion problems. I know that you can hurt me if I try anything.”

You grabbed onto the leg of the chair and hauled yourself onto your knees, then your feet. Your legs wobbled beneath you from hours of no use while the blood in your body all flooded into your head at once. 

A curse tore out of your mouth and you grappled onto the chair to steady yourself. Fucking nausea. The world tilted violently.

And of course, you thought, as you righted yourself at a pathetic pace, the guy in the corner couldn't give a damn. 

You were half draped over the back of the chair now. You needed to hurry up if you wanted to be done before Kyungmin got back. Eyes giving the room a quick sweep, they landed on the garage door opener that Kyungmin and flaunted before. It sat at the end of the couch closest to where you stood, but its presence was enough. 

You feigned a step forward as if you were going to reach for it. “Wait, isn't that—”

The guard lurched into action. 

It took every ounce of willpower not to flinch away completely as the guard stomped his way over to you. He scowled, planting himself between you and the remote, burly arms folded over his broad chest. If you screwed this up, you were dead—game over, kaput—

Your hands curled on either side of the chair, subtly testing its weight. Didn't they say that on adrenaline, human beings could sometimes gain something akin to superhuman strength? Your right arm was going to need that. “Look, I wasn't really going to grab it. It just caught my eye.”

Your eyes flitted to the door on the far side of the room and they widened. “Shoot, Kyungmin's back!” you gasped, pointing your hand in that direction. 

Instinct was why the guard followed your gesture. It was merely a split second, but it was all you needed—you hoisted the chair up and smashed it over the back of his head. 

The wood collided with his skull in a sickening thump, his body crumpling to the floor like a limp sack of potatoes. 

You breathed heavily through your mouth, hands bracing against your knees while you stood over the unmoving body. Oh fuck. Did that really work?

With no time to lose, you dove for your bag left in the corner. Knees skidding and scraping over the hardwood floor, you feverishly tore through the contents of your bag for the item you sought. Where are you, where are you, where are you? At the very bottom, your fingers latched onto Aurora's slim, gold packaging. 

Your thumb found the button at the top just as you yanked the lipstick free. 

As the red light began to flicker before your eyes, you huffed a sigh of immense relief. All that you needed to do now was wait.

“You fucking bitch.” 

There wasn't any time for you to think. You turned your head around toward the sound of Kyungmin's voice, and his hand smacked you across the face, the sound echoing. 

Your head whipped sharply to the side, body tumbling to the floor. The entire right side of your face throbbed with its own heartbeat. 

“I extend my good will,” he growled—you shrieked as his hand fisted the back of your hair and yanked hard enough to see stars. “And you pull this bullshit? What is that?”

“No,” you croaked and twisted your body to keep Aurora away from him. You needed to keep the signal alive— 

“Give it to me!” 

As soon as he let go of your hair, you curled yourself up into a fetal position with the lipstick at the very center. He would have to tear you apart to get to it. 

And he would. 

Kyungmin dug his fingernails into the flesh of your arm in an attempt to pry your limbs apart. He grounded his knee into the soft part of your inner thigh, pinning your body to the floor. You thrashed around—anything to keep him away. 

With a cry of your own, you forced your entire body sideways to throw him off. COME ON COME ON COME ON!

You thrust your unchained leg at him, the bottom of your shoe making contact with his nose. 

He swore something rancid as red coursed down the lower half of his face, teeth stained a horrifying crimson. You scrambled backward—the chain on your left ankle pulled taut. 

Shit. 

Kyungmin clambered to his feet with wobbly movements. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, glaring at you with a look that injected fear deep in your stomach. “I'll break your fucking arm if I have to,” he said, then took a staggering step forward. “And once I take that thing from you, you're dead.”

a/n: can you believe it's the penultimate installment?? next week, we end this 🧎🏻‍♀️ pls remember to reblog if u enjoyed !

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When you came to, all you felt was the heat—in your thick, winter coat, it swarmed you like a bird being roasted alive, stifling, suffocating. Every inch of your skin felt damp, or mildly burned; you couldn't tell. Then came the ringing, drilling into your head through the soft tissue of your ears, the sharp sound intensifying as you tried to lift your head and clock your immediate surroundings. 

You winced as your eyes fluttered open, attempting to squint through the smoky haze. The sting of ash clung to your tear ducts, making you weep. Fire was the only source of light for you to see the amount of destruction around you. There were limp bodies about, some moving, others stiff as the dead. 

Where were you, you wondered, your brain stuffed with cotton and the ringing incessant. You couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't—

“Oh—my god,” you swore under your breath, body crumpling back to the floor. 

Pain seared through your right arm, crashing through as a tsunami wave born out of the depths of the ocean. You lost your breath for an entire moment as you fell onto your back, left hand grabbing your right with a delicate hold. 

You couldn't move your right shoulder, but you could feel everything. 

Out of its socket? Yeah, out of its socket. 

You were no longer in the train car, you realized, as you stared straight up. Instead of steel and broken LED panels, you were met with a dark, cavernous tunnel. 

Everything was slowly coming back to you. It seemed that when the last bomb exploded, it must have flung you out of the train car—right? Those were bombs, right? How long had you been unconscious for, anyway?

Carefully, you rolled onto your good side. Your breathing became ragged as you exerted the rest of your energy to push yourself into an upright position, knees digging into the hard stone beneath the train tracks. You let out a groan as your right arm dangled precariously at your side, the pain pulsing like a beating heart. 

Did anyone know where you were? Blood rushed to your head too fast for you to think through. You couldn't find your phone, your bag, your—

Amongst the roaring crackle of fire, you could've sworn you heard the crunching of gravel beneath shoes. A low murmur—a voice—pushed through and you braced your left hand against the ground in an attempt to focus on it. 

Muttering still… you couldn't hear them clearly. 

“Help!” you decided to scream, your voice a measly scratching sound, rough from the amount of smoke in this tunnel. “We're over here!”

The sounds of movement grew louder, closer. 

Your eyes scanned your immediate surroundings, snagging on a familiar bag just several feet in front of you. With a slow crawl, you made your way over to the bag and hovered over it to dig around in its innards. 

Without a phone, there was one last way to notify someone aboveground. 

“There you are.”

Your head bolted upward and blood thundered through your head. Why was that voice familiar? A wave of nausea nearly knocked you over and the goddamn ringing made you seize up. Too fast, ouch. 

Vision darkening at the edges, you saw the dark shine of boots moving toward you. A man. Someone you could not identify at the moment, and he was coming right for you. 

Panic suffocated you like the acrid smoke in this room, and not even adrenaline could clear your head. 

Runrunrun—you needed to run. 

You didn't know his intentions, but he knew you somehow, and every alarm bell in your head was going off. (Or was that your ears ringing again?) Something bad was going to happen if he reached you, and you couldn't find this fucking lipstick—

He was closer now, close enough that you could see his face. He did seem oddly familiar, so remarkably unremarkable; his walk, his stature… it didn't matter if he was lean rather than built, he could still crush your throat beneath his boot like you were a fly. 

You fell back onto your side with a grimace, wriggling backwards—you needed to run. But you couldn't get up. Why did everything hurt so goddamn badly?

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip hard enough to taste iron. Keep moving, you screamed inwardly, despite the pain in your right shoulder screaming at you. You had to keep moving. 

“Don't,” you croaked uselessly to the man. “Please don't.” Whatever you do…

Something viscous seeped out of your nose, and when it dribbled onto your lip, it tasted like metal. Black dots danced in your vision; you wouldn't have much time left conscious.  

He kept coming closer, each step painstakingly slow as if taunting you. You can't get away—step. But it's fun to see you try. 

Your fingers enclosed around the slim tube of lipstick just as all the fight flew out of you. Your back landed against the hard floor of the tunnel, breathing haggard. Something wet streamed down the side of your cheek, and your eyes began to flutter closed. 

The throbbing in your shoulder beat in time with the blood pounding in your eardrums. As your last dregs of consciousness bled out, your sight filled with the blurred face of the man. 

What Hell would you wake up in next?

Shin Ryujin had seen the news on social media. Footage and clips taken by bystanders who were mainly above ground flooded the web: the streets crumbling, telephone poles toppling over, the ear-shattering sounds of explosions. She immediately got off the train after seeing those few clips, opting to take the remainder of her commute home on the bus. 

For a moment, her mind flickered to you. You worked near that area, but—

“Right, day off,” she murmured to herself, relief making her shoulders droop. Maybe it was selfish to feel so much better knowing that her closest friend was alright. You were probably at home working on your assignments or napping. 

Still, she grabbed the link for one of the news articles and took it to her text messages with you. Her eyes flitted from her phone screen to the bus line, as she filed onto the vehicle. But when she opened up the text channel, she paused. 

There were two messages recently exchanged between her phone and yours:

ryujin's phone: heyyy would u happen to be home or on ur way home? i just realized i forgot my keys and the landlord isn't picking up 😅 ynie 💖: i'm omw!! just sit tight

She had never sent that first text to you, nor had she received or seen the text you sent her afterward. The timestamp marked the exchange from about thirty minutes ago, and Ryujin rummaged through her purse to check that she did have her keys with her.

When she fished her apartment key out, she squinted down at the texts for longer. What in the world was going on? She didn't recall sending or seeing either of these, but why would someone hack into her phone to send that message?

And where were you returning home from?

She shot you a quick text: Idk who sent you that message from before, but are you home? Call me when you get this. 

“Next stop: 14th Street.”

Ryujin gripped the handle above her head, her free hand reaching over to pull the cord near the window. She resisted the urge to begin tapping her foot against the floor like a rabbit—how much longer? This had to be the most drawn-out five minutes of her life. 

When the bus pulled up along the curb at 14th Street, Ryujin hopped off with a hasty goodbye wave to the bus driver. With little time to lose and a lot of anxiety left to burn, she made her way down the couple blocks toward the apartment. 

You still hadn't called her back or read her message by the time she arrived on the third floor. 

Ryujin had her eyes practically glued to her phone screen as she approached the apartment door. She extended her hand forward to insert the key into the lock, only for the door to give way and drift open. Voices inside suddenly came to an abrupt stop—she froze. 

There were people in her apartment, people she both recognized and didn’t recognize. 

“Ryujin, it’s not what it looks like,” said Chan with his palms up in front of him. Beside him stood Yeji, and on the other side of the kitchen counter were three other men, whom Ryujin had never seen before. Around the five of them, her and your apartment laid in absolute ruin. The couch and tables had been overturned, the doors to both of your rooms were thrown open, lamps and mugs were shattered on the floor. 

“What it looks like, Chan, is that you broke into my apartment!” Her hand switched to her phone dial, raising it up with a tremble in her fingers as if it were her own weapon. She was digging in her bag for her pepper spray. “What the fuck are you doing here? I—I’m gonna call the police if you don’t get out—”

Yeji stepped forward with her hands outstretched. “Hon,” she said softly, “we just got here, swear to God. We swung by to make sure you were okay, but when we got here, the door was unlocked and the place looked like this.”

“And you three?” Ryujin aimed her pepper spray nozzle in the direction of the other three, all of whom took a generous step back when they found themselves on the other end of her wrath. “Did you trash my apartment?”

“No, ma’am,” one of them was quick to say. He was hugging the screen of his laptop to his chest like a comfort item, his wide eyes taking in the amount of crazed alarm radiating off her. “We got here just after they did.”

“Why are you here then? Who are you?”

“We’re looking for Yn,” said the one with red hair, narrowed eyes glancing between Ryujin and the apartment key dangling from her pinky finger. There was a deadly gleam in his expression, a tightness in his jaw; Ryujin couldn’t decide if her increased heart rate was out of fear or frustration. “You have your apartment key.” It was less of a question and more of a statement, a fact he was confirming.

She curled her lip back. “Of course I have my apartment key. Why wouldn’t—” The realization snapped into place. “The text…”

The red-haired man nodded with his lips pressed together. “Yn was with me when she received a text from you that you had lost your apartment key. That’s why she left to come here.”

Ryujin stepped backward, nearly tripping over her own shoes as she leaned back against the door jamb. Yeji scurried forward to offer her an elbow to hold onto, and Ryujin pressed the back of her hand against her temple where a headache was slowly coming on. There were too many questions running through her mind to sort through, and… she was so fucking confused. 

“Where’s Yn? You said she was coming here to meet me.” Did you run into whoever hacked into her phone? Was this partly her fault? Where were you? 

Yeji placed a warm hand on Ryujin’s shoulder, her brows creased together in an ill-concealed wince. “We don’t know, but” —her gaze lifted up to the others in the room— “she might have been on the train.”

Ryujin slapped a hand over her mouth as her fingers went numb. Nonononono—

“You didn’t send her that text then?” the same man asked. 

She shook her head. “Definitely not. I saw it on my way home and asked her to call me when she could, but she hasn’t read my message or replied.” All of that relief and false hope from earlier, where was it now? This couldn’t be real; things like this didn’t happen to people in the gray area. Not you, not her, not anyone either of you knew. 

Ryujin lifted her eyes back up to the three men whose identities had yet to be disclosed. “You didn't answer my question earlier: who are you?”

“My name is Kim Hongjoong,” he said, “and this is Wooyoung and Seonghwa. We work with Yn.”

“Like—coworkers?”

Yeji's hand wrapped around Ryujin's arm to nudge her to the outer hallway. “Let's talk out here, okay? There are some things I need to explain.”

Ryujin's head went on a swivel between Yeji and the other men in her apartment, but allowed the former to lead her out. “But we need to find her,” she said, her throat closing up. “What if she's not okay?”

As the door closed, the four men could hear the hushed whispers of Yeji attempting to calm Ryujin down. It was only natural that she would feel overwhelmed, scared, and even panicked at this moment; Hongjoong could certainly relate. 

While Kim Hongjoong never admitted to being worried, concerned, or anxious, there were always signs. 

The members of Ateez whipped their attention back to the heir to the Gold Village. There was business from before that needed to be resumed. From the back of his waistband, Seonghwa withdrew his pistol and leveled it in Chan's face from across the island. 

“Alright,” Hongjoong drawled, leaning back against the stove and folding his arms over his chest, “you were saying?”

Chan lifted his palms again, this time, to placate the Boss who looked about five seconds away from giving the command to blow his head off. “It’s just as Yeji said: we came by to make sure Ryujin was okay.”

“And why would you think she wasn't?” Seonghwa asked as he cocked his head to the side. 

Wooyoung set his laptop back onto the kitchen island to continue his work. When the Captain had summoned him and Seonghwa, Wooyoung had already begun to pour over the CCTV footage around the Hala Town train station and the station on 12th. His program was currently zipping through every frame of video in search of you or anyone else of interest. There were moments when Wooyoung was outwardly nervous, but with your life on the line, all he could feel was cool adrenaline powering him forward. 

He couldn't imagine what Hongjoong was feeling right now. 

“Yeji received a text message claiming to be Yn that asked her if she'd heard from Ryujin,” Chan explained. He pointed a finger in the direction of the door. “I can prove it to you; it's on Yeji's phone. But when Yeji wanted to follow up, Yn only texted to meet at their apartment as soon as possible.”

“And the apartment was like this when you got here?”

Chan nodded. “Yes.”

Hongjoong could feel the fear in his chest building. It was all covered up by cold rage on the surface, his face a mask of blank steel. He wanted to hurt someone—he was going to hurt someone, soon. As long as he could feel anything other than useless… or whatever his heart did when he thought of you and your state of being at this moment. 

(What use was power and authority if he couldn't even use it to find you, to help you?)

He inclined his chin to Wooyoung. “Give him Yeji's number and he'll check it out.”

The sounds of hurried clacking filled the room as Wooyoung corroborated Chan's statement. The commander pushed out a weighted breath, shaking his head. “He's telling the truth, Cap'n,” he said, glancing over at Hongjoong. 

“Can you track the IP address the texts came from?”

“Already on it, Boss.”

Hongjoong gave a solemn nod, then returned his gaze to the heir. There was a part of him that wanted to pin some sort of blame on Chan, to pin the blame on anyone—anything that could make the hole in his chest dissipate. But he knew that could only be fulfilled when he was sure about you. 

Chan swallowed, keeping his head held high. “I never thought to hurt her, Kim, you know that.”

“Didn't you stalk her for 'reconnaissance’?” Seonghwa cut in with a scowl. “Show up at her work place, manipulate her roommate into introducing you, all to get to the Captain?”

Hongjoong didn't have a problem with Seonghwa speaking for him; he feared what he might say if he did speak. It was still so strange to him how at least two others outside the Ateez network knew who you were to him: Bang Chan and the Wings Express assassin, Q. It didn't help him sleep better at night, that was for sure. 

A small scoff erupted from where Wooyoung was standing, and the man lifted his gaze momentarily to send Chan a snarl. 

“I believe you didn't do this,” Hongjoong said at last, his stare nor his posture easing up. “Because if I did have even an inkling that you were involved, you wouldn't still be standin’ there.”

“And I believe that.”

Wooyoung loosened a swear from his lips. “Shit—you need to see this.”

Seonghwa and Chan maintained their positions, and Hongjoong was the only one to move. He slipped in beside Wooyoung, leaning over to peer down at the computer screen. 

This security camera was angled to capture everyone ascending and descending the first set of stairs at Hala Town station. It was a crowded set of stairs, but there was a very familiar figure that slipped into the crowd and strolled out onto the equally busy street. Hongjoong could recognize his copycat anywhere, with his hat, cane, and audacity. 

There was the flame of ire in his stomach again. It burned his insides, scalded him. His blood boiled beneath the surface of his skin. 

“Where did he go next?” Hongjoong asked, bracing his hands against the counter. 

Wooyoung skipped through frame by frame, hopped from camera to camera, but came up empty. After that one glimpse, the imposter Captain seemed to disappear completely. At least this confirmed two things: the imposter is neither Mr. Young nor Jung Joonseo, and he wanted to be seen. It was another goddamn taunt. 

Hongjoong folded his arms over his chest again. When he finally met this son of a bitch face to face…

“There was no way he could have gotten here in time to turn Yn's apartment upside down,” Wooyoung muttered, throwing a hand up in frustration. “Were they looking for something?”

“No,” Hongjoong said, shaking his head, “there was nothing here to look for.” He knew it as confidently as he knew his own name—it was all just a fucking game. 

Strictland didn't need to steal anything or grab Ryujin to make their point; they orchestrated the phone hacking pandemonium and knew where you and Ryujin lived. They were watching them, all of them, and they knew which pressure points would hurt most, even those that were lesser known. 

The sound of a phone ringtone cut through the room. Hongjoong shucked his phone from out of his pocket and pressed it against his ear. He had been expecting a call from Yunho and Jongho; they had gone straight to Hala Town station where their inside men on the police force would let them get past the tape. 

“Give me some good news, Yunho.”

From the other side of the phone came the sounds of crunching gravel and echoed voices, then an audible wince. “It's good news and bad news, Captain.”

Hongjoong braced his hand back against the countertop. “Well?”

“The bad news” —an exhale, more steps— “is that we found Yn's phone, but not Yn.”

The Captain pinched the place between his eyes, inwardly trying to keep the tidal wave at bay. “There's good news?”

“Her bag's missing along with her. It has to be a sign that she's still alive, otherwise, what's the point of lugging around… y'know…” 

A dead body and its cargo. Right. “Thanks, both of you. Rendezvous at headquarters.”

“Aye, aye.” 

Hongjoong caught the hesitation in Yunho's breath, the beat before he pressed the button to end the call. “Is there something else?”

“Noth—nothing on your end?” The question was almost whispered with how low he spoke. There was an unmistakable softness, a sympathy to it. Though Hongjoong was his leader and boss, they were still friends, brothers. 

Hongjoong stared past Bang Chan, past Seonghwa with a gun, and at your apartment in ruins. There was no sign of you anywhere in these rooms, and no word from you since you left the Shipwreck. 

He wanted to hit something. “No,” he said, then hung up.

Headquarters was suffocating. The top brass of the Ateez mafia family was stressed about something, to say the least. It only made all the rest on-edge. When the bombs went off beneath Hala Town station, it was clear that this would be another day with all hands on deck. 

The Captain stormed in through the front door in coat and hat, not even bothering to let his cane touch the ground between steps. Like nature, the sound of “Captain on deck,” followed by spines snapping straight and boots stomping into place, resounded throughout the building. His second in command and his other commanders followed after him, one by one breaking off to disperse orders to their respective men. 

Only Hongjoong and Seonghwa remained attached and the two of them took the elevator at the far end of the warehouse not up to the Crow's Nest, but down into the brig. 

Seonghwa stood with his hands clasped in front of him. “Do you want me in there?”

“No.”

The second released a breath from his lips. Good luck, Jung. 

As the elevator touched down into the depths of the Ateez's operations, Hongjoong stepped out of the carriage alone. The hallway leading to the holding cells down here was shadowed and dim, boasting only a limited amount of lighting because, well, prisoners didn't need to see shit. 

Hongjoong was only a few steps away when he called out to his right-hand. “Find out who's been selling C4 in the city. I need names.”

“Consider it done,” Seonghwa replied as the elevator doors closed. 

And then there was one. 

The door at the end of the hallway was made of rusted iron. It locked from the outside, opened with a key, and kept in sound incredibly well. 

Just outside the door were several hooks attached to the wall. Hongjoong slowly began disassembling his uniform, lifting the hat off his head, slipping the coat from his shoulders. He tugged the bandana from around the lower half of his face, but kept the gloves on and tightened his grip around the neck of his cane. 

His heart hadn't been this steady, this calm in hours—before he feared you were gone, before he heard about the explosions, before he thought about kissing you, and your lips seared against his cheek.  

If he stopped for even a moment too long, that was all he thought about. 

Hongjoong hauled the cell door open and was greeted by the stench of human fear and pain. This room in particular was used for the special methods employed by members of the family to coax information out of prisoners. It had been several months since he had visited these chambers, only because there had been other things occupying him. Yunho and Seonghwa, as well as the others, frequented the brig more, though. 

While Hongjoong would like to sit in during interrogations when he could, rarely did he ever get his own hands dirty. It was partly because there was no need to when his commanders could do it themselves; but also, he only got involved when there was something he really wanted. 

He had surefire ways to get things out of people. 

The lightbulb in the room shuttered on with a dull clink sound. A body was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, clean and dry from the last time he was transferred here from his individual cell. Between sessions, prisoners were attended to just enough to keep them alive. 

Hongjoong heard Joonseo's breath hitch at the sound of the lightbulb, and the corner of his mouth curved upward. 

As he nudged the door shut, he began slowly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, taking his time. It'd be a shame to get blood on the white fabric. 

“It's a Pavlovian response,” he voiced into the quiet. “The sound of the lightbulb turning on—it means we're about to begin.”

Hongjoong passed his prisoner a cursory glance as he inspected the tools hanging on the far wall, the array of serums and toxins sitting idly on the shelf. He never needed to use these; he had two hands and a cane. But they were always nice to look at. 

“Your body knows exactly what's about to happen. The bulb elicits a physical response: sweating, increased heart rate, the like.” He stepped back in the direction of Joonseo, marking the bandages wrapped around each of his fingers, the nails undoubtedly torn from their beds beneath. “You know where we learned that tactic from? Your good friend, Lee Yunseok.”

When he was stationed before Joonseo, he leaned over his cane to be eye-level with him. There was light bruising on his face, likely because most of the injuries he endured were below the collar. 

Hongjoong's eyes dragged over the man's features with a clinical coldness, noting the way his mouth wobbled and his breath shook. He wondered if you were in a similar state, wherever they had taken you. “Do you know why you're still alive right now?”

“I've given you everything I know.”

“And we're checking all of it,” he replied with raised brows. He straightened up from the cane, taking a step back. “But you know, for a shrewd, scheming con man, I would have thought you would be a better liar.”

Hongjoong slid his hands to the bottom of his cane, cranked it back, and swung. 

When the metal crow's head of the cane met the hard bone of Jung Joonseo's shin, it released a sound so loud from Joonseo's throat that Hongjoong couldn't even hear the bone shatter. 

Oh, the sweet sound of suffering. Hongjoong didn't do this often, but there was a reason why. 

Joonseo keeled over, his chest rising and falling in rapid pants. A whimper crawled out of his throat as something damp trickled down his cheeks and onto the cement floor below. 

Hongjoong inspected the head of his cane to ensure it wasn't broken or deformed. When he was satisfied, he grabbed a fistful of hair from the back of Joonseo's head and hauled it up. The man's face was contorted in agony, eyes squinted shut from seeing the gleam in Hongjoong's eyes and the blinding burn of the lightbulb overhead. 

“What were you saying about giving us everything?” Hongjoong smiled, saccharine sweet. 

He lazily drew the curved beak of the crow's head through Joonseo's tears. The man stiffened beneath the change in position, his neck angled over the back of the chair, Hongjoong leaning over him and forcing him back. 

“I don't—I don't know what more you want,” Joonseo rasped, his voice mostly harsh breathing at this point. 

An unsatisfied deadpan came to Hongjoong's face. “Who is Kyungmin?”

“I told your man—”

“It led us nowhere, Joonseo-ah.” Hongjoong tapped the beak between the center of Joonseo's eyes, making him flinch. One could see the dread slowly dawning in Joonseo's pupils. Or maybe that was panic. “That IP address? That physical location? Poof! Nothing there.”

If possible, the man beneath him trembled even more. “That—that can't be. He must have changed servers or hidden it somehow.”

Hongjoong tutted. “Uh-huh, I have very good people looking into all of that. But what I'm wondering is how much this Kyungmin means to you if you've gone this far lying for him?”

“I haven't lied!”

“That's cute,” Hongjoong chuckled. “Did Kyungmin shoot Mr. Young in front of you? Is that why you're covering up for him like a loser?”

Joonseo shuddered, but he did not answer further. 

Hongjoong released a sigh from his lips and outlined the shape of Joonseo's eye with the point of the crow's beak. “I will get it out of you,” he promised, “it's just a matter of how quickly you break.”

“I swear—there’s nothing else I could tell you about where he might be.”

There—that hitch in Joonseo's voice, the slight wavering. Hongjoong knew a tell when he heard one. It only confirmed for him that he was suspecting correctly, that Joonseo still knew more. 

And what he knew could lead Hongjoong to you. Anything was game now. 

Hongjoong removed his fist from Joonseo's hair, but swiftly applied force over his face, pinning him down backward, his neck still craned at that painful, awkward angle. With his elbow and forearm being used as an anchor, his gloved fingers pried open Joonseo's left eye. 

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what plans he had. Joonseo figured it out fast enough and began to thrash as much as he could. 

“Did you know that crows are carrion feeders?” Hongjoong mused airily. The beak of the crow's head ghosted over the outline of Joonseo's eye, the organ flicking back and forth wildly, panicked. “They’ll eat the rotting flesh off human bones and pluck the eyes out of their sockets.”

The begging started then. The violent jerking paired with pathetic pleading. Hongjoong almost couldn't hold the man down… almost. 

“Tell me where my bird is, and this one won't take your eye.” 

“What do you have for me?” Hongjoong pressed his phone between his shoulder and cheek, eyes watching the dark red intertwine with the rush of water, disappearing down the sink. The sink faucet was a small, stainless steel application installed just outside the interrogation room across from the hooks. His cane hung under his arm, the metal crow head perspiring after being washed from thorough use. 

The crow had its fill tonight. 

Hongjoong grabbed a paper towel to pat his leather gloves dry, absentmindedly rubbing at a reddish-brown stain on his sleeve.  

“We've got two names” —Seonghwa’s voice carried through the call as the captain took the phone out to hold with his hand— “Cho Namyoon and Bae Jinki. I'm with Cho now, and Yunho's with Bae.”

He picked up his hat from the wall hook and slid it on, head bowing in the darkness. Those names did sound familiar, but only one of them was more closely associated with this part of town than the other. “Tell Yunho to drop Bae Jinki. Ask Cho Namyoon where he made the C4 drop exchange.”

He heard murmuring from the other side of the call, the exchange audible if he deigned to hear it. One of the voices was low, calm—Seonghwa undoubtedly—while the other was high-pitched and frazzled. Definitely Namyoon.

“He says it was in the parking lot of the shopping center on Paradigm Avenue.”

“Paradigm, huh,” Hongjoong muttered to himself. He straightened out his sleeve, rolling his wrist. None of the places Joonseo mentioned were anywhere near Paradigm, but at this point, Hongjoong was certain Joonseo was never the true mastermind behind all of this. “We'll need to pull the Strictland files again and go through them for any properties near that area.”

He could've sworn he'd seen some mention of Paradigm somewhere…

“Aye, Captain. Did you get what you were looking for?”

Hongjoong didn't spare the cell behind him a glance as he shouldered his coat and made his way toward the elevator, cane tapping against the concrete. The sound was steady and constant, a haunting metronome. “Some,” he hummed. “I’ll catch you up when you all get back. I need to go call down a medic to tend to our guest.”

A low chuckle from the other side. “I'm sure they have their work cut out for them.”

“They certainly do.” As the elevator doors closed in front of him, sealing him away from the bleeding and unconscious body down the hall, Hongjoong ended the call. 

He slumped against the back wall of the elevator, leaning his cane against his thigh while he lifted his hat just enough to card his hand through his hair. How monstrous was he to enjoy doing something so sick? He wondered how he got to this point of desperation. Months ago, the only people who could ever coax this kind of response from him was his inner circle. 

Well, he supposed that included you now, too. For those couple of hours he was in the room, he didn't have to think about what horrors you were facing—or the fact that he blamed himself. (He should have insisted he drove you home. Why didn't he reach out and stop you? That damn kiss… it still branded his cheek, the place your lips had been. It was so fleeting, just a taste, and he wanted more and more.)

The elevator arrived on the ground floor with an anticlimactic thump. As the elevator doors rolled open, Hongjoong fitted his hat over his head to shade his eyes from the blinding lights above. 

He caught sight of a familiar man standing nearby speaking to one of the other soldiers. “Doctor Shim, just the man I was looking for.”

The doctor raised his head immediately in acknowledgment.

“Your next patient awaits,” Hongjoong said, gesturing to the elevator. 

“Aye, Captain,” he replied promptly. He bowed at the waist and headed straight for the elevator. He knew well enough that he needed to be swift if he wanted the man in the brig to see another session. 

Hongjoong glanced at him over his shoulder. “I apologize in advance for all the blood.” If he had time to mop, he would, but there were too many things that needed to be done. 

He was just about to make his way across the floor when his phone buzzed in his coat pocket once again. “Talk to me,” he answered, pressing the device up to his ear and striding down the main walkway. 

As he went, the customary greeting erupted like falling dominoes, in time with the calls to attention. 

“We have a problem,” said Seonghwa. 

“Captain! Is the Captain here—”

Hongjoong raised his head to track down the origin of the voice. It was female and familiar, certainly in distress, as well. “Hold that thought, Hwa.”

With all of the soldiers at attention, it wasn't too difficult to spot the outliers. At the opposite end of the warehouse, two figures could be seen barreling in through the door with haste. Wooyoung was on a young woman's tail, both of their faces some shade of grim. 

“I don't think this should wait, Joong. Namyoon just said that Strictland bought a fuck ton of C4 recently—”

“Captain, we need to talk,” said Wooyoung as he neared. There was no impish twinkle in his eyes, only a rare sort of storminess. 

Hongjoong's head spun as he was caught between two different conversations. He cocked his head at the woman, the name falling from his tongue. “Sakura, right?”

“Aye,” she nodded. Her eyes darted around them, fingers twiddling in front of her. She swallowed, and said, “We need to speak with you. Now… uhm, please.”

He glanced at Wooyoung, who only pressed the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, a firm line. Now. 

“Come with me—at ease!” Two fingers curling, beckoning them to follow him to the elevator. “What do you mean they bought a lot, Hwa? Wasn't that what the train explosion proved?”

He jammed his thumb against the elevator button to call the carriage, his pulse gradually increasing as the time ticked onward. 

“He said the amount needed to pull that number on the metro line was only about half of the quantity they purchased” —the elevator doors opened; about damn time— “there's more out there.”

“Christ,” Hongjoong muttered under his breath as the elevator doors closed behind him, Sakura, and Wooyoung. A muscle flexed in his jaw. What was the point of even more C4? Was the plan to raze the whole fucking city? “I need to think,” he huffed, dragging a hand down his face. 

A cough from beside him: “Uh, hyung.” Wooyoung pointed at the phone in Hongjoong's hand, then made a slicing hand motion across his throat. 'Mute yourself,’ he mouthed. 

Hongjoong's brows creased, but he pressed the corresponding button. 

“I didn't know if he was with Seonghwa hyung or not,” the commander explained. Just as the elevator landed on the Crow's Nest level, Wooyoung continued, “Did you know we have a mole problem? Sakura came to me an hour ago; she knows who it is.”

Every cell in Hongjoong's body skidded to a halt. “Who?”

Sakura made a hand motion, vigorously waving her two superiors into the privacy of the office. There was a jitteriness about her, but Hongjoong had seen some of her work before, and she already worked with you recently. Jittery or not, he was sure he could put some level of trust in her intel. 

As soon as the office door closed, she asked, “Do we know where Yang Jungwon is?”

Your conscience awoke to the sounds of a news broadcast. For one fleeting, delusional moment, you believed that you were home and Ryujin was watching TV again in the next room; everything was just as it should be, and you would head out to the Shipwreck later to see Joong and the rest of the crew.

But then reality, the rip current of our living nightmare, yanked you back. The past twelve hours all came crashing down on you at once. 

“‘—will keep you, the viewer, updated as more information comes to light. As always, this has been Lee Seokmin, at your service.’ That was a statement made by Teleparty News anchorman, Lee Seokmin earlier today after the tragic—” 

Your body ached against the hard floor you laid on. There was an unbearable throbbing sensation coming from your right arm, and any attempt to even move it was followed by a sharp pain piercing through your shoulder. 

What the fuck happened? Where were you?

“Oh, you're awake.”

Your body stilled like the dead. 

“No point in trying to pretend.” The voice had gotten closer, and you reluctantly let your eyes flutter open. There wasn't much light in this room, but there was one lamp that emitted a warm amber glow, a far cry from the cold of the floor you were dumped on. Your eyes still blinked rapidly to adjust, and you winced—the throbbing wasn't just in your arm but in your head. 

A small chuckle, followed by easy footsteps. Wood… were you on hardwood? One of the floorboards creaked as he continued to step toward you. “You weren't out for as long as I thought you would be, but I guess that's a good thing. I was starting to get bored.”

You wracked your brain for the identity of that voice. It haunted you as you wrestled down a whimper of pain. Dislocated shoulder, wasn't it? And now a goddamn concussion. 

Someone leaned over you and filled your entire field of vision. 

The name Kyungmin popped into your head as the man smiled. He tilted his head, lifting his hand toward your face. 

You jerked away, hissing as that pain erupted violently in two places. “Don't touch me,” you managed to snarl like the wounded animal you were. Helpless, broken, alone. 

You didn't even register the sound of clinking metal when you moved so suddenly. 

“You had an eyelash on your cheek, but have it your way,” he said airily. 

This man… he was so different from the quiet boy at the meeting. Who replaced him with this bastard? Or perhaps, you'd been stupid enough to fall for the charade he put on. 

“What do you want from me?” you asked, watching as he stood up and wandered back toward the couch he was seated on before. That was when you clocked the big, burly man stationed in the corner of the room, eyes never leaving your form. There was not a trace of sympathy in those eyes; you were merely a prisoner, a charge. At his feet, however… your bag was slumped on the floor. That was where Aurora was. 

How could you get to her?

Kyungmin settled himself on the arm of the couch nearest to you as he muted the television. “They keep replaying all the broadcasts that Lee Seokmin guy hosted. He's so… annoying. Like a little fly in your ear. Can't they obsess over someone else?”

What? You gritted your teeth. “Who cares?” And Lee Seokmin was nice, unlike this son of a—

“Just making small talk, I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Do you know why you're here?”

He was messing with you, right? He had to be. 

At your silence and the undeniable look on your face, Kyungmin huffed another laugh. “You're right; you did just ask me that, huh?”

This guy had to have grown up a loner, a pathetic loser who perpetually only had himself to talk to. That had to be it. 

Kyungmin slid off the furniture and stalked over to where you were again, squatting down to lean over you like you were nothing but a cadaver in the bay: interesting, but not significant enough for him to care about. “You're here because your Captain” —he spat out the word as if it were nothing but the scum under his boot— “killed my father and took my empire. So I'm going to destroy everything he treasures without ever having to touch him.”

Great, you thought, even as fear bullied its way through your veins, making your heart rate kick up. We have a supervillain wannabe on our hands. 

Wait, did he just say Hongjoong killed his father and took his empire..? But that would make him... Fuck.

When you remained silent, Kyungmin's expression flattened. “You don't believe me?”

“You're so sure that kidnapping me and holding me here will help you reach your goal—of course, I don't believe you.” You forced the tremor out of your voice, hoping you at least sounded somewhat confident. If you were going to die here, you might as well go down wounding this punk's pride. “You're just as cowardly as your father. I hope Kim Hongjoong delivers you that same fate.”

You nearly missed it. There was a flash of something sinister across his unremarkable face, red in his eyes. A bolt of fear zipped down your spine, but that expression was gone just as fast as it came. 

Kyungmin rose back onto his feet. He didn't say anything more to you as he turned back toward the couch, but he began to hum something under his breath. 

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. 

We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot; 

Drink up me hearties, yo ho…

Your pulse had only just calmed when Kyungmin raised a hand at the guard in the corner. “Knock her out. Make it hurt.”

Everything in you screamed. 

The big man didn't so much as nod before stalking toward you, slow and unhurried. You chanted swears in your head, eyes widened like a doe in headlights, left arm pushing up to scramble backwards—

Ca-schink! 

Your eyes darted down at the iron cuff around your left ankle, attached to a link of chain not even a foot long, hooked to a square of metal in the floor. Your heart dropped into your stomach, body falling against the floor in a pathetic sound as your right arm crumpled beneath you. 

You could only grimace at the pain, your head shaking vigorously. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. The man stepped over you and wrapped his meaty hands around your throat, and no thought besides RUN blared through your head. 

As you scratched and clawed at his hands with your one good arm, he stared at you with dead eyes. 

You could feel the heaviness in your limbs as you were slowly, torturously deprived of oxygen. The fight in your legs went first… then your left arm. 

Tears sprung from your eyes. You couldn't even blubber out a prayer. 

As black spots danced in your vision for the second time, you were dragged into unconsciousness to that accursed tune.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !! :'))

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Though he wasn't wearing the thick-rimmed glasses you associated with him, his features were still etched into your memory. You could feel the phantom sensation of his hand on your shoulder, that knowing look in his eyes that made your skin crawl. 'Aren't you forgetting something, Yn?’ The last time you saw Mr. Young was on a Teleparty News broadcast, framing Hongjoong for a crime he didn't commit.

You felt the bile rise up in your throat again and you struggled to swallow. “Yup,” you croaked, “that's him.” A crow never forgot a face so full of danger.

Hongjoong glanced over at you as you continued to stare anywhere but the bullet hole in his head. Something creased his brows, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He turned his gaze back to the body with a clinical sort of coldness. “What did you say his time of death was?”

San coughed from across the body. “Doc Shim estimates that it was probably around two this afternoon.”

There were several of you gathered in an unmarked warehouse further down the docks in Hala Town, including you, Hongjoong, San, Wooyoung, Jongho, and their men. When Wooyoung had come to fetch Hongjoong about the body, he brought you and him to where they'd hauled Mr. Young's cold, dead, and wet body out of the seawater and into a building where no one would see. They'd dumped the corpse into a large tub with ice to prevent the smell of death from making anyone vomit, but sometimes sight alone was wretched enough.

“That makes sense,” you chimed in. “He wasn't at the meeting tonight and I was wondering why Jung Joonseo had come with somebody else.”

Everybody's heads whipped toward you. It was almost like guns being pointed your way. Whoops.

“Jung Joonseo's actually alive?” San asked with great incredulity.

Wooyoung whistled lowly under his breath, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Damn, I knew that was what we were thinking, but I thought he would have run away or died at some point, to be honest. How did I not pick up on him anywhere?”

“He was probably hiding with all that money he stole from Yunseok,” Jongho postulated. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, eyebrows furrowed.

Hongjoong inclined his chin toward you. “Was this what you wanted to discuss with me?”

You tilted your head side to side with a small wince. “Part of it,” you replied. “There’s… more.”

For a beat, the two of you exchanged a look. As if he knew where this was going, Hongjoong raised his hand in a wide gesture. “All of you: out,” he ordered the lower-ranking soldiers present. He flicked a hand toward the corpse on ice. “Take the body with you and burn it.”

An “Aye, Captain” rippled amongst the men and they swiftly carried out their boss's orders.

Once the warehouse door closed with a slam, it was only you, the Captain, and the few members of his inner circle left.

You shook your head as if to clear it from the mental smoke and debris left from tonight's happenings. You could mentally rewind to the most important parts of the night, but you should probably start with: “Jung Joonseo brought along a guy named Kyungmin. I didn't get a last name, but he was real young, like, younger than I am and definitely younger than anyone at that table.”

“Kyungmin,” Hongjoong muttered.

“D'you know anyone with that name?”

“I don't think it's familiar to any of us,” Jongho said, gesturing to himself, San, and Wooyoung. “Captain?”

The Captain rubbed his jaw in thought. “It's on the tip of my tongue; I'll look into it. What else, Yn?”

“Well, they said they have C4—”

“Like the bomb?” San cut in with wide eyes.

You nodded. “Kyungmin was saying something about Strictland planting a bomb somewhere, but he was interrupted when the DDC came in.” You stole a glance at Hongjoong, who was staring pensively at the cement floor. Your eyes returned to the other three. “There was also this guy who was referred to as Park there; I'm assuming he's head of Lioncrest?”

Wooyoung nodded. “Salt and pepper hair, angry little man face?” At your confirmation he gave another bob of his head. “That would be Park Seungwon, leader of the Lioncrest Society, yes.”

You pushed out a breath from your lips. “Yeah, so he basically confirmed that what he's after is Ateez real estate. Probably the rest of Hala Town.”

“Wouldn't Strictland want that, though?”

“That’s if Joonseo planned to bring Strictland back to its full and former glory.” This was Jongho.

San nodded along with him, wagging his finger. “Hm… This could just be an elaborate and petty revenge plot to bring us down. If the GV wanted the ports, or at least access to the ports, then they would have to share it with Lioncrest.”

“And we all know how good those two are at sharing,” Hongjoong muttered.

You paused. You didn't know, but you could probably guess. It didn't make much sense to you either—what was Joonseo's ultimate goal here? Who was Kyungmin? And who killed Mr. Young?

The thought of the latter made you recall that Hongjoong had something else to talk to you about, as well. You cleared your throat, drawing his attention. “You said earlier that there was…”

He lifted his brows in acknowledgment. “Yes, right. I—don’t make decisions to perform stunts like tonight's easily,” he said to you. “But we have Joonseo in our possession and that was the risk I was willing to take.” He folded his arms over his chest, the steel of his eyes searing into yours. “Now that the meeting's over and Dionysus is practically as good as closed, you're out of hot water. I'm pulling you out of the east corner.”

Your eyes widened. “That means I can come back to the Shipwreck?”

Something warmed in his expression. “If that's what you'd like to do, I won't stop you.”

Wooyoung let out a holler from across the way before Hongjoong could respond. He yipped, throwing a fist in the air. “Hell yeah! Welcome back aboard, matey!”

“That's a relief,” you mused, “being able to come back, I mean.” With all of the bullshit from tonight and the amount of stress from being undercover for the past few weeks, you could already feel the tension in your body deflate.

In that same vein, man, were you exhausted as Hell. You could feel your knees beginning to buckle under the strain of your heels and the night's events.

You grabbed onto Hongjoong's shoulder just as he hooked an arm around your waist.

“Okay,” he said softly, “it's time for you to get some sleep. Wooyoung.”

“On it, Cap'n!” the spry commander leapt to his boss's command, skipping over to loop your other arm with his to lead you out to his car.

You glanced over your shoulder and you couldn't deny the sad sinking feeling in your chest. “You won't be driving me?” You didn't mean to sound so pathetically disappointed, but being tired didn't exactly make hiding your true feelings easy.

Everyone paused, as if time itself had stopped.

A beat passed, and you suddenly felt foolish. You shook your head. “Sorry, that's the drowsiness talking,” you said and waved your hand. “I'll see you all later.”

Goodbyes were murmured in response, and the three men remaining watched as you and Wooyoung disappeared out of the building.

Hongjoong stood staring after you with a tightness in his jaw—not anger toward you in any way, but frustration at, perhaps, himself. It was taking every ounce of his self control not to order Wooyoung back in here, to bring you back, so he could finish what he couldn't even start before. Maybe to even keep you from ever leaving his side again.

That look in your eyes as you left… oh, it was over.

But no matter the strong pull he felt—the hook ensnaring him in the chest with you at the other end of the line—he needed you at a distance right now. He needed you some place you could rest without putting yourself in any more danger. You'd done enough good work up to this point.

A hand clapped onto his shoulder. “You could've offered her a bed at the house,” San said with a smile in his voice, as if Hongjoong's thoughts were clearly written on his face. Jongho appeared on Hongjoong's other side, and the three of them began the slow walk toward the door. “I'm sure she would have gladly stayed the night.”

“And don't even try to deny it,” Jongho drawled. It was accompanied by a very long sigh. “I can see it in your eyes, hyung.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “You cannot see 'it’ in my eyes.”

Jongho shrugged. “You underestimate me,” he said simply. “She liked the red hair; I could tell.”

San peered around to make eye contact with Jongho. “Y’know what? I noticed that, too.”

Heat started to crawl up Hongjoong's neck, and he had half the mind to shut them both up himself. His facial expression flattened into a deadpan, even if the organ in his chest raced at the thought that the red hair had an unintended, but fully acceptable, affect on you. “If I hear another word out of your mouths—”

“But we should probably talk about the elephant in the room.”

Right. As fun as it was teasing Hongjoong about the birdie he was growing far too attached to, there were much larger matters at hand. Particularly, the dead body they were having cremated and the live body they had locked up in the brig at headquarters.

And the bomb—goddamn it, why did it have to be another bomb? C4, based on the information Hongjoong collected, had been used during the bank explosion nearly two months ago. That seemed to confirm something for him, at least.

Hongjoong stuffed his hands into the pockets of pants. He suddenly felt an itch to grip his cane in his hands, to feel the hard wood and metal beneath his fingers. “Who killed our mystery troublemaker of the year?” he mused aloud with a light hum to himself.

Interesting how karma worked.

“I say the simplest answer is the answer,” he continued. “I think it was Joonseo. Or a member of the reincarnated Strictland.”

“He didn't seem to be connected to anyone else in particular,” San agreed.

As the three of them walked out of the warehouse and onto the marina, a cold winter chill hit them in the face. It was bound to snow in a couple weeks, if they were lucky.

Jongho hauled the door shut behind them. “The bullet went clean through the back of Young's skull, but we estimated the caliber, if that'll even be helpful—which is doubtful. Why would they have any reason to rid themselves of him though?”

“It's likely that Mr. Young outlived his usefulness,” Hongjoong said, “but we could always just ask Jung ourselves.”

San hopped into the front seat of the SUV parked on the dock, with Jongho riding in the passenger side and Hongjoong settled in the back. San glanced through the rearview mirror at Hongjoong as he revved up the engine. “Jung’s in the brig right now, isn't he?”

A smile, wickedly impish, curled onto the leader's face. “Yes, Seonghwa's in there with him now.”

Jongho coughed out a laugh. “Alone?”

“No,” Hongjoong hummed, gazing out the window, “Yunho's supervising.” As if that would be any help to Joonseo.

Mercifully, you were given a couple days off before you were expected to get back to work at the Shipwreck. Despite this, you were anxious to do something again after only a day of recuperation had passed. Processing all that you learned and all that happened to you alone was getting you nowhere but higher levels on the Tower of Anxiety.

“It's probably best that you stay out of the east corner for awhile,” Sakura's voice carried through your earbuds as you busied yourself around the kitchen.

Ryujin was at work, which left you the apartment. There were still a myriad of items for you to complete, but it felt odd to be working on normal things for once. School work had taken a back burner when you were too busy stressing over getting found out and killed at Dionysus; you were still able to complete most assignments, but now you had no excuse but to go back to your regularly scheduled program.

It was funny—two months ago, you would have liked nothing more than to be left alone to your very normal, mundane life. Now… well, now there was Hongjoong and Ateez.

“You're okay though?” you asked, washing off an apple to munch on and take back into your bedroom with you. Sakura was the one who lived in the powder keg, as Hongjoong had once called it. Jungwon mentioned before that he didn't live in the east corner, so it was Sakura who you thought needed to watch her back the most.

A small, affirming hum came from her side. “Yeah. The place was crawling with cops—still is, actually. But don't worry too much about me. You and Jungwon were the ones sticking your necks out.”

“I’m just glad we're all out now,” you replied with an exhale. You settled down at your desk and stared at the laptop screen in front of you. There were too many things on your mind to focus properly. Dead body, bomb, gunshots. How did you go from seeing next to no dead bodies in your life to two? Not to mention how many casualties there were from Dionysus that night—

Fuck. Sabine. You didn't have her number and there was no way to properly check up on her without showing up at her door like a creep.

“—Yn? You there?”

You jerked upright. “Yep, sorry, was lost in thought. What were you saying?”

“Nothing, just that I'm glad we're all out, too. I don't know what I would have done if I was in your place and the DDC burst in.”

Red hair and wild eyes flashed in the forefront of your mind. You shook the thought of him away. There was only one reason you really survived that night, and that was him.

“At least Jungwon knows what he's doing,” Sakura hummed.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. Though your doubts about Jungwon were largely quelled after that night, a part of you still remained on eggshells. It was something in your gut that churned like the deep sea.

Sakura's typing paused again. “You don't sound too sure,” she said with a small laugh, but you could hear the uptilt of her voice at the end, a question.

You waved your hand in dismissal, laying your cheek against your palm. “I mean, I definitely agree with you. It's—nothing,” you assured. “We had a disagreement, that's all.”

“A disagreement,” she parroted. The keyboard and mouse sounds had stopped entirely.

“I'm making a big deal out of nothing—really. It was a little tense between us for a couple days, but it's all good now. Just a misunderstanding.” Everyone was entitled to their bad days, right?

This was not a subject you wished to dawdle or expand upon. You cleared your throat, turning away from your desk and giving up on doing any work. “Did Wooyoung tell you, by the way?”

“Oh, wait. That Kyungmin guy, right? He asked me to help comb through records to find him, but no such luck.”

Kyungmin wasn't exactly the thing you were aiming for, but news of him still piqued your interest. You frowned. “Feels like the Mr. Young situation all over again.” Kyungmin couldn't have been a part of the original Strictland group, could he? Could people be born into the family?

“Yeah, it's easy to stay off the grid if people either think you're dead, you only use cash, or both.” She swore under her breath, which was followed by aggressive clicking from her end.

You chuckled under your breath, eyes going to the notification that appeared at the top of your phone screen. “Are you losing or something, Kkura?”

san: heyy have u ever wanted to learn how to bartend?

She groaned. “Something like that. Are you doing anything interesting with your day off?”

“Assignments,” you grumbled, sending San a reply back. Kind of, actually! Are you offering? “Though, I'm not sure I'll actually get to it.”

“Valid.”

san: well, yeah 😗

san: if u don't have class, u should come over and hang out

san: or even if u do have class…

You stood from your desk to assemble a bag. “I might head to the Shipwreck.”

your phone: don't you have a revenge scheme to put down?

san: yeah, but jung joonseo is being interrogated by someone who is /not/ me, and it's been way too quiet around here

“On your day off?”

san: …so is that a no?

your phone: u r a terrible influence. i'll be there in thirty

san: what can i say? i'm hard to resist 😂

You smiled. “Apparently.”

The trek into Hala Town was a familiar one. You spent the majority of the walk, train ride, and additional walk on the phone with Sakura, who continued to express her disbelief that you would go into work on your day off. Of course, you argued that you weren't really working. It was a casual hangout with some work-related learning involved.

As you landed on the street across from the Shipwreck, you buried the bottom half of your face further into the warm bed of your scarf. The Shipwreck's glorious sails blew gently in the dry and frigid breeze, standing staunch in the cold water of the marina. It was a welcome sight to see her glory in the daylight. For the last few weeks, if you ever caught a glimpse of her, it was always in the ungodly hours of the morning.

Fingers close to freezing off, you bid Sakura a chipper goodbye over the phone and practically ran to the lowered gangway.

Your footsteps thundered against the old wood. “San! I'm here—oh.”

You halted upon the threshold, hand clasping the side of the wall as you made eye contact with the only soul in the room.

Hongjoong was stationed behind the bar, his body half turned to see who had arrived, eyes widened in surprise and something else.

In the low, amber-ish lighting—LEDs dimmed to give the barroom a moody glow, the angles of his face were even more enunciated. The maraschino red of his hair became something closer to a darker cherry, sultry and slick.

“Hey,” you breathed out, smiling. The pulse in your chest thundered and your cheeks were feeling flushed, but it had to be from running and from the cold. Right?

He sent a small smile back and turned fully to face you. There was a bottle of bourbon in one hand, a crystal glass in the other. “Hey,” he said. “Can't say I'm displeased to see you, but I am surprised, dove.”

“Right, yeah.” You made your way inside and began to slip the strap of your bag off your shoulder. “I know it's my day off, but San invited me over to hang out.”

As you approached the bar, you could better make out the details of his expression. There was, perhaps, a strain in the way he looked at you. He set the bourbon and glass on the bar top, before folding his arms over his chest. “Ah,” he murmured, “I heard you call out to him.”

You coughed. “Yeah. He offered to teach me how to bartend. Is he—around?” Despite asking this, you couldn't take your eyes off of the man across the bar from you.

“He actually just went out to run some errands,” he replied, tucking his hands into his pockets. “But since you're here, I could teach you instead.”

Your heartbeat tripped over itself and a slow, teasing smile curled onto your lips. “You could? You don't just work in your office upstairs?”

Hongjoong leaned his forearms over the bartop and there was a challenging glint in his eyes. “Darlin’,” he drawled with a smirk that gave your heart a dangerous sort of thrill, “I taught San how to bartend.”

You made a show of looking him up and down, intrigued. “Alright, Captain. Show me what you've got.”

San frowned to himself as he peered out the window of the home warehouse. The sky was an unfriendly shade of heather gray, and it was unbearably cold outside, too. He couldn't believe he wasn't able to see the Shipwreck from here—had it always been like this? How annoying.

“Quit creasing your forehead. You're gonna make those wrinkles permanent,” Wooyoung chided from his perch across the room, feet swinging as he sat on the edge of the kitchen island.

Just behind him, Seonghwa was cracking open a pomegranate for himself to eat. The bloody red innards spilled over his fingers, running over the faded marks of bruised knuckles from the past thirty-two hours. Hongjoong had been right before—all he really needed was to get his hands dirty again.

San, pouting, smoothed his fingers over his forehead. “Don't talk about my forehead wrinkles when you—”

“Finish that sentence. I dare you.”

He only grinned in reply. “D'you think he caught on yet?” San swiveled on the ball of his foot to turn his head up toward the overcast sky once more.

A loud chuckle erupted from the inside hallway leading to the bedrooms. Yunho grinned in the reflection projected against the window. “What? That you rigged a date for them?”

“Well, yes.”

“He probably figured it out as soon as you left so quickly,” Wooyoung said with a shrug. He reached behind him and plucked a pomegranate seed from Seonghwa's hands, producing a raised brow from the latter.

“Just remind me to leave the room the next time he sees you,” Yunho snickered as he plopped down on one of the couch cushions.

It was a rare moment for so many of them to be home at the same time. With all of the recent conundrums and issues, the only time more than three or four of them were here was when they were all dead asleep. Perhaps this was the metaphorical eye of the storm, but at least there was some calm at all.

San scoffed and leaned his back against the window. “You all say this as if he won't be grateful for a little alone time with her.”

From his spot curled up in an armchair off to the side, Jongho made a face but didn't glance up from his mobile game. “You haven't been around when Yn dropped by after her shifts at Dionysus to see him,” he muttered. “They couldn't stay away from each other if they tried.”

“I mean, in a romantic setting.”

“The threat of being killed isn't romantic enough for you?” Yunho jested. He lifted his head with the likeness of a puppy, wide and round eyes going to the eldest stationed at the kitchen counter, attempting to peacefully suck on his pomegranate seeds. “What about you, hyung? What do you think?”

Seonghwa deadpanned. “I think you all need to get a life.”

“I agree,” Jongho chimed in, raising his finger.

“But since so many of you are here” —Seonghwa dumped the carcasses of the pomegranate in his hands into the compost bin and nudged the faucet on— “what progress have we made in locating a stash house?”

The next item on Ateez's agenda was scouring the city for the Strictland stash house that most of their members had to be using to hide their resources and hold meetings. This was likely where they were keeping the C4 you mentioned, if it hadn't already been planted. If the latter was so, that was what Yeosang and Mingi's people were out doing now—looking for the bomb.

Yunho coughed, scratching the side of his head. “Our best guess had been the Laundromat basement Jongho raided,” he said. “But we're sorting through some more intel that the DDC has passed along.”

“Also,” Wooyoung piped up and waved a hand like a flag, “can we talk about that? The DDC?”

Seonghwa leaned against the counter. “What about them, Woo?”

“Can we really trust them? I haven't found any proof, at least digitally, that they're holding anything back or wanting to double cross us, but…” He shook his head. Maybe it was just a cynicism that was ingrained into him since becoming a part of the crime world. Or maybe it wasn't. Cromer powder was not to be underestimated, from what he'd seen and experienced.

The five of them exchanged glances with one another. This wasn't an uncommon thought, as Seonghwa had a conversation almost exactly the same with Hongjoong several nights before.

But this was a decision Hongjoong had made for the safety and future of this family. Seonghwa, nor his brothers, were about to discount that careful move. It was a risk worth taking, but what fallout would follow?

“Well, at least Ruby's embedded security measures into the formula,” San offered, pursing his lips. “Something about adding a signature on the molecular level.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung muttered with a nod. “At least we have that safeguard in place.”

Yunho leaned his head against the back of the couch with his face scrunched up. “Why did the DDC want to raid Dionysus, anyway? I could see why Joong would want to, given who we got out of it, but…”

Seonghwa sighed, “It was retaliation against Strictland intruding on their property. A warning. Apparently Park Seongwon got away, so he lives to tell the tale.”

“You know what's really bothering me?” San walked forward and lowered himself onto the edge of a nearby ottoman, chin settled in his palm. “Who's the imposter Captain? We have Jung Joonseo, and Mr. Young is dead.”

The room quieted.

It was possible that Joonseo was the imposter Captain this whole time, but it all felt too… simple. Maybe Occam's razor was the right answer in this case, but only time would tell. One thing was clear though—if they wanted Strictland gone for good, they needed to be thorough in their extinction methods.

Quietly, Jongho said, “Kyungmin. Yn mentioned someone named Kyungmin at the meeting with Joonseo. He must play some significant role.”

Seonghwa's brows furrowed and he nodded. “Joong was looking into him, but I'm not sure how far he got. Wooyoung, let's pull up all the security footage of the imposter Captain—”

A loud chirp echoed through the room. While Wooyoung and Seonghwa discussed their next steps, Yunho bowed his head to peer down at the notification he just received.

As he opened the message from one of his soldiers, all of the warmth drained from his face.

San, seated closest to him, eyed his friend. “Yunho, what is it?”

Panic surged into Yunho's chest. “Some of my guys just finished putting together the shreds of paper we found at the Laundromat.” His fingers shook as he enlarged a picture to show to San. “They were blueprints for the subway system.”

“See? Not that bad, right?”

You grimaced at the bitter burn of liquor down your throat, a smile somehow making it through your expression. “It could definitely be better,” you rasped, setting down the glass.

Hongjoong's eyes glittered as he grinned at you. “You still finished it.”

“That's 'cause I'm a champ.”

“Fair enough,” he ceded, palms lifting. “You're pretty good at this though. I thought you said you were a beginner?”

Pleased, you said, “I am a beginner, but I still pay attention to what people do. I've been waitressing at bars for long enough. I had to have picked up something.”

For the past hour, Hongjoong had run you through a crash course in bartending. Enjoyed with a side of laughter, softened eyes and inhibitions, and you had one Hell of a time on your hands.

He hummed, nodding his head. “You like it though? If you do, you can split your time between waitressing and bartending. I don't mind.”

“That would be a lot of fun, thank you,” you said, leaning your hip against the bar to face him. Your face, once flush with the wintry cold, was now warm from whatever was being conducted between the two of you. (Mirth and merriment, of course.) “How'd you get started? With all this.”

It didn't seem like a natural route to go from mafia commander to opening a bar, or vice versa.

“Oh, well,” Hongjoong drawled, trailing off. He picked up his own glass and mindlessly swirled the liquid around before taking a sip. “It was something I thought about a lot when I was much younger. We all have dreams, y'know, that we would pursue if life didn't have its way.”

You softened. Oh.

“I would be sent on errands to some of the bars Strictland owned, and I would pick up a few things from the people working there.” He took the small paring knife on the nearby cutting board, reached for an uncut lime, and began idly carving pieces of it. “Bartending is an art form, a performance. It mesmerized me.”

He said this with an almost wistful smile. It didn't take long before he was sticking a slice of lime peel along the edge of your glass, the fruit carved into the shape of a flower.

You touched the end with the pad of your finger. You could understand the awe; he did all of this so effortlessly.

“You said,” you began, hoping you were about to go down the right path, “if life hadn't gotten in the way… do you mean joining Strictland?”

Hongjoong pursed his lips. “Kind of. When I was a kid, the only family I had was my older brother. He joined Strictland in hopes to provide for the two of us, and I joined because he did and I had nowhere else to go.” He picked up his glass again, this time, draining it to the bitter bottom. “Yunseok abused his power all the time, and my brother paid for that.”

You bit into your bottom lip, brows creasing together. “I'm sorry, Joong.”

“It's—alright,” he said with a small smile. “I still got my dream, didn't I? A chance at normalcy.”

Something stabbed you in the gut. Guilt was not a broad-edged sword, but a slim needle that pierced you at the most vital organs. You didn't know it was there until you couldn't stop the bleeding.

Once, you had accused him of being two different people. He had never wanted one half of his life to be his reality. This man before you—Kim Hongjoong, manager of the Shipwreck, bartender and businessman—was who he wanted to be. The other man—the Captain, feared leader of a criminal family—was not. It was out of necessity, something he was pushed toward to avenge the loved ones he had lost and to protect the loved ones he had gained.

Before you could stop yourself, you found the words spilling from your mouth: “It must be a blessing to be loved by you.”

His lips parted, as if speechless or stunned, but there was a tenderness to his features that not even the shadows could harden. He inched closer, one hand settling on the bar next to you. “And if I told you you were wrong?”

“Maybe from your perspective,” you said easily. “But from where I'm standing, it’s just what I see.”

Hongjoong's hand lifted and the faint smell of lime followed, but he stopped and withdrew before he could reach you. To see but never touch. (If Hongjoong was the type of man to go after what he wanted, then what divine strength did he wield to hold back from having you?) “Seonghwa was right.”

Your expression shuddered as the steel in his eyes melted into molten honey. “About?”

“That I've grown attached to you.”

There went your heartbeat. “Is that such a bad thing?”

His throat bobbed, and he rested his other hand on the other side of your body, standing before you. “You can still have your old life back,” he said suddenly. “If you told me it was all too much for you…” He would do it—he would pull any string, work in the shadows, all to ensure your life went back to normal. He would protect you from his world without you having to ever see him again, if that was what you wanted.

He would move Heaven and Earth for you. How did it get to this point in such a short amount of time? How did your heart begin to ache for his so quickly?

“You said it's hard to get out of this life.”

“I know,” he said, and there was a quiet solemnity to his words. He considered you for a moment, stare pensive but soft. “It’s difficult, but not impossible. It would take a lot of work, but…” You could fill in the blank—If that was what you wanted, I would do it.

You couldn't fathom why he would do all of that for you. He might as well enslave himself to this duty for the rest of his life or until you were dead. “Is this because of the life debt?” you asked as the memory returned to you.

His forehead creased. “No,” he said firmly. Then he was grasping your face between his palms, as if he was holding the world in his hands. “Forget about the life debt. Even if you had a million of those over my head, it wouldn't matter.”

He searched and searched your face, your eyes—for what, you didn't know. You yourself didn't know what to make of it. Did he want you gone? Was his being attached to you so bad?

You supposed it was. You were one more liability he had to keep track of, a weak link.

Wait…

“I have to go.” The words slipped from your tongue like bourbon from a bottle. Weak link, weak link, weak link—you needed to think—what if you were the weak lin—

Something cracked in Hongjoong's expression. “Wait—Yn.”

You opened your mouth as you stepped out of his hold, just as your phone buzzed on the bar counter. You scooped it up and skimmed the message, eyebrow lifting. “Okay, I really have to go.”

ryuu 💖: heyyy would u happen to be home or on ur way home? i just realized i forgot my keys and the landlord isn't picking up 😅

“Yn” —he grabbed your arm, and your eyes went wide as he whirled you around. “Is everything okay?” Are we okay?

(Could I be the one putting you in danger? yYou were the one who could be blacklisted, stalked, and manipulated. Despite all of the caution you claimed to have, so much of it had been thrown out the window as of late.)

You nodded, managing a smile that was reassuring enough. It had to be reassuring enough. He wouldn't let you leave if it wasn't. “Yeah,” you said, “Ryujin just forgot her keys, is all. I'm gonna run home and meet her there.”

“Let me drive you.”

“No, it's okay!” you inwardly winced at how quickly you said that. “I need some time to think. I'll be okay, but thank you.”

Hongjoong stood there with a look on his face you didn't have the heart to dissect. You swallowed a heaping teaspoon of your pride. With your free hand, you reached over to cup the side of his face so you could press a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

“We'll talk later,” you promised. Before he or you could change your mind, you rounded the bar, threw on your coat, and hurried out of the Shipwreck.

Same as how you arrived, you retreated from the boat with your pulse hammering in your throat and your mind elsewhere. How should you proceed? That foggy conscience continued to linger like the thick marine layer at the first signs of dawn upon the coastline. It clung to the cobblestones of your memories and the paths each question was taking you.

You made it to the Hala Town train station in one piece, your physical body destined for Sector 1; yet, your head remained in the belly of the Shipwreck, between the bar and a man you never knew could mean this much to you.

It could have just been paranoia far out of left field, but there was no such thing as fate.

What, or who, brought Hongjoong into the bar on Fifth Street that night?

You stood upon the platform, only raising your head when the train heading east arrived. Amongst the usual hustle and bustle, you weaved your way into the car, your thumbs flying over your phone's keyboard to send Ryujin a text back. I'm on my way! Just sit tight.

Your shoulder collided with someone else's, and you lifted your gaze to catch the person disappearing into the crowd. A strange flutter filled your stomach, déjà vu perhaps.

The doors closed with practiced ease, then pulled out of the station. “Next stop: 1st Street—”

BOOM.

The entire train car rocked with a violent lurch, your body pummeling into the person ahead of you. Your hands went out to put yourself upright again, an apology falling out of your mouth. A wave of gasps and shrieks flooded the car as everyone grabbed onto something to anchor them down.

Your eyes blew wide open and you pressed your face to the nearest door. What the Hell was that?

BOOM. BOOM.

“It's an earthquake!” someone exclaimed, the panic in their voice clear as day.

No. No, an earthquake didn't make that noise.

Fear seized your chest as you caught the searing light and heat making its way toward your car from further down the tunnel.

You pounced for the nearest emergency lever. “We need to get out of here,” you voiced aloud, your breathing becoming labored pants as the panic took over you.

The train had come to an automatic stop, but the more you and your peers tugged, yanked, heaved at the lever, the damned thing wouldn't budge.

The effort was in vain, however. Even if you had gotten the door open at this time, the next explosion went off and all you saw was white.

Lee Seokmin smiled as the makeup artist stationed in front of him finished touching up his foundation. “Thank you,” he said warmly, the two of them exchanging brief nods as she left.

The main set within the Teleparty Newsroom was particularly chaotic this fine afternoon. There had been plenty of thrilling and critical stories to share with the rest of the city as of late, ones that Seokmin was happy to disseminate to the public. Becoming the company's lead anchorman was an accumulation of all his hopes and dreams, even if they were tethered to the will of a mafia family.

“Breaking news in five, four…”

Seokmin straightened in his chair, eyes skimming the teleprompter across from him and behind the camera.

“We're live!”

“We’re going straight to the breaking news,” Seokmin began, his tone grave but dignified, and not a single hint of fear in his tone. But as he read and spoke, his heart catapulted into high gear, confusion and terror filling his chest like a gas. “Only fifteen minutes ago, a series of explosions devastated the public metro line near the Hala Town station.”

He couldn't even view the footage undoubtedly being played by his face on the television screen. What in the world was going on?

He raised one hand to gesture to the video. “Authorities report as many as twenty-two casualties and at least forty-seven injured. We are not yet certain of the culprits, and no group has come forward claiming this act of terrorism.”

Seokmin wondered, terribly, if this had been the work of his affiliates. Could the DDC have been involved? Was he complicit in so many deaths while simultaneously extending his sympathies to those injured and grieving?

He swallowed, eyes solemn as he looked directly into the camera. His heart weighed heavily in his ribcage.

Oh, the price of what we desired most.

“We will keep you, the viewer, updated as more information comes to light. As always, this has been Lee Seokmin, at your service.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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After all the tension and chaos your working at Dionysus brought you, a moment of normalcy was all you wanted. Lately, both you and Ryujin were mutually swamped with work and college, meaning it was nearly impossible to speak to one another besides the passing-by wave or a post-it note left on the door. But this morning had been yours and Ryujin's temporary strike in order to finally spend time together. 

Ryujin wiped an invisible bead of sweat from her forehead after wrestling the bags in her hands onto the kitchen counter. “Phew. I… am so out of shape. How about you?”

You grunted in response, nearly flopping onto the counter with your own bags. “I'm doing great,” you replied in exaggerated panting, though some of it wasn't exaggerated. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She snorted, turning to the fridge. “It was a good thing we got breakfast before we left,” she said, “but I can't believe it was so crowded this morning. On a weekday, too.”

“You’re not the only one who got today off, I guess,” you said with a shrug. You dug out items from the bags to pass along to Ryujin. The only reason why this morning was even possible was because it was one of those random national holidays that came up too quick for anyone to remember. It celebrated some distant figure from the country's past; you undoubtedly learned about him in school, but his only legacy today was giving some folks a day off from their 9-to-5. 

She accepted a jug of dairy creamer from you with a hum. “Hm, you're right. I still think it's so foul that you have to go to work tonight. I mean—club workers should get national holidays off, too!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wish. It's too bad there isn't a bartender or waiter union in this city.”

“You should start one.”

“If only I had the time,” you lamented. Even as you threw out jokes, your stomach twisted. There wasn’t much time left before the meeting at the end of this week, and if you didn’t leave work tonight with the news that you were hoping for, you feared there might be Hell to pay. 

Your friend let out a noncommittal hum. “Well, at the very least, I could drop you off at work. I have lots of time today, anyways, so—”

The jar of maraschino cherries slipped from your grasp, and your hands fumbled to claw it back into the safety of your possession. The glass clunked noisily against the countertop as you used your front as an extra hand. “You don’t have to,” you said quickly.

Ryujin sent you a look, carefully taking the jar of cherries from you. “Oh. Are you sure? I never get to drop you off.”

“Really, you don’t have to,” you replied with feigned nonchalance. You glanced over at her briefly but pulled your eyes away just as fast. Your mind raced with the memory of Chan—he already knew who Ryujin was and interacted with her plenty. You needed to keep her out of this. “It’s getting a little more dangerous around here lately, especially with how dark it gets. And you know Jungwon comes to pick me up, so it’s all good.”

You wondered if she could hear your pulse, if she could see the guilt scrawled across your face like some glaring neon sign. 

In times like these, a moment sometimes felt like five years. 

“Right, I forgot.” Ryujin was turned away toward the fridge when your eyes darted back to her. 

“I appreciate it though,” you were quick to add. It’s just better this way. 

She shot you a smile; if you didn’t know her like you did, you might have been relieved to see it. “Maybe another time then. Just stay safe yourself, Yn.”

“I always am,” you hummed, a little too easily. Speaking of safety… “So, uhm, y'know Chan.”

In your periphery, Ryujin straightened like an arrow, perked up like a puppy. You realized your mistake far too late. “What about Chan?” she asked you with that teasing lilt at the end. She flounced over on the balls of her feet, plucking up the bundle of lettuce from your hands and wagging her brows. 

You inwardly facepalmed. Oh, could you be more subtle today? You forced a laugh. “It's not like that,” you insisted, though to no avail. “I was just wondering if you'd seen him around the office lately.”

Yeah, like saying that wasn't any more suspicious. 

Ryujin's expression practically screamed a similar sentiment, but she only cocked a brow at you and replied, “Now that I think about it, not really. He's swung by maybe once since the party, but he must be busy or something.”

Unfortunately, that only made it seem more plausible in your mind that Chan only sought Ryujin out to get to you, and ultimately, to Hongjoong. How did he know? And when? “Oh,” you said. “Must be, I guess. He mentioned something about the acquisitions industry.”

“Yeah,” your friend snorted. “Acquisitions is just a friendlier term for a less savory business.”

You paused. “Really.”

“Yeah.” Ryujin had her back to you as she shoved a box of ice cream sandwiches into the freezer. “One of my coworkers said it must be some kind of black market thing. Of course, it's not something that can be proven, but that's what people usually mean when they say 'acquisitions.’”

Great, so you had the answer glaring at you the entire time. There was still much you had left to learn. Your pulse still pounded against your throat though, unable to rid your mind of the dread seeping into your bones as you uncovered more information. 

“And that doesn't change your mind about him?” you asked next, slowly, while gauging her reaction. 

She shrugged. “Not particularly,” she said flippantly. Ryujin bumped the freezer closed with her hand as she turned to face you. “He's nice enough, but y'know, I like his friend Yeji a lot more.”

A sly smile curled onto your lips, and you felt a laugh bubble out of your chest as you noted Ryujin's own bashfulness began to peer through her nonchalance. “Yeah, forget about Chan. It's time for you to catch me up on her.”

When night casted its wide net over the city once more, you found yourself packing your bag for the work shift ahead of you. You quietly stuffed your small purse with the essentials: clothes tape, body tape, perfume, breath mints, pads, Band-Aids, and of course— 

Before you let her join the rest, you swiped a bit of Aurora over your lips. As you massaged the color into an even spread, you stared at the slim, gold tube in your hand. Your reflection appeared on its surface, albeit distorted and gold-tinted. 

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you would end up doing this—playing spy for organized crime, as a bottle girl in a territory outside the gray areas. Perhaps the gravity of your situation had yet to catch up to you. 

You pushed out an exhale through your mouth, mindlessly fidgeting with the tube while you waited for Jungwon's text… Then, there was him. After the other night, with his strange behavior, you admittedly felt your pulse rush in anticipation of the tension. 

Maybe this Jjong hyung person was a sore spot, but regardless, you hoped this wouldn't put a damper on yours and Jungwon's working relationship. It was just—you’d never seen him act that way before. He didn't seem capable of reacting like that.

“You don't really know him that well though,” you muttered to yourself, now holding the sealed lipstick tube like a ballpoint pen. “You can't claim to know anything about anyone—”

Ca-schink!

You jolted. 

Your thumb had pressed down upon the end of the tube and activated a mechanism. A soft red light now emitted from its apex. 

You squinted at it, curious. When you pressed down on it again, the light disappeared, along with any trace of what you just saw, as if it had retracted back into the end of the tube. 

The light itself was not nearly bright enough to act as a flashlight, nor was it some blacklight that could reveal invisible ink (you guessed). Could it be…

Your phone buzzed on the table. 

jwon 😸: i'm here

This would have to wait until later. 

You clicked the lipstick into the off position, shoved it into your bag, and headed out. With forecasts of snow on the horizon, the air had developed a sharper edge to it lately. You tugged the sides of your thick coat tighter around you, instinctively checking both ways before scurrying across the road to where Jungwon was parked. At least you could still count on him for this. 

He was seated in the driver’s seat, as usual, his phone screen casting a white glow across his face and creating a glare over the lenses of his glasses. 

Don’t make this awkward, you thought to yourself as you rounded to the passenger’s side of the car and let yourself in. 

“Hey,” you chirped, huffing out a breath at the stark contrast between the warm air in here and the cold air outside. 

“Hey.” He nodded back, clearing his throat as he placed his hands on the ten and two positions of the steering wheel, waiting for you to get settled. 

You could feel the palpable stiffness. You hit an invisible wall every time you wanted to say something casual. Another apology sat locked and loaded on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You’d already expressed that it was an accident and that you were sorry. Maybe you could try to pretend like the entire thing didn’t happen; maybe that would put you and him back to where you’d been before. 

As Jungwon peeled his car away from the curb, he cleared his throat again. “Listen,” he started, “I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night. I guess I’m just… a little protective over my personal life.” 

You swallowed, giving a small nod. “It’s okay, but really, I get it.” Bang Chan’s face from when you met in Dionysus for the second time—the first time you met his true self—flashed in the forefront of your mind. Something sour settled on your tastebuds. You understood Jungwon completely. “I wouldn’t want people from our line of work knowing about my private life either.”

He bobbed his head and sent you a thin smile. “Right.”

You both fell into silence after that with nothing left to say. There would eventually come a brief discussion over tonight’s goals and what to listen for, but other than that, the car was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radio. Your stomach continued to twist in a painful bind, that the conversation seemed to only widen the gap than resolve anything. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling of disappointment all too well. It was less a sharp stab to the gut like betrayal, and more of a heavy shroud over his shoulders. Paired with an acute sense of failure, one would have one Hell of a frustration cocktail in their hands. He would do anything to get the looming shadow over him to back the fuck up. 

The sound of the office door opening didn't break his attention away from the window. Up in the Crow's Nest, he could see everything and everyone, including their expressions. It was something that helped occupy his mind from simply imploding. 

“Don't tell me—”

Seonghwa's voice, already soft, cut off abruptly at the end. In the reflection of the window, Hongjoong could see Yunho's head shake, his mouth pressed into a grave line. 

When the door closed again, the second in command let out a sigh. “This isn't looking good.”

“How many addresses are left?” Hongjoong gripped the head of his cane as he watched Jongho's group come in through the warehouse doors. He made eye contact with his commander, who had a gleam in his eye and nodded his head. Finally. 

A beat passed. “We still have a couple left. Jongho and San haven't reported back yet.”

“We're about to get good news, I hope,” Hongjoong replied, inclining his chin out the window and turning toward Seonghwa. 

This day had been geared toward the list of addresses the DDC's Yoon Jeonghan had sent over. The addresses were possible locations where the Non-Captain and Mr. Young could be hiding out or making their base of operations. The list had been determined based upon intelligence collected from the men he had scattered all over the city, ranging from first person sightings to suspicious billings for said buildings. 

While Hongjoong didn't exactly trust Jeonghan, he was eager to squash the virus before it got worse. And so far, Jeonghan had yet to let him down. 

Well, until now. But hopefully, with whatever Jongho was returning with, it would all be worth it.  

By the time Jongho arrived at the Crow's Nest, Hongjoong could feel the pent-up anxiety and anticipation buzz through him like the low hum of caffeine at the back of his head. The commander didn't look any worse for wear, fortunately, but he didn't exactly seem to be bringing great tidings either. 

“What'd you find?” Hongjoong asked. 

Jongho shut the door behind him before tucking his hands in front of him. “We have a lead.”

Music to his fucking ears. Hongjoong could feel his heart rate subside briefly, before the adrenaline rushed through in anticipation of what the lead was.

Seonghwa lowered his glasses onto his nose and began flipping through his property documents. “You had the basement off of 23rd street in Sector 2, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “The building used to be an old Laundromat, but had never been sold or remodeled. It was rotting away, basically. We found empty take out containers, filled trash cans, and other signs that people had been there but left in a hurry. There weren't any forms of identification left behind, but we did find remnants of documents in the basket of their paper shredder.”

Hongjoong sucked the inside of his cheek in thought. It was something. He hoped it was something big. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling. “Good work, Jongho. Have the pieces sent over to be reassembled,” he said. 

“Already done, Captain.”

“And we need to cross-reference the last known owner of that Laundromat with any known associations to Strictland or even one of Mr. Young's aliases. Wooyoung is still working on compiling any other sightings of him throughout the city over the past three years, but cross it with his results once he's finished.”

Jongho gave a sharp nod. “Aye, Captain. Should I have a group keep watch over the location?”

“Yes. That's all—thanks, Jongho.”

The commander ducked out of the room and left the two to themselves once again. 

Hongjoong dragged a hand through his hair and leaned his weight onto his cane. It was something but not much. It would do no one good to be too optimistic at this point. They couldn't even be sure that the reincarnated Strictland had been in that basement, let alone if that had been their hideout all this time. How many members of Strictland were left? Did they have soldiers? 

In the worst case scenario, if none of this led anywhere, then what would be the next step? And what would that mean for his partnership with the DDC? Jeonghan had exchanged their assistance in smoking out this invisible threat for first pass at cromer powder when it hit the streets. He wouldn't send Ateez on a wild goose chase if he knew he couldn't get access to cromer powder otherwise, right?

Mindlessly, he leaned back against the wall by Seonghwa's desk. What to do, what to do…

“What do you think?” Seonghwa voiced aloud suddenly. He peered up from the papers in front of him, turning in the office chair to face Hongjoong with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you think we're being played?”

In his gut? No. But with the results?... Maybe. “I can't quite tell but it wouldn't make sense,” he admitted. “Yoon's too smart to do that.”

“He is smart,” Seonghwa agreed. “And that's exactly why we should reconsider everything that's happened up until now. They seemed so sure of themselves.”

Hongjoong snorted. “The Diamond District is always sure of themselves.” He knew it first-hand and at every interaction with them. Though, he couldn't shake the feeling prickling in the back of his mind. Of course, he knew that Seonghwa's suspicions had merit; Hongjoong harbored the very same ones, though he didn't say them aloud. There were always contingency plans in place, but that didn't mean he wanted to use them. 

Really, if these were safe houses that members of Strictland were using, then tonight's work did have a productive purpose. After all, how did one go about killing a Hydra?

“We're sure that the product is under lock and key?”

“It's with Ruby, and Ruby is under Yeosang's watch,” he said in reply. It was almost guaranteed that nothing would happen to the product or its maker. If Yeosang lost her, there would be Hell to pay. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling. Or at least, an inkling of it. There was a strange ache in his chest and he rubbed at it absentmindedly with his palm. Perhaps he should be cutting back on the bourbon. 

“San still hasn't come back yet, and once Jongho's paper samples get reassembled and analyzed, there could be something,” Seonghwa stated, as if to console himself. “Maybe… maybe it's time to resort to different measures, Captain.”

He passed his right-hand a glance. He thumbed at his lip, already tasting the heady iron of blood on his tongue. He was itching to get this over with, and sometimes, civilized maneuvers weren't as fast as the alternative. “We’re gonna need to find someone to get information out of first. Any ideas?”

Something twitched over Seonghwa's lips. “I've got some.”

It was the first sign of excitement he'd seen from Seonghwa in a while. This would at least give him something physical to do with his hands. 

“Anything on our other operation?”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “It hasn't been that long since our last update.” At Seonghwa's silence, he prodded, “What's on your mind? I said I was sorry, and I'm not planning on inserting myself there anytime soon.”

Seonghwa leveled a stare at him that would have made any grown man piss his pants, but Hongjoong had practically grown up with that stare by his side. “You better not. It's bad enough that we've got crazy ghosts hell-bent on revenge. I don't need you losing your mind either.”

He grinned at him, suppressing a laugh. “Aw, you think I'm crazy? I'm touched.”

“Oy vey,” he grunted, shaking his head. “What’s our backup plan if Yn doesn't get into the meeting?”

“Now who doesn't have faith?”

“So you admit to not having faith in her?” Seonghwa parried. 

Hongjoong was not deterred. “I never said that,” he shrugged. “She'll get in. I have a feeling.”

“Is that what you're calling it now?”

Always with this, Hongjoong thought to himself. What else could that feeling be? It was normal to feel concerned over an asset or a liability. Sure, he cared a little more than what people might expect, but didn't he always? It was simply that he showed it a little more when it came to you. 

(What did that say about how he felt? Well… he wasn't about to answer that question. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.)

Hongjoong pretended he didn't hear him. “In a couple nights, we'll have the answers we need.”

“And if we don't?”

Another shrug. “I have ideas.” There would always be cards Hongjoong could play. No one was going to get away with forcing him to play mouse, not without him having his turn as the cat. 

Seonghwa held his face in one hand. “I hate that look.”

It was about that time of the night when your thoughts shook at the knees and wobbled down the path of no return. 

Tonight's air coincided with the stress of one event on the near horizon. You could feel it among the floor managers, amongst your coworkers. You could feel the weight of their stares burn into you even if you knew they were looking, boring their judgment into your skull and branding you as an outsider, or a contender, or maybe neither. 

You embedded the corners of your mouth deep into the apples of your cheek until you were unsure if you would ever smile again after tonight. 

“Your pockets are full, hon, go take a break.” Sabine's presence was your desert oasis as you leaned against the bar counter for just a moment of weakness. You'd taken a dive off the deep end tonight, working so many tables, so many clients, you thought you could fill a ledger book with them. 

“I've got about a dozen shots that need to go to table four—”

“Uh-huh, not until you sit down for like, two seconds. Y'know, long enough to breathe?”

There was a conveniently-placed stool at your three o'clock, and you slid right onto it, exhaling when you felt the pressure leave your soles. “Thanks,” you said just loud enough over the house music. 

Sabine nodded. “Yeah… you need a pick-me-up? A shot of whiskey?”

You passed her a look, and she raised her hands in surrender. “It helps; I speak from experience.”

“No, no. I don't doubt you. I used to sip on one tall glass of apple martini the whole night.”

She gave a loud chortle that made you grin. “A martini lasted you the entire shift? What, were you drinking one dew drop at a time?”

“It was a tall glass,” you insisted. “Like a Sex on the Beach glass. Lean, sexy. And I was savoring it.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled. “Well, superstar, I'll ask Ronni to whip you up one of those tall apple martinis or whatever. Go deposit your tips and shake some tail.” 

You pressed a kiss to her cheek as you slid off the stool. “I appreciate you.”

“I know you do.”

You hurried off after you took a generous gulp of Ronni's apple martini, refueled and reenergized. As the alcohol zipped through you, it was almost as if getting injected with a shot of caffeine. You'd probably feel the crash a little later on, but it would at least make smiling easier. 

If there was one thing you were going to miss about this gig at the Dionysus, it would be Sabine. More than once did you entertain the idea of referring her to work at the Shipwreck. You didn't know how open she would be to a slight change of scenery, but… y'know, maybe the journey home from the Shipwreck to her apartment wouldn't be as bad. 

And maybe, then, you could still see her and be friends. 

Was that against the mafia spy code or something? Did it make you soft? (Maybe that was a good thing.)

By the end of the night, the lights had become haloes and you were slightly buzzed. You'd ingested the drink slow enough that you were only tipsy, and nothing that a cold drink of water wouldn't fix. 

All that mattered was that you had smashed your quota. 

“Dove,” you heard Ha-yi say as she appeared around the corridor by the staff monitor. Your coworkers had largely disappeared into the break room, waiting for tips to be split. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You nodded, logging out of the monitor. “Sure.”

“In the managers’ office.”

The organ in your ribcage shot out of a cannon. You just barely nodded in time for it to look natural. “Uhm, sure. Yeah. Lead the way.”

Ha-yi beckoned you toward the back hallway with the flick of two of her fingers, turning and walking on. You went after her, rolling your shoulders back and counting to ten in your head, wringing your sweaty hands in front of you, and trying to keep your heels from folding beneath you. 

You wondered if this was what a perp walk was like—like in those crime shows, where the cops walked the perpetrator out through the crowd like some backwards runway show. 

You caught Jungwon's eyes as you went through the kitchen, his dark eyes widening only slightly at the sight of you trailing after your floor manager. Silently, you made a gesture, something simple to signal where you were going. 

He sent you back a small nod, apprehensively turning back to the sink, but still watching you from his periphery. 

As you and Ha-yi neared the back room, the buzz of chatter hit your ears. A wave of quiet washed over the room, but you kept your gaze straight in an effort to steel your nerves. 

Nervous about speaking to the managers, you said in your head. Nervous about if I got promoted for promotion's sake, not because of anything else. Promotion, promotion, promotion, promotion—

If that was all you thought, then they couldn't possibly read anything else from you, right?

By the time you reached the managers’ office, you swore you could fill buckets with the sweat from your palms. You wiped them down on the sides of your dress, eying the gold sliver of light slicing into the hallway from beneath the door. 

The door itself was a large slab of dark, polished wood. Two silver plates were drilled into its surface, reading Cheung Leon and Ly Caden, respectively. 

Ha-yi gave a firm knock against its surface. 

A muffled voice emerged from within, and Ha-yi replied by stating who she was and who she had with her. 

When there came a second round of muffled voices, she nodded to you and opened the door. 

Immediately, you held back from flinching at the smell of weed. There was a light, smoky film settled over the dimly lit room. It was rather spacious, with casual lounge seating and two large desks in different areas of the room. Something groovy, like jazz, filtered into the hazy air. Upon the two, L-shaped sofas at the center of the room sat only one man, of which you recognized as Cheung Leon of Cheung and Ly. 

He was a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a pair of hands adorned in large, bejeweled rings. Even in the dim lighting, he had a pair of dark shades perched on his nose. He reminded you staunchly of the classic mobsters from several decades ago; all he needed was the over-the-top hat and leopard print suit. 

He grinned from around his joint. “Ah! Well if it isn't my new star! Dolly, is it?”

“Dove,” Ha-yi coughed as she nudged the door closed with her foot. 

“Dove!” He stood and opened his arms out wide in welcome. His eyes peered over the rim of his glasses, and you swore, you could feel them roll up the length of your body from the tips of your kitten heels to the hairs on your head. 

You reined in a violent shiver, but plastered a smile on your face. The weed in the air was kind of helping, though you remained unnervingly alert. 

“My,” he murmured with a smile that made you wish you owned a gun, “she is beautiful. Nice legs… very nice face. You've made quite a few men happy, little lady, including me. You know—with all the money you've raised, of course.”

When the urge to gag threatened to bubble out, you pretended to laugh. “All in a night's work, sir.”

Manager Cheung glanced over at Ha-yi. “I do like her. Why didn't we decide to make her a VIP girl sooner?”

“We weren't sure if Lilac would recover in time.”

“Bah! Cut her loose already! That dimwit has taken too many days off.” He turned on his heel and made his way back toward the couch. “You hear me, Ha-yi?”

Ha-yi nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Manager Cheung's smile returned to his face as he turned his attention back to you. You could feel your feet angling toward the door, ready to bolt, but you glued your heels to the floor. “Dove, come. Let's have a drink to celebrate!”

“I,” you coughed, “really shouldn't, sir. I don't think that would be very professional.”

Your heart dropped as his smile grew an edge. The shark had just flashed you his great whites, and they looked like they hurt. “It wouldn't be very professional for you to reject an innocent request from me, would it now?”

“Sir,” Ha-yi cut in, and suddenly, you could breathe again. “You haven't even told her what you are celebrating.”

The man blinked. “Oh! How silly of me. Well, if it wasn't obvious already, we would like you to join our VIP waitressing line.”

You smiled, inwardly pumping your fist at the ceiling and through this guy's teeth. “I would be honored, sir. When do I start?”

“Right to business,” he marveled. “We are hosting a very important meeting in two nights, with a handful of very important guests. You'll have to come in during daylight hours to train before then. Ha-yi will provide you with all the necessary details.”

“Understood.” You bit back a smile. Finally, a success that you could report back to Hongjoong—

“So,” Manager Cheung said, “how about that drink, hm? You know, this couch is incredibly comfortable, my dear. Do you like jazz?”

A bucket of cold water washed over you. “I, uhm, I do appreciate the invitation, sir, but—”

“Do you have a family you're providing for?” he asked airily before bringing the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. A trail of smoke seeped from his mouth as he continued, “Or perhaps you enjoy luxury items? A string of pearls would look… divine around your neck.”

You stole a glance at Ha-yi, who looked about ready to say something herself. What did one do in this situation? Would he ruin any chance you had if you rejected his advances? 

“I wouldn't be able to wake up in time for training if I spent more time here with you, sir,” you said sweetly. “I'm very eager to impress you even more with my performance on the VIP wait staff.”

You smiled, as pretty as you could manage, batting your eyelashes and folding your hands in front of you. All the while, every fiber of your being screamed to run. 

The smoke was on the verge of suffocating you by the time he replied. A slow, appreciative smile curled onto his face. “I suppose I see your point. I'll look forward to your performance in two nights.”

Taking her chance, Ha-yi blurted a good-bye to her boss, then grabbed you by the arm to whisk you out of that hellhole.  

The night was three drinks deep by the time you arrived on Hongjoong's doorstep. 

Jungwon dropped you off as normal, and you waved good-bye to him briefly over your shoulder when the Captain hauled the warehouse door open. His silhouette against the lights inside made him into a lighthouse to the storm brewing in the horizon. 

Or maybe that was from secondhand smoking. It wasn't your fault your only choice earlier had been to stop breathing or breathe exhaled weed air. 

The sea breeze out here had been enough to clear your mind and lungs, at least. You couldn't be too sure about inhibitions, but you made it here, didn't you?

“Don't you ever bring pants?” were his greeting words to you as he fussed over the way your coat barely covered enough of your bare legs. “Aren't you ever cold?”

“I'm usually in the car the whole time anyway,” you said, dismissing his concerns. “I have good news though.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “It couldn't have been said in an email?”

“So you don't wanna see me?”

You had meant it as a joke, but the question seemed to stop him in his tracks. Heat crept up the back of your neck, spreading rapidly over your skin like a forest ablaze. “You don't have to answer that,” you chuckled, rubbing your arm. 

He peered at you through his lashes. “Come on upstairs,” he said, nodding upward. He offered you his elbow, and you could have burst into a ball of flames then and there. 

“I got it, by the way.” You held onto him as the pair of you made your way up the stairs. “I was promoted to the VIP line tonight.”

“If you think I ever doubted you—”

“You put a lot of faith in me,” you noted. “Not that I mind, it's just that, you're on someone's shit list, Joong.”

Hongjoong cocked an amused brow at you. “Am I on your shit list?”

“Not yet.”

You beamed at the sight of his smirk, the one he had to duck his head to hide, but couldn't suppress completely. Some mafia boss he made. For a second, it was way too easy to forget who he was. 

He was just Hongjoong tonight, right now. 

You cleared your throat. “I'm starting training right away—tomorrow morning, actually. Well, I guess it's this morning now. And the meeting is taking place in two nights,” you told him as he helped you onto the sofa. 

“Drink?” he offered with a tip of bourbon decanter. 

You shook your head. “I'm good, thanks.”

He set the glass down and settled on the edge of the table right in front of you, as always. Maybe it was the residual intoxication—was that how it worked?—but you swore his eyes grew even darker as he leaned over his knees just then. 

“The DDC gave us a list of possible locations for Strictland's current base of operations,” he said. “Most of them didn't give us much, but we might have gotten something.”

You frowned. “Might have?”

He tilted his head to the side in a half shrug. “It's… something. Maybe. But you don't need to worry about that, dove; let's talk about you.”

I don't really wanna talk about me. The exhaustion was quickly seeping into your bones, water swimming up paper. He sounded like the rich, deep caramel notes of a bottle of bourbon. Didn't they say 'you are what you drink’ or something like that? “I guess whatever keeps you talking,” you blurted. “I like your voice.”

A low chuckle fell from his mouth and he closed the gap even further, but still not enough, to reach over and tap the space between your eyes. “I know you're tired, doll, so I'll make this quick.

“I know that we didn't get to talk about Chan fully, but he will be there at the meeting. He's on our side, so if something goes wrong with Jungwon—”

Your eyes shuddered. Should you tell him about Jungwon?

“—he’ll be there as a backup. Just focus on listening, but do what is expected of you for your job. But if”— he suddenly stopped himself, his mouth still open from the words he didn't push out through breath and sound. 

It woke you up a little. “What?”

Hongjoong shook his head, and when you blinked, it was like nothing crossed his face. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You're not telling me something.”

“I just don't think it's something that is right to say now,” he replied, picking and stringing his words together carefully. “Aren't you supposed to be tired?”

“I'm tired, not blind,” you quipped and wrinkled your nose at him. “Does Seonghwa approve?”

“Does he ever?”

That made a giggle bubble out of your chest before you could stop it. You slapped a palm of your mouth, even if your eyes still narrowed into upturned crescents filled with mirth. 

There was something in the way he looked at you then, chin resting in the palm of his hand. 

Your pulse thrummed against your throat and you couldn't breathe again, but it wasn't because you were suffocating on secondhand smoke or nerves. This was something far more dangerous. 

“Do you trust me?”

The question brought you back to the present. You sent him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong repeated the question. 

You nodded. “I do.” Once upon a time, you would've said that it was against your better judgment. 

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Right. Your mind wandered to two nights from now, in the very near future. What role was Bang Chan going to play at this meeting? How would you know how to proceed with him if something went wrong with Jungwon?

And the latter—that was a can of worms on its own. Everytime you returned to this hesitation, you had to do backflips to convince yourself that Jungwon still had your back, one hundred percent. It was difficult to put your finger on it. 

You felt a hand gently take your chin and bring your attention to the man in front of you. Hongjoong had a crease between his brows now, eyes roving over your facial expression. “Hey, what's wrong? What do I need to know?”

It's nothing. You shook your head, waving him off. “No, it's nothing,” you promised. “I'm just—it’s residual nerves.” You had become too good of a liar recently, but somehow, he could always see right through you. 

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Residual nerves still come from somewhere. Yn, what aren't you telling me?”

Perhaps you were making a mountain out of a molehill. Jungwon apologized, he seemed to be worried when you were being led by Ha-yi to the manager's office, and he hadn't abandoned you tonight. “Do you trust me?” you found yourself asking, fully aware that you were taking his exact road out. 

“You're a sly one,” he grunted. 

“I learn from the best.”

That made him break. “Agree to trust each other?” he said at last. He seemed resolved to leave it at that for the night, but part of you wished to believe he would have trusted you in any other context, too. 

You didn't want to know what that meant, for him or for you. 

You nodded. “Agree to trust each other.” 

Before you left for the evening (truly, an ungodly hour of the morning, rather), you remembered the slim tube of lipstick stashed in your purse. You stood upon the threshold of the warehouse with Hongjoong, fishing the cosmetic out. 

“I found this earlier today.” You demonstrated the pushing mechanism that turned on the red light.

Hongjoong's face flickered with light surprise. “Sakura didn't show you? Polaris is an investment for most people, so having a way to track down their lost or stolen item was built into the design,” he explained. He tapped the red light with the tip of his pointer finger, eyes still on you. “There's an app and code it comes with somewhere on the box, but I have it if you threw it out.”

You chuckled. “You have it, too?”

He smiled slightly, shrugging as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I did buy it for you, dove. Just promise you won't lose it.”

“I'll chain it to my wrist if I have to,” you said in partial jest. 

“Atta girl.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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It wasn't until he finally worked up the courage (thanks to his best friend Hongjoong's encouragement (shoving)) to introduce himself to you that he realized what you were—a dragon shifter, just like him. It was no wonder he felt a pull toward you; dragon shifters were a dime a dozen, especially in the city where you both attended university. He told himself his fast friendship and bonding with you came from his excitement of being the same species, as well as learning each other's cultures and traditions, as you came from different clans. 

Though, that didn't account for the amount of times he daydreamed about adorning you in his family's jewels, as it was customary in courtship traditions to wear one's mate's gems. Neither did it account for the way his heart beat faster whenever you were around, the purring from his chest after that one time you fell asleep on his shoulder… It was complicated. 

“Everyone, let's load up the cars! Quick—off your asses. Let's move, people!” Hongjoong hollered like a drill sergeant, his hands cupped around his mouth before clapping too loud for six in the morning on a Saturday. 

Who in their right mind would be crazy enough to wake up so early on the Saturday of their last spring break? Only one demon in particular, and his name was Kim Hongjoong. 

Seonghwa was still half asleep, his eyelids droopy and his limbs even droopier. He nearly flopped face-first onto the pavement outside the apartment complex. He slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and slumped over to the passenger side of the SUV. It had taken all of his willpower to not trudge out in his Lego Movie pajama set.

“—and for goddess's sake, where is Yn?”

He jolted upright. “Yn?” He blubbered, head going on a swivel. 

Hongjoong peered at him weirdly with his hands on his hips, and Wooyoung snorted, then scurried past to avoid Seonghwa's scowl. “Yes, Yn,” Hongjoong said. “Are you awake, Hwa? We literally talked about Yn coming on the trip with us last night.”

Oh. Right. 

Seonghwa blinked his bleary eyes open and nodded sheepishly. Thank goodness he wasn't in his Lego Movie pajamas. “Y-yep, of course I remember!” 

He glanced away, nostrils flaring as he caught onto a familiar scent coming down the street. He could pick out the smell of apple blossoms, tangerines, and your particular musk from a mile away if he was more awake.

“Sorry, I'm late!” Then there came the voice. Your voice simultaneously jump-started his heart and made his heart swoon. If he was about to faint, it probably wasn't going to be from sleep deprivation. 

He couldn't believe he nearly forgot you were coming to the lake with them. 

Your form came into view, your hair a windswept mess and a sheepish sort of smile on your face as you wrestled with the duffle on one shoulder, your backpack on the other, and a paper grocery bag. 

Seonghwa practically fell over himself in order to drop his own bag on the sidewalk and rush over to you. “Here, I got it,” he murmured, taking the grocery bag and duffle bag away from you so he could hold them. 

Your smile widened at him, and he swore the soft morning light was purposefully making your eyes glow right now. “Thanks, Hwa. Very sweet of you.”

“Of course,” he said with a humble nod, pointedly ignoring all of the looks he was getting from his friends. 

“You're just on time,” Hongjoong greeted you with a small smile. “How were exams for you?”

You brushed a hand through your hair, a tired laugh falling from your lips. “They were… alright,” you opted to say. “Glad they're over now, and I'm so ready for this trip.” You gestured to the grocery bag Seonghwa held. “Oh! I brought snacks, by the way.”

Mingi stuck his entire upper body out of the passenger seat of Yunho's sedan. “Yn-ah! You're riding in our car, right?” 

Seonghwa's expression molded into something sour. “Where did you get that idea from?”

“Mingi, you should just give up now,” San chuckled. He sent a wink over to Seonghwa, then glanced back at the naiad who's head Seonghwa was currently trying to glare a hole through. “We’ve already claimed Yn for our car.”

You looked on in confused amusement. “I'll split the snacks between the cars, guys. And plus, the SUV will have more room than the sedan.”

“Exactly,” Seonghwa piped up. He marched over to the back doors of the SUV to safely deposit your things within. There was no need for you to be squished between Yeosang and Jongho in Yunho's comically tiny car, when you could be in the same car as him—no, wait. That wasn't what he meant—

“Well, this is just favoritism,” Yunho jested as he slammed his trunk shut. He shot you a sunny grin that made Seonghwa glance over at you for your reaction. Yunho's being half-siren always made his voice and gestures a little more silken and sweet than the rest of them. “Are you sure it's 'cause of the extra room and not because Wooyoung's cat is gonna be in that car?”

You chuckled, shrugging. As if on cue, a lithe feline in silky black fur trotted out from the bushes. She strutted over to you, purring as she wrapped her tail around your calf. “Okay, maybe you caught me,” you said, crouching down to pet Wooyoung's cat familiar. 

Seonghwa was not going to be jealous over a cat. He was absolutely not. Some sleep would screw his head on straight—yes, sleep did sound nice. He didn't know what was up with himself this morning. 

“Pretty sure she loves you more than she loves me,” Wooyoung pouted as he stuck his head out of the SUV's back window. 

You picked the feline up with your hands, and she gave a crooning meow as you held her up to her witch through the window. “I wouldn't mind adopting her if she wasn't permanently bound to you.”

Seonghwa's eye twitched at the same time he and Hongjoong made eye contact. 

The demon's mouth curled into a knowing, teasing smile—I see you. Seonghwa could feel the heat lift to the surface of his skin as he ducked into the car. He really needed a nap.  

The remainder of the time was used swiftly as everyone finished packing things into your respective cars, including your bodies. About an hour later, you were well on your way out of the city. 

As this was all nine of yours last year of university, this spring break needed to be a memorable one. Yeosang had heard talk through the grapevine of a collection of interlinking caves overlooking a small lake. It was located a few hours out of the city proper, but it would pose as a peaceful getaway for the week. Each of the small caverns were open facing, peering over the water's surface, and each was designed to be like rooms in a house. There would be enough for the boys to sleep two to a bed, with you getting your own. 

The drive out of the city was an easy one. Seonghwa slept nearly the entire time, only waking up to a near-quiet car, save for Hongjoong's choice of music playing softly from the radio. 

“'Morning,” Hongjoong murmured, taking his eyes off the road for a brief moment. 

Seonghwa yawned and turned his eyes up and outward at the world around him. Concrete jungle had become emerald green trees speared with beams of buttery sunshine. He bet it smelled glorious. “Morning,” he said back quietly. “Are they still…” 

His voice trailed off as he twisted around in his seat and took in the middle row behind him. You, San, and Wooyoung were squished arm to arm, thigh to thigh; Wooyoung's black cat familiar laid fast asleep in Wooyoung's lap, with Wooyoung's head against San, San's head against you, and your head against the car window. Seonghwa cooed to himself at the sight, carefully snapping a picture with his phone, before returning to face the front. 

The remainder of the drive was swift, and as you approached the site of your home for the next several days, you all slowly began to wake up. Seonghwa rolled his window down and braced his arm over the open sill, a smile breaking onto his lips as he greedily inhaled the clean, crisp air. 

His eyes flickered to the side mirror, locking gazes with you. For a moment, he held your eye contact. He watched your mouth curve into that pretty smile of yours that made his insides flutter, before you looked out at the forest again. 

When Hongjoong's and Yunho's cars broke out of the trees and into the next clearing, everyone's breaths stole away. 

“No way we scored this good,” San whispered in giddy excitement as he shoved his body between Hongjoong and Seonghwa to peer out the front windshield. 

Before you stood a wide lake, its waters so clear that one could see straight to the bottom. The caverns that you would all bunker up in were on the far shore, stacked atop one another in two layers with four openings on the bottom and three on the top. A waterfall curtained off two of the cavern rooms as it flowed from the rocky outcropping that loomed over the lake, and into the lake itself; the sound was not thunderous, but a dull sort of roar that was almost muffled. 

With the sun rising higher into the sky, its beams reflected off the cascading spray of water to create a small rainbow in the mist. Suffice to say, the view in front of you deserved its own magazine. 

“Let's get our spring break on!” Wooyoung hooted as Hongjoong pulled the car around the shore of the lake to reach the base of the caverns. 

As the day sank from late morning to early afternoon, you and your friends transferred all of your belongings from the cars and into the caverns. Rooms were decided by an efficient round of Rock Paper Scissors—you luckily scored first, and chose the most private room behind the waterfall for yourself. 

Once everyone was settled, it became a race of who could get into the water—

“WAAAAHOOOO!” SPLASH!

—first. 

Seonghwa peered out from the living room cavern on the second floor to see the bodies below take a running start into the lake. He chuckled to himself, leaning his hip against the wall with a can of soda in his hand as he watched his friends break the surface of the lake, one by one. 

“You're not swimming?”

Seonghwa nearly fell forward and out of the open cave, down into the water. His hand slapped against the wall to catch himself, his heart practically tumbling out of his chest anyway. 

To your credit, you looked apologetic, grimacing through a smile as you came to stand next to him. “Sorry. You didn't hear me come in?” 

You had changed out of your T-shirt and shorts from earlier into a cropped tank top and loose skirt, a silver waist chain winking up at him from where it linked around your belly. 

The thought shoved itself into his brain—that you would look terribly divine in his jewelry.

He swallowed, dragging his eyes up back to yours. “I didn't,” he admitted sheepishly. “Guess I was too focused on watching everyone else. Have you settled in alright?”

You had chosen the cavern bedroom right next to the living room, but it was the only bedroom on this level. 

With a nod, you turned your gaze outward at the ocean of emerald green trees surrounding this little oasis. “I have,” you said pleasantly. “You?”

“Same here.” He carded a hand through his hair. “It's really quite beautiful here.” But not as beautiful as you. 

You glanced over at him again, and he wondered if he could concoct enough things to say to keep your attention on him. “Oh, I definitely agree; it's a perfect paradise, really. The waterfall” — you inclined your chin to your left — “I think it'll be most beautiful at sunset.”

He lifted one of his brows and pushed off the cavern wall. “Oh? Why do you think so?”

“If the sunset faces us,” you explained, gesturing your hand out to the eastern horizon in the distance, “then it'll reflect its light against the waterfall. As the sun sinks down and lights the sky on fire, so too will it set the water aflame.”

Seonghwa could envision your words in his mind's eye as he took in the waterfall careening into the lake below. Its crystal blue waters were so clear that it undoubtedly would reflect the shades of the sunset, and become illuminated as you said—where water turned to flame. 

A soft smile came to his face. What a gorgeous image. 

“I bet it'd look incredible from the skies.” Your words drew him back to your face. You were already looking over at him, and his heart gave a loving lurch. 

Seonghwa cleared his throat. “I agree. Have you been able to stretch your wings recently?”

You hummed, tilting your head from side to side. “Not super recently because I was locked inside to study for the last week or two. You?”

“Same,” he chuckled and reached behind his back to scratch at the nape of his neck. Usually, he tried to shift into dragon form at least twice a week to keep his wings strong, but when life got busy, it was difficult to find enough time to take to the skies. “Would—would you like to take a flight with me sometime?” He stammered, fumbling over his words. “Just, y'know, like a casual thing.”

Excellent, Hwa. The spitting image of confidence. 

He sipped on his soda, already hearing Hongjoong's exasperated sigh in his ear. 

Your smile softened at the corners. “I'd love to. After dinner, maybe?”

His shoulders loosened in relief. “Sounds like a plan.”

“This is your chance! It's a sign!” 

Seonghwa frowned at his reflection in the vanity mirror as he played around with his dark curls. Tied up? Kept down? It really didn't matter; he was literally going to be a dragon for the majority of the time, but it never hurt to appear well-groomed before a potential… ahem, friend. A friend. 

Hongjoong slumped down on the foot of their shared bed, a deadpan on his face when Seonghwa continued to ignore him. “Park Seonghwa, so help me, I will plant one of your anklets in her jewelry box—”

“And if you do that,” Seonghwa drawled as he gave up on his hair and reached for the tube of lip gloss on the vanity top, “I will tell that elven girl you've become so fond of about how you—”

“Okay, I got it,” Hongjoong cut in with a scowl. “Aish, so touchy. I'm just saying that this trip is the perfect opportunity to let her know how you feel, and to court her.”

Seonghwa knew that; of course, he fucking knew that. The thing was that if anything went poorly, you would practically be stuck here with him until the end of the trip. He cringed to himself at the mere awkwardness of that potential outcome. “It's just a wing stretch,” he reasoned aloud to himself. He grabbed one of the bottles of cologne on the table to spritz around his scent glands. “It's not like I'm going to offer her a necklace.”

“Yes, because you need to smell nice for a wing stretch.” Hongjoong fell back onto the bed with a grumble under his breath at Seonghwa's stubbornness. 

Dinner had finished up about fifteen minutes ago, and while everyone departed to do their own activities, you and Seonghwa agreed to reconvene at the tops of the caves in five minutes for your planned flight together. The days were growing longer as spring waltzed toward summer, and thus, the sun reigned the skies for a lengthier period of time. The two of you would ideally circle back in time to watch the sunset hit the waterfall.

Seonghwa left Hongjoong to their quarters as he made his way up to the rocky outcropping at the top of the waterfall. 

You were already waiting for him, your bare feet standing in the shallow end of the river leading down to the waterfall. You still had on the top and skirt from earlier, and as a light breeze wafted past, it blew through your hair and your clothes like a dream. 

You glanced up at him. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.” He grinned as the anticipation and excitement of breaking his wings free slowly bubbled up into his chest. It wasn't only being able to spend time with you, but simply the thoughts of being his dragon self that made him so giddy. 

You hopped out of the river and padded across the soil toward him. 

Once you were in line with him, Seonghwa flashed you a wide smile and sprinted toward the cliff edge. Your laughter followed him as he dove off toward the water below, eyes falling closed as he relished in the wind whipping past his skin. 

When he opened his eyes, he skimmed the water's surface with the edge of a veiny, membranous wing, before swooping back up toward the ripening sky above. His humanoid features had fully transformed into that of a creature nearly five times his human height. Scales of obsidian, gleaming a dark blue in the light, rippled across his back, his skin. He huffed steam from his nostrils and searched for you. 

A body of iridescent white, so pearly that you appeared a shade of light purple in the burning gold light, blurred in his periphery. 

He whipped his head in your direction, watching you soar around him in a loose circle. You wrapped around him and grazed the end of your tail against his, a caress. 

He didn't want to think too much about that. 

And then your irises, blue-purple in this form, were blinking at him. Northward? Your snout gestured in that vague direction. 

Seonghwa huffed his agreement, and the pair of you took off into the skies. 

A dragon shifter's courtship traditions were different from other shifters’ cultures. For one, the value of wearing a potential mate's jewelry was equivalent to acceptance of courtship; additionally, wearing one another's jewels essentially spelled out a long-term partnership. It was similar to humans’ exchanging of rings. 

Dragons dressed their mates in their own jewels as dragons were ruthlessly protective of their hoards of treasures, and a mate was even more precious than any jewel one could acquire. There were other rituals, too—such as dousing one another in dragonfire, performing a certain mating dance, consuming meals made by their mate—but the jewels had always been emphasized in Seonghwa's clan. 

It was why he stiffened when he saw a slim, silver chain wrapped around your ankle this morning. 

The piece of jewelry looked awfully similar to something he owned, except the one you wore was studded with an amethyst on the tail, whereas the one he owned was studded with sapphire. He struggled to swallow as he stepped into the kitchen, eyes pinned to your ankle. 

The way the light refracted off the gem made the article appear so much like his own jewelry; his heart could not take a scare like that so early. Perhaps scare wasn't such an accurate word—he simply hadn't had the time to mentally prepare. 

It didn't matter how long he'd fantasized about it. Seeing the real thing would likely bring him to his knees regardless. 

“Hwa,” your amused chuckle greeted his ears as you peered at him from over the rim of your coffee cup. “Good morning.”